Derrin and Torren come running back into the kitchen, both with looks of horror on their faces. “We can’t get out.” Torren practically shouts.
“And the council or whoever it is out there can’t get in.” Jason hisses right before passing out. Torren catches him just in time to stop him from smashing his skull on the corner of the cupboard.
“What the fuck just happened?” Both Torren and Derrin ask at the same time.
“Looks like innocent little Jason there has been keeping secrets.” I mutter glaring at the witch in our midst. I’ve always hated witches. They’re manipulative, secretive, but above all, they’re evil.
I’d been twelve when I discovered the truth about my parents, my mother is my biological mother but my father isn’t. I’d been curious about who my real father was when I discovered that I’m not human so I located a witch and asked for his help…
I can’t believe how easy it was to locate a witch with the ability to track people. Staring at the screen of my computer, I hesitate. “What if the witch can’t help? What if something goes wrong? What if-.”I shake my head. “There’s no point worrying over what ifs, there isn’t anything that I can’t handle with enough research.” I berate myself as I close the computer and head downstairs. I know my mother had a box full of confiscated witch grimoires. Surely one of them will give me some insight as to what the witch would expect from me for the spell. In fact, I could just ask my mother, if I phrase it right she’ll just think I’m curious about her work. She does after all work for the Council as a mediator with the witches and humans.
I still can’t believe that my cousin believes the lies we tell her about my mother’s job. My cousin actually believes that mum works at an Esoteric bookstore. It makes me roll my eyes every time she mentions it.
I find my mother in her home office going through some paperwork. She looks busy which makes me hesitate in the doorway. “Are you okay Remmie?”
“I was just curious about something. It can wait.”
“You know I always have time for my baby boy. Come on, tell me what has your beautiful mind so curious this time?” I feel like she’s making fun of me, but I know she’s not. She seems to truly love that I’m so inquisitive.
“I was wondering about witches and spells.” I tell her honestly.
“Oh, that’s a huge topic, what exactly are you curious about?” Mum watches me carefully, which makes me hesitate, but after a few seconds, she smiles, so I answer her by asking the question I truly want the answer to, “Well, can they really do magic spells?”
“Of course they can. Some of the most powerful witches are capable of doing wonderful things. Like that witch who was working closely with the police on that missing girl’s case. You know the one, the family were all found murdered in their beds but the little girl was never found. What was that, nearly three years ago now?” She shakes her head and sighs, “Poor girl. Oh but the witch was able to locate something of hers using magic which led the police to a new clue which reopened the case almost two months ago.”
“So witches are good? They like to help people?” I ask when she finally stops speaking long enough to take a breath.
“I’ve never met a bad witch. Now demons, I could tell you some stories about evil demons….” She did, she told me all about demons after that and believe me, the stories she had to tell were nightmare inducing for a normal kid, but not me. I gasped and awed at the appropriate moments and even did the whole “No way.” comment far too often, but after an hour of stories, she looked at the clock and told me to head on up to my room and get my homework done for tomorrow.
I didn’t bother telling her that I’ve done all my homework, nor did I correct her that tomorrow is in fact Saturday, but I did return to my bedroom. I sat staring at my laptop for a long time before grabbing it and typing.
My correspondence with the witch, Corey, went on for two days before I was satisfied enough that he could really help me. He had said, I’d have to be careful approaching the warehouse because it’s in shifter territory, but I wasn’t worried. I knew the local shifters from my time spent with Derrin and his family.
When I finally arrive at the warehouse I start to feel uneasy. There are no lights on inside and as far as I can tell there isn’t anyone around. The door squeals on its hinges as I push it open, making me cringe at the sudden loud noise.
A figure cloaked in darkness moves swiftly to my side and grabs my arm.
I admit, I scream like a little girl, but who wouldn’t in my situation.
“Chill out man, It’s just me, Corey.” Not letting my guard down, I follow him deeper into the warehouse where he has already set up the altar. “I’m going to need some of your blood to do the tracking spell, but it shouldn’t take long to locate your father.”
“It’s only a drop of blood right?” I asked, sure that was what the spell books I’d researched had said.
“Oh no, a drop of blood won’t do to trace a demon. We’re going to need a lot more than that.” Corey says, making me hesitate.
“How much will it take?”
“Almost every drop.” He pauses, looking closely at my face, “Don’t worry, I’ve done this loads of times, the local teen shifters get me to do spells for them all the time, it’s kind of a rite of passage around here.”
As he speaks, I watch him closely. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see that he’s somewhere in his late teens himself, his age being close to mine, puts me at ease a little. Although his dark clothes and the way his amber eyes keep flicking around as though searching for something make me a little nervous. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“Perfectly safe and painless.” He goes on to explain that he uses blood bags to collect the blood to keep it as fresh as possible for the spell. “In the old days witches used to just cut a vein and let the donor bleed out, but we’re far more civilised now and losing your client like that kind of makes the spell pointless.” He laughs as though he’s told a joke.
I shudder but when he shows me to the “donation” chair, I feel a little better that it looks clean and professional. I prop myself up on the chair and lean back like he tells me to. The moment I’m sitting down though, I know something is wrong.
I can’t move.
I’m trapped in the chair.