23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Undercurrents of Magic
RAFA
Rafa drove straight to Vicky Spencer-Toke’s home with the grimoire securely placed in Aveline’s bag. The sun had already set, and the lights on Vicky’s porch were on. Rafa parked by the driveway and eyed her old tuxedo cat, Chaplin, perched on the windowsill.
“Looks like she’s home,” he told his sister.
Rafa walked up to the front door and knocked. Vicky emerged a few minutes later, squinting at Rafa. “So you’re back!” she said in a flat but pleasant tone until her eyes drifted to Rafa’s belongings. “But with no cat,” she noticed, sounding disappointed.
Rafa cleared his throat as he took Aveline’s bag and pulled out the grimoire. “I have something more interesting,” he whispered.
Vicky’s large, bespectacled eyes widened. “Oh!” she gasped softly. She quickly surveyed their surroundings. “You two better come in,” she said as she motioned for them to enter.
Vicky closed the door as soon as they stepped foot into the house. “Sit down first,” she commanded. “I’ll hear it over a cuppa’ tea. Have you both eaten dinner yet?”
Rafa and Aveline looked at each other. Aveline lifted an eyebrow at him.
“N-Not yet—we could order in…” Rafa stuttered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have a beef lasagna I cooked just this evening. You guys are lucky,” she said as she sauntered to her kitchen.
Rafa introduced Aveline while they were helping in the kitchen. “Yeah, I remember you…” she cooed at Aveline, “You were always in Hearthstone buried in books each summer when you were younger.”
Aveline chortled. “Wow, you have a really good memory.”
Vicky nodded as she sat on what Rafa assumed to be her chair, because it was the only one with a seat cushion. “Eat first, then we can talk.”
After a few bites of lasagna and a few sips of tea for Vicky, Aveline warmed up the conversation. “You have such a cozy home,” she said, eyes drifting around.
Vicky grinned. “Thanks, between you and me, I was starting to think it was a tomb.” Her eyes widened at her last statement. The two siblings couldn’t help but laugh.
“Now…” Vicky cleared her throat. “What kind of trouble did you kids get into then?” she said, interlacing her fingers on the round wooden dining table.
Rafa dragged the grimoire out of the bag.
Aveline cleared the table as Rafa placed it in the center.
Under the bright dining room lights, he appreciated its craftsmanship.
The deep burgundy leather was still lustrous even after hiding in a study desk for years.
Its golden buckle gleamed under the lights.
Rafa thought it was strange that something such as that lasted, and yet its author was already long gone.
Vicky studied the grimoire for a few seconds before leafing through it. “This is a relic. And she’s a beauty.” She nearly crooned as she said it. “It even smells like old parchment.”
Rafa did not know what old parchment smelled like, but if he could imagine it, it must’ve smelled warm and leathery.
“Tell me how you found it,” she commanded.
The siblings recounted their harrowing experience that afternoon, from the violent twister in the woods to the passageway behind the old clock in Cedarthorne Mansion.
“You mean there was a secret passageway all this time in that old house?” she asked, astonished. Her brows furrowed. “Christ!” she gasped, leaning back on her seat and closing the grimoire carefully. Then, after a momentary pause, she asked, “Tell me, was there anyone living in the chamber?”
“No,” Aveline answered. “It looked abandoned.”
“And…you mentioned the cellar just opened for you, Rafa?” Vicky asked, eyeing Rafa with an expression he could not figure out.
“It all happened so fast…” he began and then remembered one crucial detail. “I called out a name I had read from the black book—Ambrosine Aster.”
Vicky’s face grew pale. “Good Lord…” she said as she slowly rose to her feet. “Did you bring the black books?” she asked them in a low and frail voice.
They both looked at each other, then nodded.
“Bring them to me.”
Rafa ran to the car and pulled the black books from the trunk of his car, and without wasting a moment’s time, gave them to Vicky. She lifted one book with a disgruntled look on her face and leafed through it with the familiarity expected of a town librarian.
After a few minutes of skimming through the pages, she jammed her finger onto a line printed in black ink—Ambrosine Aster, bedlam of the land with her cenacle of crones.
On the adjacent page was a drawing of three lovely women dressed in hoods.
The one in the center looked resplendent and otherworldly.
The artist depicted her barefoot, holding a basket, with flowers in her long hair.
That was Ambrosine. “Remember the old nursery rhyme about the three autumn witches?”
“Yeah,” Aveline responded. “We know it well. The song about the forest, lake, and autumn witch.”
Vicky nodded. “Well, apparently, they were real people. Legend states that Ambrosine lived in those woods for a long time and that her powers were based on the land she owned, tended, and cared for. She was the forest witch. The other crones were Beatriche Slewing, the lake witch, and Crysanthe Fairmaiden, the autumn witch.”
“Wait, isn’t that book supposed to be fiction?” Rafa asked.
“Apparently not,” Aveline mumbled, arms crossed over her chest. “Assuming this is really the grimoire from the Ambrosine Aster, what’s the implication for us now that we’ve discovered it?” Aveline asked.
“I’ll get to that soon…” Vicky said, index finger tracing line per line as she leafed through the book.
After a few minutes, she said, “Ah, it says here the three crones were the initial settlers of St. Stephenshire, using three areas as their base. Since Ambrosine gathered her strength from the land she owned, she tended the areas in Cedarthorne and the land where the old medical center once stood—”
“You mean Autumn Town?” Rafa interjected.
“Yes,” Vicky confirmed and continued, “Beatriche Slewing drew her strength from the emerald lake, while Chrysanthe could only use her talents for sixty days each year, starting on the Autumn Equinox. Here, the black book says that decades later, wealthy land-grabbers discovered the land. Ambrosine, Beatriche, and Chrysanthe retreated to the woods when negotiations became uncivilized, fearing that people would hang them for witchcraft. They all mysteriously vanished. Since then, St. Stephenshire has experienced unending autumn. The book speculates that they all cast an enchantment on the town to protect themselves from being found. That’s all the information we have about them in this book,” Vicky announced, flipping through the black book and closing it with a loud thud.
Aveline, who still had a pensive look to her, cautiously leafed through the grimoire.
“There were some journal entries here—maybe we can make out what happened to them,” she said.
Vicky scooted over so Aveline could sit comfortably beside her.
Together, they skimmed through the many enchantments, scribbles, and recipes until they finally pieced together a coherent narrative.
Aveline took out a leather notebook and started writing notes.
Rafa felt a sudden flare of gratitude for her.
He was always the one calling the shots in the business; he had wished one of his siblings would help him, but when none of them showed interest, like the loving brother he was, he supported them and quietly dealt with the burden of being the sole heir to their family company.
Watching Aveline help him and step into his world allowed him the joy of having a sister who would experience a world outside of her comfort zone for him. He definitely owed her for this.
After Aveline finished jotting down her notes, she lifted her notebook and shared her conclusions.
“According to the texts, we can assume that Ambrosine and Beatriche were formidable wiccans, crones—witches.” She paused, looking at Rafa and then at Vicky.
“Let’s call them that,” she said, as though finally admitting that there were forces at play beyond what they had believed to be true.
“But Chrysanthe was different; she couldn’t use any of her powers to protect herself beyond the sixty-day period each year.
She was apparently a seasonal witch, drawing her strength from the autumn season.
That last spell, the one to extend Chrysanthe’s powers; it was a spell to protect her.
It seems like Ambrosine cast it. She spent four full months preparing all the herbs and potions for it, and apparently, it worked a little too well. ”
“What happened to them…?” Rafa said.
Aveline took a deep breath. “That’s what we don’t know. But in the spells, it says that her land would reject all settlers who came without permission until a worthy person claims this book along with the land.” Aveline stopped reading and looked up at Rafa, and Vicky did the same.
The room was filled with a heavy silence.
Rafa, with arms crossed over his chest, only realized then what they were trying to point out. “Wait…” he said, wearing an unconvinced look. “You guys don’t mean me, right?”
The whole story felt so far-fetched. Rafa, who had valued safe and practical things all his life, could not believe that he was chosen for a duty he knew nothing about. First the family business, now this ominous book?
“Well…” Vicky clasped her hands. “Anyway, this is definitely a priceless relic,” she said, and then rose to her feet slowly. “What do you plan to do with it?”
Rafa walked over and picked up the grimoire. “I’ll bring it to the Philippines for Sal’s art show. But first I need to have it appraised.”
Vicky pursed her lips slightly. “You’re bringing it to your fiancée? That’s romantic—but are you sure that’s wise?”
“Yeah, are you sure, Rafa?” Aveline raised a brow and mimicked Vicky.
“I don’t know,” he said with a wide, toothy smile. “But if this will help us, then it’s worth the trouble.”