For Brooce
Continued from hereSitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the pile of bricks, Astrid composed a brief message, fingers shaky with exhaustion and barely-contained fear.
Sorry to bother you but I might’ve bitten off more than I can chew here. Found something in the basement of 13 Broomfield Crossing (South) and I don’t think I can leave.
She would've written more but she was on the last bit of battery while composing the message. The phone died after the text sent successfully and Astrid’s face was blanched white. The fact that she even had to reach out for help made her feel some level of inadequacy. She
should have been able to do it--and would have, had the moon been right. The blade needed a twin for this very reason. Something forged in shadow.
The copal smoke from the censer bowl curled slowly up into the air from its spot in front of the crumbling wall, and she tipped a few more nuggets of resin onto the charcoal disk. Her black dagger had been drawn across the floor behind the bowl, creating a barrier between the secret room and the rest of the basement, and was now thrust point-down into the floor. The barrier waned occasionally, though she had fortified with as much strength as she could muster.
How long would it hold?Astrid watched the swirling mass in the jar. She could have sworn that there were a pair of eyes peering back at her, but she chalked it up to being tired and seeing things. A third, maybe more, of the sealing wax had crumbled to the floor and the witch exhaled in frustration.
The contents of her messenger bag were dumped unceremoniously off to the side on the floor. There wasn’t much there that would’ve helped her in this particular situation. She had packed light today. There were a few other bundles of herbs, empty glass vials with cork stoppers, a few small mason jars filled with different kinds of salt or incenses (most for meditation), a stack of notebooks, a handful of pens and pencils, a dozen or so reference books, a spool of wire, and a pair of pliers. Nothing to deal with
this. Would've been great if she packed some snacks at least.
With every door and window in the house open, sound traveled readily. The piercing wail of a baby coming from upstairs made her jump. It was still in the crib then. Because it had completely slipped her mind. Of-fucking-course. That was the least of her concerns now.
Astrid took a slow breath and closed her eyes, stilling her mind. After a few measured inhales and exhales, there was a blinding flash of pain as a vision pressed into her mind.
Three hooded figures stood before her in front of the demonic sigil on the floor. The room was not yet walled off, cement not yet sunken in and no shelves lined with jars of
things could be seen. The room seemed to barely contain them, but there was enough space to walk around easily. The three were mid chant, making a slow circle around the sigil while holding black pillar candles dripping wax steadily onto the floor. One of the figures stopped suddenly and pointed directly at her, as if they had seen Astrid through the vision. She was frozen in place, filled with the urgent need to
flee. The other figures turned to face her, and one took a step toward her. Then another. Still she could not move, and soon the figure was at arms reach. She could see beneath the hood now: pitch black eyes, leathery skin with deep wrinkles, the tips of what looked like horns breaking through skin.
There was a hand on her shoulder and the paralysis finally lifted. Astrid jolted away from the touch, spinning around a struggling to get to her feet. Her mind was slow to leave the vision and she pressed her hand firmly against her forehead.