Sorciére (Born of Shadows Book 2)

by J. R. Erickson

  "Where are you from, honey?" she asked. She turned around and eyed him. "I'm thinking California--you look like a surfer boy to me."

  He laughed and started to respond, but realized almost immediately that he had no answer. He had opened his mouth as if it were the most natural question in the world, but nothing came out.

  "I don't actually know," he told her, feeling embarrassed. "I seem to have lost my memory."

  She shuffled him into a small back room filled with men's clothes.

  "Lost your memory?" She stopped and looked him up and down, gauging his size. "You runnin' from something?"

  "No," he told her, exasperated. "At least, I don't think so. I was just walking down this road a couple of days ago and before that there's just...nothing."

  She started pulling clothes from a rack and he frowned when she held a blue leisure suit up to his chest.

  "Well, I've heard of amnesia, but I've never met anyone before that had it, though there's always some handsome hunk in my soap operas that ends up with it." She winked and then frowned sympathetically at the serious look on his face. "Were you in an accident, maybe bumped your head?"

  She reached up and ran her hand along his scalp and then down his neck like an overly affectionate grandmother. He realized that he liked her.

  "I have no idea, but honestly, I don't think so. I feel like...I feel like I'm not supposed to be here though. I feel like I was in America and then somehow I woke up here."

  "Well, how about I.D. or a plane ticket? Have any of that stuff on you?"

  "No, I didn't have anything on me at all. No, wait." He slid the small silver ring from his pinky. "I had this."

  She took the ring and studied it.

  "What's this here on the inside?" she asked. "Some other language?"

  He shrugged and she handed the ring back to him.

  She held up another hideously ugly suit, this one clearly feasted upon by moths.

  "I'm thinking jeans and sweatshirts," he told her quickly, glancing around the room hopefully.

  She looked at his current attire.

  "Yep, surfer boy all right," she continued gravely, but with a smile. "I keep that stuff in boxes."

  She dragged several boxes out from beneath the racks of hanging clothes and started to dig, throwing shirts and pants his way.

  "Well, you'll have to contact the authorities and ask them to get some media attention back on you in the States. I'm thinking a picture on all of the major news stations should get you found pretty fast."

  He started to agree, but something in his mind immediately constricted at the thought. He couldn't take that route because then someone bad could find him. He stopped, cocking his head to the side and trying to find the root of that fear. Someone bad? Maybe he was on the run?

  "I'm Patty," she added, opening another box and heaving out an armful of colorful t-shirts. "I'd ask your name, but..." She laughed and then gave him a sweet motherly smile. "I'm gonna help you though, okay? First with the clothes and then after that, we'll see."

  He continued to stare into the distance, desperate to follow the fear that arose at her suggestion of the media. Still no memories surfaced.

  "Thank you, really," he told her, taking the clothes into a tiny dressing room that he could barely turn around in. He sat heavily into a small wicker chair crammed into the corner and started untying his shoes.

  Patty slipped behind her cluttered desk and dug around in the black hole that she called a purse. She found the tiny blue flip phone that her granddaughter bought her the previous Christmas and quickly punched in the number of a close friend who'd recently come back into her life.

  "This is Julian," the man answered.

  "Julian, my love," she greeted him, keeping her voice low. "I've just run into a strange man with a very interesting ring."

  Chapter Sixteen

  August 8, 1908

  Dafne held the book in her hand and stared at the message that Tobias had left for her on page thirteen. They nearly always communicated that way, leaving books on each other's doorsteps. They wrote their message on the thirteenth page because they had met on the thirteenth of May. It ensured that her parents would not discover their relationship, but in truth, Dafne loved the romantic secrecy of the gesture.

  Tobias had written only one word--Tonight.

  She traced her fingers over the word and felt excited and frightened both in equal measure. They had saved for months and already plotted their path by train to New York. A small bag stashed in the cottage by the water held both of their clothes, papers and a handful of items neither could part with.

  Dafne thought of Aubrey and the others. The idea of abandoning all of them just days after Solomon's death made her breath catch in her chest and burn furiously. She sat still and felt the pain leave her as she envisioned Tobias carrying her across the doorway into their tiny New York apartment. The others would understand and better, maybe they would join them in the city, though in her heart, she knew that Aubrey belonged to the water and the woods of Trager.

  She cleared her thoughts and turned to the task of preparing dinner for her mother and father. At dusk, she would creep out of the cottage of her childhood and meet her future.

  When the red moon began to rise, Dafne left her home for the last time. She held a handful of dried lavender clasped in one hand and twirled, laughing as she danced to the stone cottage. She could see a candle burning from within, but when she arrived Tobias was nowhere in sight. Likely walking the beach, she thought, though she could see no silhouette of him in either direction. She settled on the small bed, tucked her feet beneath her and worked on braiding the flowers into her hair. She sang softly and thought of the hastily written letters that she left for her beloved Aubrey and the other witches. Her parents would receive a postcard during the journey. She could not risk a letter for fear they would immediately track her and attempt to bring her home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Becky vanished into the basement and Abby waited, trying not to let the feeling of despair, that hung as heavy as the cigarette smoke in her mother's kitchen, drag her down. When she finally returned with a stack of albums, Abby could no longer take it and went to the window over the sink, pushing it open and gulping the fresh crisp air. She watched the tall oak tree in the front yard release some of the last of her brown leaves to the earth below.

  Becky dropped the books on the table with a huff and slid the top one to the side, flipping back the cover.

  "I haven't looked at these in...well over a decade at least, maybe more. Sydney wanted them a few years back, but I never did get around to giving them to her." Becky sighed and turned the album so that Abby could see it.

  "It's not all Trager, there's other stuff mixed in, but here you see all of us out on the lake. Mom, Dad--that's Sydney in the bikini showing off, even at three." She spoke in equal parts anger and sadness. "There's the tree house. My dad built that for Sydney and me, but my mother spent more time in there than I did."

  Abby looked at the large structure sitting atop branches that hardly seemed capable of holding it. It was a log-style tree house, complete with little windows adorned with tiny red curtains. A rope ladder hung from its deck.

  "Who are they?" Abby gasped. "I mean they look so strange." Abby tried to cover her outburst, but still her mother watched her skeptically.

  She pointed to a photo of the stone cottages. Four women stood together on the beach, their arms wrapped around one another. Abby recognized her grandmother in the group.

  "That's Lorna's mom, Kate, in the blue dress," Becky told her. "She lived in one of those cottages. Gwen's mom, Denise, has all the necklaces on and she lived there too. Little dumps if you ask me. It was like livin' in a hippie commune, which of course Sydney and Mom thought was a real hoot. No, thank you! That's about one step above a trailer park..."

  "A commune? Is that what they were?" She studied the small cottages. The picture had been taken in the summer and the lawn burst with wildf
lowers.

  "How would I know?" She glowered at Abby.

  "Did Grandma say that though?"

  Becky shrugged and flipped the page.

  "Mom called them love sisters. That was more than enough information for me. I don't know the name of the third woman, but she may have lived there too."

  "And Sydney was friends with their daughters?"

  "Yep, peas in a pod, that group. Their little houses always smelled like patchouli and, God forbid, you got stuck having dinner over there. Tempeh meatloaf or tofu burgers. Ugh, my stomach turns just thinking of it."

  Abby smiled thinking about the roasted Tofurkey Sebastian had made at Ula two weeks before. All of the witches, excluding Dafne, pretended to enjoy it. Helena even asked for seconds, despite the dense soggy texture. It hurt Abby's heart to think of it so she shifted back to the photos.

  "What is this?"Abby asked, pulling out a sheet of folded paper that had stuck to the album's page. She began to open it, revealing a drawing of a dark forest with a vibrant red willow tree nestled in the center.

  Becky snatched the paper away and balled it in her fist.

  "That's private," she hissed and marched out of the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  August 9, 1908

  Dafne woke to chanting. The haunting murmurs beckoned her out of the cottage and into the warm night. She walked, sleepy, into the Ebony Woods and followed the sounds. Buried deep in the thick foliage, she could see the brilliant light of a fire. Her body began to resist her forward movement. Without warning, her feet simply stopped and she nearly pitched forward. She walked to a tree and rested her palm against the soft white folds of birch bark. The tree emitted an ominous vibration and Dafne pulled away, startled. Then she began to hear the screams.

  Aubrey cried out first and then Debra. She heard Henry begging for Aubrey's life. Dafne raced towards the fire, but as she moved into the clearing, she struck a shield of darkness that blasted her back. Her body sprawled on the forest floor. The fire burned an enormous ring around the witches and they were trapped within it. In the center of the circle, shrouded by eerie red light, Tobias stood in rapture. His black eyes reflected the horror of her beautiful magnetic friends. Naked from the waist up, sweat shone on the taught muscles of his chest and arms. Resting on his chest, Dafne saw a gold amulet with a red stone in its center.

  "Noooo," Dafne screamed, and she began to draw the fire into her, but it only grew larger around the witches.

  Tobias leered at her and threw his hands toward the sky where a ball of blue fire erupted from his fingertips. He turned and cast it towards Evelyn. Evelyn whose beautiful cherub face lit up when she talked to the birds at her feeders each day. Evelyn who'd promised Dafne that when she and Tobias left for New York, she would teach a pigeon to carry their messages. Evelyn burst into flames. She fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony.

  Dafne saw the other witches trying to help her, but something all-powerful held them rooted in place. She stood and raced into the barrier, but again it shocked her away. A dozen times she tried, but one by one, Tobias burned them all. She slowly understood that he pulled his power from her. With each thrust of fire into the circle, Dafne grew more depleted and Tobias grew stronger. He inhaled the smoke as it rose up from their bodies and he danced in a circle and laughed and cried out in ecstasy. When the entire forest began to burn, Dafne's instincts took over and she fled from the blaze.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Abby felt sure that her mother slept soundly, she crept into the basement. It smelled of mildew and kitty litter. The overwhelm of boxes, stacked nearly to the ceiling, made Abby's head pound.

  "How am I ever going to find anything in here?" she asked out loud.

  "What are we looking for?" a voice asked from a far corner of the room and Abby nearly jumped high enough to hit her head on the ductwork above.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw Oliver standing sheepishly in the shadows, his hands tucked into his jean pockets.

  "What are you doing here?" she hissed, irritated that he was able to surprise her so easily.

  "Sorry," he smiled, and walked into the dim light of the single bulb. "I wanted to warn you, but thought your mom might get pissed if I knocked on the front door."

  "And this is better?" Abby asked, grimacing at the cobwebs clinging to Oliver's hair.

  "It was effective." He smiled and Abby returned the smile in spite of herself.

  She had been so angry when she left Ula. Blinded by her pain over Sebastian's death and the discovery that Oliver had killed Sydney, she had not given Oliver a chance to explain. Made worse when she had fled from him after he saved her and Victor in the Vepar's lair.

  "I know you're angry," he said quickly, reading her face and perhaps thinking she might lash out at him. "But I need to tell you what happened and, more than that, I want to help you. I need to help you."

  She sighed and sank to the floor, ignoring the cold, damp cement that seeped through her jeans.

  "I'm not mad at you," she told him, patting the floor beside her. "I should have heard you out and I'm sorry that I ran. I just...I guess I was embarrassed that Victor and I needed help at all."

  Oliver looked uncertain, but then a huge grin drew across his face and, rather than sitting, he plucked her off the floor and held her in a bone-crushing hug. She held him back, pressing her face into his shoulder and letting the tears that never seemed to be far away flow freely. When he pulled back and saw her wet cheeks, he wiped them with his hand and then hugged her once more, kissing her on the forehead.

  It felt so good to have a friend. Abby had mostly suppressed her loneliness in the previous days, focusing instead on her search for answers.

  "I'm happy I had the chance to save your life, Abby. I, at least, owed you that."

  He grabbed two folding chairs and opened them, pressing Abby into one and taking the other.

  "And I've missed you," he told her, his green eyes searching hers and she knew that he meant more than the absence of a friend.

  She bit back the next wave of tears that rose behind her eyes.

  "I missed you too."

  They worked in silence, ripping boxes open and casting aside old clothes and household items, piling up the boxes filled with papers, pictures and albums. Abby did not really know what she searched for, only that she had begun to assemble an enormous jigsaw puzzle of which she could see only a corner.

  She sensed how unsettled Oliver felt in their mutual silence. He wanted to explain and seek her forgiveness, but she needed to wait until she could offer her full attention. She also wanted to get out of her mother's basement. The space grew more claustrophobic with every passing second.

  When they finished, Oliver loaded more than eight boxes stuffed with history into the trunk of her car.

  "What did you drive?" she asked, scanning the road.

  "I didn't," he smiled and shrugged. "Hitched a ride with a pretty girl from Detroit."

  She started to ask how that transpired, but understood that Oliver's charm, combined with a little magic, could have gotten him a police escort if he desired it.

  "I have to check my room too. Can you see it there's a cat carrier for Baboon in the basement?"

  He grinned, snuggling the black and white cat against his chest.

  "Nah, he'll be fine." Oliver winked at her and Abby realized that he could keep the cat calm despite Baboon's usual anxiety in the car. "Take your time. He and I will be right here." He plopped into the passenger seat and laid it back.

  She crept up the stairs and opened the door to her old room. She surveyed the neatly stacked storage bins, all labeled, in front of her closet. The ever meticulous Nick had even written a list of the contents on the side. She did not feel any longing as she sat on the carpeted floor, the faces of her past ogling her from the walls. Posters and pictures and old love letters were tacked and puttied to nearly every surface. She scanned the containers and read about various items of clothi
ng, choosing to take none of them with her. Someone else had lived in those clothes and she didn't want any of that energy following her into her new life. That girl had been weak and afraid. This one was strong and, if she wanted to stay strong, especially with all of the pain swirling just below the surface, she had to close her eyes to the girl who wanted to hide beneath the covers and never come out.

  She opened a tote stacked with albums and frames, pulling out only two. One held a picture of Abby sandwiched between her mom and dad on a ferris wheel when she was only five. In the other photo, Sydney and Rod kissed beneath a bundle of mistletoe that he held above their heads.

  "Coffee," she told Oliver when they pulled out of the driveway. She didn't need the caffeine. When she needed alertness, she only had to dip her hands in some running water to get a burst, but she loved the smell of the dark oily beans and the warm surge that came with her first sip.

  They stopped at a late night java shop and then drank their coffees in the car. She had opted for a cup of french-pressed Sumatra and Oliver insisted on the Works, a caramel double shot latte with extra whipped cream.

  "Mmmm," he said, licking off his whip cream mustache.

  She laughed and felt grateful for simple joys.

  ****

  For the first hour of their drive, Oliver talked without interruption. He described the night that Sydney died, but he withheld their lovemaking. He had not forgiven himself for the indiscretion and knew that Abby would struggle to accept it as well. Not only had he given in to his lust, his desire created the perfect opportunity for Alva to strike. He told Abby about Faustine's theory that Alva had taken control of Sydney's mind and used her to draw Oliver into the house.

  At the end of his long and tragic tale, Abby leaned over and took his hand. He knew that she struggled to hold back her tears. At a gas station, he got behind the wheel so that Abby could nap. She curled up on the passenger seat and faced away from him, nestling Baboon against her belly. Oliver reached across and rubbed her back gently and eventually the crying began, not ending until Abby drifted to sleep.