Page 14 of Ace
She’d barely started the blessing when shuddering, angry images hit her with a force far stronger than anything she’d encountered before. Intense. Definitely male. Probing. Frantically touching places in her soul she hadn’t realized she had. Sensual places. Dark places. Forgotten places.
Opening her eyes, she said, “You think you are stronger than me, but you are not, Isaiah. Step back and stay out of my mind. Give me space that I may pray for you.”
Releasing Agent Boniface’s hand, she selected a single matchstick, snapped her thumbnail to the end of it, and lit the sage. Into the abalone shell the sage went, sending its lovely fragrant tendrils wafting upward into the air, tickling her nose. Purifying everything within her circle. Her heart. Her mind. Even Agent Boniface. At the same time, it drew Isaiah in to the circle of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. He was now anchored to life.
Agent Boniface’s fingers tightened as she gave him her hand once more, then interlocked fingers. “Hold onto me,” she ordered. “Do not let go or we’ll lose him.”
“I won’t,” he answered, tightening his grip. For a professed non-believer, he seemed to understand how strong this circle needed to be.
Breathing deeply, Savannah exhaled and projected the aromatic scent in her home out into the universe and onto Isaiah, who felt more like her adversary at the moment. Yet she sensed a vulnerability to this frantic, angry spirit, an out of control innocence that spoke ofintegrity and honor and an undying, childlike love, nearly lost. She sensed pain and panic. Fear. He didn’t want to leave, yet he didn’t know how to stay.
“Be at peace. Breathe with me, Isaiah,” she commanded him while she again released Agent Boniface’s hand to add fragrant evergreen rosemary sprigs, sweetgrass, and cedar to her smudge bowl. Adding a few drops of frankincense, Savannah handed the bowl to Agent Boniface, then told him, “Light this for me with a matchstick. Hurry.”
“A lighter would be faster,” he grumbled even as he flicked the matchhead with his thumbnail, sparking an instant flame. Why did he argue at a time like this?
“Easier does not mean better,” she told him as Gran Mere’s brand of magic began to fill her. To Isaiah she said, “Breathe deeply. Rest. I command you to let go. The peace you seek is here. It is ready to fill you up, but first you must let them go.”
Agent Boniface canted his head, not yet understanding or not yet willing to believe. Savannah couldn’t read which, because his doubts were not important. Not now. Only Isaiah’s doubts mattered.
Snapping her fingers, she cast her purification spell to an unclean but sterile place far to the north, to a place she’d never seen nor visited before. A pure white place of glass and chemicals and mankind’s pride in his limited, narrow knowledge. An empty, lifeless place, when Isaiah desperately needed the healing powers of the wise, eternal universe.
As she fanned the combined smoke from the smudge pot and the shell upward and outward,Savannah told him, “Let them go, Isaiah. Do it now. Do it fast.”
Never before had she encountered so much power within a single person. So much resistance. Yet as strong as Isaiah was, he was weak, too. Like most of humanity, he suffered from the burdensome weight of hubris. His own pride was killing him.
Groaning, Savannah winced at the anguish he’d carried for years because of that misplaced pride. “The weight of the world is not yours to carry. It never was. Let it go. Quickly. Do it now. Let them all go.”
A tortured wail came out of nowhere, filling the confined space of Gran Mere’s simple home with an ice-cold blast of mental anguish. Isaiah was enraged by her revelation. Her accusation.I. Am. Not. Proud!
Agent Boniface clutched her fingers as if he feared she might blow away. It could happen. Isaiah’s wrath was that powerful.
Savannah continued to speak out loud, so Agent Boniface could hear her part of the conversation. “We’re all proud, Isaiah. Please. Just do as I ask. Let them go.”
‘How?’the wind howled, rattling every dish in the cupboards and anything not nailed down.
‘Teach me!’it begged, and Savannah was sure the floorboards creaked and the walls groaned. Even Gran Mere’s magnificent hutch swayed beneath its assault.
At last relenting, Isaiah cried,‘I’m not strong enough!’The utter anguish in his voice rocked the houseboat on its foundation. Like a frightened lost boy… He. Cried.
“Youarestrong enough,” she told him fiercely. “You are magnificent and powerful, and you are brave. You can do this. There is no try, remember?”
The terror emanating from his poor tortured spirit broke her heart. Isaiah hadn’t the strength to do what needed to happen next. He’d fought his demons alone for too long. Worse, he believed himself too far gone, too despicable to come back from the ledge he now balanced precariously over. All he could see was down. Beguiling Death whispered at his back, tantalizing him with its promise of sweet release. Isaiah needed something—someone—to hold onto, and he needed her now.
Savannah had never encountered a spirit so broken nor so lovely. So fraught with compassion that he’d willingly taken on the sins of the many perpetrators of evil whom he’d bested during his years. Isaiah wasn’t old enough to have shouldered so much agony that he could barely draw a breath. That’s what was killing him. The weight of the world.
She didn’t have all the answers. Gathering every last bit of her resolve, she did precisely what Gran Mere had trained her to do for all of her twenty-five years. With a firm hold on Agent Boniface’s hands, Savannah mentally reached across the miles for Isaiah and ordered him to,‘Take hold of me and Agent Boniface. Trust us. At the same time, focus your heart and your soul on Roxy. If she is there with you, grab hold of her hand and do not let her go. Above all, hold on to what is most dear to you, Isaiah. Choose. Roxy or them…’
The fight to save Isaiah from his most intimate demons was on. Bowing her face nearly to the table, Savannah acknowledged the almighty power of her Lord and Master.‘Please help me help him,’she prayed privately.
The struggle was real. It all came down to the power of light against darkness. Good against evil. Folks thought Gran Mere a sorceress or a witch because they chose to. It was easier to accept magic than truth. Always had been. But the truth here today was that Gran Mere wasn’t really a witch or a voodoo priestess. She’d just chosen long ago to believe in the most ancient magic of all magics.
Savannah prayed harder now. “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” she chanted. “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory.”
Isaiah struggled to let go of the souls his exceptionally powerful, and all too compassionate mind had snared and retained—for their own good. Of all the sins known to mankind, his compassion was the saving rope he’d extended to even the depraved and wicked. But at the end of life, every soul had to stand on its own merit, not his. He had to let them go, all of them. There was no other recourse. The lifeline he’d offered to others was now a noose around his neck.
Out of the blue, Agent Boniface’s hoarse baritone vibrated along with Savannah’s softer alto. “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” he chanted along with her. “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory.”
Ah, so he does believe.
