The Crockworthy Sisters Box Set - Parts 1-3

by Marcus Brown

  “I’ve been trying to call you for the last half hour,” he said, offering a warm smile. “Where’ve you been?

  “Me and the girls were in the cellar talking to Bridget.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” she lied, “All good. What were you trying to get hold of me for?”

  “I’ve had confirmation from the locksmith. It is one of The Dewberry Inn keys.” He looked pleased with himself. “We’ve got them, now we just have to figure out how to deal with them.”

  “I need to go home and tell the girls, sort out a plan of action.” She looked around to check they were alone and quickly kissed him on the lips.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  “I drove,” she replied. “I’m wary about using our powers as much as we have been. With our run of bad luck, it wouldn’t surprise me if we were spotted blinking here there and everywhere.”

  “Probably for the best, but don’t worry too much.”

  “It’s hard not to,” she said leaning in for another kiss.”

  “I’ll be home shortly.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jeremiah and Numen were huddled together in the attic room.

  “We have to be quick,” Numen stated. “Abigail will return shortly.”

  “Where has she gone?” Jeremiah mumbled, his words barely audible through the burn mask he’d taken to wearing.

  As punishment, Abigail had refused to procure a new face for him, so he resorted to wearing the mask twenty-four hours a day.

  Numen found a spell in the Bishop Grimoire to take away the never-ending pain, and Jeremiah was eternally grateful.

  “I don’t know what she’s up to,” Numen said. “She’s hiding something though, I know her too well.”

  “The sooner we find out what it is, the better.”

  “It may be of no consequence to us if this spell works. You’ll be free to return to your own time, and I’ll be human once again.”

  Both the Crockworthy and Bishop Grimoires were on the table in front of them.

  The spell Numen needed to use was written in Latin, a language Jeremiah couldn’t speak or read.

  Little did Jeremiah know, the spell wouldn’t return him to his own time, but it would sound the death knell for him.

  Numen intended to take over his body, and force Jeremiah’s soul out.

  “This is the one,” Numen said excitedly. “Are you ready, my friend?”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah replied. “I cannot wait to leave this infernal place and return to my beloved. But what of my face?”

  “You will return to your own time as you used to be, fear not.”

  “Then do it, before Abigail returns and stops you. I want to go home.”

  Numen handed Jeremiah a knife.

  “This spell requires blood, and as I don’t have any, it falls to you, I’m afraid.”

  “If it gets me out of here, take what you want.”

  Numen picked up the Crockworthy Grimoire and placed it in Jeremiah’s hands.

  Kneeling in front of him, Numen gave Jeremiah his final instructions.

  “Hold your wrist up, and when I cut it, place it over the book and allow your blood to run onto it.”

  Numen could see Jeremiah’s nervousness – his eyes darted about. “Get on with it,” he said, his voice muted by the mask.”

  With one quick movement. Numen sliced into Jeremiah’s wrist.

  Jeremiah gasped in pain, but held his bleeding wrist over the book.

  “Now,” Numen said, “Command the book to open and obey you.”

  “Book,” Jeremiah cried. “Open and do my bidding.”

  The pages of the book flew open and settled on a blank page.

  “Good,” Numen said, tapping the knife on the palm of his hand. “Now, Jeremiah, hold the book up and close your eyes -- think of the woman you are to marry.”

  Jeremiah did as he was asked and closed his eyes.

  With one final sweeping motion, Numen dragged the blade of the knife across Jeremiah’s throat.

  “You took the lives of innocent children,” Numen hissed. “And for as many lives as I’ve taken, no children ever died by my hand. This is your punishment.”

  It took no more than a couple of seconds for Jeremiah to realise what had happened, but by that point, his blood had dripped onto the blank pages of the Grimoire.

  He dropped the book and clutched at his throat, trying to stem the bleeding, but it was futile -- the blood continued to pour out, and Jeremiah was finally going to get his comeuppance. Slumping to the floor, he let out a gurgling sound and moved no more. He was dead.

  Numen picked up the book and stood tall, placing the book on the makeshift desk.

  “Now, you will finally do as I command.”

  He moved the book, then turned to look at Jeremiah, and with inhuman strength, lifted him from the floor before placing his body on the desk. Retrieving the book once again, he told the book what he truly desired.

  “I want to be mortal once again,” he said. “Show me the spell.”

  Instantaneously, the blood moved in different directions, forming the spell he needed to become human.

  He read the spell aloud and turned as a crack appeared in Jeremiah’s burnt torso.

  Cracks appeared in the rib cage, the blackened heart now visible.

  Spirit.

  You must stab the heart.

  There is no time to waste.

  Now or never.

  I will not help you again.

  He picked up the dagger and stabbed it into Jeremiah’s heart, watching as Jeremiah’s tainted soul wrestled free of his body.

  It hovered above Jeremiah and a crack appeared in the air, as though a void in time and space had opened to collect him.

  Numen could see Jeremiah’s soul fighting to keep away from the void, but shadowy black tentacles appeared from within and latched onto his soul, pulling it into the void. A scream echoed from within, as the void closed in a flash of light.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Tabitha stood and looked around the hallway. The manor was unusually silent.

  “Tamara,” she called out. “Talia, are you here?”

  No answer.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures and she had no choice, but to summon her sisters.

  “Tamara Crockworthy, I summon thee,” she cried. “Talia Crockworthy, I summon thee.”

  With a whoosh, her sisters appeared before her.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Talia shouted. “We could have been seen by mortals.”

  “Were you?” Tabitha asked.

  “No,” she replied, tartly, “but that’s not the point.”

  Tamara turned away.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” Tabitha asked Tamara.

  “Not to you,” she replied.

  There wasn’t time to deal with her sisters when they were in this sort of obstructive mood, so she would tell them and leave.

  “We’ve found mothers hideout.”

  “The old hotel?” Tamara asked.

  “I thought you had nothing to say to me,” Tabitha reminded her.

  “Oh, knock it off you two,” Talia said, chiming in. “What’s the plan?”

  “The plan is – I’m going to the hotel to snoop around a bit and you’re both going to stay here until I come back.”

  “No chance,” Tamara and Talia said in unison.

  “It’s not up for debate. I only came back here to tell you in case something went wrong. I wanted you to know how much I love you both.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Tamara said, marching toward her sisters and taking hold of their hands.

  Seconds later, they were standing on the deserted road outside the old Dewberry Inn.

  “What are you playing at?” Tabitha asked, irritably. “It’s too dangerous blinking so irresponsibly – we don’t know who’s going to be around.”

  Tamara rolled her eyes. “You�
�re not laying the I love you, goodbye line on us, then expecting us to sit at home not knowing if you’re alive or dead. You know mother took our immortality away and we’re much stronger together.”

  “Tam…” Tabitha tried to speak, but Tamara silenced her, holding up a finger and wiggling it.

  Tabitha flashed an icy stare.

  “And so what if we’re seen – who would believe it?” Tamara shrugged.

  “Talia, talk to her, will you?” Tabitha pleaded.

  “Forget it, Tabi. Tammy’s right. All of us, or we all go home to the manor. You decide.”

  “Goddess help me,” Tabitha said.

  “We’re not mortal,” Talia added. “But over time we’ve forgotten our own heritage. We have powers, we can blink, we cast spells, it’s who we are, and it’s not like we’re being reckless for the sake of it – our lives are in danger.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t sway them, there was little choice but to allow them to stay. “Okay, but you have to listen to me. We’re not gonna go in all guns blazing, do you hear? This is just to make sure mother is actually here – she could have moved on by now.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Numen stood before the book and watched as the blood pooled once again, forming new words.

  It is time.

  “Show me the spell I need.”

  The words reformed into the spell Numen required to take control of the body.

  He’d possessed bodies before, but the human soul was strong and forced him out. This time, nothing would stand in his way.

  Reciting the spell, he returned to spirit form and hovered about the body before entering it.

  Gathering himself together, he felt himself return to his human form, occupying every inch of Jeremiah’s body.

  Reciting the spell again, he felt the wounds on the body begin to heal, and knit itself together again.

  Minutes later, Numen sat up, inspecting his new body. Repulsed by the burns and scars, he walked over to the book.

  “Give me the spell to change my appearance and you are free.”

  Instantly, the blood pooled and formed new words.

  Agreed

  The spell appeared before him. He recited it over and over before striding across the room and looking into the mirror.

  Jeremiah’s skeletal reflection stared back at him. He willed his appearance to change and gradually, the burnt flesh began to regenerate, and the skin began to form.

  Dark eyes stared back at him and he approved of the Roman nose, chiselled jawline and cleft in his chin. The dark brown hair finished his look perfectly.

  That will do nicely, he thought.

  He looked down at his naked, athletic body. It would serve him well in the future, but most pleasing of all, nobody would ever guess who he truly was.

  He turned to look at the book and watched as it vanished along with the Bishop Grimoire.

  “Damn,” he said.

  He’d wanted to find a way to keep the books in his possession, but it wouldn’t hinder the plan formulating in his calculating mind. In fact, what he had planned might disarm the Crockworthy Sisters enough, and when the time came, their book, at least, would once again be his, and their power would revert to him.

  Time was against him.

  He had to leave before Abigail returned knowing she would try to stop him.

  Rushing to the closet, he pulled out a change of clothes, just as Abigail blinked into the room.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “So, what’s the plan?” Talia asked, staring at Tabitha.

  “There is no plan,” Tabitha replied. “For now, we just need to make sure mother is still there. Nothing else.”

  “You’re not going to go through with the Goddess’ plan, are you?” Tamara asked.

  Tabitha ignored the question as her sisters looked worriedly at one another.

  “We need to blink closer to the place, get a better look,” Talia suggested.

  “Okay,” Tabitha replied, “But we stay together. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” her sisters replied and Tabitha gripped hold of them.

  They were about twenty feet away from the property and could see a light in one of the attic rooms.

  “Somebody’s up there,” Tamara whispered. “Do you think it’s Mother?”

  *

  “Who are you?” Abigail asked. She held out the palm of her hand, waiting to strike if needed.

  “Can’t you guess?” Numen replied.

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.” She eyed him suspiciously, something about the voice familiar.

  “I’ll give you three guesses,” he said.

  “I don’t play games. Now, tell me, who are you?”

  “You’re not fun at all, Abigail.”

  “We’ve never met, so how do you know my name?”

  “Oh, we go back a long way. Listen to my voice. Do you really not recognise it?”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Numen,” she exclaimed. “But, how?”

  “I had a little help from Jeremiah, and the missing grimoires.”

  “What did you do to Jeremiah, and how is it possible you have my book?”

  “I took over his body,” he replied, matter of fact. “I needed a body, and his was for the taking. As for the book – it no longer belongs to you, remember?”

  “The book would never have helped you.”

  “Oh, but it did. It had little choice in the end, but the offer of freedom was the final push it needed.”

  “You fool – it tricked you.”

  “Hardly,” Numen replied.

  “It tricked you into giving it freedom. You know as well as I do all grimoires are sentient and freedom is what they crave most.”

  Abigail cackled.

  “Don’t laugh at me, witch.”

  “Thousands of years you have roamed this Earth, and you learn nothing.”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “You’re powerless against me, Numen. You always were,” Abigail yelled.

  She lifted her hand once again and with a small wag of her finger, he was thrown backwards into the wall.

  Abigail jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

  “I’ve waited so many lifetimes to be flesh and blood again – don’t do this.” Numen begged, trying to climb to his feet.

  “Did Jeremiah beg for his life before you took it?” Abigail asked.

  “You promised to help me, Abigail. For years I served you and your family. It was my time.”

  “You’re a demon. Neither myself or my ancestors would have allowed you to become human again.”

  Numen charged at her, his face twisted with rage. “I’ll kill you,” he screamed.

  Abigail laughed and with a flick of her wrist, he was thrown out of the window, crashing to the cement below.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Get down,” Tabitha whispered as the sound of breaking glass shattered the silence.

  “We need to get in there,” Tamara said.

  “No, we don’t,” Talia added. “I’m wearing a new Fendi dress, not battle armour.”

  Tabitha and Tamara rolled their eyes.

  “We stay here,” Tabitha ordered.

  “Sorry, Tabi, but not this time.” Tamara grabbed her sisters’ hands and blinked them into the attic room.

  Abigail twisted around, seemingly surprised to see her daughters.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “Where’s Jeremiah, Mother?” Tabitha asked, stepping in front of her sisters.

  “Dead,” she replied.

  “You killed him,” Talia accused.

  “No, my darling. Numen took Jeremiah’s life.”

  “Why?” Tamara asked, looking surprised by her mother’s tender words.

  Abigail opened her mouth to answer and was suddenly blasted off her feet.

  She lay in a heap on the floor near to the door.

  “Mother,” the sisters cried in unison.

  “Leave h
er,” a woman’s voice called out.

  The sisters turned to see Bridget Bishop, standing defensively.

  But her appearance had changed dramatically from when she was in Moonlight Manor.

  No longer the crotchety old woman that usually appeared to them, she was now beautiful and vibrant. Still, there was no mistaking who it was. The eyes gave it away.

  “Bridget, what are you doing?”

  “Doing what none of you are capable of. Taking the life of Abigail Crockworthy.”

  “No,” Tamara screamed, rushing in front of her mother. “You can’t, she’s pregnant.”

  Abigail looked up. She looked puzzled as to how her daughter knew.

  “I will not allow this child to be born. It was conceived through dark magic and there is no telling what it will become.”

  “The child will be our sister or brother,” Talia replied. “You won’t harm an innocent, Bridget.”

  “And you think you’re strong enough to stop me? Even in death, I’m stronger than you, Talia Crockworthy.”

  “But are you stronger than all of us together?” Tabitha asked.

  Bridget looked at them. It was plainly obvious she was weighing up her options.

  “My mother deserves to be punished for her crimes, we all agree on that,” Tamara added, “But the child is innocent. We don’t kill, you know this.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do,” Bridget hissed. “I expected better of you, Tamara.”

  “My daughters are right, Bridget. My child is innocent. Allow me to give birth and I will come with you and accept whatever punishment you deem suitable.”

  “No,” Bridget replied, walking toward Abigail. “Get out of my way, Tamara, or you’ll feel the full force of my power.”

  Tabitha blinked and reappeared behind Bridget. She grabbed Bridget’s hair and pulled, trying to distract her.

  “Get Mother out, now,” Tabitha screamed, as Bridget twisted around, clawing at Tabitha’s face with her long nails. Bridget shoved Tabitha, sending her sprawling across the floor. “Stay,” Bridget said, and Tabitha was unable to move.

  “You will not escape, Abigail.”