Chapter 36
Nausea roiled Jasper’s gut. If he were being honest with himself, it had been that way since the moment Thomas and Maeve walked into the cabin. It had grown worse while they prepped for the spell—well, the way the witch talked about it, seemed more like a full-blown exorcism. He suspected Maeve had purposefully used the term “spell” to assuage his fears over just how much danger Savannah faced.
The moment was finally here, Jasper tasted the bile at the back of his throat. He willed his body not to give in, to be strong for Savannah and for the baby, to not show weakness. But the truth was he’d never been more frightened. He’d never had anything to lose. Now, he had everything to lose. A new emotion—fear. If only he could use his guardian angel blade and cut it out of his very soul. Instead, he flashed his cockiest, self-assured smile, squeezed Savannah’s hand, and silently prayed this worked.
“It’s going to be fine. I promise.” The love of his life pressed her lips to the top of his hand.
“That’s my line.” Wasn’t he the one supposed to be strong, supportive, and calming for her? Yet here she was being a rock for him. A quiver of guilt twisted his gut.
Get it together! Be the man Savannah deserves!
The sound of Thomas repeatedly clearing his throat raked against Jasper’s already frayed nerves. He glared at the professor but immediately regretted it upon seeing the remorseful expression cross his features. The man was tense. Didn’t take an empathic angel to sense that, but something more dimmed the aura around his heart chakra, and his hands were uncontrollably shaking while he held two long-stemmed sage candles with melting wax dripping over his fingers onto the wooden floors. Thomas didn’t even appear to notice, nor wince in pain.
Maeve stood silently… calmly. Too calm. Her aura was as serene as a glacial lake reflecting the crystal blue sky without even the smallest, fluffiest cloud to blemish the scene. Somehow it didn’t ease Jasper’s worry. Sure, she was the resident witch. The supposed expert. Perhaps she was just that confident. Or a damn fine actress. Her eyes were clear, her features softened, not tense as opposed to Thomas who could crack his own teeth if his jaw clenched any tighter.
“Jasper,”—Thomas beckoned him toward him, away from Savannah with one finger of the hand mostly coated with cooling wax—“you’ll need to join us…over here. It’ll be…safer.”
Safer. For whom?
Instead of pressing the question, he fought against every fiber of his being and…obeyed. Not something he was accustomed to doing. “I’m right here, Savannah. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“I know, silly.” Her smile lit up the otherwise dark room. All the curtains had been pulled; all the lights were off. If not for the tiny flickering candles in Thomas’s hands, it’d be pitch black.
Maeve nodded to Thomas who handed Jasper one of the candles, spilling more wax onto the floor. All the furniture had been moved against the walls except for the sofa where Savannah lay in the middle of the room wrapped in a silk bathrobe without a belt. On the floor, Thomas had drawn a sigil with what Jasper didn’t want to know. It looked like blood, smelled worse than horse dung, and had singed the wood like acid.
“Now what?” Despite the chill—for Maeve had insisted there could be nothing electrical working or plugged in, not even the gas logs in the fireplace—a droplet of sweat dripped into Jasper’s eye.
“Savannah, just lay back and close your eyes. Relax.”
Relax? Yeah, right. Like anyone could do that right now, but Savannah murmured a reply and went still as stone.
“Relax. We’re not playing, light-as-a-feather, stiff-as-a-board,” Maeve chided.
Savannah inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Okay, I’m trying.” She repeated the breathing exercises he’d taught her when she’d been a child learning to control her spiritual gifts. Oh, how far away that seemed now.
The room fell silent except for Savannah’s breathing and Jasper’s heart thundering in his chest.
Maeve began walking Savannah through some typical hypnosis exercises, talking her down until her muscles loosened and her breathing became regulated as if in sleep. One arm that had been draped over her belly fell over the edge of the sofa, her knuckles grazing the floor. A bell chimed once. He hadn’t even noticed the witch had been holding one. By the looks of it, a traditional Tibetan meditation bell. She began to chant so low it came out more like a humming, but Jasper knew the words. How many times over his six centuries of life had he recited the same Buddhist singing scripture? His lips formed the words to join in.
Thomas had informed him earlier that Maeve wasn’t your typical witch. She pulled from every known, modern, ancient healing module ever written or spoken. She didn’t shy away from interconnecting religions with pagan rites. By the looks of all the equipment she’d spread out around the room—crucifix affixed to one arm of the couch, Aramaic symbols on the ceiling, Tibetan bells and singing bowls on the floor behind Maeve, some hoodoo protection bags placed with selenite towers in the four corners of the room, and not to mention the assortment of candles and symbols—their little cabin had been turned into a veritable magic shop that could substitute for a religious book store in just about any country in the world. How she’d gotten all this stuff through airport security was a miracle.
Oh, that’s right. She used a cloaking spell! Duh!
Maeve finished singing then placed the bell at her feet before drawing something from her skirt pocket—a rosary of stone so deep crimson that in the eerie candlelight they looked like they gleamed with blood. Stepping toward the sofa, her fingers rubbed the beads while she moved into a familiar Catholic exorcism rite. She’d promised it wasn’t a complete exorcism as that’d be too risky for the baby, but the logic had been based on similar principles. They had to beat back the goddess possession and lock Manea away behind a shield so she could no longer hurt anyone. Then when the baby was born, and Savannah was strong enough, they’d evict the bitch for good.
Knowing that still didn’t stop the quaking in his bones. In fact, the familiarity of the words didn’t bring him any comfort, instead only ramped up cold fear. His skin prickled with raised gooseflesh, and he was unable to stifle the violent tremor erupting up his spine.
The witch held her hands over Savannah’s prone body while chanting. Thomas stepped up to the sofa with the candles. Wax dripped over the tilted sticks to splatter up and down Savannah from the tip of her head to two inches below her feet. All the while, Thomas was mumbling another incantation—definitely not in Latin though. In fact, Jasper couldn’t place the language at all but believed in his heart that he should know it. Maeve moved to stand at one end of the sofa by Savannah’s head while Thomas stood at her feet.
Now it was his turn. With the candle in one hand and a pristine dove feather of purest white in the other, he stepped forward. He kneeled beside Savannah at her belly, running the feather over her body before searing it in the candle’s flame and repeating the process. He prayed the hot wax and now the burned feather against Savannah’s skin didn’t cause her any pain and didn’t mar her perfect skin. He did all this in silence for his part was spoken telepathically in his native French while Maeve and Thomas continued, their voices rising.
A harsh wind battered against the sides of the cabin, rattling the windows, and even causing something in the kitchen to clatter to the floor. When they’d prepared for the spell, it had been such a tranquil evening outside with the stars sparkling like billions of diamonds against a velvety cloth of midnight black. Not a cloud had marred the sky. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been a sound from the forest either except for the single cry of a lone eagle intermingled with the soft cooing of an owl. Not so much as a cricket.
Maeve’s voice stilled for the briefest moment. Her gaze flashed to Thomas then she continued as if nothing had happened.
The air in the cabin had already been slightly chilled, but with Savannah’s next exhalation, a puff of white, water vapor rose from her blueish lips. She didn’t shiver. Her chest barely rose and fell with the action of breathing.
A blast of icy wind twirled around them, first slowly then building up speed until everyone’s hair whipped around their heads and the candle flames flickered out casting them in complete darkness.
That can’t be a good sign.
Something or someone moaned loudly.
A faint scratching noise pierced the darkness. The wind that moments ago had been hurricane strength, died down until the only movement came from their own breaths. The scratching became more hurried and frantic until finally a spark caught into a tiny flame Thomas held in his left hand.
“What the hell just happened?” Jasper’s voice trembled along with the rest of his body from the frigid temperature and the icy coating of unfamiliar fear.
Thomas fumbled with the candle he held in one hand while trying to light it again with the faltering flame of the matchstick. His hands were shaking so badly it was a wonder he didn’t drop the match altogether.
With the candle finally lit, Jasper glanced over to where Maeve had been at the head of the sofa. She stood there, still like a statue. Her eyes gleamed in the scant light. He looked over to Thomas, who despite having lit the candle again, was also still and blanched white like polished marble. Despite the chaos of moments earlier, no one had spoken a word. Jasper bent to check on Savannah.
His hand reached to stroke her cheek but met only the soft fleece of the blanket. His eyes squinted and he dropped to his knees. It took several moments for the facts to click into place inside his brain.
Savannah was gone.