Raising Hell Read online

  The rain begins to gain speed and ferocity, causing my face to sting from the bitterness it brings with each tiny slice of the skin. Yet, anything is better than the burning. I’m stuck. I need energy to move. One way to achieve this, would be to work a spell and draw energy from the earth, but to do such a spell requires at least some energy. I’m burnt out…almost literally as it would appear. I haven’t even been smart enough to bring my mobile, not that I think I’ll get a signal all the way out here. And worst of all, no one even knows I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t starve or die before regaining my strength, but I feel an urgency to get out of here. Not because I feel in danger or anything, I could handle that crap. The gnawing, unshakeable feeling that I had felt earlier is back, screaming at me like a banshee, that something just isn’t right. I search for any sort of ‘pick me up’ that may be in the immediate vicinity. The small satchel I brought with me catches my eye. It lies unscathed, alongside my grimoire. I have to admit, I feel instant relief knowing that it’s in one piece. Mum would kill me.

  I drag my feet as best I can and fall to the floor like a heap of laundry, dishevelled and dirty. I sift through the satchel to see if there is anything I can use to help. I pull out a small velvet pouch, one I hadn’t used in the ritual. A little tag on it, handwritten by my mum, states ‘Pick-me-up’. Opening it, it is clear that she knew what I would need. The all too familiar scents of cinnamon (my favourite), clove and pepper waft from inside. Pimenta officinalis (or allspice for the everyday human). This special blend speeds up the healing process and helps the user to gain energy. Perfect! I sift through the pages of my grimoire to find the right incantation to use. Placing the ingredients in the small mortar bowl, I begin. All that is needed is a few words, a little fire (which I have in spades) and I am refreshed. Not up to full strength, but enough to get out of here. The sun is creeping up into the sky, the day is almost upon us.

  ***

  Grabbing my belongings, I make my way to the car. I check my phone as I get in and realise the battery has died. Shit! I’m not normally this disorganised. I want to go see my mum to tell her about the events of last night, but I know she won’t yet be up and I’m in serious need of some sleep. Thank god it’s the weekend. Time off. Although, that is usually a rarity for me. I never stop.

  As I start the two hour drive home, I let my mind wander. I wonder what it was like for my mum when she did her own ritual? Was it as painful for her as it was me? There are so many questions that I am dying to know the answers too. Then the memory hits me of the last thing I saw before I passed out…Lailah? Was it her? Or was the pain so bad that it was causing me to hallucinate. Whatever it was I decide I need to call her once I’m home. I need to know for sure, and to speak to her about her visit. Something is niggling at me about it and I don’t know why. So many things have me questioning myself right now. Nothing quite fits like it did. I muse over my thoughts for the rest of the journey, questioning myself and others. It passes the time and before I know it I am home. I feel a sense of calm wash over me…or is it pure exhaustion? Either way I am glad to be back. I can’t even be bothered to get undressed other than taking off my shoes. I should shower really. My clothes are manky - a mix of blood, dirt and the smell of burnt flesh – although, thankfully, dry now. I collapse on my bed, nuzzling my head into my over-priced, yet very comfy pillows and let sleep have its way with me.

  ***

  “Mum?” I question, as I try to focus through the mist and fog surrounding her porch. “What’s wrong?” I can’t see her, but I can sense it’s something terrible, in the pit of my stomach, pulling me further forward, towards her. I can just make out the silhouette of someone sat on the porch swing, unmoving and unresponsive. It’s dark and the only light is the one above the porch stairs shining outwards towards me. I have to squint to try and see past it. It seems so much brighter than it usually does.

  “Mum?” I shout out into the darkness once more. Silence. I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach with nerves. I want to take a step forward, towards the silhouette, but it’s as if my feet are cemented to the spot. My heart thuds hard, quickening with every ounce of worry. Panic sets in. I attempt to cast a spell...do something to help shift this creepy mist that is choking my family home. Nothing. No matter what spell I cast, nothing works. I try to conjure a fire ball and that also fails me. I pull at my feet, urging them to move, but they don’t cooperate. Fear sets in. Someone is here. Someone has cast a spell. A binding spell! That’s the only sensible explanation for all of this. I search the ground, the roof, for a glimpse of anything that the mist has not engulfed, for any hint of hope…still nothing.

  The silhouette moves from its seat. I can see it through the mist. It’s heading towards me in an unnatural pose...twisting and contorting in an inhuman way. There is no evidence of footsteps on the pebbled path; no sound of the shingle being disturbed and crunching under the pressure of falling feet. There’s only the silence punctuated by the beating of my freaked-out heart. I swear ‘it’ can hear it. How could ‘it’ not? It’s deafening to me. My mouth dries through fear, and I swallow hopelessly for moisture. Beads of sweat threaten my brow, and my palms sweat uncontrollably. As the figure nears me, I can see something glistening at brief intervals as it closes in. I focus on it, then the realisation hits me…it’s a knife. Not your everyday kitchen knife…an athame. I gulp, my throat caught in the dryness. A witch!

  I keep casting spell after spell, yet nothing is happening. How is it not working? I just gained more freaking power. Where the hell has it gone? I push and pull, willing my body to move but it doesn’t respond.

  “Who are you?” I yell into the nothingness. It ceases its advance. I can still only see the silhouette of this cruel, twisted tormentor. It is of slight build; a female perhaps? But it moves in such an unnatural way I am sure it isn’t human.

  A bolt of blazing light so bright it hurts my eyes manifests between myself and the creature hiding in the shadows, forcing me to shield my gaze. I peek from beneath my arm, slowly, not wanting to be blinded by the brightness. The once blinding light is still present, however, it has softened, allowing me to focus on it.

  Not it…who?

  “Mum?” I question. She smiles as she walks towards me, an iridescent glow radiating from her.

  “Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Her hand lightly brushes my cheek, pushing strands of sweat-soaked hair from my face, as she has done so many times before. My fears and worries wash away with such a simple touch. I always said she had a magic touch. I am still so confused by it all.

  “The note. Remember it. Live by it. I love you.” She gently places her palm on my forehead. A searing pain rips through me, burning me.

  ***

  I jolt up in bed, my heart racing at a speed that even horses would have trouble keeping up with. Sweat-covered sheets lie crumpled around me. My whole body burns with fear.

  “Fuck, that was some scary shit!”

  I take note of my surroundings, checking I haven’t torched anything. All clear. Phew! Wow I must have been in a deep sleep. I’ve slept for the majority of the day. It’s still light out. I check my phone. No messages. Not unusual as it is the weekend, but I’m surprised that mum hasn’t called. I was sure she would want to know how last night went, unless Helena has informed her. Not an impossible notion.

  Climbing out of my sodden sheets I grab the crumpled-up note that has Lailah’s number on it and dial. It feels a little odd to be using a mobile to contact an angel. Surely I could just yell her name and like some magical beacon she would know to come see me? The voicemail clicks in and I ask her to call me back. I then dial mum. Ugh! Same damn voicemail. What is the point in people having phones if they’re not going to answer them? I throw my phone on the sofa and grab a quick shower.

  God it feels good to be clean. The nastiness of last night’s events and my nightmare wash away with something as simple as a cold shower. Well…almost. At least I smell and look a darn s
ight better than before. My feelings about it all will be dealt with once I have a chance to speak to my mum. I try her number again and it goes straight to voicemail…again.

  I look at my watch. It is only 16:35 and it’s still light out. Perhaps she’s in the garden. It is better I speak to her in person in regard to everything that’s happened anyway. I hop in the car, stopping off at the nearest drive-through on the way to fill my extremely barren stomach with as much crap as it can take.

  I try Lailah’s number once more, with no luck. Maybe there’s no signal in heaven, I muse. I leave another message and then continue with my journey to my mum’s. By the time I get there the sun is just settling down for the night. Lilac and baby pink clouds form a wave of colour over the horizon. The night air brings with it the all too familiar chill of frost not far behind. It’s going to be a cold one tonight. I grab my jacket from the passenger seat and wrap myself in it before getting out of the car.

  The porch light is on, as usual. I briefly hesitate as the memory of my nightmare comes flooding back. Thankfully this time there’s no mist or creepy silhouette in the shadows. Just the porch light, me, and my home. I make my way up the path, the small pebbles of the driveway crunching under my feet. I see some of mum’s pots on the porch, empty and ready to be filled with the winter’s herbs no doubt.

  The porch door is ajar. Odd, seeing how chilly it’s getting for this time of the evening. Opening it further, I enter as I always do, shouting out to my mum, letting her know I am here. Mainly so I don’t scare the crap out of her. I did that once in my teens. She was out pottering in the conservatory, I’d had my headphones in listening to some dark, heavy rock, you know the kind every clichéd girl listens to as an angst-ridden teen. The door was open that day too, except it was the middle of summer and all the doors and windows were left open in an attempt to cool the place before nightfall. Mum couldn’t have heard me because when I came swinging around the corner to the conservatory yelling ‘Hi mum’ I’d never seen her jump so high or screech so loud. That and she dropped her poor flower arrangement she was working on, shattering the vase and its contents all over the floor. After that I’ve never entered without shouting to her first.

  There is no reply as I enter, meaning she must be either in the basement or out in the greenhouse. They are the only places that muffle my enormous gob. I hear a crunch under my feet as I step in, wondering what it could be stuck in the middle of the doorway. I look down. Ferns lie across the threshold. Panic instantly sets in. My mum would only put these down if she was expecting unwelcome company. I shout to her again. Nothing. I try to calm the panic that’s climbing its way up me, twisting my insides. That all too familiar feeling that came over me last night. Something is wrong.

  “MUM!” Silence persists. I step over the fern, careful not to disturb it, just in case the unwelcome visitor hasn’t shown itself yet. I scramble for the light switch on the wall. It illuminates the hallway. Nothing’s out of place. I continue towards the back of the house. I can smell a concoction of herbs, some I am familiar with. There are candles lit in various places in the house as I make my way to the conservatory. Nothing unusual there. We all love our candles, yet this feels different. There is a strange energy filling the house. It causes the tiny hairs on my arms and neck to prickle.

  I open the basement door and shout down. With no reply, I continue further into the house. When I see that the conservatory lights are on, relief washes over me. She must be in there.

  “Mum, you there? I’ve been shouting…” I stop cold as I enter the conservatory doors. The scents that I couldn’t grasp earlier are stronger than ever here, dark candles lit all around the small table for two. I gulp, trying to loosen the dryness in my throat. Fear grabs at my vocal chords. A pentagram has been drawn on the table, in what looks like blood. But this pentagram is all wrong. It isn’t the symbol, we, as witches have come to know and love. This is darkness. Each corner is marked by a candle. What is my mum doing? Dark magic? I can’t believe she would ever… Something in the garden catches my attention. As I continue to gaze at it, I realise it’s another candle, just the one, lit under my mum’s favourite oak tree.

  I head out to the garden, heart thudding and close to breaking out of my chest if it could. Squinting through the darkness I try to look for my mum but can’t see a thing. The night sky is now black and not the vivid pinks and purples I saw only five minutes ago. Clouds have formed around the moon, cloaking it from sight. There is only darkness and the solitary candle.

  My attempts to conjure a fireball fail me. I try to cast a light spell and that too fails me. My magic is gone. I don’t know how or why. I’m frightened. The memory of my nightmare creeping its way back in. I’ve never felt so helpless and vulnerable. I’ve always had my powers to back me up whenever I was in trouble.

  With a deep breath, I hesitantly walk towards the lonely candle at the far end of the garden. I shift my head side to side as I go, watching my footing as well as watching out for anything or anyone that might be around.

  Minutes later I’m stood only a few feet from the candle. A black pillar candle glows, the wax melting and pooling onto the ground beneath it. I kneel down to get a better look at it and its surroundings. Brushing the earth with a finger, it’s clear that the same unknown herbs have been used here. I edge closer to the candle, noticing something in the cavern where the wax once was. Then I see a small ripple as something hits the candle. There is no threat of rain, even with the rolling of the dreary clouds overhead. Then another drop hits the candle and ripples.

  I turn my head upwards, following the enormous trunk towards its umbrella of branches, with its remaining golden leaves holding on for dear life. It’s hard to make out what is hanging from one of its broad branches until I take a step back.

  The sound that leaves my lips in that very moment will haunt me for the rest of my days. A sound so horrifyingly unnatural, it would have made the banshees cower in fear. All of the rage and magic that has built up, spills out of me at a deadly pace. The resulting shock wave is devastating. The surrounding lavender fields and our garden are obliterated in that brief moment of grief. The sensation is so profound that it is bound to have far-reaching repercussions. The power I draw in that moment is pure darkness. I let it take me. I don’t care. I will not stop until I find the person responsible for this.

  Dropping to my knees I wail with pain, anger, grief, fear, so many emotions attacking me at once that I cannot cope. Forever etched in my soul is the portrait of my mum, hung from her feet, her throat and wrists slit. What little blood she has left, trickles down her body, droplets falling into the candle and the ground around it. Her skin is as pale as untouched snow. Her eyes are glazed and empty. A hollow shell of what was. Darkness surrounds her and this place. I can feel it. It sickens me. It calls to me. I will take from darkness what it has taken from me and it will regret ever touching her.

  Anger. Fury. Vengeance. That’s what flows through my veins now. There is no goodness left in me. That disappeared the moment she was taken. Whoever or whatever did this to her will pay with their life.

  Chapter 12

  Blaine

  It starts with a hum and a low distant whine. Then the air begins to reverberate.

  I falter as I’m knocked sideways into the weeping walls. The cleaners are going to have my hide for this.

  I’m not surprised by the tremoring earth. Being beneath the surface, it’s not uncommon for us to experience the brunt of any of the quakes that the humans face above ground. After all, the vibrations come from the Earth’s tectonic plates, therefore, we are nearer to their source. But something doesn’t feel right this time.

  These vibrations are coming in ebbs and flows like a choppy sea, short fitful bursts that lap the shore with increasing intensity. And the sound isn’t right. It’s not what you would usually hear. Usually it’s a rumble that becomes a roar. This is an entirely different beast altogether. The weirdest thing is that this one transforms into a violen
t thrashing wave that rocks my surroundings, but doesn’t come from deep beneath my feet. It feels backward, almost like there has been a trauma to the land above and all the pain is radiating downwards. The force hurls a hundred million dust motes from the ceiling, leaving a fine mist in its wake. The walls are now pink from the settling particles, and I am left looking like a ghost of my former self.

  It takes a while for the quake to run its course, but as the noise fades and the last remaining tremor has subsided, I return to my quest. I must find Lailah. I need to know what (if anything) she has revealed to Darius and Sadie. Personally, I don’t think they’ve forced any information from her yet. Lailah’s strong. It’s too soon for her to have cracked, plus I’m sure that I would have been hunted down by now if that was the case.

  The further I descend, the more defined the moans and shrieks become. Although this is a place of great suffering, Hell is also the only place some souls find their release from the torture of life. All those things you want but deny yourself? All of those ‘sins’ can be found here. They may be a punishment to some, but to others it is a huge relief to be able to enact all of those things they weren’t allowed to within their earthly lives. That’s why the sounds that emanate from behind the bleeding walls are equal parts pleasure and pain. The Satan likes to think that this makes us philanthropists, but these extremes merely cancel each other out.

  I try to sense my friend, put out the feelers if you will, but find myself increasingly concerned as I’m still unable to pick her up. I wonder whether she is nearing her end (although I have never heard of an angel who has died). Sadie and Darius must have really done a job on her.