Samantha lay face down on the stone floor. The pain that had seemed beyond imagining, that had sucked the air out of her and made her feel as if an arc-welder had gone to work on her internal organs, had just suddenly stopped. The change from unbearable torture to sudden and complete relief had left her weak and limp and grateful. She doubted the pain had lasted very long, but the ferocity of the fire in her belly had been so intense she was certain if it had continued much longer, her body would have simply expired. There didn’t seem to be any lasting damage, nothing had actually cooked or burned. If the highly corrosive stomach acids had been seeping through her system, she was sure there would have been ongoing injury and residual pain. But there wasn’t. It had been as if a switch turned on the agony and then shut it off.
Serena was lying in front of her against the wall. She was still conscious, but her eyes looked watery, and her dark skin had a chalky color to it. Samantha shared a look with her, but no thought floated between them. What was there to say?
Andrea and Mike shared similar looks of wear and tear, but thank the heavens they were still alive, breathing and grateful for small miracles.
Near the doorway lay Darren in a heap of loose clothes, as if the strain of the night had actually caused him to burn off weight. He was breathing, but he looked horrible; if possible, worse than the rest of them. In front of his inert form, the Grimoire lay open.
Samantha started to piece together what must have happened. Darren had discovered Warder’s Fire and freed himself. He’d found the room they were in and had killed the warlocks and witch. No, for sure he’d killed Bhantu, but the others… had he killed them? No, she’d felt spells cast. They had used magic.
Wait, what was it they were talking about before Bhantu cast that spell of pain? That was it! They had all looked over a spell from the Grimoire that explained how to do Quantric Transference, or stepping, as it used to be called anciently when all witches knew the spell. They had stepped from Moloch’s Cavern to another location—someplace safe and far away from the Warder who now knew how to wield the fire. Yes, that was what had happened.
And Darren, he didn’t know how to control his power. He must have drained himself. Samantha had heard that Warders could literally burn themselves out if they weren’t careful. From the look of him, Darren must have come dangerously close.
Mike was using the wall to get to his feet. He reached out to Serena and pulled her up. Samantha stood shakily on her own while Mike helped Andrea to her feet.
“I’d like to go home now.” Andrea looked smaller than ever, her makeup was gone, but she was still cute without it. The Belly Fire, however, had left her looking like a limp rag—just like Samantha felt.
Samantha stood over Darren. The poor guy must’ve given everything he had to save them. Kneeling down, she examined him closely. His bloody hand had been completely healed. Other than exhausted and smelling like a septic tank, he appeared to be okay. She ran a hand across his cheek.
Inside her mind, Serena said, “The Grimoire!”
Samantha picked it up. She would’ve loved to take it over to the table and comb through it, but now was not the time. She was both too tired and too obligated to get Darren and the others back to the relative safety of their homes.
Mike was standing beside her, looking tiredly down at his friend. Serena was next to him looking as if she might fall over herself at any second. Andrea knelt down next to Darren’s sleeping form and brushed back his hair.
“We’re out of here, right?” Mike asked.
Samantha nodded. “You look like you could use some stitches.”
“Fine. After that Belly Fire ordeal, they can stitch me up without anesthesia; but first, I want to sleep for about week.”
Samantha nodded. She was going to ask Andrea to step away from Darren, but she was already gone. Looking down at his sleeping form, Samantha said, “Consurgio!” His body gently began to rise from the ground. It stopped at about three feet and hovered.
“How about you consurgio me out of here as well?” Mike quipped.
She reached up, smiling weakly, and patted him on the shoulder. “Next time.”
Andrea came and stood next to Serena who was still next to Mike. Without saying a word, she headed for the doorway. Darren’s floating form followed her, and the others fell in line behind him.
As they made their way down the hallway toward the cross-hall where the staircase led out of the cavern, Andrea stepped up and walked alongside Darren’s floating form. She looked lovingly down at him and touched his face, leaving shadowy dust trails across his cheeks.
Samantha dropped back, feeling as if she owed the girl some privacy with him, such as it was possible to give under the circumstances. She took up alongside Serena and let the body float in front of her. Mike quietly followed the two of them.
The hallway opened up to the cross hall, and they could see the stairs up ahead. Samantha tucked the book under her arm and changed the direction of Darren’s supine form so he headed toward the stairway.
“Hold up a second,” Andrea said. They came to a halt right before the staircase. She opened her purse, reached inside, and pulled out a little white mouse. It walked about nervously on the palm of her hand.
“Lili, correct?” Serena asked. “I was certain I smelled a mouse. You lied; it was with you the whole time.”
“Yes, she’s been with me this whole time.” Andrea stroked its little head. Its whiskers twitched about in pleasure.
“But it’s not just a mouse.” Andrea set the little white rodent down on the ground beside her. By now Samantha was wondering what this little show-and-tell was about. Her answer bolted up from the ground suddenly in the form of Lindsey. It appeared as if she’d simply been sitting on the ground and stood up.
“Lindsey?” Mike said. “How did you do that?” His mind must have been working slowly. Samantha noticed hers too was making connections lethargically, but this one she made immediately: Lili and Lindsey were the same being. She was a familiar, and Andrea was a witch.
“Andrea?” she managed to say. Why hadn’t she revealed herself before now?
“I should have known you were a witch!” Mike griped.
Andrea stood over Darren and brushed his cheek, leaving a dark trail of black soot. Samantha watched dumbfounded as Andrea’s fingernails grew to the length of steak knives, which she held against Darren’s throat.
“I thought it might be easier to have you get the Grimoire for me, then simply take it from you.” She brushed the sharp gleaming nails gently across Darren’s jaw line. “But there was nothing easy about it. I was sick of pretending to be this fear-riddled sot!”
At the sound of the word fear, Samantha remembered the warning and the spell Moloch had given her.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Andrea warned. With her other hand she reached for a thin chain around her neck, pulling it up and out of her shirt. Dangling from her fingers was the blackened Tergiversatio that Bhantu had been wearing earlier in the evening. “You remember how this works?”
Samantha couldn’t believe it. The ashes on Andrea’s fingers were clear evidence she’d taken the amulet from the dead remains of the warlock. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?
“I thought so,” taunted Andrea. “I knew you were the only one who could retrieve the Grimoire. My original plan didn’t involve me coming along. That stupid little girl had to insist I come with you. It’s her fault I suffered that Belly Fire. I’ll make sure she gets to feel that before she dies.
“You might have guessed by now that I am not Andrea. The Northern Coven suspected that Endor had sent someone from the Appensus, and they were correct. I’ve been here in this backward valley for four years. Four years pretending to be in love with one Stevens brother after another, but it has all been worth it!” Her nails continued to stroke back and forth along Darren’s neck.
Lindsey walked toward Mike and Serena. Glaring at Serena, she sniffed. She turned to Mike and said, “Really? I could have had you, but as it turned out, it wasn’t necessary; your loss sweetheart.”
Mike knew that with his enhanced reflexes he could take her down before she could utter a spell, but he was afraid of what Andrea would do to Darren, so he simply glared back at Lindsey.
Andrea smiled wickedly. “Now, if you’ll give Lindsey the Grimoire, I won’t cut Darren’s throat.”
Samantha couldn’t believe she was going to be forced to hand the Grimoire over for a second time. No way could this be happening. How could they not have realized Andrea was a witch?
“If you’re an agent of Endor’s, you should know I’m Endor’s daughter,” Samantha said.
Andrea laughed, and the vile sound of it echoed through the chamber. “Why should that matter to me? You have no idea who I am!” Again a sound meant to imitate laughter snarled from her lips, making Samantha’s skin crawl.
“Now give it to Lindsey. You have no choice. No one can harm me but the Warder, and he’s,” she looked down on him cruelly, “sleeping.”
Lindsey took the book from Samantha’s hands. Samantha didn’t release it freely, but at last let it go. Lindsey handed it to her mistress. Andrea took the Grimoire in her hands much like Bhantu had done, touching it lovingly. “Do you realize how powerful this book is?” She glared back at Samantha. “We’ll rule the world with this. It will tell us where the other parts of the Licentia Infectus spell are located. Endor will be overjoyed, and so will Baal.”
“It was you,” Samantha said. “You’re the one who put the bewitchment on Darren.”
“Of course it was me. I needed him to love me, not that he needed much prompting, and not that it mattered much because he developed strong feelings for me without the bewitchment. I’ve been curious how you undid that bewitchment. The next day when I kissed him I discovered it was removed and I couldn’t replace it.”
“It wasn’t me.” Samantha maintained eye contact with the witch. “Darren’s grandfather did that.”
“That crafty old geezer. When I arrived here, Endor was surprised when I told her about Atavus. She warned me to keep my distance. For a sick old man, he sure has managed to cause trouble for everyone.” Andrea shifted her weight and pressed her nails into Darren’s skin, leaving dents in his throat. “Oh, he was fun to kiss, wouldn’t you agree? But, the time has come.”
“No!” Samantha shouted. Mike and Serena leaned forward as if they could stop what was about to happen.
Andrea looked up at Samantha, delaying her coup-de-grâce in order to enjoy Samantha’s distress. “You don’t think I should?” Her concern was so mocking that Samantha wanted to risk the death spell anyway.
“You can’t kill me because of the Tergiversatio, and I can’t kill you because of the prophecy and I don’t wish to die. But you know who could kill you?” She looked down at Darren’s peacefully slumbering face.
“Ever heard of the Navitas Accendo?”
Samantha’s breath caught. “No! That could kill him!”
Pursing her lips, Andrea shook her head. “No, it won’t kill him. But, if he were to use his power on you and kill you after I give him this temporary energy…” She nodded her head in agreement. “That would kill him. Just think. I take care of him and you at the same time.”
Lindsey chuckled.
“Shut up, Lindsey, you worthless vermin!” Mike couldn’t take it anymore.
Lindsey stalked across the hall and back handed him hard across the face. “You’ve been promised to me. I have horrible things planned that your charm and wit won’t save you from. I’ve been thinking about letting you live, but so damaged you’ll barely be able to drool on yourself without help. I’m going to use that Belly Fire spell on you, then release you before you die, then do it again and again, not letting you die. I’m thinking three, no more than four times, and your mind will be gone. You are the smuggest mortal I’ve ever—”
“Enough!” Andrea commanded roughly. “Just take them away and do what you will with them. But I don’t want their screams to be heard.”
Lindsey put Serena and Mike in the Poupée spell. The same spell Mike had found so amusing when used on Samuelson now controlled his body. He looked over at Serena and saw in her beautiful dark eyes the fear that gnawed at him. Lindsey laughed wickedly as she marched them down the corridor.
Samantha was the only one who remained, and she glared warily back at Andrea. The short, dark haired witch waved a long sharp nail over Darren’s head. “Of course after all that has happened, he’ll need a little re-educating. I can’t bewitch him, thanks to Atavus, but I can give him different memories, like, Samantha and her familiar were with the Northern Coven when you entered the chamber. Recordatio!”
Samantha heard the chiming sound of the spell as it entered Darren’s mind.
“And, Samantha killed the witches of the Northern Coven and took the book for herself. Recordatio!”
Andrea smiled and looked back at Samantha. “Did you know memories are very closely related to emotions? It’s true, and so often we act upon our feelings regardless of the facts.”
She looked back at Darren and continued, “For some time you have doubted that Samantha’s intentions have been true. You’ve actually believed she has every intention of using the Grimoire to promote herself and rule over the witches of all covens. In fact, her personality has been all about control, bossing others around, taking charge. You believe she is actually power hungry. Recordatio!”
The chime in her head made Samantha cringe.
“When your best friend, Mike, tried to save you and take the Grimoire from Samantha, she killed him with a spell she learned from the evil book. Recordatio!”
Samantha was in tears and shaking her head. This was going to be so painful for Darren when Andrea revived him. And he would be so full of anger, he would kill Samantha and in doing so, kill himself.
Andrea looked up the staircase and tossed the Grimoire upward. It floated away and out of sight. “Now, just one last memory. You and I ran and were stopped by Samantha here in the hall as we tried to escape. You know what you must do. Recordatio!” Andrea tipped Darren’s floating body so his feet stood on the ground. “Discerpo!”
A tremor passed through Samantha as Andrea severed the hovering spell cast on Darren. It might have held if Samantha had fought it, but she’d been caught unaware and overwhelmed by this agent of her mother’s.
As gravity took hold of Darren, Andrea re-energized him with her final spell. “Navitas Accendo!”
***
Darren’s legs buckled, but before he crumpled to the ground, he caught himself and stood upright. He looked horrified at Samantha, his hand grabbing Andrea’s. His strength was being summoned magically from his cells, quickly killing him. He was damaging his body merely by being conscious.
“Stay back!” he growled, his other arm stretched toward Samantha ready to strike. “You know what I’m capable of!”
“Darren.” Samantha tried to sound soothing and hoped her stricken expression would penetrate.
“Don’t!” he commanded. “You killed Mike!” Pain wrenched his voice. “Is that book worth it? I thought you were different!”
“Kill her, Darren!” Andrea’s panic sounded authentic. “Or she’s going to kill us!”
Darren pointed at Samantha’s heart. Sweat poured down him unnaturally. His eyes were so red he looked like he was possessed. He breathed hard and blinked back tears as he struggled to understand what he believed were recent events.
Despite all Samantha had done, he couldn’t believe he still had feelings for her. How? She had killed for power; he knew that now. She was not what she pretended to be. Atavus was right about witches; they couldn’t be trusted. What was it he had said?
If you ever find yourself in a position to destroy one of them, you cannot think twice. You cannot consider any good you think they might have done; whatever it was, it was a deception. And if given the chance, they will kill you and think nothing of it.
He grimaced in confusion as he realized it was Samantha who had told him that. It was Samantha who had warned him.
Softly and beseechingly Samantha appealed to him, “Why does Andrea wear that amulet, Darren? It’s so I can’t stop her. Ask her to remove it.”
“She’s playing with your mind again, Darren. Please, stop her! She wants us dead!” Andrea stood sobbing behind him, grabbing his arm and shaking with fear. “She killed Mike!”
She had killed Mike! Why was he hesitating? “Why did you kill him?” His tired voice was practically a sob.
Samantha’s eyes filled with tears. “I could never kill Mike. Darren, please, just rip that amulet from Andrea’s neck.”
With his arm still outstretched toward Samantha, he quickly glanced at Andrea and the amulet. He whipped back around toward Samantha, fearful she might try something.
“Try to remember,” Samantha sobbed, dropping to her knees. “Am I trying to kill you? Would I really kill Mike? Andrea’s a witch. She’s the one who bewitched you.”
“Darren!” Andrea shrieked. “She’s doing it to you again! Kill her, and let’s get out of here!”
Darren bared his teeth at the blonde witch kneeling on the ground in front of him. He raised his arm prepared to strike her down with fire. Powerful memories fueled his decision. He’d seen her kill Mike. Samantha was evil and only wanted power.
“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Darren,” Samantha lamented in a small voice from the floor. “And that it has cost the lives of so many in your family, Atavus and Ethan and now you.”
He felt the power surge and focus in his now glowing upraised hand. It was ready to explode from him and turn this girl on the ground to cinders. He was furious! Sickness rose up in him, his body taxed beyond endurance. He turned at the last moment and stared at Andrea.
“Kill her for Ethan!” Andrea coaxed, only her fear was gone, replaced with…excitement?
His knee gave out, and he almost tripped forward. Bile rose in his throat, and he was sure he was going to be sick. His brother’s name kept swimming around in his head. Ethan. Somehow Ethan was the answer to all this.
He turned back toward Andrea and stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I said kill her for Ethan!”
Then it came back, right there, alongside everything Samantha had done, was that photo of Andrea next to Ethan.
“You witch!” He moaned and reached out with his glowing hand, grabbing the chain about her neck. It melted at his touch, and both he and the amulet collapsed to the ground.
Recognizing the moment Moloch had prepared her for, Samantha cried from the ground, “Necare obinixe!” She twitched her nose, and the spell was cast.
Andrea’s eyes grew large and confused, but it was only for a second. She was dead on her feet and fell with a thump and crash to the floor, her head hitting hard against the first of the stairs.
Samantha had never killed anyone before. She stared at the dead girl, dumbstruck.
Unbelievably, her aunt floated down the stairs astride her cane and landed on the step just above Andrea’s head. In her hand was the Grimoire of Moloch. She looked as confused and horrified as Samantha felt. The old woman glanced down on the dead form at her feet and shook her head sadly. Her tired eyes met Samantha’s. “Dead?”
Samantha nodded as she stood on her feet. “Moloch gave me the spell.”
Clara didn’t appear surprised to find her niece had spoken recently with the ancient wizard. “I was afraid of that. Do you recognize her?”
Moving shakily as if it were freezing, she made her way over to her aunt’s side and looked down on the corpse. The beautiful young girl had aged considerably in death. In witch years, she was probably near three hundred years old, but to the human eye, she appeared an attractive thirty. Samantha shook her head.
“There are certain characteristics about her, even in her aged state, that make me wonder,” Clara muttered.
Mike and Serena appeared from around the corner looking like they’d barely survived an iron-man marathon. Wide-eyed, they stopped dragging their feet when they saw Samantha and her aunt—and the dead form of Andrea on the stair.
“She dropped to the floor, dead,” Mike said. “Lindsey’s dead.” His expression remained stuck in a pale sick position of one who had seen something too frightening to give words to.
Samantha had just been told this in her mind by her quivering familiar. They were both in the grip of Belly Fire when their tormentor was killed by the death of her witch.
They stood in silence, all of them stunned and weary, praying this horrible night was now over and they could catch their breath. Their reprieve, however, was cut short by a wailing that emanated from the stones all around them. It grew louder and hurt their ears. It was a pitiful noise, full of anguish and anger. It thundered down the hallways and shook the stone around them.
“YOU KILLED HER!” the voice bellowed from everywhere.
They looked about in fear and confusion, except for Clara.
“She had the Grimoire! You fiends!” The voice was wretched in its anguish.
“I’ll kill you, young one!” It promised. “I am not finished! My plans are deeper than you could ever imagine!” More wailing reverberated from the walls and continued for almost a minute. “Be prepared, Shalbriri! And fair warning. I will not be confined to the Appensus forever! I am coming soon with a sword in my hand!”
Once again, the pitiful wailing filled the underground chamber. “And you, Sahwin, you know not what you have done! The dead girl at your feet is your sister. Struck down by your hand!” The clamor of the disembodied voice continued. It echoed away down the corridors and up the staircase where it faded into the night.
Samantha looked up anxiously into the face of her aunt. “Is it true? Is she my sister?”
Clara looked at the dead girl and back at her niece. Gravely she nodded her head.
***
With Samantha and Serena’s help, Clara was able to fly everyone, including the invisible Jeep, back to their house in Hyde Park. The teenagers all collapsed on furniture around the house.
Samantha stretched out on the floor at the foot of the couch where Darren slept in something closer to a coma than slumber, physical exhaustion exacting its due from him. Samantha twitched about in her sleep, nightmares passing through it. A little black cat tried to help her sleep by rolling up beside her to give her comfort. If she moved, the cat snuggled in closer.
The tall boy, the Warder’s Guardian, had fallen asleep in a recliner. He looked as if someone had beaten him up with sharp stones. There was an extreme weariness about his sleeping form that Clara concluded meant he too had given all his physical strength to the events of that night.
Clara sat in an easy chair by the fireplace, the Grimoire open in her lap. She poured over its contents, trying to commit much of it to memory. At times, she would page ahead to see something. Other times, she paged back to review something else. She spent the time from 3:30 until 5:30 at this task. She took notes along the way, filling up several pages.
On a whim, she turned the pages of the Grimoire until she came to the end of the volume. The back cover was hard and decorated like much of the rest of the book. She ran her fingers along the intricate designs and realized part of the drawing was raised up from the cover. She pried at it until a piece of the book that had been cleverly inserted into the back cover broke free. Looking at it in awe, Clara suddenly realized what she was holding.
The hard long curved object was part of something larger. It was decorated to match the back cover, but she realized it was part of something else entirely. It was one of five sections of the Signum Infectus, the Token of Evil. She held one fifth of the cursed emblem Baal needed to enslave mankind. Along the arching portion of the token were written the words of one-fifth of the spell: Tragu Naleum Narcu Sespis—words from the first language given to man by God and deformed by Baal.
Trembling, she replaced the evil emblem in its slot in the back cover. She closed the book and shook, staring off into the darkened room. The object had filled her with terror, but some of the fear she recognized came from words a prophet had told her back when she went by the name Shalbriri. “When you hold the Dark One’s token, the final confrontation will be at the doors.”
How had time warped around her in this fashion? Suddenly there was too much to do, yet she didn’t know where to begin. She knew she should sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Her mind continued to flow from one thought to another, projected like the modern films of mankind. It was a movie behind her eyes she couldn’t shut down.
After some time, she thought again of the little girl, the mentally challenged child she’d been watching earlier in the evening. They had been playing cards when the little girl laid her hand down on the table and placed her small hand on her ancient one. Speaking softly she said, “You must go to the temple at the high school. Your niece needs your help. Your other niece is dead.”
Clara had been befuddled by this announcement. She stared dumbfounded at the little girl who then said, “My parents will return soon, you may leave me. You must hurry now.”
She jumped up from her seat and hurried to the door where the child stopped her and said, “Will you play with me again sometime?”
Flustered, Clara nodded then dashed out the door.
These thoughts were interrupted, and she was brought back to the moment by Samantha who padded over to her chair. “How is it?”
Clara looked up curiously at her niece.
“The book, I mean.” Samantha smiled.
Fatigue hung on her niece like a baggy sweatshirt. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t sleep.” Samantha shook her head. “But I’m exhausted.”
“Perhaps you should go to your room, lie down in your bed, my pet. That would help.”
“I will in a minute.” She sat on the arm of her aunt’s chair. “A sister.”
“Hmm.” Clara nodded. “A sister.”
“I wish—”
“Yes,” Clara said. “I understand wishes like those.” She patted Samantha’s hand.
Samantha smiled wanly at her Dear One.
“Would you like to see something?” Clara perked up suddenly. “I need to keep this volume somewhere safe, and I found the perfect place. You’re the only one I’ll show this to.” She looked down at her notebook and reviewed several words she’d scratched on the paper.
Holding her quivering hands out in front of her she said, “Vacu capa cita merqui de sa.” She pinched at the air in front of her and tugged at something that appeared to be space itself. She opened up a rectangular hole in the air and pulled it down—as it were—like a flap. Inside it was pitch black.
Clara lifted the Grimoire and placed it inside the hole in the air. From the side, Samantha watched the book simply disappear as if as her aunt had pushed it into nothing. The old woman reached down and closed the flap back into place. It looked like there was nothing there at all.
“So, will it always be right here?” Samantha reached out in front of her but felt nothing.
“It will follow me where ever I go. I can open up the null space anytime I’d like and retrieve the volume.”
Samantha nodded and grinned a bit at the cleverness of the spell.
“Oh, in case you are wondering, my pet, I’ll tell you this secret. When I die, whenever that should happen, the Grimoire will reappear on its own. I’d like you to be there for that.”
Samantha wondered about her aunt. Her ways were peculiar, but she loved the old woman so deeply she couldn’t imagine her any different than she was.
“I think I will go off to bed, Dear One. Let the others know where I am, should they wake before I do.”
Clara nodded, and Samantha touched her hand tenderly. Clara watched her niece shuffle off toward her bedroom. Such a wonderful child. She could have asked for no more miraculous a gift using all the powers of the Grimoire. That child brought her so much joy and comfort. She had never given birth to a child of her own, but realized she had a daughter nevertheless. She also realized if she were to ever lose the child, the pain and loss would be too great to bear.
She glanced at her niece’s friends sleeping on the recliner and sofa. The Warder caught her attention, and she thought about him for a long while. There was something about him and his family. Extraordinary. After mulling it over for a few moments, she glanced back down at her notebook and rifled through the pages. Coming to a stop, she looked over the words of a spell written there.
She toddled over to the kitchen and opened a door that now housed the brewing cauldron. Inside beyond the boiling cauldron—masking their house as an old dilapidated shack—were shelves cluttered with containers full of odd liquids, powders, animal remains, and strange weeds she’d managed to collect since she and her niece had escaped the Appensus. Among them were the necessary ingredients to start a potion that was completely new to her. Taking down an old iron tripod and a second cauldron, she hung them up and began the flames of a second witches’ fire. She had much to accomplish before morning broke.
Dawn swiftly approached before she finished adding the last ingredients for what she had in mind. The potion was simmering and was at the right temperature. She pulled from her voluminous gown a small glass vial, which she dipped into the brackish fluid and then stopped with a cork.
Clara tottered out of the pantry and looked about the room, which was painted a gray color by the pre-morning light. Her young guests continued to breathe quietly in their exhausted sleep. Morning was only a few short minutes away, and she was determined to complete her task before it arrived.
“Locu Sah Brum Tangic Amo Logan Regional,” she said and stepped out of her kitchen and into a hospital room. In the center of the room in a large bed connected to tubes and other manmade devices lay the sick and dying old Warder. The machinery that sustained his life would fail to do so very soon. Her heart went out to the man.
She’d been able to retard the effects of the Near-Death powder after she’d rendered him unconscious earlier. It was the only reason the old man hadn’t died hours ago. But the extent of the spell was near at hand. It would no longer prevent the inevitable.
She padded to the head of the bed and gazed down on Atavus’s face. He had been through a lot and had lived a long and eventful life. It would be a kindness to let him slip away before morning and give him eternal peace. But she thought back on her niece and on the young boy who slept on her sofa and decided to follow through with her original plan.
She examined the tubes connected to the man in the bed and quickly perceived their functions. She reached for tubing through which clear liquid was flowing into the man’s veins and realized how simply she could administer the potion. Hanging below the bag of manmade potion was a branching off the different lines. One was blocked off but could be accessed if the doctors needed to insert a different medication into Atavus’s system. Clara turned a small dial that opened the now empty line. She removed the stopper on the free line and drained the contents of her vial into it. It was quickly sucked into the tubing and joined the clear liquid entering Atavus’s veins.
Clara set the vial and tubing aside once it had emptied into the man, then turned to the head of the bed and looked down on him. She put her right forefinger to her eye, looked up, and rubbed the sclera. She pulled her slightly moistened finger away and touched the old man’s forehead with it.
She pulled from her gown the notebook upon which she had written the spell and spoke the words, “Restitu eris perfici vale truquorum seit deu sangum.” She repeated the words of the spell three more times. She had learned from the book that a coven of witches was necessary in order to heal someone this close to death, unless a single witch was particularly strong.
At the conclusion of the fourth recitation of the spell, Atavus’s eyes flashed open as if a burst of adrenaline had flooded his system. At first, there was fear as he gaped into the eyes of the old witch, but it softened to understanding the longer she returned his gaze.
***
Darren gasped as he sat up on the couch staring blindly into the dark room. He panted and struggled to calm himself down from the horrible dream that frightened him into consciousness. It took him several seconds before he put together where he was and why he was on Samantha’s couch. Everything must have worked out.
He remembered passing out. After making the connection with the picture of Andrea, he’d figured out that she was the witch who had bewitched him. That knowledge instantly freed him from her memory charm, and he’d ripped the amulet from her neck. He didn’t know what happened after that, but they must have been triumphant as he was now back at Samantha’s house, sleeping on her couch. The pleasant tug of exhaustion began to wash over him again like a gentle incoming wave.
The image in that horrible dream kept him from drifting off as quickly as he wanted. Darren had seen that gruesome warlock from the vision above the island in Samantha’s kitchen. He wore the same black cassock with a deep cowl, and set in the darkness of that shroud, Darren could see his one good eye burning red. The rest of his face had been burned away, and the maimed area looked fresh and raw. But the worst part was the twisted smile on the ghoul. He seemed fiendishly delighted as he rasped, “I will find you!” jerking Darren awake.
He settled back down on the couch, praying it had just been a dream, when at the far end of the room, Samantha’s aunt Clara walked through the wall. He wanted to say it surprised him, but it hadn’t. It made him wonder if it too had been a dream, just like the maimed warlock, but he didn’t think so. He’d actually seen her return from somewhere by walking into the house through the wall, like it was a normal way of getting in when you had forgotten your keys.
The old woman looked back into the room where she believed Darren and Mike to be asleep. She crossed the kitchen and gazed out the window over the sink. Darren noticed for the first time the gray light of morning lazily stretching across the room. The old woman looked out on the new day for some time. Darren wondered what she was thinking, and where she had just been. She was mysterious, but he knew Samantha loved her more than life itself.
He was a bit startled when she began dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She backed away from the window and gave a great sigh. She mumbled to herself, but he thought he’d heard her utter the name, Samuel. Then, with a look of one stricken with great anxiety she looked up and said softly, but loud enough for Darren to hear, “We don’t have much time.”