The Witch Stone - Emily Oakes Page 0,14
an unexpected sound when you were alone in the house? She looked around for something to use a weapon. Among the plethora of books, cushions, and knick-knacks, the poker beside the fire looked most promising. Hefting it with both hands, she crept up the stairs and peered in each room she passed. Tiddles weaved between her legs as she walked, almost tripping her up with each step. “Tiddles, gimme a minute. This could be serious.” She kept walking, cat still underfoot, toward the end of her hall where her bedroom was. Images flooded her mind of shadowy figures hiding behind doorways, waiting to pounce. She looked into her room, held up the poker, then lowered it. The box had fallen off the bed and emptied its contents on the floor. Dried herbs surrounded the box, along with something she hadn’t seen earlier. A large leather-bound book and a small black pouch. A large leather-bound book and a small black pouch identical to the ones from her dreams. It couldn’t be true… Could it?
Brenna stared at the book, her mouth agape. A lightness floated from her stomach to her chest, then hung around in her throat where it sat like a bubble. She saw her hand reaching for the book. It felt like she was watching somebody else. Like she was watching somebody on television. None of what was happening made sense. How could she have dreamed about something she had never seen before? If the book from her dream existed, did that mean the people did too? And if so, why was she dreaming about them?
She picked up the book and hefted it. It felt about as heavy as a sack of spuds; it must have been about five hundred pages long. She tried to open the cover and froze. A hot bolt of energy sizzled up her arm and the cover slammed shut. What in the world? She put the book back into the box along with the dried herbs. Brenna scratched her head. Could she be dreaming right now? She didn’t think so. You didn’t usually feel pain in dreams, did you? She wasn’t an expert on such matters but Maggie would surely know. She decided against calling her; she needed time to process all of this herself.
She bent down, lifted up the small leather pouch and pulled out a shiny round moonstone. The smooth stone pulsed in her hand with rainbow-tinted flashes. She gasped, dropped the stone, and watched it roll under the bed. Brenna dropped to her knees. She peered underneath the bed, expecting darkness, but was able to see her lost hairbrush and running shoes illuminated by the shining stone (she hadn’t been too worried about losing the running shoes). She stayed down on her knees staring at the glowing stone. She reached under the bed and wrapped her fingers around the stone. With the stone enveloped in her hand, darkness returned under the bed.
She dropped the smooth stone back into the pouch and returned it to the wooden box, carefully shutting the lid. A yawn crawled its way out. How could she be tired at a time like this? An almost absurd thought struck her. Could she be tired because something was wanting to communicate with her through her dreams? Whatever the reason, it was a good idea to get to bed if she wanted to get up early in the morning.
Brenna placed a glass of water next to her lamp on the bedside cabinet then slid into bed. She laid her head on the soft pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. Thoughts of the old Book of shadows ran through her head along, with the last conversation she ever had with her grandmother, Annwyn Ravenwood. Annwyn had been lying on a white uncomfortable hospital bed where she’d been for weeks. Brenna had entered the small ward and immediately had started to cry. Annwyns’s white hair was hanging loosely at her waist and her face was paler than usual. Her Gran had put up a fragile hand as if to say not to cry for her because she was fine but Brenna had cried even harder.
She’d sat next to her grandmother, taking her hand and noticing how thin and transparent her skin had become. Annwyn then smiled the happiest smile Brenna had ever seen and laughed. Brenna could not understand what was so funny, so she asked her why she was laughing. All that Annwyn would tell her was she wasn’t