Chapter Nine

TULLY BURST INTO Uncle Bart’s bedroom. Sparks got dragged along, his arm nearly wrenched out from its socket by Tully’s bearish grip.

“You’re late.” Uncle Bart stared at them as they exploded into the bedroom. He tapped his index finger on the surface of his smart watch then waved his finger at Tully. “If I tell your mother, she’ll be pissed.”

“You wouldn’t.” Tully stopped with a lurch. Sparks careened into his back, almost tipping them both over, but the sheer volume of muscled expanse making up Tully’s shoulders made for an effective block.

At least Sparks didn’t tumble over.

“Try me,” Uncle Bart said as Sparks pulled away and found himself in the middle of the two men currently locked in a staring contest. Uncle Bart matched Tully’s steely gaze. The two stared at each other in a death match of wills. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Sparks fidgeted as he moved to the side.

Uncle Bart broke out in hysterical laughter. “What, and get my favourite great-nephew in trouble? Bitch, please.”

“Jesus, old man…” Tully’s shoulders slumped in relief as he swatted his great uncle’s feet which were neatly tucked under the crocheted bedspread.

“You’re my only source of fun.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Tully bent and picked up Uncle Bart’s tablet which had been discarded to the floor beside the bed. The unmistakable grunts and groans coming from the device overshadowed the TV which nattered on from the corner of the room. From over Tully’s shoulder, Sparks blushed as naked bodies in adult positions flashed across the tablet’s screen, also explaining the suggestive soundtrack. The tablet streamed a live porn session. Tully flipped the screen cover over the porn and reprimanded his uncle. “You are terrible.”

“If you think this is bad, you should have seen me at your age. Dates galore and an orgy every Saturday night. Okay, boys, you are late, not that I care, but I can smell bad juju on you too. Where have you been? Sit. Tell Auntie Bart everything.”

Sparks snickered.

“Sparks, come sit next to me. You haven’t visited in such a long time, and I missed seeing those flowing locks of hair.”

“You, sir, are one pervy old man.” Sparks chuckled as he walked around the other side of the bed and took a seat. “And I love it, Auntie, don’t ever stop.” He smiled from ear to ear which evidently made the old man happy as he returned the grin and gripped Sparks’s hand.

Tully pulled up a side chair and sat while grabbing Uncle Bart’s other hand and giving it a squeeze. “So, what did you do to the Audi’s windows?”

“Ah, so, I’m not wrong. You boys are too young to have experienced all the glory of both the light and the dark the Shadow Realm has to offer. I knew those sigils would come in handy one day. It’s a compound circle rune of protection against negative and evil energy.” Uncle Bart peered into Tully’s eyes.

Uncle Bart was in his eighties. A definite rarity in the world of male witches. Most tended to peter out in their sixties, having used up all their life force casting spells.

Magic was not free.

Uncle Bart had progressed his way through the ranks of the witch world, journeying through the Shadow Realm, and had aptly and honourably earned the title of Elder. Sparks had heard him referred to as “one spooky-ass bitch” by many people.

With an alarming quickness, the old man’s hands shifted. He grabbed both Sparks and Tully by their wrists and clamped down tightly.

His eyes milked over, like he’d been plagued with cataracts. His head jerked backward.

Tully had told Sparks on numerous occasions how he’d been subjected to Uncle Bart’s visions his entire life. He had several unique talents. He was a witch of the black robe, like Dev, an Aurologist. His source of magic drew from his emotional state, which consumed energy from his soul, or from others. But his primary gift concerned all things within the prophetic arena, like clairvoyance and clairaudience. Not only did he see the future, he also relived the memories of others as well as being able to dig into the past. He had occasionally even recounted people’s past lives.

The man’s abilities were exceptional, but he’d had years to sharpen them.

And Sparks had never had a visit with dear old Uncle Bart where he hadn’t blushed at least once. Uncle Bart did not suffer from any form of shyness. If anything, he epitomized the characteristics of a “dirty old man.” But everyone humoured him, and he never harmed anyone, or did anything without consent. Push people’s boundaries? Absolutely.

He didn’t get out of his first-floor apartment much anymore and spent most of his days online talking with friends who were still around, and astral projecting.

Sparks had heard Tully tell stories of the man using his abilities with wild abandon, which of course made Tully give him shit numerous times for using energy to do magical things. But Auntie Bart was formidable, and Tully regularly told of his unceremonious dismissal. “At my age I’ll do whatever the hell I want!” A constant reprimand for suggesting he should calm down and pack the magic away.

With a shake of his head, Uncle Bart’s eyes cleared, and he released his death grip.

“Wraiths, huh? They were banished. How are they even crossing the veil to get here? Coalescing into our realm takes energy from the ley lines, and they were denied access, and for good reasons. Those fuckers can’t be argued with. They’ll leave a trail of desiccated dead bodies behind them. If they absorb enough energy and become corporeal, you’ll have a wight on your hands. Once that happens, they’ll start summoning more of their own kind. You’ll end up with an infestation faster than you can recite a canticle.”

“Well, there’s been some developments over the past few months.” Tully grimaced as he pried his gaze away from his great-uncle and instead studied the old shag carpet in the bedroom. Evidently no one had informed Uncle Bart of the incident.

“What happened to Byron?” Uncle Bart cocked an eyebrow.

“How do you know this shit?”

“I’m a witch. I know things.”

“Don’t use that line on me, old man.” Tully shook his head as he stood and went over to the dresser and counted out the pills Uncle Bart needed to take before bedtime.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? So what the hell happened to Byron? If there are wraiths, that means the wards on the leys are broken. And if you have wraiths, then demons aren’t far behind. Next thing you know we’ll have nests of vampires too. I never liked Byron. Shady as hell. Arrogant and overconfident. But he knew his shit and he kept the worst of the Shadow Realm at bay. So, if the wraiths have returned…I repeat, what has happened?”

Sparks grimaced. They weren’t leaving without a detailed account of the night he’d cleaned up a blood-soaked basement. Uncle Bart missed nothing and picked up on the subtlest of clues.

“Out with it, boys. What the hell is going on?”

“It’s complicated,” Tully stammered.

“Well, I have nothing but time, so best you spill the beans.”

Tully and Sparks spent the next hour telling Uncle Bart all the particulars. How Dev used a summoning board which catapulted him into the Shadow Realm, and into Tully’s life, the ongoing feud with the werewolves that led to Addas’s infection, which turned into a cause for Byron—who stopped at nothing trying to fix his lover.

Next, he told of the sacrificing of fae for their life essence, and how the boys discovered Byron had tricked everyone into ingesting the fae’s bodily fluids—

“And once you’re fae touched, you’re never quite human again,” Uncle Bart finished. “Well, shit. Byron got himself into one hell of a pickle this time, didn’t he?”

“I think he feels really bad about everything though. When I saw him at the hospital, he sobbed in front of me. He’s always been the quintessential embodiment of witchy strength and power. That day, he was a broken mess,” Sparks added.

“Damn right. He should be. What a clusterfuck. Well, that settles it then.”

“Settles what?” Tully gave Uncle Bart the side-eye.

“You boys have to take over. If the ley lines aren’t throttled, Edmonton will turn into a death pit, just like New York did in the 70s and stayed that way until the early 90s.”

“Come on, Auntie Bart. New York was a mess back in the day, true, but everyone knows the change in policing turned the city around.” Sparks prided himself on the volume of useless facts and trivia he had tucked away in his brain.

Uncle Bart cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Youngsters.” He harrumphed. “No, you fools. Same thing happened there. Central Park is one of the largest eruptions of ley energy on the continent. The Carousel was built overtop of the fountain of energy. The circular ride is a clever device. It’s one massive ward. Each one of those carved horses is marked with sigils to ward off negative energy. And every person who rides the carousel is stripped, just a smidgeon, of their life force, which is turned into a continual source of energy to power up the wards.

“Emily Murphy Park here in Edmonton is the same damn thing, except no one’s bothered to build a ward at the source of the eruption. Instead, the Guardians of the Night Grove placed wards on the ley lines leading up to the fountain, keeping a wider berth of evil free space that acts as a dome of protection over the entire city. Byron showed me once…he has a globe channelling the energy from the line running under the coven house. In turn, the sphere powers the wards. The contraption’s a clever design, but I know he stole the specs from the coven in Montreal that did the same thing. Their botanical garden? Another eruption site.”

“See, I told you, the old man has stories.” Sparks raised an eyebrow.

“But the Guardians are no longer. Eddie and Gus are…well…gone. Addas is missing, or dead, and Byron’s infection is incubating. He’s only got a handful of months left before his first transition, and witch werewolves never survive,” Tully stated.

“Yeah, but he’s witch, werewolf, and fae. Who the hell knows what that combination is going to produce? And for that matter, Addas had the fae in him too. We all do, thanks to Byron. For all we know, Addas is alive and well.”

“I never liked Byron Radcliffe or his goons—but he did a job for this city. A thankless one few know about. You boys need to take over, and quick. Or we’ll all suffer.”

“Well, Sparks, Dev, and I have already talked about forming a new coven. In fact, we were going to bring the guys together for Mabon.”

“Good. Do it. And fix this mess.” Uncle Bart stared at each of them again. Sparks squinted and studied the old man as his glassy eyes peered right through him. “Hmph.”

“What? Whenever you grumble, it’s never good.”

Uncle Bart kept staring. “You, and Sparks, and Dev. A good mix of energy to start something new. Threes are good. Maiden, Mother, Crone. Son, Father, Sage. You’ll need each other.”

Sparks cocked his head to one side. Uncle Bart sometimes got a bit mystical.

“Sure, it’s not as if we haven’t already contemplated the idea of a new coven, but we’d be building it from scratch,” Tully said. “We don’t have the resources Byron had access to. I don’t have a globe of ley line enchantment to throttle ley line energy.”

“Byron led the old coven. He doesn’t own its books, scrolls, tools, or magic. If there are things you need, you go to the house and get them. Boys”—Uncle Bart continued to stare at each of them in turn—“this is a serious problem that needs to be dealt with. Wraiths are bad. Demons are worse, and there are other things lurking in the darkness of the Shadow Realm we don’t want here in our home. Fix this. I’ll help you get what you need to start things up. But you need to control the ley lines. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh, that’s all.” Tully rolled his eyes.

At that moment Sparks had an inkling, a pull in his gut, suggesting his bottle of wine spelled with Laguz was coming to fruition. Like most things when magic got involved, the end result wouldn’t be as one would have hoped or intended.

 

THE CLOCK’S ARMS were perilously close to midnight, and Uncle Bart’s eyes drooped with sleep. Too tired. This getting old business wasn’t for the faint of heart. Everything hurt: joints, knees, back. But seeing Tully always lifted his spirits. He enjoyed the company of his great-nephew. The addition of Sparks had been a welcome surprise. The flowing locks and tight body made the man a delectable morsel of meat. He’d have to get the tissues and lotion out later.

But despite any old man crushes, he had made the boys a promise, and one he meant to keep. Exhaustion from a day of doing nothing weighed heavily on his bones and his bed was warm and cozy. But this estate and this city had always been his domain. Uncle Bart had witnessed the cold hand of the reaper collect several of his friends. His time on the physical plane had nearly played itself out, but he had no intentions of leaving his corner of the world in this disastrous state.

There were a few things Uncle Bart needed to do before he would make the transition to the Eternal Grasslands and Wild Forests to be with his Gods and Goddesses.

“Ester? Where are you at, girl?” Bart called out and if anyone had seen him do it, they’d have considered him ready for the nursing home.

A book fell off the shelf.

“Oh, come on. Now’s not the time to play coy. I need you.”

The TV in the corner, which had been muted while playing the nightly news, flickered.

“Goddamn ghosts. Ester, I’m not playing tonight. I need your help.”

The crocheted bedspread pulled itself off the bed.

Uncle Bart rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Be that way. I will give you what you want, but you have to do something for me first.”

The lights in the room went off. The TV died.

“Finally.”

In the darkness, an ethereal mist poured into the centre of the room, coming from all over. In a twirl of shimmering diamond dust, Ester coalesced and formed at the front of Bart’s bed. She was dressed in clothes from a long-forgotten era. The bodice pulled tight and buttoned from the navel to the throat. The collar enclosed the neck and from the way Ester held her head rigid and upright, as Bart stroked his own neck, the garment looked distinctly uncomfortable. The flare at her hips, though, spoke of voluminous and heavy fabric as the skirt puddled onto the floor. Her long hair, silver in the darkness, was tightly braided and twirled into a bun pinned to the back of her head—a severe and stunningly handsome look.

She stretched out a vaporous hand and placed her dead fingers on Bart’s leg.

The appendage emanated ice-like temperatures, but she meant no harm. She wanted to help. Bart sensed it, a warm calming sensation easing his heart and mind.

Of course, there was a price. Nothing from the Shadow Realm came without cost.

“The boys need our help. The library downstairs, you know of it. You’ve been there before, right?” Bart asked.

She nodded once.

“Take others if you need help, but all the items belonging to the Guardians—take them to the library downstairs. We shall relocate everything they’ll need to reincarnate the old coven into something new. The items the Guardians housed? Bring them here. My Tully and his mates need to take over.”

Again, she closed her eyes and nodded once.

“Good. As I promised, you’ll get payment. I’ll let you have my body for a day, but only one day. Understand? One twenty-four-hour period. Acceptable?”

Another nod.

She evaporated.

The light flickered until it shone bright, and the TV stuttered briefly before blaring out the nightly news.

“She never did learn how to adjust the volume.” Uncle Bart grumbled as he threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. He had on an old stained white T-shirt that hung loose on his skinny frame, and only boxers covering his bottom. Scrawny pale legs told the truth of his age. The skin, paper thin, showed spider veins and blotches. The markings of age everyone inevitably obtains. A sign we have lived life.

On an unsteady gait, he ambled across the room, grabbed the remote, and pressed the Volume Down button. The TV fell silent.

“Now, where did I put you…?” Uncle Bart, still in his skivvies, scoured the bookshelves lining the wall. He thumbed a few spines, the contents of the shelves conjuring up snippets of his life. Spells cast, monsters conquered, loves come and gone, friends and bonds created through magic—all were documented and kept here on one shelf or another. He’d had an extraordinary life. One he was thankful for.

“There you are.”

He pulled out a scroll and ran a finger over the wax seal. The paraffin contained concentric swirls of brown and black. Brown for Earth and home, black for protection and binding. The shape within the stamp was of the great antlers of the horned God.

“I had hoped we’d never have to use you again, but I’m afraid we need you now.”

Calling forth his energy, Bart closed his eyes, and in the dimness of his bedroom, he glowed with a blue-tinged phosphorescence.

With his finger, he wrote three runes: an off-centred cross, a harsh jagged letter B, and a diamond with legs.

“Nauthiz, Berkano, Othala,” he whispered. The lines thickened and turned black.

The wax seal cracked and split. The scroll unravelled.

The paper revealed an architectural diagram of his house and yard showing the measurements of each room, its walled structures, and the multiple stories as well as the garden out back. This document consecrated and protected the boundaries of his property. In the witch world, the scroll acted as the deed of ownership to a magical entity—and the old house had loads of magic. Not only was it a collection of lumber and bricks, this structure had sentience. The house reacted and thought on its own and operated as a host to several other beings.

As the runes burned into the paper, the diagram shifted and changed. A room appeared in the lower level which hadn’t been there before, and in the garden, an additional plot of land jutted out.

Out in the backyard, a hedge grew, tall and thick. One opening appeared; where the branches of the boxwood grew in the archway, the leaves did not. The wooden frame twisted upon itself in an intricate weave, a braid of sorts, creating a portal into a clearing. On the far side of this hidden grove, a massive gnarled and heavily leafed Higan Cherry stood guard. The branches had seen many a winter, a hundred years of summers, a thousand prairie thunderstorms.

It was tall and strong.

Its roots also housed an Earth elemental. The guardian of this witch wood who had been put to rest many years ago.

“It’s time to wake up,” Uncle Bart whispered.