The Walford Witches Ch. 00

Prologue

"Gigi, come on," Lucy waved her hand in an impatient motion to her cousin.

Giselle stood at the edge of the browning corn stalks, a shiver dancing down her spine, tangoing up her arms, ending in a certain ringing in her head.

'You're being silly,' she told herself.

She'd been in that field a hundred times picking green beans with her Granny Walford, yanking worms and weeds from places they were unwelcome, sneaking away as she was doing now.

She glanced up to where Lucy stood, hand on hip, ready to stomp her foot like a spoiled child.

"They aren't going to wait forever," her same-aged cousin reminded her in a loud whisper.

Gigi thought briefly of how a whisper wouldn't keep their grandmother from knowing of their nocturnal activities, but she pushed the thought aside and stepped her foot into the turned soil. As quickly as she stepped inside, she had the urge to yank back and turn towards the security of the old farmhouse.

A dull throbbing in her temple seemed to echo her footsteps as she moved towards Lucy, who had turned to face the quickest path to the other side. Gigi tried to concentrate on the road that led to a night of beer and boys, to freedom for the pair of seventeen year olds confined all summer inside an always-cooking-something kitchen.

"One step, two step, three step," she whispered to herself, "I ward off any hex."

Lucy had moved just out of sight as she continued, "Four stride, five stride, six stride, I surround myself with the light."

She could almost hear her Granny's voice replacing her own as she chanted the remembered spell to ward off evil-doings during travels down treacherous roads.

Until that summer they'd both secretly laughed at their elder's strange ranting and rhymes, feeling beleaguered when she insisted they stir her brews or wear the odd pieces of rope and string she attached to their arms and necks despite their protest.

But, when Lucy arrived again in late May, as had been family tradition for as long as either could remember, her attitude had changed. She begged to see inside their grandmother's guarded "recipe" books and had her hand smacked away more than once when she tried to steal a glance.

Gigi still hadn't fully let go of their first conversation under the covers a few weeks earlier when Lucy said, "She really is a witch, Gi."

She'd laughed at first. It all sounded so absurd. Yes, she was a little strange and very superstitious, but a witch?

"Come on, Lucy," she shook her head, "you're being silly. Witches live in gingerbread houses and eat little children."

Lucy was dead serious when she answered, "You don't understand, little cousin. Maybe I'm just like her and you're not. Aunt Rachel said my mother was much more powerful than yours, so maybe it skipped a generation in your case."

Giselle's skin prickled. She hated to be called little cousin by the girl she'd accepted as a near-sibling but had never really liked in any traditional sense.

She'd admitted her clandestine feelings towards Lucy at the end of one summer to her mother who smiled and said, "Honey, you're just too close in age."

Lucy was eight days older. Eight days. One week and one day.

The elder teenager was standing in the middle of the field when Giselle finally caught up to her. Lucy didn't see their grandfather's old hunting knife in her hand until she was almost beside her.

"What the hell, Lucy?" she instinctively backed away from the weapon.

Lucy laughed, "Where are you going?"

She looked down at how the bright light of the full moon reflected menacingly against the silver and dropped her arm to her side.

"God, you've watched too many horror movies," she said in a voice that was no longer a whisper.

She continued to add, "If I wanted to kill you, I'd just poison you with some of the hemlock Granny grows out back."

Giselle took a cautious step forward and asked, "So, what's that for? I thought we were meeting Jenny and Karen and going to town? Remember?"

Lucy's face changed to a smirk that made Gigi unspeakably uncomfortable.

"I've got something better planned," she informed her as she pulled a department store shopping bag from beneath a pile of garden debris waiting to be composted.

Giselle couldn't help being curious when her cousin reached inside and began to remove the candles taken from the cupboard and the herbs skimmed from the kitchen garden. She held her breath as Lucy moved, carefully arranging them in a circle that encompassed both the girls.

"Just exactly what are you doing?" was all she could think to ask.

When Lucy reached inside the bag again and pulled out a hand-bound book etched in blood red, unrecognizable symbols, she took a step closer.

In her head, her Granny's voice sang softly, "Protect this child from the night. Protect this child from His might. Bring her home before the light. Protect this child in her flight."

She shook her head when the crawling feeling returned up her legs and through her torso. A part of her mind trying to remember when she'd last heard that rhyme. A different part of her tried to comprehend the scene unfolding in front of her.

A cool breeze rattled the stalks, and she glanced back in the direction of the house. It was barely visible, and a knot formed in her stomach.

"I'm not sure what you're planning to do here, Luce," she shook her head, "but I don't think it's such a good idea."

She hesitated and added, "I just have a bad feeling about it."

"What?" a certain glint filled Lucy's eyes as she accused, "You think 'Granny' wouldn't approved?"

A revulsion filled Gigi at Lucy's tone as she twisted the affectionate name to an insult.

"I'm sorry you don't 'feel good' about this," she went on, "I was just trying to help you. Include you. Let you feel like one of the family."

After a dramatic pause she added, "Maybe you're adopted or something."

Giselle pushed back her shoulders and huffed, "I am not adopted, you freak! And, I am a part of the family! What's wrong with you?"

Lucy turned her back, "You think that your feelings make you one of us? They don't. As my mother told me a long time ago, you're just too sensitive. That does not make you a witch."

It was Giselle's turn to laugh, "A witch? You've got to be kidding me? Are you on that again? Are you high? And, you call me immature. Only thirteen year olds think they can light some candles and make others do their bidding. I'm going back to the house."

Giselle turned to leave as she heard the distinct sound of a match being lit behind her.

She walked a little faster, her mind chanting again, 'One step, two step...'

She was at the divide between ploughed earth and virgin ground when the hiss came. Loud and demanding attention, she fell to her knees as she tripped over a gopher hole. But, the hiss, it didn't stop as she climbed to her feet and ran. She wasn't sure why she running; she only knew that she needed to.

She had sprinted halfway to the house when the hideous sound turned to a growl. The vibration of it seemed to tremble the very ground, and she fell forward almost hitting her head on the tall pole that held the gourds where the purple martins nested every year.

Sitting, she turned to see the black smoke and bright light rising to overcome the moon.

Her breath caught in her lungs, as she screamed, "No!" into the night.

The flames engulfed the plants before she could struggle to her feet. She'd have run straight into them if her Granny's hands hadn't caught her shoulders.

The old woman was surprisingly calm as she pulled the teenager close, whispering in her, "Wait, child, there's nothing we can do for her now."

Giselle was too shocked to let loose the sobs that built in her throat.

Her grandmother whispered, "It is fate, little one," as she shook her head.

Both watched the field glow beneath the washed out stars.

She was certain her imagination had overcome her when a red sea of flames parted and Lucy stepped out. Her grandmother held her tighter, holding her back from the urge to run towards her cousin.

Giselle's eyes locked with Lucy's as she walked towards them, barely a long, dark tress out of place, a coal colored smudge seeming to accent each high cheekbone and a tiny ripple of flame at the toe of each shoe.

She hissed, "Coward," from half the distance between them, and Giselle heard it as if it were screamed into her eardrum.

Stunned, she looked past her cousin to see the now black field, as dark as it had been lit only seconds earlier.

She shook as her Granny said, "And so it begins."