The Friends of Stori

These Cajuns knew how to throw a party. Under strings of colored lights hung from the trees, the crowd danced gleefully to up-tempo Zydeco music. Nearby, bottles of local beers swam in an ice filled metal tub, and remains of a spicy crawfish boil littered the butcher-paper covered tables. Adding to the atmosphere, a full moon shimmered its light across the Gulf of Mexico waters as unusually gentle waves lapped upon the beach in steady cadence.

I grew up not far from here in southwestern Louisiana, the daughter of a dark-skinned Cajun mother and light-skinned Scottish father, and turned out a blend of both, My long, thick dark hair contained a hint of red, my skin medium-tan, and my oval dark-amber eyes streaked with green. An Anthropology conference brought me back here, so I took the opportunity to reconnect with a few friends.

I was not usually one for parties, where so often pretentious people tried to impress other pretentious people, but the joie de vivre here was infectious. My bare toes dug into the sand as I swayed to the music.

Yet something was off, and unease settled in my bones. The sea itself whispered a hushed warning, 'something dark comes,' and electric tingles traced my spine. Even the moon concurred. I had a sense of these things — something else I inherited from my witch mother and druid father.

"Ms. Astoria Muir?" a voice said from behind, making me flnch.

"Yes?" I swung around to find a handsome man with combed-back wavy dark hair and inviting dimpled smile. He was barefoot, like me, and dressed comfortably in light colors for the sultry evening. But the aura I detected, bold inky black, told of powerful dark magic. While youthful in appearance, I sensed a long life.

What was his interest in me? I was reasonably attractive — or so my friends told me even when I doubted it myself — so uninvited come-ons were not unheard of.

"My name is Dante Fane," he said, bowing elegantly. "I had hoped to meet you."

Smirking, I said, "Should I be honored or suspicious, sir?"

A mirthful smile decorated his light-tan face. "Neither, I should think. The honor is truly mine. Your research on cultural magic systems is most fascinating."

My eyes widened. "How do you know that? I have not yet published."

He evaded by holding out a hand. "Shall we dance?"

Against my better judgment, I placed my hand in his. Can't say I was a good dancer, but this charming, mysterious man guided me effortlessly as we shuffled across the sand. "So," I asked as he spun me around, "what does a dark magic practitioner wish of me?"

The smile came back. "Your instincts serve you well, Ms. Muir."

"Please call me Stori."

"Stori — it fits you." Dante twirled me, then pulled me effortlessly back into his arms. "Especially one with such a rare mix of darkness and light."

That was true. My mother practiced dark magic and my father light magic, thus their joining was as scandalous as it was forbidden. Because of this, most magical communities considered me an abomination and actively shunned me. "How do you know of me?" I asked.

"I knew your mother, Sabine. She spoke glowingly of you."

I froze in mid-dance as my heart lodged in my throat. "What do you know of her?" My mother disappeared without a trace when I was young, devastating both me and my father. Long had we sought her. My memories were vague, but I still remember her warm smile, comforting hugs, and the wonderful tales of magic she told — every memory cloaked in love.

Dark eyes drilled into mine. "For a favor that uses your unique skills, I shall tell you what I know of her fate."

Could I trust this stranger? Red lights and klaxon horns reverberated in my mind, but the desire to find my mother overwhelmed them. "Very well. What do you require?"

"I shall show you."

Holding my hand, Dante led me behind a grass covered sand dune, then with a snap of his fingers, we vanished in black smoke and reappeared in another domain. Scattered domed cottages rose like bumps on the grassy foothills, but concentrated in relatively flat areas. People of all ages mingled about, wearing simple and comfortable clothing. A towering peak shrouded with low gray clouds loomed over the peaceful village. Twin morning suns hung low on the horizon, painting the highest clouds in reds and oranges.

Most covens lived in parallel realms, pocket dimensions of sorts, and rarely ventured to the Earth realm. And they tended to be xenophobic, especially against someone like me.

Sure enough, an old woman tending a small fenced garden wearing a brown head-scarf over gray hair hissed, pointed a crooked finger, "We need not her kind here!" I sensed the darkness of her aura.

"Oh, but we do," Dante replied, stepping in front of me as I shrunk bacl in undeserved shame. "Would you rather our home world wither away?"

Others nearby stopped their activities and looked on with suspicious eyes, but said nothing.

As the scowling woman retreated, Dante dipped his head. "I apologize for her rudeness."

"It's okay," I replied, looking away. "I'm used to it." But in reality, each rejection left a small cut upon my heart, adding to countless scars. But was Dante sincere, or just using me for my special abilities? It wouldn't be the first time someone did. My voice took an acidic tone. "And what do you think of me? Am I abomination?"

Dante stepped forward and took my hands within his. "My dear Stori," he replied, "I find you to be a most fascinating woman of good repute, and in no way abominable. I hope you believe me."

His eyes showed no sign of deception, nor his aura. As a lump of guilt lodged in my throat, I dipped my head. "Please forgive me for asking, Dante. You see--"

Two fingers lifted my chin, interrupting my apology. "I understand. But you have done nothing for which forgiveness is needed." He motioned toward a worn path that led toward the mountain. "Shall we continue?"

Outside of the village, the path became rocky and winding as we climbed toward the mountain. Without saying, I already knew what he wanted from me — the Null, the dark anti-magic beast sharing my existence, and yet another reason so many witches despised me. A part of me, yet a separate entity, I sometimes struggled to contain its power.

Weaving between dull-gray boulders and wind-swept juniper trees, we approached a gaping cave within a long rock-face, like jaws of a monster. The closer we got, the sparser became the vegetation, as if life abhorred whatever existed within. The Null inside me stirred from its slumber, indignant, snarling in my mind.

Dante invoked a shimmering werelight above his outstretched hand as we entered the darkness. "Rivals imprisoned our Source within a spell we cannot penetrate. Without it, our realm will eventually wither away." Desperate eyes pleaded, "I beg of you to free it."

Deep inside the cave, the narrow passage widened into a spacious cavern. The crunch of each footstep reverberated off rock walls within the silence. Displayed like a monument at the center, a floating spherical cage of woven black threads surrounded a shining, star-like object, blocking most of its light. My aura sense lit up. When I touched the magic threads, they rebelled, lashing out with blue arcs and filling the space with sharp crackles. The Null inside roared, bucking against mental constraints. 'Easy. Not yet,' I commanded.

"Devious, this dark spell," I whispered. "Magic only empowers, strengthening it. No wonder you cannot break its hold."

"Can you, my dear Stori?" Dante asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Let's see how it handles anti-magic." I closed my eyes and extended my arms, focusing inward and giving freedom to the Null's desire. 'Consume.'

The Null burst out from my body in swirling gray mist. Vaporous talons slashed at the cage, tearing, rending in turbulent fury. But the spell fought back, erupting with sizzling sparks. The grating discord of magic versus anti-magic echoed around the cavern. But in the end, the threads shattered like breaking glass, and unhindered, the Source bathed the cave in golden light.

Sated, I ordered the Null to return, lest it turned against Dante. After a few deep breaths, my heart slowed to normal rhythm. Dizzied, I stumbled forward, extending an arm.

Dante grasped my arm and steadied me. A relieved smile broke out on Dante's face, and then, he bowed and placed a gentle kiss on my hand. "My wonderful Stori, we are in your debt."

"My mother?" I asked, holding an anxious breath. "What do you know of her?"

From a pocket, he extracted an amethyst pendant on a silver chain and placed it in my hand. "Sabine grew up here, and years ago, I knew her well. A fine woman with a good heart, and that I see in your eyes. But quite the controversy was it when she married your father. This was hers."

The pendant tingled in my hand. "Where is she?" I asked.

"The dead do not abide powerful necromancers like your mother. I believe she was taken to the underworld against her will."

Holding up the sparkling gem, my heart leaped as her aura essence filled me with warmth. With this, I might one day find her.