Page 10 of When Bones Whisper
Muscles moved of their own accord in the tops of her hands, rippling under her skin. She tried to steady herself and stand upright, but her muscles protested her every movement. All she wanted to do was take her boots off her aching feet and climb into bed so she could sleep for an entire day, but her mind, unlike her body, was far from weary.
An anxious flurry of thoughts consumed her. She had to find out more about the curse on her family, the vampires, and Avery witches.
A determined sigh pushed from her lips as she struggled to rise, the stiffness in her muscles stretching making her eyes water.
“One problem at a time,” she told herself. Breaking down was not going to help anything and putting off the spell even for one more day would bring her closer to a marriage with a man whosaw her as nothing more than chattel, one who would beat her again when given the chance. When they were gone, she could focus on the next imminent danger.
Her lips trembled, a silent plea escaping when she reached the end of the long hallway, her legs unsteady, threatening to buckle beneath her. Leaning over, she bundled the bones in a makeshift carrier from her skirt, using the material to cocoon them. With her spare hand, she grabbed a candelabra and struck a match. The wicks came alive with flames.
Tilting her head back, she stared up at the attic door, a dark rectangle against the pale ceiling, and tiptoed to reach the hanging string. With a groan of the rusty hinges, the heavy door swung downward, revealing a sturdy wooden ladder that slid out halfway with a clatter.
The dusty air hit the back of her throat and a rattling cough escaped her lips before she heaved the ladder the rest of the way downwards, its legs finally settling with a thud against the carpet.
She glared up into the dark space above her, a cold draft snaking down to chill her to the bone. Her teeth chattered slightly behind her lips, and a dull ache pulsed in her neck as she strained to look up. She grabbed the candelabra she’d set down beside her and lifted the glow of the candles to meet the blackness of the attic.
Dark images of shadowy creatures and evil spirits that could be lurking up there spun in her mind. Her father had always said Charlotte had such a vivid imagination, which she was finding to be more of a curse than a blessing.
Her limbs seized, a shudder wracking her body from head to toe. A thick lump in her throat constricted her breathing as she stepped onto the first step of the ladder, the aged wood creaking under her weight. The overwhelming need to run seized her, causing her to quickly close her eyes.
“There is nothing up there that can hurt me,” she whispered to herself in the smallest of voices, as if something might hear her.
A second, louder creak echoed as she ascended with the candelabra, her other hand holding her skirt bundled with the bones. Peeking inside, she winced, picturing a ghostly figure creeping towards her on all fours.
She shook her head. The attic was eerie enough without her imagination adding to it.
I’m fine. It’s just an attic. It’s just another room.
Fighting back the urge to close her eyes, she set down the candle and climbed inside, coming face to face with the musty wooden floor. The bones scattered over the boards, and she quickly gathered them. She couldn’t afford to give up now, despite wanting to descend the ladder and go back to her room.
One spell and it’ll be over,she said internally, urging herself forward.I can do this.
In the dim light of the dusty attic, Charlotte spotted the ornately carved ancient mirror leaning against the wall, its surface clouded by a net of cobwebs. In front of it were heavy chests. Approaching slowly, she paused a few feet from the massive frame, its intricate carvings of vines and roses catching the candlelight. It had been twenty years since she’d first found it,when she’d climbed up there during a game of hide and seek with Alice.
With a gulp, she bent down and placed the bones before the mirror. Kneeling on the dusty floorboards, she opened an old chest, the scent of rosemary reaching her nose as she rummaged through her great-grandmother's grimoires until she found a set of unused black candles and a ritual dagger at the bottom. Rustling through the pages, she found the spell she’d read years before, to unlock the mirror using blood magic. After all, it was her bloodline that cursed the mirror centuries ago, so she was the last who could open it. The bones shook against the boards, as if they could sense the evil trapped behind the murky glass. Every spell required an anchor, and she wasn’t going to use herself, considering the darkness attached to the object. The bones of her ancestor, along with a few drops of her blood, would be perfect.
Her chest heaved as she stared back at herself, half expecting to see something pop up in the darkness behind her. With trembling fingers, Charlotte leaned forward, stretching out her spine, and brushed her ringed fingers against the surface.
She hated mirrors. It was no wonder that the prison made for whatever ancient evil lurked inside was created using one. They were the most powerful objects a witch could use. Not only did they reveal demonic entities, as they could not hide from their own reflection, but they were portals too, for spirits. It was why priests used them during exorcisms. Demons could not bear to see themselves and witness their once beautiful souls now twisted and ugly. It was ironic, Charlotte thought, how they embodieddarkness and yet did not wish to perceive the evil they had become.
Which was why Charlotte was so afraid when she peered deeper and noticed the black of her pupils expanding until it stole every fleck of green from her irises. Her reflection vanished and the mirror contorted into a flurry of grotesque faces, their hands pressing up against the inside of the glass. She recoiled with a gasp, her heart pounding in her ears.
Using the candelabra, Charlotte passed the flame onto the wicks of four candles that were inside the chest and placed them around the neatly stacked ivory bones.
The ritual knife was heavier than she expected. Her fingers curled around the obsidian handle with a sapphire set in the middle, her lips parting when the flames on the four candles grew taller, as if the candles were greeting the dagger.
She hissed a breath between her teeth when she dragged the blade diagonally across the pad of her index finger. Bright red blood coated the sharp edge. Clamping her eyes shut, she let out a groan when she dug deeper, ensuring there was enough blood. Tipping the dagger down, she watched as drops of blood pooled at the end before falling onto the bones below. Something was working, because they sizzled the moment the blood came in contact with the femur.
“Ouch!” She glanced at her finger, the stabbing pain intensifying as the blood turned darker. It sprawled out like veins, covering the bones in a spiderweb of red. Panting, she clasped herwrist with her other hand, groaning as the last remnants of energy left her body.
The candles were brighter than ever, the flames so tall they fought off the cold draft circling the attic. The glass of the mirror rippled, and a rush of unintelligible whispers sounded from the bones.
With a thick swallow, Charlotte pulled out the hairs from the crease of her corset that she’d gathered that morning from her cousin’s comb, along with a nail clipping she’d found from her uncle that she’d lodged into a small slit inside of her boot. Grimacing and wrinkling her nose, she placed them on the bones, glad to be rid of the essence of her uncle and cousin after carrying them around with her all day.
Careful with her intonation, and grateful for her Latin lessons as a child, she spoke the incantation from the grimoire aloud. “Haec ossa exhauri ut hoc incantamentum ancorare possis. Aperi portam ad hoc speculum sanguine sanguinis mei, et pone malum viris quibus haec pertinent adhaerens et eos in speculo include. Include eos in perpetuum et nihil aliud praeterire sinas.”
She watched as the nails, hair, and blood vanished, absorbed into the cold, hard bones. A whoosh of wind blasted through the attic, sending her sprawling back from the mirror. The surface turned dark, reflecting the last bit of light before it stilled. Behind the glass, she glimpsed her uncle’s face, warped with fear as he stared at her, with only the whites of his eyes. Her cousin was screaming, at least she assumed, by the way his mouth hung open, but only silence surrounded her.
It was done. They were gone, but something else had changed. A stench of sulfur pinched the dusty air, and the temperature dove into freezing.
