Sorciére (Born of Shadows Book 2)

by J. R. Erickson

  She propped onto her elbows and scanned the room for Oliver, but the meager furnishings left him nowhere to hide. At the base of the bed, he had left a pair of her black stretch pants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, rightfully assuming that she would be uninterested in anything of color.

  She moved slowly, sadly into her clothes, but she did not cry. The sockets of her eyes felt dry and she could not have mustered a tear if she willed it so. She found comfort in Oliver's room and in the small ways that he had held onto pieces of his human self. Since arriving at Ula, her own identity pre-witch had faded, and each day she found less room for her pre-coven hobbies. She suddenly missed her books and her cat Baboon and the ugly purple vase she'd made in pottery class in college. Those thoughts made her long for her mom and her dad and then for Sydney and finally Sebastian. The desert found rain again and her eyes welled up and spilled over. She buried her face in Oliver's pillow and cried until her hiccups subsided and she could find distance again.

  ****

  Had it been hours or whole days since Sebastian had discovered himself at the edge of this wood? And where had he entered? More importantly, why? He could not recall. The walk was fuzzy, like the memory of a dream, and he leaned heavily against the rough bark of a tree. The tree was dead, strangled by a vine that wrapped and crawled from its base to its head. He still did not know how he lost sight of the group or the castle. It didn't make sense. He had been there, drunk and relishing the spectacle...and then what? Had he wandered out a door? Had there even been a door? His eyes itched, but his painted hands made scratching difficult. He wanted to remove the Dragon costume, but feared exposure. Was the costume bewitched? He searched again for the medallion that Elda had given him. A small gold coin that she insisted he carry at all times. She said that if he squeezed it, it would alert the witches of Ula that he needed them. Elda had explained to him that humans could not exist within the coven of Sorciére walls on the night of All Hallow's Eve. The witches ensured this by casting expulsion spells. He wondered if the charms that Elda placed on him somehow wore off. Is that what had happened? He couldn't remember.

  When he was a boy of six or seven, he'd fallen very ill. A fever had ravished him for days and he had drifted in and out of dreams. His waking hours were plagued with visions, confusion and fear. He felt that now, the loss of time and the malleability of reality. Was he in France? When he looked down at his body, the costume only confused him more. Great sleek dragon's scales met his searching gaze. Every passing second brought confusion rather than clarity.

  ****

  Dafne stole into Sebastian's room through a secret passageway that opened through his closet. The tunnels within the castle connected nearly every room. In her own room, though, she had bewitched the hole behind her mirror to hold an invisible shield that none but she could walk through. In Sebastian's room, she began to carefully collect all of the items that she had bewitched to ignite his split from Abby. His yearning to avenge Claire's death had offered the perfect bridge into his mind, but now she had to burn it.

  She found the box beneath the bed. The shrine-like container missed only a single item, the small silver ring. She searched his drawers, the pockets of discarded clothes and even looked through the books on his shelf, but nothing. She tried to call out to the ring, seeking the magic she had placed upon it, but still it did not appear. She searched beneath the bed again, this time sliding her body under and looking up into the box springs--empty. She started to emerge and then the door to the room swung open and she watched with alarm as a pair of slippered feet walked in. She could see Abby's slim ankles as she moved to the bed and sat down. For several minutes, the room stayed silent and Dafne held her breath, afraid to give herself away, and then she began to hear Abby gently sobbing above her.

  "Are you gone?" Abby whispered, her words choked and sticky.

  Dafne felt Abby lay back onto the bed and she could almost imagine her wrapping herself around one of Sebastian's old t-shirts and stuffing her face into his pillow. For an instant, the magnitude of all that she had done fell upon her and Dafne thought she might start screaming confessions into the box springs hovering inches from her nose. Then she remembered her own pain and loneliness. She remembered the screams of her friends in the woods and the dark cloud of grief that fell over Ula after three of their witches fell at the hands of Dafne's great love. With a grim finality, she closed a steel door upon her empathy and her guilt. She faced instead the gruesome fate that would have befallen them had she not eradicated Sebastian.

  Abby cried for an hour and then she simply stood up and left, as quietly as she had arrived. Dafne wriggled out from under the bed and slipped back into the closet, taking all of the remnants of her deception with her.

  ****

  "Hi," Victor said softly, spooking her in the cave of elders.

  Abby had believed that she was alone. She had returned to her room at the castle. She traveled astrally to see Sebastian one last time.

  "What are you doing here?" she snapped.

  Victor did not look hurt. He merely cocked his head to the side and studied her.

  "You're in pain..."

  Inside of her, the grief wound tighter, but her astral body could not hold the form. She suddenly felt light, breathless and detached. For the first time since discovering Sebastian's body, her sorrow had abated.

  "There, that's better, isn't it?" Victor smiled and reached a hand towards her. He could not touch her, but she felt his energy move through her.

  "It is better," she sighed, but shot a furtive glance toward the tunnels behind her.

  Unlike her last trip to the cave, the pull towards the center tunnel no longer existed. She didn't want to walk through that passageway--she could barely remember why she had intended to in the first place.

  "It's okay to forget," Victor said, "to release the things that are holding us back."

  She nodded and relaxed into her spirit body. It felt so good to let go.

  "Join us, Abby. Your coven is holding you prisoner. We need you...and you need us." His eyes were intent and riveting. She stared into the sparkling black orbs and felt herself nod.

  They need me, she thought and let that roll around in her head for a bit. She liked the way it sounded and strangely could not remember a single time in her entire life when she had felt needed. But, even so, she could not simply abandon all that had happened--Ula, Sebastian, Sydney.

  "I'm not finished," she told him, without really thinking the words first, but when she spoke she knew them to be true.

  Victor started to protest, but then, seeing something in her eyes, he stopped.

  "Then at least let me help you," he sounded determined. "You've been to a Vepar's lair. The location is inside you."

  She shook her head.

  "I was unconscious when they took me there. I have no idea where it's at."

  "Sure you do," he laughed. "You're a witch, Abby. Your body knows things your mind doesn't have a clue about yet and vice versa. We can unlock it, we can find that cave."

  "How do you even know about that?" she asked, uncomfortable with what he implied.

  "Because Dante saw it at Sorciére. He has this mind-reading thing. It's pretty wild right now and he has no idea when it's going to happen, but he saw the Vepar's lair and he saw that you killed one..."

  Abby drifted past him and into the tunnel on the right. At the end of the tunnel, she found the rest of his group. They stood around a glowing fire and she recalled the very first time she traveled to the cave before she even knew that witches existed.

  None of them spoke, but their circle broke apart and she and Victor moved into it, closing it again. They did not touch, but their energies became one.

  ****

  Sebastian edged from tree to tree staring through a dense morning fog at an unfamiliar landscape of ripe green valleys, dotted with ramshackle barns. The leaden sky foretold of rain and Sebastian's thin shirt and black spandex pants already left him shivering and drab. His
feet were raw and blistered and, when he sat against a large pine tree, the aches of his body immediately clamored for his attention. His legs and back throbbed from days and nights of confused walking. His head swam with tiredness. His hands, feet and elbows stung where blisters and scrapes lay open to the strong winds. He had removed his costume entirely and rubbed his skin raw where the paint had not already been sweated away.

  He dared not even think of his predicament in a foreign land with no money, identification or friend to speak of. He still did not know if he was in France or some other unidentified countryside.

  Searching his pockets, he emptied the remains in his lap and found little to celebrate. The only thing that he carried was the tiny silver ring he had discovered in Claire's box, the only item he had felt compelled to snatch from his nightstand before readying for the Ball. Not a thought had been given to any human necessity because he was traveling with witches. Who needed passports for magic mirrors or money for booze conjured from thin air? He had brought nothing and now, in the early morning mist of an alien landscape, he had nothing.

  His only glimmer of hope was Abby. Surely she was desperately searching for him and insisting that the witches pour all of their energy into that endeavor. It made him feel weak, his terror at being cast out. He had underestimated the security that living with witches brought into his life. For years he had been on his own, struggling and desperate, and then, in a matter of days, that had all reversed and he found himself living with a coven of witches. He didn't have to think of money or food or even...Claire, if he didn't want to. There had even been a few days where her image went mostly unseen. Her memory never died, but the constant itch to avenge her had momentarily subsided. That was until several weeks earlier when suddenly he found himself again consumed by her death. Why had it returned so suddenly?

  He still felt it, sort of, as he sat alone and shivering in the morning light. However, mostly he felt troubled. His usual survival skills were slow to kick in. He scanned the horizon, letting his eyes rest on a small shed, blue paint peeling beneath a white hand-painted sign. He could not make out the words but, as he studied them, he grew more convinced that they were in French, which meant that he was still in Bordeaux, somewhere.

  He took a deep breath and shuffled to his feet. At the very least, the shed offered sanctuary from the biting wind and an opportunity to shed the remainder of his costume and attempt a presentable appearance. He hoped more that it might contain some food source. He would eat raw eggs, milk, even pigs feed if he had to. He was ravished and scowled each time he thought of the buffets from the party. He had fully intended to gorge half the night away when he'd finally tired of dancing, but he had barely eaten half a sandwich when...what? What had happened?

  Why couldn't he remember? He recalled the little girl creating the monster from dust and then a witch. What had her name been?

  "Indra," he said aloud triumphantly, and then quickly backed into the trees, It could not have been that loud, but still in the silent valley, who knew how his voice might carry?

  Yes, Indra had been her name and she seemed strangely fascinated by him. He had almost asked her if she knew that he was human, but then thought better of it. She might have. He had felt exposed much of the night. Every time a witch's gaze lingered on him, he wondered if they could sense clearly his lack of mystical power. As he grew drunk on champagne, he had stopped caring that he was the odd man out and simply gave in to the pleasure of the night.

  ****

  Abby's bedroom materialized around her and the emptiness found her. For that brief period with Victor and the others, her loneliness had dulled and then disappeared. Returning to her empty room brought the heaviness of solitude back to her.

  In the castle halls, she was greeted with silence and she sighed out loud just to hear any sound of life.

  She walked to the library, not truly wanting to face everyone, but unable to simply stay in her room and hide. When she heard voices through the door, she paused. They were muffled, but sounded urgent. Abby imagined an enormous rushing waterfall and, as her pulse quickened, she sent the energy into her ear causing her eardrum to vibrate more quickly. She listened.

  Elda's voice drifted out.

  "I agree that we need to help her, Oliver, but in time, of course. We cannot grieve for her."

  "That's not what I'm saying," Oliver said, sounding irritated. "What faith will she have in this coven, or in herself for that matter, if she's forced to sit in her room staring at the sky, while all of her people die?"

  "No one else is going to die," Faustine chimed in, his voice high and tense.

  "No? And how do you know that? How about her parents, her ex-boyfriend, her old friend's for Pete's sakes. How long until Tobias or some other Vepar decides it's time to even the score for Antonio."

  "We must protect the coven, Oliver. That is our first priority. We cannot send her back to France, or anywhere else for that matter. She has not yet honed her skills or even discovered most of them," Elda argued.

  "I have to tell her about Sydney," Oliver said suddenly, and Abby heard a chair scrape along the carpeting as if he had stood.

  "No," both Elda and Faustine said in unison.

  "She cannot handle any more trauma," Faustine's voice commanded.

  "What she can't handle," Oliver nearly shouted, "is more deception. She needs the truth. The only thing that can free her is knowing everything. I killed Sydney, I killed her, and I have to come clean."

  Abby heard the words and began to shake her head no before she even fully processed them. She started to back away from the door just as it flung open.

  Oliver stared at her, shocked, and, as their eyes met, he understood that she had heard everything.

  "You killed Sydney?" Her heart hurt to say it, but she had to, had to know for sure.

  "Oh, Abby, please..." he murmured as tears sprang to his eyes. He grabbed her hands and squeezed them against his chest. "Let me explain."

  She bit her lip and refused her own tears, staring with pain and sorrow at the top of his bowed head.

  For an instant, she imagined hearing him out. She could listen to his story and then sit down to dinner with all of the other witches, just like every other night and pretend that nothing was wrong, except she couldn't. Before she even understood that staying had already ceased as an option, she had ripped her hands away from him.

  "I'm already gone," she said through gritted teeth.

  She moved away from him, and again, for a moment, time grew endless and the tick of a second spread into hours and she hoped that he would stop her, that he would rush up behind her and grab her around the waist and tie her to him. Not because she loved him, but because she was terrified at what lay ahead and she was devastated to leave him behind. It was not true that she did not love Oliver. She did love him, but she hated him for Sydney and she hated his coven for Sebastian and she hated herself for all that felt lost to her as she stood in the hallway.

  When Abby made it to her bedroom, Victor's face kept dancing into her mind and his image urged her on. She had not intended to actually meet Victor that night. Or had she?

  It felt like such a sickly familiar moment, running away. She grabbed a bag and hastily threw together her things. The halls were silent as she strode out of the castle and into the cool evening. She turned only once to see Lydie who lifted a lifeless hand and waved goodbye.

  Chapter Nine

  The boat ride was eerily calm and Abby swallowed tears and screams that tormented her chest and eyes. The black night did not disturb her but, for the first time in months, for the first time since leaving Nick and her family, she felt utterly alone, cast out of the new life as if it were merely a dress and the party had come to an end.

  She took hours, knowing that Victor would not arrive until well after midnight. She thought of her moonlit boat ride with Sebastian and how they narrowly escaped death by Tobias and the other Vepars. She wondered if they wouldn't have been better off running the ot
her way, fleeing to Mexico and burning Claire's journals rather than following them to the coven of Ula.

  When she saw headlights at the mainland, she steered the boat away and then returned on foot through the woods, crouching and watching. When she stood close enough to see Victor's face, she left her concealment and stepped into the car's beams He did not jump, or even flinch, and she understood that he sensed her approach.

  He leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open.

  "Ready for the ride of your life?" he asked, grinning. His eyes, mischievous, danced over her and he raised his eyebrows at her bag. "Bring some snacks along?"

  "I've decided to leave Ula for a while," she told him and slid into the seat, pressing the bag between her knees and squeezing it for comfort. She chose not to elaborate.

  "A minimalist. I like it," he said with a grin. He did not probe further.

  "So how do we do this?" Abby asked. "I really don't remember where the lair was..."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small heart-shaped bottle.

  "This is a super-special tonic that Kendra makes. I'm embarrassed to admit that we usually use it to find lost keys and other nonsense, but she amped it up for you."

  Abby took the bottle and studied it.

  "I don't want to start recovering lost memories from my childhood or some craziness."

  "That's what this is for."

  Victor pulled out a tiny scroll and undid the twine holding it together. A teeny pencil, the size of a push pin, rolled out.

  "Write what you're looking for on the paper and drop it in."

  Abby took it, leery, but more intrigued. Holding the tiny pencil, she wrote 'The Vepars Lair where I killed Tony'. It barely fit. She carefully unscrewed the top from the bottle and slid the tiny scroll inside. It dissolved instantly.