Page 52 of Forsaken Fate

“Mrs. Barlow?” I said again. Silence. She was really gone. Thursday mornings were grocery day. She could be gone until later in the afternoon. Grayson was really gone too. It was just me, alone with Diana’s secrets.

Straightening my back, I walked down the long second-floor hallway until I came to the end and the oak six-paneled door that led to the attic. There were three keys on Diana’s ring. When I slid the first one into the lock and it turned, it felt like fate. My heart fluttered even as my nerves hardened. It was time.

I left the door open a crack; I’d seen enough horror movies to know you don’t ever close the door behind you. I ascended the steps to the attic. I flipped the light switch on the wall to the right; a light bulb above me flared to life. Dust and mildew assaulted my nose, and I took the first step. No boogie man came out, no rats, not even an errant moth. Hell, the steps didn’t even creak as I made my way up.

When I reached the top of the steps, the light from the stairwell was too far down to be of much use. I switched on my flashlight and felt around for another light switch. After a few seconds of fumbling around, I found what I needed between the bare studs of the wall to my right. With one click, the entire attic brightened from three large rectangular fluorescent lamps above. They seemed out of place here. Too modern for the arching ceilings and high dormer windows facing the north side of the house. Still, their presence would make my job a hell of a lot easier.

The floor of the attic itself was covered in bare hardwood. It might have been finished and beautiful at one time but was dull now, covered in a thin layer of dust. The contents of the attic lined each wall leaving the space in the center large enough to serve as a ballroom. I went to the wall on my right first. There I found furniture covered in sheets. Two sofas, floor lamps, a dining room table with chipped glass on top and two cedar trunks. I opened one of the trunks and nearly dropped my flashlight.

It was filled with loose pictures and family albums, dozens of them. I picked up a 3 X 5 photograph. The image was yellowed, reminding me of ones I’d seen that came from Charlie’s ’70s-era Kodak Instamatic. I flipped it over and my hand went to my mouth. Smiling at me with crooked bangs and scraped knees was a sweet-faced boy. He held a fish up on the end of a pole; his father stood behind him, beaming with pride. Theo. It had to be. He had the same devilish dimples and cleft in his chin.

I picked up another loose photograph, this one much larger. Theo again, though he was a bit older, maybe ten. His mother stood next to him.

“There you are, Emily Dorran,” I whispered to no one. No wonder Diana tried to remove all traces of her. Emily Dorran had been stunning, with Theo’s same chestnut hair. She wore hers short and feathered. Theo’s father had one arm around her and the other resting gently on the shoulder of his cherubic blonde daughter. Jenny. I knew her name was Jenny. She smiled wide to reveal the same dimples as her brother and an overbite.

They looked happy. They looked normal. I envied them.

No wonder Theo hated Diana so much. He’d been sixteen years old when his mother and sister were murdered. Plenty old enough to remember each of the photos in this chest. He must have questioned a thousand times what had happened to them. His father had maybe been too grief stricken to look at them. Then Diana came along and made them go away for whatever sick, insecure reasons she had.

I put them back in the chest and closed the lid. As much as I felt for Theo, these were his battles. Diana had taken just as much of my family away from me and I needed to find a way to get it back.

I moved to the other side of the attic and my heart started to thump. Three tall metal file cabinets lined the back wall. With shaking fingers, I went to the one in the middle and pulled the top drawer. It didn’t budge and I knew I’d take a crowbar or other blunt instrument to it if that’s what it took. It didn’t end up being necessary as I noticed the lowest drawer stood slightly open. I kicked it closed with my foot and the top drawer slid open with ease.

It was here. It had to be. I could feel it. That sickening sweet scent of magic clung to everything up here. It occurred to me she could have booby trapped this place. Maybe she had. But a simple spell like that would have died with her. Only black magic would survive beyond her.

The first file I pulled out at random had financial statements in it. Tax records. Nothing of interest. When I touched the second cabinet, an arc of electricity shot out. She had booby trapped the thing. But the spell quickly fizzled out. I imagined if Diana were still alive to tend it, the zap would have been enough to kill me.

“Where are you,” I whispered.

My palms were sweating. With shaky fingers I opened the heavy drawer. I tucked my flashlight under my chin.

There. My God. It was there. A massive leatherbound book with gold trim. The thing was so large, pulling it out was a two-handed job. I set it on top of the cabinet and looked again to make sure I didn’t miss a second volume.

I took the book off the cabinet and that’s when my knees gave out. I sank down in a heap and clutched it to my breast, letting the flashlight roll to the floor.

I opened it. My vision clouded both from the pounding in my temples and stinging tears that started to form at the corner of my eyes.

The first few pages contained nothing but symbols. I recognized one. A crest of sorts, identifying the spells within the grimoire as belonging to the Carrier family. Diana’s coven.

I ran a finger across the symbol. The magic was still strong here. Diana’s face appeared before me, startling me. It was only my imagination.

I turned the page. Slowly, bit by bit, the words started to make sense. I’d studied and hard to memorize the spell I was looking for. It was there. On the very last page. Above it, a photograph of the man I’d loved my whole life. Next to that, a lock of his dark hair. Beneath that, a dried drop of blood. The same that ran through my own veins. I stared at the photo. Those green eyes stared back at me with menace. I read his name out loud.

Lucian Wade.

It would take time to go through every page. Study every word. I had all day. Grayson said he wouldn’t be home until after dinner. I could take all the time I needed. I pulled myself up and turned back to the cabinet. I shut the drawer. I started walking back toward the steps, but something made me stop.

On a hunch, I went back to the files and pulled out the second drawer of the cabinet furthest left. Inside of it, I found a second, smaller grimoire. I pulled it out and tucked it under my arm with the first. I had to find a place to hide these. Though it was a risk, the best place might be in my room under the bed. Somewhere I could get to them easily. I couldn’t risk coming back up here alone.

“You aren’t supposed to be up here!” A voice called out.

My shoulders tensed and I straightened my back. Mary Barlow called from the bottom of the stairs. Quickly scanning the room. I saw blankets stacked in a corner. I grabbed one and folded the grimoires into them. I went down the stairs.

“Can I help you, Mary?” I said, hugging blanket-covered books to me.

Mary stood in the hallway. She didn’t move other than to cross her arms in front of her.

“What are you looking for?”

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