Student Bodies (15 page)

We came to the cemetery for answers and we got them. “This is my past and your future, kiddo,” Dad said quietly. “You know what you have to do, Donna.”

Mom heaved a weary sigh and stared at me, grim-faced. “We don't have a minute to waste. The winter solstice is tomorrow night. The Wheatland coven is going to be busy getting everything ready for the ritual of Yule. They're the only people who can stand up to Adriel's blood coven and they won't see her coming. I have to warn them.”

A panic seized me. “She might attack when the witches are at their weakest, when they're divided and distracted. She's already killed one student; a gymnasium filled with a hundred students makes a hell of a good distraction.”

Betty rumbled. “Spirits bless us all; the girl has a lick of sense about her. A black mage who gathers power by killing children? Two boys infected with Soul Worms in as many days and one of them dead? Adriel is going to infect every student who goes to that dance! A magical assault that is sure to draw out the only people in the city that might be able to save them – a coven of white witches.”

“She'll be ruthless,” said my father. “And it's a damned blessing you figured it out with time to prepare some kind of plan to save those kids. Go now, all of you. Get the hell out of this cemetery and contact the coven – their lives and the lives of those students depend on it.”

“But, Dad, what about–”

“Go now!” he shouted, his voice echoed through the darkness. “You have to warn them!”

I looked at my mother and could tell that she was visibly shaken. Marcus squeezed my hand and Betty took off running down the snow-covered hill in the direction of Mom's car.

And so we raced through a ghost-filled cemetery on one of the coldest nights of the year. The winter solstice was a day away and we had to warn the coven before it was too late.

All the pieces of the puzzle fit together now. Less than a week to go before Christmas and Santa wasn't bringing presents to the students of Crescent Ridge High School.

He was bringing death.

 

CHAPTER 16

 

We took Marcus home.

We had to.

The clock was ticking and the safest place for him was to remain as far the hell away from me as humanly possible. And this time he didn't kick up a fuss because he knew the terrifying plot we'd uncovered made my battle with the Witchfinder General seem like a summer tea party by comparison. But was Marcus really safe? Was anyone?

I didn't have a clue what this Adriel looked like or where she might be hiding, and at this stage of the game it didn't matter. There was no time to conduct a search for a black mage who'd been operating from the shadows for possibly hundreds of years. No, our task this night was to make contact with the Wheatland coven and warn them of the impending attack. Lives hung in the balance – the students', the witches', my mother's and even my own.

Coven House, the temple for the Wheatland Coven of White Witches dates back to the late eighteen hundreds; a period of massive expansion in the Canadian west. When Canada became a country in 1867, the entire prairie region was nothing more than a collection of trading posts. It was inhabited by indigenous peoples, proud First Nations' tribes like the Blackfoot and the Assiniboine, the Sioux and the Peigan. Millions of buffalo roamed free in a land that was unspoiled since time began. Everything changed when European settlers moved in thanks to the building of the Canadian Pacific Railway. A ribbon of steel stretched out across the prairie to the mountains and settlers were wooed to the west by promises of free land. And so they came by the thousands. By 1890, towns took shape, and my hometown of Calgary was one of them. Among those settlers from Europe came witches from places like England and Ireland but also from eastern European countries like Hungary and the Ukraine. They formed covens just as they had in the old country, a new generation of witches in a new land full of promise and hope.

The gathering place for the Wheatland coven was inside the old Unitarian Church on Bowness Road. I'd never visited the place and this was to be my first time in the company of a witch that wasn't my mother. It was shortly past 9pm when we pulled up in front of the old sandstone building. I gazed out the window to see a wrought iron fence with a large arched gate. A serpentine walkway that had been scraped clean of snow and ice led to a large concrete stairway and a pair of oak doors that had to be at least ten feet tall.

“Are you ready for this, Mom?” I asked as I fiddled with my Shadowcull's band. “It's been a long time for you. I hope there aren't any bad feelings from when you left.”

Mom clenched her jaw tightly and drew in a deep breath of air. She cocked an eyebrow and glanced at me self-consciously. “You don't know the half of it, Julie. I see a light in the upstairs window, the Maven is here. When we go inside, you'll refer to her as ‘Blessed Maven'. You'll not speak unless you're spoken to and you'll be mindful not to touch anything. You don't have that right. Jesus, I don't have that right, either. Do you understand?”

I turned my head to the back seat. “What about Betty? Is she coming?”

The enormous dog snorted. “Let the Maven try and stop me.”

“I take that as a yes. OK, let's go,” I said nervously.

We climbed out of the car and walked up to the gate. There was a small bell with a drawstring so my mother gave it a pull and it rang out once. I saw a fluttering of movement behind a curtain from the upstairs window and then a ripple of magical energy washed over me. The Maven gave off a magical signature of such intensity that it dwarfed mine or my mother's and I shuddered for a moment at the idea of what might happen if our meeting didn't go terribly well. Mom had left the coven; there was bound to be some resentment even after all these years. I could only hope that whatever ill-will was between Mom and the Maven could be put aside, because the coven was in grave danger.

A few moments later, one of the oak doors opened and light spilled out onto the stairway. A tiny woman of no more than five feet tall stood in the doorway and her eyes narrowed sharply the moment she laid eyes on Mom.

“The Shadowcull's wife returns,” she said in a scratchy voice. She was dressed in a simple floral pattern dress made of what looked like a heavy material. Her thin gray hair was pinned up into a bun similar to the style my mother usually wore and her penetrating eyes sat behind a thick pair of glasses. She leaned heavily on a twisted wooden cane and gazed down at us suspiciously.

Mom gave her a slight bow and said, “Greetings, Blessed Maven. I'm sorry to disturb you so late at night, but I wouldn't have come if there wasn't a damned good reason for it.”

The old woman's gaze shifted over to me and I felt the powerful touch of her magic. She scanned my magical signature and my spirit tingled as she gazed at my Shadowcull's band. And that's when Betty the dog decided to walk right in front of me, distracting the old woman.

“The girl is
not
a threat, Mother Maven,” she rumbled. “And neither is the girl's mother. A shadow is descending upon this hallowed place. Kindly invite us inside because we must move quickly.”

“That's
Blessed
Maven,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice. Betty raised her hackles and growled softly.

“You are a Maven only to those of
your
kind, old woman, but not to me. You know what I am and you'd be wise to mind your place because you are in the presence of one who has seen the passage of time written on every stone that makes up the walls of your temple.”

Holy shit. Go Betty.

The tiny woman made a grunting sound. After a few seconds she nodded once and then whispered a word of magic. Instantly, I felt the magical wards protecting the old church drop back and the gate opened with a loud creak, so we climbed the staircase and walked into the old building. As soon as I'd stepped inside, the familiar scent of drying herbs and fragrant oils filled the air. And the magical energy emanating from the place felt very old; it tickled my senses and reminded me that I was standing in the front hall of a sacred place. For the briefest of moments, I felt unworthy to set foot on the polished oak floors; as if my presence would somehow taint the rich history of the building. Beeswax candles lit the corridor, splashing yellow-orange light onto heavily plastered walls that were covered with a variety of Samhain wreaths that pulsed with supernatural power. Tapestries showing images of ancient rites were draped between the wreaths, the names of each act carefully woven into the fabric in the Theban alphabet. And each tapestry gave off a sense of great magical energy – these were the sentinels that protected the building.

The Maven led us through a large archway and into an enormous room with a twenty-five-foot high ceiling. The walls were decorated with a mural of Cerridwen; the Celtic Goddess of Transformation. The tendrils of her hair stretched out across the wall and morphed into a prairie scene of flat land and waist-high wheat. A black sky speckled with stars went up the walls to cover the entire ceiling, and in the middle was a massive blue-gray full moon.

In the middle of the room stood five large sandstone blocks, each the size of a dishwasher. Upon each block a different pagan image had been carved; an Elm tree, a chalice, a bell, a wreath and finally, a spell book. The blocks were covered with candles and arranged in a circle, connected to each other by a line of white sand about four inches thick. We stepped into the ring and took a seat on the smooth oak floor. The old Maven hobbled over to the sandstone block with the image of the Elm Tree and stood behind it. She then lit the five candles atop her sandstone dais with a whispered spell.

“Blessed be to the Goddess of the Night,” the old woman called out.

“Blessed be,” my mother replied.

The Maven stepped to the side of the sandstone block and flashed a scowl at my mother.

“Your return was foretold by me, if you'll recall,” she said, never breaking the angry expression on her face. “You were once my adept, you'd been groomed to one day take my place and now tonight you return to me alongside a child who wears the weapon of the Shadowcull.”

Whoa. The Maven was once my mother's
teacher
. This was going to be good.

Mom stood up and her magic hummed, sending a ripple of energy across the polished floor. “She wears the weapon of her father!” Mom snapped. “And I am no longer your adept. My daughter has proven herself against the darkest of magic. She saved me from an immortal sorceress and the spirit of the Witchfinder General.”

The old woman's gaze flashed over to me and a crooked smile appeared on her face. “The spirits told me of the girl's encounter with the ghost of Matthew Hopkins. Tell me, Adept, how does it feel to wield so much power?”

I could feel her eyes boring into me, but I wasn't about to show even the tiniest sign of weakness. I might have been sitting inside the sacred circle of the Wheatland Coven's temple, but I was determined to remain calm and respectful in spite of the clear bitterness the old woman still held for my mother.

“It is a source of wonder and fear, Blessed Maven,” I said being careful to sound as respectful as humanly possible. “It's also a duty that I am privileged to carry out. My father died protecting innocent people from the darkness; if I am one tenth as brave as he was then I will have honored his memory.”

“Bravery won't save you from the Left Hand Path, Adept. Your father was brave and a fat lot of good it did, he was careless with his gift – as careless as an Adept that seeks out a Broker at the eleventh hour.”

Betty emitted a low growl. “Enough, Mother Maven. We are here to warn you of impending danger to everyone in this coven.”

The Maven leaned over the sandstone block and shifted her gaze to Betty. “There is always impending danger for a coven of witches,” she said firmly. “We protect one another through the strength of our collective spirits. Why should we fear on this day when we do not fear the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year?”

“What is coming has to do with choices that were made in this place many years ago,” Mom said sharply. “You've been the Maven here since I was my daughter's age. You once dispatched a Shadowcull to destroy a black mage named Adriel, do you remember?”

I watched as the old woman's grip on her cane tightened. I felt a surge in her magical signature and what I could have sworn was a trace of malice.

She blinked a few times as she stared at my mother. Her eyes had a faraway look in them as she grunted and said, “I remember. She killed three children in this city. It was in the middle of winter – three bodies found frozen in the snow at three different playgrounds in the city, each bearing her mark. The police were baffled and the newspapers were baying like a pack of wild dogs. Yes, this coven sent a Shadowcull to destroy Adriel, and he failed. As I recall, he was very lucky to escape with his life.”

Mom didn't even flinch. Instead she stood motionless, but I could have sworn that I heard her teeth grinding together. “Stephen wasn't much older than Julie at the time. He was inexperienced and barely in control of his abilities. This coven sent him to kill Adriel without any backup plan, and she has returned, Blessed Maven. The boy who died at the weekend was covered with Soul Worms and my daughter tried to save him. The day before, another boy tried to kill himself by jumping in front of an oncoming train. Again, infected with Soul Worms, only this time, Julie did manage to save his life.”

“And what proof do you have that Adriel has returned?” she asked.

“We have none other than the word of Stephen Richardson's spirit,” Mom replied. “But my daughter believes she encountered Adriel's adherent last night at the home of the boy who survived the first attack. The Winter Solstice is tomorrow night and there is a dance at my daughter's school. We believe that Adriel has a blood coven and she intends to infect all the students at that dance with Carrion Phage. Adriel knows that only a coven of white witches can save those students – that's when she will make her move; when the Wheatland coven is too busy to notice. She'll attack when each witch's spirit has been weakened from trying to save those kids. Blessed Maven, Adriel has returned in a bid to achieve immortality. She'll destroy this coven and the children at my daughter's school are pawns in a terrible plot. That is why we're here: to warn you and to ask that you muster all the white witches together, because my daughter and I cannot stop her by ourselves. We need your help; those kids need your help.”