by Sherry Soule
“Deal. Don’t want people thinking I’m stranger than I already am.”
“You’re gifted, not strange.”
Instead of disagreeing, I nodded and met his eyes.
He rubbed his chin. “We can help each other. Being a paranormal investigator for a private group allows me access to certain undisclosed reports on supernatural activity. It has been especially illuminating to discover the origins of Whispering Pines. Statistically there’s been more mysterious deaths and people gone missing than any other place in California.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Therefore, I hope you can be discreet with the information I’m about to entrust you with.” His voice, though quiet, held an ominous quality. “You may not be ready to hear this, but unfortunately, we don’t have much time. And I’m going to need your assistance cleansing this house. My brother-in-law asked me to look into the stories regarding Ravenhurst. It has a rather ominous reputation, and I have come to the conclusion that it is unquestionably haunted.”
I kicked at the ground with my sneaker. “Tell me something I don’t know. People have been saying that for years.”
“Well, I can assure you it’s true. Temperature fluctuations in the upstairs rooms proves it was the scene of at least one nefarious plot. Ravenhurst has had a myriad of violent and unsavory happenings. More than its share of murders, suicides, and mysterious disappearances, without which no haunted house would be complete.”
“Wow. So…it’s true. About the house.” I looked up with a smile. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia of supernatural info!”
He shook his head. “Um, thank you, Shiloh, for that profound observation.” He stared at Ravenhurst, his face pensive as he said, “If you think about it, houses exist not only to provide shelter and comfort from the elements, but some houses are alive—what we call haunted—and they can attract evil. Even welcome it.”
“How?” I frowned, wishing my gut would disagree with him. Wishing he hadn’t told me architectural structures could become alive, much less evil.
“Certain houses exist through us, sharing our emotions and experiences. The structures can consume our joys, wraths, even our sorrows. Some houses can become a doorway of sorts for the underworld. And in this instance, Ravenhurst is quite literally malign.”
Gazing at Ravenhurst with a new perspective, apprehension, and dread coiled in my stomach, pulsating throughout my body. The mansion’s obvious evil intent surrounded us. Observant and listening. I’d thought the dark entities had followed me to Ravenhurst. I was wrong. My witchy instincts informed me that the darkness was coming from the actual building itself. Hmm, maybe I should consider changing my career choice...
“Then is it safe for people to live in?” I asked, concerned about Trent.
“Hmmm…not really. But the Donovans are stubborn and refuse to move. That’s where we come in. Together we will cleanse this house of its bad mojo—so to speak…I hate to see my brother-in-law and nephew live surrounded by evil. Even if they can’t see the darkness like we can, I know they feel it.” Evans took off his glasses and abstractedly cleaned them with a handkerchief, then said, with a lowered voice, “The trouble is, I also believe Ravenhurst is harboring a demon that’s trying to regain its former strength.” He put his spectacles back on. “As a gentleman of the old school, I thought it my duty to warn you.”
This is my cue to quit. A witch-in-training is no Buffy!
Mustering courage within me, I said strongly, “That’s cool. I’m glad you did…I, um, want to help. Honest.”
“Good. I was hoping you would. That’s why I’m telling you all this. I knew I could trust you. The most imperative thing to remember here, is that Ravenhurst is not merely a house,” he said, his cheeks reddened and puffed out. “It is a place filled with inconceivable mystical energy. I’m sure you sensed it immediately. The power attracts otherworldly elements. There are places throughout the world where the barriers between dimensions are weak, and that weakness acts as a conduit, which would account for the abundance of paranormal activity in Whispering Pines over the years. Ravenhurst is one such place. It can lure…paranormals.”
“You’re joking.”
“I most certainly am not. Over the years Ravenhurst has fed on the lingering energy of tormented souls who refuse to pass on…like Claire Donovan. Unleashed power like Ravenhurst’s can lead to a cataclysmic state of affairs.” He offered me a feeble smile that I didn’t return. “And, well, you can’t deny Ravenhurst is exceptionally eerie.”
I nodded, thinking, whatever the heck that means. “Eerie?” I echoed.
My eyes searched the terrain. No sign of ghosts. Nothing undead lurking in the bushes. No shadows creeping through the grass. No Shadow Man trying to menace me.
Fog was burning off. The sun warmed my skin. I was safe. Right?
Evans spoke again, interrupting my inner babble. “Yes, eerie. Insidious. Most scientists debunk claims of the supernatural, but there is sufficient proof that unexplained phenomena does exist in the world.”
I blinked at his somber face. Yep, he’s not smiling.
“Oh-kay. Way to make a girl feel welcome.” When he chuckled, I shook my head and said, “So you’re saying Ravenhurst sits over a nexus?”
“Come again?”
“On the TV show Charmed, their house, Halliwell Manor, existed over a Spiritual Nexus, you know, a point of incredible energy and untold power. Like Ravenhurst.”
“Um, interesting comparison, but yes, in a manner of speaking.” His face flushed. Evans cleared his throat and said, “I’ve also heard rumors concerning an active coven in Whispering Pines referred to as the Blood Rose Circle.”
Crud, I almost forgot about the local coven.
“It’s true.” My shoulders caved inward. “And there’s something you don’t know about my family.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“My ancestors were witches on my mother’s side,” I said, my eyes fixed on the ground. “And I guess you could say—I’m finally out of the broom closet!” I laughed at my own pun, and then added more seriously, “But it’s been tough because I don’t have anyone to talk to about it.”
It felt good to tell Evans. He needed to know about my family—my heritage. About Jillian and the coven. If Evans was here to protect Trent and get rid of the scary things that went bump in the night, he needed to know. And I knew I could trust him.
“I know.”
My head rose and my mouth fell open. “You do?”
“Yes, they practiced a form of Wicca, and I suspect they still do. What’s remarkable is the fact that you are the thirteenth descendant born into the Broussard family, and thirteen can be a powerful number. Although over time it has acquired a reputation of evil. That’s the reason most American skyscrapers don’t have a thirteenth floor and airlines omit the thirteenth seat in airplanes. It is considered the number of the spirits. And a witch’s coven is composed of thirteen members.”
Prophecy of the Thirteenth Daughter. I remembered. A legend that foretold the coming of a girl who will break the town curse. Me?
Evans motioned to a stone bench near the roses. Their musky perfume wafted around our heads. I sat down on my hands and crossed my legs.
His tone became conspiratorial. “The Broussards were among thirteen families that came to the United States to escape religious persecution. Your ancestry starts there. Moreover, you are the most recent in a distinguished line of heritage witches. Because you, my dear, are the thirteenth daughter.”
I ran my fingers over my head, smoothing the loose strands off my face. Gaining control over my hair, if not over my life. Trying to decide if I should mention the prophecy, then decided it could wait. “That’s kinda bizarre. I wonder what that means.”
“It could mean you are capable of great power. We’ll have to establish what your magickal talents include besides your obvious ability of sight. There are experiments we can do to see if you have any other inherent magickal abilities.”
My
shock over his bluntness was forgotten in a sudden rush of affection for him. I was touched. Really. He wanted to help me. Evans was a kindred spirit. The realization was both comforting and unnerving. I’d never had anyone I could trust with my secrets before.
“I did some research at the library on Wicca,” I said. “I was worried, because I always considered myself a Christian and I thought witchcraft was evil. But it isn’t.” I shrugged. “Wicca is different. They recognize Mother Earth and have a deep respect for the environment. Wiccans tap into earth’s energy by aligning with her. I think I’m more into Christian Witchery. But you’re like some sort of expert on the paranormal.”
“I suppose I am.” Evans grinned with pride. “I find it rather fascinating.” Evans yanked at the stiff collar of his starched shirt. “And what a dull world it would be if everything had a clear-cut explanation.” He stared into my eyes. “What do you know about using magick?”
“Not much. I have a grimoire and I’ve experimented with a few spells—”
“Using magick is not something one plays around with, Shiloh. You must be cautious. One cannot just read some incantations, draw a few occult symbols, and add some ingredients to a caldron, and expect miracles. Spells are an art, and as such require dedication and devotion to become proficient. The truth is that the Old Ways, the Old Religions, are largely a mystery.”
Blah, blah, blah.
I frowned, wanting the lecture to be over. “I know all about the Rule of Three. Whatever energy you put out into the world, positive or negative, will be returned to you three times.”
“Yes, the rule of three is a good thing to remember while practicing the craft. Out of curiosity what have you been casting?”
“Nothing much…well, I did try this spell to turn all the traffic lights green. Since then, you know, small stuff. Floating books, dispelling negativity, and a protection ritual, where I burn sage and use a turtle shell rattle to ward off evil, while reciting an incantation I found in my ancestors’ grimoires. And I’ve been using a psychic defense since I was younger to dispel ghosts. Like a wall of energy.” I’d been practicing witchcraft in my room over the last three weeks. He started to speak but I held up my hand to cut him off. I didn’t want to hear him lecture me again about doing spells. Not when magick could save my life. Or the life of another. “Can we do a test to see if I am telekinetic?”
“Of course. I think that’s a good idea. But why do you think you have that particular talent?”
“Just a hunch.”
Evans pointed across the yard. “While the men are working on the other side of the mansion, I want you to move that fallen tree branch by the gate. Close your eyes and concentrate. Imagine raising the branch and moving it into the back of that truck. The one full of debris.”
Charm padded over to us. She licked her paw and eyed Evans with a critical squint. Sitting beside Evans on the bench, I closed my eyes and concentrated on having a connection with everything around me. Nothing happened at first. “I call upon the elements of Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit. I call you now. Appear to me,” I said quietly. Charm purred and jumped on my lap. A graze of wind caressed my cheek, warmed by the heat of an indiscernible flame. Scents from the roses, grass, and fresh dirt lined my nostrils. My skin quivered as it recognized the power of Mother Earth swirling around my body. I pictured hoisting the heavy branch into the air and relocating it into the dump truck that brimmed with foliage. Electric tingles sent a surge of magickal energy into my fingers. After a soft snap and flash of white light, a circle of energy washed over me. Unexpected power stretched and moved within me. My pulse spiked, pumping adrenaline. I opened my eyes. The branch hovered over the bed of the truck. Someone coughed, the sound followed by the tread of footsteps. I panicked and the branch plummeted into the truck, raising a mound of dust and leaves.
I suddenly remembered the book on telekinesis Mary had given me. Wow, now that makes total sense. I smiled and stroked Charm’s fur.I’ve found my familiar too. Or rather, she found me. Charm will make a wonderful partner in crime—er, magick!
“Excellent,” Evans said, patting me on the back. “I sensed you had true magick, but that was incredible. You’re like Jean Grey, the Dark Phoenix.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The who? What?”
“Jean Grey is a superhero and one of the five original members of the X-Men.”
I laughed, amused that the straight-laced Evans knew about superheroes. “That’s kinda cool, I guess.” I stared at the branch sticking out of the back of the truck. I did that! My mind was a tangle of incoherent thoughts and feelings. Magick still thrummed on my skin and buzzed in my fingertips. If I held onto any doubt about what Aunt Lauren had told me, I sure didn’t now. “So it’s true. I’m a witch! How awesome is that?” Saying it aloud made it seem even more real. I smiled and impulsively blurted, “I like you. Even if you are kind of a fuddy duddy.”
Evans blushed at my outburst and smiled. “I like you too, Shiloh.”
I uncrossed my legs, rocking back and forth. “Tell me more about Ravenhurst.”
“Well,” he began, “The land was once used by a tribe of Native Americans, the Coast Miwok, as an Indian burial ground.”
“Yeah, I heard people robbed the graves.”
“Grave robbery? That’s interesting.”
“Uh, don’t you mean gross and disturbing?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Terrible thing. Not very civilized.”
I felt a flicker of amusement cross my face. This guy is definitely weird. And I like weird people.
“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” I said slowly while my brain caught up to everything we’d discussed. “Ravenhurst is haunted—duh—and attracts evil. A demon is hanging out in it, and a few ghosts are trapped inside, Claire being one of them. There is a secret coven, and the only hope this town has of breaking the curse is a witch-in-training and a ghost hunter?” I snickered. “Boy, when I signed on for this job—it sure wasn’t what I expected. We don’t have a chance in hell of surviving, do we?” Hysterical laughter bubbled inside my chest.
Not a good time to lose it. You can do this, Shiloh. Be a witch. Save lives.
“Don’t be so cynical. Of course we do.” Evans stood and brushed dirt off his trousers. Then he offered me his hand and pulled me up. While we walked the property, he pointed out things about the estate. “Hmm, we can plant more boxwood hedges and prune those Carolina cherry laurels…”
Our feet shuffled through detritus, past workmen in yellow hardhats, and roofers using harnesses to replace the tiles. Other workers scraped old paint and patched rotted boards.
Thickening shadows moved. Red eyes blinked. Black shapes glided ahead of us into the garden. Flitting beneath the canopy of shade trees. Hiding from sunlight like vampires. The sky was cloudy, and they darted in and out of the shade like little thieves. We paused in the garden beneath an oak. The dead leaves had turned brown and verdant vines snaked around the withered trunk. Pansies grew unruly within the roots, with their bad-tempered little faces raised toward the sun.
My mouth dried. But I didn’t feel as afraid as I normally would. I guess learning I had powers—real magick—could make one a little braver. I moved out from under the shade of the tree, then stopped and turned to stare at him. Sunbeams set fire to the back of my neck. Safe in the sun. Safe with Evans. Yeah, sure.
“It breaks my heart that houses such as this fall into such decay,” Evans said. “Now, everything is tract housing.” He paused to stare at Ravenhurst and spoke with soft reverence, saying, “The serpent hisses where the sweet birds sing.”
“Um, where have I heard that before?”
“It’s an old quote from Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Said to imply that even beautiful things can be dangerous.” He smiled. “We have a lot of work to do, you and I.”
“Yeah, I’m psyched.” Not! I rubbed at a tic under my eye.
“Good.” Evans patted my shoulder. “I don’t want you to
worry. We can handle this.”
A balmy rush hit my bare legs. I touched the scar on my forearm. It blistered with pain. I massaged my arm over my thin blouse and accidently lifted the sleeve, exposing the scar. It thrummed. Yes, thrumming with weird energy. A wound of dejection that would never be healed. The sight of the scar tissue gave me an emotional gulp, equal parts anguish and horror. I yanked my sleeve down, keeping one hand over my arm. But not before Evans saw it.
He clutched my wrist and raised the sleeve of my hoodie. “Oh god,” he exclaimed. “You’ve been marked.”
“What? It’s only a scar—”
“No. I’m afraid not, dear girl. A wound like that can either be the Devil’s Mark or—”
I yanked my arm away. “I thought a Devil’s Mark was like a birthmark or a hairy mole or something.”
“Not always. It can take different forms. One like yours comes from being tainted by a curse. Your soul branded by something not of this world. A sinister and ancient entity. Maybe the same one bound to this house.”
My voice a whisper, I said, “Have you seen the demon?”
“No, but I have felt its presence. Smelled the brimstone. I am no fanatical bible thumper; nevertheless, I do know demons stalk the unwary of this world in diverse ways.”
As if his words invoked the powers of the underworld, a smoky figure crawled through the fragrant grass. So close, I could reach out and slide my hand into the cluster of darkness. I gulped. Barely breathed. I had the strongest urge to jump in my Jeep and drive home. Forget my promise to Trent. Forget this stupid job. Forget a career in architecture. Especially if it meant I would be dealing with evil houses.
But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to figure out what the wraith wanted. Why I was marked for death. And I had to help Evans cleanse Ravenhurst.
I shut my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe.
