Storm Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) by Teri Harman

Author:Teri Harman [Harman, Teri]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: Jolly Fish Press
Published: 2015-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Waxing Gibbous

Present—August

The tenuous connection between the bodies and their souls felt like an echo, a shadow. It was so faint, so weak, that Willa wasn’t sure she actually felt it. It was like trying to capture the wind in her hand. But there was a shimmer in the air that hadn’t been there before and a faint glow near the skeletons’ chests.

“I think I have it.”

“Good. Hold onto it and call to the souls. Command them to come back.”

“Will it snow?”

“What?” Bartholomew leaned forward to look at her.

“It snowed the night Archard pulled the ghosts from the Otherworld.”

He shook his head. “No. Archard had to use a spell, a very Dark spell, similar to mine. Normal witches have no connection to the Otherworld and so must use other means to force open the door. You are a Soul Witch. You already have the key.”

“What does that mean?”

“A Dreamer with the Power of Spirits has a direct connection to the Otherworld and has the ability to see, feel, and control souls. You don’t need a spell like Archard, Willa, you are the magic.”

Willa closed her eyes. He couldn’t be right. She didn’t want to be that.

“Do you still have the connections?”

She opened her eyes. “Yes, but it’s barely there.”

“Try harder, Willa. Pull their souls back here.”

Willa pressed her teeth together until her jaw ached. So wrong. This is so wrong. How am I supposed to do this? Maybe if I . . . she reached forward to touch the skeletons, the bones dry and cold to the touch. She tried not to think about doing it and kept her mind focused on the fragile connection between body and spirit. Her hands grew hot and then icy cold. This was Dark magic, whether she had the power to do it or not. “I don’t want to—”

“Keep going!”

She focused harder, trying to ignore the pain in her hands, now spreading up her arms. Come. You must come. The air in the tomb grew colder, stagnant. Soon she was shaking from the effort and pain. Something shifted inside her and then the stone room filled with wind. Someone was screaming. Is that me? Or them . . . she could feel the souls now, the connecting thread thickening. She felt the rage and resistance of both the Otherworld and the souls. Two ghosts appeared at the head of the coffins, a man and a woman, dressed in long black hooded robes.

Bartholomew released Willa, allowing her to collapse to the floor.

“Do you know who I am?” he said.

The ghosts exchanged a confused look. The man answered. “Yes, Luminary.”

Willa looked down through the path between the stone coffins.

“Willa, command the ghosts to stay.”

She lifted her head. “Why?”

“So we can collect them later.”

Willa looked over at the ghosts who were staring back at her in horror.

The woman dared to speak. “Why did you bring us here? You had no right—”

Bartholomew held up a hand and the woman snapped her mouth shut. “Willa, do as I say.”

The ghosts now stared at her with more fear than before.

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