Witches (2 page)

Chapter One

A small cabin outside of Canaan

The present

Amanda knelt on the floor before the hearth, shivering, weak from lack of sleep and food. Her hands shook as she laid the wood.

Stacking the kindling carefully, she witched a bright flame from her hand to the wood, fanning the first fragile flames with her breath until it caught. Then she added the bigger logs, and the fire roared. She searched its blue heart, trying not to dwell on what she was actually doing.

Outside, the storm grew in fury, thundering at the doors and windows as if it knew what she was going to do.

The wind moaned.
Sacrilege...sacrilege...

Something thumped persistently against the door. She’d locked Amadeus, her familiar, out. He didn’t like it. He knew she was up to no good.

In silence, she prepared for the rest of the ritual. With chalk, she drew a five-pointed star with alternate
points connected by a continuous line—the pentagram. She painstakingly finished the preparations for the ancient incantation she’d begun earlier in the day. A spell that a white witch should never invoke.

Don’t do this.

The flames whispered.
Jake…Jake.

A tortured, lonely heart ignored her inner voice. The truth.

She sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. It was tangled and greasy. When was the last time she’d washed it, or taken a bath, for that matter? Weeks? What a sight she must be now, she thought. She must truly look like the witches of the old myths. Smiling wistfully, she tugged the frayed sweater tighter around her.

Since Jake, her husband of ten years, had died, she’d had no time for anything except for anger, self-pity, and tears.

Her conscience kept warning her not to go on, but she refused to listen.

You can’t call Jake back from the dead. It breaks all the laws of white witchcraft...and you’re not a black witch. You’ll never be able to pay the price.

There was a price to pay for every spell a witch wove, every favor she asked from her magic. The bigger the favor, the higher the price. The more precious, or forbidden the request, the higher the final payment, gotten one way or another. For every push, there was a pull.

Amanda, if you do this, you could damn your soul to hell.
Her inner voice warned her again.
Don’t go to the dark side.

Not to mention the danger.

All the same, another night without Jake? Another night alone? To have Jake back, wouldn’t that be worth it? Her inner voice was mute.

Even witches got lonely. She frowned in the crowding shadows as she crouched before the fire, her haunted green eyes obsessed. Even witches fell in love. Even she, who’d once believed she never would.

She did...with Jake.

She remembered the first time they met ten years ago, the way he’d looked, what he had said.

He’d been so handsome, tall, dark-haired with sensitive, knowing blue eyes full of humor and wisdom. He’d had a beard then, in the beginning, and had reminded her for some reason of a medieval tinker. All he’d needed was a leather bag slung across his broad shoulders.

He’d come across her in the woods one spring day as she gathered mushrooms. The first time he’d looked at her, she knew he’d be the one she would love. Something in the soft breeze that cavorted around her told her so.

He’d grinned at her as she’d stared boldly back, his eyes appreciative.

“You’re lovely. Are you real?”

She’d laughed. “Yes.”

He’d reached out his hand, and she’d taken it without hesitation. Love at first sight. It’d never happened to her. Before, she’d thought such talk of love and passion a fable. Worse, she’d always scoffed at it.

She’d had a lot to learn; and Jake had been eager to teach her.

They’d been lovers from the beginning. No coyness or modesty on her part because they’d been fated to meet, fated to love; it’d been right from the first touch, the first kiss.

They’d made love in the woods on a warm night. He’d been amused by her that first time, after their gentle lovemaking, when she’d told him she’d loved him before in another life and the ones before that.

“We’ve both lived before, many times. We were lovers in each one.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” he’d asked softly, not disbelieving, but skeptical.

“I just am. I know things. Do you think that I bed every man I meet while walking in the woods?” she’d teased him gently.

“Well, I did wonder about that...”

For an answer, she’d brought his lips down to hers and kissed him sweetly.

“What are you, then, to know such things?” he’d coaxed, holding her close to him in the dark, still teasing. “A witch?”

“I don’t advertise it,” she’d replied in a hushed tone, serious. She never told people what she was. “But yes, I am, and some of us believe in reincarnation. Spirit traveling. What a soul doesn’t learn in one life, it must come back again to learn in another.

“I’ve met you before in my travels, my love. I’ve found you again in this life.” There’d been happiness and wonder in her voice. She’d known it was true, amazing as it was. Jake was the one she’d been waiting so long for and had never thought she’d find, not in this life anyway.

He’d studied her in the dark, not answering for a long time. She was afraid he didn’t believe her, afraid he thought her to be eccentric, or worse yet, crazy. Then, with the bouquet of honeysuckle wafting around them in the night, he’d spoken softly to her. “I don’t care what you are, woman. All I know is that I found you, and I know here,” his hand pressed on his chest above his heart, “somehow already, without a doubt, I love you. Don’t ask me how I know it so soon, I just do. You’re mine and I’ll never let you go. Crazy woman, old maid, witch, or whatever.”

“Don’t worry, Jake,” she’d whispered later, smiling in the gloom. “I’m a white witch. A good witch.” He could just make out the upturning of her lips.

He’d waited for her to go on, but she’d only said, “I’ve given you enough to think on for a while.” Then, she’d sighed into his strong shoulder, both of them wrapped in a blanket, sleepy, leaning against a large tree.

“Someday, I’ll tell you everything, my love. Someday.” Touching his heavy eyes, she’d bade him sleep. Cradling his head in her arms, she’d thought about what a difference loving him would make in her life.

Yes, she was a witch. Born a witch as her grandmother before her, and her grandmother before her. Most of her ancestors had been witches, or warlocks. That simple. The gifts and skills passed down from one generation to another. The power to heal. Foresee the future—sometimes. Shape change. Control the weather. Each witch had her own special gifts. White witches, who swore to help humanity. Witches, who often believed in a merciful God and worshipped nature, but never Satan.

As the night birds disappeared, and the day creatures began to rise with the dawn, she’d led her love to her bed. From that day on, for ten beautiful years, nothing had ever separated them.

Weeks later, as they’d cuddled before a fire in her shack on the edge of the woods, when he’d known her better and seen her powers first hand, she’d told him everything about her witchery.

“I’m of the Old Religion, before it split itself into Dualism.”

“Dualism?”

“A creed that holds that there are two sides to God. The
Diabolic or black witchcraft believes that the evil side, Satan, is stronger. White witches, the pure Old Religion, believe that the good side, God, is stronger and that we receive our powers from Him. It’s a very ancient, misunderstood religion. We’re not allowed to interfere with the world.”

“Ah, like the Prime Directive in
Star Trek
?”

“
Star Trek?
” she’d inquired, puzzled.

“That’s right, you don’t watch much television, do you?” He recalled she had little use for it. “It’s an old television science fiction show about Captain Picard and his crew, who travel through space from one world to another. They’re not, usually, allowed to tamper with the civilizations they encounter, only observe. It would upset the worlds’ delicate balances, you see.”

“That’s it exactly. We witches are supposed to keep a low profile, help from behind the scenes, observe. Not call attention to ourselves, never hurt anything or anyone. If we do use our powers to hurt, we pay dearly for it.”

“Ah, so the cults, the animal and human sacrificing, Satanic masses, and that sadistic mumbo jumbo we read about all the time is the
bad
side of witchcraft?” He had caught on quickly.

“The dark side.” She supplied the word for him.
“
Black
magic. Evil people who bastardize the Old Religion’s beliefs, worship Satan and his legions. Sick people who want attention. It’s given witchcraft a bad name. True witches are healers, not killers. We abhor people like that and fight their evil whenever we can.”

She’d shrugged. “Most people don’t know that, though. They’re so superstitious, Jake, even in these times, so afraid of what they don’t understand.” She’d sighed, knowing this well from her own experiences. “I learned early to keep my religion, my powers hidden. It scares people. They think all witches idolize the Devil, drink baby’s blood, or cackle over a steaming inky kettle full of foul-smelling animal parts. Just like in the dark ages. Warts on your nose and hair like a greasy mop.” With this, she’d finally laughed.

In time, Jake accepted what she was, and loved her more for it. They’d even married in the old way, just the two of them exchanging their vows under the sacred oak trees. She would have done anything for him.

However, fate had something else in store for Jake. One thing a witch must accept was that one cannot defy fate. It was too strong.

What would be would be.

A rainy night, slick roads, and a smashed up car—and Jake was gone.

Now, with her heart breaking, her eyes shut, her hands waving languidly over the fire, she chanted the nefarious words that would bring her husband back from the dead.

Mandy...no, Mandy
...

Something crashed against the door, as if something or someone were throwing themselves against it. Wood splintered, but the door held. Amadeus, who had powers of his own, was fighting mad now. It was his responsibility to protect her, protect her from herself, if need be. She heard him growling at her through the door.

Open up, Mandy. Open the damn door!

“No. I told you, Amadeus, either help me or go away.”

The cat grumbled beyond the door, hissed and spat as loud as any big cat, and the battering resumed.

Amanda’s eyes flew open, widened as the apparition began to take form inside the pentagram—the outline of a man, tall, his arms thrown over his face as if in defense.

“Jake?” She moaned, staring at the thing.

It lowered its hands and a ghoulish, misty face peered out at her, a face so full of torment and fear, Amanda fell back in shock.

“Don’t do this, Mandy, I beg you! Remember me as I was. I don’t belong there anymore.”
She heard the plaintive whisper, an echo on the still air. Its hands reached out to her. “Let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She couldn’t stop. The enchantment wasn’t complete. It would be better when it was. He was between two worlds now and he would be frightened. Half-formed.
Between two worlds.

If she wasn’t careful, those unearthly denizens—shade demons, she called them—that haunted that dead world could escape into hers.
So
dangerous. What the hell was she doing opening the forbidden portals like this?

What happened if she was a moment off, a word wrong and the demons came through? If she unleashed them? A disaster.

Amanda steeled herself, wiped the fresh tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Damn it, I want you back, Jake. I’ll have you back,” she swore.

She took up where she’d left off, knowing if she stopped at this point of the spell, it could ruin everything. Everything.

The door groaned behind her under its assault (damn but that cat was strong), the wind screamed outside the windows. The candles placed around the pentagram fluttered in a strange breeze in the shadowy room.

Amanda’s heart froze. She stopped in the middle of the spell, her eyes going wide with fear, her hands half-raised before her, and her head thrown back as the flames from the fire glowed more brightly across her tense face.

What was that word? Suureerustus? Summertus? Or...

She stared at the blurry figure trying to form in the circle. It was yelling at her now...something...something...she couldn’t make out the words.

It was no longer alone.

Things
writhed around its melting feet, flew about its head. Terrible things.
Things from the dead world. Unholy things.
Gaping mouths with sharp bloodied teeth, glittering fiendish eyes in deformed, hideous bodies. Some almost human, some insect like. Others indescribable. Some growing before her eyes to be taller than she was.