Alexandra Sokoloff - Book of Shadows

She was completely unself-conscious as she worked, as if she were alone in the room, as if she had performed these gestures hundreds of times before. As he watched her, Garrett felt a powerful drowsiness come over him, an involuntary relaxation of his own muscles. In some part of his mind he was reminded of the masses of his childhood: the candles, the altar, the incense, the rituals… only then, of course, there had never been a woman at the altar. It occurred to him that perhaps that was part of the point.

She returned to the cabinet again and took out a crystal wineglass and a small bowl. She filled the glass with water from a pitcher inside the cabinet and took a pinch of something white from a glass jar and put it in the bowl. She carried those items to the altar and set them there, then opened the silver cylinder and removed a long fireplace match. She struck the match and used its flame to light the contents of the square metal box: incense, Garrett could smell the pungent fragrance instantly.

She stood silent and still in front of the altar, then suddenly she lifted the wineglass of water in both hands toward the ceiling, a theatrical and surprisingly powerful gesture. She spoke aloud in a clear, resonant voice: “Water, I empty and prepare you to receive the purification of salt.”

She set the wineglass on the altar and picked up the small bowl, lifting it in both hands: “Salt, I bless you in your task of purification. May you cast out all that is unwanted so that the light may prevail.”

She poured the white crystals into the glass, then moved around the room, sprinkling the salt water with her fingertips, three times around the circle, and Garrett felt as if a rope were tightening around his heart.

When she had completed three rounds she returned to the center of the circle and stood before the altar with her hands down by her sides. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and just stood, breathing slow, deep breaths. Then at once she opened her eyes, lifted her head, and snatched up the dagger, causing Garrett’s whole body to tense. She extended her right arm with the dagger held out, a straight line. Her eyes were unearthly dark and her voice blasted through him. “I conjure thee, O great circle of power! Be for me a boundary between the world of humans and the realm of the mighty spirits, a meeting place to contain the power I will raise herein.” Slowly she turned in place, her arm extended, the dagger sweeping the room in a circle, its jewels gleaming in the candlelight, until she had made an entire revolution. And then she turned again, sweeping the dagger up and over her head, down to her feet.

Garrett was paralyzed with fascination and unease, watching her. This is medieval, it’s completely insane.

“As above, so below. This circle is sealed. So mote it be!” she intoned, and stamped her foot once on the ground. Then she dropped her hands and stepped again to the altar.

She removed another long fireplace matchstick from the silver cylinder, struck the match, and took the flame with her as she moved around the circle again, lighting each candle in the same order that she had placed them. She stepped to the yellow candle, facing out, and called out in a clear, strong voice: “Watchtower of the East, Element of Air, I call thee to witness and guard this circle.” She bent and lit the candle. Garrett started as the flame sprung up and wavered as if in a sudden draft. He saw Tanith’s dark, heavy hair ripple in the air current and he felt a breeze against his face.

Did that just happen? What the hell?

Tanith turned and moved across the circle to the red candle, where she repeated, “Watchtower of the South, Element of Fire, I call thee to witness and guard this circle.” She bent, with dark curls spilling about her face, and lit the candle. This time it flared up, tall and strong.

At the blue candle she recited, “Watchtower of the West, Element of Water, I call thee to witness and guard this circle.” She bent and lit the candle. Garrett felt he was hallucinating by now: the flame of this candle was a pure blue light, and there was a sudden coolness in the air.

She moved to the green candle, facing out, and called, “Watchtower of the North, Element of Earth, I call thee to witness and guard this circle.” She bent and lit the candle, and in Garrett’s mind, this one burned green, and he smelled loam and forest.

Then she stepped to the altar to light the purple candle and stood with her dark hair tumbled down her slim back as she chanted, low, in a voice like prayer, “Mistress Hecate, Queen of the Night, Goddess of the Dead, Watcher at the Crossroads, guide my sight; grant me perfect vision this night. I humbly ask you now to show what this petitioner seeks to know.”

She took up the silver dish and poured the burned flowers into her hand, then stood still, with her eyes closed, cupping her hands around the flowers. The candles flickered at the points of the circle as Tanith stood, breathing, slowly and deeply. Garrett couldn’t keep his eyes off her face, as pale and beautiful as carved ivory in the light. Her breathing subtly increased, became deeper: labored, shuddering breaths.

The flowers fluttered from her hand and she jerked her head up. Her eyes were completely dilated as she stared into space… her breath was a shallow panting. She whipped around to face Garrett, and stared at him, but her eyes were unfocused as a blind woman’s and Garrett had the eerie feeling she did not see him at all.

When she spoke it was in a harsh rasping, totally unlike her own silky voice, a grating that pained the ears to hear.

“The girl you seek is done and she’s not the only one. Three more shall he take, ere his craving he will slake.”

Garrett found he was on his feet, standing, stupefied. The voice he was hearing did not sound human. It was ancient and sibilant and utterly chilling. She rasped on.

“Samhain is the eve, when those who love the lost will grieve. Three to die to do the deed. Three captured. Three bound.” And then a hoarse, guttural shout: “RELEASE THEM!”

Her face was contorted into something inhuman. She lurched forward arthritically, her hands twisted into claws. “ Release them ,” she croaked again.

Garrett felt waves of adrenaline pulsing through him. He could smell earth on her breath. Through his shock, the overwhelming sense of otherness, Garrett forced out, “How? Tell me how.”

She raised a clawlike hand toward him and stared blackly into his eyes and Garrett felt his mind shudder; his thoughts were swirling in his head as if in a powerful wind. Then he was slammed with a sudden, surreally clear vision of the park. He could see himself there, standing beside the marble bench and staring toward the skeleton of the high-rise. A hulking black figure stood in the shadows of dusk: a huge shape, standing behind him, watching him.

Garrett gasped aloud. Suddenly the crone’s eyes opened wider.

“ Yes. Yes. There is a watcher,” she said in that rasping voice, blank eyes unseeing. “Speed you and find him. Find the watcher in the park.”

Garrett’s hair stood up on the back of his neck and he remembered with nauseating clarity the sensation of being watched. He felt that gaze again, like touch on his neck, so strongly that he turned to look. He saw nothing but blackness beyond the shimmering circle of candlelight, but every nerve in his body was alive with the sense of danger, and his hand moved automatically for his weapon.

Behind him Tanith gasped. Garrett spun again… to see her shuddering through her entire body. Her knees buckled… Garrett leaped forward to catch her, but she stiffened, caught herself on the edge of the altar, and held up a warning hand.