Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (16 page)

I tucked the book under a stack of towels before stepping into the shower. I just had to figure out how to smuggle it out of the house.

As I dressed, male voices drifted up from the foyer. I came down the stairs in time to see Nicholas hand a check to the man from the tow company.

They both looked at me.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Your truck?" the stranger asked me.

I nodded. "There was an elk in the road."

He gave his head a quick jerk of agreement. "Lot of 'em out foraging, with this weather."

He pulled his ball cap down lower on his head, nodded at Nicholas and handed me the keys. "You're one lucky lady. A foot more and you'd a'been at the bottom of the mountain."

We were both silent for a moment after the tow-truck driver left. Discussing the accident had curbed Nicholas's morning petulance. He cleared his throat and turned to me.

"Would you join me in the library? I'd like to give you some books for your first lesson."

The room had been dark the night before. Today, shafts of sunlight streamed from narrow beveled windows wedged between each bookshelf and extending clear to the ceiling. The room smelled faintly of wood smoke, leather, and musty paper. Books packed every wall.

I walked the circumference, perusing titles here and there, as they caught my attention. This was no ordinary library. The shelves were arranged by type of magical working. One entire wall was devoted to divination, from tarot to runes to scrying. The front section contained books on general witchcraft and spells. "These books look handmade," I said, opening one of the leather-bound volumes to leaf through parchment pages covered with handwriting.

"Those are family grimoires, mostly from other branches of the Orenda family, but some of grandmother's friends shared theirs as well," Nicholas said.

"What's a grimoire?"

"It's a textbook of magic, compiled by a family or a coven," Nicholas replied. "Spells, invocations, instructions for making talismans and amulets, ritual outlines, and notes. Almost every group compiles one. You may also know it as a Book of Shadows."

"Do you have one?"

"My family does, started by my great-grandmother." Nicholas frowned. "I haven't located it yet, but I'm sure it's around here somewhere."

"When you find it may I read it also?"

Nicholas snorted. "No. It's Orenda family business, not yours."

Well then, it's decided. If he hasn't found it yet, he won't notice if it goes missing for a few days. I'll read it and then slip it back in with the rest of the family grimoires.

Nicholas sat patiently for several more minutes, looking faintly amused, as I rambled in a large circle. Finally he called, "Back here, Samantha," and gestured from the far corner. "This is the section we will be starting with. I'd like you to compile a Materia Magicka—your own personal filing system on herbs and their actions."

He gave me an indulgent smile. "Pick a few volumes to start with."

I trailed my fingers over the books in this section as I scanned titles.
Fatal Fauna. Plants of the Southwest and Their Magickal Uses. Treatise on Poisons. Potions for Binding
. I picked one for each plant subject I could imagine, including the poisonous plants, figuring it best to be prepared. When we left the room, I toted a three-foot stack of borrowed books.

Nicholas offered to take the books out and start my truck to let it warm up and charge the battery up a bit. I handed him part of the stack. I needed the others for camouflage. While he was outside, I dashed to the upstairs bathroom and retrieved the Book of Shadows from under the towels. I tucked it into the middle of the other books and carried the stack out to the truck, depositing it carefully on the back seat.

"Next week?" Nicholas asked.

"I can't on Sunday. I'm going out with Maya and some friends to cut a tree for Christmas, uh, Yule," I stammered, my mind still working on fleeing the house without getting caught. "Do you celebrate Yule?" I asked quickly, diverting him away from the backseat of books and toward the driver's door.

He nodded. "I celebrate all of the Sabbats, some more extensively than others." He stood back and I slid behind the wheel.

"Why don't we have your next lesson on Monday," he suggested. "I will pick you up and we can come back here for supper and study. We can go over the Sabbats, beginning with Yule.

You'll need extra time on the herb assignment anyway. And then you'll be informed and ready for your outing on Sunday."

Interesting
, I thought on the way home.
Yuletide traditions, taught by Scrooge.

Chapter 23: Cat and Mouse

After Samantha left, Nicholas added a spot of honey to his Earl Grey and left it steeping on the kitchen table while he climbed the stairs to the attic.

"Here kitty, kitty, you damned cat," he called gruffly from the top step, peering into the dim light.

A form jumped down from the far window. It stood and stretched its long tail in a question mark arch before sitting primly to watch him approach.

He picked up Shadow and settled the big tomcat into his arms, looking around the attic. "So this is where you've been living?"

The cat stared at him.

"
Well
?" Nicholas stared back. "You were her familiar. Don't you have anything to tell me about Aunt Bella?"

Shadow gave a soft mew and struggled out of his arms, jumping to the floor and returning to his spot under the window.

Nicholas squatted down beside him, but the cat moved back, flattening himself against the wall.

Muttering in irritation, Nicholas started to reach for the animal again but stopped. The floor in front of the cat showed a distinct clean square in the dust, as if an object had been recently removed.

Nicholas put his open palms over the outline and closed his eyes, moving his hands in a slow figure eight.
Yes!
He could feel residual magic in the space. Slowly he ran his hands around the edges of the imprint and a jumble of impressions spread through him: Chants, spell workings, and a deep, ancient power.

He also sensed a more recent human presence. Samantha. He opened his eyes and studied the rectangular outline. Maybe a paper or a book? Maybe even the missing family grimoire?

He sat back on his heels and looked around the room for anything fitting the shape. Samantha had been in the attic and moved something, but what? What did she find up here she didn't want him to know? His suspicions were interrupted when Shadow rubbed past his waist and walked to the stairs, looking back at him expectantly.

Nicholas took a last look around the attic, then rose and followed the cat down the stairs, along the landing, and to the main floor.

He really must keep closer tabs on Samantha. She had weeks of free time she didn't account for, at least not with him.

"I put my trust in you and all you want is to be let out?" he scolded Shadow, who was now pawing at the front door. He opened the door to let the cat out, but Shadow simply sat down in the doorway and stared at him.

"What are you telling me? Or not telling me, you furry traitor? Come on, I've had enough." He scooped the cat into his arms once again and carried him into the kitchen, dumping him into an empty chair at the table and turning to his now cold tea.

Chapter 24: Book of Shadows

At home I unloaded the truck, bringing armloads of books inside and dropping them in an untidy heap in the living room. Once I'd changed into sweats and my sheepskin-lined slippers, I headed into the kitchen where I microwaved a quick bowl of spaghetti, shook some dressing into a box of salad, and grabbed a soda from the refrigerator.

Then I dug through the pile to the hidden Book of Shadows. Maybe whoever or whatever chased Bella had lost her trail. The rest of the idea lodged in my gut, twisting it into knots of fear.
Maybe it has turned its attention on me.
Somebody wanted me dead, and I had no idea why. Maybe part of the answer was in this book.

I examined the book carefully for any sign of movement before giving it a tentative touch. If ever there was a propitious time for one of my weird visions, this was it. I placed both palms on the book cover.
Where is Bella
? Waited several heartbeats.
Why did she leave?
Nothing.
Open up and give me a clue.
This grimoire was less responsive than an Ouija board. It wouldn't help me much if I couldn't get it to re-open.

Maybe I wasn't asking the right questions.

Bella knew someone was attacking her family. Hopefully she also had some tricks ready for her attacker. A protection spell would be a good start. Something darker and more drastic, would be even better.

I rubbed my palms together briskly before placing them back on the book.
What do I need to know to protect myself?

Immediately, the grimoire flew open to a stained and much-used page. Part of the page was torn out, and the remainder was covered with strange twig-like symbols.

A scribbled note in the margin said, "Can substitute ground bone for dirt," followed by "Good use for scorpions
."
It made no sense at all.

The rest of the book wasn't much better. The entries were an out-of-order jumble. Some pages had recipes with unfamiliar herbs and roots. I jotted those down to cross-reference later in Nicholas's herb books. Other pages held what looked like spells, written in rhyme, but none of them promised protection or special abilities to ward off an attack.

I took the book over to my laptop and opened a blank file. If I deciphered all the entries I could and typed them up in a spread-sheet with a separate field for the dates, I could reshuffle the entries into chronological order. Maybe then it would reveal some clue to who had killed the Orenda women, and whom Bella was preparing to battle. But it would take some time, time I might not have.

I typed the first few pages, and then skipped to the second half of the book, looking for older entries, the ones written by Nicholas's grandmother, or maybe even her great-grandmother. How long would a witch's family keep their grimoire?

Grandmother Renard's were even harder to translate. Nearly all were written in symbols and code or extensively abbreviated. Renard was a secretive lady.

I tried to imagine what her life as a witch had been like when she was my age. If Nicholas was 35, maybe 40, then his grandmother would have been born in the early 1900s. I bet she had plenty of reason to be secretive in her era.

I flipped through the remaining pages until a drawing caught my eye. It appeared to be stair steps. No, more like a stylized version of Sinclair's lightning bolt, the thunderbird. I traced the design with my finger. The movement brought back the memory of when I had seen this version of the design. It was the emblem on the neck of Bella's cloak, the worn spot Nuin had questioned in the diner after my first ritual.

I went to the front closet and pulled out the cloak, laying it beside the book. Perfect match. Quickly, I typed the date and entry into the computer and sketched the emblem on a notepad, then riffled through the pages to see if I'd missed anything else.

Tucked into the last page was a cream business card. I pulled it out. "Jaco Hunsley, Cabinet Maker." The single written entry on the page was a familiar name:
Wakanda Ondear
. The shaman's medicine woman.

From the computer shelf, I pulled the carving Sinclair had given me. Running my thumb across her carved raven wings, I studied the journal page. The entry wasn't dated. The writing had faded, and I couldn't be sure if it was the aunt's or the grandmother's. How would either one of them know the shaman?

I made the entry in the computer, re-saved the file and tucked the raven-woman back onto her shelf.

"You know more than you're telling me," I admonished as I turned off the light for bed. "It seems everyone does."

Chapter 25: The Caller

I arrived at Sinclair's campsite on Sunday morning before the sun had gained any heat.

He was squatting by the campfire when I arrived, tending to the coffeepot sitting over the flames. I dropped my daypack on the dusty ground and gave him a small bow.

"I'm fixing tea to relax you for your listening lesson," he said.

"What's in it? Please tell me it's not peyote or nightshade, or something else crazy. I'm having enough weirdness on my own, without any chemical stimulation."

"Naw. Just herbs to help your body relax and to open up your mind."

I remained standing. "Can you be more specific? As in, tell me everything in it."

"You are not a trusting person." Sinclair poured tea into a metal mug and held it out to me. "Lemon balm, wood betony, kava, catnip, spearmint." His mischievous smile made his eyes crinkle into slits. "Maybe just a little pinch or two of morning glory flowers." He patted the ground beside him. "Sit. Drink. It won't hurt you."

I accepted the mug with reluctance and took a sip of the scalding liquid. Not bad. It tasted like mint and sent shivers of warmth through my body.

"Where should we begin today?" I asked when we had settled onto the red ground side by side facing the edge of the plateau.

"First I tell you why you need to drink the tea," he said.

"Okay," I replied, still feeling uneasy.

"I live in two worlds, the white man's and the red man's," Sinclair said. "Watching both people, I've learned we're different in how we get information. Your world is all about logic. You don't use dreams and visions to get knowledge." He took a sip of his tea and waited until I took two more drinks before he continued. "My people use their right brains for understanding." He gave me a sly sideways glance. "See, I read your psychology books. Indians learn by seeing, but not through our eyes. We see with our spirit minds, through light, sounds, touch, and by seeing Spirit as it flows in the universe."

"Like being a hollow bone," I said.

Sinclair nodded. "Yep. As a hollow bone, you are straddling the river between our two worlds"

I pushed the thought around in my mind, fitting one more puzzle piece into the larger picture. "You think that's why I'm having visions and heard the energy beneath the earth the last time we were here."