Its time, Clair thought to herself as she set up the ingredients for the spell she was about to cast. She was stronger now. She didn't need the herbs and symbols but her mother had taught her respect for the old ways. She loved them and they kept her just enough human these days. Just enough to remember the people she was looking for were flawed. Her husband Sergei did the rest when it came to insuring her empathetic bond to humanity. She smiled over to him softly as she added the rosemary to the shell with the white sage, rose petals and lavender. It would keep those she bound safe until it was time for them to do what they needed to do.
Sergei lit the white candles around the shell and sat on the opposite side of Clair. The table between them was a wooden pub table. Their seats pub stools. He had built his Clair a witch's den as soon as they found a forever home in Taos. The shed sat on consecrated ground blessed by her ancestors and his. The walls were built from a blessed oak tree and the adobe that packed those walls from deep in the heart of what was once Apache lands. They had blessed and warded the space themselves with only a little help from Clair's mother Janeene.
Building places like this required a lot of heart and care. The furniture was either stone or wood. The walls were bare but the large wooden chest in the corner held all Clair needed. Candles, herbs, ingredients and totems. Each piece was selected with the utmost care and attention to detail. Clair had insisted. He had done as she needed. That was the only way one should deal with a witch powerful enough to drop a city block with a thought. It helped that he was in fact hopelessly in love with her and she him.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. Their vision was shared and she could see as he did. They scanned the world then. Clair gasped and Sergei stopped. They jolted out of the vision.
"That was fast." Sergei said briskly.
Clair looked a little stunned as she stared down at the contents of the abalone shell between them. The shell was the size of a fist and fit easily into Clair's palm. It looked as if it hung in mid air on its wooden tripod stand. When she used it she stared at the flames when she burned her herbs to see what she needed to.
"Not a mistake." She whispered as she used a candle to set fire to the contents of the bowl. She let her aura pulse. She felt the power that laid in her soul push the boundaries. The words came to her spontaneously. "For nothing can be seen, made or foretold without art. The artists must be acute of vision, consorts of sound, and scribes of renown. I call on 3 sets of creators with a view unconventional and will unbendable.
One of handled art with brush to canvas and visions of failed passions. One of traveled time in scenes, lulls, set and dark flashes. Those of sight with vision unbound to see the world that is now found."
Find Clair and Sergei's story in So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar.
Then continue the tale with Fiona and Colan in Shuttered Vision coming June 30th 2017.
Sergei lit the white candles around the shell and sat on the opposite side of Clair. The table between them was a wooden pub table. Their seats pub stools. He had built his Clair a witch's den as soon as they found a forever home in Taos. The shed sat on consecrated ground blessed by her ancestors and his. The walls were built from a blessed oak tree and the adobe that packed those walls from deep in the heart of what was once Apache lands. They had blessed and warded the space themselves with only a little help from Clair's mother Janeene.
Building places like this required a lot of heart and care. The furniture was either stone or wood. The walls were bare but the large wooden chest in the corner held all Clair needed. Candles, herbs, ingredients and totems. Each piece was selected with the utmost care and attention to detail. Clair had insisted. He had done as she needed. That was the only way one should deal with a witch powerful enough to drop a city block with a thought. It helped that he was in fact hopelessly in love with her and she him.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. Their vision was shared and she could see as he did. They scanned the world then. Clair gasped and Sergei stopped. They jolted out of the vision.
"That was fast." Sergei said briskly.
Clair looked a little stunned as she stared down at the contents of the abalone shell between them. The shell was the size of a fist and fit easily into Clair's palm. It looked as if it hung in mid air on its wooden tripod stand. When she used it she stared at the flames when she burned her herbs to see what she needed to.
"Not a mistake." She whispered as she used a candle to set fire to the contents of the bowl. She let her aura pulse. She felt the power that laid in her soul push the boundaries. The words came to her spontaneously. "For nothing can be seen, made or foretold without art. The artists must be acute of vision, consorts of sound, and scribes of renown. I call on 3 sets of creators with a view unconventional and will unbendable.
One of handled art with brush to canvas and visions of failed passions. One of traveled time in scenes, lulls, set and dark flashes. Those of sight with vision unbound to see the world that is now found."
Find Clair and Sergei's story in So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar.
Then continue the tale with Fiona and Colan in Shuttered Vision coming June 30th 2017.
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