The Charge

(A Spanish version of this story can be read here)

 “In ancient times, the king represented the kingdom in his person. Now, we have a king of rot, and he has begun to corrode everything. The kingdom rejects him.”

Nancy y el misterio del grimorio

 

The car entered the wide, tree-lined road. A sign, an essential element to confirm that it was still in the United States of America, identified the area as Shenandoah National Park.

Although it wasn't that far from home, Tamara Drew had never been to Virginia. In fact, she'd traveled more across the country in the last few months, in the company of Marietta Là Bas, than she had in her 17 years of life. 18, she corrected herself; starting today, 18. Marietta had gone to France, where she'd be for a week, and had offered Tammy the option of accompanying her; she'd chosen to stay. Although Marietta had shown enough polite concern to leave her alone on her birthday, she was sure it brought her some relief to leave her behind; the means Marietta used to resolve certain legal and political situations were rather drastic, and since she'd made the commitment with Grandpa Roy to instruct and protect her, she'd noticed that Marietta was careful not to involve her in certain matters. But Tamara merely pretended not to notice; she had no desire herself to be involved in those instances, but she didn't judge Marietta for it either. The world was at war; and she was trying to do something to make things better. That was all that mattered.

Marietta had asked her if she would return to spend her birthday with her grandfather, but she had other plans to make the most of these days; that's why she was here. She told her so, and Marietta listened attentively, smiled, and went to get something wrapped in a red cloth that she had placed on her altar days before. She put it in her hands, saying:

“Ian, my druid friend who came to visit me a couple of weeks ago, asked me to do this, remember? You saw him before he left that day. Perhaps you could do it for me... from what you're saying, his idea is similar to yours,” and she proceeded to explain what Ian had told him…

She got out of the car and approached the tollbooth; of course, she had to pay the entrance fee. Ladies and gentlemen, this is America. A five-foot-high vertical sign listed the exhausting prohibitions and conditions for entering a protected forest area; she took a picture of it with her cell phone so she could refer to it if necessary. A young man with a small mustache smiled as he greeted her and stifled a yawn while handing her a ticket.

“I'll only be here a few hours,” Tammy said, and then asked, “Could you tell me which areas the king visited?” The media, which continued to dissect the visit of the king and queen of England to the White House, hadn't said a word about their other activities on American soil; the most important ones, in Tammy’s opinion. And a couple of days earlier, the royal couple had visited Shenandoah National Park.

“Yes, of course,” the young man stuck his head out to call through the crack in the window, “Jane! Can you come over?” A dark-skinned young woman in a ranger uniform, leaning against a tree, placed a soda can on a wooden fence and approached. The young man explained Tammy's request.

“Come along,” she said, nodding, “I'll take you to the lookout.” Tammy followed, hiding her displeasure; she didn't want a babysitter during her visit. But on second thought, and this could be ideal.

The events of the last few weeks had prompted her to reread, for the umpteenth time, the old collection of Carolyn Keene young adult novels that had been with her since childhood, featuring a protagonist whose surname she shared through family inheritance, as the great-niece not only of Nancy but also of her cousin, Dr. Desmond Drew. In the first book of the series, The Secret of the Old Clock, the young detective Nancy Drew spent a great deal of time interviewing those who had known old Crowley in life, whose legacy she needed to trace; She had grown familiar with a man she had never met in person through those who did. This was her chance to do likewise: to learn more about the king of England's visit by talking to someone who had been there.

Jane got into the car with her and showed her where to park further ahead, closer to the road they would be taking.

In the parking lot, two police cars were parked. An obese man wearing a red MAGA cap was shouting, “I don't see you doing a thing!” while a police officer listened with visible anger. Amid accusations of indolence and incompetence, he repeatedly interjected, “Don't you know who I am?” As Tammy stopped the car, the officer said patiently, “I need to fill out the report, buddy,” prompting the man to feign offense at being spoken to so informally.

The man in the cap finally paused and took a Milky Way from a backpack on the seat of his van, through the open door, and began to chew. Ranger Jane glanced at the man, then gave Tammy a sharp look, raising her eyebrows. The man stared at the dark-skinned young woman with distaste and said,

“Do they employ illegals here? That would explain a lot.” Jane grimaced and shook her head, no doubt suppressing a response to his insolent remark. They got out of the car, and Tammy walked past a blond boy standing by a trash can, holding a couple of Milky Ways and biting into one. He stared at her as she passed, but his grim expression didn't soften; for a moment their eyes met, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the bruise on his temple from some blow. She followed Jane along a paved path, feeling the boy's gaze on her rear end.

“This way,” Jane pointed uphill; the path climbed a gentle slope.

“What's that guy got up his romp?” Tammy asked.

“He insists his watch was stolen from the dashboard. Sure, Bill pointed out the sign that says, ‘We are not responsible for valuables not left with the caretaker,’ etc., but that jerk is the brother of a Republican congressman and thinks he owns the world. He called the police to waste time. He probably lost the watch himself in the woods and won't admit it. He just wants to make us look incompetent so he thinks he won a fight he's fighting with nobody.”

 “The worst of the worst has been coming out of the woodwork,” Tammy replied. “They think they're so big having one of their own in power.

“Anyway. Were you here when the royal couple came?” Tammy asked to change the subject, and Jane visibly perked up at the memory.

“They were very gentle,” she said, “that surprised me. I always thought royalty was arrogant, but not at all. The queen was rather reserved, but the king insisted on sitting and chatting with the rangers; he was very open. Don't get me wrong, royalty seems outdated to me; but even though the queen had some of that, he was something else, I don't know, maybe he's more aware that they carry a hierarchical apparatus that doesn't mean much anymore.”

The lookout offered a magnificent expanse of forest; Jane adjusted her ranger hat to keep the wind from blowing it off. A second question vanished unspoken; Tammy decided that just being here had justified the road trip. Jane watched her reaction and grew silent to allow her to take in the scenery. After a moment, Tammy remembered her purpose; she smiled apologetically and said:

“You were telling me… about the royal couple’s activities?”

“The king agreed to swear in a group of new rangers; later, at the cabins, he met Buddy, the bald eagle we have here, and then she unveiled some stones symbolizing a new conservation partnership between Shenandoah and the Cairngorms in Scotland, along with commemorative plaques”.

“Yes…” Tamara sought the best way to phrase her crucial question; perhaps it was best to be straightforward. “And was there any place… I don’t know, somewhere that wasn’t part of the formal tour you prepared for him… where the king stopped?”

Jane thought it over for a moment.

“There was one time. He asked which were the oldest trees. Those would be the yellow poplars; some are up to 500 years old. The king asked to see one of those trees up close, and we took him there. It’s not in the general access area, but if you want to go there, I don’t think there will be a problem; there’s no strict restriction, it’s just not a tourist area.”

“I would love to see it, please!” Jane led her along a dirt path that circled a grove of trees, past a low, wooden fence, with A sign reading “Staff Only” and the path, narrower and straighter, but well-defined from constant use, led them a little over half a kilometer through the trees.

“The Queen chose to turn back and sit down,” Jane explained, “but the king continued on foot, even though they offered to bring one of the motorized carts we use in the tourist area for supervision. He has remarkable strength for his age.”

“Now that he’s king, he probably has few opportunities to be in nature,” Tammy said, admiring the surroundings. She had been raised in the Appalachians, and it amazed her how different one natural environment could be in every way from another. For her, acquainted with the environment, the trees, and the plants of her home further north intimately, this was another world, even though the distance on a map wasn’t so remarkable.

“Yes,” Jane continued, thinking about the king. “I heard he converted his estate to organic farming in 1986. He didn’t hide his passion for nature, even though the media in his country ridiculed him, as if being part of the family, he had no right to whatever lies outside palaces. I think that for him, on a personal level, his visit here was the most important thing, not a diplomatic meeting with a president who wants to hand over all the ecological reserves to logging, who destroyed Jackie Kennedy's garden, who thinks windmills are harmful, and we must go back to using coal. Just this morning—” Jane's anger got the better of her—“I just found out that the president has legalized trophy hunting in national parks!” Tammy stared at her in shock. That was worse than she had imagined.

“I don’t think that will last long, nor will this presidency; but it will take longer to undo the damage. You’re right, I’m sure coming here was the most important thing for the king,” Tammy said, remembering what Marietta had told her. “Here is North America, the living land, not just some con artist who sees this as something to be sold.” She wondered if it was wise to continue, but she couldn’t stop. “In Europe, kings were the embodiment and extension of the lands they ruled; they weren’t just owners, they were the face of that land. Some may have been as bad as the president we have now, but in any land there are good and bad people, and they are all part of it. The king was, and is, a role to fill, a piece of something bigger, not just a political figure.”

She finally fell silent, uncomfortably, thinking she might have sounded eccentric. Jane regarded her as they walked; finally, she nodded.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I like that. My parents have always said that we are part of the place where we live; part of its soul,” she smiled. “But at that point, they wander off with anecdotes about when they met at a New Age event, the Harmonic Convergence of 1987.”

Tammy smiled and nodded. Grandfather had also told her about that event, although he sometimes satirized what he called “hippie excesses.”

“We’re almost there,” Jane announced. “Over there, those three trunks sharing a root; that’s one of the oldest yellow poplars, perhaps the oldest of them all.”

As they approached, Tammy observed the enormous tree; the trunks weren’t very thick. She would have expected a huge, wide trunk, but it wasn’t. Although, compared to other surrounding poplars, which were considerably more slender, there was a noticeable difference.

“When he arrived here, the king simply sat down on that rock and asked us to leave him alone for a few minutes; he said he wished to absorb the atmosphere.” Even his companions or bodyguards stayed a dozen meters away with their backs to her—Tammy approached the tree and extended her left hand to touch it. She turned to look at Jane, who was watching her with a raised eyebrow. “And no, I’m not going to leave you alone even for a few minutes, I’m sorry.”

Tammy sighed in resignation. This wasn’t going to be easy. She hoped she wouldn’t have to sneak back.

“What were you planning to do?” Jane asked, moving closer. Tamara was certain her expression hadn’t betrayed her thoughts.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“You were very precise,” Jane said. “Not in the way you asked the questions; there simply wasn’t any reason for anyone to assume the king had deviated from his itinerary for even a moment; and not only did you ask that, but you specifically asked about the king, as if you knew that this deviation from the schedule hadn’t included the queen.” Jane crossed her arms. “You knew that he requested to come here. How is that possible?”

Tammy sighed and leaned back against the tree, frustrated. It wasn't just that her plans had been thwarted; it was that she'd given herself away like that. A rookie mistake. Although, after all, she was a rookie; even though she'd spent her whole life reading and imagining, with the books about her great-aunt Nancy, and also those about the Hardys, the Three Investigators, not to mention those about Holmes, Poirot, Marple, and the rest… she'd only been seriously considering doing investigations for a few months, right after meeting Marietta. Surely Nancy had had her share of missteps!

Jane watched her, waiting for an answer, and she decided to be honest. Something that also went against all logic; the standard reaction would have been to offer some excuse, get kicked out of the park, and return at night to jump fences and evade cameras. But she liked Jane; besides, she was intelligent. She didn't like the idea of ​​being confronted by her in the early hours if she somehow anticipated those plans. So she sat on the rock where the king had sat days before and told her about Marietta. Not everything, of course; only how she had become her hedge witchcraft teacher, those practices of magic, herbalism, and spirituality in which Marietta had been initiated in Europe, and which, in a different form, Tamara had inherited from the Drew family in the Appalachians—something her great-aunt Nancy's branch hadn't shared. She also told her about the visit from Ian, Marietta's druid friend, and the task he had entrusted to her. Ian, in turn, had received the commission from a friend of his, an old cunner or witch from the Scottish Highlands, who had placed a stone with an engraved rune in the hands of the king of England. A stone from some crystallized boulders on the shores of Loch Ness, which legend held to be the remains of a giant's palace, where they had lived before retreating to sleep beneath the mountains. The cunner had told the king:

“Your family has always honored the old ways; even in a way that all who could see knew, ever since the Order of the Garter was established. Go, and place this stone at the foot of the oldest tree in a sacred place in America, among the roots of the guardian of that land. There, too, giants sleep, and like ours, some are already awake. America is suffering like the nation of the Fisher King, the ailing ruler who refuses to die and plunges the lands he represents into decay by clinging to the throne. The Fisher King of our legends eventually acknowledged his fate and built the bridge that would save his people; but the king of America will not do that. The giants need to stir and cleanse their lands of the corrupt before those lands become barren. If your hand, the hand of Albion, places the stone among the roots of a Guardian, they will listen.”

The king, who knew enough about the tradition to respect and understand this to some degree, had given his word; And his wounded hand was undoubtedly due to the fact that he had traced the rune with his blood before burying the stone, according to the Ways.

The old Cunner had then given Ian, the druid, a flask containing an infusion. He had told him that it contained the names and blood of three witch clans, one from the Highlands, one from the Black Forest, and one from Wales; Ian was to infuse it with the names and blood of his druid order, so that various sacred currents of the British Isles would lend their strength and support to the act performed; upon placing the flask in Marietta's hands, she had added to the infusion the blessings of her French and Italian legacies, and had entrusted Tamara with taking it to the place where the king had placed the stone so that, before pouring it there, she could also infuse it with the legacy of the Appalachian witch clan to which her family belonged, a branch of the Old Ways rooted in North America. Weeks earlier, Tamara had been present at a sui generis ceremony when the Great Goddess rose from Irkalla (1), to awaken in the lands of America and begin to cleanse them; now, the forces of other lands would intertwine with those of this one to form an unbreakable network, and safeguard the ancient land. In this way, when the infusion was poured in order to awaken (2) the stone that the king had placed, they would ensure that the Sleepers under the Hills would hear the call, to act in favor of these lands.

“…and that’s what I came to do,” Tammy concluded. “Find the place where the king buried the runestone, add my own contribution to the brew, and pour it out to call the spirits of this land.”

She was silent and looked at Jane; she wished she could avoid feeling like a student in the principal’s office awaiting chastisement.

Jane lowered her gaze; Tammy tried to guess her thoughts, thought she might be searching for a way to tell her firmly that she should leave and not return, without being rude.

Jane brought a hand to her eyes and, with a gesture that was meant to be discreet, wiped away a tear.

She looked at her, pressing her lips together in an awkward smile, and took off her ranger hat.

“Wow,” she said. “You reminded me of my mother. She was Lakota, that’s why I’m dark-skinned. The way she talked about some things…” She wiped her other eye. “…was kind of similar, though with different words.” Look… what did you say your name was?

“Tamara.”

“Tamara.” Jane regarded her, now looking uncomfortable, as if about to make a confession. “My mother also told me something before I came to Shenandoah. The last thing she told me; I was notified of her death two months later.” She paused for a moment, regaining her composure. “She told me… ‘That place is good, it’s an old place. Don’t let it sleep; find the forefathers.’”

Tammy stood up, unsure what to say.

“I can’t stop you from doing what you were asked to do,” Jane continued. “Even though my job says I can’t allow it.”

Tammy nodded nervously.

“You don’t have to leave me alone,” she said. “With all this, I know you respect it… that you understand.” She took the vial wrapped in red cloth from her pocket, unwrapped it, and added, “I think… I think you should infuse some of your own essence into it as well.”

“What…?” Jane looked confused.

“However you feel. But let's do this… please, come along.” Jane nodded and approached, while Tammy bent down to examine the soil surrounding the old tree. After a moment, she reached out and parted some weeds; they rose up along with a sprig of grass roots.

“See this? The grass was separated from the soil without breaking it, and the soil is still disturbed. This is where the king must have buried the stone.” Then she stood up; placed a hand on the trunk and took off her left boot, putting it on the grass to feel its coolness. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms. Jane, watching her, imitated her actions, taking a little longer to unlace her boot.

“Guardian of this land, we come before you in the name of the Old Ones, the spirits of Mastery, the ancestors of this continent, and the ancestors of Albainn.” Tammy bowed briefly and quickly, bending at the waist, toward the tree, her eyes closed. Jane had also closed her eyes, but bowed her head briefly as she repeated those words in a low voice.

Tammy knelt on one knee, spread the red cloth on the grass, and removed the cork from the flask; the task took her a couple of minutes. Jane watched her and knelt beside her.

Tammy placed the flask on the red cloth and took a small folding knife from her pocket. She pricked her left ring finger and squeezed a couple of drops of blood onto her right palm.

She brought her hand to her lips and murmured:

“Syth. Tubal” —and spat a little saliva into her palm. She mixed it with the drops of blood with his finger, then collected the mixture with it; she placed it in the flask and dipped it into the infusion, murmuring: “Thus I infuse the names and the blood of my lineage into the names of the Master and the Lady.”

She then looked at Jane; she offered her the knife.

Jane nodded, took it, and also drew a few drops of blood from her finger, collecting them in her palm. Then, she brought it to her lips and said:

“Wakan Tanka tunakasila” —she spat into her palm, and introduced the mixture of blood and saliva into the infusion.

She held it out to Tamara to return it, but she did not take it.

“You are last in line to complete the infusion. You do it.”

Jane poured the liquid onto the earth, at the spot where the runestone had been buried, until the flask was empty.

They were both silent for a moment, and a wind rose, growing stronger and louder; many leaves flew around them, birds fluttered about. Neither said anything, but they shared the certainty that they had been heard; not only them, but Marietta, Ian, the cunner, the king, the clans, the ancestors. The land had heard.

“Now all that remains is to wait,” Tammy said, standing up.

“And help out,” Jane added, with a weak smile. “Pray to God, and keep your powder dry.”

“Of course,” Tammy was glad she hadn't been the one to say it; in large part, she had embraced her apprenticeship with Marietta because she knew that she, as Lady Satan, had not only assumed an initiatory name but an identity of proactive social resistance. Hearing Jane say this reaffirmed her certainty that it wasn't just them, but many people, more and more each day, willing to change things before they got worse. But they would only play backup to the forces of Fate, and of the Land, which would bring about true change.

They walked back, almost in silence; both were still processing the experience. Tammy felt slightly dizzy, even though the magickal working hadn't been that intense… on the surface. Of course, the Sleepers were vast forces, and you couldn't make a mere “slight” contact with a tidal surge.

They arrived at the parking lot; the guy with the MAGA hat was pacing back and forth, smoking a cigar despite the signs that clearly prohibited it, and one of the police officers was sitting on a bench, looking bored, next to one of the rangers. The boy was slumped in the van's seats, and his mother was chattering on her cell phone, complaining about the rangers' intransigence and lack of interest.

Tammy then turned to Jane and gave her a wide, exaggerated smile; she held out her arms, gesturing wildly.

“Thank you so much! It's been wonderful seeing this place, thank you for all the trouble you went to,” Tammy said loudly while Jane stared at her as if she'd gone mad. Tammy continued, walking backward to stand in front of Jane without stopping, “This place is so beautiful that…” Jane's warning cry came too late, and Tammy's hips slammed into the trash can, knocking it over; she stumbled, turning to see the mess she'd made, and started walking on the scattered garbage, trying to regain her balance.

The second Milky Way wrapper she stepped on crunched loudly.

“Good heavens! What did I just step on?” She bent down and held up a gold wristwatch, which had been irreparably broken by her stomp. “Good heavens! This was in that chocolate wrapper. No wonder it made so much noise when that man in the cap threw a wrapper into the trash can earlier!”

The police officer’s face lit up; he stood up and came to pick up the watch. Tammy handed it to him and reached for her cell phone. It was undoubtedly very expensive, but it had been snapped in two.

“So ‘that man in the cap’ threw a wrapper that made a lot of noise, huh?” the officer repeated, smiling. The man in question came storming toward them.

“I didn’t do any of that!” he shouted, his face turning red at the sight of the ruined watch. “Kevin!” he roared, turning back to his van, where the boy had straightened up and was watching everything with a mocking grin. “You did this, you idiot!” The man strode toward him, grabbed his shirt, and raised his fist, ready to punch his son squarely in the face.

“Bob!” his wife shrieked, then added, speaking into her cell phone, “I’ll call you later.”

The punch was already underway when, at the same time, the man fell face-first to the side of the van; Tammy had kicked the foot he was standing on, making him fall. The fist passed harmlessly over the boy’s head, while the man’s nose cracked against the edge of the open door. He straightened up to face Tammy, bringing a hand to his nose, which was already starting to bleed. He started to curse at her and raised his fist menacingly.

Tammy took a few steps back and pointed with her index finger at the cell phone she held in her other hand.

“Go ahead, you can hit me; the video of how you tried to hit your son was very clear.”

The man turned to look at the officer.

“Arrest this tart!” he ordered. “You saw how she attacked me. Look how I'm bleeding.”

 

“I don't think so,” the officer replied.

"Don't you know who I am? You idiot, I'll make sure you never find a job in this country again. Confiscate that tart's cell phone right now!”

“No problem,” Tammy said, with a slight smile. “Just let me finish the Instagram live stream. By the way, I tagged your brother, the government official; this already has a lot of views.”

For once, the man was speechless. The officer took the opportunity to approach the young man, who had gotten out of the van and was watching everything with the expression of a child in a circus.

“Kid, if you want to file a report, now’s the time; my partner already told me that when she reviewed the security camera footage to identify the thief, she saw how your father gave you that black eye after getting out of your vehicle. The park’s social worker is on her way here, and you don’t have to go back home if you don’t want to.”

“Get in the truck right now, you moron!” the man yelled, and would have forced his son to do so, but Jane and Tammy blocked his path while the officer drove the boy toward the cabin from which the other officer emerged with two rangers.

Once the boy was safe at the social worker’s office, and the officer had taken Tammy’s statement—in addition to sharing the video with him, which by this point had been shared over 40 times in social media—Jane walked Tammy to her car.

“It was the boy who threw the watch, right?” Jane said.

“Of course, to get back at his father.” "Did you see him?"

“It wasn't necessary; I saw how things were, and by the time we got to the tree I'd already figured out what to do, of course, as long as they hadn't left.”

“People like him always draw things out as long as they can, fortunately," Jane said, looking at her curiously. “You're full of surprises.”

“Nah,” Tammy said, getting into her car and added with a smile. “I'm an open book. One of Carolyn Keene's!”

Jane was already on her way back to the administration cabin when she finally recalled that name, and understood the reference, with a giggle.

 

Tammy Drew’s first adventure may be read in Nancy y el misterio del grimorio. Siete pasos hacia el Abismo (Tubal Albainn, 2026).

 

Credits

“The Charge” Copyright © 2026 Luis G. Abbadie. Credit must always be given to the author.

Tamara Drew is an original creation of Luis G. Abbadie, and first appeared in Nancy y el misterio del grimorio. Siete pasos hacia el Abismo (Tubal Albainn, 2026).

Nancy Drew, conceptually created by Edward Stratemeyer, was developed and characterized by Mildred Wirt Benson, under the pseudonym Carolyn Keene, still used today by most of her writers. She first appeared in Secret of the Old Clock (1930) and has had numerous adaptations in television series, films, and video games. Her first four novels have fallen into the public domain, and only elements of this original version are used here. Later stories and characters remain protected by copyright law and are trademarked.

Lady Satan, originally published in Dynamic Comics 2 (1941) and 3 (1942) and in Red Seal Comics 17 (1946) and subsequent issues, her best-known version was created by George Tuska; she is in the public domain due to legal peculiarities.

Dr. Desmond Drew, a paranormal investigator, was created by Will Eisner and Jerry Grandenetti in the pages of Rangers Comics #47 (June 1949), under the title "The Secret Files of Dr. Drew"; it is in the public domain due to legal quirks.

 The Available Heroes is a series of stories that bring back classic public domain characters, orphaned or open source, to face the challenges of today's world.

This is a work of fiction, in which any resemblance to real-life characters and situations is subject to the rules of parody, and is not intended in any way to constitute a faithful representation of reality.

Footnotes 

1) This took place in Nancy y el secreto del grimorio.

2) Current New Age lexicón would use the term “actívate,” which repels me in this context, but I include it for the sake of clarity.