Chapter 4 - Abigail
Abigail White opened her eyes, waking up and coming instantly alert.
She was lying in her sleeping nook, which was a bed hung four feet below the ceiling in the attic of Kurzwell Townhouse, Abigail’s home in Serenity.
Her bed hung suspended because it was the safest way for her to sleep, offering her the most protection from being found by the demon in her slumber.
Abigail fished a remote control out from under her pillow and pressed a button, which lowered the whole bed to the floor.
She pushed to her feet, feeling cranky and sore, her mind swirling with thoughts of everyone she hated.
The list was long, and she muttered viciously about it as she made her way past a display wall of magical whirligigs and curios, toward the tiny stairwell that led down to the third floor.
Crimson-colored haze slid across the floor all around her, like smoke on water. Abigail paid it no mind.
Carefully, she picked her way down the creaky stairwell, opened the door at the bottom, and entered an immaculate bedroom with an antique dresser and a neatly made bed.
Here, there was no haze on the floor except the tendrils that followed her out of the stairwell.
She hurried across the room to another door—which led past a walk-in closet into a bathroom, where she undressed, kicking off her slippers, then removing her sleeping gown and the satin wrap around her hair.
She cleaned herself slowly, meticulously, brushing her ancient teeth, washing her face and body, then setting her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
She applied various oils, herbs and lotions, quietly muttering to herself.
Her life was complicated, and she had to keep up the patter to herself, or risk losing the thread.
Abigail finished her morning ritual, then walked into the large closet, stopping just inside the door at her ring rack for her wedding rings, putting three on the ring finger of one hand, and three on the ring finger of the other.
She moved in further, past clothes and shoes lining both walls.
She pulled on a tan satin slip, then stepped deeper into the closet to check her notes to herself, left on a corkboard on the wall.
‘Clean cask immediately,’ was the only note there, and it was a strange note, because she’d cleaned her cask last night before bed, just as she always did, but she didn’t pay it any mind. This had happened before and there’d always been a good reason.
Abigail headed even deeper into the closet and picked out a vintage powder-blue skirt suit with three-quarter sleeves and giant fur cuffs.
She dressed methodically, adding pantyhose and vintage, lace oxford shoes.
She dropped her laundry down the chute, then made her way deeper, passing several intact fox pelts designed as stoles.
They hung on hangers, faces clipped to tails.
A recliner sat near the back wall, nestled between two walls full of clothing.
Abigail sat in it and put her feet up, thinking she would just rest for a moment or two, while some silently busy part of her mind knew she was sitting for another reason.
Next to the chair, on the wall, was a glittering square of metal—she reached over and pressed her palm to it, like she’d done thousands of times before.
A chime sounded, then a small, half-sized door swung open.
Crimson haze leaked out, sliding along the floor, collecting at the base of the recliner.
BAM.
Something hit Abigail on the top of the head with enough force to rock her head to the side. She cried out and held her head with her hands as she was filled with power and knowing.
She quieted and dropped her hands to her lap, taking deep breaths.
Her chest burned with her mark, but she ignored it.
She reached into the darkness of the opening behind the small door and retrieved something.
It was her cask, her most valuable accessory, a fox pelt she wore each day.
She fashioned it just-so around her shoulders, then got up out of the chair.
Coffee could wait. The day was a significant one and she had important business to attend to as soon as possible.
She walked out of the closet, across the room, and right back up the attic steps
At the top of the steps, she stopped to catch her breath, then she headed for her custom-made rolltop desk, her shoes kicking up whirls and eddies of crimson smoke—which was known as power without form and called ‘vvyst’.
It tended to collect around her and stick to her, which she didn’t mind because vvyst was so very useful…
and since most people couldn’t even see it.
Magic was nothing more than vvyst, sent to do one's bidding in creative ways.
It was only when someone couldn't see the vvyst that they called it magic.
Vvyst could be harvested from the Meadow or the Pravus because both siphoned it from The Haven.
At the desk, Abigail knocked twice on the top of it, and the rolltop rolled up. There sat a thick book with a canvas cover, and on the cover was stamped an image of a black fheargacha, a ritualistic object of power worn on a fingertip.
Abigail opened the book and paged through it until she found what she wanted—an essay about three-quarters of the way through the book titled, The Taking. Today’s date was given, and below it:
The Taking is a multi-world incident concerning worlds Ula, Orion, and Dilmet.
On Ula, a human child will be taken by the demon to use as a bargaining chip for the life of a vodvod’s mate.
The child will be recovered, unharmed. The mate will be killed in the child’s stead, but will be given another chance at life, causing all doors to be open for a time—
Abigail froze, her eyes stuck on the last word she read, as something inside her rose up and told her to be still. It was her fox, alerting her to danger coming fast—the demon ripping his way between dimensions.
Khain, she thought, willing herself to control her fear of him. He’s in the Ula—close. She didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe. She listened and she opened her senses wide.
From somewhere outside, a child screamed. Abigail’s sense of self-preservation fractured. She turned and ran for the steps, with only one thought on her mind—Paisley.
The scream abruptly cut off. The sense of danger receded as the demon withdrew back into his own hell world.
Behind her, something lit up brightly, confirming Abigail’s worst fear. She stopped at the top of the steps and turned around to look. Along one wall were three pieces of fabric hung like flags. The last one in the row was glowing, indicating it had activated.
Paisley’s veil being activated meant only one thing. She’d been taken to the Pravus.
Abigail clutched her chest and made her way down the steps as fast as she could.
It wasn’t supposed to be Paisley! At the bottom, she rushed through the bedroom into a wide hallway, then down the hall to an elevator.
She got in and mashed the button marked 1, muttering ‘fast, go fast.’ Vvyst flowed down her finger, onto the button and into the panel, creating crimson smoke and white sparks.
The elevator abruptly dropped, and she was thrown into the back wall, vvyst automatically surrounding her in a puff like an airbag, protecting her.
The elevator stopped with a lurch, and the door opened.
Abigail hurried out into the front hall and through the oversized front doors, past white columns and down the front steps.
She didn’t stop until she made it to her golf cart parked near a shed.
The late October air was frigid, and the trees in her yard were bare, but there was no snow on the ground. She never thought about a coat, fear heating her from the inside out.
She climbed into the golf cart, then zoomed down the path to the lower road, where several of her progeny lived.
In under a minute, she pulled up at her granddaughter Mina’s house, which was where four-year-old Paisley stayed during the three days each month that her mother, Sage, another of Abigail’s granddaughters, was ‘in treatment’, meaning Abigail had her locked up tight.
Abigail parked near a hedge and rushed to Mina’s front door. It was locked.
“Molofi galif”” she hissed with one hand on the doorknob, the other hand on the nose of her cask, speaking powerful words of an ancient spell.
ZAP. Crimson smoke leaked from the keyhole.
Abigail turned it and pushed inside into the entryway.
Rissa, another of her granddaughters, was rushing down the steps, dressed in black pants and a dark sweater, her long brown hair wet and plastered to her face like she’d just gotten out of the shower, a look of horror on her face.
Rissa, aged 29, was actually Abigail’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter.
Or something. Abigail had given up counting ‘greats’ long ago.
They stopped and locked eyes, Rissa pointed at the back door, and they both ran for it at the same time. They reached the yard, and Mina, Rissa’s mom, came running from the far corner. She wore jeans and a jacket, her long brown hair twisted into a bun on top of her head.
“He took her,” Mina yelled, her voice breaking, as she pointed across the yard. “I was right there, raking leaves, and she was jumping in the pile! He didn’t even see me—just snatched her out of the pile and disappeared with her still screaming—he pulled her right into the Pravus!”
Mina ran for Abigail, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, making Abigail’s head fly.
Abigail pulled away and spun vvyst around herself to stay upright.
She blasted some at Mina with a scoop of her hand, and anyone else would have been knocked out, but Mina had a little magic and had learned years ago to see vvyst. She twisted under it to grab Abigail by the shoulders and shake her again.
Abigail’s teeth rattled in her head and she felt murderous. No one shook her like a pup.
“You swore this would never happen!” Mina yelled, “You promised as long as Paisley stayed with me, she was safe!”
Abigail wrenched away, taking a few steps, breathing heavily with a hand to her head. Rissa stood several feet away, her arms crossed, looking at each of them in turn, nodding.
Abigail had no words. Paisley should have been safe; she should have been protected from Khain! Khain should not have been able to find her in the Ula.
A young female came running across the yard from a neighboring house, yelling for Paisley. It was Frannie, a slim teenager with long, straight, brown hair—another of Abigail’s granddaughters.
“Frannie,” Mina called, raising her hands up. “It’s too late,”
Frannie slid to a stop, shaking her head. “No, no, no—tell me he didn’t take her.”
Mina stepped forward to draw her into a hug, but Frannie yanked away and pulled out her phone out of her pocket.
“What are you doing?” Abigail snapped.
“Calling the vod,” Frannie said, backing away, tapping the screen. “Sage would want the vod to come.”
“No, girl, don’t you dare,” Abigail said, lunging for Frannie.
Rissa moved fast to get out of Abigail’s way, but Mina stepped in front of Abigail, blocking her. Abigail shoved her away using magical force and Mina went flying into the bushes, cursing.
Frannie quickly ducked around the corner of the house, speaking into her phone.
“911, come quick. My cousin’s been kidnapped. She’s only four. The address is 338 GailAnn Circle.”
Abigail ran after the fleeing girl as fast as she could, holding onto her cask so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulders. She rounded the corner of the house, spotted Frannie and pointed at her phone, shouting. “Infernifi!”
Frannie screamed and threw her phone to the ground, then clasped her hands to her chest. “You burned me!”
The phone glowed red-hot, then melted to liquid in the grass.
“My phone!”
“You little cur!” Abigail hissed. “How dare you call the vod! I’ll disown you! I’ll wrap you in ribbon and leave you on the demon’s doorstep!”
A range of emotions played over Frannie’s face: fear, disgust, condemnation, then fear again. “Nana—”
Abigail slashed her hand through the air, cutting off Frannie’s voice, then she clutched her hand at chest-level and swooped her palm toward Frannie, shouting, “Sleep, sleep, sleep like the dead!” Vvyst flew outward in a stream and hit Frannie in the face, then engulfed her body and pulled her feet out from under her.
Frannie fell to the ground, facedown, wiggling and shouting, the sound muffled.
After a moment, she lay still. Abigail advanced on her, seething with rage that this normally docile girl had dared to defy her.
Mina, her bun askew and full of leaves, sprinted around the corner of the house and rushed between Frannie and Abigail, hands out, crying, “Don’t hurt her!”
“I disown her,” Abigail shouted, then she turned and stalked away, thoughts of damage control swirling through her mind.