A witchs calling, p.1
A Witch's Calling, page 1
part #4 of Anais Blue Series
PRAISE FOR THE ANAÏS BLUE SERIES
The writing is, as usual from P.J. Whittlesea, flawless. Each character has their own flair, so perfectly captured on paper that they are almost tangible beings. I am enamoured of this this series, and can not wait for more.
GOODREADS REVIEWER BELLE
This series is so unique and entertaining. I particularly enjoy the wisdom the author passes along to us as Anais deals with shades (ghosts) of well known celebrities. You won’t believe which ones show up in this story. Great fun!
GOODREADS REVIEWER MARGARET
I love the world building in this series. It’s a refreshing change to all the ‘same same’ urban fantasies.
GOODREADS REVIEWER LISA
A WITCH’S CALLING
ANAÏS BLUE BOOK FOUR
P J WHITTLESEA
Copyright © P J Whittlesea 2023
P J Whittlesea has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published by Tyet Books, Amsterdam
Cover Design by Miblart
Edited by Philip Newey
CONTENTS
1. Chaos
2. Down The Mountain
3. The Chasm
4. The Cave
5. Entombed
6. The Eyes Have It
7. Surfacing
8. Smoke
9. Him Again
10. Rescue
11. Ruins
12. Descent
13. The Storeroom
14. The Power Of A Book
15. Rush Hour
16. Eruption
17. Downtown
18. Theatrics
19. Leaving Catania
20. Change
21. Lava
22. Physical Dysfunction
23. Fountain Of Youth
24. Frustration
25. Attitude Adjustment
26. The Witch's New Clothes
27. The Old Church
28. Shade Quake
29. Destination Unknown
30. The World Shifts
31. Catamarine
32. Submerged
33. Into The Adriatic
34. Down Below
35. The Canal
36. The Island
37. Delos
38. Lilith
39. The Oracle
40. A Trinity
41. Rainbow
42. The Wave
43. On Board
44. Revelation
45. Exposure
46. Sappho
47. Deus And Ignatius
48. Adrift
49. Ladybirds
50. Repairs
51. The Crest
52. Freefall
53. Crowd Control
54. Friend or Foe
55. Doubt
56. An Accomplice
Review
Magic Awakes
Other Books in the Series
Also by P J Whittlesea
About the Author
For Maurice, Lyn, Mary, and Margaret.
Thanks for sticking with me. You rock!
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
MAYA ANGELOU 1928–2014
CHAOS
In the beginning there was peace. There was calm in the world. At least this was the case on the preternatural side. Witches had their act together.
Naturals, however, did not.
Regrettably they were, and still are, incapable of peace. They do not have a fully formed knowledge of the universe. This throws everything into disarray. This lack of knowledge, this insecurity in their perceived future, reduces them to petty infighting and squabbles about the most unimportant things.
Who really cares about the colour of another’s skin? Why be bothered by what someone else believes? What makes one culture better than another?
What is it that drives this fight for inequality, when, at the dawn of time, all were declared equal? It’s the most unnatural thing. But then, mankind is the exception to the rule in terms of life on this planet. Man is a freak of nature.
At his heart man is an individual. One with individual thoughts and ideals. One with the will to protect them. Cohabitation goes against his instinct. Not unlike witches, naturals perform better in isolation where they don’t get on each other’s nerves. Unfortunately, being alone all the time is no party. Just ask a witch.
We all have a control centre which requires the occasional outlet—a brain which is far too busy. It invents stuff—lots of it—and all the time. Burdened with a continual process of ceaseless mental activity, it needs regular purging to function efficiently.
The cerebrum suffers from overkill. Urged on by the brain’s insatiable activity, everything humanity does leads to the same result: wastage.
Also, for some reason, things of no intrinsic value, and of no use whatsoever, are considered worth more than anything which actually has a practical use. Like the magpie, mankind is drawn to shiny objects. In modern times it has even been given a name: bling. However, even this is not strictly true. The magpie has been falsely accused of its fixation with all things glittering. It’s yet another example of naturals fobbing the blame off onto someone else. Why does a worthless bit of metal or crystal buried deep under the ground drive men to murder? Naturals often become too easily obsessed with face value. Perhaps it’s the by-product of an overactive brain.
For the longest of times, witches were immune to these very human failings. Then they lost it. Even they are prone to losing complete control over their brains. Although, admittedly, they are able to put them to better use. One thing in particular led to their downfall: jealousy.
This emotion draws on the same base desire for shiny objects. Witch or non-witch, we often want what we can’t possibly have. If we let our desires control us, then it all turns pear-shaped.
In the case of witchdom, it upset the entire balance of the universe. Jealousy turned something which was beautiful, harmonious and peaceful into chaos. And once chaos snags a foothold, it spreads like a disease. The virus took hold, prevailed, and practically destroyed everything in its wake.
The immediate reaction was to hope that, by ignoring it, chaos would go away. Ignorance, however, is rarely an advisable course of action. Allowing anything toxic to fester and grow only feeds it. Unfortunately, that is the way of the world.
Nature itself is a sort of organised chaos. Thankfully, a more positive one. It will reclaim all when left to its own devices. Stray pieces of litter, houses and even cities which have been abandoned are eventually swallowed up by the power of nature. It is an unstoppable force.
There is much talk of environmental damage to the planet and ways in which naturals should counteract the declining health of the Earth. The answer is pure and simple: stop. Do nothing. Accept it: nature cannot be tamed or controlled. Stop kidding yourself, as mere mortals, that you have any control over it whatsoever. Let it do its thing. Allow it some breathing space. Stand back and give it room. When given the chance, it will come back with a vengeance.
Chaos, however, cannot be completely ignored. It cannot be controlled by doing absolutely nothing. It must be actively treated. But with great care. In much the same way as with nature, naturals feel they must intervene. They can’t help themselves. This intervention only aggravates chaos. This causes it to thrive. It loves being poked and prodded. Chaos should never be toyed with.
If you are aware of this, you can bring it to a halt. Handle it with oven gloves. Don’t touch it. Contain it and bottle it away. If contained, chaos harms nobody. It will only harm itself, and, in doing so, eventually self-destruct.
The chaos which reigned in the witch community was relatively contained, but in no way controlled. The rift which ran through it was a fathomless wound. One which had been permitted to grow and fester over decades. In order to kill it, it was necessary to find out what fed it. And without knowing the whole story, it was very difficult to uncover the source of its nourishment.
Anaïs was the most recent addition to a line which stretched back for eons. As a novice, she was the key to everything. Her ignorance could take her places no one else could go. Purely because she wasn’t blinded by facts. She was not suffering from information overload. Or jealousy. Her brain had space. She was a half-full vessel keen to be filled. But if filled the wrong way, she would only exacerbate the problem.
And chaos loves problems.
DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
The promptuary guided them into a tunnel on the far side of the lake. The boat zipped through it at high speed. The tunnel was narrower than the one they had taken to get up the mountain. Displaced water slewed up the rounded walls.
Sitting in silence, Anaïs closed her eyes. For a long time, she listened to the sound of the water and let the gentle swaying of the boat rock her from side to side. She cleared her head, forcing it blank, not wanting to recall what had happened in the volcano’s crater. Nor the trials and tribulations of the days before.
A loud crash sounded behind her.
She opened her eyes, arched her neck and looked over the stern. The tunnel had narrowed further. The crash was caused by the sheets of water thrown up in their wake, smashing together. What was essentially a wall of water obscured everything. If they were being followed, it would be impossible for them to be seen or overrun.
The cacophony of rushing water grew, the sound tremendous, making any form of communication impossible.
Anaïs turned her attention to the front of the boat. She watched Ella struggle to keep the craft centred in the tunnel. Joan, in her body-builder guise, still had her sights set firmly on the windscreen. Like a rag doll, her head lolled around on her thick neck, moving easily with the movement of the boat.
Seated next to Anaïs, Nan prodded the little witch in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Who’s that?’
Anaïs glanced sideways at the shade. Engrossed in her own preoccupations, she had completely forgotten about her caretaker. ‘One moment, Nan.’ Anaïs rummaged in her beret and pulled out her sunglasses. She slipped them on. Nan’s camouflage dropped, revealing her true physical self. Anaïs smiled. It was good to have her back. ‘Sorry.’ She pointed at the sunglasses. ‘You look better this way.’
Nan beamed. ‘Good!’ She flicked her thumb towards the bow of the boat. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Which one?’
‘The driver.’
‘Oh, that’s Ella.’
Nan cocked her head. ‘Ella?’
‘Yeah,’ said Anaïs. ‘She’s another Apothecary. You know, like Hank.’
‘Hank?’
Anaïs furrowed her brow. ‘Don’t you remember him? You know, the Apothecary from Amsterdam. We met him in Barcelona as well.’
‘Oh yes, I remember him. But it’s vague. I can only recall snippets.’ Partially defeated by her predicament, her shoulders slumped. ‘I think I’m losing my memory. Stuff is fading.’
‘Then we’ll have to do something about that,’ said Anaïs with concern. She recalled Elvis and how his memories had faded completely. ‘It’s a definite shade problem.’
‘It will definitely become a problem if it continues.’
‘Then we’ll have to work fast.’
Nan paused. They sat in silence for a moment.
Anaïs heard her sigh. She changed the subject. ‘Supposedly, Hank and Ella were an item.’
The caretaker stared at the Apothecary. ‘They were an item? I honestly can’t picture her and Hank.’
Anaïs grinned. ‘You’re not alone there.’
‘And the other one?’ Nan tilted her head towards Joan.
Anaïs cracked a mischievous grin. ‘Oh, her!’
‘Her? It’s a guy. And very much one if you ask me. Bit of a workout junkie by the looks of it.’
Anaïs shook her head emphatically. ‘No, it’s not a guy. That’s just her disguise—her camouflage. It’s most certainly a girl—kind of a famous one.’
Nan straightened in her seat. ‘Really? Who is it then?’
Anaïs paused for effect, then spoke with deliberation. ‘Joan of Arc.’
Nan’s eyes widened. ‘Joan of Arc?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wow!’
Anaïs grinned. ‘That’s what I thought too.’
‘What else have I missed?’
‘Loads of stuff. To be honest, I’m not quite sure where to begin.’ Anaïs played with the beading on the seat between them.
‘Just tell me what you know. Maybe then we can piece it all together.’
‘Maybe,’ said Anaïs, pondering where to begin. ‘What about the Inquisitor? Did you talk to him?’
‘No, he said nothing to me.’
‘Strange.’ She studied the caretaker’s face. ‘I had an interesting time while you were with him.’
‘I can imagine. What happened?’
‘I met your father.’
Nan frowned. ‘My father?’
Anaïs nodded grimly. ‘It turns out—that is, if I’m to believe him—that he is also my father.’
‘What? Really?’ Nan puffed her cheeks. ‘But that makes us …’
‘Sisters. Well, half-sisters. Thankfully Caput Mortuum is not my mother.’
‘Wow!’ Nan dropped her gaze to the back of the seat before her.
‘Do you know him?’
‘My father?’ Nan shook her head. ‘No, we never met, and my mother refused to talk about him.’
‘You’ll never guess his name.’
‘Oh, that I know.’
‘Really?’ Anaïs raised an eyebrow.
‘Deus Dominus. Is he as pompous as his name?’
Anaïs chuckled. ‘Yep, even more so.’
Nan flashed a grin before a serious expression clouded her face. She pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘What a family. I can’t believe we are sisters.’
‘Me either.’ Anaïs reached over and took Nan’s hand. She squeezed it, then quickly released it. It was bitterly cold. She rubbed warmth back into her palm. She assessed Nan’s face. ‘I think it’s kind of cool we’re sisters. If what he said is on the level, that is. And there’s more.’ She took a deep breath and released it. ‘I’m not sure I believe this either, but he said we are all related. According to him, the Inquisitor is your brother.’
Nan was speechless. She took a few moments to process this new information. ‘But if we are siblings, why the hell did he do what he did with me?’
Anaïs hunched her shoulders. ‘No idea. Maybe he doesn’t know who you are. There are so many secrets floating around, I doubt anyone knows the whole truth. Honestly, I don’t know who to trust any more. The more I learn, the more confusing it all becomes.’
‘Yes, it’s complicated. I think the best course of action is to trust no one, Anaïs.’
‘You’re right. But I have to trust someone.’
‘I’m here for you, Anaïs.’
‘I know,’ said the little witch. ‘Apart from the obvious, there’s another reason I was so desperate to get you back. Our father said he was trying to solve your problem. I don’t believe him. I can’t leave your wellbeing up to him. You’re the only one I truly trust.’
‘Good to know. I trust you too. Together we will solve this.’ Nan sighed and slumped in her seat. She tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. ‘Man! What a mess!’
Sudden bright light blinded both of them. Anaïs squinted, shielding her eyes with her hand. The roof of the tunnel had disappeared.
THE CHASM
What had practically been a manmade construction, a lava tube filled with water, now became an irregular act of nature in an instant. The tunnel they had been travelling in transformed into a narrow causeway, flanked on both sides by high cliffs. They were in a deep chasm. The light which had blinded Anaïs was the sun’s dawn rays streaming along it.
Glancing over her shoulder, Anaïs saw more tunnels feeding into the chasm. Under high pressure, the combined streams of water gushed up the walls of the cliffs. It showered them with spray. A particularly large wave hit an outcrop high in the cliff wall. It arced over them before crashing down on the boat, saturating them.
