The Dark Magic Murders (The Crockworthy Sisters Book 1) Read online

  The

  Crockworthy Sisters

  ~ Part One ~

  The Dark Magic Murders

  By Marcus Brown

  Junction Publishing

  United Kingdom - New Zealand

  Copyright © 2017 by Marcus Brown.

  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. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Junction Publishing

  United Kingdom - New Zealand

  The Crockworthy Sister – Part One – The Dark Magic Murders

  [email protected]

  www.junction-pubishing.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales are completely coincidental.

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  TCSTDMM / Marcus Brown -- 1st Ed.

  I had so much fun writing this book and dedicate it to everyone who has supported me on this wonderful journey so far.

  You are all amazing!

  Marcus x

  Prologue

  Salem.

  Massachusetts.

  June 09th, 1692.

  Abigail Crockworthy rubbed at the dirty kitchen window with her crisp white apron. She pulled the white coif from her head and pressed her nose up against the glass, nervously looking about, her eyes darting around the land surrounding her small farm.

  She heaved an inward sigh of relief.

  They were safe now, all of them.

  Her familiar, Numen, stood close by, whispering into her ear.

  Time is against us, he hissed, seemingly eager to expedite their departure.

  “Don’t rush me,” she replied angrily. “It’s the last time I’ll see my beautiful girls.”

  Numen was quick to respond. If you don’t make them leave soon, you’ll all suffer the same fate. Is that what you want, Mistress?

  “Don’t try and manipulate me, Numen. We are safe for now. I know where Cotton Mather is and at this very minute he is in the courtroom trying to convince our community of Bridget Bishop’s guilt.”

  It wasn’t my intention to anger you, Mistress, he answered.

  “Never forget where you draw your own abilities from, my old friend. You are only as strong as you are because of me.”

  Yes, Mistress, Numen replied. Thank you.

  “My daughters will be gone by nightfall,” she said, sadly. “I trust all the necessary arrangements have been made and their living arrangements have been properly secured? I won’t have my children living in poverty.”

  The coven has secured a property far across the great ocean, in England. They will be safe there, and free to live their lives without risk of exposure.

  “Then all is as it should be. The portal will take them to safety, but they must carry the book with them. Cotton Mather must never take possession of it. The power contained within would be unstoppable in the wrong hands.”

  But which of your children will you entrust it to? Numen asked.

  “All three of my daughters equally,” was her answer. “It would be improper to act otherwise.”

  I beg you to reconsider, Mistress. His ghostly form appeared to pulsate. Tabitha is the eldest and strongest of the three.

  “And also the most headstrong of the three. Tabitha is highly strung and needs her sisters to balance her temper, and power.”

  But, he interrupted.

  “The decision is final, Numen. My daughters will share my powers, and with that, the ability to call you should they need to.”

  They will never call me, he stated, You know this, Mistress.

  “Then you must do all you can to win them over. My daughters are free thinking young women and will do as they please, but I must warn you, without their love and trust, you will be forced to return to the spirit world and in time, forgotten. Is that what you want?”

  No, he snapped, I will never return. Your ancestor pulled me from that dark place and in my gratitude, I promised to serve the Crockworthy line until the very end.

  “In time, they will have no choice but to call on you, and when that time comes, do all you can to ensure they cannot survive without you.”

  Abigail heard a horse whinny from outside and raced back toward the dingy windowpane.

  “Numen, they are here, we must make haste.”

  Call the girls, he said, it’s time.

  “Tabitha, Talia, Tamara,” she shouted desperately. “Come to me. The time to depart is now upon us.”

  The three young women hurried into the roomy kitchen. Dressed identically in grey waistcoats, shift and petticoats with a white apron. Only Talia wore her white coif.

  “We will not leave you behind, Mother,” Tabitha said.

  “My daughters, we do not have time to debate the issue. You must leave before Cotton Mather arrives – his supporters approach as I speak.”

  Her three, beautiful daughters stood around the kitchen table, fearful looks spread across their identical faces.

  As the strongest in her family line, only Abigail had the ability to see the spirit bound to her family for the last five hundred years.

  They will die if they stay here. Send them away whilst you still can, Numen pleaded with her. The Crockworthy line must not end here.

  “Where will we go, Mother?” Tabitha, her firstborn daughter, asked.

  Abigail looked to the spirit for an answer.

  Tell them, Numen ordered.

  “To England, you’ll be safe there.” Abigail walked toward her beloved children, knowing this was their final adieu. “Talia. Tamara, go now and pack what you can. Tabitha follow me, there is much I need to say.”

  Talia and Tamara dashed out of the room.

  It broke Abigail’s heart to hear their sobs as they rushed up the stairs to their bedroom.

  “Mother, you are coming with us, aren’t you?” Tabitha asked.

  “Not right away,” she admitted, “but I will follow, in time…”

  Tabitha erupted in protest. “But, you cannot stay behind. Mather will test you, and you’ll die.”

  “Hold your tongue and listen to me. There isn’t much time.” She held her hand out. “You must take the book with you. Mather’s interest is purely selfish. His quest to rid the world of our kind is a ruse. It is our collective power he seeks, and he’ll do whatever it takes to secure it.”

  “Then what more reason do you need to come with us?” Tabitha argued.

  “I need to remain behind. If he has one of us, it may be enough to satisfy him. It will be easy to manipulate the fool.”

  Yes, Mistress, tell them what you must, anything to make them believe you, Numen encouraged, hovering in the background.

  Abigail ignored Numen.

  “There’s no time to argue,” she said definitively. “I will follow you and your sisters when I can. Numen will go with you – he will ensure you are all safe.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t want him with us,” Tabitha spat, “and I beg you to reconsider. We’re from a long line of immortal witches, stronger than any other and need to show the humans what we’re capable of when challenged.”

  “No, Tabitha,” she objected. “Humans must never witness a demonstration of our powers, you must always remember that. They fear what they don’t understand and it would be certain death for all of us if we were to show our true capabilities. Now, go, get the book, and bring it to me. Hurry.”

  *

  Tabitha dashed out of the kitchen, clambering up the staircase to the attic room where the Grimoire sat.

  She held out her hand expectantly. “Book,” she called as it flew from the plinth and landed in her hands.

  She turned on her heels and shot down the hall, her sisters waiting for her at the upper side of the stairway. No words were needed to convey their sadness.

  Tabitha led them downstairs and back into the kitchen. She placed the Grimoire on the table.

  Abigail opened her arms, and one by one, pulled her girls into a tight hug, planting a kiss on their foreheads.

  “I love you with all of my heart,” she told them, a solitary tear running down her cheek, “and when you need me most, call on me and I shall be there.”

  “But, Mother,” Talia said.

  Abigail held a finger to her lips, wanting to silence her youngest daughter.

  She turned to the book. “My dear friend, you know what must be done.” Abigail stroked the front cover of the book as though caressing a lover.

  The sisters seemed to notice the book’s strange behaviour. It responded to the wishes of its mistress and opened, the pages slowly turning.

  The sisters looked on, obviously apprehensive, as though they knew what page the book would eventually settle on.

  “My children, this spell will transfer equal ownership of the book to all three of you, the Crockworthy Sisters, and with it, all the power I hold.”

  “We will not accept your power, Mother.” The sisters spoke as one.

  You must make them agree. Numen urged, still hovering in the background.

  Abigail stared at him, vaguely aware of his pulsating form.

  Calm yourself, Numen, she admonished. It won’t be long now.

  Tabitha stepped forward. “There has to be another way, Mother.”

  Looking across at all of her children, she shook her head. “You have little choice in the matter, my dears, and we must not tarry. A portal will take you to your new home. Now place your left hands on the pages of the book and close your eyes.”

  “No,” they responded in unison.

  “I could force you to do my bidding, but I don’t wish to do so. This is the last thing I will ask of you for some time.”

  The sisters knew their mother could force them if the need arose and begrudgingly placed their left hands on the pages. Abigail smiled as blue sparks of electricity shot up their arms and the air crackled around them.

  A wind appeared from nowhere and howled about the kitchen, blowing pots and pans onto the floor.

  The crockery was also picked up from the countertops and dropped, smashing into tiny pieces.

  Abigail chanted silently as Numen stood close by. Keep going, Mistress, it is almost over.

  She turned and looked at his handsome, smiling face, surprised to see him take human form.

  “Don’t take your hands off the book,” Abigail shouted above the roar of the wind.

  She looked on, awestruck as the full force of the Crockworthy line transferred into her offspring. The power, seeping into them, taking hold of every fibre of their being.

  Collectively, her daughters suddenly began to speak. Their voices hollow and monotone.

  “Mother, this is not how it was intended to be,” they said.

  “Yes, my darlings,” she said, proudly, “our destiny was written a long time ago. This is how it was always meant to be.”

  Sisters three, you must leave, Numen said, speaking to them for the first time. Mather is close. He returned to his spectral form.

  *

  The sisters twisted round, expecting to see the form of a man, but all they could see was a dark shadow. They heard his menacing voice.

  “Monster,” the Crockworthy Sisters said in unison.

  No, not a monster. Your familiar. I love you and am here to do your bidding. Tell me, Mistresses, what is it you want of me?

  “Strike Cotton Mather down,” they ordered without hesitation.

  “No,” Abigail shouted. She turned full circle, no longer able to see or hear Numen. “Think before you ask anything of him, as he will obey without question,” Abigail advised. “You must summon a portal and leave. Please, if you love me, do as I say.”

  It was too late to stop Numen. His ghostly form quickly moved and vanished through the wall.

  Screams could be heard from outside, the horses whinnying in terror as they were torn apart. Cries of terror rang out from the humans as they fled to the woods in fear for their lives.

  “Stop him,” Abigail begged. “He will kill them and we will all be doomed.”

  “Come with us, and we will stop,” they responded again in unison.

  “I will come, but please, stop him,” Abigail cried.

  “Numen,” they cried. “Enough. Leave them be and return to us. We must depart.”

  In the blink of an eye, he was beside them. Yes, Mistresses, he assented. It is time to take our leave.

  Tabitha called the Grimoire to her. Obeying her command, it lifted from the table and flew across the room, landing in her open palms.

  “I want to open a portal. Show me how,” Tabitha demanded.

  The book responded to her command and opened at a page containing the spell she needed.

  Tabitha called her sisters close and together they began to chant. Seconds later, a swirling blue light appeared at the other end of the room.

  “Well done, my daughters,” Abigail said. “Now send your belongings through, and we’re ready to depart,” she advised.

  Tabitha nodded her head slightly and their luggage was lifted into the air and transported through the portal.

  “Now my darlings, you go first and I will follow along.”

  “We will not leave you behind, Mother,” they said as one.

  “I promise, I will be right behind you.”

  “Numen, take our Mother through the portal, at once,” they ordered collectively. “We will not leave before her.”

  It is not her destiny to leave here, he replied.

  “And so, we will all stay,” the sisters said as one.

  I cannot allow that, Numen added, moving closer to Abigail.

  “You will do our bidding, or else,” they warned.

  Mistresses, I will not stop what is meant to be, he replied.

  “Time is running out, you must step through the portal,” Abigail said, sounding more desperate by the minute.

  “We will not,” they answered.

  This is the last time I will tell you. Numen said to the sisters as he hovered around Abigail.

  “Silence, demon, you do not order us.”

  Then you leave me no choice.

  Numen’s form took that of a ghostly and faceless figure. He snatched a butcher’s knife from the cabinet and swung the blade, slicing Abigail’s throat wide open.

  “No,” the sisters screamed.

  Abigail’s hands flew to her throat, the blood seeping through her fingers as she toppled forward, a gurgling sound escaping.

  Seconds later, she was face down on the floor, blood pooling underneath from the wound in her neck. She was dead.

  “You murdered our mother,” they screamed. The sisters joined hands, the howling wind strong enough to rip the coif from Talia’s head. “Enjoy your eternity in Hell,” they shouted.

  Not before I’ve taken what is rightfully mine, Numen replied. The book belongs to me, as does the power contained within it.

  “The power is ours,” they warned. “Yo
u’re not strong enough to take it from us.”

  Now your dear mother is dead and not here to guide you, are you so sure?

  “Book,” they cried. “Do as we command, and banish the demon.”

  Their Grimoire suddenly sprang to life again, the pages turning faster than before.

  Within seconds, the spell they needed to banish the spirit was right in front of them.

  The sisters began to chant the spell.

  You can't send me back there. Numen screamed, his form fading.

  A black swirling vortex appeared before them, pulling everything toward it.

  They could see Numen’s shadowy form fighting to keep back, but the pull was too strong, even for him.

  I’ll find my way back and you’ll never be safe, he warned.

  In the blink of an eye, he was gone and the vortex closed, his screams echoing from whatever realm they’d banished him to.

  With it, the portal to take them to England closed too.

  “It’s time for us to go,” Tabitha decreed. “Book, we’re ready to leave.”

  The book obeyed her instruction and the pages turned as before.

  Tabitha spoke clearly, reading from the book as the portal opened once more.

  The sisters looked down at their fallen mother, heartbroken by the loss, as the book slammed shut and flew into Tabitha’s hands. Moments later, the sisters were drawn inward.

  *

  Cotton Mather jumped down from the horse, the mud splattering his garters, stockings and shoes. He looked down at this now messy attire and ripped the felt hat from his head, stuffing it into the saddlebag, eager to get inside.

  He wasn’t frightened of what awaited him inside the Crockworthy house and kicked the front door open. The violence of the impact cracked the hinges. Parts of the door flew down the hall.

  “I know you’re in here somewhere, Witches,” he bellowed, striding down the hallway. “and you won’t scare me so easily with your tricks. Come out and you won’t suffer nearly as much, I guarantee it. But, make things difficult and you’ll all burn.”