Abigail clutched the amulet hanging from her neck. It glowed at her touch as I had seen it do for Elizabeth. Mrs. Twiggs stood silent, something was wrong. Her eyes turned, flipping over until all I could see was the white. She held her arms outstretched and lifted off the ground, into the trees, into the bamboos.
“Abigail, you must find the tree. It’s the only way,” I said. “Pixel, stay with Tracker.”
Pixel looked up with his orange saucer eyes, his eyes full of love and anger. Anger for the darkness that was taking his friends. His brave heart beat louder than the oppressing wind. “Me stay, Terra, me stay.” He lay across Tracker’s chest.
“Abigail, come. We must go now.” I said. We fought the wind pushing against us. Abigail screamed over the howling. “I remember Hurricane Katrina. My mother blown away by the winds and the waters. Trees bending, snapping.” She yelled over the noise.
She picked me up and turned face to the wind and pushed forward. “Terra, I don’t know which way to go. I’m lost.”
I screamed. “Head north. Your tree will be north.”
Abigail pushed on, branches snapping and tearing at her clothes and face. She held one hand out slapping the deluge of debris and clutched me with her other. And then above the wind and the snapping branches I heard Abigail sing. She sang her great-grandmother’s song, the song of my coven. The words that were sung by the old ones. The words of love, compassion and sacrifice. The wind stopped. Abigail collapsed to the ground. “Terra, it’s near. I can feel it. My tree is near. It’s calling to me.” Abigail scooped me up and ran. Her feet barely touched the ground, fearless and knowing. Even I couldn’t see through the complete darkness of the center of this maze of old growth. My head began to spin, the vertigo was taking me. The voices spoke. Elizabeth spoke. “Terra, my family’s spirit tree is the mother of all oaks. Its branches hung over the old ones. Its leaves rustle beneath the feet of the earth walkers. Its bloodline is our bloodline going back four times. I love you, Terra, I will find you.”
When I came to, Abigail was breathing heavily, leaning up against a massive oak. Its branches spread a hundred feet in all directions and a hundred feet more to the top. Its roots smelled sweet like freshly cut grass. Abigail hugged the tree, spoke to it in a whisper. She turned to me, “Terra, what do I do?”
Before I could answer, it appeared. Space and time around it blurred and twisted. A vortex of darkness, their shapeless forms glided through the trees, snapping them like toothpicks. Then it took the form of Mrs. Tangledwood. Abigail grabbed me and held me tight. I screamed, “Don’t listen to it, Abigail. Block it from your mind. It will try to confuse you.”
Abigail began to shake. Her eyes rolled back into her head. I leapt from her arms and ran toward Mrs. Tangledwood. I screamed. “I know your name. I’m not afraid to speak it. “
A graveyard whisper filled my head with a familiar voice. “Speak it, Terra Rowan.”
The form of Mrs. Tangledwood gave way to a swirling darkness. Standing before me, my dearest of all my sisters, Prudence Thornwood. “Terra, it is too strong for you. You must submit.”
“Prudence, no.”
“Terra, I had no choice. It filled my mind with pride and envy. It promised me great wealth and power.”
“No, Prudence.”
“Elizabeth didn’t love us. She kept the book for herself. Its powers are endless, Terra. I had to tell the secret, Terra. The book possessed me. It possessed me.”
“You are not my, Prudence,” I cried.
Her face contorted, her master spoke. “Terra Rowan, join us or die the true death.” It lifted me off the ground. I turned to see Abigail arms outstretched slowly rising up the tree, her back bent. A branch cut her hand wide open, the blood dripped down her side to her leg.
“I fear you not,” I said. “You are but shadows and mist.” I found myself, flying through the air, landing with a thud against the base of the tree. I felt something wet on my fur. Abigail’s blood soaked the fur and the ground around me. The tree shook. Roots snapped out of the ground and drank Abigail’s blood with a thirst. The darkness approached us. Abigail screamed. I could hear the oak tree snap high above us, a branch landed in Abigail’s hand. She fell to the ground. She kneeled and looked up at the approaching swirl of darkness. Then she glanced at the branch in her hand. “I fear you not. Darkness fear the light. I am Abigail Oakhaven.” She raised her wand. An explosion of white light lit up the forest and rippled out through the treetops.
A primordial guttural voice yelled in agonizing pain. And then it was gone. Abigail turned to me. Her hair silver white, her skin glowed in the dark. She knelt down and scooped me up and hugged me. She rocked me. Near us, Mrs. Tangledwood lay on the ground, the color gone from her face. Her once raven hair gray. She raised her gnarled hand. “It promised me life, Terra. It promised me power.” She pulled the book from under her cloak. “It lied to me. I’m sorry.”
“I know, Emma. The book controls those who can’t control it. The ancient magic reaches out through the pages. It lied to my dear friend Prudence and possessed her the same way it took you. She came to Asheville to destroy the Oakhaven spirit tree, to end the Oakhaven bloodline but the bloodline continues. Prudence died in the fire but the book cannot be destroyed. Emma, how did you come upon the book?”
“In the ashes of the Fillmore. I wanted to leave my legacy, to restore the Fillmore but when I found the book, I had to have it. I didn’t mean to kill Lionel or the boy. I had no control.”
“I know, Emma. Sleep now,” I said. Emma’s eyes closed as she let out one last breath.
Pixel and Tracker ran up to us, knocking us over. Tracker licked Abigail’s wounds. Pixel grabbed me, threw me onto the ground. “Terra, OK? Terra, OK? Me save Tracker.”
“Yes, you did. You’re the best familiar a witch could ever have, Pixel.”
Pixel smiled.
Mrs. Twiggs stood on the edge of the fallen trees. Her light shined around her, a brilliant purple and white. She had been thrown into the abyss and returned stronger. She hugged us all. When she released the hug, she knelt down next to her dear friend and moaned, “Emma.” Mrs. Twiggs went to grab the book.
I screamed. “Stop.”
Abigail knelt down and picked up Elizabeth’s book of spells, etched on the cover, the barren oak tree with a blood orange moon over it. As she touched the tree, the crest came to life, illuminating her surroundings. Tree branches writhed like in a storm. The book flipped open, written in blood I could see Prudence Thornwood, 1692; Emma Tangledwood, 2017. The book snapped shut. Abigail tossed it into her backpack.
Pixel said, “Go now? Me hungry.”
Epilogue
I watched Mrs. Twiggs baking the morning scones. She looked over her shoulder with a smile. “They’re not going to bake themselves now, are they?”
Pixel begged for crumbs, reaching up Mrs. Twiggs’ leg. Abigail sat by the fire, Tracker on her feet. “Oh, dear, look at the time,” Mrs. Twiggs said, as the cuckoo clock struck seven. She stopped in front of Albert’s photograph. “Good morning, dear,” she said.
“Good morning, my love,” Albert Twiggs replied.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning journalist Vicki Vass turned in her reporter's notebook to pursue her passion for mystery writing. Her first series, Antique Hunters Mysteries, was a finalist in Mystery & Mayhem. Her travels to Asheville and the Biltmore Estate inspired this tale.
Vicki has written more than 1,400 stories for the Chicago Tribune as well as other commercial publications including Home & Away, the Lutheran and Woman's World. Her science fiction novel, The Lexicon, draws on her experience in Sudan while writing about the ongoing civil war for World Relief.
She lives in the Chicago area with her husband, writer and musician Brian Tedeschi, son Tony, Australian shepherds Atticus and Tracker, kittens Terra and Pixel, seven koi and Gary the turtle. For more about Vicki, vickivass.com.