The Trouble With Spells (25 page)

I reached out for
the book, but she stopped me. It was then I noticed there was a large leather
strap surrounding it, and where it should open was covered with a giant lock.

“Do I need a key?”
I asked.

“There is no key. It
was destroyed. You’re never to open the lock and read the book,” she began.

I gave her a
quizzical look.

“Okay. But I
thought you wanted me to read it.”

She shook her head.
“You’ll touch the book in the center of the cover, and its contents will be
revealed to you. Never, ever, read directly from the text. This can initiate
hidden spells and dark magic you’re not aware of.  Many a witch and warlock
have been drawn into the dark arts by doing just such a thing.”

I nodded,
understanding her warning. This was obviously a very bad book.

“Whenever you’re
ready, just place your hand in the very center of the cover,” she said, sliding
the volume toward me.

I took a deep
breath and hesitated for a moment, then placed my hand on it. As soon as my
fingertips grazed the book, I felt a hard pull, as if I had stuck my hand into
a massive vacuum cleaner.

My body went
rigid, and my mind began to be racked with speeding images. Everything was
moving so fast, zipping by at such high speeds I began to feel like I was on a
roller coaster, but somehow my brain was able to keep up and comprehend it all.

It was a history
of black magic, and the images in my mind were from the early days of man. There
were pictures of people chanting, casting spells, and sacrificing. Bits and
pieces of text, spells, warnings, condemnations, and prophecies went unheeded
by the people of the era in their thirst for more power, progressing until the
era changed.

I continued to
follow the black magic from its origins, throughout its journey through the
ages, passing through the Christian era, Medieval, Renaissance, Victorian, all
through time as it evolved and passed down from one hand to another. Horrifying
images of curses, mutilation, and death leapt through my mind, sickening me
with the depravity of it all.

I watched as
witches and warlocks evolved with the dark magic too. As their power became
stronger, they transformed before my eyes, beginning to sprout furrowed brows
with small horn-like bumps, teeth that resembled fangs, nails that took on a
claw-like appearance, and haunting blood-red eyes. They moved back and forth
between features, looking completely normal at times in their appearance, but their
looks changed the most when they were thirsty. It was then they would morph
into their demon characteristics. I was surprised to see some of them
physically preferred their demon looks over their human ones.

They were drinking
blood—lots of it, feasting on the life source of other witches and warlocks,
taking their magic to make themselves stronger. The blood exchanges turned
their victims into the same demon-like creatures they were themselves. Once
their captive had made the conversion, they found their demon blood to be
polluted, so they moved on looking for someone new to feed upon. They grew
stronger with each feeding, and some of the more powerful ones could actually
shape shift into animals, or even look like other people.

They lived long
lives, often training up a protégé to pass their magic on to when they were old.
The larger their magical community, the stronger their powers were. They were
recruiting, always recruiting. It was necessary for their survival.

The demonic
societies searched out and preyed on those who were especially gifted, since
these individuals supplied more power in their blood. There would be a feeding
frenzy on these people, often taking them to the brink of death, before
bringing them back again to build a new fresh blood supply.

On and on it
continued, marching through the pages of time—every generation stronger and
worse than the one before it. I saw whole covens of good witches and warlocks
slaughtered as they tried to fight for their lives, but the demons always
overtook them, allowing nothing to stand in the way of their thirst. And even
though the demons always grew stronger, it was never enough. The thirst always
deepened, they constantly craved more.

Something changed
in me, shifting while I viewed them. I felt their desires, and I could feel the
craving for a taste of the blood flowing through me, the unquenchable thirst
and longing. I threw my head back and heard a moan escape my lips. I needed a
drink now.

An image of Vance
danced into my head, and all I could see was his blood pulsating through his
veins. It called to me in a beating song so sweet I couldn’t deny it. It was so
powerful. I wanted to grab him and have just a little taste.

“Portia! Let go of
the book!” Vance’s voice pounded into my head.

Instantly, I was
aware of Grandma tugging on my arms, trying to pull the book away, which I was
now firmly grasping with both hands, holding it up to my chest.

“No! Portia! No!
No!” she was screaming at me.

I released it
immediately, shocked, and stood up so quickly I knocked the chair over behind
me.

Grandma grabbed
the book and ran with it into the other room.

I leaned over the
table, placing my shaking hands on it, while I stood there panting like I had
run a marathon.

“I’m on my way!”
Vance spoke into my pounding head, and I didn’t have the strength to argue with
him.

“What was that?” I
said out loud, my voice trembling, but he didn’t answer me.

Grandma re-entered
the room and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” she
said, helping to right the chair and getting me seated once again. “I’ve never
seen a reaction like this before. I would’ve never done it if I even knew it
was a possibility.”

She looked so
upset that I placed my hand on top of hers, trying to comfort her.

“It’s all right. I’m
all right,” I tried to reassure her, though I could feel the sweat dripping
from my head. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,”
she said, shaking her head. “Everything was fine, normal even. All of a sudden
you grabbed up the book and started shaking and moaning. I tried to get the book
away from you, but I couldn’t. Your grip was too powerful. Even magic didn’t
help. You couldn’t hear me.”

I closed my eyes,
and the images I’d seen danced faintly before them now, causing my pulse to
still pound with an awful need.

“Just give me a
second,” I breathed in a whisper, bending to place my head between my knees. I
knew it was one of the treatments for hyperventilation, and I felt pretty close
to that right now.

  I battled for
control, trying to focus on anything besides the images I’d seen, while several
minutes ticked away, my emotions swinging to and fro.

“Are you okay?”
Grandma asked, finally breaking the long silence, and I slowly lifted my head
to look at her.

“I was thirsty,” I
said sadly, shaking my head. “I needed a drink. I just wanted a small one, and
I felt like I couldn’t help myself.”

“More precisely,
she wanted a drink from me,” Vance said, entering the basement at that exact
moment.

I couldn’t look at
him, feeling horribly guilty. Hearing his voice and knowing he knew what I’d thought
was all it took for my fragile front to break into pieces. I started sobbing
into my hands.

“Baby, it’s okay.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “You were being confused by the magic. I know
you’d never hurt me.”

I stood up briskly
and pushed him away. He looked hurt for a moment, but then started toward me
again. I held up a hand to stop him.

“I can still hear
the power racing in your blood. It’s like I can smell it or something. It makes
me thirsty,” I confessed, giving him tear-laden look. “You need to stay over
there. Something has changed. Things are different between us.”

“No. Nothing has
changed. The effect of the book hasn’t worn off you yet, that’s all.”

I turned away from
Vance, unable to look at him without my mouth watering, and it was killing my
heart.

“Why did I react
differently than you expected?” I asked Grandma, wanting her to make everything
right again.

“I don’t know,”
Grandma said, still completely bewildered. “I’ve honestly never seen anything
like it.”

“I think I might
have an explanation,” Vance interjected. “Portia is linked to me. The bond
between us is strong, and she’s been able to experience my emotions before. I
think the residual pull of the dark magic I still have from dealing with my
father may have caused this intense reaction for her. As soon as her thoughts
turned dark, I started having the cravings too. That’s how I knew she was in
trouble. My cravings didn’t become as intense, but having had them before I
recognized them right away for what they were.”

This time he wouldn’t
let me push him away when he reached out and pulled me to him. He wrapped his
arms tightly around me when I struggled against him, until I gave up and started
crying into his chest. I grabbed up fistfuls of his shirt while he held me, and
I tried to ignore the sound of his strong, beating pulse, brushing aside the
thoughts of what his blood would taste like on my tongue.

“Well, whatever is
happening here, we definitely need to figure out what’s going on,” Grandma
replied from behind me. “This isn’t good by any means.”

“I think we may
have seriously underestimated how strong Portia’s powers really are,” Vance
said over the top of my head, still keeping his embrace strong even though I’d
stopped struggling. “It’s strange for someone who should be an apprentice witch
to have such instant and strong reactions to magic. I think she’s something
special.”

“She’s a natural
at it, for sure,” Grandma agreed, continuing on as if I couldn’t hear anything
the two of them were saying. “I was just proud she was so good at everything. It
never occurred to me she might be overpowered in a sense. Perhaps she’s the one
who’s causing such a hard reaction to your binding spell. Maybe she overreacts
to all magical influences.”

“Great,” I choked
out between sobs. “Now I’m a dysfunctional witch too.”

“No, not
dysfunctional, just different,” Grandma explained. “We need to study you a bit
more, I think. Your powers are very mature and strong for your age.”

“But not right now.
Let’s get you to bed and see if you can get some rest,” Vance suggested.

“I’ve been asleep
all day,” I muttered in protest, my head still buried in his chest.

“That’s all
right,” he replied. “You’ve had a pretty traumatic event. It’s okay to take a
little time for yourself to recover from it.”

When I didn’t reply,
he gathered me up into his arms and carried me upstairs to the guest bedroom,
laying me gently on the bed.

“Don’t leave me,”
I said softly to him, though I was still too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“I wouldn’t dream
of it.” He sat next to me while he stroked my hair away from my tear-streaked
face. He didn’t say anything more and neither did I. I chose to stare at the
ceiling instead of looking at him.

Several minutes
later, Grandma came in with a steaming cup of herbal tea in her hands.

“Here, Lollipop. Drink
this. It’ll help calm your nerves,” she said, handing the cup out to me.

I sat up so I
could take it from her and I drank the tea down quickly. It wasn’t long before
I felt the chamomile working its magic as soothing warmth spread throughout my
body. When I was done with the tea, Vance removed the cup and saucer from my
hands and placed them on the nightstand. I snuggled back down into the pillows,
and he continued to stroke his hand through my hair.

I was happy to
discover I didn’t have any kind of craving coursing through me anymore. I
closed my eyes and just enjoyed the relaxing comfort of Vance being next to me,
while I listened to the thoughts trailing through my head.

“Your father’s
recruiting,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he agreed softly.

“And he wants you
so he can feed himself and his coven,” I replied, even though the words made me
feel sick to my stomach.

“Yes.”

“He’s going to
find you this time.” I looked straight at him, searching his eyes for a hint of
anything like fear.

“I know,” he
replied, his face unchanging.

“What then? Will
he try to kill you?” I asked, scared.

“No. He’ll try to
turn me into one of them.”

“How do you know
that for sure?” I felt a streak of panic run through me at the thought of Vance
becoming one of the monsters I’d just witnessed.

He let out a big
sigh. “When I was young he had a nickname for me. He called me his ‘little
protégé.’ I think he’s planning on grooming me to take his place.”

Chapter 19

“You have to run!”
I insisted, sitting straight up on the bed so I could face him directly.

He shook his head.
“I won’t leave you.”

“Vance. It’ll mean
nothing if he finds you and makes you into something like him. You have to go,”
I pleaded.

“No!” he shouted,
his answer firm.

I knelt in front
of him, placing my hands on either side of his face and stared straight into
his eyes. “Vance, please! I’ll even come with you. We can run away together!
We’ll get married and go somewhere he’ll never find us,” I begged him in
earnest.

He pondered this
for a moment, looking deeply at me, before he spoke again.

“Portia, I’d love
nothing more than to run away and take you as my wife, but we’d always be
running. I want to have a life with you—a real life, one that’s full of love,
laughter, and someday children too. If I don’t face him, we’ll never be able to
have that. He’s always been able to find me somehow. Sometimes faster than
others, but I’m always looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to reappear. It’s
time for me to make a stand now.”