by Morgana Best
I have a natural thorn for writing on candles, but didn’t want to use my thorn for a reversal spell, so used the nail scissors I keep for such things. No, I don’t use them for cutting my toenails; I have another set for that.
I wrote the words "Unseen Enemy" on the candle, and then set it alight. I said,
“The cord between us was long
The cord between us was strong
But now is decaying, fraying, burning, breaking.”
As I said these words, I held a red ribbon over the flame. It instantly burned in half.
I continued,
“The link is broken.
Powers, thoughts and words spoken
Likewise have no power.”
For good measure, I added,
“Anyone who causes harm,
I work this spell and your evil disarm.
You are from this moment stopped
My power can never be stopped.
Divine justice works for me
Never victorious can you ever be
Anyone of evil intent
Your work against me is torn and rent
This I declare with harm to none
So mote it be, my will be done!”
I then closed the circle, wrapped a fluffy, lavender scented white towel around me, and went downstairs to watch X Factor. My favorite singer was in the bottom two but wasn’t eliminated. I fell asleep on the sofa half way through Criminal Intent, and woke up with a headache. Diva was sitting close by watching me, and when I reached out to stroke her, she ran away. I guess I was still in her bad books.
I was pouring a small glass of red when Melissa called. I couldn't tell her the truth, so, after thanking her profusely for minding Diva, simply said I was recovering from food poisoning.
"Oh that's awful. Are you okay? I'm worried about you. Look, I'll let you go then. Call me when you feel better."
"No, no, I'm fine now. Well, much better anyway. We can talk." I didn't feel well enough to chat, but I was relieved to chat with Melissa after our frosty discussion in Melbourne.
"I just called to get your help with an article I have to write on Samhain, but I can call back tomorrow."
"No, I'm fine, really. Go on." I sipped the wine.
"My angle is that in the Northern Hemisphere, Halloween falls around Samhain, but in the Southern Hemisphere at the very same time it's Beltane, and I want to write on the difficulties of that, collective consciousness and so on."
"Yup." I sipped some more wine and hoped it was considered hydration.
"I've read that the veil is thin at Samhain, the veil between the land of the living and the land of the spirits."
"Yup." Sip. Sip.
"Is there really a veil? Or is it metaphorical?"
I tried to think. "Dunno. I've heard some say that it simply means that we can be more aware of the spirits at this time. I do know a lady who insists it's a real veil. I don't know much about it. Is Skinny giving you a hard time?" My voice trailed off. Speaking was an effort.
"No, not over this. She doesn't know that I'm a step ahead of her anyway."
I knew this was a reference to Melissa's secret relationship with Keith, the owner of the magazine. "Has she mentioned firing me again?"
"Not as far as I know, but I'll keep you posted."
I murmured my thanks.
"I want to use it in my novel, too." Melissa was writing a feminist, paranormal romance novel. I doubted she'd ever finish it, as she seemed to spend more time reading up on the theory.
"How's that coming along?"
"I've decided I don't want to use Phlebotinum in it, and that will be hard as it's a paranormal romance."
I was taken aback. "What on earth is Phleb, phelb, err, otinum?"
"You know, a device that doesn't exist in real life but which is used to further the plot, such as Doctor Who's sonic screwdriver, that sort of thing. That reminds me, I know who River Song is; I know all there is to know about her now."
I had known who River Song was for some years, and so, I assumed, did the rest of the world, but I didn't want to hurt Melissa's feelings. She was so behind the times with TV. "No spoilers, Melissa," I said with amusement. "I haven't downloaded the newest ones from the U.K. yet. Why can't you use that Phelb word for your novel?"
"Phlebotinum. I could use it if I wanted to, but I'd rather not. I'm not even going to take the high ground and use Aesoptinum."
I resisted the urge to ask, said I'd call the next day, and hung up.
I got out my packet of crackers and bookmarked Millionaire Matchmaker and Murdoch Mysteries to watch on cable that night. I fell asleep again sometime in Millionaire Matchmaker and woke up after it was over, disappointed that I hadn't recorded it and wouldn't discover if Patti had chased one of the millionaires out of her office.
I fell back to sleep and had the most ghastly nightmare about men in black hoods and cloaks. It was one of those dreams where you're sure while you are dreaming that it was real life and not a dream. I was awoken by a knock at the door. I wasn't about to answer it; I've seen enough horror movies to know not to do that. I also wasn't silly enough to say, "Who's there?" That always annoys me when they do that in movies.
I held my breath, muted the TV, and waited. No more knocking. That wasn't a good sign. Thankfully I knew all the doors and windows were locked as I had done that as soon as I had arrived home. I'd also looked under the beds and in the closet for criminals, and in the kitchen cupboards for very short criminals. You can't be too careful. I've seen every episode of Game of Thrones.
After about half an hour or so, I picked up my golf driving iron and gingerly opened the front door slightly, and then peeked around.
"I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat."
(Edgar Allan Poe)
Chapter Fourteen.
And that brings me back to the voodoo doll.
It wasn't a nice looking doll, and my spiritual alarms were pinging at maximum. It was sitting right on my doorstep. I knew better than to touch it.
The doll was dressed like me, and as if that wasn't enough, my name was pinned to the doll by a black pin. It looked like a piece of my favorite scarf, but it could have been a piece of any blue and white scarf. I couldn't tell if it was my own hair or simply hair my color. A white shroud was all around the doll, but the spiritual shroud of malevolence had even more impact on me.
The doll exuded a feeling of antiquity merged with an ancient power, a horrible power.
Voodoo dolls have quite the reputation, thanks to Hollywood. However, I knew from previous research that the term "voodoo doll" is used to describe any doll used for magic in many cultures, even ancient Greek or Hittite. As far as I knew, the term started with Hollywood, while actual practitioners preferred such terms as doll baby or poppet. Voodoo dolls generally were used for blessings, healing, love, protection, improving finances, and used far less commonly for harm against another person.
I knew far less about the pentagram at the bottom of the steps. I didn't have the foggiest notion why it would be used in conjunction with the voodoo doll.
That just didn't make sense. It did not belong to any tradition known to me, and I had researched a few of them for the magazine. As far as I knew, pentagrams were protective symbols. I did know sulfur and red peppers were used in Hot Foot powder in hoodoo, and I'm sure they had many other uses. I could only conclude that the pentagram setup was simply theatrical, intended to confuse and frighten me.
I couldn't leave the items outside for the neighbors to see in the morning but I had no intention of going near them. I did the only thing I could do. I shut the door, locked it, then poured another glass of wine and drank it rapidly.
My laptop, of course, was on and ready to go, but for once I bypassed the laptop and headed for a book, a real book as some would call them. Books were tax deductions and apart from that, I love them, whether "real books" or ebooks. I had the very book that would help, and it was right on my bookshelf in easy reach.
&n
bsp; The Voodoo Doll Spellbook: A Compendium of Ancient and Contemporary Spells and Rituals by anthropologist Denise Alvarado. The very first page told of a 2008 incident in which the husband of a Commissioner Zenaida Denizac found a black plastic dish containing a wax covered voodoo doll which had a photo of his wife pinned to it. It was burned and covered in black powder, and like my doll, had pins stuck all over it.
I googled "Commissioner Zenaida Denizac." She was alive and well, years after the incident, and this gave me hope. I poured another glass of wine, and went back to the book. It said the use of doll babies was an example of sympathetic magic, which reminded me that I had written an article on sympathetic magic two years ago. It would be in the pile of old magazines.
I stood up suddenly and felt horribly dizzy. I hoped this wasn't the doll spell working, although I'd had more than a glass of wine on an empty stomach, if you don't count the crackers.
The specific issue was easy to find. There are some advantages to being a neat freak. My article included a translation of a Hittite spell which used sympathetic magic. My article said that the Hittites were a major world power rivaling the Egyptians over three thousand years ago, and they lived in what is now Southern Turkey. The three and a half thousand year old spell was featured in a special box; the graphic artist had gone all out. At the top of the box I had written that the "Old Woman" is a technical term for a priestess/magic worker.
Someone had cursed two men so they had gone to the Old Woman for help. She made wax dolls to look like both men. After a lengthy spell, the curse was transferred to the dolls and they were burned.
That helped me understand a bit more about sympathetic magic, but I'd hoped the article would have some way to remove the curse. Back to The Voodoo Doll Spellbook. It offered a whole chapter on protection. My relief turned to dismay when I realized I didn't have all the ingredients needed for the spells.
I turned to my notes. Over the years I'd jotted down spells and other interesting information. I picked up one folder and the page opened to the heading, "blueberries." I hadn't noted the source of the information, very unlike me to do so.
My own handwriting was hard to read, but I deciphered the information to mean that eating blueberries increases someone's ability to resist psychic attack. That's good; I eat blueberries every day. I blend frozen blueberries with oat milk to a thick consistency, and then add lactose-free yogurt and grated dark chocolate. Yummy and healthy to boot. The notes continued to say that blueberries can be used as a powerful protection charm. I already had a blueberry bush in a pot as protection. I didn't know how well it worked, considering that Aunt Beth had a blueberry bush growing at her door, and she'd been murdered.
Ignoring my stomach rebelling from thoughts of solid food, I googled in earnest to find information on how to counteract the pentagram, but couldn't find any spiritual path to which it could belong.
Worst case scenario, I could pick up the voodoo doll with a pair of kitchen tongs and throw it in the trash away from my house, then wash the step where it had been with salt. I had a bottle of citronella essential oil and could pour that on the step, too. Citronella was good for cleansing.
The pentagram still had me stumped. I was even at a loss as to what to google. I finally settled on "pentagram skull candles." That was not much help, turning up links to products or games. I was about to change my search terms when I stumbled across a 2006 article from the U.K. Daily Mail. Builders were demolishing a building that had been owned by Aleister Crowley, whom the article wrongly called a "Satanist." In the rubble they found a human skull and a flickering candle, and next to it, twigs arranged in the shape of a pentagram.
I was sidetracked for a moment by the article's errors. Aleister Crowley was an occultist, not a Satanist, but the article confused the two.
Back to google. "Skull inside pentagram" brought up only four entries, all about shirts. I found several entries for "skull with top removed." No luck there either. Google provided no clue as to what tradition it could be from. I figured my initial hunch had been right: it had been put there simply to scare me.
Rain started falling. I would have to do something before whatever nastiness was in the pentagram, if indeed there was any, leaked all over my lawn. The kitchen yielded a pair of tongs and a large plastic trash bag. I had no idea what to do, so would have to ad-lib. I put my car keys in my pocket, put on some rubber gloves and poured sea salt into the trash bag, and then sneaked outside, looking around for any sign of life. I reached for the doll, seized it with the tongs and then pushed it into the bag, sprinkled sea salt over the step and poured the citronella on too.
Careful not to step where the doll had been, I made my way down to the skull. The candles had all gone out; the rain had seen to that. I used the tongs to pick up the outside candles first, and threw them in the trash bag, then threw in the skull too as well as the tongs, and then the rubber gloves. I poured salt all over the area. The rain was already washing away the chalk.
I hurried to the car, careful to look in the back seat. No one was there. I knew there was a trash can outside the local coffee shop, so I drove there as fast as I could in the weather conditions. The rain was blinding now. I hopped out and threw the trash bag in the trash can, and then drove home. Luckily no one saw me; talk spreads quickly in a small town. I parked for a while and looked around for any sign of anyone else, then had to use a bit of self-talk to motivate myself to leave the safety of the car and get back in the house.
I managed to unlock the front door after fumbling with the keys, went inside and locked the door behind me in double quick time, and hurried to look in places that intruders could hide. I then stripped off and threw all my clothes in the washing machine, and added a handful of sea salt and lemongrass brew to the water.
Once the washing was underway, I headed for the bathroom and ran a bath with sea salt, Epsom Salts, rue, and my newly purchased hyssop. I am a bit of a clean freak but two baths in one night was a record even for me. Still, it's the best spiritual cleanser I know, and I felt I needed it after the voodoo doll.
The rain had left me cold so I hopped from foot to foot in an attempt to warm up while the bath was filling. When it was full, I climbed in the bath. I lay there and calmed my breathing. This was the first time I had relaxed in days.
I had a whole five minutes of relaxation before a knock came again. I was terrified. I climbed out of the bath, wrapped a towel around me, quickly dried my hands, and snatched up my iPhone ready to call the police.
What would be on the doorstep now, a live snake? A man with a gun? A zombi?
Now I was getting silly, but the possibilities were endless. Forget the golf driver; I picked up a can of Raid bug spray and edged towards the door.
The knock came again. I went cold all over. My breathing sounded loud. I remembered that my former karate instructor had said, "If they can hear you breathe, they'll kill you." That didn't help. I tried to quiet my breathing which made me even more tense and my breathing even louder.
The knock came again, louder. Terrified, I ran to the door, and wrenched it open, held the can of Raid at head height and sprayed.
"Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later."
(Mary Bly)
Chapter Fifteen.
The man on the doorstep ducked away from the spray, and at that moment, lightning flashed.
"Misty!"
It was Jamie Smith. To say I was surprised was quite the understatement.
"Jamie? Jamie! What are you doing here? Did I get you with the Raid? Are you okay?" My words tumbled out one after the other.
I must have looked like a mad woman, standing there, in a towel, soaking wet, wielding a can of Raid.
"Misty, can I come in?"
I stood aside and let Jamie in, then locked the door behind him. I carefully placed the Raid on the floor, next to the door.
Jamie looked amused. "Do you always answer the door before you're dressed?"
"I wasn
't answering the door; I was trying to spray you."
It was obvious to me that Jamie was doing his best not to laugh. "Do I look like a crawling insect?"
I just stared at him. Why hadn't he called to say he was coming? I would have gotten dressed if he had. I was acutely aware I was only wearing a towel.
Jamie kept talking. He eyed off the golf iron and the Raid sitting close together. "Who were you expecting? What's been happening?"
I didn't answer, as I was doing the math, a skill which I do not possess in spades. If Jamie had left England after I texted "Alfred," how did he get here so fast? When I had flown to England, it had been a twenty two hour flight. How many hours since I texted? Twelve. No wait, it was yesterday, or was it the day before? It was now around 2 a.m.
I had texted "Alfred" sometime around midday yesterday. Twenty four hours would bring me to midday today. Twelve more hours would bring me to midnight, plus two. My mind was too foggy; I'd had a rough time. I tried to picture twenty four and fourteen in the air in front of me, so I could add them. Thirty eight. He did have enough time to fly out. Oh no, it was midday today, not yesterday. That was fourteen hours. Not even enough time to fly to Australia from Japan.
I was unspeakably shocked to see Jamie, and while I was standing there with my jaw dropped open and clutching my towel to me, the traitorous Diva hurried over to Jamie and purred against his legs. She even allowed him to stroke her.
"Why didn’t you call?"
Jamie's flushed with what I assume was embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Misty. I'll come back in the morning."
With that, he turned and left, leaving me concerned that I’d chased him away. But why had he come? Why was his organization so interested in what I did? I knew they were, as they had given me "Alfred" to text if I ever was in trouble.
I just wished someone would tell me what was going on. My own Society had not contacted me apart from the letter telling me to solve a centuries old murder, and I didn’t know the first thing about them, except that I was now the new Keeper, whatever that was. I figured Jamie's organization must have to have links to the Society, for them to keep such close tabs on me.
