Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

She felt for her inner compass, found east, and placed the charm against that wall. The Carvers used a simple, respectful spell to release a ghost, to sever its earthly bonds and send it where it needed to go. “Goddess of word and thought, I invoke you; cut this knot.”

She felt the bloom of power as her words activated the power Holly had packed into the charm. But that wasn’t all she felt. The cold deepened, chilling her till she shook. The ghost was fighting back. Some just didn’t want to go.

Give me a vampire any old day. She found the south wall and tipped a charm out of the plastic bag, letting it roll into place. Her fingers were suddenly too numb to fumble with the cheesecloth balls. She blew on her fingers, warming them enough to set the charm right side up. “Goddess of sun and heat, I invoke you to this feat.”

Her words came out in little clouds. Her nose was dripping. The lightbulb over the stairs—the only light in the attic besides her flashlight—went out with a fizzle. She heard the footsteps again, and the sound of a child softly crying. Sobbing. The heartbroken, wretched grief that only a young child can fully express. Ashe stopped in her tracks, the sound leaching the strength from her limbs.

How could anyone stand that weeping? It was the sheer despair of an abandoned child. Ashe felt that sadness through her whole body, clawing deep in her guts. Eden had cried like that when her father died. Had she cried the same way when Ashe left her at St. Flo’s? Goddess! Goddess, forgive me.

Ashe felt tears freezing on her cheeks. Don’t go there. That’s how the ghosts get you, through your own fears. She had to hang on, be stronger.

West wall. It was so dark she could barely see, but somehow she got one more charm out of the bag and into place.

“Goddess of womb and heart, pull these earthly bonds apart,” Ashe murmured through chattering teeth. She hoped divine spirits could read minds, because her words were barely words at all, just frozen chunks of breath.

A voice lisped next to her ear, “He wants me to go away because I can see what he is. I’m trying to stop him. Help me! He’s very, very bad.”

Ashe whipped around, stumbling because her feet were numb.

It had been a little girl.

Stop him? Stop whom?

The temperature spiked, the air suddenly stuffy and warm again. Ashe stood, shaking as her body tried to bring heat back to her bones. The stairway light flickered back on.

Something felt very, very wrong.

Ashe rushed to the north wall, nearly throwing down the last charm in her haste. “Goddess of earth and arctic wave, send this spirit from its grave.”

She felt the circle of charms close, containing the space where serious magic would begin. The last items in the bag were a book of matches—Holly never trusted anyone else to remember them—and a candle carved with an intricate pattern. Ashe tipped them out, stuffed the bag in her pocket, and picked a nice, central spot. Getting the candle right in the middle guaranteed even coverage as the spell worked. Right above her, the roof beams met, the angles of the house pointing to its apex. Perfect.

The candle was short and fat, so it stood on its own. Ashe set it down and opened the matchbook.

And felt something watching her from the dark northeast corner, just outside the circle. Her shoulders hunched, instinctively protecting the back of her neck from the snapping jaws of predators. The shadow was banned from the circle, looking in, but the charms were light-duty magic. This was heavy-duty nasty. She knew the vibe. Crap.

This might be more than one ghost. Maybe the little-girl ghost had a friend. Or maybe the vile, nasty thing had moved in, and that had disturbed the little girl’s spirit.

Keeping a tight grip on her nerves, she pulled out a match and lit the candle. “Release, release, release! I command you to your peace.”

The flame stretched tall and thin, blue-white at the tip. The magic was working. Ashe breathed in the scent of the beeswax, using it to reinforce what mental shields she still had. She could smell cinnamon for opening the psychic portals, and birch, spruce, and thyme for cleansing. Oh, and lavender. Grandma used that for everything.

She closed her mind, shutting out the darkness that seemed to ooze thicker around the chalk line. It was silent, and she didn’t want that to change. Chatting with the spirits wasn’t always smart.

“You were only supposed to cast out the girl.”

So much for silence. The voice wasn’t the little girl’s. This sounded like it had bubbled up from a pit of rotting carcasses.

“Are you the spirit that haunts this place?” Ashe asked, keeping her tone firm. Better not to act terrified. That was a turn-on to some of these bastards, and, technically, she should stay while the candle burned down and only then release the circle of charms. But the exit was looking pretty good at the moment.

“Noooooooo,” replied the whatever-the-hell-it-was. “She’s run away. It’s time to put out your spell. Now. Right now.”

“Does it bother you?”

“It’s time to go, witchling.”

“Whatever.” What the hell was this thing? Nothing good, if it reacted to the magic. Any number of critters could feel the shove of a banishing spell, but not all of them had to obey it. The heavy hitters just got a big old headache—assuming they had heads.

Goddess.

She wasn’t sure the circle was going to hold. She dug in another pocket for a second stash of charms, the famous witch grenades. Holly had tucked in an extra bottle of scented oil in case the spell needed a booster. Grateful, Ashe fished it out and set it next to the candle. Then she remembered that the girl ghost had said something.

“Are you the one the spirit is trying to stop?”

Whatever it was rustled, as if it had wings made of old, cracked leather. “She is an annoyance.”

The candle flared bright as it burned down to the first circle of carved sigils, releasing their power into the field of energy formed by the circle. She could feel the cleansing magic humming against her skin.

“Ah, you sting me, little witch. It bites like gnats.” The voice was nasty, sneering and sarcastic. The creature seemed to hump and bulge, shadow on shadow. It might have a snotty attitude, but it was hurting.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop!”

And then it seemed to fan its wings, huge and tipped with claws like a great, prehistoric bird. It spread larger, thinner, a film of feathery darkness against the outside of the circle. It was suffocating, like hot, humid air. Moldy. Robbing everything of life.

Ashe felt its power then. Hunger. Angry emptiness. A yearning for . . . she wasn’t sure what. It was like nothing in the world would quite satisfy her. She could consume it all, and the pit inside her would still be there.

Goddess. This was no ghost. She was in way above her pay grade.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Reynard! He wasn’t expecting any of this. “Stop! Stay back!”

Ashe jumped to her feet, accidentally stepping on the glass bottle of oil. She felt it break beneath her boot heel, splurting the spicy liquid everywhere. She didn’t have time to worry about it. Ashe drew her knife and ran to the edge of the circle nearest the attic stairs. Using the blade, she drew an arc in the air, making a doorway at the edge of the circle big enough to step through. Darkness spilled across the circle’s chalk line like ink. Shit! She crossed through and then sealed the circle again as fast as she could, chanting the spell all over again.

She could see the dome of magic over the circle flicker, struggle to re- form beneath the clinging shadows of the bird-beast. If I were Holly, I’d just blast it away. But she wasn’t. Her magic was barely enough to remind the circle to work. And now she was outside with the Thing.