Awakening (14 page)

Luke’s eyes suddenly had an odd,
faraway look. “The girl, her name was Sarah. They wanted something
from her--something she couldn’t or wouldn’t give them. And when
she refused them, they killed her.”

“
What did they want?” I
whispered.

His attention focused back on me. “I
don’t know. The spirits they don’t always talk in straight lines.
When they’re murdered, the very essence of them forced suddenly
from their bodies, there’s a lot of confusion.”

As I listened to him the image of my
brother James popped into my mind. No knife or bullet had touched
James’s body. Instead, they had done something far worse. Something
I hadn’t been able to tell Luke about. Not yet.

Luke continued, “When you communicate
with the spirits it can be somewhat cryptic. The things they tell
you. They often talk around things, or in a way that’s hard to
immediately understand.” Luke looked around as if trying to find
the right words. “Think of it as pieces of a puzzle you have to put
together to see the whole picture.”

“
This girl, Sarah, she gave
you some pieces to the puzzle?”

He nodded. “Not a lot, but she talked
about the men. About the place they held her. She stayed there, was
held there, for days before they killed her. I think it might be
where they’re holding Darla.”

“
Where is it?” I
demanded.

His eyes filled with sadness. “That’s
the problem. I don’t know. She didn’t communicate enough about the
place. She said it was big. It was dark when they took her there.
She seemed more focused on the men. It just happened, her death.
Sarah doesn’t fully realize that’s she dead. Her spirit is a jumble
of emotions and confusion.”

“
And will that change?” I
asked, worried the answer was going to be no.

He took a deep breath and looked up
into the sky. “It does for some, as times passes. They realize
they’ve passed. But Sarah’s spirit won’t find peace until the men
who killed her are brought to justice.”

“
Sarah can’t help us find
your sister.” And if she couldn’t where did that leave
us?

Luke’s eyes met mine. “It doesn’t look
like it. Our best bet is still your family. Once we do the second
ritual you’ll be able to communicate with them if they come to
you.”

I shuddered at the thought. “But
Sarah, are you sure she can’t help us? If she’s confused, can’t you
help her? Can’t you just tell her to go to the light or
something?”

“
No. Until her soul finds
justice, she’s bound to the ether sea,” he answered.

“
But you can bring the
spirits forth. Like the banshees.”

He nodded his head. “Yes, I can make
the spirits do my bidding.”

A chill went through me as
I thought of my family.
“
You force them? Force them to do your
bidding?” my voice trembled.

He turned away from me. ”It’s hard for
you to understand now. It will make more sense to you
later.”

I reached out and grabbed his arm and
forced him back around. “You’re forcing these poor souls into what
amounts to slavery!”

“
Colina, the souls are
restless. They can’t go to the light. They’re stranded in the
places between. Nothing I could do would set them free.”

“
So you use them?” I said
my voice full of anger.

“
Yes,” he answered
quietly.

“
And force them to do
whatever you ask. To hurt people?” I demanded.

“
To protect myself. To
protect my family.”

That part I could understand. To use
whatever tools you had to protect the ones you loved, but another
part of me was outraged. “And when I become a death dealer you’ll
expect me to bind spirits? To force them to do what I
want?”

“
You’ll do it,” his voice
was now void of emotion.

“
And if I
won’t?”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no
choice. It will be something you have to do as a death dealer.”
Luke’s voice grew softer, “You have to understand. No one can help
them. They can’t move on. At least this way they can be of some
use.”

I thought of my family’s
souls. Of their souls forever being chained to a death dealer.
Their anguished faces full of pain. Forced into our world, becoming
a pawn in some mage’s twisted game. What would it take to set my
family free I wondered? “And to be free they have to do what?” I
asked the question this time out loud.

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “It’s
like an empty hole they have to fill in order to move on. Getting
vengeance for their murder, or finishing something left
unfinished.”

At his answer, I suddenly felt cold. I
moved away from him and wrapped my arms around my body for warmth.
“And if they don’t fill the empty hole?” I whispered.

Luke looked toward the water as he
answered, “Then their spirit roams in a state of unrest across the
ether sea for eternity.”

* * * *

When we got back to Pagan’s house we
once again went our separate ways. I spent the rest of the day
holed up in Pagan’s bedroom. Sleep was out of the question. I spent
most the afternoon pacing the floor, my thoughts full of terrifying
images of banshees and the undead. I now regretted every scary
movie I had ever watched.

I wasn’t sure what Luke was up to, but
at some point he pounded at the bedroom door, and when I answered,
he shoved a plate and a mug into my hands. On the plate a ham and
cheese sandwich and a large portion of potato salad. And in the
mug--hot chocolate. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I needed to eat. It
would be foolish of me to face whatever challenges the night would
bring on an empty stomach. I choked down the food and barely
noticed as I finished off the hot chocolate.

As the afternoon went on, the room cut
off from the main source of heat, became chilly. I went through
Pagan’s closet and borrowed a heavy grey sweater. And then I began
to pace again.

I paced, lost in my thoughts as
shadows slid across the wood floor. Soon the room became so dark I
had to switch on a light. I looked over at the clock and realized
in a moment of panic that it was almost eleven at night. Soon I
would be doing another terrifying ritual.

I made my way to the bathroom and
splashed cold water on my face. I looked in the mirror, and I could
see the edge of the bruises on my neck peeking above the sweater. I
pulled back the collar of the sweater and studied my neck. Most of
the marks were fading, but still at the base of my throat there
were dark purple and red marks. I looked closer and realized they
were in the shape of fingers. Luke’s fingers. The marks left where
his hands had encircled my neck and squeezed.

I closed my eyes and tried to quash
the panic rising from the pit of my stomach. In the first ritual,
he’d killed me. Strangled me. And now we were about to embark on
the second ritual. What horrors would this trial bring? My hand
went up and moved across the surface of my neck. I flinched in
pain.

Possession. Communicating with the
spirits. But Darla had said each ritual had been worse than the
last. Each one a terror, causing her brother to have nightmares for
months. How bad was it going to get?

The old gypsy had warned me. Told me
that the protection pouch would help me. Where was it? Had I
brought it with me, or was it back at the magic shop? I scrambled
to the closet and pulled out Darla’s suitcase. I rummaged through
the case until my fingers brushed across velvet material. It was
there at the bottom. Relief filled my body. My fingers wrapped
around it and I pulled it out. The gypsy said it would protect me.
I untied the leather wrapped several times around the top of the
pouch and looped the leather around my neck. I tied the ends
together and now the pouch hung down against my chest. My hands
brushed against the pouch. It would protect me. I felt more at
ease.

I physically jumped when the door
suddenly burst open. Luke stood in the doorway, a grim expression
on his face. He held up a white dress and motioned toward me. “It’s
time. You need to put this on.”

I stood. “You want me to wear
that?”

“
Yes, you need to wear this
for the ritual.” His eyes went to my neck. He pointed at the pouch.
“You can’t wear that.”

My hands wrapped protectively around
it. “Why not? The gypsy gave it to me. She said it would keep me
safe.”

“
It’s blessed in a way that
protects you, yes. You can still hear the spirits, communicate with
them, but it gives you a layer of defense against them.”

“
A defense against the
spirits sounds like a good idea.”

“
To truly communicate with
the dead, you have to be wide open. You have to be vulnerable. The
whole point of this next ritual is to blow all those doors in your
mind that are normally closed wide open. Doors that most people
want to stay closed.”

I nodded my head and with trembling
hands I undid the pouch and let it drop to the bed.

Luke looked at me, his expression one
of regret. “I’m sorry. You know this isn’t going to be easy, for
either one of us. I understand if you’ve changed your
mind.”

I couldn’t back out now I was aware of
the spirits but unable to control them. Spending the rest of my
life at their mercy was not an option.

I held out my hand. “I haven’t. Let’s
get this over with.”

He handed me the dress. “I’ll be in
the living room. Everything is just about ready.”

“
I won’t take long. I’ll be
out soon. And Luke.” I straightened my shoulders and met his gaze
straight on. “I’m ready, I truly am. I’m ready for whatever comes
next.”

He nodded his head and closed the
door.

I stood staring at the door. I was
ready, wasn’t I? We were about to find out.

Chapter Seven

I had changed my clothes, and I now
wore the white shift dress. The dress material was thin and even
though a fire was blazing in the fireplace I still felt
cold.

Luke had rearranged the living room
and pushed all the furniture to the sides of the room. A wooden
chair, surrounded by burning black candles, stood in the middle of
the room. To one side of the candles was a pile of thick
rope.

I wrapped my arms around my body and
stood in front of him. “I don’t quite understand what’s going to
happen.”

“
We are calling on the
dead.”

I couldn’t keep the horror I was
feeling from showing on my face. “And my outfit?”

“
Part of the ritual. It’s
tradition. Goes back hundreds of years. Something along the lines
of a virginal journey into the underworld.”

Like a bride. It sounded twisted.
You’d think a guild of people that wear mostly black would be the
last group to be sporting white. The color of purity. What I was
doing was far, far from anything pure--from anything that came from
the light.

“
The dead must be left
alone,” my Pa’s voice this time whispering in the corners of my
mind.
“
Don’t get
involved with anyone who conjures up the black arts. They’re wicked
people Colina.”

Luke didn’t seem wicked, but what did
I actually know about the guy. He’d gone into an alley to save an
innocent woman. Okay not so innocent, she’d tried to shish kabob
him, but as far as he knew he was helping a victim. That meant he
was someone with good intentions. He was trying to save his sister.
He’d brought me back to life. He was someone on the side of
goodness and light. Right?

“
Only the blackest souls
mess with the dead. The dead should be left alone. It’s
sacrilegious the way those people call up the spirits and parade
them in front of their kinfolk.”
My Pa’s
voice again.
And with it a
memory.

Pa was sitting by the
fireplace. It was a week before Christmas, and most of the clan had
started making their way to the winter festival. We were leaving in
the morning. I was beyond excited. It would be the first time I was
allowed to see the magics performed. My mother had promised that,
after the New Year, I would begin some of my teachings as a healer.
I was fourteen, young, innocent, and the world seemed like a place
with so many possibilities. I don’t remember how the discussion
moved onto the death dealers, but I remember the way my father’s
face had changed when he began talking about them. The look of
disgust that filled his eyes at the mention of them.

“
And what right do they
have? Who made them judge and juror? How can they decide when
someone should meet their maker?” my Mama asked.

My Mama’s whole life had been about
healing. The death dealers were the antithesis of her very
existence. As powerful as she was, there were those she tried to
heal that were too far gone, too ill to be healed. And sometimes
these surviving souls would call on the death dealer to help them
make the transition from this life to the next. To me, it seemed at
the time, a kindness to stop their suffering, but my mother
corrected me, telling me it was unnatural. Warning me that, by
doing it, they were challenging the very balance of
things.