The Cauldron and The Labyrinth

Ebony Starlight (Part 4)

The uneven steps seemed to rise and fall under my feet as I climbed the stairs, each creak snapping through the silence of the room. The lamplight danced its orange glow across the wall with each flicker of its kerosene flame. The effect was dizzing, and Bastet jogged past me to the landing at the top of the stairs. The electricity in the air had shifted, and I could smell the sweet, spicy scent of Carmelite Water with its clean, crisp lemon, slightly floral marjoram, and earthy tones of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. When I made it to my cozy room on the second floor, I sat in my favorite reading chair to regain my equilibrium.

Though the room stopped spinning, the air around me felt think. I relaxed into the experience, breathing slowly and deeply. I focused on projecting a sphere of white light around me until the visiting spirit stepped forward. Her face was dark, but her smile was broad as her habit billowed around her in a faint apparition. Her words manifested into the deep knowing part of my mind: ma coccinelles—my ladybug. I reached for the journal resting on the side table next to me. I knew immediately who it was, Louise Marie Thérèse, the 17th century Black Nun of Moret.

It was rumored that Thérèse was the royal daughter of French Queen Maria Theresa of Spain, illegitimately conceived and birthed in 1664 while the Queen was married to Louis XIV. Thérèse had been whisked off to a nunnery where she remained for her entire life. My mother claimed her as one of our ancestors. I did not question the connection, though my mother offered no evidence beyond her word. For whatever reason, Thérèse had begun visiting me when I was 16. One of my many spirit guides.

I opened the journal and grabbed my prized fountain pen from the little drawer in the side table. I set the tip of the pen at the top of the page and took a deep breath. I envisioned energy passing through the crown of my head and flowing down my right arm. I kept my mind open—my body relaxed. The pen began to move, sweeping first in big looping script. Then the pen began to move faster, the letters becoming slim and slant in their urgency. When I stopped, I realized the page was filled with the repetition of a single word l'aider—help her—over and over again. Then Thérèse was gone. Bastet gave an inquisitive trill as he sat watching me.