Serafina sat on the floor in the back of her shop, opening boxes. Since she had discovered eBay, every day was like Christmas. It was amazing, all the weird and wondrous things you could find for sale there.

Of course, her passion was books. The boxes she was opening now contained a collection of books she had purchased from a seller on eBay who claimed that the books had originally belonged to the ' seller's great-great-grandmother, who had been a practicing witch.

Serafina removed the books from the boxes reverently. One by one, she thumbed through them, thrilled with what she saw. The books were indeed old and rare, some so old they had been written in longhand.

One especially caught her eye. It was a book of ancient mystical blood rituals. There were spells for curing warts and insomnia and for healing a variety of illnesses, most of which no longer existed. There were love spells, of course. What witch hadn't been approached for a charm that would win the love of another? The last part of the book was dedicated to dark Magick.

Serafina hesitated to turn the page. She had been taught that witchcraft should only be used for good, but curiosity finally won out. She turned the pages, scanning them quickly, until she came to the last page.

The words seemed to blur before her eyes.

An Incantation to Raise the Dead

On All Hallow's Eve, between dusk and dawn,

The blood of kin must be drawn,

Nine drops, no more, no less,

The blood of kin you must bless.

To this the blood of love you add,

And the blood of an enemy, it must be had.

Seven drops of each, one by one,

Quickly now, it must be done.

Four drops of a maiden's blood,

Rosemary for remembrance,

An infant's blood, three drops for life anew.

A sprinkling of yarrow, a dash of rue.

Spread the blood upon the crypt,

When the moon commands the sky.

Call forth the dead, his name times three,

Doubt not, and he will come to thee.

A shiver ran down her spine as she read the spell a second time. All Hallow's Eve. Among witches and warlocks, it was considered the most magical night of the year, a night of power, when the veil that separated this world from the world of spirits was at its thinnest.

She read the poem again. It seemed much too easy and yet, if it was remotely possible, All Hallow's Eve was the perfect night for such a spell. In ancient times, it was the one night in the year when the dead could return to the land of the living. In Ireland, burial mounds were opened and torches lit so the dead could find their way, though all had to return to their rightful place at sunrise.

But if her incantation worked, Anthony would not have to return to the Otherworld. She closed her eyes, her mind filling with images of her beloved. Was it truly possible to raise the dead? To see him again! He would surely love her then!

The blood of kin. Anton, of course. The blood of an enemy. Roshan or his wife, either would do. The blood of a maiden? Roshan's daughter. An infant's blood, and rosemary. The blood of love would be her own blood, of course, freely given.

Hugging herself, she imagined how wonderful it would be to see Anthony again, to hear his voice, see his smile. And how wonderful for Anton to finally meet his father!

All Hallow's Eve. She had only a few months to plan and prepare. It seemed too long, and not long enough.