The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol II

by T. G. Ayer

  Either things were getting dangerous for Samuel, or things were getting dangerous for me.

  Whatever the case, I knew I had little choice as to my next step.

  I only hoped Natasha was as ready as I was. She’d been reluctant so far, as if something held her back and I’d wondered a few times if she were afraid of the lengths she’d have to go, of delving in black magic and how it would taint her as a white witch.

  Witch magic wasn’t as simple as drawing a line in the sand between light and dark, or black and white. But in terms of the use of magic, the age of the spells, their origin, and the intent of the user, that magic held a power no witch or warlock could ignore. Not if they wanted to retain possession of their soul.

  I drove up to Natasha’s place, almost surprised that I’d arrived without conscious thought. My troubles seemed to have taken far too much control over me.

  A dangerous thing.

  I left the car, not bothering to lock it, knowing it was safe here on the white witch’s land, shielded by the dome of magical protection she’d cast over her property.

  I knocked on the door and began to pace, and was stopped in my tracks as a pure white cat stalked out of the open doorway. It arched its back and turned its gaze up to me, giving me a stare that made me feel a little uncomfortable. I knew never to accept anything at face value. The feline could have been a magical being for all I knew, a shifter perhaps coming to avail themselves of Natasha’s services.

  So I waited as the cat left the wraparound porch and walked off across the drive and disappeared into the tree line.

  “Sorry. She tends to put most people on edge.” Natasha stood in the doorway staring off at the ghostly cat as it disappeared amongst the trees.

  “Who is she?”

  The white witch smiled. “You know better than to ask me such a thing. Be glad she didn’t rip you to pieces for the crime of seeing her here.”

  I gave a mock shudder, and Natasha laughed and beckoned me inside, her shimmering aqua and green kaftan flowing around her like living silk.

  “You ought to be scared. She’s not one to be trifled with.”

  “Perhaps we need to ask her to come with me, then,” I said under my breath as I followed Natasha into the bright white country kitchen.

  She headed inside to fill the kettle and took a few moments to prepare two mugs with teaspoonfuls of strange herbs and slices of lemon.

  When she turned to face me, her expression had sobered. “What exactly is it that you are doing that would require scaring people away?”

  Though she appeared to be interrogating me, I could tell she was worried about something. I ignored her question and peered closely at her face. “Are you worried about me?” I asked, my lips curving into a smile. She opened her mouth to answer, and I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “No, wait. I know. There is a certain gargoyle that is occupying your thoughts.”

  Natasha grinned, but then swatted at me. “No. Unfortunately, I am looking right at the reason for my concern.” Her eyes darkened, silver gray turning into a glistening steel as she studied my face.

  I almost believed her and was about to ask her why when the phone began to ring from deeper within the house. Natasha looked over her shoulder, her brows scrunched as she listened, almost as if she could tell who was calling just with a little bit of concentration.

  She held up a finger and then disappeared out of the kitchen and toward her study.

  The hum of her voice filtered down the hall to me, and I got to my feet, deciding to head out to the porch to give her more privacy. Not that I was tempted to eavesdrop.

  I waited outside on the porch enjoying the warmth of the sunshine, and studied the glittering ward around the property. An invisible dome covered Natasha’s land, and if you looked at it just right, it would appear to be a glistening bubble of water that covered the fields for miles.

  The ward took me back into the past, to a memory I’d long since forgotten.

  The first time I’d met Natasha, I’d been sent to steal a grimoire for a warlock. In my late teens, I’d dabbled in tracking stolen property and items of value, back in the days when I used to do small search and retrieve jobs for people, choosing the easy route to earning money. I’d been young and naive, thinking that finding lost gold watches and stolen cars were worth my integrity.

  I’d entered Natasha’s property and had survived the journey through her wards. I’d sensed the magic on my skin, and inside my bones, but I’d escaped the destructive power of it, and had managed to enter her home.

  Natasha had watched me in the study while I’d been rummaging in her closet. I’d not seen her sitting in the dark, studying me from her sofa in the corner. Perhaps she had not been there when I’d entered the room. I didn’t recall seeing her, though that was hardly an issue for a witch who could pull a glamor over herself at will.

  I’d stood there in the darkness, terrified of what would happen to me, angry with myself for having put myself in that position. I should never have gotten caught. I’d never been so sloppy before.

  Add that anger to the fact that I was concerned that the witch would likely throw me in her cellar and fatten me up for the next full moon feast where I would be the main meal, and I faced Natasha with more than a little trepidation in my heart.

  Instead of punishment or making a meal of me, she’d asked me dozens of questions and seemed more fascinated with me than upset that I’d come to steal something from her. She’d focused on how I’d entered her property without setting off her magical alarm, how I’d passed through the ward without being killed. It had seemed that nobody had ever gotten through and survived.

  I was an anomaly she had to pull apart until she understood how I ticked.

  Natasha offered to pay me double to not steal the grimoire and explained what the warlock was likely to do with it, describing the horrors that he was likely to unleash with the book of spells that the white witch had been tasked to guard as long as she drew breath.

  At the time, I’d asked why I should leave it with her, why it needed to be her who kept it safe. I suggested that I should probably take it with me and give it to Storm for safekeeping. Natasha had laughed and said that Storm was more than likely to send it straight back to her because it was safest in her possession. She was a white witch and accessing the dark magic could kill her.

  I’d refused her payment and then, guilt still eating me up, I offered to do a sort of community service. Natasha, for whatever reason, had decided that meant I was volunteering to learn to understand my latent power to sense magical fields. What followed was months spent studying my talent, practicing and perfecting my senses until I’d finally gotten the hang of it.

  Natasha had been proud, and I’d been forgiven. To this day, I wonder what would have happened had she not been such a nice person, had she decided that I was better off dead for breaking into her home, for attempting to steal something so powerful that darkness would have befallen the world due to my actions.

  Sometimes, when I thought back to that day, my stomach would twist, and I’d feel sick just thinking about how close I’d come to being an instrument of that warlock’s intent on destruction.

  A warlock whom I still owed.

  Thankfully, Storm had intervened with the warlock and returned his deposit, thus saving my skin for what would have been the tenth time since we’d met. One of the very many reasons why Storm’s betrayal still hurt so deeply.

  Natasha entered the porch her brow furrowed again, her eyes darkened still.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, searching her face.

  Natasha shook her head and offered me a very bright, very fake smile. “Everything is fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my tone sharper this time.

  “For your own safety, you need to remain in the dark on this. I’m sorry.”

  I stared at her, eyes narrowed, annoyed that she wasn’t prepared to allow me to help. I took a breath. “Natasha, I’m your friend. You’ve h
elped me on so many occasions in the past I’ve given up counting. I want to know that I can help you when and if you ever need it.”

  She walked over to me and smiled. Patting my shoulder, she said, “I’m fine. Really. And I promise I will ask for help should I need it.” She began to walk off, then stopped on the threshold to look back over her shoulder at me. “By the way, what exactly was it that you came for?”

  I shrugged and followed her inside. “You made any headway on getting something specific about the sangoma’s location in NOLA? I’d rather not have to jump there without a clue as to where I’m supposed to look. I’m falling apart here.”

  “I know.”

  I frowned wondering how she’d known. “Steph?”

  “You’re leaking the good stuff.” Natasha shook her head, then reached out and ran her finger along my neck just below my right ear. “New bling not helping?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Somewhat.”

  Natasha sighed. “It was worth a shot. Besides, ‘somewhat’ is better than ‘no help at all’, right?”

  I didn’t answer the question. “Ugh.” I gritted my teeth and pulled a napkin from my pocket to swab blindly at my neck. “I swear I won’t be surprised if I just burst into a puddle of blood and guts.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised either.”

  I glared at her and then followed as she crooked her finger and led me inside the study. “With the poltergeist taking its toll on your health and your inability to jump, I agree that getting a bead on his exact location would help. But I have to say that there is a very strong chance that he may be physically in NOLA but his consciousness and his magic is more likely to exist on a parallel plane.”

  Natasha’s monologue lasted until she entered her study and it occurred to me as I sat down that whatever it was that had worried her, had been big enough for her to have totally forgotten about her tea.

  I decided not to bring it to her attention, afraid to delay her any further in case we got interrupted again. “How is that? Is he projecting?”

  “Something like that. It’s a secondary plane where his consciousness would live. It’s similar to astral traveling, but when he enters that dimension, it’s as easy for him as walking from one room to another. And he’ll be stronger there than in this plane.”

  “That’s not a comforting thought.”

  “It certainly isn’t.”

  Chapter 7

  I sighed and sank into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “So where do we start.” When she gave me a smile, I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t I lost enough blood already?”

  Natasha snorted and settled into her own chair, pulling a black stone bowl out of her drawer. She spread an old wrinkled map of the country out onto the table and secured the corners with crystals and paperweights.

  With barely a glance up, she raised her palm, waiting for my hand. Resigned, I reached for my dagger and slid it from my boot, then nicked the skin on the heel of my palm. I set my hand in Natasha’s pale open palm and watched as she squeezed my skin and allowed a few drops of my blood to fall into the stone receptacle. The dark stone seemed to swallow the bright red blood like a hungry mouth.

  Then she set the bowl aside and opened a small pouch, and dropped two tiny teeth into a mortar. She was reaching for a pestle when I asked, “What the hell is that?” already suspecting that I knew what it was. I was unable to suppress the shiver that ran through me like a living thing.

  What were we doing?

  Natasha lifted her gaze and met my eyes. “It’s dark magic, Mel.”

  I stiffened then lifted my chin. “Doesn’t mean I get to like using baby teeth for a tracking spell.”

  Natasha sighed and brushed her pale hair away from her face. Her face seemed more shadowed and gaunt now, as if in the last few moments she’d aged a decade. “I know. Me either. But it’s the only thing that will get past his spell. The innocence of it will hide the magic from him.”

  I nodded but found myself transfixed as she pounded the teeth into a fine powder.

  When she reached into the second pouch and withdrew what looked like serpentine skin my eyes widened. “Don’t tell me that’s dragon skin?” I whispered in horror.

  “It is. But rest assured no dragons were harmed in the process of obtaining this skin.”

  “Don’t be condescending,” I snapped, eyes fixed on the leathery scales.

  Natasha chuckled and proceeded to turn the scales into dust then dropped it into the bowl with the powdered teeth. I refused to keep reminding myself that they had once belonged to a little innocent baby.

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Natasha sighed. “Fine. If you must know, the teeth I use are taken from the bodies of babies who have passed away under normal, natural circumstances. I have a mortician who helps me on that end. The babies are not harmed in the process.”

  I made a face, suppressing another shudder. “Still feels wrong.” I was certainly being a wuss about this, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I know. But that’s black magic.”

  I settled back, aware that things could have gone worse. I’d heard about the lengths that the sangomas would go through, how few hesitated to sacrifice a child for a longevity spell, or worse the sacrifice of sexual organs for fertility magic. I shuddered to think of what I was walking into by tracking this man down.

  If he was still a man.

  Had the person who had put the curse on me understood what they were doing? Had they known how debilitating this possession would be, not only for my powers but for my health? My life?

  Steeped in my thoughts, I paid only cursory attention as Natasha proceeded with her spell, then straightened to watch as she began to pour all her various ingredients into the bowl. As she mixed the liquid, it hissed and spat, coalescing into a black sludge.

  The look of it alone was scary enough, even for a mage like me who’d seen far too many scary things in life already.

  Natasha dipped her scrying crystal into the black liquid then hung it over the map, setting it into a slow spin.

  With a sudden tug, the crystal slammed into the map splashing the black goo onto the paper and sending tiny droplets flying onto our faces. Lightning flashed outside, the storm still threatening. It certainly managed to add to the creepiness of the scrying spell

  Natasha inhaled sharply. “I think I can sense him.”

  I nodded and leaned closer but before I could say anything, and despite my lack of energy, I felt myself pulled along. For the second time in the day, I seemed to have little control over my projecting.

  I found myself standing just inside the entrance to an herbal store. It was a small space, only enough for two rows of shelves on the left and a narrow counter at the back. Shelves ran along the walls and reached up toward the ceiling while a narrow ladder lay against the back wall. Above the counter hung an innumerable number of dried objects from recognizable garlic and lavender, to swatches of leathery material that I was afraid of trying to identify.

  A woman lurked behind the counter, her hair floating around her head in a dark halo of fine curls. Her features were delicate though the generous shape of her nose and lips implied a mixed heritage. These days it could be hard to tell, so I wasn’t about to make assumptions, what with almost a century of rampant interracial marriages.

  She leaned against the glass-topped display cabinet, counting out tiny black beads which I suspected were seeds. A younger man stood in one aisle, opening boxes and stacking the contents on the nearby shelves. He worked slowly, turning bottles to face outward, setting tubs in straight lines and stacking items with perfect precision, as if he wasn’t in any rush to complete his task and move on to the next one.

  I studied the store, shifting slowly through the aisles, inspecting what they sold, and wondering which of the two occupants could be the sangoma.

  As I moved through the store, I caught sight of the girl who had stiffened and was slowly raising her eyes, as if alerted somehow that someone was in the room
with them.

  She studied the small store from end to end, then turned her gaze to focus on the air in front of me. It seemed she was able to sense my presence even though I was still on the astral plane.

  A little scared, I returned to my body, relieved when I solidified into my physical form, even as I found myself automatically swiping the back of my hand across my upper lip to catch a dribble of blood.

  Natasha held out a tissue, and I took it without a word, wiping up my nose before sighing.

  “That bad?” she asked softly.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, proceeding to give her a full rundown on what I’d seen in the shop and its varied, albeit strange contents.

  Natasha nodded when I finished my description. “Sounds a lot like they cater to the dark arts, especially with the ingredients you saw. I’d hazard a guess that the place isn’t entirely dark, and could likely be a store that sells all sorts of magically inclined ingredients.”

  “Is that a thing?” I asked. “Wouldn’t a dark practitioner go to a store that sells dark magic ingredients?”

  “Not necessarily. Most ingredients are applicable to both arts. There are just a few that are on the more terrible side.”

  “And then, of course, those that nobody will sell to you,” I said with a shudder.

  Natasha sighed. “You’re reminding me of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going to New Orleans without backup. You’re so much weaker now, and even if you needed to, in an emergency, you wouldn't be able to jump. And even if you do, you may not survive it. There’s just so many things now for you to think about that would never have factored into a job before.”

  The temptation to roll my eyes was strong, and I wondered what was wrong with me. Had I become so immune to my condition that I’d become blasé when the people around me warned me out of the goodness of their hearts? I’d never been that ungrateful before, and I certainly wasn’t planning on starting now.

  “I know,” I said, smiling sadly. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought about myself, even if I don’t want to hear it. I have a whole bunch of people relying on me and very soon something is going to give, and it damn well isn’t going to be me.”