Conjured Page 3

  “They will.” Peter closed the journal. “Let’s think about it. What do we know about your grandmother?”

  “She was a half-witch from her maternal side. I’m assuming that’s why she kept her maiden name when she married my grandfather and why Emma and Vanessa were given the last name ‘Ross.’”

  “What do we know about your grandfather?”

  “Nothing. Grandpa Gregory died when Emma and Vanessa were kids,” I said.

  “Hmmm. What else do we know about your grandma other than she loved to bake, she went to church every Sunday and she was a Professor at Boston College?”

  “She taught Medieval Studies,” I said.

  “And she moved from Hazel Cove to Salem because of some big fight with your mom. But why Salem?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did Salem mean something to her? Like a witch thing, you know?”

  “Maybe,” I sighed loudly. “Honestly, I don’t know anything about my grandmother. I only talked to her about stupid stuff like the weather or Scooby. I never really knew her. And when she finally opened up to me about all of this stuff, I blew her off and stormed out of the house.”

  “Anyone would have reacted that way. She told you that you were a witch. Your response was normal.”

  “Yeah, but she was right.”

  “And you two made up. You were on your way to live with her for a few weeks.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just that I need her. I don’t know anything about this…new world that I’m now a part of. She could have taught me so much.”

  “What about Vanessa? Has she been teaching you?”

  “A little, but we’re so busy with packing and she’s going back to New Orleans soon. She did teach me how to levitate objects.”

  “Maybe you can keep in contact with her. Have her show you the ropes from long distance.”

  “That would be nice. She told me this great story about Emma, Ethan and fireflies.” I recounted the story to Peter.

  He pulled me against his chest. I buried my face in his soft sweater, deeply breathing in the smell. I closed my eyes, but all I could think of was Ethan. What was my father really like? What happened to him? Why wasn’t his body in the coffin?

  Victor’s words that night in the Hazel Cove Cemetery repeated themselves over and over in my mind.

  William stared into Ethan’s empty coffin.

  “Maybe your father put the body someplace else,” Simon said to William.

  Victor tugged the rope. “Why would he do that? What’s the point of the tombstone?”

  “I don’t know,” William said. “I’m not Jonah! Am I?”

  “It doesn’t feel right,” Victor said. “If we had dad’s journal-”

  “This doesn’t change a thing,” William said. “She’s still going in the coffin. She’ll just have more space now.”

  Did Jonah record what happened to my father in his journal? Was the journal hidden inside the Gamma farmhouse? Did I have the nerve to step foot in there again?

  The chances of finding the journal were slim. But it was worth a shot if there was any chance of finding out what happened to Ethan. It was risky, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

  “Hey, Peter?”

  “Hmm?” He answered into my hair.

  “Will you go with me to the Gamma farmhouse? I want to get my car back,” I said, splitting the truth. Peter wouldn’t let me anywhere near that place if he knew what I was up to.

  “Tired of driving the rental?”

  “Yeah, and I don’t think I can face that house alone.”

  “No problem. We’ll go tomorrow afternoon,” Peter said.

  The Gamma fraternity house. I never wanted to see that house again. But if it could bring me closer to finding out what happened to Ethan, then I’d have to face my fears.

  Gamma’s life-size mural on the living room wall flashed before my eyes. The mural depicted the biblical scene of the Archangel Michael casting the demons into Hell.

  How appropriate.

  * * *

  Nightmares plagued my dreams. Grotesque images of my murdered grandmother. Dark cemeteries. William Van Curen returning from the grave to choke the life out of me. Eerie basements. Simon’s gut wrenching screams as blood pooled out of his facial orifices. Empty coffins. Bradley, in a clown suit, swinging from my balcony railing.

  My mind had no shortage of horrible real life visions to distort into nightmares. But this time was different. A new nightmare to add to my growing collection, but remarkably, this one ended with a small light of hope….

  I was standing alone in the snow covered parking lot at Hawthorne Prep. The sky was dark and clear, revealing thousands of bright stars.

  What was I doing here? Outside. In the cold. Alone. I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t wake myself.

  There were no cars. No people. No sounds. Only Hawthorne’s empty snow covered grounds. It was peaceful. Serene. I breathed in the fresh crisp air. It was nice. I hadn’t had a nightmare-free dream in months.

  I strolled through the snow. My feet were bare, but the cold didn’t bother them.

  RIIIIINNNNNGGGG!!

  A bell? What on Earth?

  Suddenly, I had the terrible sensation that someone was watching me. I twirled around, half expecting to see one of the typical boogeymen that haunted my dreams. Who would it be this time - Victor? William? My body tensed for the confrontation.

  Instead, I was greeted by the strangest thing I’d ever seen.

  Ravens.

  Hundreds of them. They were fanned out in a semi-circle around me. Rows and rows of ravens. But there was no sound. Not the slightest ruffle of movement. Complete silence.

  Jet black feathers contrasted eerily against the pure white snow. Beady red eyes stared at me. All of their attention and focus was squarely on me.

  CRAAAAWWWKKK.

  The shattering of the absolute silence was shocking.

  A few birds in the front snapped their beaks. I didn’t want to startle them. Slowly, I took a step back. Dozens of wings flapped in response. The noise was deafening.

  The flock of birds collectively moved forward.

  Were ravens supposed to have red eyes? I took another step in retreat. An uproar of feathers ignited.

  I turned on my heel and ran. The parking lot sloped into a valley. The snow was making it difficult to run. My feet sank into the powder like quick sand. I pulled my knees to my chest to cover the height of the drifts.

  Behind me, the flock of birds took to the air.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Hundreds of red eyes burned against black feathers. The birds dove and zigzagged through the sky, formulating their assault. I covered my head with my hands to protect my face.

  The forest was a hundred feet away. If I could make it into the woods, the trees would protect me from the onslaught of ravens.

  A searing slash stunned my arm. Trickles of blood oozed down my skin. Another slash to my scalp. My back. My legs. Wings flapped over my head. The thunderous swoosh of air against feathers. The ravens pecked every inch of my exposed body with their sharp beaks. One swooped in, aiming for my eyes. I ducked. The bird missed and hit my cheek.

  I finally reached the tree line. The forest, like everything else, was covered in snow. I launched myself through the thick undergrowth of bushes and branches. Blood streamed down my head and arms and onto the ground, leaving a trail of red in the snow behind me.

  A light in the distance was visible through the snow covered trees. My breathing was labored. I had a cramp in my side and my lungs felt like they were exploding.

  Why couldn’t I wake up? And why was I having a nightmare about ravens? A bird attack? Really?

  Even though I clearly knew I was dreaming, the sights and sounds were real. The deafening roar of the flapping wings pounded in my ears. My body, now frozen from the frigid air, seared red hot where the skin was torn.

  The light was near. I had to get there. That was the goal. My destination. />
  I burst through the branches and into the light. Immediately, I was immersed in a soft glow.

  Fireflies.

  Thousands of the bright yellow bugs fluttering in the snow covered forest. They surrounded me in a funnel of light. I was no longer cold. An envelope of warmth surrounded me.

  The pain subsided. The noise from the ravens ceased. Absolute silence returned.

  And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t wake up from my nightmare screaming.

  CHAPTER 3

  “I never thought I’d be doing this drive again,” I said.

  Peter turned left and we drove through the winding tree lined street.

  “This place is in the middle of nowhere.” Peter glanced at the overgrown lawns in front of the crumbling colonial houses.

  “Perfect spot for a witch hunter hideout.”

  “Do you think Victor and James are hiding out there?”

  “What? No. I mean, I’m not sure about Victor, but I don’t think James is hiding there. I don’t even know if he’s even in contact with Victor.” I hoped James wasn’t in contact with Victor.

  James Van Curen was the new boy in Hazel Cove and was, at one time, a friend of mine. Then, I found out that his father, William, was the leader of the Gamma witch hunting fraternity. See the problem? Gamma attacked me and James didn’t help me until the very end. While his father was choking me to death, James shoved him off of me just in time. William hurled forward and smashed his head on a tombstone. He died instantly.

  I hadn’t talked to James since that night. I didn’t blame him. I was the reason his father was dead by his own hand. I probably wouldn’t talk to me either. And I didn’t know where we stood on the whole witch hunter versus witch front. Was he now an active member of Gamma? Was he hunting me? Yes, James and I had serious issues. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t think that way.

  “Is James still not back at school?” Peter asked.

  “No, but the Cooper twins said he’ll be back soon. Logan talked to him last week on the phone.”

  “Hmmm,” Peter said. “Do you think it’ll be safe when he returns?”

  “James might hate me, but I don’t think he’ll harm me. He did save my life,” I said, wishing my words to be true. “Turn here behind that house. There it is!” I pointed to my little silver car.

  “Maybe you should transfer to Hazel Cove High. At least I’d be able to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re safe.”

  I smiled. “My tuition at Hawthorne Prep has already been paid for the remainder of the school year. Don’t worry, I’ll be at your school next fall.”

  Peter pulled up beside my car. He kept the engine running. My hand froze on the handle. Now was the time to tell him.

  “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I lied.”

  Peter slowly turned his head and raised one light brown eyebrow. He blew out a long breath of air. “About what?”

  “Well… I half lied.”

  “Go ahead, spit it out.”

  “I really wanted to get my car back. I hate driving the rental, but-”

  “No.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “Lex, I know exactly what you’re about to say. It’s too dangerous. We have no idea who’s in there.”

  “I know. But maybe we can check it out. We can turn around if someone’s home.”

  Peter’s blue eyes narrowed.

  “Please?” I turned to face him. “I’m sorry I lied, but you wouldn’t drive me out here if you knew what I was planning. I have to check, Peter. Jonah Van Curen’s journal might be in there. I have to know.”

  I would do whatever was necessary to find out what happened to Ethan. Legal or illegal. It didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop me. If Peter said no to me now, then I’d come back on my own. I wouldn’t give up.

  Peter let out a long breath. “Fine, but you follow me, okay? And if I say it gets too hairy, then we leave. Is that a deal?”

  I leaned across the seat and kissed him. “Promise.”

  He turned off the car. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”

  My keys were hidden on the car’s back tire. I’d placed them there the last time I was here. It had been two weeks since I followed Victor into the Gamma farmhouse. I swore to myself I’d never step foot in there again. And yet, here we were. On the verge of doing something incredibly stupid, but desperately necessary.

  Peter held out his gloved hand and we trudged through the snow. I steered us towards the trees, so we wouldn’t be seen from the road. The snow covered forest brought back last night’s dream.

  Ravens and fireflies.

  Weird. But now that I was awake and coherent, the dream was easily explainable. I’d been reading Edgar Allan Poe for American Literature class, so that was where the ravens came into play. And Vanessa’s story about my parents and the fireflies was still fresh in my mind. I couldn’t, however, explain the ravens’ red eyes. They were pretty frightening, but it was a nightmare, right? A certain amount of scariness was to be expected.

  The two-story white farmhouse came into view. Of course, it hadn’t changed. The farmhouse was white with red shutters and a red roof. The paint was peeling and the gutters were rusty. A wraparound porch encircled the house and a gravel driveway filled with snow snaked up from the road. On the porch, there was a swing, two windows and the front door.

  Peter crouched behind a tree. “That’s their hideout?”

  “I don’t know who lives there, but they had their meeting in the basement that night.”

  “I don’t see any cars in the driveway.”

  “Last time the front window was open,” I said. “It’s closed now. Let’s go around back and see if we can get inside.”

  We stayed in the tree line. Peter carefully covered our footprints in the snow. No cars were parked behind the house either; only two overflowing trashcans and a covered grill. Someone lived there. No telling who.

  Please don’t let James be in the house. I seriously couldn’t deal with it if he went over to the dark side.

  I threw a quick glance at the surrounding forest, having a split second sensation that someone was watching us. No sounds. No people. Only Peter and me crouching in the trees. I shook off the feeling. It was only nerves.

  “Remember what I said.” Peter squeezed my hand and gave me a stern look. “If I say go, we go. I’m serious.”

  He led the way to the concrete patio. The top half of the back door had a window. I peered inside.

  “It’s the kitchen. I don’t see anyone.” I jiggled the door handle, but it was locked.

  Peter grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a credit card. He took one look around and then placed the plastic card into the space between the door and the frame. After a few seconds of wiggling, the door clicked.

  “Does everyone know how to pick a lock but me?” I said under my breath.

  Peter pushed open the door. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  The kitchen smelled of scrambled eggs. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, but they hadn’t been there long. No foul smell emanated from them or the nearby garbage can.

  “Where to first?” Peter asked.

  “The basement.”

  Peter motioned for me to the lead the way. I walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I stopped in front of the heavy door. We were making a big mistake by coming back. We were stirring up the hornet’s nest. If they found us, we were dead. No questions asked.

  “Lex.” Peter held his hand out again. “We’ll go together.”

  The descent down the spiral stairs with Peter was slightly less scary than it was when I was alone. But it still didn’t make it any easier.

  “How deep does this go?” Peter used his free hand to feel our way down the dark stairs.

  “It shouldn’t be much further.”

  When we reached the final step, I hesitated again. The wall exte
nded out from the stairs, so you had to take another step around the concrete before you could actually see into the basement.

  “This was where I found them,” I whispered. “Victor. William. Paul. George Murray. When they brought James out of the back room, I panicked and they heard me. I ran for it. Obviously, I wasn’t fast enough.”

  “No one is here now.”

  “Maybe I should go to the gym. Work on my cardio.”

  We walked around the corner and into the empty basement. The only light came from a single light bulb hanging from a beaded string in the middle of the room.

  “Wow,” Peter said. “They are crazy.” He walked over to the oil painting depicting a famous biblical scene. Eight different paintings adorned the walls, each picture placed in between a wooden crucifix.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until I show you the living room.”

  We searched the basement. There wasn’t much to it. There were only two rooms - the main room and the black curtained room where James had waited to be initiated. There wasn’t anything else. A few boxes of candles, some old brown velvet robes and a stack of Bibles were all we found. No shelves of food. No washing machine. Nothing.

  “Want to try upstairs? Victor and William didn’t know where Jonah’s journal was, so it’s probably well hidden,” I said.

  Peter did a quick check of the walls and floorboards to make sure there weren’t any loose openings to stash a journal. Then we climbed the staircase back to the main floor.

  “Are you ready to see something crazy?” I asked.

  We walked through the dining room decorated with the fraternity paddles and into the sky blue living room. The furniture hadn’t changed - an old couch, two loveseats and a coffee table. A large wooden cross hung on the wall behind the couch. The oil painting of an old man with a large nose and small eyes (possibly a portrait of Jonah Van Curen?) holding a Bible over his heart hung on the wall next to the cross.

  “Ta-da.” I motioned to the mural that took up the entire wall. It was a depiction of the Archangel Michael, with his white wings spread and spear in hand, casting all the demons into Hell.