[Previously FEATURED] Retail workers have the least chance of being haunted, hurt, or killed. At least, that's what three cashiers assume. When Temple, Marilyn, and Martine meet little Sienna, they find out how wrong they are about job security.
S...
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She had never believed in Its power before.
Not until that day.
Then her life had changed, and she couldn't ignore the truth any longer.
Witchcraft was real, and it had ruined everything. The only way to gain a measure of control was to master gifts others in her family already had. She had been the one to refute her roots, and the blind curtain had cost her.
Even thirty years later, recalling Sienna's laugh pierced her heart.
Speaking of...
Orana dug the blade deeper into the bear cub's heart. The ritual required commitment, and the blood of the sacred kamui, and now she commanded both. She slathered the blood along her face, uplifting her gaze to the glittering stars. She threw out her arms, and sang out the right words:
"On the night of this day, A new beginning starts. Bring me the dark, and we will never be apart."
Thunder resounded in the small clearing, but Orana wasn't afraid. Her spell was working, and the elements responded in kind. Wind lashed the trees, raining down a spiral of leaves. Clouds hovered and expanded, the beginnings of what promised to be a kickass storm. She closed her eyes and waited for the first rain drop. The wind continued to tear at her dress, and one of her bowls flew away to an unknown corner of the forest. She ignored everything and waited.
When the rain failed to fall, she remained fixed in position, intent on seeing things through.
A knock startled her concentration, and the focal point on the transporter snapped. Orana opened her eyes and was right back in her room, a staid area that smelled of mold, perfume, and weed.
"Grandma, what are you doing?"
Orana waved a hand over her face, removing the dried blood in a matter of seconds. Her granddaughter, Tristane, poked her head in the door, her dark coloring a painful reminder of the daughter she'd lost so long ago.
"Are you okay? I thought I heard something." The teen tip-toed in the room, more than aware of her grandmother's temper when interrupted.
She summoned a smile. "I'm fine, dear. Nothing today, okay, I swear."
Tristane narrowed her eyes. "Then what's this?" She gingerly picked something from Orana's thick black and pepper strands, holding it up between them.
A leaf.
"Isn't it obvious?" Orana laughed. "I'm meeting a lover out in the woods."
Tristane balked. "Gross, Grandma! Please don't joke like that," but her small grin belied her protest. "I guess I don't have anything to tell mom. You've been good."
Orana occupied herself by swirling lavender and rose petals in a bowl of water near the foot of her bed. She added new scents daily, as she found it calming.
"Yes, tell your mother I've been good, and everything's fine."
It didn't work anyway, damnit.
Tristane bowed out of the room, and Orana continued mixing the lavender and rose, eyes clouding over with a new recitation.
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She used to be afraid of trying, afraid of aggression, afraid of persistence.
Sienna's death changed so much.
Mostly, the stubborn asshole side of her blossomed.
Even though the first conjure didn't take, she was hopeful that the lavender rose-water summons would mitigate some effect, though it would take longer. Three nights later, she had an answer, and it whispered at the side of her bed.
At first, a draft of cold air tickled her cheeks. Then, a drop of water splashed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she checked for the source of the disturbance. The bay window was closed, and her bedroom door was closed. A sudden flood of water spilled from above her, drenching her, and within minutes, threatening to drown her. She coughed and sputtered, curling up into a ball. Just as suddenly as the storm had raged, it stopped.
She patted her face, her hair, her clothes. All dry.
Next to her, a dark mass shifted, with no point in origin. Each shift was as the beat of a heartbeat, or something breathing. And each shift expelled a chill, so that the room filled up with dread.
More insistent whispers slammed her ears, nothing so benign as discernible speech, more like a feeling.
Why?
"Why what?" she whispered to the side of her, where the cold emanated the most.
Icy fingers wrapped around her throat, not quite squeezing, but exerting enough force to draw her understanding.
"I called you because you took her from me," she rasped. "She was mine, and you took her. Why?"
The whispers thundered to a roar. Again, none of what was communicated qualified as words, but Orana translated as best she could.
"Someone called you that day? Not me! Show me who did it!" She pushed the words through the iron clasp cutting off her airway.
An icy grip intertwined with her fingers, squeezed, and then dragged.
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A/N: A rough beginning to the end. Part two will be the conclusion of The Dark, unless I'm inspired once again to add another chapter. Man, I've added more false endings to this story than LoTR :D
