Ancient Forces Collection (15 page)

As a child of seven, Laura remembered standing in that very spot, wanting to rush in and give her dad a hug when he would arrive home late from work. The couple of times she had tried, she had been pushed away. Her dad had so much important stuff to do to establish his law practice. She just had to understand. Even her mother had said so.

“Dad’s busy. Don’t bother him.” Even now that she was seventeen, her mother’s words from ten years ago still echoed in her head. Come to think of it, not much had changed.

Laura’s eyes scanned the room. The shades were drawn. The only light came from a small lamp with a dark green lamp shade on his desk. He had a habit of leaving it on. She walked into the office, circled around to the back of her father’s massive mahogany desk, and eased herself into his big, high-back leather chair.

Once seated, the strong smell of tobacco greeted her nose. She noticed a half-smoked cigar resting on the edge of his ashtray. Her eyes drifted across the desktop. She dare not touch anything. Her dad had barked at the cleaning lady for disturbing his things. No, she didn’t come to pry into his stuff. She just took comfort sitting in his chair.

It was about as close to him as she could get.

It would have to do.

Laura was about to leave when the phone on his desk purred. He had set the ringer on the lowest setting. On the second ring, the answering machine clicked on. Her ears perked up as the confident, deep voice of her father came on: “You’ve reached the home office of Les Henderson. Leave a confidential message at the tone. I’ll return the call shortly.”

The breathy voice of a woman whispered, “Les, it’s me. I know you said not to call you here, but I just had to tell you what a wonderful time I had at lunch today.”

Laura just about flew out of the chair. She leaned toward the answering machine. Who was this woman? What was she doing with her dad at lunch? Was she a client? If so, she sure sounded awfully friendly.

“I . . . well, I can’t wait to see you . . . tonight . . . I’ll be sure to make it . . . worthwhile.” The caller paused, then added, “I feel positively naughty, don’t you? Bye, dearest.”

Laura was too stunned to move. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. It felt as if a giant vacuum had sucked out all the air from her lungs. She brought a hand to her face. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

Her dad? Having an affair?

The walls of her father’s study felt as if they were closing in on her, squeezing every ounce of life out of her world. It didn’t make sense. Her parents didn’t appear unhappy. As far as she could tell, they rarely argued. Then again, her folks rarely did much together aside from having brunch on Sunday at the country club.

The grandfather clock chimed four times. Laura focused on the clock through the tears now dampening her eyes. She remembered she had to be at Julie’s by five. She’d have just enough time to do what she knew she had to do. She willed herself to leave the room, climbed the staircase to the second floor, and then made her way to her bedroom.

She closed and locked the door behind her, as if doing so would shield her from the knifelike betrayal she felt slicing away at her heart. Try as she did, she couldn’t shake the voice of that woman echoing in her mind:
“Bye, dearest . . . bye, dearest . . . bye,
dearest . . .”

She fell facedown on her bed, sobbing. Several minutes passed before she managed to pull herself upright. She sat on the edge of the bed and dabbed her tears with a corner of the sheet. Like a lost child, she sat, hands folded in her lap, waiting to be rescued.

In the stillness, a plan of action formed.

Slowly, Laura got down on her knees and withdrew a black, three-sided hat from beneath the bed. It was her Cone of Power, or, as her unenlightened friends called it, her witch’s hat. She put it on her head and then walked to her desk.

She grabbed a piece of red construction paper and, with scissors, fashioned it into the shape of a tongue. Using a marker, she scribbled a few words on the paper tongue. Satisfied, Laura picked up a glass jar from the corner of her desk and then walked to the center of the room with the jar and the tongue.

As a Solitary, a witch practicing the craft of Wicca alone, Laura knew she had to create a magic circle, a holy ground in which she would cast a spell. Unlike Brooke, the leader of The Society who was way deep into black magic, Laura viewed her private journey into Wicca as a less dangerous pathway to personal enlightenment.

She had pulled away from The Society last year after that horrible night at the park when she realized the control Brooke had over her. Laura shuddered, thinking about how she had taken part in terrorizing Becka. And while Brooke was still dealing with the police, Laura was required to have regular counseling for her part in the assault. Talk about an awful year.

That’s when she discovered Wicca. As a Wiccan, her spell casting was a positive way to protect and provide for the people and things she loved. Or so she was taught.

She took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to quiet the restlessness in her spirit. As the calm settled upon her, she walked toward the North with her dominant hand leading the way. Her fingers pointed downward as she moved.

Laura began to pace in a clockwise direction around the room. As she walked, she imagined a hedge of tall
trees emerging in the wake of her fingers as they floated through the air. She whispered these words:

“Circle of power, I call thee forth.

Be for me a boundary between this world and the spirits.

May it be a perfect place of peace, love, and power.

I look to the keepers of the North, the East, the South, and the
West

To assist me now; consecrate this place

In the name of the lord and the lady.”

Laura glided around the room three times as she spoke the words, stopping at the northern point. She bent over. With a slap of her hand against the floor, she added, “This great circle of power is sealed.”

This done, she walked to the center of the circle, holding the tongue-shaped paper and jar. Laura opened the jar and then placed the tongue inside. She replaced the lid and tightened it with a twist. As she worked, she said:

“Speaker of evil, temptress of my dad,

I bind your tongue; I forever banish you

From this home, so you harm us no more.

May the spirit deal with you according to your evil intent.

May only love and positive energy encircle my home,

So mote it be!”

Laura closed her eyes. She envisioned the angels in the spirit world bathing her room with a warm light. She lifted the jar above her head, imagining the paper tongue inside scorched by fire. She lowered the jar, opened her eyes, and walked counterclockwise around the circle three times. With care, she put the jar in the bottom drawer of her desk and placed her three-sided hat back under the bed.

She glanced at the clock on her bed stand. She had thirty minutes before she had to be at Julie’s house. It was then that a new idea came to her mind. She decided to cast a special spell of friendship for someone she’d be meeting later that evening.

She quickly retrieved the hat, grabbed a candle and a lighter, and then retraced her steps to conjure up a magic circle. This time, as she stood in the center, she pictured Julie’s thick blonde hair. For a second, Laura considered how much prettier Julie’s hair was than her own stringy blonde mane, but she quickly banished the negative energy that such comparisons generated.

Laura lit the candle and held it above her head. She said:

“I light my candle; my will be done.

Sarina Fox, kindred seeker,

Be drawn this day, to be at one

With me and with the lady.

All hail the goddess,

So mote it be!”

With a puff of hot breath, Laura blew out the candle.

3

H
ey, Mom,” Scott said, picking up two large suitcases, “I thought you were only going for the weekend.”

“I am,” Mrs. Williams said, checking her hair in the mirror by the front door. She smiled. “One for each day.”

“Gotcha.” Slumping under the weight of a suitcase in each hand, Scott headed to the car. As he lugged them toward the driveway, Ryan Riordan pulled up. Scott turned and called toward the open front door of the house, “Becka, Ryan’s here for the dog.”

Becka bounded out onto the front lawn. “Hey, Ryan.”

He gave her a hug. “Boy, is somebody moving?” he said with a laugh, pointing to the luggage.

“Actually,” Mrs. Williams said, joining them, “it may look that way, but it’s still just for the weekend.”

Becka walked with Ryan toward the house. “Now, you’re sure you and Muttly will get along?”

Ryan laughed. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. I love dogs.”

They headed to the kitchen, where Becka had Muttly’s stuff. “Here’s his food — just two scoops twice a day.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“And his toy, his blanket, his leash.” She stopped mid-step. “Are you sure this isn’t asking too much?”

Ryan gathered up the items. “I promise, Beck, we’ll be fine. Besides, if Muttly misses you, I’ll call you at Julie’s, and you guys can talk on the phone . . . deal?”

Becka blinked. “That reminds me. I’ve got a cell phone now.”

“Imagine that,” Ryan said with a sly grin. “The Williams have joined the rest of mankind.”

Becka ignored the friendly jab and jotted down her new number on a napkin. “Here ya go,” she said, tucking the paper in his shirt pocket. “Muttly’s around back. Here, I’ll get him — ”

Ryan squeezed her arm. “No, I’ll get him. You just do what you need to do to get ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, and let’s plan on doing something Sunday night when you get home.”

Becka liked the sound of that. “Thanks, Ryan.” Her heart did a little flip-flop as he hugged her. Becka zoomed out of the kitchen and grabbed her bag.

“Come on, Becka,” her mom said, switching off the lights in the living room.

“Mom, give me another sec, okay?” Becka said, plopping her overstuffed duffel bag by the front door. Beside it she placed Julie’s present. An arrangement of colorful crepe paper sprouted out of the top of the bag. She was all set. Well, almost. She wished she had a better idea of what Wicca was all about, especially since she’d be meeting Sarina from
The Hex
.

“I just sent Z an email, and I’m hoping he’ll see it before we leave,” Becka said.

“We really need to get going, sweetheart,” Mrs. Williams said with a look at the clock on the wall. “I don’t want to be late for registration.”

“I’ll only be a sec, I promise.” Becka sprinted up the stairs. She rounded the corner and headed for Scott’s room, where the computer screen glowed. She beamed when she noticed that a message was awaiting her. She clicked on the icon and opened the email. It was from Z.

Subject: Wicca

From: Z

To: Becka

Good to know you’ll be spending the weekend with Julie. Regarding Wicca: on the surface it claims to promote healing, positivity, and oneness with nature. However, it’s nothing more than a repackaged pagan belief system combining feminism, environmentalism, and spiritualism into a misguided and dangerous brew. Although Wiccans see Wicca as different from other forms of witchcraft, they rely upon spell casting, alignment of the stars and planets, and opening up one’s self to demons — which they’ll never admit. Wiccans believe there are many legitimate pathways to God, and they deny the concept of absolute evil as found in the person of Satan. They even deny that sin exists. Think about it. No sin, no need for Jesus. Nevertheless, the practice of Wicca is one of the fastest-growing religions in the world today.

The Bible predicted this: “For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry” (2 Timothy 4:3 – 5).

The Wicca belief system is so popular, even the cartoon series
Scooby-Doo
has promoted the notion that Wicca witches are a good thing. Don’t
be fooled, Becka. There is no such thing as “good” magic. Nor are there good witches. All witchcraft is a perversion because it denies the need for a Savior by suggesting there are many ways to the Father.

Be careful. Be steadfast. Be true to the truth.

Z

Becka switched off the computer, thankful to have at least some idea what Wiccans believe. At the same time, that hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she was engaged in spiritual warfare rumbled with fresh intensity.

Her thoughts drifted to Julie’s birthday party. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for them to go to the bookstore and meet Sarina. Sure, Sarina and
The Hex
were super popular. But if Sarina as a practicing Wiccan was, as Z implied, into witchcraft and casting spells, there was no way Becka, Julie, Krissi, and the others should get near her.

Not after Julie and Krissi already had almost deadly encounters with demon possession several months ago.

But how could Becka stop them from going?