Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1)

by Sandy Wright

  I was stung. So she was going with him. I pulled my napkin from my lap and dropped it on my plate, my appetite gone.

  We were silent for most of the ride home.

  Nicholas broke the uncomfortable stalemate. "Samantha, I'm sorry I snapped at you." He gave me a sideways glance. "I'm simply accustomed to traveling alone and keeping my business to myself."

  I said nothing. It would take a lot more than one sorry to make amends.

  He stopped the car outside the house and turned to me.

  "Most of my work is of a sensitive nature. I hope you understand it is nothing personal."

  "I understand," I said, resigned. "I hope you and Lilith have a productive trip." I opened the door.

  "Wait!" He grabbed my arm. "I'm not going with Lilith."

  I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip, a slow smile starting across his face. "You're jealous?"

  I pulled harder, wrenching my arm free and stepping out of the car. I stopped, fuming, and stared at him.

  He was laughing.

  "I'm not jealous," I crossed my arms across my chest.

  He stepped out of the car and looked at me over its top. His face was boyish and open, and he looked genuinely happy. "I'll be damned. Didn't expect you to be the jealous type."

  "I'm not. Really."

  He wound his house key off the key ring and tossed it to me. "I'll be back on Wednesday, but really late. Don't wait up for me."

  I glared at him as he drove away. He was still chuckling.

  * * * * *

  My bad mood dissipated as soon as I stepped through the front door of Bella's house. To a bird its nest, to a prairie dog its hole, to me this house. I was delighted to have it all to myself. Perhaps during my solitary visit, I could discover some clues to the private life of the secretive Bella Orenda.

  Both cats scampered past me up the wide oak staircase to Bella's bedroom, sliding on the polished wood of the second-floor landing. They seemed overjoyed to have me come visit. I dropped my overnight bag on the cushioned window seat and grinned at my new friends. "What first?"

  Once the boys were contentedly lapping bowls of milk in the kitchen, I headed into the library to look over the sections of books I'd only been able to glance at on my last visit. I stopped at a cheerfully flowered little book among the black-spined potions books: The Modern Witch's Book of Love Spells. I plucked it down from the library shelf. The inside flap read, "Everything you need to know to cast spells, work charms and love magic. Achieve your wishes using every day materials."

  Ha! If only it were easy. I settled into an overstuffed chair, propping my feet on the ottoman and pulling a blanket over my lap for Shadow. He immediately hopped up and began kneading the soft material with a fervor bordering on trance state. Watching his happy, glazed expression, I wondered if my life would ever achieve such bliss.

  "Well, let's see what we can find," I said to my drooling partner. "These spells will work for anyone with visual mind," I read aloud. "If you see the image of the person on whom you're trying to cast the spell in graphic detail – eyes, mouth, nose, and expression – and it comes naturally, then you may have the talent for witchcraft."

  I closed my eyes and pictured Nicholas' face in my mind. His long aristocratic nose, his dark eyes and lashes against pale skin. His mouth, moving toward mine with a hunger so sharp it was almost pain.

  I sighed. This was not witchcraft, but romantic fantasy. I opened my eyes and put the book down. "I'm going to need a glass of wine."

  Back on the sofa, wine glass in hand, I read snatches from the spell book to Shadow. "Many love spells are based on the concept of sympathetic magic, using an object which represents or belongs to the person you want to bewitch. Forays to gather an intended's fingernail clippings can be entertaining events in themselves."

  I turned the book over in my lap to stroke the cat on my lap. "Think Nicholas would like a manicure for Yule?" Shadow looked up at me with sleepy eyes before tucking his nose back between his paws.

  "I'll take your lack of enthusiasm as a no." I flipped to the next section, To Catch a Lover Admired from Afar." I scratched the cat's head. "Listen to this, it might work:

  "Go to a graveyard and collect dust from a tombstone while chanting: 'He is mine in life and death, May he never depart me.' Then bake a cake with the dust and feed it to your love."

  My feline reviewer sat up and groomed his face thoroughly with a front paw, then flopped down in the middle of the book, presenting his belly to be scratched.

  "I don't care if you do approve. It's just creepy."

  Shadow narrowed his eyes to golden half-moons and cocked his head to gaze up at me.

  "Darling, did you use a new recipe?" I pantomimed spitting out food. "It seems a little gritty."

  The cat gave me a disgusted look and jumped down, as if to say, "A familiar can only give so much guidance, after all. You have to do some of the work yourself."

  The whole idea seemed so desperate and sad. Yet people actually still used spells to attract love. Rumor had spent a lunch hour recently describing a coven member who had cast a love spell.

  "Did it work?" I had asked.

  "It worked all right. Too well," she replied. "When they broke up she couldn't get rid of him. He became obsessed, followed her when she began dating another man. Attacked her. She was frightened. He lost his mind. She finally took out a restraining order on him."

  What is a crazy, jealous Nicholas like? I envisioned my house in flames and shuddered. I shut the book and dropped it on the floor, feeling foolish for even toying with the idea.

  I took my laptop into the kitchen, looking for a good place to work. I relished beginning my herbal Materia Magicka, since I had access not only to the library, but also to Bella's full pantry of herbs and oils.

  An antique roll-top desk sat in one corner of the kitchen. I raised the top. The grimoire I'd returned to Nicholas sat on the top of a pile of bills. I pulled it out and put it on the table with my other herb books.

  The pantry ingredients were listed in alphabetical order, so I began with the As. The sheer volume of stuff in the pantry surprised me. I typed the first herb on my spreadsheet and listed its properties: Acacia Flower (Acacia Senegal). Flowers are sacred to the spirits and stimulate your psychic centers. Recommended for meditation and concentration, incenses, prophetic dreaming and luck.

  I poured a pinch of the herb into my palm to acquaint myself with its smell and consistency, and taped a bit to an index card to file with my notes. Then I thumbed through the stack of spell books, jotting a few spells that used acacia. Then I turned to the Book of Shadows and looked for any spells using this flower. Some of them I still couldn't decipher, but as I became more familiar with the herbs, several of the abbreviated entries made sense.

  The next herb, aconite, wasn't in the pantry. It was described as extremely poisonous, and I decided I'd put the poisons in a separate file, to give them additional study later.

  In no time, it seemed, the light in the kitchen faded as sunset passed unnoticed.

  I saved my file, pushed the books aside, and stretched, wondering if I would ever be able to memorize the hundreds of Latin names for the plant species.

  My head ached from eyestrain and lack of food, so I put on my coat and gloves. A fat, juicy hamburger and a frosty mug of beer from the Haunted Hamburger, in downtown Jerome, sounded like the perfect antidote.

  While sipping beer, I watched the eclectic locals who frequented the burger shop, pretty much the entirety of the clientele this time of year, when the steep road up the mountain would be unplowed, or worse, coated in ice.

  Some looked like artists who retreated to Jerome for the solitude. Others looked more like fugitives hiding from something or someone. Jerome would certainly be a good place to disappear. Or to practice witchcraft, I thought. The locals didn't care about your religious preference or unusual personal habits. Chances are they had a few secrets of their own. Wh
at had Jaco Hunsley said? Everyone has secrets, hidden compartments within themselves.

  * * * * *

  The orange 'low battery' light on my computer was blinking when I returned. I searched around the desk for an outlet. Having no luck, I put my back against the side of the sturdy desk and pushed. Slowly it began to inch away from the wall. When I'd made enough of a gap to reach behind, I lay down on the floor and peered at the wall for an outlet. I found a penlight in the front drawer of the desk, plugged the power cord into my laptop, and lay back down on the floor with the light so I could see while putting the prongs in the wall socket.

  My light flashed on a shiny object attached to the back of the desk. I shone my light on the little metal plate.

  Jaco Hunsley, fine furniture. So this was the piece the odd cabinetmaker had made for Renard. I ran my light carefully over the entire back wall of the desk, looking for any sign of a hidden compartment, but it was smooth. To be sure, I ran my hands over the entire back. Nothing. I crawled out from behind the desk and brushed the dust off my butt.

  Standing, I glared at the beautiful desk. I will find the damn compartment if I have to stay up all night.

  I pulled out all the drawers and stacked them on the floor, examining each one. I ran my hands along the inside of each drawer slot but found nothing. Reseating the drawers, I swiveled the accordion roll-top partway down and felt carefully along the inside of its grooves.

  Frustrated, I stepped back and looked at the desk again. I saw little mail slots along the inside on each side of a small compartment with a door. The slots were too narrow for my fingers, so I got a kitchen knife and poked it around in each one. Nothing.

  Pulling bill envelopes, old letters, and newspaper clippings off the narrow shelves, I cleared out the entire desk. The only thing I found was a deck of tarot cards, pushed clear to the back, and obviously well-used.

  I put the cards on the kitchen table, thinking it would be fun to try a reading. I'd seen not one book, but a whole section on divination on my last visit to the library.

  But damned if I knew where else to find a secret compartment.

  When the clock in the hallway struck midnight, I gave up for the night. Calling the boys, I turned off the lights and headed to Bella's bedroom, shining the flashlight on the stairs for the cats to chase on the way up.

  Chapter 34: Mistress Nutter

  Nicholas drove toward the California border in good spirits. Maybe his grandmother's message had not been so farfetched after all. His mind lingered on Samantha, her auburn hair and athletic body. She was a little young for him and not as worldly as he preferred. Still, she had a feisty Scottish temperament, which he found appealing in an exasperating sort of way. She would certainly be a handful as she grew into her powers. He chuckled. She would keep you young, old chap. You could do much worse for the long haul.

  As he swung north at Barstow, he frowned, thoughts of Lilith and their recent conversation intruding on his contentment. Maya was right about dark magic. It could easily get out of hand. But it still comes down to intent. A thing forcibly taken may not produce the same effect as the same thing willingly given. Lilith was a textbook example: Impatient, insecure and quick to anger, all traits leading directly to disaster in dark magic. Yes, he would need to deal with Lilith. She was crucial to his plans.

  He would be resorting to the same dark magic if he became more deeply involved with Samantha, no matter how he tried to justify his intentions.

  He checked into a motel at ten, still considering the best approach with Samantha. A magickal bond could be set in a number of ways, including sexual intercourse. If he had sex with Sam without divulging the magickal consequences of the act beforehand, didn't the act also violate her free will? He could come up with no simple solution.

  The next morning he waited for the sunrise before heading uphill to Ponderosa, a tiny town 7200 feet into the southern Sierra Mountains. Finally, he turned onto a narrow, forested road for the last few miles to Nutter's Grove, nestled deep in a stand of ancient redwoods.

  Nicholas pulled into the tiny parking lot of Madame Nutter's. Although the morning sun shafted through the tall trees, the hut-like store squatted in shadow, and frozen snow crunched under the tires.

  He opened the rickety front door and stopped, taking a moment to cover his nose and protect it from the comingling odors bombarding him. The shop was dimly lit. Potions ingredients hung from the ceiling, bushy, dried-out bunches of plants and herbs, as well as what looked like smoked bits and pieces of creatures. Long strings of teeth swung slightly to and fro from yellow twine. Dusty glass cabinets lined the near wall, twinkling in the hazy light. One back corner overflowed with brooms of all sizes. In the other stood a huge whiskey barrel filled with assorted bones, several of which looked suspiciously human. As he looked around, Nicholas rubbed his nostrils, which itched and burned.

  The creaking wooden floorboards alerted the shop owner, who came out from the dark recesses of a back room. Wiping her hand on a stained apron, she extended it to Nicholas.

  He bowed slightly instead of shaking. "Mistress Nutter?"

  "That's me." Her voice was a high and thin bird's screech. "Who're you?"

  "Nicholas Orenda." He inclined his head slightly further toward her. Tiny, her slightly stooped posture made her seem even smaller.

  "What ye want?"

  "I am in need of certain herbs which I was told you might supply." Nicholas spoke softly, bending his six-foot frame toward the old woman. "Curio supplies not used much these days. Some which are," he paused delicately, "…difficult to procure."

  She peered up at him with bright beady eyes, not a hint of confusion clouding them. "Ye have a list?"

  Nicholas reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded slip of parchment, putting it in the woman's gnarled hand. She ran her eyes swiftly down the page and straightened her thin frame. "Can't do this in the shop."

  Now that she stood straight, Nichols wondered if he had over-estimated the woman's age. Her neck was smooth and firm and her hair appeared to be powdered gray, the roots still dark.

  "Come to my place 'round back." She skittered over to the front door, turned the bolt, and then flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED. Turning on her heel, she retreated into the dim back room, Nicholas trailing behind.

  They went through a tiny yard enclosed on all sides by a high wooden fence drifted with snow. Without a word, she continued into an outbuilding even smaller and dingier than the shop.

  Nicholas ducked his head into the low building, but, hearing a noise, pulled it out abruptly and looked up. A crow sat perched on the chimney of the hut, watching. Ms. Nutter unlocked the front door and the crow disappeared into the chimney as they entered, greeting them inside with a caw.

  A new odor drifted to him from an iron cauldron simmering on a black, pot-bellied stove. His eyes again began to water, and he gave his nose another pinch as his pupils adjusted to the dim interior. A thick curtain was drawn across the only window.

  Madam Nutter closed the door, motioning Nicholas to sit on a stool. She knelt down by the hearth and blew the embers of the fire into a flame, the crow helping her by flapping his big black wings as the sparks flew about. Heaping on firewood, she shifted the cauldron over the full flame, then stood and went to the farther of the two chests, taking out several small bottles and boxes, which she carried to the table with great care.

  The crow had fixed his talons on her shoulder, and he chuckled and croaked in her ear as she removed her treasures. She pulled a small bone from the trunk and held it up to attract the bird's attention. Darting out, he seized it in his beak and hopped away. She laughed a girlish giggle that confirmed she was not the ancient hag he had first guessed, but closer to his own age. Excellent age glamour, he thought. If I didn't know her, she would have fooled me completely. Just the slightest shimmer around her face and shoulders.

  She filled the list with ingredients out of the trunk one by one, occ
asionally consulting the parchment and muttering to herself in agitation. "Mandrake root, nightshade, black hellebore, yew berries." She straightened and cast a sad gaze at Nicholas. "Ye have ill intent here, son."

  Nicholas returned her gaze without flinching. "I do, and it is well-deserved, I assure you."

  "Well-deserved or not," she replied, "Are ye not concerned about the effect on your own soul?"

  Nicholas looked around the room at the bubbling cauldron with its toxic fumes, the crow with his bone, and the growing pile of poisonous herbs the woman sorted. "Are you for yours?"

  Ms. Nutter pointed a bony finger at him and cackled. "Good point, laddie, good point." She pulled a scale from the top cabinet shelf, and a marble mortar and pestle from the next, setting these items on the table next to the selected jars. Pulling the rocking chair to the table next to Nicholas, she settled herself onto the seat and looked at him expectantly. "How much will ye be wanting of each?"

  * * * * *

  Their business concluded, Nicholas carried his bundled package from the little shack and followed Ms. Nutter back to the store, pausing to look with curiosity into the barrel of bones. "Is there a cemetery near here?"

  She gave him a shrewd look and nodded.

  "Needing something special?"

  Nicholas rooted gingerly through the barrel. He gave a barely imperceptible nod.

  "'Bout two miles down the road from here." She caught Nicholas's eye and clicked her tongue. "I heard there is a fresh grave."

  Nicholas met her birdlike black eyes with his equally dark ones. "Anyone special?"

  "Nay. Unmarked grave, I'd think. We've had no funerals for six months." She raked her gaze across his face. "You don't want ta get involved in this, son. It goes against your nature."

  "What do you know of my nature, you fake old crone?"

  His made his voice deliberately harsh, but she didn't flinch. "I know this. The man who came last week. He was more suited to the dark workings. They don't sit easy on you."

  "And who would he be?"

  She shrugged.

  "I'm an old woman. I forget things like names. In fact, I often forget to ask. Did I ask yours, for instance?"