by Nikki Sex
“Good boy, Toby. You feel it too, eh?”
He barks once more in response.
I’m amused to see many well-worn tire tracks making U-turns at regular intervals on this small back road. I smirk because every single one looks thoroughly used.
Normals would be finding all sorts of reasons to turn back by now. They would be remembering they left stoves on, or they forgot their phones. They would wonder why they came here when this road looks far too boring to follow.
With nothing to see, they would quickly spin their SUVs around, travel back the other way, and eventually discover themselves where they started from. Once they return to town, they would no doubt feel heartfelt relief.
“Phew,” they would think to themselves. “That was lucky. I’m sure glad I didn’t go there.”
Depending on the human’s personality, the individual would’ve found the track too boring, too confusing, too dangerous, or perhaps even scary.
The more courageous humans (or the terminally stubborn) may valiantly press on and travel further but might suddenly become deathly ill. It would probably start with a slight headache, moving on to more severe pain. Perhaps, as is often the case with a migraine, they would become nauseous. They may feel the need to throw up.
If they continued, a jackhammer would likely start up in their skulls—pounding heavily, loudly, and repeatedly. Pain would blind them, literally knocking all curiosity about this place out of their heads.
Without a trace of magic, no human may pass through a barrier like this. If normals are allowed to visit these warded lands, they would need supernatural assistance—most likely from a senior member of the pack.
“You guys feeling OK?”
“I feel great,” Owen says from the front passenger seat.
“Can you sense the magic?”
“Yes,” they chorus cheerfully.
“It’s not bothering either of you?”
“It feels nice,” Hope says from the backseat. “I can hear it.”
“Yes.” I nod. “It’s as though it’s calling to me.”
“Exactly,” Owen says, snapping his fingers and turning toward me. “The magic is calling us. It wants us to come.”
A voice inside wonders if perhaps this is not such a good thing.
Magic enchantments are tricky. Look at my mother. She wasn’t a sorceress, per se, but she did dabble in the supernatural. I’m proof of a spell gone wrong.
I’ve never trusted a witch. As far as I can tell, witches—like most people—have their own motives for the things they do. Not everyone’s intentions are altruistic.
Right at the point where humans would be clutching their stomachs in agony, I start to feel excited. I have the gripping certainty something wonderful is coming and it’s right around the corner.
It’s odd to experience this response. It makes me suspicious as hell.
My hands tightly grip the wheel. I keep my eyes open and my senses on high alert.
Even when I feed on energy, I’m always in control. I’m resistant to otherworldly powers. Until now, having a demon has prevented me from falling victim to anything like this. Vampires can’t compel me. Shifters, notoriously attractive, haven’t yet been able to seduce me.
Perhaps, I’m vulnerable due to my connection to Owen and Hope. Or maybe I would have reacted like this any time I crossed a witch-made barricade. I’ve simply never tried.
Hope’s rich, low voice rings with happy laughter. “I wonder what’s on the other side?”
Just as she says that, we hit the strongest point of the protective ward. There’s no going back now. No more turning tracks—we’re past the point of no return.
What’s on the other side?
It looks as though we’re about to find out.
Whenever I’ve thought about passing through a magical wall, I’ve imagined a sensation on my skin of something rubbery. Perhaps like the feel of a balloon or something equally soft, in gentle contact with my flesh. It would give no real resistance while I continue to move forward. As I advance, it would pull, stretch, and suddenly burst.
That’s what I expected.
It’s nothing like what happened.
In place of a sense of movement, I’m stunned by a sudden profound stillness.
Instead of a balloon-like material pressing against my skin—it’s me pushing forward. Everything I am, my very essence, stretches and reaches toward an unquantifiable something.
For a long, silent moment, still traveling onward in my car, we pass through a void. The wholesome, earthy smell is gone. Nothing to see. No sound. No taste or smell—yet every part of me knows I’m in the presence of a ton of raw energy.
Magic.
A blast of sunlight blazes through my brain. Uncovering my past, it lights every dark and hidden corner of my mind.
I’ve never known anything like this kind of enchantment.
Helpless to resist, I fall into a thousand treasured memories.
Chapter 24. Magic Kingdom
The first nineteen years of my life flash by me in living color. Every image in my mind’s eyes displays not only sight, but also holds smells, tastes, sounds, and physical sensation. Every happy moment from my past roars to the surface of my thoughts.
I feel as though I’m there.
I don’t know if you can truly appreciate or imagine what this is like.
It should be too much. It should be overwhelming, but it isn’t. I fast forward through joyous events, viewing my life as though watching a movie from beginning to end. Each precious moment I re-experience in the blink of an eye. In terms of involvement, it’s much more than recalling information.
This is a sensory journey and I remember everything—even things I thought long forgotten.
My earliest recollections are of being carefully held and loved. Gentle caresses, lullaby songs, cooing baby talk, and rough cotton smocks.
I flush with a sense of accomplishment at my first steps, my first words. I hear adults tell me bedtime stories while I’m safe and warm in my bed. I feel pride at my childish accomplishments, I make my parents laugh at my antics. On cold days, I warm myself in front of welcoming indoor fires.
I see my mother, her brown eyes intent as she sits at her dressing table brushing her hair in front of the mirror. The smell of her hands, sweet like the lavender from her garden.
My joy surges when she looks down at me and smiles.
I discover detailed recollections of my father, a gruff sort of man. How mother would sing when he played his flute around the hearth after the evening meal. His music had been as pure and as beautiful as magic.
Such ancient history. How could I have forgotten how important he had been in my world?
My childhood had its moments of instability like any childhood, I suppose. My dad’s sudden absence during the war, then his death. These unwelcome memories are glossed over.
The spell I’m under pulls me only toward desirable images. Happy times. Moments of pleasure.
I feel exultant, but is it real? I don’t trust magic I can’t control.
Not surprisingly, it’s my mother who had the greatest influence upon me.
Crazy as she was, my mom loved me. When I was young, I was given clear limits. Right, wrong, good, bad. There’s a peculiar sense of security in having known boundaries as a child.
Over time, even though my mother was becoming more and more of a liability, I was devastated when she died. Any pain I felt when I view this memory isn’t there. Once again, the enchantment pushes me toward only the positive aspects.
My mom represented every certainty I had about who I was and what I was supposed to do.
When she was gone, my mind, my life—in fact, my whole world was in turmoil. Instead of clear black and white boundaries, there were too many choices. Too much responsibility, too many decisions to make on my own.
It was overwhelming. Too sudden. Like a ship without an anchor in a storm, I felt lost.
For what seems an endless mom
ent in time, I savor the feelings I cherished when my mother was there. Security. Safety. The indescribably vital feeling of being loved. I’m awash with affection and contentment. It really is quite exquisite.
Uh oh. Witch magic. Is it messing with me or not?
Mine was perhaps not a perfect upbringing, yet I knew my place in the scheme of things. I wasn’t an outsider. I never felt as though I didn’t belong.
It all changed after my mother died. From then on, I moved from town to town, from country to country. Any friends I made were transitory. Any places I lived were never my own. Without roots, I nomadically left the locals behind.
I spent my life seeking comfort and knowledge. I searched for answers, energy, magic, and pleasure.
Regrettably, any satisfaction I obtained always seemed extremely short-lived.
Don’t get me wrong—I love to travel, to learn, and to meet new people, but it’s not enough. As I pass through the barrier, I suddenly realize everything I’ve done was an attempt to fill the void, to remedy the aching emptiness I have inside.
Family, friends, community—I understand life with fresh clarity. A meaningful connection to others is the only thing of real value.
Unfortunately, my associations must remain somewhat shallow. Thanks to my inner friend, trust is a huge issue. I can’t allow anyone to become close. I can confide in no one. Safer for them. Safer for me.
Why am I absolutely certain I’ll feel valued here—in this place?
Body, heart, and soul, I stretch toward that wonderful familiarity and connection I knew as a child. It is right there ahead of me. As I travel beyond the protective ward, between one heartbeat and the next, I feel as though I’ve come home.
This is a magic spell, I remind myself. It isn’t real.
This intimate review of my past takes one second or perhaps an hour. They are timeless moments of comfort and happiness that leave me with a sense of joy. Yet after I cross through the barrier, I’m even more pleased and surprised.
Wondrous sights, sounds, tastes, and smells explode into my conscious awareness. I’ve gone from a void of nothingness to re-experiencing pleasurable moments from my past, right into a whole new world.
“Oh,” Hope gasps.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Owen mutters, an expletive he learned from his church-going mother. I expect him to cross himself, but he doesn’t.
Toby, the Wonder Dog who rarely barks, bounces wildly on the backseat as much as his harness allows. Barking like crazy, he can’t shut up.
My eyes widen, devouring the astonishing sight. This new world is bright and alive. Even the sky seems subtly different. Clean. Clear.
This is a magic land. It’s incredible!
I power down all four electric windows, inhale the sweet smell of fresh air and nature. Inexplicably exultant, I feel alive in a way I’ve never known.
It’s brisk outside, the sun is lowering. The sound of birdsong and nothing else can be heard. No traffic noise. No sounds of civilization. I wonder if I can see the crystal trails left by jets in the sky or are those gone, too?
We’re in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, but we’ve also arrived in some sort of Shangri-La. The grass is greener, the trees are healthier, the air is fresher. The witch’s ward has kept out far more than unwanted humans.
It has kept out all wrongness.
Comparable to the forests of J. R. R. Tolkien's Lothlórien, the sense of enchantment I feel makes me wonder if I’ve stepped into the Middle-earth realm of elves—either that or the Garden of Eden.
This place is like earth when it was younger, during a period of innocence and purity.
Have we traveled back in time?
In front of us is a huge dwelling built with natural materials—massive timbers and various sizes of stone. I see six rock chimneys on the rooftop, a small amount of smoke coming from only one of them. When I say huge, I’m talking mega hotel big. The structure has got to be three stories high in places.
The artisans who built it were highly skilled and creative. The masonry they’ve fashioned is beyond anything I’ve seen, except perhaps in the castles of Europe.
I’d truly consider we have traveled to the past, except for solar panels covering the roof of the building. Those and various cars and motorcycles parked undercover at the front of the structure.
It isn’t really cold, but through a window, I view a welcoming fire in the cavernous fireplace.
Alongside the building is a lusciously green paddock with a post and horizontal split rail fence. Apple trees artistically adorn the grassy area, their branches heavily burdened. Red, yellow, and green apples look ripe for harvesting.
So much to see.
I take it all in at a glance as I slowly drive toward the enormous building. The crushed gravel we started with on this magical journey has transformed into a shiny paved road. No, not the yellow brick road to Oz, but not far from it. I found out later the road glitters because it’s solar.
A sign clearly proclaims, “Welcome to Spukani Lodge.” It’s a promising beginning.
I park in a covered space, turn to confer with my friends. Owen’s face shines with delight. In his exultant doggy manner, Toby snuffs and sneezes happily.
Hope regards me with luminous green eyes. Her voice is breathless as she expresses what we all feel.
Hope laughs joyously. “This is where I belong!”
Chapter 25. Spukani Lodge
Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.
I turn my head to see a handful of horses and a gorgeous foal. With large, intelligent eyes, their necks arch proudly, their dainty hooves raise high as they prance.
The animals seem to be pursuing an enormous wolf in the paddock. They “attack” it, not in anger nor for defense or protection.
I think they’re having fun.
The foal rears and bucks, throwing his head around, charging and whinnying loudly as though it’s the herd stallion. The other animals indulge the young one’s antics, allowing him to go first.
The wolf slips behind apple trees, and out again. I can tell by the animal’s unique energy signature it’s a werewolf. Incredible! It’s a magnificent animal and much, much larger than I expected. It seems they can shift to wolf form anytime, not only when under a full moon.
In. Out. The wolf appears to be teasing and taunting the horses. It looks as though the fascinating creatures are all playing together. It’s a tag, you’re it game.
Maybe I’ll see a unicorn next.
My heart lifts. I know horses. Who better? Lord Ravensthorpe’s equestrian skills and knowledge on the subject—became mine the day he took my virginity. Not long after, much to my Lord’s dismay, I dressed as a man, left the literal ashes of my old life, and escaped on his handsome chestnut stallion, Emperor.
Now that was a horse.
If you imagine the most magnificent animals in the world, the horses in this paddock would be on the top of the list. One glorious mare and stallion are astonishingly golden. Another is black with a white mane and tail. I recognize Appaloosa and quarter horse in the group.
Emperor made quite an impression. Even after all this time, nothing makes me feel more welcome and at home than a meadow full of healthy, well-loved horses.
The golden pair can shift to human—I taste powerful were-magic surrounding them both. The foal is dusky tan, but I sense a human child inside his deceptive animal exterior. The others are “normal,” even though they, too, look extraordinary.
I didn’t even know there were shifter horses. What else don’t I know?
Once I turn off my Tesla, and the hum ceases, the horse and wolf game comes to an immediate stop. They spin around, prick their ears, and trot toward us. With their acute hearing, they must have heard us approach.
Maybe they’ve been waiting for us to stop and get out.
Wow. Male werewolf. The power radiating from him makes me suck in a hungry breath. No doubt my demon likes him. The shifter is perhaps a hundred, to
one-hundred and forty. As a man, he’s most likely half that age.
I mutter under my breath. “Remember what I told you. No feeding while we’re here.”
My demon is strangely silent, but he’s remained quiet before. Slipping through the witch’s barrier might’ve upset him. I’d give a lot to be able to talk to my inner monster right now. To find out what memories and thoughts the spell brought to the surface for him.
Loping toward us, the wolf easily jumps the fence. I flinch in response. One night, long ago, a colleague and me were bitten by a maddened lycanthrope. I never saw the creature, but I sensed what it was. My coworker transformed during the next full moon, but I never did. Demon magic protected me.
This is the first time I’ve viewed a werewolf in beast form.
I have to say, I’m enormously impressed.
The wolf is gray, maybe two-hundred and fifty pounds of lean muscle. His shoulders would likely be taller than my waist. His tail is long and bushy; it points downward as he trots along. I can see his sharp, prey-killing canines—a sight that would frighten most people.
Baring his large, healthy teeth—the wolf looks as though he’s smiling. He doesn’t scare me. In fact, he reminds me of any big, happy, playful dog. Maybe a Labrador or a retriever.
I’ll never mention that to him, of course.
One half of the huge double-size doors to the lodge opens, an older woman comes out. Her energy signature is obvious—she’s a werewolf, too.
Laugh lines and life lines show on her face. Long gray hair and bright gray eyes, she smiles her welcome as she gallops down the stairs. Her hair is up in braids forming an elaborate coiffure. She looks maybe seventy in human years, but she’s lean and fit as can be.
“Hello, hello, welcome,” she greets us through the car windows, breathless in her excitement. “Three of you? How wonderful.”
Still smiling, the wolf silently slides beside her. I was right, the wolf’s shoulders reach to her waist. The woman absently runs her fingers along the animal’s head. Caressing one ear, her hand travels further until it remains on his shoulder. His red aura joins with her blue one. Together, they make a seamless violet.
