Saved by the Spell (Anna Wolfe Series, Book #2) (7 page)

“You remember what portal travel feels like, right, my love?”

I gesture a quick yes with the nod of my head, remembering exactly how it makes me feel: dizzy and nauseated. Micah slides me in front of him, wrapping his arms around me. He reaches for the handle, pushing down on the lever. The door screams as it swings open.

“Off we go,” he whispers into my ear.

He pushes us near the empty, black hole. My heart thuds in my chest, unsure of where we will end up. The portal sucks us in without remorse and the mounting wooziness plies itself in layers upon me. My stomach clenches, warning me I’m going to puke until my back slams onto the stiff ground. My ribs squeeze together, knocking the wind clear out of my lungs. I guzzle pockets of air into them, attempting to ease my choking on the pain. I roll over onto my side, gently hoisting myself up with my elbow. The plush carpet of grass below me softens under every movement. I scan the landscape, noticing two rows of cleverly planted, stunning Live Oaks. Their branches gracefully dip and spread low across the lawn, far away from their trunks. I rotate my head, allowing my eyes to rest on a massive, Greek-inspired, antebellum plantation home. It sits elegantly at the very end of the tree-lined pathway. Holy shit! This is the same home from my nightmare! On instinct, I swing my head around frantically, searching for the bat beast.

“Looks familiar, doesn’t it
love?” A large grin spans Micah’s face at seeing the terror on mine.

I gather my energy and stand to confront him. “I don’t understand?”

“There’s nothing to understand. My Night Witches modified your dreams. I wanted to provide you with a little preview of your future. Pity you didn’t heed my warning,” he finishes, shrugging his broad shoulders.

He reaches for my arm, but this time I retract it. “I’m capable of walking on my own,” I
growl.

He ignores my protest of independence and clasps it firmly. “I’m well aware my dear, but I
prefer having you close to me. I'm not taking any chances.”

I make a sour face as he tugs me along the pathway. Stealing a glance upward, my vision is limited by the congested canopy of leaves and dangling Spanish moss. Rays of sunlight gently poke through the thick barricade, casting shadows below. We walk onto the porch where a slender front door confirms its long history with warped and splintered wood. Micah walks towards it, covering the
handle with his hand and pushing. I remember reaching for that same knob. The feeling of dread collects in my stomach as my memory recalls every terrifying emotion from my previous nightmare. Quickly, he ushers me into the foyer and straight up the grand staircase. We glide like ghosts down the long hallway covered with the same black and white photographs from my dream. What does all of it mean? I doubt Micah intended for the witches to warn me. It was more like gloating. My eyes vigorously search for the photograph of my real father, and I’m disappointed when I can’t find his face.

“
Your real father isn't on this wall like in your dreams,” Micah points out with satisfaction. “That was for show... a little something to get you thinking.”

Jerk
! Fury rises inside of me. It's one thing to torture me, but leave my family out of this! Since Micah has entered my life, all he's done is persecute them. I can't stand people who fight dirty. I don't respond to his provocational comment, and instead, bite back my harsh words. Micah leads me through a bulky threshold, dumping us into a spacious room. I survey the inside in awe. Bookcases line the wall, stretching high up to the ceiling. All of the shelves are overflowing with books and papers like a disorganized filing system. Enormous maps float off to the side, sporadically switching their positions. Giant oak tables straddle the center of the room, filled with scattered papers, over which several men are hunched, their heads hanging low, as they scribble in notebooks.

A moving object at the corner of my eye catches my attention. A dense, chestnut-colored book plucks itself from one of the shelves, float
ing over to where a couple of men are sitting. One of the men’s elongated, veiny fingers reaches for it, grasping the book’s spine. He lifts his head, snatching it from mid-air like a hawk on its prey. I follow the trail from his hand to his face, flinching at his appearance. Moody eyes sit partially hidden between the deep folds of skin under his overgrown white eyebrows. A hooked nose droops over his thin lips like a beak. Mounds, the size of softballs, sit on his otherwise bald pate, glistening under the florescent lights overhead. I glance toward the other man, and notice he appears exactly the same.

“
Anna, meet the Seekers.” Micah leans closer to me, his voice just above a whisper. “Not to worry, we won't disturb them. Their entire existence centers on uncovering microscopic morsels of information, putting them together and deciphering messages. You can't break their attention no matter how hard you try.”

“
What are they looking for?” I question.

“
The Scholars, love.”

I c
ringe upon hearing his answer. “How long have they been here?”

“
Too long,” he answers coolly.

Micah pulls me to the right, walking me around the perimeter of the room.

“Be careful not to make any sudden movements when you’re near them. That's the only thing that will snap them from their concentration. They do require feeding once in a while, and I think they're due for a little snack,” he sneers.

I gulp my fear back into my stomach. I know an implied threat when I hear one. I guess these monsters eat people and if I don't cooperate, it's safe to assume I'm their next snack. He stops in front of an oversized chair
adorned in steel shackles and leather straps. I reflexively withdraw, only to be met with resistance.

“
Don't worry, love. I won't hurt you,” he grins. “Unless of course, you refuse to cooperate.”

I feel his icy hands clutching my shoulders, pushing on them forcibly, causing me to stumble right into the chair. In the blink of an eye, the steel cuffs snap around my wrists and ankles while the straps tighten around my stomach and forehead. Terror fills my chest, lobbing my heart against my rib cage with each breath.

“Now, the fun begins,” Micah roars. A tiny flicker of his sinister side flashes in his eyes, chilling me to the bone.

Chapter 6

Kristy twists the
handle, opening the door to the room she and Martello share. Martello is sitting at the vanity with his eyes closed, chanting. Smoke from a lit bundle of incense burns rapidly, skewing his refection in the mirror as it drifts upwards towards the ceiling. Chills flood Kristy's skin at the anticipation of tonight. He chants a few familiar lines of voodoo she's heard before, but never appreciated until now. His eyes snap open, landing on her.

“
Girl? What is you doin’ standin’ there lookin’ all creepy for?” he jokes, lightly blowing on the incense.

Kristy watches as the ends glim
mer brightly under his breath. “I... I'm nervous about tonight.”

Martello stops blowing and glances at her through the mirror.
“Girl, I knows what you means.” He turns around, lightly patting the bed. “Come an’ sits here. We needs to gets you ready for the crazy-ass paranormal shitstorm we's all ‘bout to get tossed into.”

Without hesitation, Kristy walks over and
lowers herself in the spot he suggested. She folds her hands on her lap nervously, like a student on the first day of class. “I don't know what I’m supposed to do... or how to do anything for that matter.”

Martello gr
abs the incense and stands up. “Honey, listen. All you needs to do is find a ghost an’ see if it will talk to you. If I was you, that's not what I’d be worryin’ ‘bout right now.” He circles her, painting the air above her with the smoke. “You needs to make sure you don't allows no psycho ghost to latch itself onto you.”

Kristy tenses upon hearing this. She never considered the side effects concerning her gift. Why would she? She never gave it a second th
ought after her dad was taken. “What are you talking about?” she stutters. “They can attach to me?”

“
They sure cans attach to you or your aura. We practicin’ voodoo peoples knows ‘bout the other side, an’ sometimes, it ain't a pretty place. Some ghosts carry pounds of hatred, child. They’ll drain you of your energy an’ make your life a livin’ hell. So, the last thing we needs is for you to be bringin’ one of them bitches home, you hears?”

Kristy exhales heavily. “
I thought the crazy cat lady got a bad rap. It’s nothing compared to collecting abandoned, nasty spirits.”

“
Hush now. We ain't gonna let that happens, okay? I knows me a thing or two ‘bout protection. This here,” he says, shaking the bundle of dry, burning grass, “is sage… the best in spirit protection. It can't protect you from everythin’, but this here’s a start,” he finishes, encasing her entire body with more smoke.

Kristy inhales a large pocket of it, painfully coughing it right back out. “Eww, gross!”

“You’s not s’posed to eats the stuff.” Martello places the lit bundle back on a ceramic dish and turns to Kristy. “Now repeat after me. Enclose me with your protective light an’ keep all evil spirits an’ energy away from me an’ my home...” he pauses, listening as Kristy repeats him, verbatim. He continues, “with the guidance of my spirit guides, ancestors, an’ gods, I build a strong, invisible barrier of light around myself now an’ always.”

Kr
isty repeats the chant, with hope backing up every word. “Will this work?”

Martello places his hands
on his hips, looking insulted. “Girl, don't you go questionin’ my voodoo,” he laughs. “You’s gonna be fine.”

He sits next t
o her, reaching for her hands. “Listen, honey. We has our protection, now we needs to find Anna.”

Kristy nods solemnly. “
Martello, I've never been this scared in my life.”

He grins unsteadily, dropping hi
s eyes to the floor below him. “I knows, honey, I knows.” He pats her hand, indicating it's time to go. They both stand, just as a string of solid knocks reverberates from their door.

“
Come in,” Kristy yells.

One swift twist of the knob and Roman thrusts the door open, alm
ost slamming it into the wall. “Are you two ready?”

“
Yes, we’s ready,” Martello answers.

“
What's that smell?” Roman’s expression turns sour, and he fans his nose.

“
It’s sage.”

Roman chuckles.
“A voodoo protection spell? Martello, that's great for kindergarten spirits newly enrolled in haunting school,” he laughs condescendingly. “Both of you need something a lot stronger; especially for the cemetery we’re visiting.”

Martello points his diva finger at him.
“Don't you go gettin' all high an’ mighty with me, you hears? Just because you's a warlock don't mean you’s the end all-be all.”

Roman raises his arms and chants something incomprehensible. Both Martello and Kristy watch as two
light-blue orbs float over to them before disappearing into their skin. They look down at their bodies, now glowing in this light.

“
Holy shit,” Martello murmurs.

Roman crosses his arms proudly.
“See? That's what you need—full body armor for those pesky spirits that like to fight dirty.”

Kristy glances up at him in wonder.
“What about you and Janie?”

Roman flicks his wrist.
“Janie's protected already and supernaturals don't need it. Ghosts can only attach themselves to humans.”

“
Why is that?” Kristy asks.

“
Because human's have pure souls,” he replies bleakly. He turns on his heels and exits the bedroom, clearly not wanting to disclose any more information.

“
He’s a weird fella, ain’t he?” Martello raises his brow. “Lordy, Lordy. I still can’t wraps my mind around this magical world we livin’ in now,” he sighs.

They exit the room, somberly strolling to the front porch where Roman, Janie, Valen and Brielle are waiting. The air is thick with anxiety as everyone worries about the night for different reasons. 

“Hey there, girl!” Brielle shouts, hugging Kristy. She steps back, thrusting Kristy out in front of her like she hasn’t seen her in years. “Don't look so scared. You got two weres and a warlock with you. You'll be just fine,” she winks.

Kristy
smiles cautiously.

“
So, Brielle, do you have any updates regarding the packs?” Janie inquires.

Brielle's grin falls from her face.
“I’ve already told these guys,” she says pointing to Valen and Roman, “my pack’s in, but the others have declined. They're too scared to ruffle the feathers of Micah and Lucifer,” she concludes, emphasizing her statement with an eye roll.

Janie shifts her weight uncomfortably.
“How many werewolves are in your pack?”

“
Twenty.”

Twenty isn't nearly enough for the revolution soon to come. Janie’s concern grows exponentially at this moot point.

“But listen girlie, we’ll have people behind us eventually. We just need to give it a little time.”

“Brielle’s right. Once things heat up and become more
public
, others will join us,” Valen conjectures. “Trust me; no one wants to live in any world solely controlled by Micah.”

Roman interrupts their conversation. “Okay, it’s time to go. We’re going to portal travel for this one.”

Martello unhappily moans. “Why is that?” he snaps.

“Since we’re going to seek ghosts, it’s a lot easier to escape from them through portals than speeding off in a car. It’s just a precaution, seeing as we don’t know what we’ll get.”

Roman steps off the porch and the others follow without enthusiasm. An unfriendly breeze rustles through the leaves, carrying with it a disturbing warning. Roman widens his hands, chanting an unfamiliar incantation. A white circle appears out of nowhere, twisting and rotating into itself. Silver sparks leap off the portal’s edges, vanishing before touching the dew-laden grass. Roman turns to the group, waving them closer.

“One at a time. Count to five before you jump through so the person in front of you has enough time to clear it.”

Valen and Brielle are the first two through. Janie waits reluctantly next to Roman.

“Janie, you’ll be fine.
I promise.”

She raises her arms, extending them towards it. In a flash, she’s sucked in silently. Martello’s eyes widen and Kristy steps backwards.
Roman waves Martello over. He shuffles to the portal reluctantly, and before he has a chance to protest, Roman’s large hand presses on his back, forcing him through.

“Now it’s you and me,” he says, turning to Kristy.

She hesitates before carefully walking towards him. He reaches for her hand and she allows him to take it. A warm feeling shoots through her, calming her overzealous nerves. She turns her head, looking into his cobalt eyes. Her stomach flip-flops carelessly as they step closer to the portal.

“You’re with me. Everything will be okay, got it?”

Kristy signals with her head, barely listening to what he says. They’re inches away from the portal and her heartbeat is thumping in her ear, thanks to her rapid pulse. She closes her eyes, trying to untangle her apprehension and dread all at the same time. Without another word, Roman steps into the portal, and immediately Kristy grabs a hold of him tightly, enfolding herself around him. Wind whips by her head, throwing her hair in all different directions. The feeling of weightlessness causes her stomach to somersault. Roman stretches out his arm, stopping them before they slam into the ground. He places her gently on the grass, releasing her swiftly as he strides towards the group.

Martello scowls at Roman. “You shoulda warned me that travel contraption was gonna ruffle my hair,” he sasses, wagging his finger at him. Martello grabs his short, blonde bob, adjusting it until it’s re-centered on his head.

Roman grins proudly, deciding not to engage in his bitch session. He walks past the group in the direction of the wrought iron entrance to Bonaventure Cemetery. The gate stands twenty feet tall with jagged points on the ends, which makes hopping the fence trickier than usual. Janie studies it, expecting to read a sign that says something like
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
. Everyone trickles behind him, including Kristy. Martello clasps her hand and embraces it reassuringly. Roman stops at the closed gate, wrapping his thick fingers around two of the rods. He pushes on them lightly, watching as they part. The gates screech loudly, warning its visitors to turn away.

“Open for business,” he smirks.

He steps inside, tossing a backwards wave over his shoulder. Everyone files in behind him, cautiously surveying the desolate surroundings.

“It’s hauntingly beautiful,” Janie whispers out loud.

“You don’t have to whisper, girlfriend; no one can hear you,” Brielle adds with a small giggle.

Janie continues walking, while Kristy retreats inside her own head. She breathes deeply, trying to steady her racing heartbeat. Her eyes dart from headstone to mausoleum, anxiously anticipating her upcoming role. Even with her nerves on edge, it’s impossible to overlook the magnificent remnants of the Victorian era presented before her. Strings of moonlight filter through the lush canopy above, illuminating the milky headstones and monuments in a spooky glow. Shadows slink behind the trees like thieves in the night,
taunting Kristy’s fears of the unknown. Marble sculptures of angels guard over the graves of loved ones, mingling in between the overhanging branches of Live Oaks draped in their silvery-gray spirals of Spanish moss. Clusters of azalea bushes, bursting with pink and white flowers, conceal numerous headstones, as nature begins to reclaim what it rightfully owns.

This cemetery feels emptier than most. Walking between the narrow rows of headstones, Kristy can’t ignore the feeling that she is intruding on a place time has purposely kept hidden. Empty tombstones sit deserted, absent of flowers, statuary or sentiments. It’s a place most people have never set foot in, a small number pass by often, and nearly everyone has forgotten. She kicks the stale dirt under her feet, watching a small cloud of dust rise and settle.

“Bonaventure Cemetery sure is a creepy-ass place,” Martello points out. “Yet, somehows it’s stunning. Who was this Mr. Bonaventure anyways?”

“There isn’t a
Mr. Bonaventure
. It was named after a plantation that stood here years ago. Bonaventure means
good fortune
,” Valen answers. “This cemetery was constructed in the Victorian era when people of that time period believed death should be dignified and experienced as a community,” he adds.

Martello snorts. “Honey, nuttin’ ‘bout death is dignified or fortunate.”

“You’d be surprised,” Roman retorts. “Okay, this seems like a good spot for Kristy to work her magic.”

They stop, allowing Kristy to float toward the front of the group. Her eyes immediately skip around the landscape, looking for the smallest ripple.

So far, nothing.

She continues scrutinizing the headstones, surprised she isn’t seeing anyone or anything hanging from them. “I don’t see anyone.” Her voice is hushed and careful.