White Smoke

In a cramped wee flat on the top floor of one of Glasgow’s beloved tenement buildings, Professor Donalda Vass pored over the pages of her oldest and heaviest book. With the installation of her floor to ceiling bookcases, she could almost reach from one side of her tiny office to the other just by stretching out her arms. The sloped ceiling and small, leaded window would be less than desirable for anyone else. And, although the flats on the floors below were much more spacious, with the usual high ceilings and large bay windows that were typical of Glasgow’s tenements, her attic rooms were perfect for her needs, if a little small for her collection of books and antiquities.

Carefully, she turned the page of the Vita Naturalis grimoire, the book of her coven, who solely practiced magic that supported their philosophy – the protection of nature. The pages were dried and yellowed, the text ancient, with a mixture of languages from the generations of Vita Naturalis witches that had added to it over the centuries. As the coven’s bookkeeper, Donalda was entrusted with the care of all their ancient tomes, and this one was the most valuable of all.

The bookkeeper had just found the spell she was looking for when she remembered to check the time. It was a little past ten, explaining the voices drifting up from the usual Friday night crowd on the pavement five floors below. Some of them, Donalda thought as she leaned across her dark wood desk to push the window open, would be her students, out celebrating the end of a week of hard study. Or at least, that’s what they would be thinking; in reality, her students tended to be either extremely lazy and constantly hungover, or much too studious to ever go out for a night of drinking and dancing. It was the dichotomy of Celtic Civilisation students – half of them were there for an easy ride, while the other half put even Donalda herself to shame with the amount of work they put in.

The breeze that pushed through the small window was a little chilly, but this was Scotland, and so Donalda was always well-layered against her draughty flat. She pushed her unruly dark hair from her face and started to read the page again. Blake would be checking in soon, and she wanted to finish making these spell notes before she was interrupted.

She read and made notes on possible issues the spell could face, and potential changes she could make for different results. It was a complex spell that she planned to refresh her mind on when she got a chance, but free time these days was a rare and sacred thing. After another half an hour, her eyes were beginning to blur at the ancient, worn text on the page, her notes were becoming sloppy, and she’d lost count of how many times she’d written the word ‘dangerous?’.

There was an almost imperceptible change in the breeze, and she felt a presence behind her. She smiled and dropped her pen, ready to greet the projection of her familiar, Blake.

Blake was a small, dark blonde woman with delicate, feline features and a sharp tongue. Typically, she and Donalda shared a light-hearted relationship, although Blake was known to become incredibly serious, and somewhat frightening if the situation called for it. She was a shifter, like all familiars, and her animal form was the cat. Was it stereotypical for a witch to have a feline familiar? Of course; the pair frequently made jokes about it, but Blake was a very talented familiar and the perfect companion for Donalda.

Blake was out searching for the ingredients Donalda would need for her complex spell. It had taken weeks so far to gather even a couple of the required items, as they were all rare and often found in places difficult to get to, so Donalda asked her to check in at least once when she was out, just so she knew her familiar was all right.

The professor swivelled in her small office chair, ready to give Blake a witty greeting as they always did, but the words died on her lips as she took in Blake’s form. The projection before her was crouched as if hiding, pale and trembling, and had blood running down her arms and face. Donalda’s first instinct was to grab her friend, but when she shot up from her chair and reached for her, the projection before her flickered and she remembered she couldn’t touch her.

“Blake?” she whispered hoarsely.

Blake’s eyes filled with tears and a small sob escaped her. She looked terrified, and alone, and there wasn’t a thing Donalda could do about it until she told her where she was.

“Donnie,” she croaked through her tears, using a nickname that Donalda usually hated, but all the professor could think of right now was how to help her companion.

“I-I’m here, Blake. Tell me where you are, I’ll come for you,” she replied as her own eyes filled with tears at the broken sound of Blake’s voice.

“You can’t!” Blake almost shouted. Her head spun wildly, looking to see if she’d been overheard. It was then that Donalda realised she must be hiding from whoever had beaten her black and blue. When she was sure she wasn’t discovered, she continued in a hoarse whisper, “They want you, don’t come here.”

Donalda knelt in front of the projection of her familiar. Blake’s power was waning, as she flickered in and out of sight as though she were on a television with bad signal.

“Who, Blake? Tell me who they are. What do they want with us?”

A whimper, one scared and desperate enough to cause a crack in Donalda’s heart, escaped her friend, but she didn’t reply.

“Blake,” Donalda said a little more sternly. She had to know what was happening so she could save her familiar. “Tell me who they are. What do they want?”

“Th-They want t-the grimoire. They said… They said that—”

Blake cut herself off and shot a glance over her shoulder. There must have been a noise close by. Donalda was struggling to understand what was happening. Who would want the grimoire? Why would anyone want to take the book of her coven? It was no use to anyone but the Vita Naturalis witches.

“Blake, tell me where you are,” Donalda began again. When Blake began to shake her head furiously in refusal, Donalda held up a hand to stop her arguing. “I won’t come to you, I’ll use teleportation on you. I can bring you to me if you just tell me where you are.”

She tried to sound confident, assured, but her heart was racing with the sudden danger they seemed to be in. If Blake was this frightened, hiding from someone when she was usually so strong, so brave, it meant that whoever these people were, they were incredibly dangerous and powerful. Donalda had no comfort to offer her familiar, she could only focus on removing her from the situation.

“You can’t,” Blake eventually whispered harshly. “They’ve done something to block my magic. I’m barely able to project, but you won’t be able to cast anything here. If you come, your magic will be rendered useless. Just do me a favour and run. Get out and take the grimoire with you.”

“I’m not leaving you there, you’re my familiar. Tell me where you are, I’ll contact the coven and we’ll come for you. Please,” Donalda was not above begging if it meant securing the safety of her closest friend.

Again, Blake shook her head emphatically. Then, she froze, her eyes wide with renewed fear as they met Donalda’s own vexed expression. The professor could do nothing but watch as Blake’s eyes then drifted over her shoulder and seemed to lock onto something behind her. Donalda watched her familiar’s face fall into one of abject terror before looking over her own shoulder. Her stomach sank at the sight before her.

Sitting calmly on her small windowsill was a barn owl. Donalda knew instantly what this meant, and as she looked at the bird, who watched her with a tilted head, she could only tremble in place. It ruffled its feathers, the usual white underbelly and mottled brown and tan wings seemed to shimmer in the dim light of her desk lamp as it moved. But, the one thing that stirred unspeakable fear and pain in Donalda’s heart was the milky white eyes that stared back at her.

“No,” Blake breathed behind her. “No, no, no. Donnie, please, you have to leave! Get out now!”

It felt to Donalda as if the little warmth remaining in her office had been sucked out. A vacuum of finality and misery encased her as she stared, unblinking, at the creature. Birds were never her favourite, she’d always said there was something otherworldly about them, but this one in particular brought with it a sense of coldness and suddenly, Donalda knew what was coming, even if she didn’t know why.

Donalda moved slowly to one side until she was able to see both the owl and Blake in her peripheral vision. She had minutes to act, if that, and couldn’t take her eyes off the bird that seemed to loom over them from the window. But she had to try and save Blake, if only to feel like she had done one last good deed.

“Tell me where you are, Blake, now,” Donalda growled lowly and the owl cocked its head to the other side, so far that its eyes were then stacked one on top of the other instead of sitting side by side. The milky white colour of its eyes swirled like smoke as it continued to watch the witch converse with the projection of her familiar.

“I’m up north, in Glencoe. There’s an abando— NO!”

Donalda snapped her eyes to Blake, and watched as a shadow fell over her trembling figure. Invisible fingers reached out and grabbed her arms, trying to pull her from her hiding spot. Blake fought and struggled against the grip as best she could, but with her injuries and her magic being blocked, she couldn’t do much. Her projection flickered in and out wildly, her power fading by the second as she tried to save herself, and all Donalda could do was scream for her friend and companion; the one person she’d always been able to rely on and have fun with, the closest thing she had to a family. She tried to reach out to her, summoning some magic in the hopes that she could reach through the window the projection gave them and grab her, drag her through it and save her that way, but such things usually required much more power and preparation. She couldn’t feel helpless now though, that wasn’t an option when her friend needed her.

She stood, taking a deep breath and trying not to let the cries and screams coming from Blake distract her. With her arms out in front of her, she mumbled some intricate words of Latin that would give her a temporary boost in her powers, and then she reached for Blake again. Blake fought against the invisible person who now seemed to be dragging her somewhere and reached forward towards Donalda. Their fingers brushed, making physical contact, which made Donalda’s heart leap with hopefulness. But before she could grab her familiar properly, a gargled cry left Blake’s throat, and blood began pooling around her stomach and running down her front. Echoing in the distance, as if it wasn’t really happening, Donalda heard a cold and cruel laugh.

“Blake!” she screamed as she watched her oldest and dearest friend crumple to the floor. She screamed for her again and again, but Blake remained silent and still, staring up at her with blank, lifeless eyes.

Donalda fell to her knees, sobbing and willing the girl before her to come back to her. Even dead, she wanted to save Blake, to have her with her so she could at least put her to rest the right way. Whoever had her wouldn’t give her that right, that much was obvious. In another few seconds, Blake’s projection flickered once more and was gone.

Donalda had almost completely forgotten about the owl, until she heard it screech – a long and painfully loud cry that shattered the lead lined window and burst the bulb and glass shade of her desk lamp.

Shaking with grief and anger, Donalda stood, her fists clenched by her side and her tear-stained face set in a grim expression. This owl, this death omen, had come to her while she tried to save her friend; while she was living her last moments with Blake without even knowing it. It had come with its fateful message, its all-knowing gaze of white smoke, and had wasted her last few moments with her closest companion. Moments that could have been used to save Blake’s life.

“Shift,” she said. Although she remained facing away from the creature, and spoke softly, it heard her quiet command, but refused to acknowledge it.

“Shift!” she shouted after another moment of silence. The power and anger behind her command shook the furniture, the books rattled on their shelves, a few falling to the floor, and the desk chair she’d previously sat in vibrated and rolled away from her with the force of her voice.

The owl listened. Donalda could hear its claws clicking on the surface of her desk as it moved further into her office before a gust of air moved behind her, indicating that the creature had shifted finally. The professor turned to greet the being that had wasted her last moments with Blake. Even through the darkness, milky white eyes, a cruel smile, and short, shaggy white hair met her gaze. Clad in simple clothes of earthy tones and bare feet, the owl’s human form didn’t look like much, but the professor could feel the darkness emanating from her. The cold, cruel emptiness that existed within this being sent a shiver down her spine, and with a knowing look, and her head tilted at the same extreme angle as before, the owl shifter chuckled. It was frighteningly delicate and musical, almost warm sounding.

Donalda shifted her weight on her feet, ready to attack. The shifter, however, was faster, and as a death omen had only one job to do; a job she was highly motivated to complete. She was suddenly behind Donalda, her fingers on one hand elongating into bird-like claws, inches from slicing them across Donalda’s throat, when she let out another small, delicate chuckle. Even in this moment, Donalda thought how innocent and almost child-like it sounded.

“Vita Naturalis is only the first to fall,” she whispered softly into Donalda’s ear. Donalda began to summon her powers, ready to fight her way out of the inevitable, but before she could even summon a simple protection charm, a white hot pain danced across her throat. She gasped, but felt like no air was getting to her lungs. She fell to the floor, that quiet laugh ringing in her ears as she felt her life and power draining away.

With a ragged breath, she managed to settle one final important act, and whispered “Pacificis requiem, Blake.”

In a cramped wee flat on the top floor of one of Glasgow’s beloved tenement buildings, Professor Donalda Vass lay in a pool of her own blood. On her dark wood desk lay a conspicuous gap that had previously been filled with the Vita Naturalis grimoire.

END