Skyclad Read online

  Skyclad

  Max Ellendale

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Skyclad

  Copyright © 2015 Max Ellendale

  Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Max Ellendale

  www.maxellendale.com

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  ~ Spring ~

  Chapter One

  "Professor Frost?"

  "Yes?" I nodded toward a messy-haired student who held his hand lazily in the air.

  "What was the question for the homework?"

  "You should've been awake to hear the announcement, Simon," I said, shuffling the papers on my desk into a pile. The rest of the class sniggered under their breath.

  "Aw, c'mon, Professor." Simon slouched dramatically in his chair.

  "Are there any volunteers in the class who'd like to inform Simon about what he missed during his extended period of unconsciousness?" I glanced over the chortling faces of my students. Thirty college freshman in varying degrees of pajamas avoided my gaze. "No volunteers? All right then. You're on your own, Simon."

  "Fine. I'll tell him," called out a platinum-haired girl from the back row.

  "Thank you, Jaeyon," I said.

  "Bless your soul." Simon turned in his desk to face her.

  "'Who are the Nacirema?'" The girl repeated the question and I couldn't help smirking at the dumbfounded look that washed over Simon's pimple-covered face.

  "Who are the what now?" He gawked.

  "The Nacirema. That's all I'm telling you," Jaeyon said, snapping her notebook shut.

  "Class dismissed," I called out and the room erupted with movement as the students sprung from their chairs, breaking into muddled chatter.

  What made me decide to hold the last cultural anthropology class of the week at eight o'clock on a Friday morning? Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment and hungover students. I sighed and tossed the stack of research papers into my briefcase.

  "Any wild plans for the weekend?" Delia caught up to me as I wove my way through the crowded halls. Her heels clicked heavily against the tiles beside my clunky Frye boots. Students mingled and bounded about without a care in the world. I ducked a flying tennis ball as it soared overhead.

  "Really, Peter?" Delia shouted behind us. The painted purple streak in her black hair swung back around when she turned to face me. Sometimes I wondered if she tried to blend in with the students or if she simply enjoyed all things different. The student's laughed and piled out of the double doors of the entry hall. "This place is worse than high school."

  "College students are immortal. Didn't you know?" I said as we turned the corridor toward the faculty parking lot. The minty green walls of the stairwell brightened my mood a bit as our footfalls echoed around us.

  "I remember those days." Delia's exaggerated sigh made me chuckle.

  "How's everything in the whimsical world of graphic design?" I jested as she pushed open the door that led to the parking lot. The lukewarm April air flooded my lungs with a mix of freshly cut grass and seawater.

  "Wonderful. Flourishing." Delia chortled and nudged my arm. "How about you? Any amazing and exciting anthropologic plans this weekend, you daredevil, you?"

  "Shut up." A light laugh escaped me. "I'm thinking of taking a trip to some shops in Salem for the paper I'm writing."

  "What's it titled again? The Occult and the Boringness of Boring?" She smirked and pulled her car keys from the pocket of her turquoise blazer.

  "The Anthropology and Sociology of Occultism. It's not boring." I shot her a playful glare. "I'm working on a portion about witchcraft and Wicca in the U.S. I've already done the section on Vodou."

  "How long is it going to be?"

  "I won't know until I've finished researching. Why do you ask me these questions if you think it's so miserably boring?"

  "Because I like busting your uptight ass. Let it loose, Ella. You deserve it," she said, messing up the side of my pulled-back hair.

  "C'mon. We're not twelve you know." I ducked away from her.

  "Yeah well, we're in the prime of our lives. Enjoy it. Speaking of which, I'm having a few folks over tomorrow night for an outdoor wine tasting if you want to come. We might as well enjoy the amazing weather we're having."

  "Maybe. If I'm back by then I'll consider it," I said, slipping my keys from my purse.

  "You always say that." Delia clicked the alarm and the lights of her cerulean SUV blinked twice. "Call me."

  "All right. Bye." I waved as I approached my car that always appeared dwarfed by the size of Delia's.

  "Later," Delia called out as she drove off.

  I didn't make any stops on my way home, instead opting to return to the comforts of my own space. Delia was nice enough to invite me to her gatherings several times. I've never actually accepted an invitation and by now, she most likely expected it. My motives for not attending escaped me at times. Maybe I just couldn't imagine myself mingling with strangers. Or maybe I had no idea what I was supposed to taste in thirty different wines. Either way, doing my own thing remained my activity of choice.

  The clean brick face of my apartment building provided me with a sense of comfort and order. A neighbor greeted me as we entered the building together, then parted ways beside the stairwell. Sometimes I found myself surrounded by people and yet, I rarely made an attempt to talk to them, save for a polite smile or the universal, "Hi, how are you? Good. Take care."

  "Hey, Monkey," I greeted the meowing cat as I entered my apartment. She leapt from the vast window ledge that overlooked the streets of the quaint town. My lofty top-floor apartment offered the perfect view mixed with trees and buildings that ended a few miles away where land met the harbor. This time of year, soft greens and murky yellows fringed the sleepy grays as spring threatened to take hold.

  Monkey rubbed against my legs as she beckoned me with her calico tail. I stroked her gently then led her to the kitchen. In a single jump, she made it onto the marble countertop awaiting her nightly meal.

  "Gee, is that all I'm good for?" I smiled and poured her a fresh dish of food. She ate right away and I watched her for a moment, contemplating the habits of my roommate. With her plate filled, she no longer had use for me so I took my leave and gathered up my laptop from the desk. With a heavy sigh, I dropped down onto the plush brown sofa, tugging the blanket from the back. Research, the perfect and only, Friday night date I've had in at least a few years. With a quick glance to the list of shops I planned to visit tomorrow, I drowned myself in reading about the spiritual practice of Australian Aborigine.

  ***

  Brisk morning air covered my windshield in light dewdrops as native birds chirped greetings during my drive to Salem. Purple banners fluttered in the breeze, saluting me as I pulled up
to The Triple Goddess, the first stop on my list of chosen new age destinations. A tiny wind chime clinked, announcing my arrival inside the quaint shop. Smoky incense met my nose as soft tonal music played in the background. Display cases and bookshelves lined the walls of a rectangular room. Larger chimes dangled from a metal tree-like display in the center. Crystals, books, and stacks of herbs gathered in every reaching corner.

  "Can I help you?" asked a bored voice from behind the register.

  "Um… No. I'm just browsing, thanks," I said, glancing to the black-clad, heavily makeuped teenager.

  She nodded, dropping down on to a stool and returned to a book titled The Solitary Practitioner.

  Similarly titled books filled an entire bookshelf next to stacks of tarot cards wedged neatly between opalescent crystal balls. Only the largest ball was transparent in the way I expected. I fingered through the books, The Witches Almanac, Wicca and the New Age, Above All Harm None, and the like. After three shelves of covers filled with Celtic knots, black cats, and cauldrons, I began to question my decision on the choice of field experience.

  "What are you looking for?" The sales girl set her book down, leaning on the countertop while watching me.

  "Just something with decent information about occult practices, paganism, or Wicca."

  "That hippie dippy dribble there is for the tourists. You won't find any of the real stuff out here." A wry smile curved her black lipstick-covered mouth. "I'll get the manager. She should be done with her reading by now."

  "Reading?" I lifted a brow at her, unsure whether this girl was yanking my chain or trying to get a rise out of me.

  "Yeah. Tarot," she said, weaving her way out from behind the counter and disappearing beneath the thick violet velvet curtain that separated the storefront from whatever lingered in the back. The last of her spiked platform boot disappeared after a heavy thud.

  Alone in the store, an eerie sensation pressed in on me. This place was hardly the Congo and I couldn't understand why it gave me such a strange feeling. Faint images of a musty dirt cellar tugged at my consciousness. I shrugged it off and focused instead on reading the different types of incense. Lavender, lilac, sage…

  My eyelids grew heavy as the seconds ticked on. The incense and soft music sent a soothing ripple down my spine.

  "Merry Meet," said a cheery voice, breaking me from the sudden onset of fatigue. "How can I help you?"

  "Oh, I… um." I swung myself around to face the woman only to find myself staring at her eccentric presence. A long multi-colored broom skirt and white bell-sleeved shirt covered her slender figure. Pale, freckled skin stood out from beneath a mane of waist-length red hair. Small braids mingled within her vast, perfectly crafted curls. I had never seen anyone like this woman before except for that time when Delia accompanied me to an off-Broadway production of Hair or watching a Stevie Nicks music video. "I… I apologize. What'd you'd ask me?"

  "I asked if I could help you." Her ruby lips curled into a cheeky grin. "Can I?"

  "Maybe. I was browsing the books and your sales girl said I should be looking elsewhere for what I needed."

  "She's an academic type. Not gonna find much out here." The teenager propped her feet up on the counter and set her reading material in her lap. "I'm off duty."

  "Don't exert yourself, Jax," said the manager after a slight glare toward the girl. "Follow me." Her gaze and smile returned to me as she gestured for me to follow. In a sweeping motion, she spun toward the curtain, holding it open for me.

  "All right," I said, ducking beneath.

  "Are you really an academic?" the woman asked, her bare feet padding lightly against the plush plum carpet. She led me down a wide hallway. On the left, an ornately decorated wall covered in framed images, paintings, and various tapestries faced a series of small rooms. The door to each hung open revealing its contents. The first room had a round table covered in several layers of brightly colored cloth and a few chairs set around it. A giant black and green Celtic knot banner hung from the far wall. A thick, comfortable looking massage table sat in the middle of the second room.

  "I teach undergraduate studies in Beverly," I said. "What are these rooms for?"

  "Tarot readings, palmistry, Reiki, massage. I have several intuitives on staff that give readings and such." She glanced over her shoulder at me, gray-blue eyes shimmering under the dim light. "Here we go." The woman pushed open a heavy door to the back room. The innards of the building hinted at its historic age.

  Shelves lined the walls filled with thick volumes of books. Tucked into the far corner, a table covered in an emerald cloth drew my attention. Candles, a white star, and small dagger lay on top. To me, it looked like some sort of altar. Thick, fragrant sage and old books made the air around us seem heavier than the rest of the place. I glanced over the books, catching the titles on the spines.

  "Some of these aren't in English," I said.

  "Nope." The woman leaned against the antique wooden desk to my right. "What exactly are you looking for?"

  I glanced at her, noting the sharp curve of her jaw in the candle light. Her freckles seemed to disappear as the flames flickered, casting dancing shadows around us.

  "I'm working on a research paper highlighting occult practices in America. Specifically Wicca. Sources close to the origin of its Eastern development would be the best." I turned to face her as I considered my words. I hadn't a clue where to begin.

  "I could teach you more than those books ever could." The words seemed to roll from her lips in a delicate croon. "I'm Mae."

  "Ella."

  "Well met," she said, shifting her weight away from the table and reaching for a book on the highest shelf. She yanked it loose with a grunt and pulled it down. "This is the oldest volume I own. But it isn't for sale."

  "Does it know more than you?" I smirked as she handed me the book, the weight of it causing my grip to tighten.

  "Doubt it." She laughed softly, her eyes lingering on mine. "Your eyes…"

  "What?" I said as a light wave of panic slammed me in the gut.

  "I've never seen blue eyes so sharp and crystal clear. They're so blue that they're almost indigo," she said, her voice distant and dreamy.

  "My students say the same thing. My eyes contributed to my nickname." I smirked, glancing down to the book in my palms.

  "What's that?" Her brows lifted.

  "The Ice Queen. My surname is Frost. So it works."

  "I'll say." She chuckled, her smile heightening her cheekbones. "Is that all of the contributing factors? You're not an icy cold soulless professor, are you?"

  "Yeah." I laughed, tucking the book to my chest. "I am."

  "Really? Your aura tells otherwise." She drew her gaze away to glance at something over my shoulder.

  "What else does my aura tell you?" I lifted a brow at her.

  "That you're considering taking me up on the offer."

  "What offer?"

  "To teach you more than those books could. I could be your primary source." She shrugged heavily, turning in a circle so that her skirt hooped around her once before settling against her legs.

  "Are you Wiccan?"

  "That's a silly question. I thought you were a researcher." She snapped a match against the wall and lit a few more candles.

  "Fine. You'll tell me about it then? I guess an interview could be a unique source."

  "Sure. And you can come here to use these books whenever you want. No one's in this study during the day usually."

  "That's awfully generous."

  "It's nice not meeting a tourist for once. I'll welcome an interested party any day. Wouldn't you, Professor Frost? Or is it Doctor?" When she turned to face me again, she released her bottom lip from between her teeth.

  "Both… actually." My gaze lingered on her mouth before returning to meet hers. "You're rather unique, you know."

  "Not really. Wait until you meet everyone else who passes through here. I'll seem normal in no time."

  "I'll take your word
for it." A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth when I thought of meeting anyone more bizarre than Mae.

  "Come by tomorrow around noon. We have hardly any customers on Sundays."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I am."

  "All right. I'll come by," I said, holding the book out for her to take back.

  "It's a date then. Keep it for the night." She pushed it back toward me. "That way it ensures your return."

  Chapter Two

  I spent most of the evening pouring over Mae's book, jotting down notes and definitions of ritual objects and phrases. Athame, wand, circle casting, crystal magic, herbs. At times, it seemed overwhelming. I began to reconsider devoting only a portion of my paper to Wicca. It seemed to warrant one of its own.

  By midday, I'd arrived back in Salem and stopped off for a cup of coffee before heading back to the shop. I wandered around the pedestrian mall on Essex Street, a tourist-filled place that I visited several times as a teenager. Although lovely, the thrill of cobblestones wore off nearly a decade ago. The quaint little town offered the perfect colonial charm that inspired my historical writing. My favorite part about living in this area was that few people asked questions. It provided me with a sense of anonymity I tended to long for.

  Just before noon, the clinking of the tiny wind chime greeted me once again. Instead of Jax, Mae sat behind the front counter clicking along on a laptop. Her outfit, although of a similar class to the one from yesterday, wasn't as colorful and the curls in her hair appeared more relaxed.

  "Right on time," she said without looking up.

  "And with book in hand. It was an interesting read," I said.

  "You read the whole thing already?" She gawked at me, her brow wrinkling in response.

  "Yeah. Most of it." I set it on the counter. "I learned a lot about the objects and ritual practice."

  "All ten percent of it." A smile crossed her lips and she stood. "C'mon. Let's head in the back."