Secondhand Spirits by Juliet Blackwell Read Free Book Online Page B

covered in doilies, old perfume bottles, and a fine mist of baby powder; and a faded, rose-colored upholstered easy chair decorated with embroidered heart-shaped pillows like the ones I had seen in the kitchen. I noted with approval that both tall windows, looking toward the north side of the yard, were covered with heavy brocade curtains. That was good; it was best for me to be able to control the light.
    I pulled the headboard out from the wall a few inches, then led Frances back to bed and tucked her under her worn sage green cotton duvet. She wrapped her arms around her middle and curled up on her side into a fetal position, let out another soft moan, and went back to sleep.
    From my satchel I extracted a dozen hand-dipped white beeswax candles, candleholders, a widemouthed thermos, and my black-handled spirit knife. I lit a few candles for light and set them on the bedside table. Then I unscrewed the thermos and invoked the powers of the moon as I poured a thin stream of liquid in a magical circle around the bed. That done, I took my athame and used the sharp tip to trace a five-pointed star within the circle—a pentagram—in the air. With each point I acknowledged the five elements of life: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and finally, Spirit.
    I placed the ritual candles in sets of three on the watchtowers of the circle: north, south, east, and west. Finally, kneeling within the circle, I invoked my powers, focused my intentions, and began to cast my spell of protection against La Llorona , against evil demons of all sorts.
    As soon as I began, I heard a scratching sound overhead, a rustling that indicated restless spirits. The bedside lamp flickered on, then back off.
    â€œEvil be gone from my sight, gone from this place. I have wrought a circle of magical brew, a circle of light against the darkness.”
    The candles on the bedside table blew out. The flames on the circle wavered, but I commanded them to stay lit. Something was fighting the spell, aroused by it.
    â€œThere will be no trespass upon this soul, upon this essence. Evil be gone from here, for the good of all souls. This I compel you!”
    I flinched as a heavy book flew toward my head, but it smacked into the invisible wall of the magic circle and fell to the floor. An insistent thumping began and grew louder until it sounded as though a small army were racing up a never-ending staircase, their footsteps echoing throughout the house. I closed my eyes and let myself relax into my power, confident in the strength of my focused intentions. The power coursed through me, using me as its vessel.
    Suddenly the noise ceased. But then whispers began. A distinct but unintelligible voice murmured and chanted, invoking against me.
    I opened my eyes.
    Someone was there. Someone invisible.
    Not a ghost. Ghosts didn’t have this kind of power. This was an invisible someone.
    And I was looking straight at it.
    Using all my strength, I invoked the spirits of my ancestors, my helpmates, to maintain concentration on the spell. I chanted louder and tried to block out the insistent whispering, knowing the charmed bag on the braid at my waist, the power of the brew, and the magic circle would all work together to keep me safe.
    I chanted, nonstop, until the house was hushed and my voice was hoarse. According to a quietly ticking clock on the bedside table nearly an hour had passed.
    As I gathered my things, I reviewed the spell in my head. That invisible whispering presence had chilled me to the core. Had it really happened, or could it have been my imagination run amok? Though I was in touch with other spirit planes, I had an unfortunate tendency to freak myself out at the worst possible moments. Despite my years of study—or perhaps because of them—I knew only too well that much of the spiritual realm was still a mystery.
    Physically and mentally drained, I left the Potts house shortly after two in the morning and drove to the edge of the San Francisco