10. A Witch’s Aura
10
A WITCH’S AURA
DOM
S o far, everyone we’ve talked to knows nothing of where the warlocks are hiding, nor who is responsible for the influx of the grims.
“It’s not looking too good,” Ollie states as we exit the twelfth establishment we’ve entered, trying to get answers.
“Should we just head back?” I ask, looking at my watch.
It’s going on 11 PM.
“Let’s just try one more place,” he says, crossing the cobblestone street to one last hut in the corner of town.
The building is a patchwork of weathered wood adorned with hanging herbs, dried plants, and mystical symbols that sway gently in the breeze. It looks more like a witch’s hut than a place of commerce or business, like it would meld seamlessly with an enchanted wood, but the sign on the door reads Evernight Elixirs so we stride toward it. The entrance is marked by a crooked door carved from gnarled branches that creak open to reveal a dimly lit interior.
Inside, the air is infused with the earthly aroma of herbs and potions. Shelves line the walls, holding jars filled with colorful powders, roots, and mystical artifacts. A crackling fireplace casts a warm glow, illuminating a cluttered but organized workspace with cauldrons, spell books, and curious trinkets.
The witch’s presence is palpable, leaving a lingering sense of enchantment permeating the air around the hut. The silence stretches before us, and the air feels heavy, like we’re encroaching on someone’s private space rather than a business.
“Hello?” Ollie calls out to the seemingly empty house.
“We should go,” I say, turning to leave.
“Hi, can I help you?” says a soft yet angelic voice.
When I turn around, a gorgeous woman with long red hair and piercing green eyes emerges from the back room.
“Hi, yes. Hello, ma’am,” I stutter. She looks to be only in her twenties, so I don’t know why I’m calling her ma’am. “We were just looking for someone to answer some questions for us. It’s a matter of . . .”
“Life and death,” Ollie finishes for me.
The witch’s eyes soften as they narrow on us. “Oh, shit, is everything okay?”
“Well . . . No,” I say bluntly. “An infestation of grimspawn is taking over the city above. My family and I, well, we’re . . .”
“Vampires,” she finishes for us.
“Yes, and these awful things are infecting our food supply.”
When she wrinkles her nose, Ollie says, “We’re not the only ones in danger. If not managed, it can turn into a pandemic, and then the world itself is screwed.”
The witch takes a whistling pot off the stove and pours some into a cup. “I know of these creatures,” she says, taking the cup and walking over to a table to sit. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”
I look at Ollie, who only looks back at me questioningly.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “You guys are vampires; you probably don’t drink tea, do you?”
“Well, no, but not because we’re vampires. It’s because it’s gross,” I state, sitting with her.
She laughs. “I’m Shayde Cleary. And you are?”
“Nice to meet you, Shayde. I’m Dominic, and this is Ollie. We’re sorry to bother you; we hoped to find someone down here with any answers.”
She unravels her tea bag and dips it into the steaming tea, the steam swirling in the air. “You’re looking for the warlocks that create them, right?”
“Yes,” Ollie says, crossing his legs. “That is correct.”
“We’ve been hearing things,” Shayde says, wrapping her hands around the brown mug. “Several vampires also reached out to our family in the Salem area. My mom has been doing some spells to see what we can find out. We have an energy spirit, her name is Aura—long story and no time to explain. But she did find something that may be helpful.”
I want to know more about the energy spirit, but based on how her gaze intensifies, how the tendon in her neck contracts as though she’s uncomfortable, whatever she’s about to tell us has significant weight. Ollie and I hang on to her every word. The energy in the room is palpable and intense.
“What is it?” Ollie asks, leaning forward on his knees.
Shayde reclines back in her chair, her long red hair flowing over both shoulders and down to her waist as she clasps her tea on her lap. “It’s very vague and doesn’t make much sense to me. It’s a prophecy. There is a woman in Colorado. Her name is Sayah Thorne. I don’t know much else about her, but I do know that for balance to remain in the world, Sayah . . .” she hesitates; a look of pain washes over her face as though a deep sadness has her steeping in sorrow.
“Sayah what?” Ollie presses.
Her gaze collides with mine as though the information will affect me the most. “Sayah has to die.”
“So a random woman in Colorado has to die?” I ask, confused. “What will that do to stop this problem?”
“I don’t know the specifics,” Shayde answers, shaking her head. “And believe me, I’ve been very blatant in my dislike for this resolution, but Aura would never come to this conclusion lightly. She just said the balance is off, and for it to be restored, Sayah must die. She was chosen. It’s out of our control. ”
“And once she dies, all the grimspawn will disappear?” Ollie asks, his tone edging on confusion paired with disbelief.
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Shayde answers, eyeing him pensively. “I think her dying would be the catalyst that causes the downfall of the warlocks. That’s all I know.”
The information oscillates around me for a few seconds. Shayde’s words radiate jangling tension, and it leaks out into the air they punctured, causing my muscles to tense.
I lean forward, interlacing my hands on the table. “We have to kill an innocent woman for balance to be restored?”
Her green eyes go cold, the information unspooling something within them. “I’m afraid so.”
“ S o we’ll have to track this chick down,” Ollie says to our mom once we’ve arrived back at the cabin. She is reclined on the couch in the living room, her feet propped up on my dad’s lap. “You can do your locator spell, and then I’ll go out there and kill her.”
Ollie usually hates killing as much as I do but knows the last time I drained someone inadvertently, I was in a very dark place for a long time afterward. His volunteering to do this saves me from that dark.
“Why do we have to kill her at all?” I say, trying to find the more logical side to this. “Maybe ‘die’ is a metaphor for something. Why can’t we go out there, find her, and get to know her? See why she is the catalyst?”
“I say kill her,” Scarlet agrees.
She and Hattie are sitting on the other couch, Scarlet with her laptop on her lap and Hattie squinting, pointing the remote at the TV.
“I second that,” Hattie adds, finding something to watch and setting the remote down.
“I also think that if a wise witch of Salem and her energy spirit says it’s the only way, then we must listen and act,” my mom concurs with Dad, rubbing one of her feet.
So, everyone in the room wants this stranger dead but me.
“I get what you’re saying, guys, I really do,” I say, sitting on the arm of the recliner Ollie is in. “But hear me out. Let’s do some research first. Maybe there’s something else that can solve this. Maybe she’s just a symbol for something.”
“Says here on her Facebook profile that she’s single,” Scarlet expands, her fingers flicking over the trackpad. “Looks like she just lost her mom. Tear.” She feigns wiping a tear away and gives me a fake sad face.
“See, she’s single,” I exclaim, looking at my mom. “I can go out there and pretend to run into her somewhere and find out what she’s about. Figure out why she may be the catalyst.”
“Looks like she’s marked that she’s going to a concert at this place called the Gothic Theater on Friday,” Scarlet adds, her face aglow from the computer screen. “Now you know a time and place she’ll be.”
“Well, at least I didn’t need to get my hands dirty doing those blasted locator spells,” Mom says, smacking my dad on the shoulder playfully.
“So you’ll let me go out there and try to get answers from her before killing her?” I inquire, looking at my mom and sisters.
My dad has only observed the conversation and hasn’t put his two cents in. Normally he’s never opposed to a good old-fashioned murder, but the cold stare he’s giving the air in front of him is enough to give me chills.
I hate when he’s this quiet.
“You have two weeks to get us any information,” Mom states grimly. “If you don’t find anything out by then, we’ll come to kill her.”