The Amber Lee Boxed Set

  He was going to get it if I ever saw him again.

  I drew in slow, steady breaths and shut off my phone for good. A bead of sweat travelled down my forehead. I caught it with a napkin and exhaled. When Eliza returned even she noticed the rising warmth in the room.

  “Spicy food really turns up the heat doesn’t it?” she asked, sitting down with the same book I’d seen her carrying at the bookshop. “Here,” she said, “James FedEx’ed it all the way from Finland.”

  I took the book in delicate hands so as not to scuff the cover any further and brushed a little dust off the jacket. No markings on the front or on the spine, though plenty of wear and tear. On the first page someone had written “A Book of Shadows” in neat, black calligraphy, likely out of a feather quill or at least a fountain pen. Now where had I seen something like that before?

  I glanced across the room into the kitchen, where Damien was.

  “Whose is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Eliza said, “Neither does James. But he knows we’re Wiccans and we’d have more use for it than he does. He said he bought it, but I don’t believe that.”

  Damien came into the dining room. “Could I see it?” he asked.

  I handed him the book and he flipped through it, landing on some pages but not others, reading some text, and moving on. Back and forth he went like some kind of speed-reader or someone who wasn’t truly very interested in reading the actual contents of the book and only wanted to act the part.

  Every Wiccan Witch owned a Book of Shadows. The idea was that the books would get passed down through generations to other Witches in the bloodline so familial traditions could continue even as time went on. So this book didn’t outright seem special to me in any way, but if James had sent it all the way from Finland directly to us, it had to be for a reason.

  Damien passed the book back to Eliza, who settled the hardcover on a surface well away from our probably still dirty table.

  “It looks authentic,” Damien said to Eliza, “Have you read any of it?”

  “I skimmed a few of the pages. Some of it didn’t make sense,” she said.

  “Maybe we should all have a look at it together?” I said. Eliza poked my thigh with two fingers under the table, “Or I could give Damien a tour of the grounds?” I continued, taking her hint.

  “A tour?” Damien asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, the grounds are spooky at night but the river’s beautiful. It isn’t far from here either.”

  Damien nodded and butterflies fluttered around in my stomach, each struggling to climb higher than the last. Screw Aaron. If he was going to put the guilt trip on me then I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted up at this cabin, starting with a romantic stroll through a dark, misty forest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Damien and I took a stroll, hands in pockets, around the house until the stubby pines turned into real trees. The air had this natural freshness to it out here and the forest was dark and alive with sound, but the thin mist had called its friends and together they were all snaking through bushes toward a goal only it understood.

  “Beautiful out here, isn’t it?” I asked. We were crunching on leaves and twigs as we went.

  “It sure is something,” Damien said, “San Francisco was too big. Golden Gate Park was the closest natural place I could go to from my house, otherwise it was a drive and a commitment.”

  “You must miss it though, right?” I asked.

  “I do sometimes, but not much.”

  “What about your family? Are they in San Francisco?”

  Damien shook his head. “My folks live in Astoria.”

  “Astoria?”

  “Oregon.”

  “Oh.” The conversation seemed a little one sided. Damien’s distracted eyes betrayed his cool demeanor. I got the impression that, now that we were alone, he had something he wanted to say. So I prodded.

  “Is something up, Damien?” I asked.

  Damien was quiet for a moment, maybe considering what to say or maybe lost in thought. I couldn’t tell. “My sister and I ran away from home,” he finally said.

  “Oh wow. Why’d you run away from home? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have brought it up.” He sighed, paused. “My father, mother, sister and I are Witches. Where we lived, there were many of us. Whole Covens. It was almost like a… like a compound; a really closed community.”

  “I take it you don’t mean to say that your parents and community were simple Wiccans.”

  “No, I mean real Witches with real power. They played these games, toyed with people’s souls and the forces of nature. Things got intense. I couldn’t handle it. My sister and I made the decision to leave so we packed our bags and headed for San Francisco one night.”

  “Why did you go there?”

  “A friend of my sisters moved to San Francisco after his two dads decided they wanted a more comfortable place to live. I knew his dads. They were cool. They took us in and helped us find jobs.”

  “I had no idea. What happened with your Parents? Did they come after you?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t seem happy about that.”

  “I don’t know. Part of me wishes they’d done something to show they cared, but the other part of me says I’m better off without them.”

  “With parents like those, you’re better off. Trust me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t think about it anymore.”

  Though he was thinking about it now, so what did that say?

  The path at our feet twisted and turned. Owls hooted up above and the trees whooshed with the night wind, shaking off leaves and dropping them on us like lazy little missiles.

  “How was it living in San Francisco?” I asked, eager to lighten the conversation.

  “Nice,” he said, “I enjoyed the break from Astoria. San Francisco’s huge, loads to see and do. There’s a huge Witch community out there also, bigger than back home.”

  “I take it this one wasn’t like the one back home?”

  “No. This was better. Accepting of all types of people from all walks of life.”

  “Sounds like there’s True Witches everywhere, so why have I never met one? Why are there no Witches out here?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it has to do with ley lines and places of power. They go wherever the Currents are strongest.”

  “I’d say they’re pretty strong out here from what I’ve seen.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think this place has come up on anyone’s radar yet.” Damien paused and scanned the ground around his feet. “Don’t we need firewood?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, we’ve got plenty in the basement. So, do you call yourself a Warlock or a Witch? I haven’t asked that question yet.”

  “Do you know what the word Warlock means?” he asked, “Where it comes from?”

  I grinned. “You realize we’re in the same class, right?”

  “I do.”

  “The word was given to sorcerers in the past. It translates to ‘oathbreaker’ in Old English.”

  “I don’t think the title applies to me.”

  “Because you keep your promises?”

  “Because I don’t break oaths, and because I’m not a Warlock. I’m a Witch.”

  “Evan calls himself a Warlock.”

  A sly smirk spread across Damien’s lips.

  “What?” I asked, smiling.

  “How’d you get into Witchcraft?”

  “Technically Eliza brought me into the Craft. I learned everything from her, and then from what I read.”

  “Why’d you get into it?”

  “Because it made sense to me, you know? It wasn’t a fad or a phase. I legitimately analyzed all of the available religions and made a choice to get into Wicca. I thought about being a Buddhist you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Totally. But something was missing. I guess now I know what it was.”

  I’m a Tru
e Witch, not a True Buddhist.

  We came to within earshot of the river. The waters flowed quickly in this area, but still not quick enough to cause it to froth. When we stepped to the riverbank we were greeted by a blanket of mist concealing the entire length and breadth of the Geordie River.

  “Jesus,” I said, gaping at the puffy white fog, “I swear there’s a river in there somewhere.”

  Damien smiled. “I’m sure it hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  “Say I believe you,” I said, after a pause. “About everything. About being a True Witch.”

  “You still don’t believe?”

  “Oh, trust me; I want this to be true more than anything.”

  “It is. Every strange thing that’s happened to you is because you’re a True Witch; because you attract change and weirdness.”

  Explains why you’re here, then I thought.

  “Then show me something,” I said, “Show me anything. I know I believe what you’re saying, I can feel it, but I have to see it.”

  Damien’s hand rose to meet my face. A raging monster replaced my heart and thrashed around inside my chest. His cold fingers grazed the warm skin of my cheek and my flesh turned into a prickly mess. When he turned my head toward the river my jaw dropped. I heard a whisper at the edge of my senses, incoherent and quick, and watched as the blanket of fog covering the Geordie gently parted as if blown away by a breath.

  “How… did you do that?” I asked.

  “I thought it,” said Damien. He removed his hand from my face and I regained the ability to breathe.

  “Can your sister do that too?” I asked.

  “My sister’s a much more powerful Witch than I am.”

  “I’d like to meet her sometime.”

  Damien fell silent. His mouth opened but no words formed, then he clenched his jaw and looked across the river. Oh Gods, no.

  “Damien?” I asked, treading cautiously around his feelings.

  “My sister’s dead,” he said.

  My hands rushed to my mouth to contain the gasp. “Oh my God,” I said, “Damien, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay.” He swallowed hard. I could see him fighting with himself.

  A pool of glistening liquid forming at Damien’s eyes signaled the fall of his epic composure. In an instant I glimpsed a kind of vulnerability I thought lost in all men. Tears fell and his lip quivered, but he bravely fought the rush of emotion visibly trying to break out of his skin and held it back.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. Throwing care into the wind, struggling with my impulse to make calculated decisions, I hugged him tightly. “You should have just told me.”

  “I wanted to,” he said, wrapping his arms around my back, “But this is the kind of thing that’ll ruin a person’s day.”

  By now my own eyes also threatened to fill up and spill over. “Damien, it’s okay. We’re friends. You can talk to me.” I tried to pull away but Damien held me more tightly.

  “The bracelet,” Damien said, “The one you found in the river. It’s hers.”

  “What?” I asked. All manner of color drained from my face.

  “I don’t know how it wound up in the river, but the bracelet is hers. I know it is.”

  “You mean… she’s the girl that died in the river? Here? In Raven’s Glen?” I swallowed but no saliva came—only rough air.

  Damien nodded, although it took a moment for him to gather the strength.

  I pulled away from him and stared into his eyes, but then I became immediately aware of the bracelet. It suddenly felt like rough wire-mesh against my skin instead of smooth stone. “How do you know that… the girl in the river was her? Didn’t she live with you in San Francisco?” I asked.

  “She moved here to get away from the city,” he said, “A few weeks ago she called me up, told me something bad had happened to her and that she wasn’t feeling great. So I made the bracelet for her and sent it in the mail.”

  “Damien,” I said, starting to peel the bracelet off, “I can’t keep this.”

  “No,” Damien said, quickly stopping me and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I think she wanted you to find it. I’ve been wondering why you were the one who found the bracelet and why you’ve been wearing it but… I don’t know.”

  “If this belonged to your sister I can’t—”

  “Amber, please. Don’t.” Damien stared at me with seriousness in his eyes. “If she wanted you to have it then I want you to have it as well.”

  I nodded and rubbed my cooling arms.

  “It’s getting cold out,” said Damien, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “We should head back, but we can talk more there if you want.”

  I nodded and lead the way, although what I wanted to do was get more answers. But Damien’s face had lost its brightness, and it didn’t feel right to grill him for information. So I reached for his hand and took it, then led him back up the path toward the house. By the time we reached the tree line just beyond the riverbank the fog had returned to consume the trickling stream and I wondered if I had imagined it all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That night, before bed, I said a prayer for Damien’s sister—Lilith Colt—during my own quiet veneration of Mabon. I couldn’t believe I had been so casually discussing her with Eliza the other day. The thought made me go cold inside. I couldn’t sleep. Like a twitchy child, every couple of hours I would wake and find trouble getting back down.

  Then I remembered the bracelet, my dip in the river, the Raven and even the strange way Damien came into my life. I didn’t believe in coincidences and I wasn’t superstitious. Fate truly did have a habit of interconnecting things. But Fate didn’t dwell on these connections, nor did it need to worry about getting enough rest. I, however, did; and I was not faring well in that department.

  I wasn’t sure how much sleep I had gotten by the time the early birds came to warn of daybreak’s approach. Sitting upright, I rubbed my eyes and slipped out of bed. The fog was gone and a fresh layer of dew had condensed on the window. Dawn was breaking through the trees casting a honey glow over the world. Even through the closed window a sweet scent of wet morning flowers found its way in to greet me. I drank it in and smiled, letting go of the previous night’s dramas.

  Figuring I was probably the only person awake given the quietness of the house, I wrapped myself up in a thick grey robe, stepped into some fluffy boot slippers, and crept my way downstairs to the kitchen. It seemed, as I walked down, that yesterday’s gloom had left the house. Somehow, the corridors were brighter, the old man smell was gone, and the floorboards didn’t creak as much. But I ignored the potential omen and headed for my target.

  “Coffee,” I said to myself as I entered the kitchen. “Wait, no… can I have coffee?” Today was Mabon. We were meant to eat off the earth, so coffee was out of the question. Wasn’t it? I decided to forget coffee, just to be sure, and opened the cupboards to look for something to wake up with and found an assortment of teas; green, lemon, mint, herbal. I put the kettle to boil over a gas stove—rustic style—then dropped a packet of green tea into a mug, and unlocked the back door to the orchard while I waited.

  Stepping outside I expected a fresh morning breeze, leaves sweeping away and dropping from nearby rustling trees, and withered old trees devoid of life. Instead what I discovered outside was an orchard rich with saturated colors. Red, ripe tomatoes; full green apples, more than I could count; lettuce heads, carrots, oranges, and even strawberries. Strawberries! I stifled a gasp and took in the sight.

  Did I imagine the dead orchard last night on my way in with Damien? Or was it perhaps so dark outside I simply didn’t see the fruits and vegetables waiting to be plucked from the earth? As little white flakes—dandelions, I think—floated down from on high I could think of no other explanation for the bountiful harvest in front of me besides the most obvious one; Mabon was here, and the Goddess had blessed us.

  I rushed back into the house and summoned the others, returning with Eliza i
n tow draped in a dressing gown. She hugged me from behind and pressed her cheek against mine when she saw what I was seeing.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said, squealing.

  “How did this even happen? We didn’t plant any crops!” I said.

  “Don’t try and explain it, Amber. We’ve been blessed.”

  “I feel… like I could cry.”

  “Then cry! This is the Goddess’ gift to us.”

  Eliza let me go and stepped into the orchard barefoot, flitting between trees and bushes like a butterfly. Damien and Evan arrived at the sound of the commotion, but they halted their brisk advance at the door to the orchard when they saw. Evan slowly made his way into the wood, his eyes wide with utter bewilderment. Damien waited. As I glanced up at his face—perfect, despite having just woken up—I found I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Damien?” I asked from a few feet away. “Aren’t you coming out?”

  He shook his head, then nodded, and smiled. “This… is amazing,” he said, approaching. And while that’s all he said, he didn’t have to say anything else for me to understand what was going on. This whole thing had something to do with the presence of two True Witches up here. I just knew it.

  After retrieving a few baskets from the kitchen, Damien and I began picking and plucking rich, ripe fruits and vegetables from out of the ground. Evan and Eliza—who I caught making out as dandelions fell on them—eventually joined in with baskets of their own and assisted us in the harvest.

  None of us wanted to try and explain what had happened for fear of spoiling the magic. Instead we simply got to work picking it all up, but the yield was huge. It took all four of us nearly an hour to transfer everything into the kitchen, but the workout invigorated me. I even forgot all about the cup of green tea I was about to make.

  When we were done, Eliza came into the kitchen holding a single pomegranate as if it were a glass chalice or the Holy Grail. Damien, Evan and I stared at her, waiting for an explanation, but then it came to me.