Conjuring Fire and Whispers of Air

Astral

30th October 1951

I was helping my mother prepare the house for celebrating Samhain, as I did every year—decorations, herbs, etc. A knock on the door interrupted us, and I looked at the door as my mother opened it. It was Blaire, our high priestess, checking on things, I presumed, and carried on with hanging up the apples and acorns around the house and setting small wax candles in our cauldrons, the circle room and around the altar.

Then, HE startled me. He asked about every little thing I did like he'd never seen seasonal décor before. Although, he and his family came to join us from America. So maybe he had not.

I had met them all once last week, he spoke very little to me, and I thought nothing of it. Oh, how naïve I am. He, meaning Jerrold, has tried talking to me every day. Why? How should I know!

I am scared to be alone with him, and I was glad others were here this time, even if it was our mothers.
Mother says I should try. She just wanted me out of her hair. I knew that much. We shall see how this continues, but he's a pain.

- Selena.

___________

I re-read the page a second time.

"Jerrold?"

I racked my brain; nothing popped up, and looking at the family tree at the back didn't help either. The name linked to my grandmother was utterly erased with black ink. I remember my dad never talked about my grandfather; even though my grandma married, there were no pictures of the groom, and she kept her maiden name.

It was Friday evening. I perched on the sofa reading diary entries in my grandma's book.

I did end up going back to school on Wednesday. Seri was happy to see me. Still waiting for something from Quinn or Lathen, even our regular table in the cafeteria was now taken over by others.

I didn't even get a chance to talk to Devan face-to-face; every time I found him to speak to him, he disappeared again. I figured out that texting was simpler.

Usually, they come to see Seri and I working at the coffee shop every Saturday without fail. Perhaps this was another tradition broken.

I sighed, shutting the book, I picked myself up to put it back on the shelf.

My brain started to hurt, so much so I could hear voices...

No, I was hearing voices.

The cauldron lid was removed, and I swiftly checked if the pouch was still there. It was. Swallowing, I felt the urge to open it.

Pulling at the gold ties, the velvet opened, revealing the necklace again; I pulled it out from the black pouch. Holding it, I was overcome with emotions; Silent tears streamed down my face. I looked down at it perplexed, put it back how I found it and placed the lid on top.

I wiped away my tears. I didn't feel sad, so where did these tears come from?

I'll speak to Mum about it tomorrow. Maybe she has an idea.

I lay there in my bed, facing the window, which was open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze that was pouring in.

I don't remember opening that. Come to think of it. It wasn't a full moon tonight, either. I sat up cautiously and looked around the room. The room wasn't chilly, but it wasn't exactly warm either. I had read about these before, during my studies.

Astral projection: I wasn't asleep nor awake, and I wouldn't wake until something disturbed me, such as shouting or a physical touch in the real world. Often, it could be achieved through meditation or a spell. But how was I doing it?