Page 1 of Dark Rapture
Chapter One
Thepotentscentofcinnamon floods my senses, and I let my eyes drift closed as I breathe it in deeply. I’ve always loved cinnamon, mostly because it reminds me of the safety of my childhood home, and the delicious homemade banana bread my mom used to bake for our family every Sunday afternoon.
Reaching into the fragile glass jar that holds the aromatic spice, I pinch a small amount between my fingertips and set the jar aside. As I hold open a pocket sized brown cloth bag with my spare hand, I sprinkle the cinnamon over the mixture of herbs already deposited inside.
I lean forward slightly so that I can better peer inside the plain pouch, admiring the heady blend of burdock root, blackberry thorns, thistle, bay leaf, witch hazel and now cinnamon. The warm, earthy scents rise to meet my nose, and I allow my eyes to drift shut for a second time as the fragrance soothes me like a healing balm to my soul.
This isn’t the first beginner spell I’ve attempted to cast, but the energy flowing around me right now makes me think that it will be the most powerful one yet. My lips part on a happy sigh, and I speak my intentions into existence, my body swaying gently back and forth as the incantation flows from me.
“I draw energy from the North, the South, the East, and the West,” I begin, one hand cupping the brown pouch while the other moves in circles just above it. “I invoke the power of earth, air, fire, and water. Ancestors and spirit guides, hear my voice and lend me your power.”
As I open my eyes, my attention is stolen by the silky wisps of flame from the five black candles set before me, each one placed at the five points of a pentacle at the center of my altar. The gentle, amber light of the fire fights dutifully against the shadows clinging to every corner of this small walk-in closet that I recently converted into my altar room.
The space is big considering the size of my apartment, the landlord had mentioned they turned a second bathroom into closet space. There is enough room for me to kneel comfortably before the compact, custom built altar made of dark oak, with additional space around me to spare. The table is lined in a sheer tapestry, and adorned with various statues and symbols of witchcraft, all of which I purchased from a cozy little occult shop here in downtown Toronto.
The five candles are handmade from the occult shop as well, but it was me that carved intricate sigils into the soft, dark wax. Four runes to assist with the manifestation of the protection magic I am calling upon today, and one special sigil engraved into the candle situated at the top point of the sacred star.
I place the protection spell bag down at the center of a silver and black pentacle disk, surrounded by the burning candles, before reaching for the mortar and pestle on the far corner of the table and setting it in front of me.
Reaching into a medium sized selenite bowl on my left, I take out a smooth shard of obsidian and a rough piece of black tourmaline and drop it into the bowl before beginning to crush the fragile stones and combine them into a single, glittering dust. Using a delicate, decorative silver spoon, I gather up the crushed stones and deposit a generous spoonful into my protection spell bag. The crushed gems fall like stardust, settling over the herbal mixture. When the candlelight catches it just right, it looks as though I’ve caught tiny stars in my spell bag.
Chanting again, I steady my voice and lift the half-filled pouch up in my cupped hands. “Ancestors and spirits of protection, I invoke thee. I call upon your defensive energy, bind it to this bag and guard me against all that seek to harm me.”
Closing my eyes, I visualize the manifestation runes I carved into my spell candles. I hold them in my mind’s eye, directing all of my own energy towards them. Then comes the lone protection candle with the unique sigil. When it flashes to the forefront of my mind, I feel a surge of dark power that has me drawing in a sharp breath.
This particular sigil is ancient, that much I know for sure. I discovered it when I was exploring an occult shop that belonged to an elderly woman, her beautiful store was hidden among the back alleys of Rome.
The antiquated shop had a beautiful, old occult library situated at the back of the winding aisles. I spent well over an hour browsing through her collection, in awe of the dusty old books containing all the knowledge and guidance a new witch could ever dream of. I had never seen such an incredible collection anywhere else.
I was in Rome on vacation with my best friend, and she was upset when she woke up to find me gone from our hotel room, having spent half the morning in this woman’s occult shop without her.
In the far back corner, there was a heavy, old book kept secured in an oversized glass box under a pair of bright lights. There was even a camera in the top corner of the room, directly facing the eerie hardcover book. I ignored the camera, because I felt compelled to look inside of the old tome, despite it clearly being off limits to the public.
Something from within the book was calling out to me, that much I’m sure of. The compulsion to open the box and get my hands on the old, worn out pages was so intense that I felt as though I was on auto-pilot as I lay my hands on it.
I still remember the smell of the book vividly, and the way the stiff pages felt beneath my fingertips. While it was obviously old and exposed to years of dust, it also smelled faintly of wood smoke and midnight air. For the short period of time I held it in my hands, I was mesmerized by it. Obsessed with what it contained, with an intensity I can’t explain. The language written inside was foreign to me, but that didn’t stop me from devouring all that I saw.
The very first page that I opened it to had the wordpraesidiumwritten in a heavy, old script at the top, with the most beautiful symbols painted onto the page beneath it. Four symbols, to be exact. It was one in particular, however, that stood out to me. I knew the moment that I saw it, that I would never forget it. The strange seal remains stuck in my memory to this very day.
When I eventually checked the internet for translation of the word I had found above the inked symbols, it became clear to me that its meaning pointed towards protection and defense. Since protection is both the reason for, and the primary focus of my journey as a witch, it felt like I was receiving guidance from some force within the universe. Something greater than me had called me to investigate that shop, and led me straight to the mysterious book hidden in the back.
A witch must always trust her intuition, and mine told me that I was meant to find this shop, this ancient book, and the memorable sigil contained inside. I had no intention of ignoring what could be a message from the universe, or divine guidance from my spirit guides.
I left Rome less than twenty-four hours after finding that book, something the shopkeeper obviously intended to keep away from the general public. The symbol I found printed on those well-worn pages was burned into my mind’s eye, and the plane ride home was full of obsessive thoughts of what I had discovered that fateful morning.
As soon as I got home, I carved the sigil from memory onto one of my black candles and then set it back among the others on my altar. That particular one, which I deemed my official protection candle for future spell casting, stood out among the rest. The rest of the candles were simple enough, with well known manifestation and intention runes etched into the soft wax.
Intuition guided me once again this morning, and I made the easy decision to use that sigil in today’s important spell.
With my eyes still closed, I continue to cast my spell over the bag I now hold securely in my left hand. My right hand is held up, palm facing the candles on my altar. My body rocks forward towards the flickering lights, then back again, as I sway gently in the darkness.
The dark space outside of my closed eyes suddenly becomes brighter, which has my eyes fluttering open against the creeping shadows that surround me. The flames of the candles have doubled in size, flickering wildly as though charged with energy from my manifestations.
“Forces of divine protection, power of unbreakable defense, guard me. As I will it, so it shall be,” I whisper with excited breaths, repeating the mantra three more times before tying the protection bag closed with a thick, black thread.
Once secured, I tuck the protection pouch into the front pocket of my jeans and rise from the floor, rubbing my now sore knees as I lean down to blow out the candles. Once they are all out, I turn away from my altar and reach out for the closet doorknob, only to find it suddenly illuminated by a single flickering flame from behind me.
Startled, I turn to stare at the candle that has once again become lit despite my surety that I blew it out a few seconds prior. I watch it for a moment, the orange and yellow flame dancing proudly before me.
