"It wasn't exactly the high point in our budding relationship," Cassie said wryly. "But, running away from the park... from Gwen and from the raven's message... I was about to learn that some things really are inescapable."
-----------------------
Ophilia Villa, Willow Creek, 2000
I took a back way home from the park, wanting to avoid anyone and everyone.
Ophilia Villa is no less impressive from the back - a huge, old house of dark brick, complete with looming gargoyles, added by some ancestor of mine who clearly felt that brooding old mansion somehow wasn't sufficiently playing into the family mystique, and the tower. I thought of it as my tower, because it held the music room and above that the room my father and I used for our séances.
Ravens were circling the tower.
Do you know what they call a group of ravens? An unkindness.
An unkindness of ravens circled my tower, calling out in their raucous voices, "Cas. Cas. Cas!"
How can I describe how I felt then? Cold. Numb. Afraid.
The anger that had sent me running from the park was gone. The feeling of betrayal - that the raven had delivered my mother's long hoped for message to Gwen and not to me - flared again briefly and died, unable to endure against the summons of the Unkindness.
And it was a summons, calling me up the broad stairs that led to the family rooms, then up the narrower stairway to the attic (where Alexander and Edwards had their rooms) and to the highest tower room.
The séance room.
My father had never advertised his spiritual skills. He probably could have and been famous for them. He was as skilled and talented a medium as I have ever known, with a powerful connection to the spirits of the Netherworld. Still, he preferred his books. His powers were chiefly reserved for himself, his family and his own private insights into what lay Beyond.
He always said I had inherited his talent. That room was ours, where he taught me what he knew about the spirit world and how to reach it.
When Gwen had mentioned my mother's book, I'd known immediately what she meant. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would have remembered that Gwen couldn't have. It was something my father and I didn't talk about.
Mother's book - my father called it her Book of Shadows - had stood in the corner of the séance room for as long as I could remember. Once when I was a little, I had tried to look in it. I remember my father had found me, laying on the ground near it and he scolded me very sternly (which was unusual for him). He said I wasn't old enough for that book.
I had ignored it ever since, at times genuinely forgetting the significance of that dusty old book in the corner.
Now, with Unkindness still calling my name overhead, it seemed to be the only thing in the room that mattered.
Hesitating, I went to the book and looked at its pages for the first time since I was a child. Those pages were thick and old, smelling of dust and old secrets. The writing, and it was hand-written, was neat calligraphy like some medieval manuscript and decorated in the same way.
Did the Unkindness really go silent as I looked down at the book, or did I just imagine they did? I can't be sure.
I do remember the first words that I read from that book. My eyes were drawn to the margins of the page where, like a student writing notes in the margins of a textbook, someone had added to the text. My eyes were drawn to my name.
My dearest Cassandra, I wish with all my heart that I may yet escape the Doom that is laid on me. I wish that I could watch you grow into the brilliant young woman I know you will become, and that we may read these words together and be glad of it. But I think I cannot escape Fate, not even for my wonderful daughter. So, I leave you this book, with all my love. The secrets within are your birthright. Learn them well and become the great woman I know you will be.
- Your mother, Victoria
I turned to the main text of the page, still written in my mother's elegant hand, and read:
Here begins the First Lesson. You must find your center.
Feel the wind, blowing over you.
Listen to the water, flowing by.
Smell the green grass as it grows.
Be warmed by the Sun and touch the memories of the Moon.
"That's what Gwen said," I whispered to myself. "That's the meditation her mother taught her, for her painting."
Following that came a string of words in a language I didn't know, but which seemed familiar to me, like I remembered them from a dream, Somehow, I really didn't think this was about painting.
Stepping back, I focused on the words of the mediation. Even inside, I imagined I could feel the wind, hear the water, smell the grass.
I should have felt foolish, reciting those strange, unknown words, but I didn't. It felt as if the words were flowing through me. As if the wind and water moved with those words.
I felt wonder.
It was magic, answering my call for the very first time.
The feeling of it is almost indescribable. It is like the first time I stepped on stage and played to a cheering crowd, like the first kiss of love or the first embrace of passion. It was thrilling and frightening. It was life changing.
Centered and full of my awakening power, I cast very my first spell.
I set fire to the séance room.
Really, my mother needed to write her instructions much more clearly. Actually telling me what the spell did before the incantation would have been helpful. (Through the whole of her Book of Shadows she never did, and I quickly learned to read all of the instructions before trying the spells.)
As the fire spread across the floor, I must have cried out because suddenly Edwards came running in. (His rooms were just across the hall, and he must have been resting before preparing dinner.)
I just stood there dumbfounded, just watching the fire - the fire I had conjured - grow. As quickly as Edwards appeared, he dashed out again and came back with a fire extinguisher. He certainly saved the room and probably me too.
"How did that happen?" Edwards asked me, sounding more shocked than accusing.
"I... it just..." I stammered. "I was looking in my mother's book and then the fire just started."
"Aye yes, that book," Edwards said knowingly. "I tried to dust it once, when I first started here. I had blisters on my fingers for a week. There are many strange things in this room, cher, but I think that book is the strangest."
As he spoke, I remembered suddenly being a child, my little hands blistered from where I had touched the book, while my father scolded me and told me the book was not for me. Not yet.
Not until today.
"I... I'm sorry," I said. "About the fire. I didn't mean to..."
"Maybe you be careful around that book in future," Edwards smiled, "and maybe we keep a fire extinguisher in here, too. Just in case."
"I wouldn't..." I started.
"Aye yes, but you didn't mean to this time either," Edwards pointed out. 'I have eyes, cher. I can read while I dust. I know that your mother meant that book for you. I think she kept it safe for you, until you were ready. You be careful with it, but don't be afraid. Never be afraid of being great."
