The Midnight Witch (36 page)

As soon as Withers had laid Freddie gently on the floor at the center of the sacred circle in the Great Chamber I bid him leave me and see that I was not disturbed by anyone, even a fellow coven member. There was nothing further he could do to assist me. Indeed, this was the first time, in all these years, that he had ever set foot in the rooms beneath the house. I sensed his wonder, his awe, but he was intent on helping me and knew that this was not the time to ask questions. I am blessed to have such a friend. So is Freddie.

Anyone who is involved in the raising of spirits will have to cross the veil that divides the realm of the living from that of the dead. The followers of Lazarus have named these places the Land of Day and the Land of Night, and see them as separated by the Rubicon. We are taught how to venture to the habitat of the dead, but we only do so from a position of safety. We may call a familiar and willing spirit anywhere, though it is customary, and more sensible, to do so either at our home or at a place where those spirits visit to test the boundary themselves, such as graveyards, sacred spaces, and crossroads. What matters is that we make the connection only while we are firmly and securely rooted where we belong. The Head Witch is often seen as a natural conduit for conversations and prognostications with those in the Land of Night, and over time, I know I will spend more and more time in their company. I will have to guard against being drawn to their melancholy but beautiful world too much, for it is not where I belong, not yet. But it is strangely alluring. It is peopled with our loved ones who have gone before us, as well as with spirits of incredible wisdom, so that there is a risk witches begin to detach themselves from their terrestrial life. I saw it with Father. At times he would become withdrawn and fretful. I understand more already, even after a few short months as head of the coven. The home of the spirits is without pain, without base bodily drives and needs. There is such a beauty in its purity, it is truly wonderful. This pull, this constant yearning by the spirits for us, and by our own souls for the peace and bliss of such an existence, will be at its strongest when I embark on the act of Infernal Necromancy, for that is what I must do to save Freddie.

But this seduction is not the greatest danger that I face. That comes from the Darkness. The Darkness is the deepest level of the Land of Night, where demons and creatures of our nightmares dwell. The place emits a powerful and venal energy. Its inhabitants are jealous of those who still tread the earth and delight in causing us suffering. Their chief goal is to capture the unwary and drag them down to their pit. Even experienced necromancers have been lost to the Darkness. I recall only too well how close I came to being taken into the abyss by the demon I summoned at my inauguration. I must be on my guard.

Which is why preparations for the Raising have taken me all this long night. The necessary objects have been assembled. I have spent several hours invoking spirit guardians, calling on witch spirits and departed necromancers to assist us, and offering prayers and entreaties to our Goddess protector, Hekate. Should I prepare inadequately, should something go wrong … should I be taken, then Freddie, too, is doomed. Doomed and damned, for the spirit being called for Raising would be in a highly vulnerable state, and without me would fall victim to the nearest avaricious demon or twisted creature.

I am wearing the Robe of the Head Witch, and have Maygor’s Silver Thread wound about my arm. Standing before the statue of Hekate I look into the face she presents me, the other two gazing out in opposite directions, watching, ready to warn of danger. She is very beautiful, and tonight her eyes seem gentler, somehow. Does she fear for me? I wonder.

“Stay with me, Queen of Witches,” I ask her. “Please, do not let this Daughter of the Night fall into the pit of everlasting darkness. Guide me, so that I can do what it is I have to do.”

At last, I am ready. I turn my back on the altar now and step into the circle. I had Withers place Freddie’s body along the Rubicon, as he hovers on the threshold of the Land of Night. With his death so recent, calling his spirit back would be a simple matter, particularly as we were so close in life. Summoning the power required to make his body live again and his spirit to inhabit it, so that he is as returned as near to his previous state as is possible, that is far more difficult, and success is far from guaranteed. He is still dressed in his evening clothes, and he looks quite peaceful, with his eyes closed and his hands folded across his chest.

I have the witch’s trove in the circle with me, and take from it a vial of bone dust, which I sprinkle onto my palms, rubbing them together. The grit is harsh on my skin, but bones provide an important connection between the living and the dead. Next, I take up a lighted candle and walk around Freddie’s body, pouring a thin stream of melted wax to form a loop on the floor about him.

From beneath my cape, I extract the golden key which hangs on the slender chain around my neck. Kneeling in front of the trove, I remove a smaller box from inside it. This is made entirely of ebony, black and gleaming, without ornament or carving. I unlock it and reach in for the blue glass vial that sits snugly within. The second my fingers touch it I feel its heat. The warmth travels up my hands, my wrists, my arms, so that by the time I have lifted it from the box my whole body is aglow with the heat it gives off. For a moment I stand transfixed, staring at the innocuous-looking bottle with its cork stopper and wax seal. The Elixir. I am holding it in my hands. The Great Secret is contained in it, and I am about to set it free. Others are aware that it has been disturbed. Urgent whispering and chattering fills my head, but I ignore it. From somewhere deep below, somewhere in the Darkness, I hear sighing and calling, but I must not be distracted. At the edge of the circle, I place the chalice on the ground before me. With infinite care, I break the seal on the vial and gently ease out the stopper. There is no smell at all, rather a sense of energy being released.

Cautiously, I tip the bottle and pour seven drops of the precious, ruby liquid into the chalice. I replace the cork and set the bottle back in its box, which I lock once more before returning it to the trove. When I take up the chalice I find my hands are shaking as I walk back to the center of the circle, holding the chalice up in front of me.

I am still wearing the diamond necklace. I close my eyes and let my fingers select one small stone. It is no longer cold, but warmed by my own body. Quickly I work the platinum thread counterclockwise until the gemstone unscrews from its setting and drops into my palm. I hold it aloft, my eyes still closed. As I recite the ancient words of the Raising spell I close my hand tight about the diamond. I feel its hard surface resist my grip, the sharp edges digging into the flesh of my palm. And then, slowly, magically, it yields. Yields and crumbles until it is not more than fine sand. I open my eyes now and look down at Freddie. He looks so very far away from me. Fear grips me. What if I fail? What if I make a mistake?

I must not.

Carefully, I let the diamond grains fall from my hand into the chalice. A thin wisp of green smoke rises briefly from the Elixir and then vanishes.

I often call spirits, but this is different. These are not the gentle words I use to speak with my spirit guides or even the incantations for summoning new spirits. My mouth is dry as I call out the words that will summon a dead spirit in its own body.

“Exurgent mortus et ad me veniunt!”
My own voice sounds unfamiliar to me, the power of the command lending it weight and nerves adding an edge. There is a pitiful moaning from beneath the sacred circle, but Freddie does not stir, either in spirit or body. I call out again,
“Exurgent mortus et ad me veniunt!”
There is a howling from beyond the Rubicon now, a fearsome, unearthly noise. I must be vigilant. The call is unspecific at this point, as the spell requires, and there are those other than Freddie who might try to answer it. As I form this thought there comes a loud banging, and the ground beneath my feet pulses upward, as if being pummeled by some mighty fist. I press on with the ritual.

Kneeling beside Freddie, holding the chalice in one hand, I rest my other palm over his eyes. “When these eyes open once more, they will see.” I touch his brow. “When this mind stirs, it will think.” I put my hand on his chest. “When this heart beats again, it will feel.” I place my fingers on his cold, blue mouth. “When these lips part again, they will speak.” My pulse is racing now, and it is taking a great effort of will to ignore the hideous noises coming up from under the circle, and not to panic at the way the floor is bulging and stretching as it is repeatedly kicked and thumped by something with monstrous strength.

I lean forward and put the edge of the chalice to my dear brother’s lips. There is such a small quantity of the Elixir that it seeps into his mouth easily. I place the chalice on the ground and slip my arm beneath his head, raising it up onto my lap. All at once I can feel the same heat that infused me flooding through his body, chasing away the chill of death. Then I see his fingers move. They move! Spirits save us, the wonderful potion is working! He begins to twitch, his arms jerking, his feet kicking out against nothing, his head thrashing from side to side as if he is asleep but in the grip of a terrible dream.

“Wake up, Freddie,” I whisper, and then, louder, “wake up, Freddie!”

With one enormous surge of energy he is propelled out of my arms and upright, standing, but not standing, as his feet are not in fact touching the ground. I fall backward and have not time to get up before his eyes spring open and his mouth, too, and he lets out a shriek, the sound of which will stay with me until my last day of treading this earth. He looks filled with panic and fear, arms flailing, hands clawing at the air, gasping for breath. But those eyes
do
see! That heart
is
beating!

He turns and his gaze finds me. He coughs and splutters, trying to speak. I get to my feet and approach him, hand outstretched.

“Freddie, don’t be frightened. I am here. I am here.”

The color has returned to his flesh, and the strength to his limbs. Within moments he is restored. Completely restored. As the energy in him settles and finds its equilibrium his feet at last connect with the floor, so that he is standing quite naturally. He looks about him, then at his hands, his arms, his body, then at me. And then he smiles, and it is a good, happy,
real
smile.

“Freddie!”

“Lilith … I am … I am quite well.” His voice is hoarse, but otherwise unaffected. “You saved me, darling sister. I knew you could! I knew you would.” He takes a step toward me.

And the ground opens up and swallows him.

Suddenly the chamber is filled with screams. I hear Freddie’s heartbreaking scream of terror as he is dragged down into the abyss. And I can hear my own roar of rage.

“Freddie, no!” I fling myself to the edge of the yawning chasm that has opened up at the center of the circle. The stench of the pit fills my mouth and stings my throat as I look into the dark hole, searching for any sign of my brother, but it is too gloomy, and there is too much foul-smelling smoke. I detect movement, only, so that I am aware of beings of some sort flinging themselves about below. Some are winged. Others scrabble at the stony sides of the crater. I can still hear Freddie crying out, calling my name. I hold up my arm and flick Maygor’s Silver Thread into life, so that I can whip it into the hole. “Freddie, catch the rope! Catch hold of the rope.” But it is too dark for him to see it, or for me to direct it toward him. I quickly use a simple enchantment, “Light! Light now!” I command, and a phosphorescent glow illuminates the pit. What it reveals is more terrifying than anything my imagination could have supplied. The hole deepens into a seemingly bottomless shaft of stone, cut through the earth, with rocky ledges here and there, upon which crouch demons and cursed creatures too dreadful to survive in the light of day. Freddie is clutched by one such being, held fast on a ledge. I see that it is intent on taking him down lower, and I know I must act fast. Maygor’s Silver Thread will only reach so far. Another demon tries to take Freddie, but the first one will not give up his prize willingly, and so is forced to fend it off with a clawed hand. The light seems to trouble them, so that for a few moments I have the advantage.

“Freddie, there! Grab the rope.” He tries and misses, then tries again, and this time he has it! At once the enchanted thread coils itself firmly around his wrist. I close my eyes and offer a prayer to Hekate, begging for some of her great strength. Instantly I feel the power course through me, so that I am able to stand at the crater’s edge and haul Freddie up. Hand over hand, I reel the rope in. The demon has had to release Freddie to fight its attacker. I must work quickly. At last Freddie reaches the top and is able to grasp the edge with his hands. But the demon has not abandoned his prey yet. It lurches up through the choking air of the pit and grabs onto Freddie’s legs, pulling him down. Freddie yells and claws furiously at the wall of the crater. I redouble my efforts, but their combined weight is too much. I cannot hold on! Maygor’s Thread tightens itself protectively around my arm. If I do not pull Freddie up, I will go down with him. This time, there will be no escape. My feet skid across the surface of the sacred circle until I am inches from the hole. Then, just when I am certain all is lost, my three Cavaliers lay their ghostly hands on the rope, lending me their own ancient energy. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, we drag Freddie from the abyss. The second he is safe I leap up and whip the Silver Thread against the floor, shouting the command that will reseal the fissure, sending the demons back into the Darkness where they belong.

I am breathing like a runner, gulping good air at last. My muscles tremble from the exertion. Freddie scrambles up and backs away from me shaking his head, plainly scared beyond reason by what has just happened. By what he saw. By what he now knows to exist.

“Those
things
,” he gasps, “those terrible … creatures! Was that Hell, Lily? Was it? Was that where I was supposed to go? Where I
am
supposed to go?”