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“Fine. Go over there and wait with the boys. I need a minute.”
Pulling a smudge stick from my pocket—bound sage, lavender, and a sprig of rosemary—I light the end and watch until smoke curls gently into the air.
Spreading its cleansing properties, I wave the stick in wide arcs, the fragrant smoke drifting over the tombs, seeping into the crevices, purifying the space where my ancestors rest.
While I set up my circle, I clear my mind.
Tonight, I don’t want to raise the dead, I simply want to speak with the spirits. Simple witch business. Nothing remotely necromancer-y at all.
Once the air has been cleansed of any lingering negativity, I place the smudge stick in a small cast-iron dish and prepare for the more intimate part of our visit.
On a black satin altar cloth laid upon the marble prayer table, I arrange three candles in a triangle, representing protection, communication, and peace. I light each candle, the flames steady and strong, mirroring the resolve in my heart.
Taking out the mixture of herbs and petals I prepared for this, I tip one of the candles to light the mixture aflame.
“Claudette Dumont, I call upon your spirit, guided by love and light, to join me here in this sacred family space. I seek your wisdom and your presence.”
I sprinkle a circle of salt around the candles, a barrier to protect us from any unwanted energies.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and extend my senses outward, feeling the thin veil between the worlds. With a calm and focused mind, I repeat the invocation.
The air in the crypt shifts, almost imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably—a coolness brushes my skin, a whisper of ancient voices fills my ears.
The candles flicker as if nodding toward the presence of the spirits, and then, in the gentle, dancing shadows, I sense her.
No, not her—them.
Three forms, more felt than seen, settle around the edges of the candlelight.
“Josie, my child,” a voice, unmistakably Grand-Mère’s, washes over me with a warmth that brings tears to my eyes.
Beside her, two other spirits, softer in their energy but equally familiar—my parents, gone too soon but never truly far.
“Thank you for coming.” There’s so much I want to talk to them about, but tonight I need to focus. “I need your guidance. There’s so much happening, and…have you seen I’m in the Head Priestess trials?”
Grand-Mère dips her chin. “We are with you always, cher. What do you need?”
So many things.
“First, I need to understand how to read the grimoire. The spells are there, but they are benign and low-grade spells. I feel the greatness hidden beneath the words, but don’t know how to unlock the secrets of the spellbook.”
Grand-Mère smiles. “When the book is held by those not of our bloodline, the warding on the book protects the family spells. You need to connect with the grimoire so it recognizes you. Then you will see its true guidance.”
All right.
“What about new potions? I have to come up with a potion that is powerful, useful, and unique. The others had weeks to think about it after Adelaide died, but I haven’t. Can you help me?”
“The goddess will guide you to the answer, cher. That’s the point of the trials. The witch with the strongest connection to Mother Gaia, with the greatest power, will stand as her representative.”
“Or kill the representative and steal it,” I say, shifting my gaze to my mother. “It was Adelaide who betrayed you. She hired Egan and tried to wipe out the Dumont bloodline.”
My mother looks sad. “We left the pain and betrayal behind us long ago, Josie. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“But it does matter,” I insist. “You cursed Sebastian, and he’s innocent. He didn’t kill you. He suffers for the actions of others. That’s not right.”
“Sebastian Fontenot may not have killed us, but he’s not innocent, child. Don’t be blinded by his lies. You are a Dumont witch. Supernaturals of all races have coveted our magic for centuries. Don’t be fooled to believe that man cares about anything but power and bloodshed.”
I understand why she would think that, but I’ve seen another side of him.
