Chapter 5
The outer doors to the top floor of the Paranormal MI5 building opened slowly, allowing me entrance to the lobby. This was where the top dogs worked. The ones that we rarely saw, including my mother.
“She’s ready for you,” the receptionist said before I even got close to the desk.
Swinging to the right, I entered the corridor that led to my mother’s office. My teeth grinded as I kept my head high and my back straight. There had been bad feeling between us the last time we’d met, but she was the only one who could help me with my memory problem. I had to swallow my anger and be nice.
Knocking on her wooden door, I waited for her to call me in. Instead, the door clicked open, allowing me entrance.
“Hello,” my mother muttered as I closed the door behind me.
The interior wasn’t unlike my own, although she did have more of a library office feel with her walls lined with bookcases. I wasn’t jealous of her office... not at all.
“Don’t frown, you’ll one day inherit this place if you like it that much.”
I wasn’t sure what miffed me more, the fact that she assumed that I’d take her place, or that she could feel my jealousy. Either way, the idea of working in this office made me shudder.
“I hate to sound like the nagging mother, Gemma, but why are you wearing a T-shirt that reads You think I’m anti-social, but I just don’t like you?”
Glancing down at the cartoon of a girl sticking out her tongue, I smirked to myself before growing serious. She was right, I had bought the shirt a long time ago. When I was a teenager. I’d just shoved it on that morning, not even taking notice of what was on it.
“You’re right,” I said, taking it off and turning it inside out. “It’s not appropriate.”
My mother stopped typing on her laptop and lifted her gaze. She was a professional at keeping a cool exterior at all times, unlike me. However, it was easy to see that I’d shocked her.
“You’re here to ask for my help to get your memory back.” Not giving me a chance to answer, she got up from her seat and held out her hand.
Without hesitation, I took it. If she was offering her help, I would accept.
“Wow,” she whispered as she stared at me. “Your magic is weak, my child.”
Before I could reply, she flashed us away from her office. My feet smashed on stone as we landed in a room I hadn’t seen for a few years.
“You still use this place?” I asked, my fingers tracing the old grey stone wall.
The crypt was owned by our family line. Laying in a hidden place in the hills of Essex, it housed the dead of every witch in my line, right back to the fore-sister.
“Of course I use it. I know modern magic is powerful, especially with our link to the ley line, but I never want to lose my craft.”
My mother grinned at me before she clicked her fingers. A long dark red dress took the place of her work suit, making her look every inch the old fashioned witch. A tiny pang of nostalgia made my chest warm. This was how I remembered my mother when I was a child. Caring, loving, free-flowing. Until she was made a top agent of the Paranormal MI5. Then it all changed.
“Do you remember the first spell I taught you?” Moving closer to the stone table just off the centre of the crypt, my mother laughed gently.
Flicking my wrist, I lit all of the candles, illuminating the whole dark room. The musky smell reminded me of times we would sit for hours, chanting incantations. Dried herbs hung from the walls, not far from shelves of artefacts and witchery tools. A stained glass window allowed the sunlight to flicker onto the stone floor.
“Can you help me with my memory?”
I didn’t want to reminisce. The days of making spells and having fun were long gone. My mother had pressured me too much over the years, making my work a chore I had no choice but to endure. The revelation of my father’s bet and my mother’s inability to release me from it was still sizzling under my skin. I had to keep my cool with her.
Grinding a leaf of dried herb into a mortar, my mother looked over her shoulder and indicated that I join her with a nod of her head. “Mary told me that you needed to speak to the ancestors. For some reason, she said that you needed my help to do it. I’m not sure what’s going on with your link, but you need to fix it.”
Biting my tongue, I resisted the urge to tell her that I was technically dead. Although it would get a reaction that I would surely enjoy, it would also ruin everything. She would have no choice but to tell her bosses, which would lead to me getting kicked off the case. And that was something I couldn’t let happen.
“What do I need to do to help?” Ignoring her jibes was the only way I would get through the spell.
Mary had been insistent that we work together to get my memory back. She had said that the ancestors had something to give me, which was a little ominous.
“If you could give me some of your blood to mix with this, we can both link into the line and ask the ancestors to talk to us.”
Holding out my hand palm up, I used my other hand to give her my dagger. Nodding, she drew the blade across my palm, ignoring my intake of breath as the sting bit into my skin.
Moving my arm so that my hand was over a stone bowl, she squeezed hard so the blood could run out of my clenched palm. The drops
