The Ancients Read Free Page A

will make me go away, even after we solve the problem with the Ancients,” he said confidently getting into his car.
                  “We will see,” I whisper as his taillights disappear.
     
    Samara
     
    My work room isn’t much to speak about.  It is your quintessential dark room with a slight draft flowing in from the old mortar construction.  What is unique about the dreary room is the magic that makes the room buzz.  Several generations of my family called this their work room.  My ancestor’s power only enhances my own.  Before starting my spell, I dress in the traditional black and gold robes of the Priests of Weynard.  I pull the hood up covering my auburn tresses.
    I look into the cauldron and begin to chant, “Speak to me, thee who are still.  Speak to me, thee who’s will mote be.  Speak to me, thee who should rise.  Speak to me, thee Ancients who should be.”
    The drafty room drops at least ten degrees as I continue, “I mote it be, I mote it be, I mote it be. Thrice blessed thy humble servant.”
    “Ahh, Sammy, dearest,” Weynard’s voice is smooth with a hiss that makes my stomach crawl.  I hate being called Sammy, but there was no way in hell I would correct him.
    I drop to my knees head bowed, “My Lord.”
    “Do you have what is needed?”
    I slightly shake my head, “No, My Lord, but we are close.  My minion will soon have the location of the necessary tome.  We are only short three items from the list you provided.  Those will be easily acquired through a contact of mine on the black market.”
    The astral projection of Weynard moves closer to me.  “Rise and remove your hood.”
    I do as bidden.  “So beautiful, auburn hair, emerald green eyes, so like your mother.  Do not disappoint me as she did.  You are the last of your line, the last hope to avenge those who ensnared their betters.”
    “I vow on my life that I will see you in flesh and blood form before I die, My Lord.  I am and forever will be your servant.”
    “Good girl,” his hand pats my cheek.  His touch is cold, even in this form.  “The next time you call on me, it better be with you having everything together to do the spell to find us.”
    “Yes, My Lord.”
    “Til then,” his voice hisses as his form disappears.  The room’s temperature rises to normal, but my heartbeat does not still for several more minutes.  Talking to Weynard this way always takes its toll on me both physically and emotionally. 
    “I will fulfill my family’s legacy,” I whisper as I clean up the remnants of the spell.
    My mother and father where the last of two families that followed in the way of the Priests of Weynard.  They never really loved one another, but they did their duty to produce me, a powerful blend of the two families.  My whole life the mission was engrained into me and I will make sure that I see it fulfilled. 
    As I exit my work room into the back room of my herb shop, I hear a movement. “Samara, I have news.”
    Martin is my minion.  As part of the coven, he helps me know what is going on without my presence being known.  “Did you find out what the schedule of movement is?”
    “I did,” Martin nods enthusiastically.  “Two days from now, at noon it will move from the Coven headquarters to Henrietta’s.”
    “Well, we cannot let it make it to its destination,” I smile.  “My dear friend, do you know the route?”
    Martin, his poor soul, nods, “Of course Samara, I could do nothing else for you.  They will take the city route.”
    Spelling a man infatuated with you shouldn’t be so easy, but with Martin’s weak mind it was too easy.  My mother would be so proud of me.  “Well done, love, meet me back here at eleven o’clock in two days time.”  I say as I move closer to Martin.  He was quite a bit older than me, plump and balding.  By me showing him additional attention, the spell wraps tighter around him.  I cup his face, “Thank you.  With that tome we