Chapter 6
SIX
Morana was in a fluffy towel, her hair in a wrap.
She was sitting cross legged on the sofa staring at the brown paper bag, which contained the book.
She had put it next to a pile of books on witchcraft that she’d bought from Enchanted across the way.
She’d flicked through them but not really done anything with them, always drawn to the witchy side of life, she didn’t know why.
It was just who she was and sometimes she wondered if it was an ancestral thing.
She had no family to ask, or any idea of her parents’ origins.
She didn’t know why but her heart was racing just looking at the bag. It was giving her palpitations.
She picked up her cup and swirled the iced coffee around.
The cream had melted into the coffee and she took a sip, but the sickly sweetness didn’t help with her nervousness.
She realised she was acting as weird as the woman who’d brought the book into the shop.
It was a book damn it. It wasn’t anything bad or evil.
Leaning forward she picked it up and tore the brown paper bag off it.
The book was old; she could tell by the smell that lingered in the air around it.
Etched into the soft, black leather cover in elegant red script were the words The Book of Black Magic.
Morana wondered what this was. It looked too old to be a reprint, it smelled musty, earthy like a forest. It smelled the way a walk through a dense copse of trees did after a storm. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled.
It smelled like her childhood. She’d lived in a forest once, played with a black crow that used to visit. She and her mom, who had been shunned from her village, had been all alone in a wooden cabin that was home.
Morana dropped the book onto the table. What was that?
Memories of being on a sailing boat that weren’t hers and now this?
She had not ever lived in a wooden cabin on the edge of a forest with her mom.
Her mom had walked out of her life and got herself killed when she was a kid.
Now, she was alone, no family, her only friends were her colleagues at the store and Addison.
Picking up the book again she opened the front cover and saw a note written in the most beautiful cursive handwriting.
You may use this book to keep you safe if you must, but first you must finish the spells and stories.
Only you will be able to read this and uncover my secrets, daughter.
Until the unwritten words are complete it holds no power, that is at your fingertips.
It is not for foolish dreams. Lucine English.
The black ink had faded to a washed-out grey. She wondered whose mother or father had written this, and if she’d ever needed to use the book. Like what kind of foolish dreams would she have used black magic on?
Morana wondered if this was some kind of joke, or if the woman who had brought it to the store was a local psychopath. On the next page was her name in the same elegant script.
Morana Williams
She stared at the faded ink, traced her fingers across the writing. How? It must have belonged to another Morana Williams, as surely it had never belonged to her, she would remember it, wouldn’t she?
There was only one way to find out. She turned the pages slowly; they felt like the softest velvet in her fingers.
She realised it was a grimoire, a book of spells.
Each page contained a spell, and it was decorated with hand-drawn pictures of herbs, feathers, flowers and included the items needed for the spells, with titles such as:
How to summon the dead
Bring a loved one back
Curses
How to bring about the death of an enemy
Bring in power
Money spell
Stop thy neighbour coveting what is yours
Morana stared at each page in fascination; whoever had written this book it must have taken them forever. Each spell was incomplete, though, she noticed. Is this what the note meant? – first you must finish the spells and stories – Was she to add the final words to make them work?
She sighed, it was a beautiful grimoire. This Lucine who had written it must have loved it to take such good care of it. There was nothing to fear from it, well not if she ignored her name on the second page there wasn’t.
She set it back down on the coffee table, pulling her robe tighter.
It was cold in here and she needed to turn the AC down.
It had gotten dark as well, the bulbs must need replacing because she could barely see into the corners of the room.
The shadows were longer than the last shreds of daylight seeping through them.
Morana walked to the window, opening the blinds, and was surprised to see it wasn’t fully dark outside.
Not sure why her electrics were out of sync, she shut the blinds again and flicked on all the lamps.
When she looked at the AC controls it was on low.
She shut it off. It was too chilly in here with it on.
Feeling drained after all the excitement of her day she decided to get an early night.
Morana cried out in her sleep so loud she jolted awake.
Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her sheets were tangled around her arms and legs.
Her limbs were wrapped so tight that she’d thought she was being held down in her bed and expected to open her eyes to an intruder sitting on top of her, restraining her.
Turning on the lamp, she felt some of the tension leave her body to see it was just her and the nineties Furby sheets she’d found in the bargain section of TJ Maxx. Nobody was standing in the corner, nobody had been in her bed. Picking up her phone she looked at the time: 3.13 a.m.
She sat up. Clearly that woman had freaked her out far more than she’d realised.
Getting out of bed she shivered, it was freezing in here.
She grabbed a sweater off the chair next to the bed, tugging it over her head, and pushing her feet into a pair of carpet slippers she headed into her open-plan lounge/diner to make herself a hot drink to take off the chill that had wrapped itself around her shoulders like a cloak.
Even when she flicked on the lights it was still dark and for a second she thought she saw a shadowy figure move out of the light, backing away into the corner.
‘I don’t know what’s going on, or what you’re doing in my lounge but unless you have a very good reason you need to leave. I never asked you to come here or gave you permission.’
She was proud of the strength in her voice, proud that she had the courage to stand up for herself. She was sure it was a spirit.
It happened occasionally; ghosts, three-dimensional beings, whatever they were, turned up looking for her help. She wondered if it was the planchette necklace she’d brought home with her yesterday. Hadn’t she heard it call her name? Morana groaned, she was too tired for this.
‘Look, if you’re attached to the necklace I’m taking it back.
I’m sorry but I haven’t got the time or energy to give you what you need.
’ Her gaze fell onto the book that looked as if it had been moved from where she left it last night.
‘If you’re attached to the spell book then you should know you have to leave.
I never asked for you to come here. I never asked for the damn book either.
So, can you just let me sleep in peace, no bad dreams and we’ll sort this out in the morning when I can think straight? ’
It was at times like this she wished she didn’t live on her own, a cat or a dog would keep her company, but she worked long hours, and it wouldn’t be fair. Although cats didn’t give a rat’s ass about what their owners got up to as long as they were fed on time.
Taking her mug of ginger and lemon tea back to her bedroom, she shut the door behind her, a clear sign that nothing was to follow her inside.
It was a simple act that had worked on the rare occasion a spirit had followed her home.
Somehow, they knew not to cross that line.
But she still felt out of sorts. There was a heavy tiredness inside of her heart that had come from out of nowhere.
She wanted to curl up in bed, get under the covers and hope that maybe when she opened her eyes in the morning this would all have been some kind of bad dream.
She wanted to have imagined the shadow in her small apartment.
She wanted to wake up and find that The Book of Black Magic was nowhere to be seen.