Uncasted Silver (The Witches Of Atlanta #1)

Prologue

April 1997

            Sofia rose from her bed in panting breaths. Once she gained her composure, she looked around the dark room. Rain pelted the window in a raging downpour. Lightning flashed from outside the window, with a soft rumble of thunder following behind it. Thoughts of the vision ran rampant in her mind, but there was only a trail of confusion left behind. A newborn baby was brought into the world with eyes of radiant silver, with cries singing of its arrival on the earth. This was the fourth time she had had this vision, and still she was left with confusion.

There was only one person who could help her with the meaning of it: the Mistress.

With a sigh, Sofia checked next to her bed, where her sleeping sister slept. Reaching for the white vintage lamp on the nightstand, she turned the switch. No light. Her heart began to race as she slowly rose from the bed and made her way to the light switch. She flicked it, hoping for light, but it was of no avail. A faint whimper left her parted lips as she grabbed a golden candelabra, and a set of white sage candles already in place. She creaked the door slightly ajar, only to be greeted by the black abyss of the corridor. A bright surge of lightning flashed, illuminating the halls as a crack of thunder followed suit, drawing a yelp out of a startled Sofia.

After a few deep breaths, she exited the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She waved a hand over the candles, a spark of emerald flame springing to life. A faint smile carved on her face as she made her slow trek down the white halls. Her heart still raced, and a cold tinge of fear lurked in her bones. It was as if a wretched shade was prowling in the pitch-darkness of the mansion. All Sofia could do was pray to the Mother Goddess that it would never come to pass, especially in the raging storm above.

However, she only found roaming spirits. There were spirits of witches as young as her—if not, older. They blindly roamed about with their mangled bodies; from gaping holes in their torsos, to severed limbs, and fractured skulls that oozed brain matter. A crawling tingle ran up Sofia's spine as she continued down the ghastly hall of the dead, slowly descending the spiral steps into the main chamber. The thought of a wretched shade had now left her consciousness, but the fear remained. Portraits of previous Mistresses hung on the walls, as if staring down at her as she entered the main chamber.

Her bare feet slapped on the wood-tiled floors as she entered the sitting room, relief caressing her bones as she entered a sanctuary full of lit candles sprawled about the wooden tables an all around the lifeless fireplace. The Mistress resided on a leather armchair with her legs crossed, reading a leather tome in her hand. She wore burgundy, silk lace nightrobes, her long hair was tied in a ponytail, candlelight shining on her light brown, oval face.

The Mistress heard echoing footsteps approaching the room. Closing the tome, the Mistress saw the girl and met her with a smile. "Ah, Sofia," she said. "Can't sleep, I suppose."

"No, Mistress," she answered, shaking her head. She placed the candle on one of the tables then took a seat next to the Mistress.

"I see that you've been practicing your Pyrokinesis. Well done on not burning down the house."

Sofia remained silent.

"Now, what brings you here?"

"The lights are out, Mistress."

"They're out all over the house," the Mistress replied, "which is why I lit candles all around this room. From what I gather, the power's out throughout all of Buckhead. What a damn shame." She shrugged. "Other than that, you're here for something else, surely."