“That was only seconds, maybe it takes more time.” Meadow is grasping at straws of hope, and yet something in my gut tells me she’s wrong. An inkling that it’s not that easy to undo whatever it is that’s out there. I don’t think clearing them from the smog alone will work.
“The Shaman he’s out there, isn’t he? I can’t link him…… we need him…Oh my god, Okay, so….. We go downstairs and start looking without him. We look and we find something, anything. We can’t just sit here and freak out, right? We’ve lived through worse. We can do this.” Sierra hastens us with a nod, visibly shivering, afraid, and yet like me she is trying to reel it all back and return to a state of composed. She knows I need her to be with me and figure this out. The shock has hit, we reacted, and now we need to be the Luna and Rema and do something about this. For our pack, for our people, for our men.
“Radar?” Sierra adds in a hushed tone, her eyes misting over again as she locks a gaze on me, a begging question and held breath, and I can only nod sadly, telling her that he too is out there in the fog and lost to us. She gasps in a semi sob, a shocked inhale and clutches her chest, emitting a woeful stab of pain in the air around me and confirming how deeply she feels for him, before pulling herself back together and lifts her chin defiantly. An even stronger will to figure this out.
“Let’s go. They need us to save them.” I turn and gesture for them to come and don’t wait in heading where we need to be.
What Will We Do?
We move fast, making light work of scaling the stairs, getting through the house and down into the secret passage to the underground via the library nook that used to be Colton’s and I’s bedroom. Just seeing this room, free of our things and our bed, almost breaks me in two. My soul throbbing with the loss of his presence and the knowing I won’t be able to see or touch him until we do something about this curse.
I feel like he’s gone somehow, that I’ve lost him to something I don’t know how to fight and this room where we began, where he first marked me, stabs deep into my heart and soul and wounds me to the core. My anxiety and pain rising up like bile in my throat that threatens to choke me. I have to heavily inhale to push all the chaos down to my inner depths to stay calm. I stifle a sob as Sierra pulls back the concealed door behind where the bed used to sit, and Meadow grasps my hand in comfort, her own face ashen and stiff.
“We will save them. We have to. They’re our pack, our mates… our hearts. We’ll bring them home, back where they belong. With us!” Meadow can feel, and shares, my devastation and it’s mirrored back at me, not only visually, but in her emotions swirling around me. I nod tearfully and cling to her fingers as we follow Sierra down into the dark musty passage that stings my nose with its aged smell, and I blink away the dust of centuries of sleeping airless surroundings.
With a click of her fingers, she ignites the wall mounted blue flamed torches around us to an eerie glow. Lit by her magic, it illuminates the winding narrow passageway as we make our way beneath the homestead to the secret rooms below, which feel unearthly and icy. This almost dungeon like lair has always fascinated me but always scared me too, so Colton usually only comes here with her as I tend to avoid it.
It has an aura, an ambience of unease. Like it harnesses so many souls of the past with so much power and energy in its confines in the ground below the house. I can almost feel the eyes of spirits taking note as we venture in, and it raises all the hairs across my skin as I goosebump in reaction. The room is large and dull, despite the many candles flickering with that familiar witchy blue that makes me think of Colton, and I dart my eyes to take in the room and shake him from my head. If I let him linger then I won’t find the strength to carry on.
The shelves are formed from ceiling to floor on every wall, crammed with generations of spell books, and a vast array of potions and bottles, and weird things in jars. Nothing touched by age as this room magically stays sealed to any form of interference when not in use and you can only come in here with a gifted touch. Witch blood is needed to open the door and light the torches. You can’t get in otherwise, so I presume much like our rune border, this has a protective spell holding it timeless and still as the years tick by.
“Don’t touch any books unless I hand them to you. Grimoires are special and can bite. You need a witch’s permission to touch one.” Sierra makes haste and lifts two huge leather-bound books from a low shelf, handing one to me and one to Meadow. Nodding towards the long center table that looks like it’s had much use over the years. It has stools tucked in all around each side and the worn imprint of many decades of witches sitting here to browse and learn from these ancient texts. Sierra told me that when her family was plentiful and had many offspring, they used this room as a witch school and taught them everything about their own gifts. Sierra came here as a child to learn about her gifts too but as she was the last of her bloodline, it was left to sit quietly alone and wait for a new purpose.
I take my book to one end of the roughened, stained, dark surface and lay it down carefully. A huge old somewhat unidentifiable book, bound expertly, and strangely ornate. I flick it open to reveal the pages inside, which are yellowed and worn along the edges, some are splattered with drops and smudges that hints at a great many uses. Handwritten in black ink in a beautiful scroll, mostly English, but it varies. My Spanish sucks and this is a bilingual spell book pushing more to the other language than my own.
“I can’t read this.” I point out, lifting my eyes to settle on Sierra who seems to be looking along the rows for a specific book herself and she turns to me with a patient smile.
“Grimoires are enchanted…. don’t look… feel. Ask the book to help you, push your emotion to its very core. See what it gives you.” Sierra nods at us before bringing her armful of six smaller books to the table and pulls out a stool to begin with her own search. She looks as determined as Meadow does, who already has her pages flicking fast and furiously as she scans the words. Meadow lifts her chin and frowns at me as though she thinks Sierra is a bit mental for telling us to feel rather than read the pages and I shrug, telling her to do as she asks. I stare down at my book and focus all my thoughts and energy on a little faith.
Please show me how to help bring my pack home. How to bring my mate back to me.
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