The Mark of Callie

Chapter 7 - The Weaver Awakes

Mar 12, 2025

Welcome, new readers and subscribers! If you’re just catching up, I’ve posted the links to the first six chapters below.

Chapter 1 - The Silver Feather
Chapter 2 - Lucien’s Visit
Chapter 3 - Callie
Chapter 4 - Oscar
Chapter 5 - Shades of Crimson and White
Chapter 6 - Dreamweaver Training Begins

Callie

The front door opened. “Hey, Callie! Look who I ran into?”

“Who wants tea?” Annie said, heading straight for the kitchen. She made the tea, and they gathered around the table with steaming cups.

Callie studied her hands as Penny and Annie talked. What was Penny trying to do? Replace their mother with her friend? She missed talking to her sister in their telepathic language, but without it, she didn’t know how to talk to Penny. How to communicate what she felt. Callie knew she acted childishly whenever Annie was around. But she couldn’t help it. She heard her name and looked up. “What?” she asked.

“I was reminding Annie your gallery showing is tomorrow night. Did you get that last piece finished?” Penny glanced down at Callie’s fingers, then flicked her eyes up to meet her sister’s gaze.

“Yeah,” she answered absently. “The last piece was the one you saw, Pen. I’ll take it over later tonight for the show tomorrow.” She rubbed her bandaged fingers along the table’s edge. Callie was surprised a gallery show would make her so nervous. She shivered.

“You okay, Callie? Cold? Or …?” Annie asked.

“I’m fine.” Callie sighed dramatically and got up from the table. “I should get everything ready and head over there. Get a jump on things.” She checked her watch. “Who knew there was so much to do. All I want to do is paint. I’d paint in my sleep if I could. But other things take priority,” she said, her face hot. She turned to leave. Why had she said that? Penny never wanted to be part of Callie’s world. Why did she care so much now? “Because you screwed up,” Callie’s inner voice suggested. She headed up the stairs to her art studio. “Yeah, once,” she muttered. Once was enough when you caused that kind of damage. She slowed her steps, weighed down by her memories.

As she reached the threshold to her studio, a familiar buzzing and timbre of church bells filled her ears, and she grabbed onto the door jamb. This is so not the time for this, I have things to do. She slid down the wall, and her eyes closed.

****

A blurry mess came into focus. It was a nightmare of Callie’s making that starred Penny. “Of course, she’s the star. She always was a daddy’s girl,” Callie said. He’d ensured she was always included in Callie’s training. He’d asked their mom about Penny first whenever he deigned to stop by and had sent Penny the silver feather rather than his eldest daughter who held—correction, had held—the title of Dreamscape Priestess. Much of his precious time was spent with Penny while Callie trained with her mother. Regardless of what Callie or Penny said or did, Penny was always included. But why was she in this dream? Who had called her? She heard her own voice and turned. A shell of herself stood over her sister.

Had she slipped into someone else’s dream, unbidden? That was impossible. She had to be called, and Penny was awake and talking with Annie.

“Once again, I’m too late.” The near astral version of herself leaned closer and whispered into her sister’s ear, “Please, God, Penny…”, but Penny remained still. “Wake up,” she shouted, the echo stemming from both versions of herself. She should have been able to command her sister to wake, but her powers failed her.

“Let me help her,” said a woman. Annie.

“What are you doing here?” Callie hissed. “Get out.” Her voice was low. Dangerous.

“You’re in my world and you are not welcome here,” Callie said with her jaw set. She threw her hands toward Annie as if to shoo her from the dreamscape, but Annie grabbed one of Callie’s wrists and held it fast.

“Relax. She’ll be okay. But you do need my help.”

Callie shook herself free and laid down on the other side of her sister. Annie had grabbed Penny’s fist and unrolled it. Etched into her palm were two feathers, the tips of their vanes barely crossed. One silver. The other white. Both glowed and a single word scripted in each. Dreamwalker.

“Callie, look,” Annie pointed. “She’s been marked. You need me to help. You’re going to have to deal with it. And me.” Callie recognized the silver feather and looked at her own hand. It bore the mark of her mother’s line, two crossed swords and the number eight at the apex, but no feathers. Who did the white feather belong to? She didn’t know, but she did know what it meant. One more feather, and it would be agreed. Penny would be forced to fight. Tears stung her eyes as the shadows that followed her peeled themselves from the wall and her own shadows advanced toward Penny. “No,” Callie said softly, and at her command, the shadows returned to their place on the wall, flickering like dark flames. Annie had disappeared, and Callie was alone with her unmoving sister.

“Leave her!” Callie commanded, and the shadows obeyed.

****

Callie woke and rubbed her eyes. Her tears had been real. An old dread awoke with her as she remembered the chant she’d heard as a child. Footsteps in the hallway. Shadows in the dark. There was no escaping it. Not for her. But if she could remain lucid enough to keep from doing harm, she would do what she could to protect her sister.

Callie rubbed her thumb across her palm and traced the mark of the Alexander matriarchal line. It seemed the feathers were for Penelope alone. So. Damned. Special. She was the prudent one. Cautious. Independent. Penny could tell their parents “no”, with no recourse. Callie didn’t have the same freedom. She was to be near royalty, the kind of leader that fights for those who cannot fight for themselves and yet Lucien still put Penny first. Even now. Even then. Callie would take their mother’s place in the Dreamscape, so why was he so damned focused on Penny? She’d always aimed to protect her sister, but her resolve had weakened.

The smell of paint and coffee brought her out of her reverie and as she righted herself, and reached up the doorframe to pull herself up, she glanced around the studio. Everything was in order. As she caught sight of her latest piece, and began to move forward, she heard people downstairs, and turning away from her studio headed toward them. Their voices were deep in conversation, concerned only with themselves. Callie’s inner negative voice raged, Could have used your help guys. Thanks for rushing. Thanks for nothing. Good thing I can take care of myself. Looks like I’ll have to. Don’t worry about me, I’ll just pass out in the doorway. Ugh. Then calmed. Use this to your advantage but be prudent about it. Prudent. Sure. She could do that.

“Callie!” Penny’s voice carried up the stairs.

Tamping down her anger, Callie called out, “What’s up?”

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she entered the kitchen. Penny smiled, handing her a fresh cup of coffee, and Callie glanced at her watch. Eight a.m.?

“Gallery owner called,” Penny said, reaching for Callie’s cell phone. “She left a voicemail.”

Callie snatched it from her sister’s hand, punched in her passcode, and clicked over to voicemail. Her face heated. A last minute reception had been put together on behalf of one of the gallery’s benefactors. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were rumpled, she hadn’t eaten, she needed to wash her hair, get ready and “be dressed to impress” had been the underlying theme of the call. Still, none of her paintings were wrapped and ready to move.

Her little dream escapade had lasted all night long, and she only had a few hours to get ready to take the paintings to the gallery. Well, her paintings were finished, she just had to get them there. She could spend a few minutes easing into the day. She deserved it.

Callie draped herself across the kitchen chair at the table and considered the four places set. Their mom had always set four places, saying the fourth was for those who joined them in spirit. Thinking of Mom reminded her of the doctors who kept asking for a do-not-resuscitate order and permission to unplug. It set Callie’s teeth on edge the way they pushed. Didn’t they understand she wasn’t in a medical coma, but a metaphysical one? Of course not, why would they? How could they? The doctors were just humans, after all. Most of them. She thought briefly about Annie, the Spirit Healer. And that Callie had put her there?

She kept waiting for someone to send a bolt of lightning or something. The waiting was killing her. Surely the Council intended to punish her beyond stripping her of her Dreamscape mantle, that spider silk web that grew so heavy upon the Priestess’s shoulders as the demons grew bolder, the dragons older, and the shadows colder.

She opened her hand, rubbed the mark tattooed there, and sighed. If her mother were awake, she could talk through everything and try to make sense of what was happening.

Callie could never tell Penny what had happened the night their mother ended up in the hospital. She’d had tried to block it out, but the memories were too strong, and too damning. Callie also knew money was an issue, and that was where some of the tension lay between her and Penny. Maybe she could at least fix their money problems with a good gallery show. Especially, if she could sell a piece or three to Oscar Duncan.

credit to Fallon Clark for the cover image.

I have gone back-and-forth ad nauseum about whether or not to serialize this book and have decided to rip off the Band-Aid(tm) or plaster, if you prefer.

Disclaimer: it’s not going to be perfect, but it has been story coached, developmental, and line-edited, any typos or similar issues are mine and mine alone.

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