[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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The first thing she became aware of was the damp earth between her toes.
She flashed back to the summoning ritual, and her brain had trouble displacing an old memory from a rapidly forming one.
Orana swayed, groping for the support the cold hands had provided.
No one. Nothing.
She stood underneath a large tree, barefoot, her cotton nightgown providing little warmth against the winter chill. When the cold brushed over her shoulders, finally licking at her ears, she knew It was still with her.
Which meant she hadn't wandered outside alone, and she wasn't having a nightmare. Her spell had worked, and the Shadow had been called.
Looking around, Orana couldn't understand why she was at that particular tree at that particular spot.
"What are we doing here?" She peered behind her, spotting a brown and black Tudor manor. "That's my house!"
Shit.
Instinctively, she crouched down. Her bones protested, but she made it low to the ground. If Tristane saw her, or worse, if her daughter saw her...
Something hissed in her ear, hauling her to her feet. All the swift movement spelled out trouble for her neck later.
The iron grip held her upright. Orana's worry prompted her to check the house, but her head only rotated halfway before a force snapped it forward again, tearing a seam across her muscles.
She screamed, but the cold swallowed the sound, and the pain. She was able to breathe and focus. The Shadow didn't waste time or make mistakes. It had dragged her along for a reason, and she had to figure out why.
Orana assessed the tree, the ground, the blades of grass. She circled the area, searching in vain for a clue, but she hadn't any idea of what to look for. The only thing nearby was the tree, and it wasn't anything special. Trees stood as markers, and this one had to be guarding secrets. She expanded her thoughts and inhaled deeply.
White scales veiled her eyes as she recited another old verse. The clouds rolled back, the dark sky boasting a full moon. Luminescent rays poured down, and she increased her plea, directing the light to shine upon the tree. When the scene didn't change, she shifted the light to the ground.
A translucent film revealed a strange scene: a small opening in the ground, with wreaths of white roses lain at either end. Orana approached the edge, apprehension cutting her up. What looked to be a piece of wood sat at the bottom of the tiny, shallow hole.
When she stooped to retrieve it, the cold nearly crippled her. She hesitated, her arm reaching but not grabbing. Orana bit her tongue, the taste of blood strengthening her. Quickly, she plucked the wood from the hole, realizing it wasn't just a piece of wood, but a box. A coffin-shaped box, thus marking the hole as a shallow grave.
"What's in it?" Orana threw the question behind her, but received no answer.
Mustering up the last bit of courage in her heart, she ripped the lid off. She laughed in relief at the contents. A small doll. After examining the toy, the laughter caught in her throat. The features were perfectly rendered, and the dress was the same material...
"Sienna!" Her daughter's name broke out of her.
Her concentration cracked, carrying the reveal spell with it. The moon's light vanished, and when Orana checked her hands, they were empty.
Fresh grief roiled through her gut.
"Sienna," she sobbed.
So now she knew, but she wished she didn't. She wished for the ignorance of before, when she believed her daughter had died of an aneurysm. A tragic hiccup. Instead, her daughter had been murdered. The Shadow had been called all those years ago, and someone had made sure it collected Sienna.
The enormity of betrayal crushed her chest, but she beat back the weight because she needed to do something.
Orana pinched off herbs from a bag at her side, sprinkling them over the grass. She waited, and listened, hopeful that the original spell-caster was inexperienced and had left a signature. An agonizing minute lapsed until faint laughter reverberated across the wind, and then a voice sang out:
"Mama!"
One word, but it told her everything. She knew the voice, and could pick it apart from any others.
Her firstborn had a lot to answer for.
Cold seeped into her heart, and she embraced it.
"Take me back," she rasped.
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A/N: The Dark will conclude in part three. Once more with feeling...almost at the end :-)
