Vivian threw a pinch of cypress bark into the brew and stood back. The concoction bubbled in a cast iron pot that hung over the open flame in her back yard. She sprinkled in dried thyme leaves, and smoke rose from the churning mixture.

The moon above glimmered, full and silver, casting its iridescent light down on Vivian’s voluptuous, naked body. She spoke the words of the old spells, calling on the gods of the underworld to come aid her.

She’d been warned, time and again, by her mother and sister that casting the summoning spell would only result in trouble, but she saw no other option.

The foreign words spilled from her throat like trickling honey off a spoon. They tasted thick and harsh on her tongue. Sharp words of the old witches spiked the spell with its needed intensity.

Calling a demon to do her bidding did not come easy. She’d collected almost all the ingredients, sure that these would do the trick.

Vivian pulled energy up from the earth, willing the creature to come forth and do her bidding. Nothing happened. Chill wind brushed over her bare skin, and a distant creature howled in the nearby woods.

She pulled the energy harder, willing the demon to rise. If she failed at this, all was lost. Harold’s claim on her was ironclad. She could not escape him as long as she lived, unless the demon came to take him to hell, where he belonged.

Shouting the words of the spell, she commanded the demon to rise. Nothing. Damn it. Vivian growled and closed her circle before grabbing her robe and stomping inside her house.

She grabbed the teakettle from the stove, filled it with water, and prepared a pot of herbal tea from a special mixture she’d created herself––lemon balm, passionflower, and lavender. She hoped it would help her calm down.

Her little house looked out over the churning sea and the lights of Mystic Harbor. Vivian wouldn’t give up her home, her business, or her life, just because her psycho warlock ex-husband believed he still had a claim on her.

The insane blood witch had cast a binding spell on her when they’d first been married. Intoxicated by his mystery and intense sexual domination, Vivian had agreed to allow him to cast the binding spell.

At the time, she’d wanted to be his. She’d been young and stupid. Harold was a narcissistic psychopath. During the first five years of their marriage, he controlled her every movement, isolated her from her coven of nature witches and her family, and ultimately started beating her.

It was a miracle that she’d gotten out and had been able to close the divorce at all. After she moved home to Mystic Harbor, she’d opened a small apothecary and skin care shop that catered to discerning locals and to the many tourists who came through town.

The kettle whistled as Vivian gazed out her kitchen window at the city lights below. She lifted the kettle from the stove and poured the boiling water over her delicately dried herbs. Aromatic fragrance rose on the steam, and she inhaled deeply.

After letting it steep, she poured herself a cup of the relaxing brew. She sat at her hand-hewn plank kitchen table and gathered her long silk robe around her.

Taking a sip, she realized her spell had not been complete. She’d missed the leaves of the black myrtle tree. It wasn’t just any myrtle tree, either; it was a type that only grew on an island off the coast of Oregon, far out to sea from Mystic Harbor.

She’d hoped she could cast the spell without it. Obviously, she was wrong. Now she had to find a boat and go out to the island where it grew. With all the expenses from the business, she didn’t have the extra money to hire a private charter.

The irritation at the oversight of the black myrtle leaves bit her stomach even as the calming tea soothed her. She’d have to use what little money she had to make it happen. There went her cell phone for the month.

 

She valued her life far more than her cell phone. There was no way in hell she would allow Harold to drag her back to Chicago. The Chicago blood witches were all insane and into all kinds of unnatural, unsavory things.

As a nature witch from the Pacific Northwest, Vivian had a kinship with nature that she’d never been able to feel while in Chicago. Even aside from Harold’s abuse, she’d never been happy there.

She took another sip of tea and dialed her sister’s telephone number on her cell phone. Might as well get some use out of it while she could.

“Hello, Vivian. What are you calling me for on this full moon night?” her sister Marietta greeted her. Vivian could hear the sound of young children screaming and laughing in the background. She’d interrupted her sister’s family time and suddenly felt guilty.

“I need a favor,” Vivian said.

“Shoot.”

“You know Harold still has a binding spell on me, right?”

“How could I forget? It’s all you talk about. Mom told you she’d help you find a workaround. We can’t break it, but we might be able to keep him from claiming you.”

“No. That isn’t enough. I want the assurance that he’s never coming back for me. I want this taken care of.”

“What exactly do you intend to do?” her sister asked.

“The summoning spell. It will take care of Harold once and for all.”

“Mother forbade you from doing it, Vivian. Don’t even go there. It’s far too dangerous.”

“Marietta, I don’t have a choice. He told me he’s coming next week and intends to take me back with him. I’m not going back. I’ll die first.”

“And you just might if the summoning spell goes wrong.”

“It won’t. I promise you.”

Marietta sighed a long, drawn out sigh, then yelled at her kids to get off the kitchen counter. “What do you need?” she finally asked.

“I need to borrow a few hundred dollars to hire a boat to get out to Sea Cliff Island. It’s the only place south of Puget Sound where the right kind of myrtle tree grows.”

“Can’t you just order it online?” Marietta asked. There was a crash in the background, and Marietta growled out a short control spell.

“They don’t sell rare myrtle leaves online, Mari.”

“Come by tomorrow. I’ve got to go. I told you I’d cast a spell on you if you didn’t stop,” she barked. “Jesus. Young witches are worse than normal children.”