Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1)

by Sandy Wright

  I needed more people, so I stood—much calmer now—and began to walk. In the next restaurant, a man in a suit had a murky brown aura, so thick it was almost a scent, betraying his businesslike exterior. He reminded me of a sleek Doberman plotting to sample the hand feeding it, as he eyed the young waitress taking his order.

  Despite his menace I chuckled. If only I'd had this power earlier in life. Wonder what my ex's aura looks like. Woof, woof. Or rather, wolf, wolf .

  I thought about the golden halo often painted around the head of Jesus in pictures. Imagine the changes on Earth if people could see the auras of their leaders and select them based on what the auras revealed.

  Without realizing it, my random aura-watching had brought me to the women's shelter, my original destination. The dining room light seemed a friendly beacon in a hostile world. I crossed the street to the shelter.

  I immediately had second thoughts. Nicholas stood in front of the building in agitated conversation with Kamaria. He was the last person I wanted to see, especially since witnessing his embarrassing scene with Lilith at the bookstore.

  I tried to double back, but they'd seen me.

  Kamaria ran up and wrapped her arms around me. I immediately burst into tears.

  "There, there, it's okay," she murmured into my hair. She held me and rubbed my back, saying nothing more until I wound down to an occasional wet hiccup.

  Nicholas stood nearby, arms crossed in front of his chest. "We've been looking for you," he said, his voice gruff.

  "When you didn't show up, Rumor called your house for hours," Kamaria added. "Finally she got worried enough to start calling around to the rest of us looking for you. When no one had seen you we really got worried. What happened?"

  The holiday dinner plans seemed like the distant past. So much had happened. Before answering, I took a step back and stared at both of them.

  Kamaria's aura was white; Nicholas was surrounded by a purple mist. I had no idea whether his was good or bad, but I made a snap decision and took a deep breath. "I need your help to understand what is happening to me."

  "I agree," Kamaria said. "I've told Nicholas about our séance. We were discussing your message when you arrived. We don't know who is after you, but we both think you should—"

  "Later, but not now." I cut her off. "Something else has happened."

  When I described seeing auras and sensing the good—and the bad—in the people around me. Nicholas flashed me a wary glance, perhaps wondering how his own aura looked.

  I did a pretty good job of keeping my emotions in check, until I replayed the accident. "I'm still not sure what I saw. She looked like a ghost." I continued between sobs, "but there was so much blood." I hesitated. "Then afterwards, nothing."

  "Are you sure it wasn't déjà vu?" Kamaria asked. "Have you ever witnessed a traumatic accident? Maybe flashing on an event in your past?"

  It would explain why there was no evidence of the accident when I went back to the scene. I frowned. "But wouldn't I remember seeing a hit-and-run accident? I would've been a witness, maybe even testified at a trial." I shook my head. "No, this wasn't a memory."

  "Maybe not your memory," Kamaria began, "but someone else's. A psychic occurrence?"

  I immediately shook my head. "No. No!"

  She raised one eyebrow at me. "Don't be so quick to dismiss the possibility. I knew you had some latent powers from the beginning. I'm enough of a sensitive myself to see your talents. What I don't understand is why this has come upon you so suddenly and so dramatically. What's different in your life lately? What would cause such an abrupt change in your perception?"

  I knew the answer. Nicholas. Nicholas and his damned cloak.

  He stood very quiet and still, studying the sidewalk.

  I turned on him. "You." I willed him to meet my eyes but couldn't keep the quaver out of my voice. "You've turned my life upside down. I've been terrified, confused, even wondered if I am crazy. Maybe so. But this is mostly your fault, and you know it. You've pushed me into situations beyond my comprehension. Then, instead of helping me, you've been nasty and sarcastic. Insulting. You turned away from me. You called me a failure!"

  Nicholas waited a long moment before he answered. "I am sorry I was so harsh with you, Samantha."

  Those were the words I'd hoped to hear for the last month.

  He stepped closer to me and took my arm, rubbing it gently. This small, kind gesture reminded me of how nice Nicholas had been during the Dumb Supper. My eyes blurred with tears. No. It wasn't enough. I jerked away and swiped the tears aside with the back of my hand. Kamaria watched us, wide-eyed. So he didn't tell her everything about Samhain night.

  Nicholas cleared his throat and put his hand back on my arm. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "It's just…I'm terribly concerned for you, Samantha. You are so raw, so untrained. I question how you will cope." He gave me a rueful smile. "When I'm worried, I tend to snap at people."

  I wanted to strangle him. I could actually feel my hands vibrating in their eagerness to wrap around his neck.

  Perhaps my expression betrayed those thoughts, for Nicholas removed his hand from my arm and stepped back. "You know only the most rudimentary methods of focus and control. And you know even less about how to protect yourself."

  I straightened my shoulders, ignoring the self-doubt his words churned up in me. He was not going to intimidate me again. "Stop," I answered with a calmness I did not feel. "Quit telling me what I don't know. Quit pushing me away. Teach me."

  Nicholas and Kamaria exchanged a quick look. "Do you think I should be the one to do this?" he asked her.

  "If you're not going to help me, why did you come to Sedona? You obviously don't want to be here. You could have sold Bella's house through a realtor. You're here for me, I know you are. If you're not going to help me, then go away!" I clamped my mouth shut, gritted my teeth and waited.

  Nicholas shrugged. "Do you want me to teach you?"

  I stared at him in stubborn silence. He stared back. Finally, he gave a small nod. "When is your next day off?"

  "Sunday."

  "I'll be at your house Sunday."

  * * * * *

  For me, Nicholas was an unsettling combination of push and pull. He exuded a presence which drew me to him, but he kept his emotions under such rigid control, he came across as haughty and disdainful. He would be a difficult teacher.

  When he arrived on Sunday, however, he seemed less in control. Something weighed heavily on him. "Samantha, I must ask you one last time. Are you serious about learning witchcraft? If I am to help you, we must be unerringly clear on this point from the beginning."

  His expression was so grim I wondered what I was getting myself into. He'd already made it clear this would be serious business. But how dangerous could witchcraft be? Life and death dangerous?

  I hesitated. The image of my mother's ghost blended into the gray-haired apparition in the street. Over and over, the same words echoed in my mind. He will make you his or see you dead. "I don't think I have much choice." My voice sounded miserable and weak.

  Nicholas shot me an irritated look and raked his hair from his forehead with his fingers. "I want to show you something."

  He took me outside saying only, "Leave the cloak in here."

  We walked out onto the sidewalk. He looked at me expectantly, but I had no idea what he wanted me to do. "What do you see?"

  "Not much. Cars, a nice view of the red rocks. Some tourists just went into the bookstore at the end of the block."

  "Let's go." He strode down the hill at such a pace I had to jog to keep up with his long legs. The bell on the bookshop door jangled when he jerked it open and shoved me inside. "Now what do you see?"

  "I don't know. What do you want me to see?" The man already had a real talent for getting on my nerves. Yet I continued to give him opportunities to hone his skill.

  The sunny, cozy shop smelled like sage and patchouli. Bei
ng Sedona, half of it held books on every aspect of Wicca, the occult, and New Age spiritual practices. The other half was filled with a variety of supplies: Candles, herbs, powders, crystals and rocks, tarot cards, and chakra paraphernalia.

  "Think," he snapped. "Look at the customers. What do you see?"

  I scanned the room, looking for a clue to what Nicholas thought important. Two ladies in long skirts bent their heads over a case full of crystals. A lone man stood at the tall shelf of books, thumbing through a paperback titled Hidden Sedona. At a small round table in the back of the room, a woman with long, coal-black hair and a silver ring on every finger dealt a spread of tarot cards for a reading.

  Nicholas's tone became more peevish.

  "Or rather, is there anything you don't see?"

  Then it hit me. I mimed a circle around my head with my hands. No auras.

  He nodded. "Correct. The cloak intensifies your natural powers. It acts as a prop, a tool to direct your energy."

  "Now I know why I had such a vivid vision the first time I touched it."

  "Vision?" Nicholas looked surprised.

  "Yeah. I saw a woman running through the forest with hounds chasing her. I didn't know it at the time, but now I think it was your aunt. She spelled the cloak to find me."

  For the first time today, Nicholas gave me his full, laser attention. "Aunt Bella? Where did she disappear? What details of the scenery stood out?"

  I shook my head. "I have no idea. She was in a pine forest. Dogs and hunters chased her."

  Nicholas looked grim. "Did they catch her?"

  "No," I said slowly, thinking back. "She was invisible. She took herbs to make herself invisible."

  "Good for her." Nicholas studied me like some kind of science experiment. "For you, the cloak is a tool. Your focus sharpened when you wore it for the first time. Maybe we can find another tool, another trigger, to help you see more about her."

  "But from what I saw, the cloak had a spell on it," I said slowly. "Are you sure other, uh, tools will have the same effect?"

  He pulled me over to a glass counter. Inside, wands nestled on black silk, some of polished wood, others of crystal. Next to the wands lay a row of short-bladed knives, one of which looked similar to the blade I'd found on the ground outside his aunt's house in Jerome. It had a black handle inlaid with stones.

  "A witch may use a wand, an athame, or any number of physical tools to help her focus."

  I pointed to the knife. "Is this an athame? I've seen a knife like this before." I stopped myself when I realized I hadn't told him about the athame I'd found under his window. Do you have one?"

  "I do, but mainly for ceremony." He waved dismissively at the counter and turned away. "As you train, and your self-control grows, you will no longer need any of these props."

  He pulled me back outside and started back up the hill to my house. The man had no manners and no idea how much ground his long legs covered compared to mine. I had to jog to catch him this time.

  "What's your hurry?"

  "I'd like to get back and try a psychometry experiment with you."

  "Nicholas, stop!" I grabbed his sleeve. "I don't know what psycho-whatever is, but just slow down." I pointed to a sandwich shop at the corner. "Let's get some lunch. I have a lot to tell you." I put my arm through his. "And you, sir, are going to be nicer to me, starting now. In fact, you're going to pay." I ignored his irritated expression and gestured him inside.

  The hostess seated us with menus. "I think someone tried to break into your house, well, your aunt's house," I said. "Someone cut one of the window screens."

  Nicholas stilled. "How do you know this?"

  "Remember when we went out to see the house last month? You couldn't be there, so we walked all the way around and enjoyed the view. We tried to peek into the window of the library, and saw the screen had been cut."

  "Samantha, you looked at the house a month ago. Why did you wait so long to tell me?"

  "I'm sorry. I forgot. So much has happened since then, I simply forgot. Seeing the case of athames today reminded me, because I found a similar knife on the ground below the window."

  "Confound the gods, Samantha," Nicholas slammed his menu on the table. "Do you have anything else to tell me, anything else at all, that has a direct effect on my personal safety?"

  I cringed. "No. I don't think so." I put my menu down. "Maybe lunch wasn't such a good idea. Let's just go."

  "No, we're here. Order."

  I took his menu and put it on top of mine. "Nicholas. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the screen. And I know you don't want to mentor me. But here's the thing: Someone wants me dead." I swallowed the lump in my throat. Damn him, for making me feel like an incompetent schoolgirl. I sat up a little straighter and stared him down for a full thirty seconds. "So, while your cut house screen is important, it's not on the top of my list. In fact, it's not even in the fucking top five." I stood up and pushed my chair in. "Are you coming?"

  He stood up and followed me out of the restaurant in silence.

  "I've changed my mind, I'd rather not train with you," I said as we walked back to the house. "Maybe if I give you back the cloak, I'll stop having these psychic episodes."

  "You can't give it back," he growled. "The cloak identified you, remember? But you were marked before then, probably at birth. There's no returning to your previous life. You can burn it. You can throw it away. It won't change anything. Now you see why I asked if you were prepared for this commitment." He paused at the bottom of my front porch steps. "Were you a loner as a child?"

  "Yes. I was an only child and alone a lot."

  "Good."

  "Why?"

  "Because witchcraft is a lonely business," he said. "But you're one of the fortunate ones. Most witches never learn of their true powers. If they're not told, often they don't discover the truth on their own. They may feel like they're odd or don't fit in, but they never know why."

  "Did you know?" I asked.

  Nicholas looked at me sharply. "My situation is different. I come from generations of witches. My family has handed down its teachings. The adults taught and initiated their children. So for me, there was no doubt."

  "Does it ever bother you? Being different?"

  "Of course. As a child especially, it hurt to be shunned, taunted." Nicholas gave a tight smile. "I got mad more often than I'd like. Anger is a dangerous emotion for me."

  We stopped at the door of my house. "Nicholas, what if…do I have any choice at all if I don't want to do this?" The question came out in a rush.

  He crossed his arms and drummed those beautiful damned fingers in impatience. "You can't choose what you are. Like it or not, you are a witch. But how you handle it is up to you." He continued more gently. "It's hard work, Samantha. It's lonely. Sometimes it's unsettling, even frightening. There is no exciting and exclusive school of wizardry. In fact, you are lucky to have found a teacher."

  "You're saying I don't really have a choice. I'm resigned to this new way of living, being zapped by things I touch. Feeling evil entities when I sit on the ground."

  "Oh, you have a choice. You can muddle through on your own and let every occurrence take you by surprise." He paused. "Or I can train you, at least teach you to understand your visions and control your powers."

  "With everything going on around here," I muttered, "I'd rather go somewhere else. Somewhere people aren't trying to kill me."

  "What makes you think they won't follow you?" Nicholas gave me a moment to let his question sink in. "Regardless of what you decide to do, I have specific business to complete here and am not going anywhere. Go ahead and ignore the powers you have been given and muddle through on your own, if you'd prefer." His shrug was resigned. "Of course, then my own family's deaths will have been for nothing." He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head slowly, a look of utter incredulity on his face. "Our fate lies in your hands. I am profoundly comforted."

  He ope
ned the front door. "Come to my house for your next lesson. You can expect it to be more intensive. I'll call you when I'm ready." He pushed me inside, still protesting, and closed the door in my face.

  I immediately jerked it back open. "You are such an--"

  He was gone.

  Chapter 17: Laying the Wards

  Sleep-deprived and bleary-eyed, Nicholas poured a cup of black coffee the following morning before heading into the pantry. Stupid, infuriating girl. Only by a stroke of pure, dumb luck had she remembered to warn him. Well, he'd known they'd figure out who he was at some point and come after him.

  But if he was the next one marked for elimination, he planned to make their task as difficult as possible, starting by warding the house in case they decided to come back in person.

  He pulled a sealed container of water with a hand-marked label from the pantry shelf, along with a box of sea salt. Then he turned his attention to the rows of amber vials. Asafetida? No. As a protective herb it was effective, but it smelled like dung and he still had to live here. Angelica, then. Its mere presence would keep bad spirits away. He walked deeper into the pantry. Bay leaves to add both banishing and protection. Briefly, he considered brimstone as his third ingredient, but again, too smelly. Ah! High John would be the perfect complement for the trio. It would not only protect, but also break and destroy any spells or hexes. He pulled both oil and root from the shelf. He would add the oil to the incense for the house and carry the root for personal protection.

  Leaving his herbs on the kitchen counter, Nicholas stood in the first floor entrance to consider where the power point of the house resided. Warding the house would include all the windows and outside doors from attic to basement, but he would need to anchor his ward at the power point to keep the shield stable. Slipping his socked feet into boots and throwing his winter cloak over pajamas, he strode outside.

  He began at the front of the house, letting his bare fingers trail along the cold wood walls. Most home power points were found on the first floor where family members spent most of their time and energy. Often it was the kitchen.