Chapter 8 #2
For a time, ravens were considered terrible omens in Sedgwick Cove, and the appearance of one would set people to panicking.
Children would be brought inside or else sent on their way with amulets of protection, in case the birds took on another form.
Over time, however, when sightings of this kind faded into the past and stopped altogether, the fear faded as well.
But this is not the only form the Darkness has taken over the centuries.
Other reported sightings were described as a kind of dense, unnatural mist that could take forms. For example, in 1847, Lorelei Caldwell of the Caldwell coven reported that she woke to the sight of a thick, opaque gray mist that seeped through the crack under her door and then coalesced to form the shape of an animal—a wolf or a dog, perhaps, though she could not be sure in the dark.
It moved silently around the room like it was looking for something, sniffing under furniture and at doorways.
Finally, it focused on a cradle in the corner, empty because Lorelei had her infant up in bed with her, having just fed the child.
She watched as it circled the cradle, though it could not approach too closely because of a protective Circle Lorelei had cast around it, a common practice done more out of habit and superstition than real need.
When Lorelei lit her candle, the mist resumed an amorphous shape, sinking toward the floor and swirling along it to the open window, where it seeped out and vanished into the night.
Lorelei reported a feeling of cold dread that accompanied the strange mist.
There was no escaping the memories now. The Gray Man had always been difficult to describe, and when I tried, my mother looked so disturbed that I stopped.
In fact, I had stopped telling her about the Gray Man altogether.
I never told anyone else either, keeping the dreams tucked away, so that they belonged only to me and the mysterious being that walked with me there.
It began to feel like a secret—not the shameful kind, but the exciting kind, the kind you don’t want to share, because it feels delicious and special to keep it all to yourself.
But if I had spoken of it, if I had described it to someone, it would have sounded an awful lot like what I’d just read.
Not the particular shape it took, of course—I had never seen the Darkness appear as anything other than the Gray Man, though I suppose, being a child, I would have been delighted if my mysterious friend had revealed he could transform into the Gray Dog or the Gray Bird.
But the description that Lorelei Caldwell had provided of the mist, the way it moved, the strange opaqueness of it—that was all very familiar indeed.
I’d always thought of the Gray Man as made of something similar, smoke, perhaps, or something even more fluid.
Here was proof that I wasn’t the only one to have seen such a thing—it was oddly comforting, even if it was validating something frightening.
I kept reading. The rest of Elizabeth Farley’s documented “sightings” sounded less and less legitimate, aside from one that described “a shadow-man” spotted on the cliffs over the beach in 1902.
This, I thought, could be confirmation that at least one other person had seen the iteration of the Darkness that had shown itself to me.
I flipped through the rest of the book, but apart from that one chapter, there were no more references to the Darkness.
The book was actually incredibly detailed, and I could tell that, were I in a better headspace, I would probably find it all very interesting.
But I couldn’t concentrate, and set the book aside with a sigh, just as Persi entered through the side door.
“Hey,” I said.
Persi looked like she’d gotten even less sleep than I had. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and she was wearing the same black velvet dress she’d worn to the Manor the night before. Had she been in the workshop all night?
“How’s it been? Dead?” she asked, as she shook fresh snow from the hood of her cape, and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall.
“As a doornail,” I confirmed. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since I opened.” I winced a little, but it technically wasn’t a lie. When I’d found Leila upstairs, I hadn’t actually opened the shop yet.
Persi stopped mid-stride as she spotted the books on the counter. “What’s all that?”
“Oh, Rhi started pulling together some books for me,” I said, and when Persi looked confused, I added, “Research, remember? She thinks that’s what my message from the stones and bones meant.”
Persi rolled her eyes. “And you’re actually going along with it? I mean, sure, take the books, but she’s not even here, and you’re actually wasting your time on them? You and I both know that’s not what that message meant.”
“It’s not a total waste of time,” I said, a little defensively. “This one actually had some really interesting accounts of reported sightings of the Darkness. There was this one that—”
Persi snorted. “Oh, please, Wren. You might as well read about Bigfoot sightings.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the Darkness is the official boogeyman of the Cove.”
I frowned. “That’s not exactly fair, is it? I mean, the Darkness is a real threat.”
“And because of that, every generation has been paranoid about it. Every coven has stories of encounters with the Darkness, and not a single one of them can be substantiated. Well, apart from ours, I suppose,” Persi allowed.
“For some of the witches in this town, every bump in the night, every unexplained misfortune is the work of the Darkness.”
My heart sank, and I held up the book. “So these stories…?”
“Probably just a collection of paranoia and bad dreams. You can keep going through them if you want to, but all you’ll do is freak yourself out. Asteria spent her whole life being skittish around ravens because of books like that.”
I sighed and tossed the book aside. So much for productivity.
To my surprise, Persi sighed as well, and then hopped up onto the counter so that she was sitting beside me.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know that’s not, like…
helpful,” she said, with the air of someone who was trying to communicate in a language she didn't know very well. “I shouldn’t have said it’s a total waste of time.
It’s not entirely. But the truth is that you’re looking for answers our covens don’t have.
There’s a reason we’ve remained so fearful of the Darkness, and it’s because we know so little about it.
For all the sightings and encounters which may or may not have happened, what we truly know about the Darkness can fit in the palm of your hand, and that’s not a lot to go on. ”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed.
“You need to remember where your answers are coming from,” Persi said. “When you’re using divination, I mean. You’re not plucking them randomly from thin air. Those answers are coming to you curated, compliments of your spirit guides.”
I looked up at her. “Is it weird that it doesn’t feel that way?”
She smiled. “No. It’s completely normal.
Every witch feels that frustration. Messages from the other side are never as straightforward or clear as we’d like them to be.
Communication from so far away, metaphysically speaking, is full of static.
It’s one of the reasons why I use divination so rarely.
I’m not exactly famed for my patience, and you can only curse your ancestors so many times before they start being reluctant to answer you.
Leave it to me to create family dysfunction with the dead. ”
She shrugged, and I laughed.
“Anyway, the point is that the Vespers who are guiding you already know. They know what this town is like, and how we’ve mythologized the Darkness.
They know the answers you need aren’t going to be in the testimonies of frightened villagers from hundreds of years ago, because some of them were those frightened villagers from hundreds of years ago.
They can see more now, in the collective consciousness of the other side.
You have to trust that, whatever answer they provide, it’s the one you need. ”
We fell into silence as I considered all of this.
The truth was that I had nearly forgotten that, when I was reaching out through divination, I was reaching out to real people.
The impossibility of it all, the abstract nature of it, had dehumanized the very spirit guides I was trying to reach.
The reminder that these answers were coming from someone, not a nebulous something, was comforting, and I would try to hold on to it in the future.
“Are you staying?” I ventured.
“No,” she said, standing back up with a weary sigh. “I’m just restocking.”
My heart sank a little. The conversation we’d just had was the most she’d spoken to me in weeks, including our divination lessons, which were conducted mostly in aggravated silences.
This sudden burst of conversation had raised my hopes that maybe she would stay in the shop with me today, but apparently that hope was premature.
Persi hadn’t completed a shift at Shadowkeep since Bernadette had died.
Sometimes she would show up, like today, but it was usually only to throw a few jars of product on the shelf, fill her bag with raw ingredients from upstairs, and slip out again.
We’d all picked up the slack wordlessly, and she continued making herself as scarce in the shop as she did at home.
I understood, even if I didn’t like it. She didn’t want to face people.
She didn’t want her grief on display, to be examined and perused like the products on the shelves.
“What is that?”
Persi’s sudden question startled me out of my ruminations, and I jerked my head up to look at her.
“Huh? What’s what?”
“That smell.” She had her nose in the air, and she was sniffing like a hound that had scented a fox. “Is it… roses?”
I fought so hard to control my face, to mask the panic with a sort of vague confusion. “Huh. I don’t really smell anything.”
Persi hovered around the room for another minute or so, sniffing. I held my breath. At last, she shrugged and grabbed her bag of salves.
“I’m going to restock upstairs. Think you can handle the crowd?”
I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage.”