Chapter 9

Chapter 9 of 48 · 8-minute read

Jan’s Natal Jupiter Conjunct Lauren’s Natal Sun in Synastry

It takes all of fifteen minutes for me to gulp down my next dose of painkillers, freshly line a pair of clean panties with an oversized sanitary napkin that feels like a boat between my thighs, and rinse the blood and grime from my body in the briefest of hot showers. I tug on a pair of black leggings and stretch bandages across the blisters on my heels.

In the living room, both Christabel and Jan wait for me. I can tell by the look on their faces that something’s wrong. Well, something other than what we’ve already discussed.

Christabel holds a small, clear glass bottle by the neck with thumb and forefinger. A cork seals the opening. “I found it.”

I start to take it from her, but she holds it out of reach.

“You shouldn’t, Miss Lauren. I’ll get rid of it for you. Pretty sure that’s piss in there with the rusty nails and broken glass.”

A witch bottle. And not one I created. I’d favored them early in my magickal practice as a solitary witch, even before I’d been Initiated into the Grand Coven. Later, in the Elders’ Coven, we’d once all peed in a bucket so two of the witches could make a bottle to use against a violent ex-husband. Since DNA testing became so prevalent, I now don’t want my bodily fluids so easily obtainable. Plus, there’s always the ick factor. Some witch traditions use jars of vile fluids and sharp objects to ward off psychic attacks, and others leave them physically near their adversaries to drive them away. I can guess why this one is in my home, even if I don’t know how it got here.

“Thanks, yes. Get it off my property. Where did you find it?”

“Under your bed. Specifically, tied to your box springs. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure you wouldn’t find it. There’s also an energy shadow around it to block you from finding it while still feeling it. The intention set around it wasn’t meant for me, so it doesn’t work on me like it would on Sonnet and you.”

I watch out the window as Christabel runs to the edge of my property and hurls the bottle into the woods. She stands for a moment and takes note of her surroundings, then trots back to my house.

Mentally, I take inventory of everyone who’s been in my home in the last few months. A repairman for the water heater. An electrician. A carpet cleaner. My lawyer. A maid service with a team of four women for a deep cleaning I couldn’t handle physically and couldn’t trust Sonnet to be diligent about.

Who else?

Witch bottles aren’t Quent’s style, given his disbelief in anything supernatural or spiritual, but what about Candy? How much do I know about her, other than her previous livelihood that included undressing for a webcam? Could she have come in with Sonnet under the pretense of needing a glass of water or the bathroom?

Maybe a friend of Sonnet’s whom she hasn’t told me about?

Probably the same witch who sent their dark servant to hurt me. But who? And when?

As I open the door for Christabel, I make a mental note to ask Sonnet about any undisclosed guests who’ve been inside our home.

“Done!” she announces. “I did a quick check of the rest of the house, too, and that was the only one I could find. I think you’re okay now.”

Christabel reclaims her seat and continues to dial Sonnet’s phone, alternating between my phone and her own, even though we both agree that either Sonnet doesn’t have access to her phone or the battery is dead. I’ve already checked Sonnet’s room, and she left her phone charger on her nightstand. My daughter is constantly texting or on social media, and it’s rare that her phone still has any juice left this late at night without plugging it in.

Jan, on the other hand, paces in a clockwise circle around Christabel’s chair. She pauses to peer through the blinds of the nearest window. “That thing is still out there, Lauren.” She tightens her jaw, bottom lip poking out. “I’m going to go out there and confront it.”

I stand in the doorway of my bathroom, exhausted but ready to do battle on my own behalf. At least now I know why I’ve felt so drained for so long. I splash cold water on my face and turn back to her. “No, Jan, you’re not going out there. It won’t do any good at all for you to confront it.”

Jan holds up the cross pendant around her neck. “I’ve exorcised demons before! That time when Rhiannon and Sonnet and one of their friends were playing on your Ouija board, I exorcised that thing and got it out of your house for good.”

Christabel clears her throat. “Um, Miss Jan, that friend was me.” She looks up sheepishly. “Sorry.”

They had all been so young at the time, before Jesse and I married and before Christabel’s mom died. In spite of my warnings, they had defied me by playing with something that wasn’t a game. They had thought they were calling in an angel, but instead it was some low-level spirit hanging out in the ether and watching. I didn’t hear about it until much later, but since Jan was the first person the girls called rather than admit to me what they had done, Jan rushed over and cast out the annoying spirit. She had called on Mother Mary to take pity on my children and send away the heaviness that permeated every corner of my home.

“Jan, I appreciate that, but that wasn’t a demon you cast out. Far from it. And this thing isn’t a demon. It’s a thought-form. Like I told you, it’s a special brand of magick. It’s the personification of another witch’s dark emotions, all aimed at me. It’s fully shaped, and it carries its own mission, and in such a way that it doesn’t draw energy from the sender. The only way I can stop it or banish it is to break the sender’s spell. And that means I have to know who the sender is. It’s like the terms and conditions of a contract between the witch and her servant, or maybe like the terms of service, to put it in a more modern context.”

Christabel drops both her phone and mine onto a big red leather poof stool and shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Where are your wards? I’ve been to your house a hundred times, and I know the second I step foot on your property because I can feel the wards at the corners keeping out anything bad. I mean, anything supernaturally bad, unless you or um, um, someone in the house invites it in….”

“My wards are up!” My voice sounds defensive even to my own ears.

Christabel stiffens. She raises her gaze to me. I realize that my rebuttal is a slap in her face, the same as saying she doesn’t possess such strong magickal gifts of her own.

Christabel is absolutely correct. I’ve warded the corners of my property and kept my home safe for years now, even before my final Elevation within the Grand Coven. But she’s also right that the wards up now are weak. For years, I’ve reinforced my wards at every cross quarter—the Winter Solstice, the Vernal Equinox, the Summer Solstice, and the Autumnal Equinox. What Christabel is feeling, or rather what she isn’t feeling, is that the wards on my property have not been renewed since three days before Christmas when the sun had been in the first degree of Capricorn.

I take a deep breath. It shakes as I release it. “Well, that’s what we are going to do now. I’m going to reinforce the corners of the property and then push out my protective circles. Will you help me?”

Christabel nods, her excitement just under the surface. No doubt, she thinks I am the powerful witch asking out of politeness if she wants to participate, but the truth is, I welcome her energetic partnership. For months now, my magick has been ineffective, or at least significantly less effective than I am used to. I’m losing confidence in my abilities. If I cannot maintain belief in what I can manifest, then I might as well have no power at all. The only way magick works is through intention and belief, and while my intentions remain good, my belief in myself has waned to almost nothing because I cannot reconcile the things I have power over and the things I do not.

I hand Christabel a long-stemmed lighter and a sachet of dragon’s blood resin and rosemary needles. I instruct her to go to the backyard, build a fire in the fire pit, throw the sachet into the flames. I explain that I’ll join her shortly after warding my property’s corners. Jan, on the other hand, will accompany me.

I scratch through the cupboard under my main altar. I haven’t really used my magickal tools much in Jesse’s absence. Finally, I find a cannister of consecrated black salt. For years, I sprinkled a fine black line of it across the end of my driveway and visualized Quent not sneaking up on my house to let himself in and go through my things, looking while I was away from the house for anything he could use against me in a custody case. I can’t remember the last time I used black salt or any of my magickal tools, not since the Winter Solstice, anyway.

When Jan and I step outside, a sharp breeze hits my face. It doesn’t smell of rain, but the wind is definitely blowing harder. Jan and I exchange glances. She points into the bushes at the edge of my property line. Eyes glow back at us.

I start at the point directly in front of my driveway. It’s halfway between the two front corners of my property. I pop open the spout of the canister and begin to pour a fine black line, beginning at the center of the driveway and leading to the right and into the grass. Walking my property line, I mark the corners within a deosil circle. I edge closer to the eyes, Jan hanging back just slightly at my right hand as I pour the black salt a little thicker. I feel it watching us or rather, watching me. I sense the heaviness, the dread, the raw emotions of anger and jealousy and hatred.

Oh, Goddess, who is it who hates me that much? How could any magickal person fault me for the way I’ve conducted my life the last half decade? Running the Center of Light. Teaching others, if not shepherding my own coven. Working with other artists and craftsmen and giving them a safe place to be themselves. Taking on young students to guide their growing talents. This thing, this servant of hate, originated from some magickal person. Not Quent. Not the town gossip. Not some local merchant I pissed off. Some magickal person.

It reeks of witch war.

I should know.

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