Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am but a penniless amateur aiming to please the hungry masses, and hopefully feed my own demons.

A/N: This is the second installment of what I plan to turn into a trilogy. The first part is entitled A Haunting in Connecticut and is complete and ready to read on my profile. I sincerely apologize to any actual practitioners of magic who happen upon this story and are appalled by the inaccuracies. My source material is a website filled with amateur spells. I ask you kindly to suspend your disbelief for the sake of enjoying this story. Thank you so much for your support and for taking the time to read my work!

WARNING: This story will contain drug and alcohol abuse, sexual content, mentions of rape, mentions of severe child abuse, graphic depictions of torture, excessive use of expletives, racial slurs, homophobia, and disrespectful attitudes towards Christianity. I sincerely apologize for anyone who may be offended, but you have been warned.

Prologue

On a cold Winter night in a small college town in New England, with the help of a supernatural being who held powers beyond their imaginations, three witches were born.

Winona Ataasi Jackson, known as Nona, was born in Nottinghamshire, England to one Mr. Afram Jackson, and his wife Mrs. Patricia Jackson. Mr. Afram Jackson came from South Africa. He fled the country in the wake of apartheid. How ironic it was that Afram deserted his home, a land that had so viciously mistreated him and people like him, only to find refuge in the land where his oppressors originated. Poor, with no family or home to turn to, he found solace in Jesus Christ. Afram dedicated himself to the Lord, and in his path to enlightenment, he found love with a young white woman, one of his flock, Patricia. Together they had two beautiful daughters, Winona and Mary; one daughter named after their physical mothers, one after their spiritual. Winona proved to be a problem child, though, and at the young age of thirteen, she committed a sin so devious in the eyes of the good Mr. and Mrs. Jackson that she was cast away from them, renounced. Young Winona was driven to performing perverse acts in order to pay her way to sanctuary, as is often the tale of underprivileged young women. Within a few short years, she found herself enrolled at one of the most prestigious four-year universities in the United States. American tuition was expensive, however, and Winona still found herself carrying out duties in the dark of the night that Mummy and Daddy would be none too pleased with. They didn't matter anymore, though. Nona lived only for herself.

Amanda Nicole Black, Mandy to those who knew and loved her, was a born and bred Creole. She knew little of her mother, other than that the woman had yellow hair and blue eyes, like her, and was constantly pregnant. No, the majority of Amanda's memories of early childhood were consumed by her father. He was a drunkard and a brute. Thanks to him, Amanda could take a right hook better than anyone she knew. Thanks to him, her earliest recollection of life was that of her mother's bruised and broken face. One night mommy didn't come home, but daddy did. The police told her that bad men took her away, that she'd been walking down too dark of a street too late at night. Amanda didn't believe them, but they didn't care what a six-year-old had to say on the matter. Hatred and bitterness for the loss of her mother festered within her. And then, one day the old man went too far. She came home late from rehearsal; Amanda adored the stage, and found the youngest of her three brothers, Eric, nursing a broken nose. Something inside of her snapped. She remained calm, cleaned up Eric, made dinner as per usual, and tucked them all in with the fall of night. Once all three of her younger siblings were adequately cared for and she was certain that they were asleep, she acted. A homemade tripwire that she learned how to make on the internet- naturally- was tied meticulously at the top of the banister. Then, all she had to do was wait. Several of her hung-over father's bones snapped sickeningly on the way down, but none so prominently as his neck. Amanda watched from the top of the stairs as he bled out, and bleed he did. But not as much as the life insurance company. The cash was split between her and her brothers, they went to live with her mother's sister in Tennessee, and Amanda took off. It was only a few short years before she found friends for herself in the forms of Nona Jackson and Lydia Deetz.

Lydia Elisabeta Deetz, formerly Volkov, is arguably the star of this tale. Lydia was born out of wedlock to a young Russian immigrant by the name of Natalya in the slums of New York City. Natalya, with the help of her parents, came to America with dreams of becoming a doctor. Her parents, Lydia's grandparents, were hardworking people, but they were poor. Every last bit of their life savings went to sending their beloved daughter out into the world to live a better life than the ones they'd had. All of Natalya's dreams were forgotten, however, when she met and fell madly in love with a man named Charles Deetz. She found out the difficult way, however, that her love was one-sided. Pregnancy, heartbreak, poverty, and the unexpected loss of her father took a toll on Natalya. Her studies suffered with the birth of Lydia and with them her dreams of becoming a doctor. Before Lydia was three years old, Natalya Volkov took her first dose of heroin. Addiction took her. All of the child support payments that Charles made were shot straight into her arm. Make no mistake, Natalya loved her daughter; so very, very much. But she was a fragile creature, not built for the harsher realities of life that all seemed to make their existences known within a few short years. She became numb to reality, just floating by and waiting for her next obliviating fix. Little Lydia was lost in the cross-hairs. By the time Lydia was seven years old, her mother was in prison and she was sent to live with the father that she'd never known and his young wife, a woman who had no desire for children. This is where she was discovered.

There are things in this world that are beyond our comprehension; shadows that move when nothing else does, animals that snarl and hiss at the thin air, as though there was an intruder in your home, an icy tingle down your spine on a warm summer's day. None of these things are beyond his knowledge, and none of these things are beyond him. He was the boogeyman, the monster that mother's used to threaten their children with when they wouldn't behave, the end all and be all of bad shit that was not to be fucked around with. And he loved her, little Lydia. He loved her so much that on a whim he bound his ancient, immortal soul to her blossoming one in a ceremony as old as time itself. The ghoul was foolish, however, and did not realize that in binding a soul of one who has passed with a soul of one who still lived, he was committing an act of dark magic; Black Magic. He'd unwittingly damned her to eternal life, not that the girl yet realized that this was, in fact, an act of damnation. After an agonizing period of separation where the poltergeist was kept in a purgatory-like state, they were reunited. In less than a week, the girl of her own free will gave herself to him. Of six-hundred years of victories, this one was the sweetest he'd ever known.

Here they were, all four of them, in the apartment that Lydia and Mandy shared. Betelgeuse hovered on the outskirts of the large salt circled that encompassed the hardwood floor. The three girls sat within the circle in a triangular formation, cross-legged and pouring over the ancient spellbook he'd translated for them- for her. All three girls were intoxicated, but not overly so, just enough to be willing to play with fire. Speaking of fire, candles were the only source of light in the room, besides the glow of the poltergeist's cigarette. Ordinarily, Lydia and Mandy did not allow smoking inside, but tonight was a special night, and the patio doors were open, so they were willing to look the other way.

"Okay," Lydia began, leaning up from where she'd been bent over the book. Next to the book sat an ornate brass goblet, filled halfway with red wine. "From what I can tell, it basically says that if we want the spells we cast to be most effective, they must be performed within a coven. In order to form a coven, you need a minimum- and desired- number of three people, preferably women." The dark-haired girl paused to share a look with her friends. "B, does this sound right?"

He chucked his cigarette over the balcony and lit another. "So far, so good." This entire ritual was unnerving to him. He knew firsthand the price of playing with magic. The idea of his bride dabbling in it left a bad taste in his mouth. He had no place denying her, though. After all, this was where his great wealth of power came from; centuries of studying books just like the one she and her friends were trying desperately to understand. If Lydia wanted it, she was going to get it. They whispered back and forth to one another for a while longer, occasionally stopping to fact check with the ghost before continuing onward. Lydia went first.

"Blood of mine, blood of thee

Sister mine, so mote it be."

With conviction, she stuck her thumb with a safety pin and allowed a few drops of her blood to fall into the goblet. Then Nona, then Mandy, each girl first whispering the words then offering up their own little blood sacrifice. Lydia stirred the bloody wine with one finger, before taking a deep sip and passing it to her left. Again, the ritual was repeated by each consecutive girl. When Mandy, the last in the circle to take a sip, set the goblet back down next to the book they all jumped as a thunderous crack of lightning rattled their shadowy accommodations.

Betelgeuse cackled madly at the sight, his earlier unease dispelled for the moment. "You sure you gals ain't gettin' too big for your britches? If a little bit o' lightnins' scarin' ya, maybe you shouldn't be fuckin' around with magic."

They ignored his teasing. "Is that it?" Nona spoke, eyes wide with wonder. "Are we a coven now?"

Betelgeuse answered. "Yep. Congratulations, you're witches. Consider yourselves lucky. Back in my day they'd have tied you up to a pole and barbecued you in town square, where everybody could watch."

Lydia frowned and reached for his cigarette. He passed it to her, unaffected by the salt circle. "I wouldn't put it past the people here to burn a witch at the stake. Their system of belief is archaic."

Mandy was flipping through the pages, searching, while Nona took the cigarette from Lydia. "Look at this one!" Mandy spoke, pointing to a page that had an illustration of a grinning black cat silhouetted by a crescent moon. The page was headed For Communication with Familiars;

"I want to try this one!" The blonde jumped when Luna pounced into her lap, seemingly out of nowhere, and meowed.

Nona passed the cigarette back to Betelgeuse and scratched the kitten's ear. "I think little one agrees with you."

Lydia was bent over the book, reading the appointed passage. "This actually seems pretty simple. B?"

"If you really want a talkin' cat botherin' you all day, by all means; knock yourselves out." He didn't see any obvious problems with this particular spell.

The three bubbled with excitement and placed Luna in the center of the circle, on top of the book. Lydia took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Okay, we have to join hands and say it three times, together. Repeat after me;" They did, and Lydia spoke the words once, slowly, so that they could be imprinted into the other two girls' memories. Luna was utterly still, as though she knew exactly what was happening and was just waiting patiently.

"Tail of rat, Wing of bat,

Allow this cat to chit-chat,

So mote it be."

There was a long tense moment where nothing happened. And then, without opening her mouth, the kitten spoke.