word count: 932

The rain beat a strange tattoo against the roof, as if many little men were tap-dancing in sync on it. Faye shivered, the chill seeping into her skin. She rose, and the thick purple comforter fell to her feet. Kicking it aside, she padded into the kitchen and gazed out the window.

She had not realized the strength of the storm till now, witnessing its strident fury face to face. It ripped through the grass and weeds, digging up small pieces of sodden earth that fell back down only to form thick swampy topsoil. Through its violence, though, there was a purpose that Faye sensed did not err on the prolific side.

Her fingers instinctively reached up and locked the window before her mind could react. But before Faye could even finish fortifying the kitchen, a loud slam echoed from the front foyer, as the heavy mahogany door collided with the frail wall. A gust of wind spun through the hall, knocking over some breakable object, as Faye's ears caught the sound of crystalline tinkling through the howling.

She froze, her limbs leaden with fear. Terror coursed through her veins in the form of heat, causing droplets of sweat to erupt from her pores.

The door slammed shut, and after the echoes stilled, silence ensued. Faye trembled, undecided. Should she go through the living room, or sneak around the back way and up to the second floor?

The crash of broken pottery on the other side of the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the living room made Faye's mind up for her. Her feet sent her scurrying to the hidden door in the cabinets, which led to a secret back hall, and at the end a dark narrow staircase. It was a longer ways up than the curving front stairs, skipping the second floor and going straight to the attic.

It was illuminated by the gray and black of early dawn, and Faye's steps were unsure. She hit the jutting corner of a box with her shin, and the precarious tower swayed unsteadily. Faye watched as it swung back and forth, and then in what seemed to Faye to be a slow motion scene from a stale B-rated movie, toppled. She squeezed her eyes shut, steeling her muscles to the resulting chaos. But, nothing.

She opened one eye, and then the other in relief, a sigh of gratitude to the gods on her lips. By a lucky juxtaposition, the boxes had managed to land on a pile of cushions from her old couch.

But that hadn't stopped it. Faye could hear steps on the stairs, slow and deliberate, as if it knew it had cornered her. She shivered, and pulled herself to her feet, eyes searching for the kit she knew was up here somewhere.

There, in the far corner. She pulled herself to her feet, determined to win. The altar reached her chest; she was short. There was no sign of the thick black book though.

"Where is it? Where is it?" Faye muttered to herself as she searched around the altar. "Shit!" And then she remembered the hole in the back of the altar, and rolled her eyes at her own memory lapse.

Her nimble fingers reached around, and felt the thick leather and rough page edges. She hefted it out, and dropped it not-so-quietly onto the surface of the altar, daring it to bring on its worst. Opening it, she felt the magick that had been her grandmother's surge through her fingertips and into her mind, allowing her to read the ancient script.

Grandmother told me this was going to happen, she thought to herself, and mentally dug around for the right banishment spell. It was hard, Faye had never actually spent any time thinking about it.

Was it feather, or heather? Heather purple, feather light? She didn't know, oh god, it was closer, it was coming. Faye closed her eyes, and randomly flipped the pages, hoping her deep intuition would do the trick.

Ahhh, she breathed a mental sigh of relief. There it was, in all its lost familiarity.

"Heather gold, breath of mint, feather's float, and mother's lint," she chanted out loud, listing the ingredients. And there they were: a twig of autumnal heather, a sprig of mint, a dove's feather, and a piece of ripped cloth. Faye scooped them in her hands, and turned to face it.

It came in the form of a mini tornado, ripping carnage through her mess. Faye glared at it, and held up the spell materials.

"Dtu matrie, dtu nu, matrie nu, cathria tadtu," she recited over and over. The whirlwind calmed slightly. She continued, "Turhui sasith thi dtu, thi matrie tadtu."

Faye repeated the two phrases over, and when the cyclone stopped moving, she threw the items at it. An almost human scream wrenched the air, and Faye was sent sprawling backwards. Bright hot light filled the room, burning her retinas.

It was brilliant for mere seconds, and then it died. In replace of the tornado was a long lock of gold hair, stained red. She held it up to the window and screamed the conclusion of the spell to the air, the spell words in English, "To You Morrigan, The Wretched One, Goddess of Death, I Give You Back Yourself, See It Burn Bright, See You Die, To You Morrigan!"

She tossed the blood soaked hair to the wind, and retreated, tired, back to the living room, where she fell asleep on the couch.

Outside, the wind died down, and the rain stopped, and tranquility reigned again.