Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (24 page)

He bowed slightly instead of shaking. "Mistress Nutter?"

"That's me." Her voice was a high and thin bird's screech. "Who're you?"

"Nicholas Orenda." He inclined his head slightly further toward her. Tiny, her slightly stooped posture made her seem even smaller.

"What ye want?"

"I am in need of certain herbs which I was told you might supply." Nicholas spoke softly, bending his six-foot frame toward the old woman. "Curio supplies not used much these days. Some which are," he paused delicately, "…difficult to procure."

She peered up at him with bright beady eyes, not a hint of confusion clouding them. "Ye have a list?"

Nicholas reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded slip of parchment, putting it in the woman's gnarled hand. She ran her eyes swiftly down the page and straightened her thin frame. "Can't do this in the shop."

Now that she stood straight, Nichols wondered if he had over-estimated the woman's age. Her neck was smooth and firm and her hair appeared to be powdered gray, the roots still dark.

"Come to my place 'round back." She skittered over to the front door, turned the bolt, and then flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED. Turning on her heel, she retreated into the dim back room, Nicholas trailing behind.

They went through a tiny yard enclosed on all sides by a high wooden fence drifted with snow. Without a word, she continued into an outbuilding even smaller and dingier than the shop.

Nicholas ducked his head into the low building, but, hearing a noise, pulled it out abruptly and looked up. A crow sat perched on the chimney of the hut, watching. Ms. Nutter unlocked the front door and the crow disappeared into the chimney as they entered, greeting them inside with a caw.

A new odor drifted to him from an iron cauldron simmering on a black, pot-bellied stove. His eyes again began to water, and he gave his nose another pinch as his pupils adjusted to the dim interior. A thick curtain was drawn across the only window.

Madam Nutter closed the door, motioning Nicholas to sit on a stool. She knelt down by the hearth and blew the embers of the fire into a flame, the crow helping her by flapping his big black wings as the sparks flew about. Heaping on firewood, she shifted the cauldron over the full flame, then stood and went to the farther of the two chests, taking out several small bottles and boxes, which she carried to the table with great care.

The crow had fixed his talons on her shoulder, and he chuckled and croaked in her ear as she removed her treasures. She pulled a small bone from the trunk and held it up to attract the bird's attention. Darting out, he seized it in his beak and hopped away. She laughed a girlish giggle that confirmed she was not the ancient hag he had first guessed, but closer to his own age.
Excellent age glamour,
he thought.
If I didn't know her, she would have fooled me completely. Just the slightest shimmer around her face and shoulders.

She filled the list with ingredients out of the trunk one by one, occasionally consulting the parchment and muttering to herself in agitation. "Mandrake root, nightshade, black hellebore, yew berries." She straightened and cast a sad gaze at Nicholas. "Ye have ill intent here, son."

Nicholas returned her gaze without flinching. "I do, and it is well-deserved, I assure you."

"Well-deserved or not," she replied, "Are ye not concerned about the effect on your own soul?"

Nicholas looked around the room at the bubbling cauldron with its toxic fumes, the crow with his bone, and the growing pile of poisonous herbs the woman sorted. "Are you for yours?"

Ms. Nutter pointed a bony finger at him and cackled. "Good point, laddie, good point." She pulled a scale from the top cabinet shelf, and a marble mortar and pestle from the next, setting these items on the table next to the selected jars. Pulling the rocking chair to the table next to Nicholas, she settled herself onto the seat and looked at him expectantly. "How much will ye be wanting of each?"

* * * * *

Their business concluded, Nicholas carried his bundled package from the little shack and followed Ms. Nutter back to the store, pausing to look with curiosity into the barrel of bones. "Is there a cemetery near here?"

She gave him a shrewd look and nodded.

"Needing something special?"

Nicholas rooted gingerly through the barrel. He gave a barely imperceptible nod.

"'Bout two miles down the road from here." She caught Nicholas's eye and clicked her tongue. "I heard there is a fresh grave."

Nicholas met her birdlike black eyes with his equally dark ones. "Anyone special?"

"Nay. Unmarked grave, I'd think. We've had no funerals for six months." She raked her gaze across his face. "You don't want ta get involved in this, son. It goes against your nature."

"What do you know of my nature, you fake old crone?"

His made his voice deliberately harsh, but she didn't flinch. "I know this. The man who came
last
week. He was more suited to the dark workings. They don't sit easy on you."

"And who would
he
be?"

She shrugged.

"I'm an old woman. I forget things like names. In fact, I often forget to ask. Did I ask yours, for instance?"

"Right," Nicholas said softly. "Did he recognize you?"

"Do
you
?"

"I know of your family, of course," Nicholas said.

"Then you know more than most," she said, "And I'd advise you to keep it to yourself." She straightened again and peered up at him. "The fresh grave's on the west side of the graveyard. Mind you leave a coin of thanks if ya take anything."

Nicholas dropped the bone he'd been examining, turned on his heel and left the old witch. As he drove away, he glanced in his rear view mirror.

Mistress Nutter watched him through the dirty window, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Chapter 35: Trial by Swords

I scooped grounds into the coffee pot and watched the snow fall outside the kitchen window. Snuggled under Bella's down comforter, I had slept a full eight hours, waking to find nature's own fluffy white blanket covering the yard. The bare tree branches sparkled like quartz in the early morning light.

The unblemished white scene outside renewed my resolve which had lagged the night before. I put the Book of Shadows in front of me, placed both hands on its top and put a single, clear question in my mind:
Where is the hidden compartment in your desk?
I concentrated on the question, repeating it like a mantra, blocking out my surroundings. The lock didn't budge. I opened my eyes in surprise. I had been so sure my idea would work.

I pulled Jaco Hunsley's business card from my purse and stuck it back in the grimoire where I had found it. As I did, I heard a faint
click
from the desk behind me.

I opened the roll-top and peeked inside. The little compartment in the back of the desk was open. A corner of paper stuck out the top. I tried to pull it out, but the page was wedged securely in the hollow door.

Pulling a knife from the silverware drawer, I wedged open the false back of the little door. The folded paper felt thin and brittle. I put the yellowed sheet on the kitchen table and flattened it with care.

The missing page, torn from the Book of Shadows, was covered in the same unreadable language. The lines were broken and short, like verse. Or perhaps a spell?

On the back was a hand-drawn map, showing landmarks around Sedona. In the bottom corner, a tiny drawing had been sketched in red ink, the same zig-zag lightning bolt I'd seen etched into my cloak. Below, scribbled in Renard's spiky hand, was a single word:
Key?

I went over the page again, looking for any further clues. But other than Renard's single notation, the map looked like every tourist map taped in the window of every souvenir shop in town. I held the paper up to the light, but could find nothing more. Feeling slightly foolish, I lit a match and waved the page carefully over the flame. No hidden messages. Obviously, this map had significance. I would take it to Kamaria, see if she could find any research material to help me decipher it all. With a yawn, I folded the little map and put it back in the desk.
First coffee, then research.

* * * * *

I was reaching for the cream when Shadow launched himself onto the kitchen table, sliding across the polished surface in a furry frenzy. I grabbed the scalding coffee in one hand and whatever else I could keep from toppling in the other – in this case, the tarot deck and Book of Shadows. "Bad cat!" I scolded, picking him up and dropping him unceremoniously back onto the floor before grabbing a roll of paper towels to soak up the spilt cream.

The tarot deck was damp. I did my best to clean it off, studying the pictures as I sopped. Without warning, a question popped into my head, posing itself so strongly my hands froze in midair. This was the question I was supposed to ask the cards. Briefly, I considered getting a reference book from the library, to help me decipher meanings, but decided against it. I wanted to ask my question. Needed to ask it. I'd worry about book definitions later if I needed them.

I cleared off a space on the table and shuffled the worn deck, holding the question firmly in my mind:
How do I prevent my death?

When I was sure the cards had absorbed my question, I spread them out in a long line across the table. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I drew a single card and flipped it over on the desk. What did Bella's gothic-looking deck have to say about the matter? I looked down.

A joker figure, sitting on a throne, surrounded by five swords. The card oozed deception.
So things are not as they seem. Events are transpiring behind the scenes, things I don't know about. But the big question is what? Or who?

I concentrated on those questions and drew a second card, laying it across the first. The man in knight's armor, holding a rod and the reins of a white horse on first glance looked innocent enough. But he was upside down, and from my angle his smile looked cruel and manipulative.
I have the unsettling feeling I know this man.
The knight's blonde hair curled below his helmet.

I looked around for Shadow and patted my lap for him to join me. Nuzzling his soft fur, I whispered, "You won't let anything happen to me, will you, fella?" He purred and touched my cheek with his cold nose. I decided if Bella didn't return, I was adopting him.

How do I prevent my death?
I flipped over a third card and stared at it. A beautiful white-robed woman stood stroking an obedient lion, gently opening his mouth. Not forcing the mouth open, but offering a loving hand to the beast and receiving gentle compliance in return. The top of the card read "Strength."
This magical woman is using loving strength and understanding to achieve her goal. The lion is choosing to comply.

I put my head on the desk, resting my cheek against the Strength card, tears filling my eyes. I still didn't know how my enemy intended to manipulate me to take my power. But I felt certain now they would not succeed. I just had to keep my wits about me, use my magickal skills, like the woman on the Strength card.

* * * * *

I lay in bed making a list of all the new information I wanted to cover with Nicholas, feeling calmer than I had in months.

As my breathing deepened, a shimmering web of mist curled, rolled, and swirled against my eyes. Although it felt real, I knew I was dreaming, as if I were out of my body and watching my sleeping form from above. I could hear my own even breaths, but someone else's voice whispered in my ear.

"Samantha. Come to me Samantha. Feel me Samantha."

A shadow bent over the bedpost, moving nearer to touch my sleeping body. The knight from my tarot reading. His eyes, glowing like heated coals, stared at me hungrily, glinting with suppressed triumph. He reached for me, burying his hands into my chest to rip out my heart, rip out my soul.

"No!" The word cracked out of me and I sat upright in bed, swinging my arms to fling the creature away.
Don't panic
, my floating ethereal form comforted the body in the bed.
A nightmare, that's all.

Awake now, I pulled the blanket around me and pressed the soft fabric to my teary eyes.

Both cats sat at the foot of the bed. Shadow watched me, his tawny eyes glittering in the winter moonlight. Magic faced outward, standing guard. A growl reverberated deep in his throat and his teeth were bared. "Take it easy boy," I whispered. "It was just a bad dream." I gathered them both into my arms and pulled up the covers, their purrs drowsing me back to sleep.

Chapter 36: Graveyard Dirt

Nicholas pulled off the gravel road in the dwindling twilight, stopping at the rickety barbed-wire fence blocking the cemetery entrance. He unlatched the post, scraping the gate across the snowy ground and dropping it where the road's edge fell off into the ice-crusted ditch.

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies, scattering them in the snow. "Alms for the dead," he muttered. Somewhere behind him, a coyote howled a solitary note, answered by a chorus of voices from the dark woods.

Ahead, dull gray tombstones poked up from the earth at odd angles like rows of crooked teeth. Halfway into the cemetery a dark mound protruded above the snow.

Opening the trunk, Nicholas removed a flashlight, shovel, crowbar, and a small hatchet, dropping them into a burlap sack. He tucked the sack under his arm and headed to the new grave, his boots crunching to the ground as they broke through the icy film on the top of the snow.

The burial mound was still soft and the digging went quickly. While he pitched shovel after shovel of dirt over his shoulder, his mind returned to the idea of bonding with Samantha. A blood bond would be the strongest, although any bodily fluid would work. Blood would have the added benefit of tying them telepathically. Of course submitting freely, of her own will, would allow him to avoid resorting to dark magic and help keep his soul intact.
Oops, too late
, he thought, looking at the growing pile of dirt.

Why would someone sneak into a cemetery and bury a body? He could think of a number of mundane reasons, but why would a witch do so?
Unless he defiled the body and didn't want anyone to know.
His hole grew deeper and his unease increased.