Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (11 page)

I pulled several books from the shelf and settled into one of Kamaria's overstuffed chairs. According to the first reference book, the arrow symbol had many meanings. Mine pointed left, which meant to ward off evil. I pulled a notepad out of my purse and jotted down notes. I was reaching for the next volume when I heard a soft laugh. Without thinking, I looked through a space in the bookshelf.

Lilith's black-lacquered fingers rested on Nicholas's arm as she smiled at him. Facing each other on the next aisle, they looked like slightly mismatched bookends. Lilith, in her short black skirt and gauzy cobweb top, and Nicholas with his shoulder-length black hair and long black coat. She whispered something, and he bent his head down closer to hers.

Quietly, I pocketed my notes and slipped the books I'd been reading back on the shelf, plugging the hole and blocking the view. I'd find another time to talk with Kamaria about disasters and prophecies. Today, I'd had all the bad news I could stomach.

Chapter 16: The Fool's Journey

Our entire block of stores closed on Thursday, so everyone could volunteer at the Hope Cottage woman's shelter. Their kitchen always ran short of volunteers before the holidays, so we signed up to cook and staff the serving line in early November to fill their thin volunteer time before the holiday buying rush hit our own stores.

Patches of frost covered the dead grass of my lawn, but it would burn off shortly as the day warmed up, so I walked to the shelter.

I wrapped still-warm pumpkin pies, inhaling the homey scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. My grandmother had taught me to bake pies: Pumpkin and apple, mincemeat and cherry. Her sunny kitchen was constantly filled with mouth-watering food and unconditional love.

I pulled my black cloak from the front closet. Fastening the half-moon latch over my sweater, I picked up the bag by its handle, locked the door, and walked down the steps to the street.

Without warning, a deathly white face appeared among the cars. The speeding traffic buffeted the transparent form, causing her long gray hair to swirl around her head.

I watched the apparition cross the traffic lane, straight into the path of a black pickup truck heading north. The driver had his hat brim pulled low over his eyes, but it was clear he saw the woman in front of him. In fact, he aimed for her.

"No! Back up! Run!" My scream came out strangled and feeble, but the woman looked at me, her dark eyes dilated and frightened.

It was too late. I turned away. There were no screeching brakes, no blaring horn, only the muffled
thud
of impact.

When I turned back, the elderly woman lay in the street, her head and shoulders a sodden mass of blood and shattered bone.

My hesitant step toward her halted when a horn blared a long, strident warning. I lurched out of the way, tripped on the curb and fell awkwardly into an oleander bush, skinning both palms. The driver of the black truck got out and ran to the body. He knelt by the old woman and lowered his head, perhaps checking to see if she was breathing. When he raised his head and looked around, his face was streaked with blood. He got up, ran back to his idling truck, hopped in, and took off.

I rolled to my knees, planting one hand in the bag of pies. My palm sunk into the squishy orange pulp, reminding me of the woman's shredded face, her hair matted with blood and brain. Bile welled into my throat. I wiped my hand on my jeans in frantic motions. My stomach convulsed, forcing me back to my knees to wretch my terror into the gutter.

A crowd gathered. Someone shouted, "Call 911!"

They couldn't help her. There was no reason to stay. I already knew how it would end. I'd seen the victim's ghost. Envisioned the whole scene before it happened.

I stumbled away, my destination forgotten, the sidewalk smeared with pumpkin pie.

* * * * *

In the lengthening shadows of my kitchen, oblivious to the day's passing, I tried to assemble the shattered images of the morning into some semblance of rational thought.
Did I really have a vision of a woman's death? Did it really happen?
I wasn't sure if I'd seen anything, or if my brain had finally blown a fuse. If it was a vision, this was the third time. I couldn't rule out the possibility of some kind of psychotic break.

I was jumpy and claustrophobic in the house. My cell phone rang persistently, but I didn't want to talk to anyone. Finally, I turned it off.

By sunset, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to know. I bundled up and headed out to the yard to retrace my steps.

The intersection was empty. No broken glass, no blood, no sign of an accident or police cars. The remnants of my pumpkin pies, however, had been swept into the gutter. So I had been here, but it appeared nothing tragic had happened.

I'm having a breakdown
. The thought was almost a relief.

I drew a breath of the cold night air and began to shiver un-controllably. I didn't want to be alone. Swallowing my rising panic, I headed toward downtown.

Several restaurants were open. I looked through a window at the happy faces and froze. A hazy mist surrounded every face. Maybe the window was fogged. I rubbed my eyes and got closer. No, the plates and tables were in focus. Only the diners' heads and shoulders shimmered with colored luminous light.

Laughter bubbled out of me in a hysterical stream. I turned in a slow circle on the sidewalk, giggling. The few approaching pedestrians parted, giving me a wide berth.

"Auras?" I clamped both hands over my mouth and stared at each one as they passed. Yep, they were all lit.
Why would I suddenly see auras?

I quit laughing.

One of my neighbors back home had suffered horrible migraines before being diagnosed with a brain tumor. In the throes of an attack, she told me, she saw flickering lights which eventually obliterated her field of vision.

I looked at the streetlights around me. Distinct. No flickering. I had never had a migraine and this didn't feel like the beginning of one. Sinking onto a bench, I put my hands in my pockets, ordering my thoughts. Auras are supposedly different colors depending on the person's physical, emotional or mental state. I would stay calm and study people, test the theory.

Two little girls were surrounded by white auras, while their mother's flared pink. Other people were less distinct, swirling mists of blue or violet.

I needed more people, so I stood—much calmer now—and began to walk. In the next restaurant, a man in a suit had a murky brown aura, so thick it was almost a scent, betraying his businesslike exterior. He reminded me of a sleek Doberman plotting to sample the hand feeding it, as he eyed the young waitress taking his order.

Despite his menace I chuckled.
If only I'd had this power earlier in life. Wonder what my ex's aura looks like. Woof, woof. Or rather, wolf, wolf
.

I thought about the golden halo often painted around the head of Jesus in pictures. Imagine the changes on Earth if people could see the auras of their leaders and select them based on what the auras revealed.

Without realizing it, my random aura-watching had brought me to the women's shelter, my original destination. The dining room light seemed a friendly beacon in a hostile world. I crossed the street to the shelter.

I immediately had second thoughts. Nicholas stood in front of the building in agitated conversation with Kamaria. He was the last person I wanted to see, especially since witnessing his embarrassing scene with Lilith at the bookstore.

I tried to double back, but they'd seen me.

Kamaria ran up and wrapped her arms around me. I immediately burst into tears.

"There, there, it's okay," she murmured into my hair. She held me and rubbed my back, saying nothing more until I wound down to an occasional wet hiccup.

Nicholas stood nearby, arms crossed in front of his chest. "We've been looking for you," he said, his voice gruff.

"When you didn't show up, Rumor called your house for hours," Kamaria added. "Finally she got worried enough to start calling around to the rest of us looking for you. When no one had seen you we really got worried. What happened?"

The holiday dinner plans seemed like the distant past. So much had happened. Before answering, I took a step back and stared at both of them.

Kamaria's aura was white; Nicholas was surrounded by a purple mist. I had no idea whether his was good or bad, but I made a snap decision and took a deep breath. "I need your help to understand what is happening to me."

"I agree," Kamaria said. "I've told Nicholas about our séance. We were discussing your message when you arrived. We don't know who is after you, but we both think you should—"

"Later, but not now." I cut her off. "Something else has happened."

When I described seeing auras and sensing the good—and the bad—in the people around me. Nicholas flashed me a wary glance, perhaps wondering how his own aura looked.

I did a pretty good job of keeping my emotions in check, until I replayed the accident. "I'm still not sure what I saw. She looked like a ghost." I continued between sobs, "but there was so much blood." I hesitated. "Then afterwards,
nothing
."

"Are you sure it wasn't
déjà vu?
" Kamaria asked. "Have you ever witnessed a traumatic accident? Maybe flashing on an event in your past?"

It would explain why there was no evidence of the accident when I went back to the scene. I frowned. "But wouldn't I remember seeing a hit-and-run accident? I would've been a witness, maybe even testified at a trial." I shook my head. "No, this wasn't a memory."

"Maybe not your memory," Kamaria began, "but someone else's. A psychic occurrence?"

I immediately shook my head. "No. No!"

She raised one eyebrow at me. "Don't be so quick to dismiss the possibility. I knew you had some latent powers from the beginning. I'm enough of a sensitive myself to see your talents. What I don't understand is why this has come upon you so suddenly and so dramatically. What's different in your life lately? What would cause such an abrupt change in your perception?"

I knew the answer. Nicholas. Nicholas and his damned cloak.

He stood very quiet and still, studying the sidewalk.

I turned on him. "You." I willed him to meet my eyes but couldn't keep the quaver out of my voice. "You've turned my life upside down. I've been terrified, confused, even wondered if I am crazy. Maybe so. But this is mostly your fault, and you know it. You've pushed me into situations beyond my comprehension. Then, instead of helping me, you've been nasty and sarcastic. Insulting. You turned away from me. You called me a failure!"

Nicholas waited a long moment before he answered. "I am sorry I was so harsh with you, Samantha."

Those were the words I'd hoped to hear for the last month.

He stepped closer to me and took my arm, rubbing it gently. This small, kind gesture reminded me of how nice Nicholas had been during the Dumb Supper. My eyes blurred with tears. No. It wasn't enough. I jerked away and swiped the tears aside with the back of my hand. Kamaria watched us, wide-eyed.
So he didn't tell her everything about Samhain night.

Nicholas cleared his throat and put his hand back on my arm. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "It's just…I'm terribly concerned for you, Samantha. You are so raw, so untrained. I question how you will cope." He gave me a rueful smile. "When I'm worried, I tend to snap at people."

I wanted to strangle him. I could actually feel my hands vibrating in their eagerness to wrap around his neck.

Perhaps my expression betrayed those thoughts, for Nicholas removed his hand from my arm and stepped back. "You know only the most rudimentary methods of focus and control. And you know even less about how to protect yourself."

I straightened my shoulders, ignoring the self-doubt his words churned up in me. He was
not
going to intimidate me again. "Stop," I answered with a calmness I did not feel. "Quit telling me what I don't know. Quit pushing me away. Teach me."

Nicholas and Kamaria exchanged a quick look. "Do you think I should be the one to do this?" he asked her.

"If you're not going to help me, why did you come to Sedona? You obviously don't want to be here. You could have sold Bella's house through a realtor. You're here for me, I
know
you are. If you're not going to help me, then go away!" I clamped my mouth shut, gritted my teeth and waited.

Nicholas shrugged. "Do you want me to teach you?"

I stared at him in stubborn silence. He stared back. Finally, he gave a small nod. "When is your next day off?"

"Sunday."

"I'll be at your house Sunday."

* * * * *

For me, Nicholas was an unsettling combination of push and pull. He exuded a presence which drew me to him, but he kept his emotions under such rigid control, he came across as haughty and disdainful. He would be a difficult teacher.

When he arrived on Sunday, however, he seemed less in control. Something weighed heavily on him. "Samantha, I must ask you one last time. Are you serious about learning witchcraft? If I am to help you, we must be unerringly clear on this point from the beginning."

His expression was so grim I wondered what I was getting myself into. He'd already made it clear this would be serious business. But how dangerous could witchcraft be? Life and death dangerous?

I hesitated. The image of my mother's ghost blended into the gray-haired apparition in the street. Over and over, the same words echoed in my mind.
He will make you his or see you dead.
"I don't think I have much choice." My voice sounded miserable and weak.

Nicholas shot me an irritated look and raked his hair from his forehead with his fingers. "I want to show you something."

He took me outside saying only, "Leave the cloak in here."

We walked out onto the sidewalk. He looked at me expectantly, but I had no idea what he wanted me to do. "What do you see?"

"Not much. Cars, a nice view of the red rocks. Some tourists just went into the bookstore at the end of the block."

"Let's go." He strode down the hill at such a pace I had to jog to keep up with his long legs. The bell on the bookshop door jangled when he jerked it open and shoved me inside. "Now what do you see?"