Read Online The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3) by J. D. Horn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. D. Horn
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your mama did.” My eyes shot up again to my grandmother’s portrait. “I’m sorry . . .”
Iris took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and took another. “It isn’t only that our father was a philanderer.”
Abby folded her hands as if she were in prayer. “Whatever you’ve seen, it’s in the past. Let it lie between him and his maker.”
“No.” She shook her head. “God may prove too forgiving. That bastard is going to answer to me for his sins.” Static electricity began to build around us, dancing on our skins. Abby patted her curlers, and as I felt my own unfettered hair begin to rise I understood why. Our house’s power failed with a loud and final-sounding pop. A whitish-blue ball of lightning shot from Iris’s fingertips into the center of our circle. It began a slow spin, dimming and taking on the color and sheen of mercury.
“Edwin Wallace Taylor, I call to you. Rise, return,” Iris shouted. The orb at our center pulsed as convex images formed on its surface. Some dark, twisted, undoubtedly demonic. Others, anguished or fearful.
“Is that—” I began.
“Yes, it’s Gehenna.” Iris answered me before I could complete my thought. “The plane of existence reserved for those of us who have committed the gravest sins.”
“Then it is real,” Ellen said. “The place of eternal suffering.” She leaned in to look more closely at the window that had formed between us and hell.
“It’s as real as anything else,” Abigail said shaking her head. “But like everything bad, I believe it is of our own making. God would never create such a place.”
“How could you have known Granddad was there?” I asked, watching the individual faces that rose to the surface of the sphere, pressing against its skin, trying to break free from their place of bondage.
“I didn’t know he would be there,” Iris said, sounding defeated by the realization. “But it may be exactly where he belongs.”
“You don’t mean that,” Abigail started, but the gravity emanating from this bulging window into hell grew strong, harder to resist. We each took a step inward.
This is not a good idea , I thought to myself.
“This is not a good idea.” Ellen echoed my thoughts aloud. “It’s some kind of trick. Daddy would never be . . . there.”
“If what I read from Jessamine is true, Gehenna is exactly where he should be.” Iris raised her arms so that her wrists bent in toward the light. Angry gashes formed there, letting her blood shoot forward to feed the spinning quicksilver globe. It swallowed the blood hungrily. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.” Her eyes flashed at us. “Say it. Chant it. Repeat after me. Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
I was afraid of what might happen if I obeyed Iris, but more afraid of what might happen to her if I didn’t. I joined in. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
I glanced nervously at Ellen. She nodded and began the chant. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
“This is wrong,” I heard Abby protest weakly, but a stern look from Iris squelched her dissent. Soon she added her voice, her magic to the spell Iris was weaving. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
“Edwin Wallace Taylor,” Iris called out over our chanting, “I command you by this blood . . .” Iris focused all her power on the sphere in the circle’s center as another spurt of blood left her and rushed into the orb. Without warning we were pulled in another step closer. The orb contracted, becoming smaller but remaining at the exact center of our constricting circle. For a short time it remained a perfect sphere, but in the next instant that sphere began to elongate, forming a recognizably human shape. A mannequin-like head with only the suggestion of features hung in the air between us.
“Show yourself, you cowardly bastard.” Iris spat out the words, but the shape began to
Iris took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and took another. “It isn’t only that our father was a philanderer.”
Abby folded her hands as if she were in prayer. “Whatever you’ve seen, it’s in the past. Let it lie between him and his maker.”
“No.” She shook her head. “God may prove too forgiving. That bastard is going to answer to me for his sins.” Static electricity began to build around us, dancing on our skins. Abby patted her curlers, and as I felt my own unfettered hair begin to rise I understood why. Our house’s power failed with a loud and final-sounding pop. A whitish-blue ball of lightning shot from Iris’s fingertips into the center of our circle. It began a slow spin, dimming and taking on the color and sheen of mercury.
“Edwin Wallace Taylor, I call to you. Rise, return,” Iris shouted. The orb at our center pulsed as convex images formed on its surface. Some dark, twisted, undoubtedly demonic. Others, anguished or fearful.
“Is that—” I began.
“Yes, it’s Gehenna.” Iris answered me before I could complete my thought. “The plane of existence reserved for those of us who have committed the gravest sins.”
“Then it is real,” Ellen said. “The place of eternal suffering.” She leaned in to look more closely at the window that had formed between us and hell.
“It’s as real as anything else,” Abigail said shaking her head. “But like everything bad, I believe it is of our own making. God would never create such a place.”
“How could you have known Granddad was there?” I asked, watching the individual faces that rose to the surface of the sphere, pressing against its skin, trying to break free from their place of bondage.
“I didn’t know he would be there,” Iris said, sounding defeated by the realization. “But it may be exactly where he belongs.”
“You don’t mean that,” Abigail started, but the gravity emanating from this bulging window into hell grew strong, harder to resist. We each took a step inward.
This is not a good idea , I thought to myself.
“This is not a good idea.” Ellen echoed my thoughts aloud. “It’s some kind of trick. Daddy would never be . . . there.”
“If what I read from Jessamine is true, Gehenna is exactly where he should be.” Iris raised her arms so that her wrists bent in toward the light. Angry gashes formed there, letting her blood shoot forward to feed the spinning quicksilver globe. It swallowed the blood hungrily. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.” Her eyes flashed at us. “Say it. Chant it. Repeat after me. Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
I was afraid of what might happen if I obeyed Iris, but more afraid of what might happen to her if I didn’t. I joined in. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
I glanced nervously at Ellen. She nodded and began the chant. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
“This is wrong,” I heard Abby protest weakly, but a stern look from Iris squelched her dissent. Soon she added her voice, her magic to the spell Iris was weaving. “Blood calls to blood. Spirit calls to soul. Return.”
“Edwin Wallace Taylor,” Iris called out over our chanting, “I command you by this blood . . .” Iris focused all her power on the sphere in the circle’s center as another spurt of blood left her and rushed into the orb. Without warning we were pulled in another step closer. The orb contracted, becoming smaller but remaining at the exact center of our constricting circle. For a short time it remained a perfect sphere, but in the next instant that sphere began to elongate, forming a recognizably human shape. A mannequin-like head with only the suggestion of features hung in the air between us.
“Show yourself, you cowardly bastard.” Iris spat out the words, but the shape began to
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