Page 54 of Wicche Hunt

“Oh, don’t sit on the ground,” Mom admonished.

“I’m fine and I’m wearing work overalls.” Folding my legs up, I thought about what I’d seen. “It was about the size of the family grimoire. There was something about it, though. My head was pounding from the chanting, but when I looked at it, I felt the shove to look away.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything.

“Picturing it is causing my head to throb again.” I looked up, trying to shake off the pain. “Did I tell you Dave thought there was another Corey family grimoire, one containing black magic that’s passed down from sorcerer to sorcerer?”

Mom rubbed her forehead, clearly frustrated. Gran, on the other hand, stared out into the night, barely nodding.

“That sounds right to me,” Gran finally said. “There are too many of them in our family. A cursed grimoire, luring in the cruel, the weak, the power hungry. That sounds right.”

“How do we destroy it?” Mom asked.

“We can’t,” Gran said just as I said, “What would be the point?”

Mom looked between the two of us.

“It’s an ancient book, oozing black magic,” I explained. “And although I’ve never seen one or thought about it before this moment, I’m getting this pain in the pit of my stomach. I think it’s one of those books bound in human skin.”

Mom looked as queasy as I felt.

“I couldn’t read the page that was open. I’d thought the handwriting was too spindly or I was viewing it from too far away, but now I think it was another language. Some kind of demonic script. I wish Dave could see what’s in my head so he could tell us if that’s right.”

“Contact this Dave,” Gran said, “and explain what you saw. Your description might be enough for him to identify a demonic grimoire.”

I brought my knees up and rested my sore head. “I will.”

“I’ll get the fingerprints while we wait,” Mom said, going to her car.

My head was killing me and she’s alldance, monkey, dance.

Handing me the frame, she said, “I know you’re in pain right now, but we’re also all together, which might strengthen you.” She sat beside Gran again. “At least try, Arwyn.”

“What is this now?” Gran asked.

“Sylvia had her girls’ hand….”

I stopped listening, trying to quiet the pounding in my head so I could see something. I undid the brackets at the back of the frame, taking out the sheet of thick paper holding Calliope’s baby handprint and footprint. Head bowed, breathing slowly, I recited the finding spell from Sam’s grimoire and slipped off my glove, touching the fingerprint.

Images flash through my mind, a strobe light of Calliope’s life. Being held and fussed over, crawling and then walking, running to keep up with her sister. The cousins. Being left out of big kid games. Watching Serena learn to harness and use her magic. Resentment building. She tries in secret to duplicate what her sister has done, but it doesn’t work. She’s too young, just as Mom keeps telling her, but everyone knows Arwyn could do magic as a baby.

The flashes continue in my head: school, report cards not as high as Serena; mirror, not as beautiful as her mother or sister; magic, not as powerful as the rest of the cousins. They treat her like she’s still a baby but she finds she enjoys the coddling, enjoys that Serena often gets yelled at for not being nicer to her baby sister.

What she used to hate, she now understands is an advantage. She’s small and looks young and innocent. She uses it to throw suspicion off herself, usually directing it at her sister. She loves that her father still picks her up and refers to her as his Little One while he only holds Serena’s hand. She often squirms so he has to use both arms to hold her, dropping Serena’s hand. Calliope loves smiling over her father’s shoulder at Serena, who now walks alone.

Aunt Abigail, though, she sees Calliope as special. She singles her out for advanced magical training. Eventually, she introduces her to her shadowy helper who makes her magic stronger, and Calliope wants it all. She wants her own helper and all the power.

She wants them to stop talking when she moves into a room, to cower if she’s angry. She wants a seat on the Council so she can learn all the secrets and use them to her advantage. She’s smarter. They should be listening to her. But, no, they want to wait for that stupid half-breed Arwyn on the Council rather than her. Years, years they wait for the bitch when she’s standing right there, being the dutiful daughter and sister, chauffeuring that old bag around. They all take it as their due, never really looking at who Calliope has grown into, never respecting the power at her fingertips.

Well, she’s showing them now, isn’t she? They fear her and she delights in it. Her greatest joy, though, is in finally getting even with all the people who have slighted or belittled her over the years. Mom, beautiful, powerful, beloved Mom, was starting to look at Cal strangely, starting to ask questions. Mom had Sybil’s ear. It wouldn’t be long before she shared her suspicions about her daughter.

Cal had to move sooner than she’d expected, but it was okay. Freeing, even. Her friend had told her it would be, and he was right. How could she fulfil her destiny as the head of the Corey coven with her babying mother still around? Her mother wasn’t a bad person. Her death, though, was needed in order to lob a grenade into the family and then step into her place. The more Sybil relied on Cal, the more she’d realize she couldn’t do without her. She and her friend would see to that.

Gran is old. She’ll be easy to dispose of, especially since Cal has never liked her anyway. The old biddy always watched her a little too closely. Burn down the gallery with Arwyn in it and Cal rises as the head of the family, with lots of inheritance money coming her way.

Torchlight flickers in a stone room as Calliope ascends the stairs to the main floor. The rooms are empty and her footsteps echo throughout. She goes to the back window, arms folded, and watches the waves. There is a small, bare patio and boulders at the water line. Spray plumes up as wave after wave hits the rocks.

She smiles, walking to the kitchen. Soon the favored one will get hers and Calliope will laugh, finally rid of the half-breed.

Eyes fluttering, I heard a sharp intake of breath and then a big furry head was on my shoulder, rubbing against my cheek. He sniffed and quietly whined. Following his gaze, I saw the finger that had touched the handprint was blackened. Mom and Gran began to recite a healing spell and I joined in. On the third repetition, the black was gone and my finger no longer felt numb.

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