Page 1 of Grimoire Omens

Prologue

Despite there being no storm or even strong winds, the lights and television suddenly went out.

“Not again,” I groaned. Losing power happened more often than not. The last time the hydro company blamed it on squirrels.

“Where’d you put those candles we used last night?” Flo asked, standing from the couch where we’d been watching television. All day I should add. Our matching hangovers wouldn’t allow for us to do much else.

“Kitchen cupboard over the fridge,” I stated as I ditched my comfy blanket and wandered to the bay window for a peek. “Whole street’s out.”

None of my neighbors’ homes appeared to have power judging by the dark windows, but more oddly, the streetlights were out as well. Weird. I thought they ran on solar. Hadn’t the city bragged about that as part of their green initiative a few years back?

“Remember, no opening the fridge just in case it’s a long one,” Flo stated as she returned carrying a candle with a flickering flame. She set it on the living room table—actually a chest I’d saved from the garbage men on the curb—and then plopped another pair of wax tapers beside it, which she lit.

“Really wishing I’d grabbed the chip dip before it happened,” I groaned. Regular chips really needed something to sauce them with. “Let me see if Hydro Ottawa has an estimate on repair.” I pulled out my phone and would have loaded their app, which had an outage section giving estimates on restoration time, only… “This is odd. I’m not getting any signal.”

“Me either,” Flo stated with a frown. “Must be a big outage if the cell towers aren’t working.”

No shit. Only happened once that I recalled when a derecho ripped through the west end of Ottawa. However, “It didn’t storm today.” While overcast and slightly cool for late summer, the cloudy skies hadn’t dumped any precipitation, and the wind lacked enough force to make the windchimes by my front door rattle.

“Probably some meathead drove his car or truck into a transformer.”

“Could be. Or maybe it’s the wildlife finally coming after humanity,” I half joked. No way of knowing, though, because the Facebook group I followed for local news couldn’t be loaded without data. The lack of contact with the online world had me jittery. Did I rely on my phone too much? Yup. I don’t know how the previous generations managed to survive without instant access to information.

“Wanna drink?” Flo asked. “No ice, obviously, but I could whip us up something with an unopened bottle of juice in the pantry, and I’m pretty sure we have a half-bottle of tequila in the liquor cabinet.”

According to my still pounding head? “I will never drink again,” I groaned.

Flo snickered. “You’re such a hangover princess. Hair of the dog would fix you right up.”

“Pretty sure hair of the cat in my wine last night is what has me feeling like reheated shit on a stick.” Speaking of cat… “Have you seen Cedric?”

“Not since before dinner last night. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Maybe that mangy cur had finally decided he’d rather live elsewhere. A girl could hope. On social media, cats were cute and cuddly and snuggly little fur balls of love. Cedric, whom I’d inherited, along with Grams’ house, was a black, sly, mean feline who did his claws on the brand-new leather couch I’d bought.

In the silence of no television, no humming fridge, no whirring anything, a strange ululation from outside raised the hairs on my body but not my head. My tight curls had been sprayed with enough product so as to not move even in a monsoon.

“What the fuck was that?” Flo exclaimed.

“Probably teenagers thinking they’re funny.” Once upon a time, I’d have been that annoying kid trying to spook the neighbors. Now, at the ripe age of thirty-six, I was the woman on her front porch at Halloween screaming, “Egg my house and I will make you regret your mother didn’t swallow.” In my defense, dried yolk stuck like glue to painted wooden siding. Also, it should be noted, I’d handed out a shit-ton of candy. The teens should have come by earlier if they wanted any because, at nine, I turned off my porch light and ate what remained.

With nothing else to do, me and Flo pressed our faces to the window as if we could see in the dark. We couldn’t, which made the blood-curdling scream in the distance all the freakier.

“Did you hear that?” Flo whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Is the door locked?” she then asked, her voice quavering.

“Always.” Ottawa might be safer than some cities, but women on their own always took precautions even in decent neighborhoods.

“Still no internet or even cell service,” Flo lamented as she flopped back onto the couch.

“You still offering drinks? I could use a stiff shot.” I tried to ask lightheartedly and yet couldn’t help a slight hitch as yet another scream rang out.

“Should we be getting drunk with the apocalypse upon us?”

“Is there a better time?”