Authors: Jamieson Wolf
"Where were you when this was all happening?" Cecelia asked. "You were in the house the entire time, how could you not know?"
"That's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. They reached the attic and Moe went to the second door. "Wait here a minute," he said, sliding through the walls.
"Certainly knows how to make an exit," Cecelia said.
"An admirable trait in a ghost," David replied.
There was a loud crack and they watched the doorknob fall to the floor. Moe opened the door and stood back. On the bed was the most beautiful woman David had ever seen. Her loose blouse was a pale blue that perfectly matched her blonde hair and blue eyes. He was about to ask who she was when Cecelia spoke.
"Monica!" she whispered.
Monica looked up at the sound of her name. "Cecelia?" she said. "Cecelia? Mom? Is that really you?"
Cecelia went to her and wrapped Monica in an embrace. "Oh, my child, my sweet child," she said.
* * * * *
They were sitting in Monica's small bedroom as she could not leave it. Moe was sitting in the soft chair by the window and Monica and Cecelia both sat on the bed. David stood near the door. He had prepared the sandwiches and pop they were now eating. Monica and Moe, being dead, didn't need to eat.
"So, Monica is your daughter," Moe said softly.
Cecelia swallowed and nodded, smiling. "Yes. I said before that I left the Coven when the girl was killed. Monica was my daughter and she was taken from me and executed here, without my knowledge."
"Why didn't you come back for me, Mama?" Monica said. "Why did you leave me here?"
"When you were taken from me, I was devastated." Cecelia put down her pop and held her daughters hands. "I was so depressed, my child. I could neither eat nor sleep for days after they told me what they did to you. Finally, I left the Coven, believing you dead and gone. I couldn't even bare to enter the room where you had died. It was too painful for me."
"So why have you come back now?" Monica asked.
"I am the new head of the Coven. I have always lived close. I could not bear to leave the area, to leave your body. I have lived near this house since I left, all those decades ago. I came back because the house has pulled me back, has involved all of us in Poppy's quest. Now, with Karma's death, my past becomes my future."
Monica reached out and touched her mother’s face. "I can't believe it's really you," she said.
"Look at the woman you've grown into," Cecelia said.
"Magic can do wonders," Monica said.
"There's something I don't understand," Moe said. "Monica died over a hundred years ago. . .how is it you're her mother?"
Cecelia smiled. "I am a lot older than I look," she said coyly.
"So what happens now?" David asked. "Poppy and Alicia are on the quest. . .where does that leave us?"
"Right where we are," Cecelia said. "Poppy needs to finish her quest on her own. Halloween is in two weeks time," she said. "They have been inside the Coven House for two weeks now. . .but time there is different than time here. All we can do is hope that they finish the quest and that they are successful. Our prayers have to be with them."
"What if they don't finish the quest?" Moe asked.
"Then I don't know what will happen," Cecelia said. "We can only hope that they succeed."
"I think they will," David said. "Poppy is one tough broad."
"Mama," Monica said.
"What is it, my child?"
"I need help with something." Monica was looking at the coverlet of her bed, running her fingers along its pattern.
"Anything, and I shall see what I can do."
"I want to leave this room," she said. She looked at Moe, smiled and looked back to her mother. "I have been trapped here since my death and have yet to see outside the four walls of this room. I have been imprisoned here since my death and I want to get out." She smiled. "I'm finally in love with someone Mama and I want to experience that. I know I'm dead, but should a ghost spend their afterlife imprisoned?"
Cecelia smiled. "No, they should not."
"Then let's see what we can do to get me out of here, huh?" Monica said.
"It's never been done, though, not that I've heard of," Cecelia said. "I don't know if it can be done." Cecelia saw Monica's face fall, sadness creeping in. "But," she added. "We can certainly try, can't we?"
With a shout of glee, Monica hugged her mother. Cecelia hugged her back, long and hard. It felt good to have her daughter back. It felt right. Cecelia smiled to herself and hugged her daughter closer.
Chapter Twenty Three
Beginning
Poppy awoke to the sound of the wind whistling through the cave’s entrance. It made a soft whistling sound that reminded her of boats on water. She opened her eyes. The cave was still dark, as the sun had not risen. Poppy thought it odd that an Otherworld inside a house should have a sun, but then again, everything about this situation was odd. She wasn't surprised that this world defied logic. It was her world too, she thought. She had created the canvas on which she would have her quest. She had dreamed this place up herself, she knew that now. She supposed that the terrain for each quest would be different, depending on the Witch that was taking the quest.
She lay on the ground, Alicia beside her. They had found blankets and a supply of food in the cave. Evidently, they weren't going to starve and they weren't going to die of cold. She wondered if she imagined anything else they needed wither or not it would appear. She had created the space around them, could she not create other things as well? As she had created this world around her, she supposed that she should give it a name. She had never had the pleasure of giving things names. When she was a child, she had never had a pet because her mother was constantly moving them around, looking for more work, more johns with which she could turn a trick. She had never named a cat or a dog. She had never even owned a doll. So, the prospect of naming an entire world was a little daunting.
She closed her eyes again and tried to think of a name for this strange Otherworld she found herself in. When nothing came, she did the next best thing: put her ear right to the ground and listened. At first, she didn't hear anything but the sound of her own heart beat in her ears. But then, slowly, softly, she heard a sound coming from the earth below her. It sounded like wind moved beneath the earth and she had to listen for some time before she could distinguish the rhythm. It sounded like a word. She mustered up her courage and spoke.
"Ashling," Poppy repeated out loud. "Ashling," she said again.
The land began to shake softly around her, vibrating with a hum. It stopped as quickly as it started. It seemed that the Otherworld liked its new name. She smiled to herself and went back to sleep.
* * * * *
When she awoke again, it was daytime. Alicia was making breakfast at a fire: eggs and toast and coffee. Odd food for an Otherworld, but who was Poppy to judge? She was eternally thankful for the coffee. She had created it after all. Over breakfast, Alicia began Poppy's lessons.
"The first thing you have to do," Alicia said, "is to close your eyes. You have to learn what form you are going to change into."
"It's that easy? I can tell what I am by just closing my eyes?"
"Well, it's not that easy, but here, in the Otherworld, your magic is heightened. Things will come to you easier here. Besides, your body already knows what shape it can change into, you just have to listen to it. It's inside you already, Poppy."
When Poppy closed her eyes, she dreamt. She still felt Alicia beside her, but she was in the distance. It came to her quickly and she had the strange feeling that she had dreamt this dream before, that it ran through her blood like electricity, flowing through her because it was part of her.
* * * * *
The crow had appeared. Poppy locked eyes with it through the thin glass of her bedroom window. A shiver always passed down her spine when she saw it and she felt it now; cold, icy. Intoxicating. Even fear could be an aphrodisiac. The crow cawed at her from the windowsill. It smashed its beak into the glass, making the hole in the pane larger. Her blood decorated the serrated edges of the glass and the crow stuck out its little black tongue and licked, no, savoured her blood.
When the crow’s tongue made contact with Poppy's blood, a sound, a clack, resounded inside Poppy's head. The world seemed a little bit clearer. A little bit more bearable. Something was different. The wind whistled past the hole in the window. Except now it sounded like music, notes hung in the air falling to the ground and shattering round her. She looked down at herself and cawed in surprise. She had grown feathers. And clawed feet. And she heard voices.
No, that wasn't quite right. It was a voice, repeated a million times. It was as if the owner of the voice didn't know which voice he was comfortable with, or as if the voice itself was surrounded by water. There was a rush of air before the voice spoke. . . .
She was cawing. With a clarity that bordered on awe, Poppy realized that she was different, that she was changing. She was becoming. Poppy shook her head and cawed. And realised something else. Much like
Alice
through the rabbit hole, she had changed, become, developed. She was a crow, black-winged and raven-feathered. Red tears formed in the black feathers around her eyes. They fell to the floor to mingle with the blood that had slipped in amongst the cracks in the floorboards of her room to mingle with the dust beneath her. . . .
* * * * *
Poppy opened her eyes with a gasp, taking in large deep breaths to fill her lungs, which felt as if they were filled with water. She felt tears on her face and reached up to wipe them away, only to have her hand covered in red blood-tears. She looked up at Alicia, who was regarding her with a worried expression, and spoke, her voice soft.
"I'm a Crow," she said. "I'm a Crow."
She shivered. Poppy looked down at her hand. Where the crow had bitten her was a small black mark, shaped like a wing. She held it to her forehead and her hand was cool against her burning hot skin.
Chapter Twenty Four
Displeasure
Mistress clicked her long red nails on her oak wood desk. She was not happy and impatience was making her face drawn and tight. She had to look beautiful at all times, because the world must see beauty on the outside. She could not believe her luck. Not only had Daphne let the first Shape Shifter in a thousand years walk out of her store, but the girl had begun her quest. She could feel Poppy inside her blood. She had wanted to house that power, to breathe it in. And she would. It would just take some time.
Time was something she had a lot of. Since she had been shut out of the Coven, exiled for her actions, she had nothing but time on her hands. It wrapped itself about her like a heavy cloak, warm and suffocating. When she had locked Monica inside the hidden room in the attic, she had such dreams then. For only she understood the House and its needs. Only she was able to hear its wants and desires and needs. She knew that the house and the Coven existed in a balance: each respecting the others power. But she knew that, properly housed, the power in the Coven House would be legendary.
She had come to the conclusion that if she worshiped the House, maybe she would discover some way of tapping into the House’s power and increasing her own. Then, she had been the head of the Coven and one of the most powerful Witches in creation. The world was her oyster, she its pearl.
Mistress had begun to read. She had so wanted to solve the riddle of the House and how it had come to be filled with so much magic. Everything she read about worship talked about a sacrifice of some kind and this had seemed to her like good logic. For if one person had to die in order for her to become the most powerful she had ever been, what of that? She had thought for weeks about who she would choose to sacrifice. She was the Head of the Coven, so her word would not be challenged. She told the Coven that the sacrifice would ensure the House kept them safe. She told them nothing of her dreams of power. Her word would not be challenged, except by one Witch. Mistress remembered the day Cecelia Robinson had come to talk to her.
"You can't do this thing," she had said. "This won't give the house power. This will upset it."
"What are you?" Mistress had asked. "The Head? No, I believe that is me. Do not question my logic."
"If you do this, you will have an innocent's blood on your hands."
"Needs must, Cecelia," she had said. "Needs must."
"But need does not demand death. We can offer our thanks to the House by devotions and prayers. Not by death and blood."
"I will do as I wish. You cannot change my mind on this matter."
"What would your daughter say? Your granddaughter Karma?"
"They support me, as do all the other Witches in this Coven." Mistress thought about Karma now and wondered, vaguely, where her granddaughter was. She would be the Head of the Coven now, what with everyone else gone. She had given Daphne orders only to follow Poppy. She had not thought ahead to broaden her surveillance.