by Sandy Wright
"I'm trying to be open to everything happening to me. But what am I supposed to do?"
Sinclair's face was calm. "Think. What's the strongest sign you've got so far?"
I hesitated. "My mother's ghost?"
He nodded. "What'd she say? Was she tryin' to help you?"
I ducked my head and swallowed hard. "I don't know. Maybe. I think so, but I panicked and ran."
"Then you know the first thing you have to do."
"You mean I have to go back?"
"I mean," he chided gently, "you have to talk to her. Now figure out how to do it."
He seemed so calm, so unruffled by the fact I'd seen a ghost, like this was an everyday occurrence for him.
"Would you help me?"
Sinclair stood and brushed the dirt from his pants.
"Nope. You have to contact your own mother. She's your guardian spirit. You go make your own plans. But this time, be prepared."
Chapter 10: Elder Law
The sheer white curtains billowed gently in the open French doors, an undulating backdrop to the black grand piano and the quiet runs of Beethoven's first movement of Moonlight Sonata. Nicholas played with his eyes closed, his long fingers holding the left hand octaves with ease, allowing his right to bring in the plaintive, ghostly minor melody, as from a distance. Beethoven had dedicated the Sonata to his seventeen-year-old student, a countessa with whom he had fallen in love. Nicholas shook his head, eyes closed, to rid himself of Samantha's face. You are such a sot.
He finished the last chord and dropped his hands in his lap as the phone rang in the hall.
It was his boss.
Nicholas had a pretty good idea why he was calling. Most of the Wiccan community didn't believe their religion had any governing group, preferring to operate independently, using the 'do as you will, if it harms none' credo as their only rule. Elders of the Grand Council preferred to keep it that way.
The Council, a secretive group, handled enforcement of the entire magical community in the background, recruiting their enforcers from within their own ranks. Each family in the tiny hive of Traditionals, including the Orenda family, had its own area of specialization, traits learned through centuries of practice. The Laveaus were healers and still ran a strong voodoun community. The Dyers produced seers, while the Blights were soul eaters, a specialization Nicholas hoped he would never need. The remaining Nutter daughter was the reigning expert in herbalism. The Ravencrofts, whose eldest son lived nearby, were renowned curse breakers. His boss's family, the Hunsleys, were superb spies and dealt in every imaginable kind of secret. They had helped Nicholas out of a tight spot once, extracting him so deftly he simply disappeared.
The Orenda clan raised hunters. The ability to perceive dangerous patterns and dark connections where others saw only random chance was a family gift.
Right now, to Nicholas, it felt like a curse.
"We haven't heard from you for some time. Are you having difficulties?" Elder Kaspar Hunsley's greeting, short and to the point. His tone warned he would accept no excuses.
"I've found him in Sedona, Arizona."
"Does he know who you are?"
"It won't take long for him to figure it out. But we have an-other problem, possibly just as sticky. A new witch has surfaced."
The voice on the other end grunted impatiently. "And why is this our…rather…your problem?"
"It appears she's connected somehow to Aunt Bella."
A longer pause this time. "Any sign of dear Bella?"
"Nothing. But this new woman bought her shop." Nicholas paused. Revealing more than necessary to the Elders could be dangerous. There are no 'do-overs' with this group. "I, ah…in-advertently conjured a relative of hers at Samhain. Her mum, I believe."
"I thought you were going to keep a low profile," Elder Huns-ley snapped, his voice an irritated growl.
Nicholas clenched his teeth, remembering how the cowardly girl broke from the circle and ran; then ground them in frustration at his loss of control afterwards. Arguments and accusations would only make it more difficult to befriend her and become her confidant. He sighed and rolled his neck to ease the tension, keeping his voice level. "She may also be connected in some way to my target."
Elder Hunsley's voice dropped even lower. "Perhaps it would be wise if you used your time to eliminate your target. You know he won't stop with two victims. And the more he kills, the stronger he becomes. Worry about this woman later, Nicholas. Keep your eye on the target."
"I understand sir."
But he didn't like it. He would be leaving Samantha completely exposed. He wasn't sure how much she knew and how much she had simply blundered into, but he had no doubt anything bad Samantha got into would end up involving him. Even if he didn't get involved, didn't even help her, it would spill over on him through sheer physical proximity.
Bloody hell.
Chapter 11: A Message Revealed
Jumbled thoughts swirled through my head, fragments of our conversation. Magic enclosing me. What exactly had the old medicine man seen? I nibbled nervously on my thumb. Don't be a pawn. Don't focus on the fear. I cringed, recalling Nicholas's words: "There is only failure in you."
"This must stop! Calm down." I chastised myself out loud. So much had happened in the last three weeks, my brain struggled to process it all. I took a deep breath and willed my mind to relax and change directions.
Positive thoughts. What can I do? Sinclair had said to act with intention. Yeah, well, the crazy medicine man also says talk to a ghost. But I don't believe in ghosts. Time to quit kidding yourself. You believe now, at least more than you disbelieve. Okay, I have officially admitted it. I believe in the supernatural. And Sinclair doesn't seem crazy.
Rumor was helping the only customer in the store, so I retreated to my office, pulled a writing pad and pencil from a drawer and sat down at the desk. If John Green Raven Sinclair says talk to a ghost, what the hell. It's worth a try.
I turned the pad sideways and drew columns down the page. The first column I labeled "Contacting Mother's Spirit," and then paused. Who has the skills to help contact her? I listed Sinclair, but reluctantly crossed him out. I had no doubt he could do it, but he had already refused yesterday and sent me off on my own. I added Nicholas to the list, then Nuin, and Maya. Unfortunately, instead of feeling right, all three people felt somehow wrong. I hoped Nuin didn't know the specifics of my craziness at Samhain. He'd stood on the opposite side of the circle. I didn't want him to know, although I couldn't put my finger on why. I crossed his name off. Maya I knew only slightly and this would be an intimate activity. I put a question mark by her name. Nicholas? He had certainly proved he could summon spirits. But the thought of asking him to help me contact my mother made me sick to my stomach. I couldn't attempt this with a man who had such a low opinion of me. I crossed his name off.
I chewed on the top of my pencil, thinking. I could talk to Rumor. She'd been to more Wiccan ceremonies than me. No, she still worried about my meltdown after the ceremony. She hadn't mentioned seeing any spirits on Samhain. She was my friend, but also my business manager. I couldn't risk her wondering if I was unstable. Nope, I needed someone else. Think, Sam. Who do you know who's had contact with spirits? Then I recalled the conversation I'd had with Kamaria about Dia de los Muertos. She visited graveyards. She picnicked with her dead ancestors. Surely she would help me call one of mine.
* * * * *
Kamaria raised an eyebrow but said nothing when I told her what I wanted to do. Finally she asked, "If it scared you so badly the first time, why do you want to contact your mother again?"
"When I saw my Mother's spirit at the ritual, I didn't even believe in ghosts. I panicked. This time, I'll be prepared and know what to expect." I nodded, trying to look confident.
Kamaria hooked a finger across her lip to hide her smile. "Re-ally?" Then she looked at me more seriously. "Just be sure you know exactly what you want to accomplish before we
start."
"This sounds familiar," I told her. "The medicine man said something similar. He told me to act with intention."
"Fuiste a ver a un hechicero? Estas loco?"
Great. She thought I was crazy. "Kamaria, English please. What is un hechicero?
"A sorcerer, shaman. Whatever you want to call him." She looked at me like I'd grown three heads. "Why would you get involved with such a man?"
"In the first place, I didn't know he was a shaman. This Native artist I met in Tlaquepaque sent me to him. The guy is his uncle." I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Kamaria, look at all the weird things happening to me. I could use someone who works in the spirit world. I mean, think about it. I'm asking for help in conducting a damn séance." I shook my head in disbelief. "And you're going along with it. I'm going to need all the help I can get."
Kamaria steepled her fingers and tapped them together, staring at the ceiling while she thought. "What did the shaman tell you?"
"He said to act with intention, and my mother was my guardian spirit, so I needed to find a way to contact her again."
She nodded slowly. "He's right. You must know what you want before you can make it happen. And you must believe it's possible. We all must." She looked much calmer now. "Up to this point, I sense you have been a passive observer. You've simply allowed things to happen around you, so it's all taken you by surprise. Now it's time for you to take control. You get ready for this, Samantha. When you are ready, I will help you."
I felt so much better after visiting Kamaria. Ready to tackle the challenge of contacting Mom, I stopped by the library on my way home from work. An hour later, I staggered back to my truck and packed the back seat with books I'd found on various methods for contacting the dead. Who knew the public library would have such a selection? I put a pizza in the oven, opened a bottle of red wine, and sat down to study.
A little after midnight, I looked around my cluttered dining room. Piles of books and scribbled notes were strewn everywhere. I rubbed my gritty eyes and yawned. Enough. I dumped the pizza remains and empty wine bottle in the trash, stacked the written pages into a pile and shoved them into a manila folder.
I turned off the light and headed to bed calm and resolute. I was ready to contact my mother.
* * * * *
"To do this, we need three people or a number divisible by three," I told Kamaria, looking through my notes. "A willing participant. Someone with similar beliefs. So I asked Rod Standing Bear, and he said he would be honored to attend. We have three."
I wanted to use a neutral location. Rod offered his house and gave me directions. We agreed to meet on Thursday evening after work, so I would have time to round up supplies.
The hewn-log cabin felt rustic but cozy, backing up to a stand of aspens next to Oak Creek. Standing Bear had a fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace, and it warmed the one large room he used as a combination den and studio. Quiet music played in the background, Native American flute and rattle. The whole cabin was mellow and masculine, but grounded like its owner. I knew immediately I'd made the right choice asking him to work with us.
We sat down at his round dining table. I pulled three white pillar candles out of my supply bag and handed one each to Kamaria and Standing Bear. "Hold them in your hands while we visualize the power of fire burning bright to light the way for my mother's spirit." Then I took the 'charged' candles, lit them and placed them in the center of the table. Next I pulled out an empty glass jelly-jar, a square velvet cloth embroidered with the words 'yes', 'no' and 'maybe' in white thread, a stub of pencil and a blank sheet of paper, placing them on the table. Kamaria lit charcoal in a small incense burner, and I laid out my mementos of Mom from the Samhain ritual. Standing Bear scattered pungent clumps of dried herbs—mugwort, sage, chaparral, acacia, and eyebright—onto the charcoal to aid our psychic workings.
"Would you mind leading from here?" I asked Kamaria. "I need to concentrate and don't think I can do both."
"Relax, mi bella," Kamaria said. "I will do this."
We put our hands on the table edge, palms up, our fingers overlapping. I felt the room fall away, while my perception of our little space seemed to sharpen. The same feeling of increased awareness I'd had when Nicholas conjured spirits in the circle at Samhain settled over me. But this time I wasn't afraid.
While the incense burned, I told stories of my mother, fond memories from my childhood years: Riding horseback through the cornfields across the road from our house; catching frogs in the pond behind the barn, ankle-deep in mud; my mother laughing and splashing us with water, even though she'd be washing dirty clothes the entire next day.
Kamaria began a chant to thank the deities and spirit-guides who would aid us in our working, and protect us from any darker entities who might try to enter our space during the séance.
Standing Bear added his own low chant. I felt it vibrate from his fingertips up through my own and into my chest. Without conscious effort, I began to chant.
"Send out loving thoughts to Nancy's spirit, narrow them to a path of bright, shimmering light to guide her to our side," Kamaria reminded us. "Envelop her in loving remembrance, and hold tight to her messages, so you can share them with us afterwards."
I focused all my thoughts on my mother's face and on her love for me. I no longer smelled the incense burning in the room. Instead, I smelled garden earth, dark and rich, and the sweet scent of rose, which had always bloomed in Mother's garden.
The temperature in the room dropped and a faint breeze stirred the hair on the back of my head.
"Who is in the room?" Kamaria asked quietly.
I heard scratching on the tabletop and opened my eyes. Her name, "Nancy," appeared on the paper. I widened my eyes at Kamaria in excitement, but she shook her head in warning and asked, "Nancy who?"
Quivering slightly above the paper, the pencil scratched out a cursive capital 'C'.
I nodded at Kamaria. "It's Mom." I recognized the familiar flourish in her script.
"Do you wish to speak with us?" Kamaria asked. The upside-down jar moved over the cloth word 'yes'.
Suddenly the log in the fireplace flared and went out.
I heard the pencil scratching again, but couldn't make out the words in the flickering candlelight. Another chill breeze blew straight across the table, sweeping the paper onto the floor and snuffing out the candles. We sat in complete darkness, waiting for more.
Nothing. Mother was gone.
Kamaria rose and went to the cabin door. She opened it and closed it firmly, physically saying goodbye to the spirit, making the sign of the triple cross in the air in front of her.
Standing Bear went to the lamp by the sofa and turned it on, bathing the room in soft yellow light. We looked at each other wordlessly.
The paper lay on the floor, upside down. Its message hidden. I walked over and picked it up. With a strangled cry, I let the message flutter from my hand:
'He will make you his
Or see you dead
For the power,
Before the Blood Moon.'
* * * * *
Kamaria and Standing Bear watched me with worried eyes. I paced back and forth in the cabin.
"Who would want you dead?" Kamaria asked.
"I have no idea!" I snapped. "I don't know people here well enough for them to want to kill me." My mind brought up Nicholas with a guilty start. But why? Why would he wish me harm? My mind ran circles with the thought, a dog chasing its tail.
Standing Bear had been quiet for some time. He came over and took my hands, leading me to the leather sofa and pushing me onto the soft cushions. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with three icy bottles of beer. Pulling a dining room chair in front of me, he straddled it, his long, paint-stained hands hanging loose over the rail back, holding his bottle by the neck.
"This is what I think," he told me gently. "Your mother is worried about you and has made the supreme effort—twic
e—to warn you. It takes as much effort for a spirit to manifest itself to the living as it does for the living to receive them on this side." He paused as if to gather his thoughts. "But think about what she said, how she said it. If she was simply warning you, wouldn't she have spoken directly: 'Someone's trying to kill you? Leave!' She didn't."
I looked at him with tears in my eyes. "What do you think she meant to say?"
"I believe she wants you to prevent someone from doing something—whatever this power thing is—as much as she wants you to protect yourself."
I closed my eyes for a moment to recall the song I'd heard on the wind. "From sacred earth we send our voices. Wachin ksapa yo. Be attentive," I recited. I turned to Standing Bear. "It was part of the song I heard on Cathedral Rock. Do you know what it means?"
"Wachin ksapa yo. It means 'listen to me'," Standing Bear said. "And now another spirit, your mother, has sent you a similar message." He nodded emphatically. "Spirits know how limited our senses are, how rooted we are in our own black-and-white world. So they are reaching out to you in multiple ways, to be sure they get your attention. One cannot ignore the words of the Spirit, whether they come to you in a dream, during a vision quest, or as tonight, from our group call to your mother."
"Okay, they have my attention. What do they want me to do?"
"We'll figure it out." He squeezed my hand. "Spirits don't always speak directly. In my tribe, to interpret a vision accurately we share it, and use the tribe's group mind to look for hidden instructions."
I realized we had all focused so intently on this written message, we hadn't even discussed what each of us had experienced during the session. "What did you see during the séance?" I asked Standing Bear.
"I saw a different part of your mother's message," he said. "When your mother first joined us, I saw her in a vegetable garden. She had on green shoes."
