He licked his lips. “I, um, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“How do I get in touch with you?” he asked.
She reached into his pocket, causing him to jump. She slowly pulled out his phone and then made a show of entering her phone number. Then she handed it back to him. “My name’s Sam.”
“Sam,” he said, “pleased to meet you.”
“And what’s your name?” she asked.
“Cody.”
“Cody,” she repeated as she leaned forward, and she could see the pulse quicken in his throat. She kissed him on the cheek, making sure to give a mild electrical current to her lips that would make his skin tingle.
She pulled back slowly. “Merrily met,” she said.
He could only stare in return.
“Blessed be,” she said as she took a step back.
“Blessed be,” he stammered.
She turned and walked away, swaying enough to ensure that he watched her all the way to the door.
Once outside, she dropped the exaggerated walk. She had never been one of those girls who used their sexuality to get what they wanted out of men, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. But just because she didn’t play the game didn’t mean she didn’t know how. She wagered Cody would do everything he could to get her invited to the circle. If the witch Robin had met was keeping up her double life, she would attend her Wicca circle before heading off for the witch one.
She continued to walk around but didn’t find anything or anyone else of interest, so she headed over to the train depot. She bought her ticket and boarded the steam train.
A young woman smiled at everyone. “Hi. Welcome to Roaring Camp. The steam train you’re riding on is an authentic steam train. Our engine is an actual antique. Today we’re going to take you on a round-trip tour of the Big Trees. Some of the redwoods you’re going to be seeing are not hundreds, but thousands of years old. I’ll be pointing out sights of interest along the way. Now, let’s get started.”
The train lurched forward, and Samantha settled into her seat. Within moments, they were in the forest and she was able to marvel at the beauty and majesty of the ancient trees. She breathed in deeply of the scented air. Taking the train to her destination was the fastest way to get there. After her other experiences in these mountains, going at night had not been an option, as far as she was concerned. She needed to be able to see what was coming at her.
Her mind wandered as the guide talked on about the beauty around them and the history of the area. The train would frequently slow so she could point things out. Finally the train came to a stop.
“All right. We’re going to get off the train here for just a few minutes to see something spectacular called Cathedral Grove. So, if everyone would just follow me,” the guide said.
Samantha got off the train with everyone else. Cathedral Grove. That was what she was here to see. She followed the guide and the rest of the passengers, bringing up the rear of the group as they walked toward a perfect circle of trees that was cleared in the middle. The others stopped in the dead center of the clearing. As Samantha lifted her foot to step inside the circle too, a wall of energy slammed into her, throwing her backward.
8
Samantha was thrown back nearly a dozen feet. She landed hard, off-balance, and she flailed for a moment before regaining her balance. None of the others had noticed. They were focused instead on the beauty around them and the singsong voice of the guide.
“This is what is often called a faerie circle,” the young woman was saying. “You’ll notice that these trees are growing in a perfect circle. What happens is there is a parent tree that would have stood right here in the center of this circle. The redwood would have dropped its seeds around it. The original tree is destroyed by fire or something else, but the seeds grow, ringing the space where the original tree stood.”
Samantha could hear people muttering words like “beautiful” and “breathtaking.” Someone else said “magical.” They had no idea.
“This spot has been used for countless weddings and special events,” the guide continued. “I want you to take about ten minutes to look around, take pictures; then we’ll head back to the train and continue our tour.”
Samantha stepped backward into the forest, careful not to attract attention to herself. Ten minutes later, everyone trekked back to the train. Five minutes after the train headed out, silence reigned in the Redwoods and she turned her attention back to Cathedral Grove.
She walked the outside of the circle slowly, being careful not to trip on roots. The air was very still here and the birds were silent. It felt like the world was hushed, waiting.
Waiting for what?
And then, as she reached out and touched the bark of one of the trees, she felt a jolt rush through her.
Waiting for witches.
There was no doubt in her mind that this was where the coven had brought Robin to perform rituals. The power that was trapped inside the circle was thrumming through the trees. There were dangers associated with using public spaces for rituals, but the witches here seemed to have found a way around it.
As near as Samantha could tell, the normal people had had no problems entering and leaving the circle, and both they and the circle seemed unaffected by the encounter. There were powerful barriers up, though, that kept those with power, like her, out. But those same barriers would be able to let through members of the coven who had erected them.
For a brief moment, she considered going to get Robin but quickly rejected that idea. There was no guarantee that the girl had been embraced as a full coven member with unlimited access. She might need to still be invited or helped inside by one or more of the others. Even if she could gain access, though, Samantha didn’t want to endanger the girl.
She walked the outside of the circle twice, testing it for weaknesses, but could find none. Then she walked it a third time, looking for the entry point the coven members would likely use.
Wiccans had strict ways to enter and exit ritual circles. Some witches did the same thing as well, more out of habit or security than anything else. At last she found the entryway between two trees. The energy was slightly different there. It felt like a transition place, like a doorway, part of neither the inside space nor the outside space but the place that connected them both.
Samantha examined it for a moment. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she had ever witnessed a ritual welcoming a new member into the coven she had grown up in. After a few minutes, she gave up. Even if she could remember such an incident, it might not help. The circle here was different from the meeting places her coven had used, and the rituals would likely be different as well.
She sat down, cross-legged, and stared at the circle. She needed to find a way to get inside. It would help her tap into the minds of the witches who held rituals there.
And you can take some of the power for yourself, a voice whispered in her mind.
She gritted her teeth, trying to block that voice. Slowly, she went through everything about magic as it related to circles and their protection she could remember from when she was a kid. She couldn’t help but think of all the wards and barriers that were on the house her high priestess had once owned in Salem. She remembered how those barriers had tried to push her out when she was with Ed but how they had let her pass easily with no pushback when she was later with other coven members, pretending to be one of them.
There was something there. Why the one time and not the other? It wasn’t just Ed the house had been trying to get rid of that day. She’d heard the voices too, been plagued by her own horrors in that basement. So, why was the second time fine?
Was it possible that some of the wards on the house were taken down before a circle? Or was the difference the fact that she was actually actively using her magic?
Well, s
he couldn’t say that she was avoiding magic the last couple of days, yet the circle still rejected her violently as a stranger.
She could feel the answer shimmering in front of her, and she strained, trying to reach for it. It was no use. The harder she pushed, the farther away it seemed to get.
Her five-year-old self would tell her she was trying too hard.
She closed her eyes, calming herself. She forced each muscle in turn to relax until her breaths were steady and even and her heartbeat slow. She went to the place in her mind where she could talk to her past selves. The three younger girls were peering fearfully out of their doors at Eight, who was having some sort of temper tantrum in the middle of the hallway. She understood and sympathized with the angry little girl.
“Don’t open another one,” number five warned.
Samantha ignored her and reached for door number nine. She opened it, and out stepped a pale, tired-looking little girl with sad eyes and a resigned expression.
She looked at Samantha. “I know you,” she said.
Samantha nodded. “And I’d like to remember you.”
The little girl shook her head. “I’m not the one you want. I’m the one who is stuck, trapped between two.” She pointed first toward number eight, who stopped screaming and looked up. She pointed next to the door marked with a ten. “I cannot control my rage, nor can I summon my calm. They both come to me, often fighting with each other.”
Samantha almost felt like she could relate. But mostly, she was still dealing with the anger more than the calm.
But anger wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed calm, self-assurance. So she nodded her thanks to Nine and then she reached out to the door marked with a ten and was surprised she heard no objections from the others.
The door swung open easily, and the girl behind it seemed to float out, feet barely touching the ground, if they were at all. Samantha stared at her, impressed. She looked in her eyes, though, and shuddered. The girl’s eyes were dull and lifeless, almost like a doll’s eyes. She swiveled her head slowly in Samantha’s direction.
“What do you want?”
“To remember and to understand,” Samantha said. She could see in her peripheral vision that the other children were staring now, watching the exchange.
“Then first you must move past this,” the girl said, gesturing to number eight. “You gain more power when you learn to center and focus, to empty yourself of everything else. All you do is react and respond. You must learn to be, to embrace who you are.”
“But how?”
“That is what you must figure out if you wish to progress.”
She heard mutterings from the other children, and she could sense their fear and their hesitation. Samantha couldn’t help but glance at door number twelve. The door itself now appeared to be glowing. It was practically a translucent red color.
“Don’t open that door,” Ten cautioned.
So she says the same thing about Twelve that the others do.
She turned back to Ten. “I need to figure out how to enter a circle that I have not been invited to join.”
“Everyone with power is connected for good or ill. Their circle is your circle. You must believe this, accept that you belong in it, and the circle will accept you. If you do not believe that you belong, the circle will reject you.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
Ten cocked her head to the side. “Why not?”
“It just . . . can’t,” Samantha said, at a loss for words.
“When we are little, we understand that all magic is simple.”
As if to illustrate, Five conjured Freaky with the flick of her wrists. She was the one who had retaught Samantha how to do that.
“As we grow older, we begin to believe that magic is difficult, and this belief manifests itself. It becomes difficult when it does not need to be.”
Samantha thought of herself. Sometimes magic seemed easy, other times nearly impossible.
“As we mature, we once again must embrace the belief that magic is simple.” Ten snapped her fingers, and a wall of flame surrounded her.
Samantha jumped back with a gasp. With another flick of the girl’s fingers, the flames disappeared.
“There are only two rules to magic,” the girl said, face solemn, still hovering in the air. “Magic is simple. Magic costs. Every action in the universe affects other actions, creatures. Magic drains the energy of the user, weakening them even if only for a moment. There is not an endless supply of energy in your body at any one time. To do great and terrible magic is to risk your own life. But aren’t those the stories that get written? The hero risks all and will either save the day or die horribly.”
Samantha had experienced firsthand some of the brutal effects of too much magic use on the body. It had nearly killed her more than once. So, what the child said made sense. “Thank you,” she said.
“And remember, it’s not their circle. It’s your circle.”
“I will.”
Samantha opened her eyes and stared at the circle in front of her. “It’s not theirs; it’s mine,” she murmured. She needed to believe it, own it.
She pulled off her shoes and socks and set them aside. She needed to feel the ground beneath her feet, be more connected to the place and all that it had witnessed. She reminded herself of what it had felt like to return to her mother’s home in Salem after so many years. She relived unpacking her old trunk, taking out the candles, the athame, the cloak and holding these things in her hand.
She still had them. She hadn’t known what to do with them and so she had brought them with her. They were buried in a box in her closet. Maybe not getting rid of those things had helped feed the anxiety she’d been feeling for months. But maybe they would ultimately help her save lives.
She stared at the circle. She had powers. She had abilities. She had once been a dark witch. She just had to believe that the barriers placed on the circle would see those things too. They had rejected her earlier because she had powers but did not belong, whereas they had allowed the tourists to pass through them. She couldn’t be as the tourists, but she could be, even if only for an hour, like those who had erected those barriers.
“I am Samantha Castor,” she said. Castor was the last name she’d been born with, her mother’s, but Samantha was the new name she’d taken on when she was adopted. Her full birth name was hateful to her, bespoke horror, and she refused to acknowledge it. She’d avoided using her full name in Salem because if a witch knew your name they had power over you. So she’d blended part of her adopted name with part of her birth name to limit the power that could be wielded over her. Samantha Ryan, the cop, was not a witch. But Samantha Castor had done magic, dark and violent, in Salem, regardless of the reason. The circle would accept her; it must.
“I am a witch descended from generations of witches. I walk where I will. I do what I wish. I impose my will where I must. You will allow me to pass.”
And she stepped forward, believing that the wards would part around her. They did. She kept walking forward, slow, majestic, feeling the earth beneath her toes, until she stood in the center of the circle.
“I am Samantha Castor and you will welcome me.”
Her senses flooded with images and feelings. She was connected to the witches who practiced here, who would be here again in two nights. She could feel the essence of their spirits. She closed her eyes and took it all in. As a child, all the rituals she had been a part of had taken place in houses, basements, away from prying eyes. Here, in nature, it felt completely different. The practitioners were pulling on the energies of the earth and not just one another.
She could feel Robin’s energy, faintest of all. She could sense the fear and fascination the girl had known while standing in this circle. There were others, their energies darker, more filled with malice. Their hatred practically poisone
d the earth. There were two, though, she could feel most strongly. There was something important about them. She pushed, trying to sense.
No! Relax. Magic is simple if you let it be, she reminded herself.
“I am Samantha Castor, and you will show me.”
She opened her eyes and she could see images hovering in the air, avatars of the different men and women who shared this circle. Some had hoods that covered their faces; others did not. And two of the faces she could see clearly, she recognized.
There was the witch who had attacked her in her car, her face twisted in a snarl. There was also the witch who had touched Lance in the forest, kept him from shooting her. Her eyes were dark, guarded, keeping her secrets to herself. The eyes of the other witch held a glint of madness that chilled her to the bone. These were the two she had been dealing with, and the circle told her these were the two most important, the two to be reckoned with.
“Now show me what they’re doing here,” Samantha said.
More pale images flickered, aftereffects like watching home videos projected into the air. They were performing a ritual that was unknown to her. They had a mound of earth in the center of the circle, and as she watched, it seemed to split apart, revealing something buried under the mound.
“What does that mean?”
No answer was forthcoming, but she hadn’t really expected one for that. It looked like some form of sympathetic magic, where the witch would use an object to represent something or someone else and then do things to the object in order to cause those things to happen to the person or item they represented. Here the mound and the object beneath it were being acted upon in place of something else, in order to affect something else. As the image shimmered and faded, she noticed a lot of lines covering the ground around the mound. A moment later, the whole image was gone.
Samantha stood inside the circle and half closed her eyes. Feelings washed over her, memories that were not hers but felt no less potent. Terror, blood, greed, hate. And there was something else, an undercurrent that flowed beneath everything else but that threatened to grab hold of her and drown her.