Chantal James
Chantal turned Acorn into the corral and unwound her legs from the sidesaddle.
When did I become so old?
She slid to the ground and held the saddle to steady herself.
No time to rest. Too much to do.
She saw to Acorn’s comfort and turned him loose in the small enclosure. Thankfully, he had plenty of food and water.
The trip to the station had been long, but the ride back felt longer. Every bone in her 81-year-old body ached as she hurried toward the house. She had made this farm a home for her boys and her granddaughter for twenty-five years. She took pride in what she had accomplished, and how much she’d been able to teach Alyse and her own twin sons. Chantal had one last gift for her children, and she intended to give it now.
She raced to the well pump, filled a bucket of water and carried the heavy, sloshing pail into the house. Once she sealed her home, she would not be able to leave it. She made a final trip to the garden to collect a few vegetables which could serve as a quick meal. She closed her eyes and cast her senses into the breeze that blew from the east. He drew near, and his evil stench already tainted the wind.
Hurry!
She slammed and bolted the door. With her back against the entrance, she let her lungs calm while she surveyed the room.
So much to do before I face the monster who would harm my family.
Her mouth lifted in a snarl.
I will crush this devil.
She checked the kerosene in the lanterns to make sure they were full, then placed what remained in open containers and located them with care throughout the house.
Next, she took a bag of salt from the pantry and cut a tiny hole in one corner. She drew a line of salt across the front and back door thresholds, and along every windowsill in-between. She set the bag in a large bowl on the counter beside the vegetables.
She rummaged through Bernard’s room to find the hammer. With small nails, she attached each of her protection satchels to the lintels above the doors and windows. The hammer slipped from her damp hands and crushed her finger. Pain exploded in her hand and she gasped in shock.
No time.
She grasped a new nail with her third finger. As blood ran down her arm, she pounded in the last nail.
She lit a fire in the fireplace, and tossed clove and pine into the fire, saying a prayer to the Goddess for protection against the coming evil. She knelt on the floor before the hearth and repeated the prayer. The magic glow began in the fire. “Good,” she whispered, and grinned.
She pulled one of the smoldering sticks free and made sure no burning ember clung to the smoking wood. Only charred wood would accomplish her purpose. Carefully, as she continued to chant her prayer, Chantal drew a rune of protection on each pane of glass and door in the house. She smudged each satchel as well, tying all the protection back to herself by smudging the same rune on the back of her left hand. That task completed, she returned the blackened brand to the fireplace and offered her thanks. Next, she turned to the furniture.
She leaned her weight against the sofa and pushed with all her strength. “Move for me, you heavy...” She grunted. It slid beneath the window. The rest of the furnishings moved easily, and she cleared the center of the floor. She tossed cushions and pillows into the empty space and arranged them in a circle. The two largest cushions faced the door. She placed the bowl with the bag of salt inside the circle of cushions.
She turned to her altar, one that Bayard had built for her several years ago. It had been constructed in two pieces and allowed her to remove the top from the base. She cleared the decorated altar, carried the upper part into the center of the room, and leveled the four corners on two large cushions. When the altar felt secure, she covered the table and cushions with an altar cloth she had made. The satin cloth displayed a pentacle stitched into the middle.
Chantal walked through the house and gathered everything she would require in a small woven basket, and then stepped into the circle of pillows and knelt before her altar.
It took several moments to calm her spirit. Her shattered nail pulsed in time with her rapid heartbeat. From the basket, she withdrew one of five colored candles. She held each, in turn, in the air. “Red for fire.” The flames in the fireplace flared as she placed the enchanted wax in the pentacle’s lower right corner. “Blue for water.” With the candle held high, water drops ran down her arms as she lowered it to the pentacle’s upper right tip. She placed the green candle for earth and a yellow candle for air. Wind circled the scent of pine from inside the closed off room. Her hair blew as she lifted the final candle. “White for the Goddess, the spirit within us all.” As she placed the final candle, a tingle ran across her scalp.
Next, she retrieved the small cauldron to hold her spent matches and an athame, her ceremonial knife. Finally, she took out three photographs, one of Alyse, one of her boys, and one they had taken as a family in Toronto two years ago. She sat those in the center of the pentacle where she would have normally placed her grimoire.
As she worked, darkness had stolen the light from beyond the windows.
Time, I need more time.
Chantal closed her eyes and took a calming breath. As she released air, she concentrated on her internal balance, the center of herself. The next spell required full focus, and her nerves played havoc with her senses.
He’s coming and soon.
Chantal couldn’t cast a ward and lay the protective circle until the fight was about to begin. Once she was bound to the ring, food and water would be out of her reach. Chantal ground her teeth. I’ll need every drop of strength to fight this devil.
Instead, she invoked the quarters and cast her personal protection spell. The circle would come last, if she had time.
Chantal struck a match and whispered to the flame.
“Spirits of the East, I call you.
Attend me, Elements of Air.
Hold me in your protection and offer me
The breath of life and transformation.
Guard this body and let it not be defiled
By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”
She lit the yellow candle and dropped the match into the cauldron, and then she struck another match.
“Spirits of the South, I call you.
Attend me, Elements of Fire.
Hold me in your protection and offer me
The light that banishes darkness
Guard this body and let it not be defiled
By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”
Chantal lit the red candle and dropped the match into the cauldron.
The wind picked up outside, and an unspeakable urgency assailed Chantal. She struck another match and spoke quickly.
“Spirits of the West, I call you.
Attend me, Elements of Water.
Hold me in your protection and offer me
The cleansing rain that replenishes the earth.
Guard this body and let it not be defiled
By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”
Chantal lit the blue candle, dropped the match, and struck another.
“Spirits of the North, I call you.
Attend me, Elements of Earth.
Hold me in your protection and offer me
The strength of stone to compel my purpose
Guard this body and let it not be defiled
By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”
She lit the green candle, dropped the match, and struck another.
“God and Goddess, be welcome in my home,
Lord and Lady, in all aspects of your creation
Hold me in your protection and offer me
The reborn spirit of my father,
And the loving embrace of my mother,
Guard this body and let it not be defiled
By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”
Chantal lit the white candle and dropped the match.
The glow from the candles did not extend to the dark corners of the room, but she feared nothing there. She took up the knife, just as what sounded like hail began to beat against the front windows. From the light of her candles, she could see grasshoppers, rather than hail, threw themselves at the glass.
The demon had arrived.
Without hesitation, she ran the edge of the sharpened blade through the fire of the white candle, and then held the tip to her forearm and carved the runic symbol against evil and possession into her skin.
“Protect me, threefold Goddess
From the evil of possession.
Do not allow this body
To be used against those I love.”
Taking the blade in her left hand, she carved the same symbol again into her right forearm.
“Protect me, Father of life and rebirth,
From the evil of possession.
Do not allow this body
To be used against those I love.”
Chantal sat the blade down and listened to the wind and rain outside. She closed her eyes and visualized the protective weave of power that ran from each rune and satchel throughout her house, held tethered to her left hand.
The fire still burned in the fireplace, and she called on the element of fire with her right hand to light all the lamps in the house.
Outside, a chorus of howls changed to wild yipping.
Coyotes.
Chantal came to her feet and picked up the salt bag from the bowl. She walked clockwise and chanted the protection spell for her circle as she drew a line of salt on the outside of the circle of pillows, which included her altar and candles. She set the empty salt bag in its bowl and turned to face the door.
The yipping howls grew closer.
A flutter of wings in the chimney, then a half-dozen bats flew into the fire, knocking cinders onto the floor. Two bats made it through and flew at her head. Chantal cast out her right hand, and their wings burst into flames. They fell and flopped along the floor for a moment, then, they were still.
The sound of breaking glass in Alyse's bedroom startled her, and she tugged the protective lines of power in her hand—tested them. The glass had broken, but the ward still held.
The front door began to vibrate in its frame, so hard and fast, the edges hummed. Then the bolt gave way and the door splintered and blew open. Wind and rain rushed into the house. Several lamps fell over and went out. The altar candles burned steady, as though the wind could not penetrate Chantal’s protective circle.
Through the open door, she could see the coyotes circle the yard in the rain. One of them jumped at the front door, but was stopped by the weave of the protection spell. The coyote dropped dead just outside the door, its fur singed and its eyes white. A chorus of howls went up.
How many are out there?
She had thought to face a single demon, not a host.
She stood and squared her shoulders toward the door, legs braced as if for a blow. Her left hand held the protective weave, her right hand ready to cast in battle.
She heard Acorn scream once, then a yip of pain. A moment later, Acorn walk past the front door as the rain soaked his coat. The horse turned its head and looked at Chantal, and a gleam of fire reflected in her eyes.
“Oh, no,” Chantal muttered.
I’m sorry, Acorn.
The horse ambled out of sight. Moments later, a pounding began against the wall of Bayard's room. The demon inside Acorn would try to kick down the wall.
Another coyote rushed the front door and flopped dead next to the first one. Again, the baying went up in the yard, but to Chantal, it sounded like laughter.
The pounding of hooves against the wall stopped, and for a few seconds all she could hear outside was the rain. She gasped as a shadow passed before the window. The low sound of boots on the wooden step, toe to heel, echoed through the open door.
A man stood in the doorway. He wore a long raincoat with a shoulder cape and a drooping felt hat. He looked familiar, but in the darkness of the stoop, she couldn't tell who he was. When he raised his head to look at her, she recognized the miller's son, but he was the miller’s son no longer.
“Hello, Chantal. I see you’ve been expecting us.” It grinned and reached out a hand against the protective magic at the door and nodded. “Very nice. We’re all impressed with your skill. But you aren't the one we were promised, are you?” He tilted his head and searched her eyes. “No, you’re not. But you’re close—family, then?” An evil grin split his face. “Your daughter? Or your son, perhaps?” He stepped back from the door. His gaze locked with hers. The flicker of her candles reflected in its dark eyes.
“It’s only a matter of time, Chantal. You know that. I’ll have you and your power, and I’ll know who you’re protecting.” He chuckled. “It’s just a matter of time.”
His laughter sent a shiver down Chantal's back, as the yipping howls took up their chorus again, and Acorn began kicking the wall.
Her fortress had become a trap, but she knew it would. She needed to hold him here as long as she could, to give her children time to escape.
The repetitive sound of Acorn’s hammering hooves became soporific—almost hypnotic. As soon as the thought occurred to her she lifted her head.
The demon stood at the door and grinned at her, and the yipping resumed in the yard. “Well, it was worth a try, don't you think?” he said conversationally and stepped down into the yard. He spun around and looked at Chantal through the doorway and the pouring rain. Then threw up his hands.
All the glass in the house shattered. Chantal cried out as glass from the front windows littered the floor outside of her pillows. The head of a dead elk rested across the window's broken sill. Above the animal, the white satchel swung precariously, and then fell.
Over the body of the elk came a coyote. It hurled itself directly at her face, and she threw fire from her hand at its head. It fell writhing to the floor. Two more leapt through but vanished into the darkness. A third came over the elk and jumped at her. It died in fire beside the first.
A scratching sound on the floor drew Chantal's attention away from the window, and she saw one of the coyotes pawing at the salt circle, trying to break it. She threw an arc of fire at the animal, but it disappeared down the hallway with a yip.
The sound of Acorn's kicking stopped. Into the room, from Bayard's bedroom, came a rumba of rattlers. They slithered along the salt circle, dispersing it as they wove back and forth around her.
She felt the weave of protection break as a coyote ran past with a white satchel in its mouth. Then came the sharp piercing pain of a bite on her ankle, followed by one on her calf. All the snakes were inside the circle of cushions. Another rattler sank its fangs into her thigh.
As she turned to her altar, the demon grabbed her by the throat and held her still.
“You see, Chantal. That didn't take very long at all.”
With a thought, Chantal ignited the kerosene.
The open containers set strategically around the house were placed under beds, near curtains or surrounded by oily rags. In moments, flames licked up the side of the walls and crawled along the spilled oil from the overturned lamps. A whoosh of air, drawn into the house by Chantal detonated the blaze.
*.*.*