The sweet stench of blood wafts to my nostrils and I shudder away the images it conjures. Whose blood was it? Why was that even necessary? And who’s hidden beneath the sheet? As the blood spreads out, the pentacle itself begins to light up a bright, brilliant white until it has cast out any darkness trying to hide in the corners of the room.
Turning to Warren, Abigail raises her left hand toward him, and as if receiving a silent command, he saunters to her in three big strides. Holding out his hand, he garnishes a small blade, barely six inches long from hilt to tip.
“Thank you,” she whispers, taking it from him.
Warren tips his head, but rather than returning to where he began, he stays by her side.
“She is very much afflicted and time is of the essence. She’s beginning to fade,” he whispers.
Nodding, Abigail’s words begin again, a little louder this time, but I only catch snippets…
“Death … offering … breath … remnants …”
Clutching the small dagger in her right hand, she places the blade in her left palm and pulls it through, slicing her own flesh open. Thrusting her arm out so it hovers over the pentacle, the blood rushes from her grasp, falling into the mixture puddled on the floor. Her fresh blood mixes with the old, spiraling together in a strange dance as it cyclones upward from the center of the pentagon.
Warren steps back, his face open wide in awe. Abigail, on the other hand is stoic; holding her ground, refusing to lower her arm until every last drop of blood has fallen from her hand. When the stream has ceased, she points the dagger at the cyclone of blood. As she does so, the blood reacts, stretching toward the tip of it until it almost touches the blade.
Flicking her wrist, she directs the blade to point toward the body in the corner. Instantly, the blood rushes out of the circle past the two of them and embeds itself into the huddled mass on the floor. The blood stains the white fabric, soaking into it until it’s nothing more than a crimson heap.
Under her breath, Abigail continues her uttering until it gets almost loud enough to hear fully.
“Death, taker of life … accept my offering. Bone … breath … Recover … her remnants—and return her …”
When not even a drop is left inside the pentacle, energy begins to pulsate from the corner where the body lies. At first, it’s subtle, just a gentle push and pull, but it intensifies. Growing until the entire sub-basement room throbs with its potency.
Then, something moves from beneath the sheet.
Without thinking, I open my mouth and squelch a scream.
The young girl is gone.
Everything abruptly switches. I’m no longer watching Warren and Abigail. Instead, I’m back in the here and now, staring at the small table in the center of the room. Beyond, standing in the space the body was once located, Abigail’s ghost looks up at me.
“I don’t understand. What in the hell is all of this? What are you showing me?” I say, shaking my head.
At first, Abigail doesn’t move. The candle flames from the table reflect in her green eyes as she moves toward me at an unearthly speed.
“It is your birthright to wield the power I displaced. You must understand from where it is you come from in order to understand where you are beckoned to,” she says in a soft Colonial accent. “You must break this curse.”
“Okay,” I say, blinking wildly.
“It has been but centuries that I have been bound here, unable to escape. I am going to avail of your assistance. You are the only one who can release me from this binding.”
I snicker.
“And on that note,” I say, turning on my heel.
I’ve seen plenty of horror movies, and let me tell you, they never end well when a ghost wants to be set free. Especially after what I just witnessed.
What does she want? A new body or something?
I’m terrified to find out.
Chapter 22
Careful What You Wish For
The following morning, I put out my feelers, trying to find Dominic. After last night’s chat with Abigail, it’s more important than ever to find out why he carved veritas vos liberabit on my car. It’s the exact phrase Abigail used and I’m sure it’s no coincidence. I need to understand more about my situation and what Abigail wants. Preferably without having to have another chat with her, because that was creepy as fuck.
Besides, the whole thing is on my mind anyway, since I had to drop my car off at the body shop to be repainted and I won’t have it back for days. Instead, I’m at the mercy of other people, which mostly means riding with Cat and Colt.
It’s difficult, though, because there’s only a handful of people who I trust that have a clue about what’s going on at my house, or with my family legacy. Wade…and Cat and Colt. But this whole thing with adding Dominic into the mix makes me feel weird. Like the twins are secretly judging me about talking with him, but I don’t know why. The one thing I do know is, he’s the one who kicked all of this off, and Abigail’s apparition continues to reinforce his sentiment.
Unfortunately, no one has seen hide nor hair of him lately.
Not good.
Alas, the day drags on with little to break up the monotony of learning the basics of magic. Not even lunch seems to take away the weird edge of jittery energy I feel. By the time the last class of the day rolls around, I’m so ready for the day to be over and to just get on with things.
“I’m so sorry, Autumn, I won’t be able to walk you to Grimoire Crafting today. I have to go chat
