by MJ Caan
“She’s a…ward?” said Cody, swallowing a mouthful of chicken. “Cool.” The look I gave him made him choke, and he happily returned to his plate.
“Let me clarify,” said Aunt Vivian. “You aren’t a ward as in ‘you’re a veil that is meant to protect us from the realm of the supernatural.’ What I mean is that in breaking that amulet, you freed yourself to tap into the vast mystical energies that swirl about us. You are capable of more than you know—probably more than even we know.”
“My dear,” said Aunt Lena, “it’s time we told you just what your mother was—what you may yet be as well.”
She brought me a steaming cup of tea and I thanked her, taking it in trembling hands. Aunt Vivian sat cups in front of her sister and Cody before crossing the room to join us.
“We are all witches,” said Aunt Lena. “We were born into a family of witches. We have an affinity for all things supernatural. Magic comes easily to our kind. We are all born with certain gifts that can be augmented with the mystical energies around us when we tap into them. Your aunt—” she nodded at her sister “—has a gift for precognition. She has limited vision when it comes to events that have yet to happen. Myself? I have a connection with the earth, and the flora around us. I can sense the energies that flow around the life-giving plants and trees that are nearby. It tells me which plants can be combined to make certain potions…and teas.” She lifted her teacup and smiled.
“What was my mother’s gift?” I asked.
“Like you, your mother was a telekinetic. A very strong one. She had the ability to move energy and direct it into objects to create powerful weapons that were anathema to most supernaturals,” replied Aunt Vivian.
“Charging. That’s what I call it. The way I charged the silver knife the night I was attacked in the coffee shop?”
“Exactly,” said Aunt Lena. “That is a singular, unique skill. It’s a combination of your natural telekinesis and magic. Your will channels the magic into objects, making them focused weapons capable of disrupting spells and the natural flow of mystic energy. That you were able to channel that ability without being taught is impressive in itself. Couple that with the fact that you’ve been able to project solid magic constructs…the shield that protected you tonight, or the orb you conjured in the woods…those are advanced mystical techniques, ones that are beyond the abilities of most witches.”
“So I’m a natural?” I said.
“No…more like a prodigy. A magical savant, if you will. Your mother had the same gift as well.”
“Then why did she bind my powers? She knew what I was capable of. Couldn’t she have entrusted the two of you to teach me?” I asked.
“It wasn’t that. She bound you to keep you from becoming something off which the warlocks could siphon. They crave a witch’s power. It may have been what attracted them to Trinity Cove in the first place…” Aunt Lena’s voice trailed off.
“Lena…” said her sister, her tone low and questioning.
“What?” replied Aunt Lena. “We have come this far. Just tell her the rest. She’s taken off her chains now, so she might as well know what she is.” She turned to me, reaching across the table to take my hands in hers. “Allie, your mother was a very specific, very special type of witch. She was what was known as a Reliquary. In its truest definition, a Reliquary is a vessel meant to contain holy relics during ancient times.”
“You mean like the Arc of the Covenant?” I asked.
“Exactly,” replied Aunt Lena. “It was also consecrated to contain holy writings, scrolls, rings…even the bones of saints.”
“So…how does a living person become one of those?” I said.
“A Reliquary, a true Reliquary, was created through rituals of prayer and invocation by the leaders of the Catholic Church. It was reinforced by years of prayer and the application of specific oils and potions until it was deemed worthy of holding the artifacts placed within it for an eternity. Over time, the specific ritual and prayers that created a Reliquary were lost. The art itself died. The church, in its great wisdom, decided that any container could become a Reliquary as long as it was blessed by an official of the church. As a result, there are few true Reliquaries left in the world. While the art of creating these was lost to the church, it was not lost to those who first created the tradition.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Witches.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Lena, nodding. “We were the inventors of the lore that the church stole.”
“What did you create Reliquaries for?” asked Cody. I looked over at him, and he seemed to be far more at ease now that he had eaten. For some reason, that made me feel a little more relaxed as well.
“Originally, we used Reliquaries as part of our rituals. They were meant to contain artifacts of magic that were only brought out for specific ceremonies,” said Aunt Vivian. “Over time, witches began to use them to hold dark matter: spirits, fairies, demons…things that were capable of crossing over from other realms into our world to afflict human beings. These malefic creatures were held in certain stones and crystals. Crystals vibrate at the same frequency as the veil that separates our world from the world of the dark ones. Occasionally, a denizen of the dark realm would find a crack in the veil and make their way onto our world. Witches would gather up these spirits and trap them in a Reliquary to seal them away.”
“Or use them,” said Aunt Lena.
“Use them how?” I asked.
“Some witches figured out ways to force the captive spirits to do their bidding. They were called Servants of the Relics, or known more commonly as Gens or Genies,” Aunt Vivian continued. “It was that manipulation of power that first gave rise to the warlocks. They had no power of their own, but they could tap into the power contained in Relics, and eventually they learned to harness the energy of a living witch.”
“The rise of the warlocks coincided with the birth of the first Reliquary witches,” said Aunt Lena. “These witches were born with the innate ability to contain vast quantities of mystical energies that they could draw upon to perform previously unheard-of acts of magic. They could utilize spell and potion, of course, but in addition to being able to channel their power into visible forms of energy, they could reduce the most complex of spells to a single spoken word and give it form. Your mother had this power, and now, we believe, so do you.”
“And that power is what attracted the warlock to Trinity Cove?” asked Cody.
“Warlocks are attracted to power. It’s what they crave,” said Aunt Vivian. “And your mother stood out like an all-you-can-eat buffet to a starving man.”
“So you think that’s what is happening now,” I asked. “That I possess the same power my mother did, and that’s the reason for the sudden increase in supernatural occurrences?”
“I believe that by slowly tapping into your power over the last couple of years, you have…pardon this expression…put your scent out there,” said Aunt Vivian. “That necklace your mother fashioned was to keep your powers bound, to prevent you from reaching your full magical potential. And as long as you didn’t access that power, you stayed off the grid for all the leeches that have now come sniffing around.”
I didn’t know what to say. The thought that I was somehow responsible for…
“Don’t do that,” said Aunt Lena in a stern voice. I wasn’t used to hearing that tone come from her. Typically, it was Aunt Vivian who carried the heavy emotional weight around the house. “Don’t go blaming yourself for something that you have absolutely no control over. Whatever it is that’s happening now was destined to happen, no matter what any of us tried to do to prevent it.” She gave Aunt Vivian a look that I was pretty sure ended a discussion they were having between themselves.
“A Reliquary, huh?” said Cody, smirking. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Couldn’t possibly be any cooler than being a werewolf,” I replied before I could stop myself. It sounded less mean in my head, and when I saw Cody wince I instantly regretted it.
“About that,” said Cody, turning away from me. “How can I be a werewolf? You said they were extinct.”
A dark look crossed Aunt Vivian’s face as she considered his words. “No. That isn’t exactly what I said. I think you need to talk to your father to get that question answered.”
“Agreed,” said Aunt Lena, “but for now, there is another question we need to get answered. Who, or what, is Mallis?”
I nodded. “How do we do that?”
“Well, that’s simple,” said Aunt Vivian with a smile. “Most likely this is all centered around the warlock that your mother defeated and imprisoned at Singing Falls. The easiest thing would be to ask him what he knows.”
Cody and I looked at one another, neither of us trying to hide the shock on our faces.
“I thought you said he was dead,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I need to be a little more succinct with my words,” said Aunt Vivian. “We will hold a séance and ask his spirit.”
18
We followed my aunts up the stairway into the large study that they shared, opposite an open loft that was used as a reading room. This was the second time in one day that we been in their study. That was two times more than I had ever set foot in it as long as I lived in this house. This time, I took stock of what was around me. With the exception of the large walkout basement, the room was easily the largest in the house. It was dominated by three nearly floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall that opened to a view of the street in front of the house. Cream-colored drapes had been drawn across them, and in front of the windows sat two leather club chairs that faced one another, with a small cocktail table between them. There was a bar on one wall, nicely stocked with a selection of bourbons and whiskeys. Along the opposite wall there was a large, comfortable-looking, well-worn orange sofa. As we entered the room we walked by a wall that was dominated by a custom bookcase running the entire length of it. The open shelves were covered by a multitude of leather-bound tomes. Each row of bookshelves was separated by a row of small jars, vases, and ornate pillboxes, as well as hundreds of mason jars that were filled with dried and fresh herbs. The very bottom shelf held large wooden and ceramic bowls, and what looked like apothecary mixing pieces. A single large area rug dominated the center of the room. The only other item of furniture in the intricately decorated space was a large wardrobe closet that was tucked into the farthest corner of the room.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I said.
“Not at all,” said Aunt Vivian. “But right now it’s really the only option that we have.”
“Make no mistake,” said Aunt Lena, “we are doing this for you. In all honesty, I would just as soon put you on a plane and ship you off to the opposite side of the country if I thought it would make a difference. But if we have learned anything from the past, it is that some things need to be stopped before they can get started.”
I chose not to ask what she meant by that. Instead, I looked around the study and smiled. “So what is the big deal about this room? Why is it that Gar and I were never allowed in here?”
“You’re about to find out,” Aunt Lena said. “This is our sanctum. Every adult with grown children in the house should have one.”
I ignored the sarcasm as my aunts directed Cody and myself to sit on the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable, and we settled in to observe what my aunts were doing. First, they rolled up the area rug so that it lay flush against the two club chairs and the cocktail table by the window. The exposed floor was not hardwood like the rest of the room; it was a single dark gray square that fit just inside the boundaries of the rug.
We watched silently as they both made their way over to the bookshelf and began gathering various objects. Aunt Lena retrieved one of the large apothecary bowls and a mixer from the lower shelf. She placed them on top of the bar, and reached inside the closed cabinet below to withdraw a couple of vials of a gray, powdery substance. She then returned to the bookshelves and gathered more vials, and what looked like a mixture of herbs and dried plants from a few mason jars. Returning to the bowl, she added them to the gray powder while softly reciting an incantation. While I could make out the words, they were in a language that I didn’t understand. I had a strong desire to ask her what she was saying, but instinct told me to keep my mouth shut.
From one of the shelves, Aunt Vivian removed a large piece of white chalk. Stepping over to the now exposed gray part of the floor, she began to draw a large circle roughly four feet in diameter. Chalkboard paint on the floor was a brilliant idea. Gar and I would have had a blast with that when we were younger.
When the circle was complete, Aunt Lena placed the bowl in the center. They each went back to the shelves and retrieved two candles apiece. Moving quietly, they placed the four candles on opposite points of the circle with Aunt Lena’s bowl perfectly placed in the center. They stepped back to gaze at their work. It must have passed inspection, because they each nodded and stepped away. Aunt Vivian went to the tall wardrobe, opened the creaking door, and withdrew one last object. It was a gnarled staff, roughly five feet in length. While it was ornately carved, the dark wood made it impossible to tell what the shapes along its length were.
Aunt Lena walked over to where Cody and I sat. “Listen to me; this is very important. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, do not say a word. And no matter what happens, do not move from this spot.” We both nodded in agreement, and she turned her back to us and moved to consult with her sister. Whatever they whispered about, they came to an agreement, and Aunt Vivian picked up a box of matches from the bar. She set about lighting the four candles as Aunt Lena withdrew a large leather-bound book from one of the shelves. She thumbed quickly through it until she found what she was looking for.
I noticed there was no smell coming from the candles, not even the scent of smoke. The flickering light became the only source of illumination as Aunt Vivian turned off all the lamps in the room. The play shadows along the walls created an eerie backdrop as Aunt Lena moved to the top of the circle and sat cross-legged, the large open book on her lap. Aunt Vivian stood at the base of the circle, and cast one last look at her sister.
“Ready?” she said.
Aunt Lena did not respond, but merely nodded her head and began reading from the book she held. She chanted in a language that once again I didn’t immediately recognize. I could, however, make out some of the Latin words. I guess three high school years spent studying a dead language was coming in handy after all. No sooner had she finished a couple of phrases than Aunt Vivian raised the staff in front of her and slammed its heel down onto the floor. In response, the bowl in the center of the circle immediately caught fire. Orange flames erupted in the bowl, catching both myself and Cody by surprise. Just as quickly as they had appeared, the flames subsided, only to be replaced by a thick cloud of swirling gray and white smoke. It billowed outward and rose into the air but stopped about six feet from the ground, almost as if it were trapped beneath a glass dome.
Aunt Lena once again began chanting, and Aunt Vivian twice brought the heel of her staff down onto the floor again. The room grew cold and I began to see the flames of the candles flicker as if an invisible wind were licking at them. I became aware of a pressure around my hand. I looked down, and realized that I had grabbed Cody’s hand at some point, and we were now squeezing tightly to one another, our knuckles white. I glanced at his face, but he was fixated on the scene playing out before us. I followed his eyes to the smoking bowl in the center of the circle, and covered my mouth with my hand when I noticed the smoke was taking on the ghostly form of a human being.
Chills broke out along my spine as a wind picked up and began to wail lightly inside the room. Those chills turned to rivulets of icy sweat that ran down my back when I realized the wind was not wind at all. It was raspy breathing, heavy and drawn out, coming from the figure that was made of smoke and trapped within the circle. It changed to a low, wheezy rattle and reminded me o
f someone with a severe case of emphysema compounded by walking pneumonia. With each ragged bellow of his lungs, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up a little more.
With each deep breath, the smoke seemed to coalesce more and more into the shape of a figure. While it had no recognizable features, it seemed to pulse in and out, one moment whispers of smoke, the next the form of a human being. It floated forward and seemed to strike a boundary when it encountered the circle line drawn on the floor. It withdrew once again back to the center, hovering above the bowl. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any creepier, the blasted thing spoke.
“Who?” the shade seemed to whisper at all of us. “Who calls me?”
“You are bound by the will of Nekris, the ancient priestess of all Wiccans” said Aunt Vivian, “and like all those who are so bound, you must speak the truth.”
There was a long rambling sigh that seemed to emanate from the wispy figure. “Of course. Witches. Who else would call me forward like this?”
“I command you, spirit, identify yourself,” said Aunt Vivian.
There was a drawn-out sigh, and the chill in the air thickened. Aunt Lena increased her chanting, and in response the spirit grew more restless.
“You know who I am,” it said. “Just like I know who you are.”
If the aunts were shocked by what the shade just said, they didn’t let on. Aunt Lena continued chanting, nonplussed by its words.
“Again,” said Aunt Vivian, “I remind you that you are bound to the will of Nekris. As such, you must answer our questions and you must answer truthfully. Who are you?”
“My birth name is William, but you will know me by the name Zin.”
“Are you the warlock who came to our town of Trinity Cove and killed so many of our kind?” said Aunt Vivian. “The warlock who is known as the Bringer of Pain and the Maker of Monsters?”
