Page 32 of Starlight Witch

“I know.” I began to explore the back wall. “I need more light.”

“I brought a flashlight,” Bree said. “Here.” She passed it to Bran, who turned it on and flashed it toward the wall so I could have both hands free.

I knelt, examining the molding against the floor. As I reached the center of the wall, I saw something—a faint line on the wall right above the molding. I brushed my fingers against it, surprised to feel something give, folding inward. It was a flap, almost invisible against the textured wall.

“Bring the flashlight closer,” I said.

Bran stooped next to me and shone the light inside.

I gingerly reached in and felt around. Just out of sight was a lever and, holding my breath, I pulled it and stumbled back, standing up as quickly as I could. Bran took my elbow, steadying me and we waited. The next moment, a panel in the wall swung in, exposing a secret room.

“We found it!” I quickly lowered my voice. My mother always took a sleeping pill before bed, so only something like the fire alarm would wake her up, but I still wanted to keep as quiet as possible.

I started to enter the room, but Bran motioned me back.

“Let me go first,” he said.

I nodded, standing back as he passed by me. A moment later, a light flickered on from inside the room. I joined him, and Bree followed me in.

The room was long and narrow, and as I walked over the threshold, a ripple slithered down my back. It was a room out of my nightmares. The walls were painted blood red, and the ceiling was pitch black. There was a table in the center of the room, with two chairs, one on each side. It, too, was long and narrow, and it was draped with a white cloth stained with what I could only assume was blood. In the center of the table was a spirit board, and a crystal ball sat beside it. The planchette was shaped like a taloned hand, and it was covered with dried hair. An open book was set to the other side, with a metal bookmark in it.

My anxiety grew as I stared at the setup. A swirling energy surrounded the book and board and crystal ball, like clouds circling an eye that was watching us.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Bran said.

“I don’t either,” Bree answered.

I scanned the rest of the room, trying to remain calm. It was difficult, though, because the energy hit so hard that it battered my senses. There was another table on the far end of the room, and on it sat a large crystal bottle. My first thought was djinn, but that faded as I watched the lights within the bottle swirl and sparkle. Mesmerized, I reached out for the bottle.

“Stop,” Bran said, taking hold of my shoulder.

Startled, I looked back at him, realizing that I had been headed over to open it. Crap, that wasn’t what I had planned, but…

“What is this place?” I asked, looking around the rest of the room. On the other end was a tall bookshelf filled with books. A small chest sat next to the bookshelf, and next to the chest was the outline of a door. Yet another secret compartment. How had my mother lived in this house without feeling all this energy?

“What the hell?” I said, turning to Bran. “What should we do?”

“I suppose we had better check out everything,” he said, “but we need to be careful. There’s something in this room that’s very much aware. A sentient energy that’s watching us.”

Bree’s eyes were wide, and she shuddered just enough to tell me she was nervous. “I can’t feel energy as much as you two can, but I can feel danger. Be very careful because there’s something here that scares the fuck out of me.”

“Should we start with the table?” I asked, not wanting to separate even a few feet from the others.

Bran led the way, and we followed. As we neared the book, he gasped.

“I know what book that is,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s a Major Book of Summoning, a dark arts textbook. Only higher-level sorcerers use it. I thought your father was a witch, not a sorcerer?”

“He was, according to his journal. What he’d be doing with this book, I have no idea.”

Sorcerers were to witches as Nazis were to warriors: opposite ends of the spectrum. Sorcerers didn’t care who they hurt with their magic, or what chaos and catastrophe ensued from their spells. The witch community seldom spoke of them, not wishing to give them much attention. Most of them lived in rural areas, or in the dark, fel places of the world. They weren’t accepted by most of the magical community, but that in itself proved problematic because that meant they weren’t regulated and watched. I didn’t know much about them, other than that. In fact, I expected to learn more through the continuing education class I was about to take.

“Well, I can tell you this is a sorcerer’s set up,” Bran said. “Let me see what the spell entails. I’m not going to read it out loud because I don’t know what would happen. For all I know that’s all it takes to cast it. I’d rather you didn’t look at it because your magic isn’t as highly trained as mine, as far as I know.”

“You’re right. Although I’ve had some training, it’s better that you take a look.”

Bran leaned over the book, scanning the text. While he did that, I took a closer look at the planchette, still not touching anything. I shuddered when I realized that it was an actual hand, not a fake. It wasn’t made of plastic, nor of some resin, but it was a mummified hand that had talons and fur. I couldn’t place it, though. I knew it wasn’t an ape’s hand, nor was it a human hand. I pointed to it and motioned to Bree. She leaned in for a closer look and jumped back.

“Holy crap,” she said.

---