Of Spirits and Superstition Page 6

  “Head injuries can be tricky,” Dad says.

  Tala stares at Ronan. “They tell me it could take time before he comes to.”

  I can see by my father and Hale’s faces they believe there’s more going on.

  “His spirit’s not back, is it?” I ask Dad.

  He has one arm crossed over his chest, the elbow of the other resting on it, chin in hand. “I’m guessing no. The doctors are quite surprised by the rapid decrease in the brain swelling. They called it a miracle.”

  “We did send healing energy,” Summer interjects. “It might’ve helped.”

  He gives her a patient smile. “I’m sure it did, but something is keeping him comatose.”

  “You think it’s magick?” I query.

  He shrugs. “Until we figure out who attacked him and why, we may never know.”

  I stroke Ronan’s soft hair. “But the perpetrator actually attacked Tala, right?”

  Ronan’s mother looks horribly regretful. “I have no idea who it was or why he came after me. I definitely felt magick radiating off him, but I haven’t been able to place what kind. It felt…raw, new, like the first time a shifter comes into their animal body. It can be very unnerving and chaotic. That’s the type of energy he had.”

  “But was it a shifter?” Hale asks. They’ve already discussed this a dozen times, I can tell, but there’s no resolution and only the questions to go over again and again.

  “None like I’ve ever encountered,” she responds.

  “Okay, then. I have an idea.” I place the bag of mimosa on the nearby nightstand, and shrug out of my coat, throwing it on a chair. My sisters remove theirs as well and Spring puts Hoax on the rolling bed table. He squawks and flaps his wings. Persephone stares at him and he throws a curse at her. “May the devil take your last shilling!”

  “May the gates of paradise never open to you!” she curses back.

  This shuts the bird up and causes Mama Nightengale and my dad to smile.

  I take a moment to explain the process as everyone gathers close. Removing mimosa flowers from the bag, I move around Ronan, placing them on his chakra points and in his aura, Dad performs a prayer, acknowledging all of our spirits, the Great Spirit, and asking for wisdom and guidance from our guides and higher selves.

  I call on Coyote and he appears in his animal form. Persephone floats over to stand next to him and her appearance begins to morph. “I’ve never been to a séance,” she says, sounding a bit giddy as the Endora look fades. “I’m not sure what to wear.”

  One moment, she has long, dark hair and sports a midnight blue outfit, complete with a cape embroidered with silver stars. The next, harem pants and a skimpy top. She tries on several more outfits and facial appearances, while me, Dad, and Mama Nightengale all watch with varying degrees of disbelief.

  Coyote snarls.

  “Oh, for magick’s sake,” I say to Seph. “You are so not helpful.”

  She gives me a miffed expression and settles on what appears to be a young teenage girl with braids and glasses in some kind of prep school outfit. “I need to be in the right spirit of things.” She grins. “Get it? Spirit of things?”

  If she weren’t already dead, I would kill her.

  “I don’t get it,” Mama Nightengale says. “Who’s she s’posed to be?”

  “Moaning Myrtle?” Seph says. “Harry Potter?”

  Mama N. sends me a tight-lipped look. “Let’s get on with this.”

  I look at the amassed magickal group. If only one of them actually knew what to do.

  Dad travels between the underworld, middleworld and upperworlds to retrieve parts of a person’s soul that may have been left behind during a trauma.

  Kaan has used necromancy, but only with the woman he loved, killing her and bringing her back to life several times. I’m not sure it was really black magick that did the trick, or the curse that Prue put on her, either way, he’s not much of a dark wizard.

  Mama Nightengale told me during the drive, her mother and aunt often did séances, using a Ouija board, but they gave her the heebie-jeebies, so she never participated. The only one she ever attended was at a slumber party when she was nine and it went horribly wrong as they managed to revive a dead cat in the backyard rather than the spirit of a pop star they all loved. She understands the mechanics, but has no real experience.

  And like I said, I’ve never needed to perform one.

  But doing what I’ve always done isn’t working. And this isn’t exactly a typical séance.

  Ronan technically isn’t dead. He has a living vessel to return to, we just need to get a hold of his spirit and anchor it back in the body.

  The windowpanes rattle with a gust of wind, the snow and storm leveling up even more. Spring gets out candles, placing them around the bed, and anointing us with oils she brought.

  Summer has a dozen or so crystals she lays out near Ronan’s body and under the bed. She puts a spirit quartz in each of his hands and at the top of his head, a large rose quartz heart on his chest, and black stones on his feet. Probably tourmaline or black kyanite. She has them in all four corners of my house and another layer in my bedroom.

  Autumn begins placing everyone around the bed in a particular layout, leaving the four directions open for us sisters. Mama Nightengale circles us with a layer of salt.

  I try one more time to simply reach out and draw Ronan’s spirit to the hospital room. I get no response from him, but there are others connected to some of the patients, and even the nurse at the desk, who do come forward. I hate to send them away, but I have to. I need the thread in my web that is only vibrating at Ronan’s frequency.

  It’s a delicate balancing act, repelling them, and keeping the channel open for Ronan. Coyote stands guard at the door, and telepathically nudges me to hurry. The nurse could come in at any moment, and if she were to discover what we were doing, we could end up in trouble.

  I take my place at the head of Ronan’s bed, Spring to my right, Summer on my left and Autumn at the foot.

  Autumn brought Mother’s spell book. On the way here, slipping and sliding in the snow, I flipped through it, looking for something that might help. She was a powerful witch, but I could find nothing of this nature.

  Still, I feel her blood and that of all my ancestors running through me. I light the candles, resume my place, and begin the spell.

  “Powers of the sisters rise,

  Course unseen across the skies,

  Come to us, who call you near,

  Come to us, Ronan, and settle here.

  With salt and blood, we summon thee,

  Return soul to body, you to me.”

  10

  The lights flicker, snow pelts the window as if giants are winging snowballs at us. I feel the growing energy passing through my hands and into the others.

  “Ronan Walkingstick,” I say, “We beseech you to come forward and enter our circle.”

  I repeat it again, this time everyone joins me.

  My legs shake, the spirit world knocking at the door in my mind, so many trying to enter. I bathe our circle in divine light, making sure to keep it a clear portal that cannot hold negative or dark entities.

  My father’s hand clasps my left, Tala’s my right, anchoring me in this wheel of life, while the spirit world tries to yank me away. The mimosa energy is weaving its way through the group as well, stirring the ghosts in the area.

  Around and around the circle energy flows, snapping and crackling. Spring’s earth energy, the wisdom of the tree people and our ancestors, rises to support us. Summer’s fire and transformational energy, a blue flame passing from hand to hand, burns off lower frequencies. Anything that tries to pass has to survive it.

  Autumn’s clairsentience gives me insight into the emotional status of everyone, supporting and reinforcing the love Tala and Hale have for Ronan. I allow her magick to enter my heart and tease out a feeler for Ronan, using it as a link.

  I typically steer clear of strong emotional pulls b
ecause of the overwhelming sentiments my clients carry for their loved ones. When I do a reading, the extreme emotions can take a toll on me, so I’ve learned to stay detached. Delving into my own messy feelings is scary stuff, but I crack open that door and let Autumn carry that energy into our spell.

  Persephone is suddenly at my ear. “All of you should put your hands on the body.”

  My knee jerk reaction is to tell her to get lost, but maybe she’s right. Mentally, I send a question to Coyote, yes or no?

  A howl, quiet but there.

  “Everyone put your hands on Ronan,” I inform the group.

  Autumn keeps the circle of light passing through our hearts as we release each other’s hands to place them on him. Mine go on either side of his head at his temples. I imagine a cord coming from my third eye and going to his.

  Come on, I think. Grab ahold. Come back to me.

  Under my fingers, I feel a slight vibration. I open my eyes and look down. The others are feeling it to, eyes flying open, glances exchanged.

  A subtle glow emits from the rose quartz heart on his chest. It connects with the flowers, seems to infiltrate his body, then streaks of light go through his abdomen and chest, traveling to his legs, pumping into his head. The body vibrates harder, and for a moment, I think, this is actually working. We’re bringing him back.

  Tala starts smiling, believing it as well. Everyone’s energy jacks up a notch, excitement and expectancy flowing around the circle.

  “Yes, that’s it, Ronan,” I say. “You can do it. Come to us. Return to your body.”

  For long moments we watch, infusing him with our energy, feeling his body vibrate as the energy takes him a little higher, and hopefully, as his spirit tries to return to the physical vehicle.

  Hurry, Coyote says to me. Finish it.

  Someone must be coming.

  Come on. Do this for me, Ronan.

  I feel an energy pass through me, cool and light, fast. For half a second, I see Ronan’s face in front of me, too. He seems relieved to see me. And then he drops like a rock into his body.

  His eyes flutter open and everyone gasps. He looks directly up at me as my hands still hold his head. “Winter?”

  I laugh, not because it’s funny, but due to the buildup of anxiety and worry. The relief is too much, and I refuse to cry, even if it’s happy tears. “Welcome back.”

  He lifts his hands, the spirit quartz falling from them as he touches me. “Wow, what a trip.”

  There’s laughter and people begin to remove their hands from him. Tala leans over and hugs him and kisses his cheek. He pats her shoulder.

  Dad makes way so I can come to the side and hug him, too. He holds me close and I shut my eyes. I feel the hitch in his breath, listen for that strong heartbeat.

  And then, from some distance away, I hear Persephone say, “Oh, dear.”

  The next thing I know, I have the sensation of falling, though Ronan’s arms are still around me. Jerking my eyes open, I see we’re no longer in the hospital room.

  Somehow, Ronan and I are outside my cabin, and everything has a weird monochromatic look to it. Gray, stark, covered in snow of the same color.

  I look at Ronan, my heart pounding. “What just happened?”

  “Crud.” He glances around with a heavy sigh. “Welcome to the in-between.”

  11

  Dark magick from the ley lines underground swirls near my legs. These lines are not the ones I’m used to working with…these are evil.

  A cast hangs over everything, a filter without color. The energy sucks at me, as if black syrup covers my feet and ankles, not allowing me to move. These dark ley lines have probably leeched things like color and sound from this dimension.

  “We’re in between worlds?” I hesitantly ask Ronan.

  His gaze focuses on the woods. The skeletal structure of the trees, leafless, throws long, prickly shadows over the snow. “It seems to be something between our 3-D reality and the other side of the veil,” he says. “It’s neither the middle- nor lowerworld.”

  A dull throbbing pulses against my ears and I can’t decide if it’s my own heartbeat or that of this place. I fear the worst, as I’m conscious of my pulse trying to match its cadence, entrain with it. I wonder if this is anything like the black void Autumn experienced when she found Quinn’s brother.

  My stomach is nauseous, and I feel lightheaded. “How do we get out?”

  Ronan shrugs. “That’s what I was trying to decipher when I was here before. You pulled me from it, into that hospital room, but somehow we ended up back here together.”

  A sulphur odor tingles my nose. On my tongue I taste metal, blood. Not my own, but something floating in the air.

  The ley line magick is so thick, that as I turn toward my cabin, it’s as if I can barely lift my feet. It oozes up my legs, into my hips, weighing me down.

  A black feather floats down from above and lands on the front step. Raven.

  Help me, I silently plead. I look up and see clouds shifting above us, but no bird. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the cloud people here, watching their forms slipping and morphing slowly, the sky tinged with that sickly gray. I glance at my hands, and they appear pixelated.

  I peer closer at Ronan and see the filter has done the same to him. We’re solid, but barely.

  What has happened here?

  Whatever it is, it’s not good.

  The feather blows up and floats for a heartbeat before landing at the door.

  I motion Ronan to follow. “The two times you manifested in front of me were inside my cabin. Raven wants us to go in there, now.”

  He’s heard me talk about my guides and starts toward the front step. “It’s where I felt safe,” he says. He glances at the woods again. “There are a lot of ghosts here. Nasty ones. Inside, I’m safe from them.”

  Keeping my attention away from the woods and the ghosts he’s encountered, I jog up the steps. The door squeaks, like it does in the 3-D plane, but here it has a scratchier echo. As we go in, I feel the ley lines releasing their tenuous hold on my feet and ankles. The dark magick seems to slide off me. Ronan closes the door, plunging us into darkness.

  I flip the wall switch, but there’s no response from the overhead light.

  “No electricity here,” Ronan says.

  Of course. That would be too handy, wouldn’t it? “Can we build a fire?”

  He glances at the fireplace and suddenly the logs burst into flames. “The cabin seems to provide whatever I wish for,” he says, “Just not things like electricity or…”

  “Or what?” I ask.

  In the light from the fire, I see him pale as if I’ve caught him at a secret. “Oh man, I think the reason you’re here is because I wished for you. Before I woke up in the hospital.”

  From the corner of my eye I see another feather floating onto the kitchen breakfast bar. “You wished me here?”

  “Sort of?” He raises his hands in a shrug gesture. “When I figured out the cabin would protect me, and grant me certain things, like a fire, I wanted desperately to talk to you, so I could tell you where I was.” He glances around. “At least, where I thought I was. I’m so sorry.”

  The feather turns in a circle then hovers in the air, leading toward the back of the cabin.

  Ronan looks abashed. “I think this is my fault.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” I tell him. “But right now that doesn’t matter. I’m glad I’m here to help.”

  This seems to ease his consternation. I follow the feather, Ronan behind me. “When I was young, this was our family home,” I tell him as we slip through the shadows of the kitchen, then the hall leading to the bedrooms and bath. “It’s the largest, and after Dad left, it was just Mom and us.”

  I hold out my hand and try to create a witchlight, the shadows becoming so thick I can’t see. I’m not sure what I’ll find as I follow the feather, and I don’t want to be taken by surprise.

  A tiny spark glows in my palm
and tries to hover above it, but it can’t seem to find enough of my magick to sustain it. I give it a little mental boost and it flares like a Fourth of July sparkler. Good enough.

  All the doors are closed. The feather floats slowly, passing the bedroom Spring and Summer shared, then where I slept with Autumn. It stops in front of the largest, the one belonging to my mother and father.

  It lands at the base of the door. I look back at Ronan and he takes my free hand. “Have you been in here?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, his eyes reflecting the sparkling witchlight. “I don’t think your magick will work correctly here. The cabin has its own. Be careful.”

  I’m grateful this place exists as a haven of sorts within this dimension for the two of us. I want to believe that whatever it’s running on is good. I’m not sure what’s behind the door—I’m assuming a spirit—but I’m hoping it’s benevolent. Still, I prepare myself in case it isn’t.

  I consider making us invisible, but that would require a lot of magick, and if the witchlight is any indication of how much I have, it’s not enough. Instead, I imagine a bubble of protection.

  Usually mine are like numerous layers of bubble wrap. Here, I can only get a thin veil around us, and it slides and moves, creating small tears and holes before it fills them again.

  It will have to do. “Ready?” I whisper.

  He nods and reaches for the knob. “One, two, three.”

  As he opens the door, I keep the sparkler of witchlight hovering in front of us to illuminate the room.

  A woman sits in front of a loom that looks exactly like our family one. Her long, platinum-blond hair hangs far down her back. She’s wearing what I imagine is a beautiful red velvet dress, if this place contained color and texture. Her hands move elegantly as she weaves a new line of yarn through the other threads.

  As the witchlight illuminates the room, her hands stop. She freezes as if we’ve caught her doing something she wants to keep private.

  My pulse ricochets all over, my heart thudding in an entirely new rhythm.