“Most Witches start with Clairvoyance. What did you see?”
Good thing I came prepared. “I saw Eliza at home,” I lied, “She was watching a movie and playing with her phone. The vision was a little blurry but it cleared up. It was like watching TV.”
“The vision was that accurate?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Well, yeah. Clairvoyance is easy but most Witches just get impressions and flashes of images, tastes, smells.”
“What about emotions?”
“What do you mean?”
I remembered the spark of happiness I experienced when I spied on Damien with his girlfriend. “Can emotions transfer to me through Clairvoyance?”
“It’s uncommon, but it happens if you have a strong enough link with someone.”
I stared at him in the warming light of the morning sun. The shadow from the Sycamore dimmed the light hitting his face but somehow emphasized his hazel eyes and made them sparkle. A strong enough link; is that what we have?
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, “Anyway, I’ve never done anything like that before. If ever I had doubts I was a Witch, they’re all gone.”
Damien smiled. “I wouldn’t make something like that up. What would I have gained from lying to you?”
I shrugged. “You could’ve been a lunatic?”
“I guess you’re right. I could’ve been anyone feeding you any old line.”
“Instead you’re you, and you’ve opened me up to something I never would’ve known.”
“I think you always knew.”
“Maybe. But I did learn something else.”
“Oh?”
A wicked grin spread across my face. “I learned that I’m already better at Clairvoyance than you are.”
He smiled, looked away at nothing, and laughed. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
When he looked back the light seemed to shoot out of his very eyes. How the hell were they drawing me in again? I was meant to be over him!
“Are you free tonight?” he asked.
“Unless something comes up I’m free, why?”
“I had a dream last night, about my sister.”
“Oh… are you alright?” I knew how badly thinking about his sister affected him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I dream about her a lot. I don’t think she’s truly gone yet.”
“Hold on… you just used a bunch of words I don’t think you meant to use.”
“No. I meant what I said.”
“So you mean that she could still… linger? Like a ghost?”
“You must believe in ghosts,” Damien said. It wasn’t a question. “So in the dream she called out to me so I ran to her. Then I found myself standing outside of her house. It was dark and cold and the house looked… I saw blood on the outer walls. She took my hand and led me inside. I kinda felt like I was floating.”
“Do you think she’s trying to tell you something?”
“I haven’t been to her house since I first got here, when I was looking for her. The place got locked down but no one’s been to it, no one’s living in it. It’s just sitting there like a sore on the neighborhood.”
“There has to be a reason for that.”
“I think Lilith is keeping the place unoccupied because there’s still something for me to find there.”
“Then we’ll go tonight,” I said, anticipating Damien’s request.
“Are you… sure?”
“I don’t have to work for a few days still. Eliza’s fine to run the shop without me. Besides, I’m going stir crazy at home.”
“Thanks,” Damien said, exhaling with relief, “You don’t know how much it means to me that you want to help with all this. Even after everything that’s happened.”
“Nothing’s happened, okay?”
Damien seemed to be perpetually humble. I could tell that somewhere inside him there lived a man full of quiet passion; but I feared he may have been pulled underwater when his sister died. Occasionally I’d catch snippets of that man, but they would be fleeting and difficult to keep hold of. I likened him to a ship at sea whose captain had been knocked unconscious during a storm. I wanted to help wake him up, but I didn’t know how.
When the conversation was over we stood and grabbed our backpacks. For a moment we stared each other in the shadow of the Sycamore. Were we trying to read each other? I wondered if he was having more luck than I was.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I said, “Come pick me up.”
“I will. Stay safe, Amber.”
A warm shiver raced up my spine as my name, spoken through his low voice, caressed my ears. I should’ve ignored the feeling, but the guy was like a magnet. Resisting him was almost as hard as resisting chocolate, and in twenty years I hadn’t yet won that fight. I had no idea what I was going to do about him, but I knew what was going to happen tonight.
We were going to go and hunt a ghost.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time I got home in the afternoon I’d already missed one of Aaron’s phone calls and refused to answer the text message that followed. What could I say to him? Sorry, we’ve gotten too close. Back up. I wasn’t sure what was going on with Aaron but the stark change from ferocious fuck buddy to alpha male with a kind heart left my head spinning. I simply couldn’t fit him on my plate. Not with everything that had happened to me lately.
In a few short weeks my life had fallen off a shelf and shattered into a hundred pieces. And even though I was doing my best to put them all back into place the total picture wouldn’t ever be the same again, and I knew it. In some ways my life made more sense now. For example, I now knew what the cause for all the weird things happening around me had been—it was me—but in other ways my life seemed like it belonged to someone else.
Someone knocked on the front door so hard I could swear the doorframe shook. With my heart in my throat, I approached the door and checked the peephole. Two uniforms stood on the other side wearing badges; Sherriff’s department. The blood drained from my face as I unlocked the door and opened it.
“Hi, officers,” I said. A light drizzle was falling behind them. Their squad car sat on the sidewalk nearby.
“Amber,” said the Sheriff, “I’m sorry to bother you but we were wondering if we could have a moment of your time.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Sure, yes, come in.”
The cops came inside and I closed the door behind them. The Deputy fanned out and scanned the room while the Sheriff moved into the kitchen, presumably to talk to me, although for a moment—the briefest of instants—I got the impression they were looking for something.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“Sorry to bother you like this,” said the Sheriff, “But we’ve received reports of a few assaults taking place in this neighborhood, we just wanted to know if you knew anything.”
“Assaults?” I asked, “What kind of assaults?”
“Two residents in the last couple of nights have been attacked by a masked man on their way home. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious?”
“Suspicious?” I became painfully conscious that all I had done was reply with one worded questions, so I decided I would formulate a full reply the next time I was addressed.
“That looks like it hurt,” said the young deputy, gesturing toward my lip with his head.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. Think, Amber, think! “This? Sorry, actually, yes… I got mugged on the way home a couple of nights ago.”
“Did you report it to the police?” asked the Sheriff.
“No… I didn’t—”
“You should’ve come to the station,” the Deputy said, cutting me off, “Why didn’t you report it?”
“As I was about to say, I didn’t think it was necessary. People get mugged all the time.”
“Was anything stolen? Were you badly hurt?” the Sheriff asked.
“No, I’m fine, I got beat up a little but that’s bec
ause I was trying to get away. I broke the strap on my bag fighting to keep it from him. Do you want to see it?” Maybe showing them a broken bag would help make my lie more convincing.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” the Sheriff said, shaking his head.
“You should report this kind of thing to the Sheriff’s department,” the Deputy offered, “We may have been in with a chance at catching him if you’d come forward.”
“I told you. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Tell that to the girl in hospital.”
Hospital?
The Sheriff threw his deputy a stern frown and shut him up with the simple gesture. “Amber, what the Deputy means is that one of the people who got attacked is in critical condition.”
“Oh shit,” I said, “Will they be okay?”
“We hope so. This guy is very dangerous.”
“A real asshole,” the Deputy added. I noticed him checking out one of the trinkets on my bookshelf; a crystal pendulum hanging from a silver chain. My blood boiled. Who the fuck did he think he was that he could touch my stuff?
“We want to make sure everyone’s as safe as possible,” the Sheriff said, “So if you remember anything you think is important, or you see anyone suspicious around here, please tell us.”
I nodded.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” the Deputy asked. He put the pendulum back and cocked his head. Something about the Deputy’s voice made cold fingers crawl along my spine like ants on a log.
“My boyfriend?” I asked.
“Yeah, the guy I’ve seen you around with.”
“He’s not—” I cut myself off before answering and thought about it. “He’s not here,” I said, “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing important; just that he’s not from around here is he?” The Deputy approached. He had a cop’s swagger about his walk and his boots thumped hard on the ground with every step he took.
“No, he isn’t,” I said, “Although I don’t see why that’s important.”
“No reason,” he said, moving toward me and then past me, “But I’d be interested in asking him a few questions if I could. Tell him to give us a call when you see him, will ya?”
The Sheriff approached, following his Deputy out the front door. “Don’t be surprised if you see a squad car here and there,” he said, “We’ll be keeping an eye on the whole neighborhood, just to make sure everyone’s safe.”
“Thanks for your help, officers,” I said, following them to the front door and shutting it hard and fast.
Maybe I shut it a little too quickly, but I wanted to see where they were going to next so I raced to my bay window and peeled back the curtains. The officers strolled away from my front door, walked past their car, and went on to the next house down the lane. I planted my forehead on the glass and relaxed now that they were gone.
Shit. Damien!
It took me four seconds to text him and ask him to hurry over to my place. Then I sat down on the ledge of the big bay window and waited as patiently as I could, watching the drizzle transform into furious droplets pouring out of thick, black clouds. They had come in number and taken the town by surprise, but they were here now and they were angry, pregnant with rain, and pulsing with crackling streaks and patches of blue and purple light.
Did the Sheriff really want Damien for questioning? What did Damien have to do with any of this? I couldn’t believe that they would single him out because he was new in town. So what if he was new? The person who attacked me wasn’t Damien—of that I was sure. I had spent enough time around him to know that the man who picked me up and beat the living daylights out of me was big, strong, and brutal. Damien was none of those things. But if that man had attacked two more people it meant he truly was dangerous, and if he were to strike again the Gods only knew what would happen to his next victim.
I had to do something, but what could I do? I pressed my head against the cool window and shut my eyes tight. “I’m so fucking stupid,” I said to myself. “I couldn’t even defend myself. How can I defend anyone else?”
That man had all but pulverized me in only a few seconds. Thinking about what happened, recalling the sting of the blows and the way his boot took the air out of my lungs, almost brought me to tears. But I wiped them from my eyes with the back of my sleeve and swallowed the feeling. I would not cry. Not now, not ever. I had to get stronger.
Thunder rolled above, rumbling away in the distance.
With my eyes firmly shut, I visualized the street in front of my house. I breathed on the window and traced a pentacle on the steamed glass with my index finger. The street, the lawns, the cars and trees on the other side of the road; even the power lines and transformers, street lights and road signs, all were bound together by Magick, and I could feel those currents and links, couldn’t I?
As I repeated the gesture with my finger, a strange swirling sensation enveloped me. I was a rock in a river, the water pulling all around me in ripples. I was a ship on the ocean, ripping the water with my prow and reshaping it. I was the wind, pushing the clouds with my breath. Becoming consciously aware of the Currents caused a warm vibration to race up my left hand and into my chest. I opened my eyes and stared up at the sky, drinking in the lightning show above.
Then I felt compelled to speak.
“Hail unto you, oh Guardian of the Watchtower of the South,” I said. Thunder rolled as the words left my lips. “Powers of Fire and Manifestation,” I continued. My entire body was vibrating now. The river had turned to rapids; the calm ocean was swelling and frothing; the clouds were resisting my breath. The wind kicked up, pushing leaves along with it. Cables from the power lines across the street began to sway.
The buildup of energy around me was clear, but was I causing it?
“I invoke thee,” I whispered, but nothing happened. So I waited, counted, and repeated the words. “I invoke thee.”
Still nothing.
Finally I opened my eyes, stared up at the sky, and said the words loudly. When I was done, a bolt of lightning came shooting out of the sky. It arched into a nearby transformer and blew it out in a spectacular display of sparks and flame. I shielded my eyes and turned away from the explosion but I heard the bang and felt the vibrations in my chest.
When I opened my eyes, the power was out in the house. I shot upright and glanced around only to find it dark and glum. My right hand burned as if I had just picked up a hot dish of food, my chest was still shaking from the vibrations, and the air reeked of burnt ozone. It took a minute for me to calm down and come back to earth and only another minute or so for Damien to arrive.
I was still shaking when I opened the door.
“Hey,” I said, letting him in. The living room was dark but I fetched a towel from the bathroom and handed it to him. He had brought an umbrella, but the rain was falling on the back of a harsh wind rendering any umbrellas practically useless. And now he was soaked.
“Some weather, huh?” he asked, wiping his face dry.
“Yeah, it just came out of nowhere… lightning shot out of the sky and blew the transformer out and everything.”
“I saw,” Damien said. He stared at me from beneath his wet mop of hair. “You have to be careful calling the South. No single Witch can channel the South.”
“You knew it was me?” I asked.
“The Currents don’t lie. When a Witch uses Magick other Witches feel it.” He handed me the towel. “First the currents pull toward the Witch, and then they explode outward.”
“I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“Don’t mention it okay?” he said, interrupting. “You’ll learn. Just be careful. Let’s go and do what we have to do... and not blow out any more electronics along the way.”
“We’ll take my car,” I said, grabbing my jacket.
No single Witch can channel the South. I wondered why, if that was true, I felt compelled to call for the South and not any of the other Watchtowers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
&
nbsp; I didn’t know who Lilith Colt was before she died, but I remember my heart wrenching when her pictures got plastered over every local TV newscast. It was a cold, rainy afternoon as I recalled it. Eliza and I were at my place eating Indian take-out and watching old movies. We both went white when the news popped up on my social media feed.
She had been the second girl of around our age to die in a short period of time. Neither one of us wanted to entertain the idea this had been done on purpose so we were relieved when the cops ruled out anything suspicious. But here I was. I had been attacked, had received a weird visit from the Sheriff, and I was about to chase down a ghost for answers with a sexy guy at my side.
Could things get any weirder?
Though only a stone throw’s away from my house, getting to Lilith’s place seemed to take far longer than it should have. The power surge from the broken transformer had knocked out all of the power this side of Raven’s Glen—that meant traffic lights too. The streets were packed with tail lights and exhausts, uniformed officers were doing a crap job at directing traffic, and the silence in the car wasn’t helping the time go by any faster.
Neither one of us, it seemed, knew what to say or had anything to say.
So we waited and waited…and waited… and eventually arrived at the street where Damien’s sister used to live. Her house, I noticed, was a regular suburban not unlike mine. It had a driveway, a front lawn, and a backyard with a tall sycamore standing out from behind. But the building somehow looked darker, and more ominous. The two bay windows at the front of the house swallowed the glow from the streetlights resulting in a cream building with two, almost circular, dark shadows on its front face. And with the brown door—which looked black at night—between them, it was difficult not to see the resemblance to a human skull from the street.
Mustering my courage, I parked the car in the drive and glanced at Damien, who hadn’t moved from the passenger’s seat.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Damien said, “I’m fine. Just gotta get out of my own head.”
“We’ll get in and get out, okay? It’ll be easy.”