Page 9 of Spellbound

The house on the outside wasn’t overly grand, like most people thought of when they heard the term “antebellum,” though that just meant “before the war,” and the old house did date to pre-Civil War times.

It was a large two-story home but had no wrap-around grand veranda.

It did have a small gallery in front, but the door was sealed off and it looked like it was never used any more.

No one would mistake it for one of those Gone with the Wind style plantation homes by any stretch of the imagination.

It did have columns holding up the gallery and the windows were evenly spaced, in a nod to the neoclassical style.

But the house itself wasn’t done up in a grand fashion.

Still, it was a nice old home, and I knew my great aunt was really attached to it.

In my opinion, they needed to clear the trees back on either side of the house, though.

They crept up too damn close for my comfort.

I thought it made the outside dark and claustrophobic.

I liked to think I wasn’t easily spooked, but there was no question that the woods’ proximity made me nervous.

These deep shadows from the trees and the isolation of the Cromwell house gave me an uneasy feeling. I told myself I must be just tired.

“It was quieter when it was raining earlier,” I said. “I even imagined I heard something following me as I walked down the road.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it might be a bear. Or a coyote. But I didn’t see anything.”

“That’s unlikely. Attacks on adult humans by bears or coyotes are rare, and mostly the animal would have to feel threatened.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was just my imagination. I even thought once that something whistled and laughed at me from inside the tree line and then—then I heard my name being called.”

He turned to look at me. “You didn’t answer, did you?”

“Huh? Well...no. When I thought I heard my name, I did think for a moment that it could have been my grandma, though, and I started to call back…but I didn’t, and it turned out to be nothing.

I heard your truck coming pretty soon after that and everything got quiet.

I’m sure it was just overactive imagination. ”

“Maybe so. Or maybe something noticed you.”

“What?” I replied, a little too sharply.

He smiled, which told me he must be pulling my leg again. “Just kidding. I had my radio on, and maybe you heard something that made you think it was your name. Sound carries farther than you’d think.”

“Oh. Maybe so.”

“Although, there are all kinds of ghost stories and folklore up here in the mountains about things that prowl around in the night. Things better left alone. It’s always better to be safe than sorry and not wander much, especially at night. And never answer back if you hear someone call your name.”

“Well, that’s not at all creepy. And I wasn’t ‘wandering.’ I was going for help.”

He gave a slight smile and shrugged, like he’d been joking, but I’d seen stuff online about the Appalachians and other mountain areas, and some of it was scary stuff.

“So, what do you do, Asher?” Ben asked.

“I’m a graduate student. I was a TA or Teaching Assistant at a college in Atlanta until recently. Until my accident. Then I had to quit, because they couldn’t give me any more time off to recover.”

“So, what will you do now, if you don’t mind my asking? Just focus on your recovery?”

“Not exactly. I mean, yes, I will, but I’m also going to be working on my thesis for my master’s degree. I’ve already started writing it, though I have a long way to go.”

“What’s it about?”

“It kind of revolves around the Confederate Home Guard. The ones who couldn’t serve because they were too old or too young. They were tasked with guarding the home front and finding deserters.”

“I don’t think that’s boring at all. Have you started the thesis yet or are you still researching?”

“No, I’ve made a start on the paper. Just barely. I have maybe twenty-thousand words or so, but it’s still all over the place. I’m having a little trouble. I may even start over once I’ve done a little more reading.”

“That seems like a shame.”

“Yeah, well…. How about you? What is it you do for a living?”

“I’m a magistrate for the Council. Are you familiar with that?”

“Not really, though I know my dad used to be one of those too. He’s been gone a while now. Something with the sheriff’s department or the Town Council, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all. Did anyone ever talk to you about his job?”

Before I could respond, a loud, rasping scream split the air, followed by a shriek that could have been made by a child. It was horrible and close by. It made me jump to my feet, my heart racing, because it was followed by another shriek, like something was being killed.

“Oh my God! What the hell was that?”

“It was a barn owl.”

“An owl? It sounded like a woman screaming. Or a baby.”

“That was loud, I admit. Some of the owls have nests close to the house, but they keep down the rodent population in the barn. They also kill and eat small mammals, so that last little shriek could have been a small rabbit.”

I shuddered. “It was terrifying.”

“You’ve had a long day, Asher. Why not go and lie down and get some rest?

You’ll feel better in the morning” And suddenly the feelings I’d had earlier came back again, the ones I’d had the first time he’d told me to go inside, out in the yard as I arrived.

It was a dizzying experience, like trying to focus when you’re drunk.

A lethargy came over me, and an unwillingness to disagree with him.

He was making good sense, after all. I was tired, and in some ways, this had been a long, exhausting day.

I was shaking all over after that thing screamed.

Lying down sounded good just then. In fact, it sounded perfect.

And somewhere just outside of actual hearing, there was a soft, soothing whisper inside my head, saying , “Sleep, rest, be calm.”

“I-I am tired. If you don’t mind, maybe I will go on up to bed. My leg is aching.”

“Probably the weather. Rosalyn says her arthritis bothers her more when it rains. I think it’s a good idea. Come inside and I’ll take you up to your room.”

I got to my feet, moving slowly and feeling drained and lightheaded.

Ben guided me inside with a warm hand at my lower back and walked me up the wide staircase to the second floor.

He opened a door halfway down the short hallway and ushered me inside, where a bed waited that had the covers already turned back.

I’d never seen anything look so soft and white and inviting as those smooth, pristine sheets and plump pillows.

“Lie down,” he said, “You can unpack in the morning.” And then like in a dream, he was sitting me down and slipping off my shoes and socks and tugging off my jeans.

It didn’t even feel strange in the least that he should see me in my underwear.

He unbuttoned my shirt, looking down at me as he pulled it off, close enough that I could smell what was left of his aftershave, a musky, delicious scent.

Oddly enough, I didn’t think anything he was doing was unusual.

I swayed into him, pressing the side of my face against his chest, and he steadied me by putting his warm hands on my waist—on my bare skin.

He was completely unbothered, like he did this kind of thing all the time.

Only moments later he put me in bed in just my briefs and rolled me on my side, pulling up the quilt and turning off the bedside lamp.

He laid his hand on my forehead, and I heard him say, “Sweet dreams.”

And that was the last thing I remembered.

****

Ben

I needed to interview Asher’s grandmother tonight, while he was out of the way, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Where’s Asher?” she asked, looking confused, as she came out on the porch.

“He was pretty tired, and he said his leg hurt. I took him up to his room so he could get some rest. He’s had a long day, and besides, we need to have a talk, Mrs. MacGregor.”

“Oh, please call me Janet. A talk? About what, dear?”

Rosalyn slipped an arm around her waist and shook her head at me. “Really, Ben, they just got here. Couldn’t all this wait until later? Tomorrow morning…”

“She’ll be busy moving Asher into the cottage tomorrow. We have privacy now and time to speak about this. And this is magistrate business, Rosalyn. I know you understand that and why I have to ask you not to interfere.”

She flushed and gave me a dark, unhappy look but sat down in one of the rocking chairs on the porch.

“Earlier,” I began, “you made excuses to him when I caught him outside and kept him from falling, implying he imagined things because his blood sugar might have been low. Why did you do that?”

“I-I didn’t want to upset him. He doesn’t believe in magic, and he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t believe in it? He has magic, though it’s bound. His father was a practitioner, and his mother claimed to be a witch.”

“He hates talking about all of that. He gets angry whenever I bring up the subject. Magic has always been in our family, but he refuses to acknowledge it. It was never strong inside me, and he tolerates my spell work, but I know he dislikes it, and I’m not allowed to talk about it.

He thinks his father had a mental illness. ”

“That’s ridiculous. His father was a talented practitioner and a magistrate.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “Asher can be a bit…unreasonable and stubborn. He gets angry if I bring up the subject.”

“What do you mean by ‘gets angry?’ Has he ever tried to hurt you?”

“Oh goodness, no, he would never. He’s very good to me. He can simply be insistent on having his way. He thinks talking about magic reinforces my belief in it, and he thinks it’s all fantasy.”

I snorted. “I’ll talk to him about that.”