Journey of Souls (The Mortality Series)

by Melanie S. Pronia

  As Patrick drove off into the dark night, Justine glanced at his strong, masculine profile.

  "Patrick, where is your father?" The words were spoken softly. Patrick seemed to mull over the question before answering.

  "Who knows." There was a defensive hurt to his voice that although he tried to disguise, Justine picked up on.

  "What does that mean?"

  "I haven't seem him since I was fourteen, and could live happily the rest of my life never seeing him again."

  Justine decided to let the subject drop and both of them remained silent for the entire trip to Patrick's condominium. His condo was much larger than her apartment, but not nearly as nicely decorated or as comfortable. She had only been there twice before and that was in a hurry to pick something up before heading out.

  Patrick unlocked the door then stepped back to let her enter before him. He turned on the lights which lit up the large living room brightly. A large book shelf was stuffed full of many different books. Paper backs from popular

  horror authors, hard back books on history and even a whole section dedicated to books on the occult.

  Patrick was in the kitchen getting each of them a beer while watching Justine slowly stroll around glancing at the different titles. He watched her quietly without her being aware of it. He felt nervous and restless. There was something working and moving quickly in Justine's mind, he knew that soon she would start to question him, wanting to know more about him, and he knew that sharing facts about his life and himself was not his strong point. He loved her though, god he loved her so much it hurt. And he was scared. Not afraid of loving her, afraid of blowing it, questioning whether or not he was good enough for her. She was so beautiful and good. Delicate yet strong. She was everything that he strived to be.

  He slowly strolled out of the kitchen, fully aware of his male charm and smiled warmly at her. She returned his smile and accepted the beer he offered her.

  "Patrick are you a Warlock?"

  Even though he knew that she would eventually ask him that particular question, it caught him off guard, he decided to spin it around in a way he could hopefully evade it.

  "Warlocks are traitors to their clan. A male Witch is simply called a Witch." His eyes were intense as he watched the look of confusion falter on her face.

  "Are you a Witch then?" Patrick knew that there was no escaping such a direct question, and braced himself for rejection.

  "Yes." His answer was spoken quietly, his eyes boring into Justine.

  "I see." She didn't know how else to respond, she hadn't been prepared for him to say yes, she had expected that he would, but now that she knew the answer, she didn't know how to proceed.

  Patrick took a deep swig of his beer and waited a beat.

  "Is that a problem for you?" His voice wavered defensively. Justine was surprised by his sudden dark mood, he was usually so charming and easy going.

  "No." She waited a beat, "Would you like me to go? Maybe you need some time alone?"

  He chuckled sarcastically attempting to cover up the pain, here we go, he thought to himself.

  "Is that your polite way of dumping me, Justine?" He straightened his back, ready for the blast, all the while knowing it would crush him.

  "What?" Justine seemed amazed at the question. "No. Why would you even think that?" It was her turn to be offended.

  When he responded by only taking another sip of his beer, Justine proceeded.

  "You just seem so moody tonight. Did I do something to piss you off?" Then Justine wondered if maybe Lila hadn't like her it and mentioned it to Patrick. She was surprised at how badly that idea hurt.

  Patrick sighed loudly and set down his beer before advancing towards Justine and taking her hands in his own before seating them on the couch.

  "It's not you baby. I'm just, restless." Nervous was more like it, he thought.

  "Restless, how?"

  "It's hard to explain."

  "Maybe you should try." She stared pointedly at him.

  "I love you Justine, there's a lot you don't know about me."

  "I know, I realized that tonight after meeting your mother, I'd like to know you better."

  "That's the problem, I'm not so sure that you would like everything about me."

  "Are you really a Witch?" The question was again asked directly.

  "Yes I am. How does that make you feel?" His eyes nearly pleaded with her to accept it.

  "I'm not sure, it doesn't really bother me though, it's just different and well maybe even a little scary. Is your Mom a Witch?"

  "Yes, my whole family is."

  "Oh." Lila's image quickly flashed through her mind, she seemed entirely too pretty and warm to be a Witch.

  "Your father was a Witch Justine." He hated to sink to that level, but felt the need to defend himself somehow.

  "He was not, he was Baptist."

  "At least that's what he lead you to believe." Patrick sipped his drink and leaned back into the couch, his eyes blazing intensely. "How often did you all go to church?" The question stunned Justine and completely threw her off.

  "Not often, actually only once or twice when my mom insisted, daddy didn't like organized religion."

  "And that doesn't seem to be a bit odd to you?" It was Justine's turn to take a long sip on her beer.

  "I never really though about, but yeah, now that you say it like that, it does."

  The two of them were silent for a few minutes, the tension between them seeming to grow more intense as the time between words lengthened.

  "How do you know my dad was a Witch? Did you know him?"

  "Yes I did, I just didn't realize he was your father until tonight after what Mom said. He used to practice with our coven, a lot when I was younger, but it lessened a lot over the years." Justine fumbled with her hands in her lap, before looking him in the eye.

  "What does being a Witch mean exactly? Obviously you don't fly on a broom or dance around nude under the full moon."

  When Patrick laughed whole heartedly, although Justine felt a bit better, she also felt foolish.

  "That's only half right."

  "Patrick, am I a Witch?" Her eyes seemed suddenly so sad and lost that it melted Patrick's heart.

  "Are you?" A question for a question, Patrick was so good at that and it infuriated Justine sometimes.

  "I don't know, am I? That's why I asked you."

  "Justine, no answer I can give you will be correct. That's something you have to figure out for yourself."

  Patrick stood up while Justine seemed to flounder over her own questions.

  "Here, let me show you something." He grabbed her hand and walked her into his bedroom. The room was huge, done it reds and black, a sharp expressive very masculine contrast. The master bedroom contained two walk in closets and Patrick took her into one. When he turned on the light, he stood behind her, gently holding her against himself. Praying that she would not run screaming from the room.

  There was a circular black table with a silver pentacle carved and painted on it. On top of the table was a small statue of a dragon, an oil burner, incense burner, a few different colored candles, among various other interesting novelties. There was also a small black cast iron cauldron and sharp black handled knife.

  Nervously Justine turned to look Patrick in the eye.

  "Is this an altar?"

  "Yes."

  "What do you do with it?" The question was so innocently curious, that Patrick hugged her tight.

  "Many things, spells, charms, worship."

  "Isn't that pentagram a sign of the devil?"

  He laughed instantly having been asked the same question several times,

  "No babe, it's a Witches symbol we call it a pentacle. The circle represents life, and the continuing balance of it. Four points of the star represent the elements, fire, water, earth and air. The top point represents, the spirit, soul or self." Although his explanation was more than adequate, it just lead her to more questions.

 
"Would you teach me some?"

  "If you want to learn for you yes, but not to just help you understand me. It's not a joke Justine."

  She seemed to consider the question.

  "When do you worship?"

  "I haven't in a while." His voice was nearly somber as he answered.

  "Why not?"

  "I've been other wise occupied."

  "With me?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry," she replied sadly.

  "Why?"

  "Because I've taken so much of your time."

  "Justine, I love you, I enjoying spending all my time with you." His voice was as convincing as his warm arms were. She stepped back to look into his eyes.

  "Is this why you're restless?"

  "Sort of."

  "Take me home then Patrick, so you can do, well whatever it is you do." Her eyes barely concealed the sadness taking over her heart.

  "No." His voice was steely.

  "Why not?"

  "Because I love you, I want to be with you right now." She knew that his words were sincere, but it still broke her heart, she'd never meant to take over his entire life.

  "Show me then, Patrick, tonight, now." Her voice was suddenly breathless with excitement.

  "Right now? Are you sure?" He chuckled and hugged her to him. "Justine, it's not a bunch of parlor tricks, hun."

  "Oh, I'm sure of that Patrick, teach me

  something, anything."

  He turned out the light in the closet and snatched up her hand. Once they were back in the living room, he stopped in the center of the room.

  "Not tonight Justine, next weekend is the Summer Solstice, you can learn with my coven at my mother's. How does that sound?"

  "Scary, exciting." They both laughed before kissing each other lovingly. When Patrick broke the kiss, he stroked his thumb gently over Justine's cheek.

  "It's not that I don't want to teach you Justine. I would rather you see it first hand. And, well I don't want to scare you away. Seeing it will make it seem less scary. Magick is beautiful when done right." Chapter Nineteen

  Monday morning landed like a cruel stone in Justine's lap. Her first call had been to Conroy, who had very graciously given her a personal day off, even though he didn't know the details of her problem.

  She sat at her computer desk with a cup of coffee that had gone cold and a huge phone book opened up in her lap. Today, she was going to have to have her mother committed. She felt like she was betraying her mother, but tried to think with her mind and not her heart. It was the only reasonable thing she could do at this point in time, she tried to convince herself again and again.

  There were thirty eight listings in the phone book. Justine slumped over attempting to clear her mind before getting a fresh cup of coffee. With a fresh mug of coffee in hand, reluctantly Justine sat back down in her chair. The recovery home that Lila had suggested was listed. The words seemed to jump off the yellow page and glare menacingly at Justine.

  With unsteady hands she lifted up the phone and dialed the number, having no other idea of where to begin. The operator on the other end of the phone answered in a cheerful voice. Justine, paused, hating her own hesitation before quietly and slowly explaining her mother's situation.

  With a flourish similar to the productivity of a well oiled engine, the operator quickly and

  professionally took down all of the pertinent information and repeated it back to Justine in precise detail.

  In an hour, a simple, single hour, Justine was to meet the Psychologist at her mother's home, where her mother would be detained and taken to the half way house for alcoholic rehabilitation. Justine stood to shower and dress, feeling like a traitor the entire time. Her mother would hate her she knew, but there seemed to be no other promising options at the time.

  With shaky hands, Justine drove quickly to her mother's house, grateful that she had beaten the psychologist team there. Steeling herself, Justine quietly entered her childhood home and was instantly convinced that she had made the right decision. Alice was passed out on the couch, surrounded by paper backs and magazines and ominous four legged creatures known to most people as roaches. The house itself was not only the filthiest she had ever seen it, it was beyond needing some T.L.C. Next to Alice was a near empty glass of wine and the T.V. was set on a station that Justine quickly guessed had aired all night, or at least late into the night. Alice herself was in a state of disarray, thin and dressed in sweaty pajamas; Justine had never seen her mother shirk her personal hygiene. It hurt her deeply to admit how badly embarrassed of her mother she was.

  Before she was able to clean up either the house or her mother a dreadful knock sounded at the front door. Gathering herself and all of her composure Justine forced herself to answer the door to a Psychologist wearing the dreaded white coat that so many people linked with white coat syndrome, he was also accompanied with two very burly looking orderlies.

  For the quickest flash of an instant, the doubts seemed to have collided in Justine's mind; she had never planned on it going down quite this way. For a fraction of a second, Justine considered telling the three men that they had the wrong address. However, the psychologist stared at her with a keen wisdom in his eyes, as if unquestionably knowing that he was indeed at the right place. Feeling not only her heart, but her faith as well fall to the ground and crack open to reveal only hollow hope, Justine silently stepped back from the door and gave them way of passage.

  Alice's pulse was taken and then her blood pressure, once the psychologist was assured that she was healthy enough to make the transport to the hospital, the three of them easily, almost rudely put a groggy, weakly thrashing Alice onto a stretcher. There were no sirens or flashing lights to accompany the breaking of Justine's heart that morning, just a silent voyage into the unknown for Alice Ramsey and her fearful daughter Justine. Dr. Bandeon had very superbly and in no uncertain terms let Justine know that she was not welcome at the rehabilitation center until Alice had been there for at least a week.

  It was with a heavy heart and a numb mind that Justine drove home. Once she had arrived to the quiet sanity of her own space she cuddled up under a soft cotton blanket and cried years of tears and regret, missing her father with a grief that seemed as fresh as it had felt the day he had died.

  A soft knocked awakened Justine out of her sleep. She stood to yawn and stretch broadly before answering the door. The man of the other side seemed to be her savior and she wasn't sure if she was comfortable with that yet, but the warm smile and dozen of red roses seemed to make her reconsider the situation at least for the moment.

  Patrick had a way about him, a power about him to make moments of despair pass quickly and almost painlessly. He held Justine on his lap over looking the waves of Vilano Beach in St. Augustine, while telling her a ridiculous story about the tragic romance of the young earth maiden and the sea king. It didn't take him long to have her laughing warmly in his arms. With seemingly magick hands he had wreathed together a sea shell and reed crown for the Princess Justine which graced her chestnut hair regally. Patrick was without a doubt a master of words and

  indulgence.

  That night the two of them fell asleep locked in one another's embrace in Justine's bed. Dreams of peace and fertile platitudes soothingly entertained Justine though the night. She knew that somehow, someway they would make it, she would make it.

  *****

  Justine was excited on the drive to Lila's. Once again she was struck with the strong feeling of familiarity. The placed seemed to hold some sort of magick. Before Patrick could even stop the car, Lila came out the front door of the house and approached. She had her long dark hair pulled back into a pony tail and she was wearing denim jeans and tan boots.

  "Hey guys, "she said as they stepped out of the car. She gave Patrick a hug before turning to Justine.

  "Are you ready to go riding today?"

  "I think so," Justine laughed nervously.

  Lila chuckled,

  "You'll do
just fine."

  They walked into the house and Lila handed Patrick a full saddle bag.

  "I put everything in it that you asked me too, and you owe me fifty bucks for it." Lila said to Patrick.

  "Mom, you're the best," Patrick said opening his wallet and handing her sixty dollars.

  "Oh I get to keep the change for a tip right?"

  "Of course, mother." Patrick said smiling affectionately.

  Justine silently watched the exchange wondering was in the very full saddle bag.

  "Okay let's get saddled up."

  In the barn Patrick stroked and cooed at Brigid who barely stood still she was so excited that her master was taking her riding.

  "Justine, you're going to ride Rhiannon, she's a sweet horse, very mild mannered."

  Justine nodded and prepared the horse as Lila instructed her to do. She stared at the large animal, frightened until Rhiannon nuzzled her hand and stared up at her with very calm, reassuring eyes.

  It took Justine two tries to mount the tall horse, she laughed at herself, not allowing herself to get frustrated. Once she was on top Rhiannon, Justine felt nervous and wobbly, but as if the horse sensed Justine's anxiety, she started out slowly.

  Justine glanced over at Lila who stood there smiling at the two of them.

  "You're not coming with us?"

  "Oh no, I have too much to get done, besides it'll be nice for you and Patrick to go out alone together."

  Justine looked at Patrick atop the beautiful Palomino and was taken aback. He looked so sexy with his near black hair, tan skin, confidently straddling the blonde horse.

  Justine then agreed with Lila, it certainly would be lovely for Patrick and her to be alone.

  Patrick started out slow, instructing Justine. Rhiannon proceeded nicely, reassuring Justine with the slow walk. Once the two of them had ridden out behind the house and it was no longer in view, Patrick glanced at Justine.

  "Okay, Justine let's pick up the speed a bit. Lean forward, kick her with your heals and hold on. But don't be nervous, a horse can sense your feelings, and if she knows you're nervous, she'll be nervous too and not run for you."

  Justine looked at the ground which seemed to be miles away from her, but nodded quietly and did as instructed. Rhiannon easily moved into a slow, jarring trot that exhilarated Justine who held on tightly.