by Cherrie Mack
The warlock looked very much like a middle-aged man, pudgy and balding. His eyes moved quickly as his teeth formed fangs that lengthened into points. His fingers stretched while his nails sharpened into knives. “Let her go, Traveler. Our army will have her one way or the other. We know where she is. We know who she is. Be kind to yourself and offer us this witch to the tenth power.”
The winds blew through the diner as Giselle stood with her arms outstretched, palms facing the floor. She moved her arms in a slow, methodical downward motion, and the wind lessened. The warlock looked at her, running his lizard-like tongue over his fangs, then he made a slurping noise. Reaching up to clutch her locket, she panicked, losing her confidence and squelching her power. The fear seized her chest as she gasped for air.
Like a true warrior, Julien moved slowly at first, his steps graceful and precise. His arms moved through the air in a circular pattern, producing a long, gleaming, steel sword out of nothingness. It fit perfectly in his hand as he wielded it flawlessly. Slicing the warlock’s hands from his body, it screeched a sound so horrible Giselle could only describe it as coming from the depths of a pit. Behind the warlock in a matter of seconds, Julien grabbed its pointed fangs and pulled in opposite directions. The unshakeable warlock’s mouth-daggers were thinner, but longer than the fangs of a lion. Grunting, Julien pulled with all his might until the incisors were ripped out with an audible crack. The black blood and death that she had grown accustomed to witnessing spurted through the air. Julien backed away from the predator until its evil incarnate decayed with its final death.
Watching the spirits fly up through the mist, Giselle stood unmoving, staring at the dead carcass of the warlock, unnerved at what Julien had done to protect her. She looked for him, but instead found a stallion, tan in color, with a mane of golden hair, standing outside. Its body was brilliant and strong as it stamped its hooves. Flailing its body toward her, she remembered his question. Without another thought, she mounted the horse as it bowed its body in a curtsy. The emergence of other warlocks surrounded the diner, but she and her horse made a high-speed exit through the parking lot and into the woods. Hanging tight to the stallion’s blond mane, Giselle bounced on its bare back without the aid of a saddle.
Finding it more and more difficult to hold on, she ducked her head as they sped through the brush. Branches snapped overhead, as she heard the crackling of dry leaves underfoot. The swirling black clouds gathered above while they raced for safety from the driving, wicked winds. Gripping the horse’s mane, she was infused with the sense of determination. The air echoed through the trees, carrying with it the promise of death. The fear she felt for Julien seemed to outweigh her own. Suddenly, bubbling up from the base of her throat, an ancient chant spilled out. Her eyes rolled back as she tried to keep her focus and hold on. She was growing weaker, her own chanting growing louder. The horse slowed down and stopped, as if sensing her loss of reality. It leaned its body down to the ground, allowing her to dismount.
As Giselle slipped further into a trance-like stupor, she wondered what kind of spell she weaved. Unable to see what was happening, she fell into Julien’s arms as she found it impossible to walk. Weakened with the flood of power, she felt faint. She heard him shout, concern in his tone. “Giselle… Giselle? What is happening? We must get to the cavern. They are not far behind.”
Feeling happiness just hearing his voice, knowing he was unhurt, she succumbed to the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Desiree walked along the cobblestone streets of the French quarter. Passing all the jazz clubs, she once again felt alive and carefree. But the noise and the constant buzz of people had her mind jumbled and her gift stifled. She climbed onto a trolley car, the air feeling cooler than usual. The old, wooden seats were uncomfortable, but Desiree didn’t hesitate to sit. She fished through her purse and pulled out the address of an elder named Darius. He was rumored to have had a grandmother who was an auditory clairvoyant. Seeking his wisdom and advice was just what she needed to get her mind off Simon and on her true calling.
The traveler had been a constant thorn in her side, and since their argument, a constant thought in her head. As she rode through the city she had come to love so much, she focused on the overbearing traveler who had stuck to her like glue. She said hurtful things, making him keep his distance, but it didn’t exorcise him from her mind. Recalling one such moment, she leaned her head in her hands for support, the sting of her words coming back to haunt her.
“You can watch me all you want, Simon Granvil. That seems to be all your good at, anyway. Watching, not doing. Besides, if I get killed, you won’t catch me attaching to you, like that Aimee ghost you have stuck to your side. Why don’t you just tell her to get lost? Life is for the living, or have you existed so long you forgot how to be alive?” Her words came from frustration, not anger, but the look he gave her told her she’d hurt him. She knew there was no way to reel in her tongue. And Simon had left her without ever responding.
Desiree felt her emotions well up, but she pushed them back down. Dwelling on it would not undo what was done. More than likely, she’d never see Simon Granvil again. Still, she couldn‘t shake the sadness that seemed to dwell within her since his departure. She pulled the string at the top of the trolley, which signaled her need to disembark. She checked the time on her wristwatch, and realized she was too early to visit with Darius. She wasn’t far from Lafayette Cemetery, one of the oldest graveyards in the city. She’d seek the peacefulness of its borders and enjoy the quiet she once found distressing.
Founded in 1833, Lafayette Cemetery attracted mostly tourists. The old graves piqued the interest of visitors from all over. Many came to get a glimpse of the history of the old graveyard. When she entered the cemetery, she looked around, feeling an icy chill on her shoulders. There were age-old tombstones and mausoleum crypts crowded together. A few people took pictures. For what purpose, she wasn’t sure. Walking up and down the dilapidated rows of the dead, Desiree felt an overwhelming sadness engulf her. Putting some distance between her and the few tourists who gathered, she turned a narrow corner and smacked her shin into an oven crypt.
Silently cursing, she bent down to examine her leg. There was a tiny trickle of blood seeping out from a cut just below her knee. Merde! Grabbing a tissue from her purse, she blotted the wound when she felt her ears begin that slow familiar burn. Her head began to splinter as the nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach. This was the worst she’d felt since discovering her true calling.
Staying in a bent position, she tried to catch her breath, hearing the faint whispers of a man filled with sorrow and grief. Closing her eyes, she heard the sweet words of love and longing for his beloved. The experience caused her to cry real tears, as if she were at the core of his anguish. Carefully listening to the voice, she was suddenly alarmed at the familiarity. Could it be? He changed from French to English in mid-sentence. He called his beloved, mon ange. Every syllable, every inflection, screamed Simon Granvil. Engulfed by a yearning to go to him, Desiree was crippled by the nostalgia overpowering her senses. When his words began to fade away, she heard a southern accent, a heavy twang. “Miss? Miss? You all right?”
Desiree gazed up into the eyes of a tall, handsome man wearing a cowboy hat. He stood offering her his hand, to help her to her feet. She noticed behind him stood a group of young women looking on in concern. Ignoring them, she nodded her head. He pulled her to her feet, she felt dizzy. She leaned into him as he steadied her. Desiree faked a smile. “Thank you. I’m fine. I’m just a bit emotional.”
The man didn’t say anything, but she noticed his brow lift and look around at the very old graves. Looking behind her, he narrowed his eyes as if reading the name of the deceased on the crypt where she sat. “I see, miss. This Aimee Granvil? She your great, great, great grandmamma, then?”
Quickly turning around, Desiree read the name on the crypt. In large faded letters, there it was—Aimee Granvil. Shocked and speechless, she t
urned back to the handsome stranger.
“I—. Thank you for your kindness. I’m okay, now.”
“Seeing as I have a few ladies to entertain, miss, I can’t stick around much. We’re about to go rustle up some dinner, maybe get a cold one? Wanna join us? You seem like you could use a friend.” He paused, “By the way, I’m Colton but you can call me Colt.”
Desiree gave him her best fake smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Colt. I’m Desiree Mercier. Thanks for the offer but I have an appointment to get to.”
His smile was intoxicating. No wonder those females were hanging around him.
“Well, don’t let me stop ya, then. It was real nice meetin’ ya, Miss Desiree. Maybe I’ll see ya round.” Colt politely tipped his hat then joined his group and walked off.
She watched him saunter away. Bringing her eyes back to rest on the old tombstone, Desiree began to consider the unthinkable. Pulling away, the sick feeling was ever-present as she stumbled her way down the row toward the exit. She didn’t want to look back, but she felt compelled to. In doing so, she glimpsed a moment of the past. In a time when the old ragged grounds looked fresher, manicured, younger. She glanced Simon Granvil, beaten down by life, nothing to live for, look on as his wife was laid to rest. His sorrow and unhappiness shook her so. She clutched her stomach and walked away as fast as she could.
Desiree walked along the old broken sidewalks of the garden district, almost passing the boarding house where Darius lived. She took a deep breath. Letting it out, she focused on why she was here. Straightening her spine and gathering her nerve, she walked to the door. A woman, eyes crinkled with age, and life piled on her shoulders, greeted her. She pointed to a door at the end of the hall. “He’s spectin’ you swee—hot.” It was the syrupy sounding lilt in her voice that caused Desiree to smile.
Inside a spotless bedroom with starched white curtains, she found Darius. He sat perched on the edge of a chair, his hands resting on the tip of a cane between his legs. In one corner, a television played the shopping network, in the other, a gilded birdcage hung. Darius’ eyes were glazed over, white, his blindness apparent. “Come, lovey. Sit down. Can I offer you something to drink?” He pointed to the mini refrigerator next to him.
“Uh, no thanks. You have a lovely room.”
“Yes. I rather like it. The other boarding houses aren’t up to par. They thought since I was blind, I could not see. Silly fools.”
Desiree let out a nervous giggle. “So, you understand why I’m here.”
“I u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d.” He said, singing the words like a jingle to a horror movie.
“Then what can you tell me about my true calling?”
Darius got comfortable. Sitting back in his chair, he pulled his walking stick closer and tucked it under his chin. “My grandmamma had a long, slow descent into madness. You see, my dear, your gift is not for the fainthearted. My blood considered it a hex. I, of course, know different. But be warned, its destructive nature to one’s mental capacity is strong. Humans will say you are schizophrenic. As a matter of fact, many humans who have been put away for such problems are auditory clairvoyants.”
As she paced, Darius followed her with his head.
When Desiree’s nerves got the best of her, she was never able to control her tongue. “If you cannot see me, how do you know where I am?”
Darius laughed. “Oh, I can assure you my dear, I am one hundred percent blind. I wouldn’t have it any other way. It helps me to see your aura much more clearly. It is your aura which I follow with my eyes.”
“Forgive me. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m not pacing around here on purpose. I’m just a bit high strung today.”
“Today?” He laughed and in the same breath became deadly serious. “You have two auras my dear, but the big circle inside the main one is what has me concerned.”
“Circle inside a circle? I’m confused.”
“You should be. There are not many documented cases of a double aura and I am quite intrigued by you. But, I must give you a warning, it could mean danger. I’d like to do some research. Will you agree to come back to see me?”
“Yes, of course. Can you tell me anything about a double aura? What does it mean? Do I have someone attached to me perhaps?”
Darius’ laugh was the deep guttural sound of a smoker. “No, my dear, you don’t.”
She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank the gods.”
“It just means that your past aura is trying to fuse with your present aura.”
She crinkled up her forehead. “Pardon me?”
“Think. There must have been a recent catalyst of some kind that triggered your aura from the past to try to merge with your aura in the present. Although it is one in the same, the memories are colliding. Have you had any past life experiences or memories recently?”
Desiree immediately recalled the time with Simon in her apartment and, most recently at the cemetery. She nodded her head. “I might have, but I thought it was something else. Darius? Are you telling me that if I recently had a memory of a past life that I am in fact the person from that lifetime?”
“Yes, my dear. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Giselle awoke to the sounds of trickling water and the smell of the damp earth. Cocooned in Julien’s arm, she felt warm and safe. Completely unaware of the details surrounding her present circumstance, she strained her memory to recall the past few hours or days, unsure how she’d gotten here. Lifting herself gently up on her elbows, she looked around.
Astounded by the magnificence of her location, Giselle studied her surroundings, admiring the beauty of the cavern walls. The limestone and stalagmites resembled shapes any active imagination could ponder. To her, the walls resembled guitar strings attached to massive drums playing the old music of the gypsies Angelique was so fond of. But it was the steamy pool at the base of the cave that captured her interest. The water looked inviting, so much so, Giselle’s decision to explore the beauty of this natural wonder came easily to her. Ever so gently, she removed Julien’s arm from her body. Her tattered tee-shirt, covered with dirt and blood, made her gasp. Looking further, she slipped the blanket down, revealing his mangled torso. Slapping her hand over her mouth, she stifled the scream rising up from the base of her throat.
Deep claw like cuts jutted along his sides, angry in color. The purple and red wounds wrapped around him, as if he were still in the grasp of evil. Noticing the healing process at work, she pulled the blanket the rest of the way, to reveal his legs. Giselle saw the same knifelike wounds that marred his once stunning body and legs.
With the onset of panic, she examined the rest of him, finding his hands and arms scarred too. Looking to his face, she steeled herself for a shock. Gently brushing his hair away from his cheek, she breathed a sigh of relief upon gazing at her beautiful Julien, his perfect features untouched. But, when she rolled his head to rest on the other side, it revealed the same mauling evidence. Covering her face with her hands, she quietly crawled away from him, crying into her hands.
He was beyond recognition. And she was responsible. While he fought a valiant fight against the warlocks, she faints? Like a little girl? With an undeniable reflex to run away, Giselle stood on shaky legs. Infused with a sudden burst of energy, she quickly took off her clothing, checking her body in the hopes that she too would bear a scar. She was disappointed to find she endured not even a scratch.
As her persistent tears fell, she prayed to the gods to heal Julien. She must let him rest, she must not disturb him. Hearing the water trickle and echo throughout the cave, she turned to gaze at the pool. Maybe she should clean his wounds? She walked to the edge of the pool. Surrounded by rock, it reminded her of a huge bowl filled with muddy water. It called to her. Unsure of its depth, she bent down, straining to see to the bottom.
As the tears fell from her eyes, they plopped into the pool, transforming its contents from thick cloudy water, to crystal clear. Shocked a
t the sudden change, she quickly sat up and studied the liquid. Trusting herself enough to lean forward and gaze into its depths, she noticed the bottom. It looked like a rounded marble bowl. Dipping her finger in to test the temperature, she was surprised to find it very warm. She turned her gaze back to Julien. He slept soundly.
Already naked, she convinced herself it was safe to go in. Giselle wiped her tears and put her legs over the side, slowly lowering herself into the pool. Sinking down into the pleasing water, she slowly waded out to where a fine layer of steam gathered inches above the surface. Completely fascinated by its velvety touch, she moved her arms gently. Gliding through the liquid, she swam with ease, quite comfortable in the strangeness of her surroundings. The water was still, completely still. There was no ripple, no movement of any kind. Although she moved her limbs, it displayed a calmness that enveloped her, fueling her with renewed vigor. Feeling her power from the depths of her being for the first time in her life, she innately knew she could heal him. She would take away his horrendous wounds or die trying. But first, she would practice.
Giselle was waist deep when she stood up straight and outstretched her arms. With her palms down, her hands hovered inches from the surface. She chanted under her breath, concentrating. When she felt the first tremble underneath the pool, she smiled, lifting her hands higher. Commanding the water to rise up, the trembling gave way to shaking.
“You must stop at once, Little Witch!” Julien’s voice sliced through the silence.
The shaking diminished. Giselle swirled around, watching Julien, out of breath and holding his side, stumble toward the water. His chest was bare, his jeans shredded, his hair tousled and bloody. And still he made her heart pound. Reaching the edge of the pools, he climbed in. “You mustn’t use your powers in here. This is a holy cavern, one that must be held in the utmost of sanctity.”
