Stolen Soul

Chapter 8: The witch's call

Esme

I can feel the tears prick at my eyes, as I slam the phone back down on my bed. I have called him more than a dozen times, but Hunter will not pickup. He is rarely away from me now a days, and is awful at answering his phone, but he promised me he would. I always dread this time of year, I don’t know if it’s the guilt or the jealousy but the dull ache in the pit of my stomach as fall approaches builds until October 10, the night of her death, the day that changed everyone’s life.

Every year, Hunter leaves to mourn her death. Back to the spot where he met her, and where he lost her. I still hate it, I know he still loves her, and it still hurts, because I want him to love me the way he loved her. He says he loves me, but I saw how he once looked at her, how his body wrapped around her, I long for that. It took years for him to see me, and bitterness seeped in the longer it took, my hatred of Rose growing with each day that passed that he did not touch me, that he cringed slightly from my touch.

I knew it would be hard for him to accept our connection, it is that way with all hybrids. The first time a witch attempted to turn a wolf hybrid his mate was not dead, we revived him and though his human spirit was tied to a witch, his beast was not. He returned to his mate in wolf form, and they lived that way until her death, he then found the witch that was bound to his soul and killed her to be reunited with his mate, turns out the mate bond is so strong the will to survive does not prevail over love.

The hybrid selection was then limited to those wolves who were strong warriors, but whose wolves did not carry a stubborn aura. His mate would need to have been deceased and he would have already reunited her spirit to the moon goddess via the soul release ceremony. Then if the wolf should be found near death a witch could bind him to her soul turning him half wolf half vampire, a hybrid. This arrangement more suitable than the arrangement Chaos made in creating the vampires. The hybrid contains the deadly wolf vampire, and is only maintained on the earthly plane by its soul’s connection to a witch.

Hunter was not a wolf that the Coven had approved for hybrid conversion, I knew that when I turned him, but I had loved him since I was a child and knew he would come around. For 10 years I kept him in a form of sedation, his beast’s soul teetering on the verge of destruction, and his human soul consumed with grief. Even in sedation, he would move away from me when I approached. I would speak to him in soft tones, and comfort him like when we were children, but he refused my comforts. Guilt stricken, angry, depressed he was no longer the man I loved. My sister, had a vision which told me to remove the sedation and let him grieve, free and away from the coven.

When he left, I felt the emptiness. I knew what he felt, and let that emptiness grow. Each day filling the void of Hunter with my contempt for Rose. When he came stumbling back to coven drunk and raged filled 5 years later, I pitied him. While his human side had begun to grieve his beast side had fallen silent. This allowed me to get close to Hunter. I remained patient with him, consoling his grief. Dealing with his outbursts. Hiding his drunken rage from the coven. My sisters openly showed their displeasure with my choice, while he was a strong warrior, his wolf was known to be stubborn. His aura much stronger than any other wolves we converted before. But I coveted him, I wanted him. So, I stayed by his side, and poured all of my love into him until he loved me back.

The sound of the incessant ringing continuing to go unanswered has me seeing red. As my anger surfaces, the lights in my room begin to flicker, and I grab a pillow to muffle my screams, “f*****g PICK UP THE PHONE, AHHHHHH!” He still hasn’t picked up his phone and I have been calling for the past two days, I even sent him a text. He never texts, but here’s to hoping he starts soon. I am so close to calling the coven together to use the witch’s call, but I hate to use the witch’s call; it seriously f*****g hurts, and it drains my spirit to beckon his spirit; if it can be avoided, I would like to avoid it.

He should have been back 2 days ago; he always comes home before her actual birthday. After he let me in, he begged to go back to see where he lost Rose. The first 25 years he returned to the stream, I had to cloak him. This allowed me to stay close, and though it upset me to see him mourn his mate. I knew he would never love me if I did not pretend to understand.

The Alpha, Rose’s father, forbid his presence, the loss of his daughter to rogues when she was supposed to be with Hunter ensured that his relationship with the Crescent Moon pack was destroyed. Not to mention turning hybrid meant he would no longer be welcome. He was unable to take part in the burial and dance for her soul.

He returns to this stream on the days before her death every year to say good bye. In the first few years that we returned together I tried to coax Xander out to dance for her soul, believing it would break the bond and provide him peace, but he would not come to me. I prayed to the earth goddess and spirit goddesses to provide me insight in how to control his beast side, but they refused my requests.

“Esme, where is Hunter?” my sister Willow asks.

“I’m not sure, he won’t answer my calls.”

“Should we alert the coven to beckon his spirit?”

“We should wait one more day, calling will weaken us.”

“Are you not worried that something may have happened to him sister,” Willow asks concern evident in her tone.

“No, is there something you wish to tell me Seer.” She senses my irritation and turns on her heels, slamming my door shut behind her. Willow and I are Gemini twins, exact opposites though identical in appearance. She is a seer, and has the gift of prophecy, while she can practice a number of different spells and witch craft, she is unique in that Fate allows her to see his plans into the future. I think her gift makes her robotic, she only thinks in consequences. I once asked her why she isn’t even a little curious about being in love, and she only rolled her eyes. Even as a child, she was ruled by her head, and I was ruled by my heart.

As a spirit witch I am more in tune with all of the spirits around me, and intrigued by all of the emotions they feel. No spirit feels more emotions or love than those which are in tune to their beast and human sides. Werewolves and dragons worship their mates like gods, unlike humans they feel unconditional love and completeness. A soul which is completed by the mate bond is calm, tamed, but once the bond is spliced by death it is wild and rapid. I love both sides of a calm and broken soul.

The inner turmoil of a broken soul feels unbalanced, its frequency moves faster, its pain radiates in ways that unrequited love radiates, I understand it. The calm soul is soothing, its balance is a symphony, it lulls you into calm, but it feels deceitful to me, envious of its energy it does little more than remind me of what I cannot have.

Alone, anxious, agitated, and exhausted, I phone Hunter one more time, again he does not answer me. Uncertainty and dread covered me as I let myself fall asleep. My sleep was more tossing and turning than sleep. Unable to rest, I began pacing my room trying to determine how I would ask the coven to call Hunter home, really, I was more concerned about asking Willow. I hate that she was right. After 20 minutes of pacing, I have found the courage to ask for help. Even though it late most of the witches are still up, I quickly jog down the hall to Willow’s room, hoping to catch her off guard.

Willow’s room is painted navy blue, its almost black. Her curtains let in no light at all, the space is void of anything impractical, it contains only a bed, made neatly in a navy blue bed spread that is so dark it is almost black, no throw pillow just two overstuffed queen size pillows adorn the bed at the headboard. The headboard and frame of her bed is a simple modern black metal frame. Her dressers and end tables similarly simple and black have nothing sitting atop them. The sparseness of her room feels cold and incomplete, further highlighting are extreme differences. She isn’t in her room, although almost pitch black save for the trickle of light coming from the open-door way, I do not sense her presence.

“Sister, did you need something?” Willow taunts from behind me standing in the door way, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“We need to gather coven, Hunter is still gone, and I have a bad feeling.”

“Okay, I have already prepared them.”

“Really, you already knew I was going to ask and you let me agonize over it for the last hour?”

“No, I let you make your own decision, dear sister,” the condescension dripping from each individual word.

As I entered the meeting room the hushed whispers die down instantly. I can feel the glare of the coven on me, as a leader of this coven I should not have to call my hybrid home, he should obey. The calling of a hybrid is unusual, it rarely happens once the wolf has accepted his fate.

Willow nods for me to enter the center of the witch’s circle. On the ground in the middle of the room are amethyst crystals and moon stones, arranged in an alternating pattern, around that a thick ring of salt. At the northern and southern guide points two black magic candles placed to call to the soul connection.

As I enter the circle, my sister bows her head and takes the hands of each witch to her sides, as each witch connects hands completing the circle, they begin repeating the mantra calling Hunter’s soul back to mine, “Ego ducere ad me anima coniuncta Esme”. As they repeat the mantra, the energy from my soul surges forth, pushing against my skin. Ignited by the fire of my soul reaching the edges of this plane of existence to touch his, I fall to the ground in agony. When normally called and heard the pain recedes as the souls reconnect, but my soul is not connecting, it is barely scraping his, it cannot grasp hold of anything, it is like calling into the nothingness. As the pain radiates from my core to my fingertips, my head throbs blinding me. My throat is dry and I am only able to moan. When my sister calls out, “Something is wrong.” The chanting stops instantly. The fire slowly dying down as my soul settles itself.

Leaning down to me she brushes away my hair, and wipes at the sweat that beads down my forehead. “Esme, could you reach him.”

I knew in that instance he was in his wolf form, confusion swept over me, he has either performed the bond breaking ceremony or the rumors are true, and Rose’s soul has returned.