Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin by Joseph Delaney Read Free Book Online Page A

witches, but the old ways are not the only path to power. There is nothing wrong with tradition, but I am open-minded and flexible. I am Grimalkin .
    ‘ PLEASE, PLEASE, TRY again,’ I heard Thorne beg. ‘She’s still fighting, still strong. Grimalkin deserves another chance.’
    I fought to stay awake, but eventually I lost consciousness again, falling slowly into a darker, deeper sleep than I had ever known before.
    Was this death? If so, Thorne was alone. How long would she be able to keep the Fiend’s head out of the hands of his supporters? I had told her a little of my alliance with Alice Deane, Tom Ward and John Gregory. Would she understand that she needed to approach them directly and seek their help?
    I tried to call out to Thorne and tell her what must be done, but I was unable to speak. I was trapped deep within my body, forced to endure the pain, which was increasing all the time.
    I wasn’t going to remain lying here in agony while my body slowly lost its grip on life. There was a way to escape it. I could float out of my body to meet my death. I had some skill in the arts of shamanistic magic.
    Most Pendle witches are deeply conservative in their habits: at an early age they are tested by their clan to determine which type of dark magic – blood or bone or familiar – they have an aptitude for. They would never think to range beyond those options. But I am different. My mind is flexible and open to other alternatives. I am willing and eager to learn new things.
    This may be because during my life as a witch assassin I have travelled widely and have encountered other cultures and ways of utilizing the dark. One such encounter was with a Romanian witch who was living in the northeast of the County. It was she who taught me something of shamanism.
    Of course, you could spend a lifetime learning its secrets and practising its craft. I had but a few months to devote to it, so I concentrated on just one aspect of its repertoire – the skill of projecting the soul from the body.
    Such a procedure is not without risks. One practitioner, a mage, projected his soul into the dark and was devoured by a daemon. You may also be unable to find your way back to your body. For that reason I had used it only rarely, and with great caution.
    But what did it matter now? I was dying. The mists of Limbo would close about me soon enough, whether I left my body or not. At least I would be able to see again – after a fashion.
    The process usually involves a few key words muttered in a particular cadence, but equally important is the will to escape.
    I had lost control of my body and couldn’t even move my lips to speak the words of the spell. As it was, my will, driven by desperation, proved sufficient. Moments later I was floating just a few feet above the bed upon which my body lay. Thorne was sitting in a chair, her head in her hands, the leather sack within her reach. A candle flickered on the small table beside her.
    I looked down at my weary face, mouth open to suck in rapid shallow breaths. I had never thought it would end this way. It didn’t seem right. Grimalkin was never meant to die in a warm bed – she should have met her end in battle, as a warrior. But on reflection I realized that I had. The kretch had killed me. That scratch from its poisoned talon had been the moment of my defeat – the beginning of my death.
    I floated away and passed through the closed door. I was nothing more than a small glowing orb of light, invisible to most people. The strongest of witches and spooks might be able to glimpse me, but only in a very dark place. Even candlelight made me almost totally invisible.
    However, I could see clearly, even in the dark – though only one colour was visible. Everything was a shade of green, and living things glowed, lit by the life-force within them. The front room of Agnes’s cottage was exactly as I remembered it: cosy, clean but cluttered. The walls were lined with shelves full of books or