Authors: Jamieson Wolf
She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand. You don't care." She threw herself on her bed and began to cry.
Moe, moved by her tears, moved to her. "Don't cry, Monica," he said rather feebly. He had never been good at sentiments. "Why are you trapped here?" He asked.
"I'm not trapped here, I'm kept here. This room is my prison, don't you get that?"
"Your prison? Why is this a prison, Monica?"
"You don't understand! This IS a prison, THEY keep me here, have kept me here to keep their secrets, to keep their. . . ." she shook her head, putting a hand to her mouth.
Moe tried to get her to speak, to coax out of her what she had been about to say, but to no avail. She stopped speaking and turned away from him. Soon after, he left the room, passing through the wall and going down to the greenhouse. Women, he decided, were more trouble than they were worth.
When Moe had left, Monica lifted her head and turned. The room felt even more empty than usual without Moe in there with her. She looked at herself in the mirror above her dresser. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes made her beautiful. She would need to be even more beautiful to attract Moe. For that, she realized, was what she really wanted. Not freedom, though to break free of her prison would be wonderful. Not the life of the living. She only wanted Moe. Now all she had to do was think of a way to get him. Observing herself in her mirror, Monica looked at her breasts. She would start with those. It would take time, she knew, but it would be worth it. She put her hand into the glass, into the depths of the mirror in front of her. Pulling her hand out, her palm was filled with silver grains of sand. They glistened in the moonlight that shone through the window.
Soon
, Monica thought.
Soon
.
Chapter Fifteen
Midnight Thoughts
Roz woke in darkness. Standing, she went to the bedroom window. Chip lay beside her, snoring peacefully. They had brought her home from the hospital today, full of brightness and fake cheer. She knew it was for her benefit. She held out her hand, pressed her palm against the glass, could feel the coldness of it seep into her finger bones. She welcomed the cold. It kept the heat in her stomach at bay. She would kill the thing inside her, but she didn't know how. Since that time in Jethro's house, surrounded by vines, she had been different. She could feel that she was different; it was stamped on her genetic makeup now, she had been changed. Looking out in the darkness, she felt it.
"It's coming," she said, whispering her words in the darkness. Her words fell around her like dead leaves. She had been seeing things. Since Valentine's Day, all matter of things ran through her brain, filling her with dread and despair. There were whisperings on the wind, omens in the sky. Evil was coming. She felt like Chicken Little worried about the sky falling. This comparison brought a smile to her lips.
She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, feeling its coldness soothe her. She had changed, she knew, since Valentines'. She had become a different woman, a beacon. Like all prophets and crazy people before her, her warnings would not be heeded either. She could feel the evil growing strength. It occurred to her that perhaps she could sense the evil growing because of the child growing in her stomach. She knew the child wasn't Chip’s, could tell that from the outset. This baby was Jethro's. Roz remembered him looking down at her, her wrists broken and two of her ribs, blood pouring down her face. Chip lay unconscious on the floor in front of their bed, his skull smashed in. She had thought he was dead. She still heard Jethro's voice, could still hear its coldness.
"You're a beautiful woman," he had said to her, whispering to her like a loved one. "David was always talking about you, how much he loved you." Jethro laughed. It was a cruel, bitter sound. "He talked about you a lot."
Her breath had been coming out in ragged gasps and she was spraying blood all over herself, though she wasn't aware of this. "Really?" she managed. "Must have pissed you off, his liking a woman."
He hit her hard across the face. "Yes," he said, flexing is hand, blood on his knuckles. "But now, I'm getting my pay back aren't I?" He laughed again. "David always said how much he loved you. . .does your husband love you?" He went over to Chip, dragging his body into a sitting position.
"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" Roz had screamed. She saw the blood coming from her mouth and lips then, a fine spray that covered her in red. "Don't you touch him!"
"I'm not going to touch him." Jethro said. "I want him to watch when I touch you." He hit Chip across the face in an effort to rouse him, but to no avail. Chip remained out cold. "No matter," Jethro said, taking off his shirt. "This will give us more privacy. It wasn't until he had taken off his pants and she had seen him enlarged there, that she had any idea of what was about to happen.
She hadn’t known that she was pregnant until Chip had told her the news, soon after he had brought her home from the hospital. She put a hand to her stomach and pressed slightly, feeling the resistance, the life. She knew whose baby this was. No amount of wishing could make it otherwise. If she concentrated, she could still hear Jethro. "I need to make sure I have an offspring. . ." he had said. She shivered and took her hand away from the glass.
Roz didn't know whether or not it was because of the baby inside her, but she could feel the evil building. There wasn't much time left and she knew it was quickly building strength. She hoped that, as the evil grew closer, her visions would become more clear. She had begun to see things. She could see the face of a woman, a silhouette. She knew this woman, but that could be anyone. As the evil had come for David, the evil would come for someone else she loved too. Unless she was strong enough to stop it.
* * * * *
The knock came just after midnight. It was soft, but persistent. Karma looked at the clock and put down her book. She had been reading a new Charles De Lint, he always managed to enthral her. At the sound of the knock, however, all thoughts of her novel were put aside. She could sense magic on the other side of her door. Being a Coven Witch, Karma was capable of a few things. Talents, she called them. One of her talents was to extend her aura, to feel out what was there, before she stepped into it. She felt no evil in this magic, but still approached the front door carefully. She pulled aside the curtain and looked into an old woman's face. She smiled at her and gestured at the door. Karma opened it.
The woman was old, but not as old as Karma had first thought. She had white hair arranged in curls and twinkling blue eyes. Karma knew that twinkles could be dangerous. "Karma Astrale?" the woman said.
Karma nodded. "That's me."
"My name’s Cecelia Robinson," the woman said. "You and I have a few things to discuss."
* * * * *
Karma looked Cecelia up and down with a smug look on her face. "And who are you?"
Cecelia pushed past Karma and pushed the door closed behind her. "There is no time for distinguishing who is the bigger Witch or who has a bigger broomstick. You already know what I am."
The clock on Karma's mantle finished striking midnight. Twelve notes that rung in the air like silence. "It is October first," Cecelia said. "We have thirty-one days left."
"How about you start telling me what this is all about." Karma said.
"How about you stop playing stupid?" Cecelia said. "Got anything to drink?"
"Some beer. Coffee, tea."
"Do you have any sherry?"
"No."
"Beer is fine."
"Make yourself comfortable in the living room," Karma said, pointing to the room to Cecelia's left. "I'll be right back."
Cecelia went into the living room and sat herself down on an old brown leather couch. It puffed up around her and dust spiraled around her head, looking like fog in the poor lighting of Karma's apartment. Karma returned and placed a beer in front of Cecelia and opened her own. "Alright, now why don't you tell me what this is about?"
"It's about Poppy Stone. I know she's a Shape Shifter."
Karma paled. "How did you know?" she whispered.
"Ha! THAT got your attention, didn't it? Wiped that smug look off your face too, I'm glad to see."
"Just tell me how you knew," Karma said. "You better mean her no harm, or I'll—"
"Easy, she came to us. I used to know a friend of her father’s and she wanted information."
"What does that have to do with Poppy being a Shape Shifter?
"I can feel it in her," Cecelia said. "So can my granddaughter, Naomi. We know what she is."
"And what are you?" Karma asked.
"We're Witches." She smiled. "Actually, I'm an Oracle. Naomi is the Witch in the family."
"An Oracle?" Karma bowed her head. "I'm sorry for my ignorance, my Lady."
Cecelia laughed. "There is no need to bow your head. I know your kind, I am a Coven Witch after all, as is Naomi." She eyed Karma. "Who is Poppy's Guide?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Karma said.
"DON'T PLAY STUPID WITH ME!" Cecelia yelled. She leapt out of her chair and got right in Karma's face. Red lightning danced behind her eyes. "LISTEN to me, because I don't have the patience for games. I know you are a Coven Witch and you've been given the job of watching over Poppy, who happens to the first Shape Shifter in over a thousand years."
Frightened, Karma nodded. "I'm now head of the Coven. . ."
Cecelia laughed. "You're head of the Coven?"
"Yeah. Debbie Macommb was my mother, Genie Halliway her mother before her. I'm the last in the succession. My daughter Starr leads after me."
"You got this job due to heredity? That explains a lot," she scoffed. "You know what Poppy is! Who is her Guide?"
Karma hung her head. "There are lots of Guides. . .I'm one, Alicia is one,
Orlando
is another."
"No, no, not her Watchers, I mean her Guide. Who was assigned to her at birth to make sure her magic flowed properly?"
"Alicia was. She's her partner."
"She doesn't seem to have filled her in."
"I've told her not to, yet."
"Why not?" Cecelia screamed. "We have a month and she doesn't even know what she is yet! How could you be so stupid?"
"We felt that the situation, delicate as it is—"
"Bull. You know what she is. You know what she will become. If Poppy changes without knowing what she is or how to handle it, it could kill her. And then you will have your death on her hands," she scoffed. "Your grandmother ran the Coven better than you ever did."
"But we've placed her in the Coven House to keep her safe—"
"Oh, great! Put her in a house full of ghosts and dead spirits. If her change doesn't kill her, the house will," Cecelia said.
"The house trusts her, it's comfortable with her."
"You know what happened at that house!" Cecelia spat. "How could you let Poppy live there! There is magic in her mother as well."
"Who? Lucy? No, I think you're mistaken."
Cecelia smiled. "I am never mistaken. Mark my words. If you don't tell Poppy what she is soon, she will die." She put down her beer and stood up, going to the door. "Don't trouble yourself. I'll show myself out." She smiled. "Have a nice day," she said.
Chapter Sixteen
Alone in the Attic
Poppy glanced at the canvas in front of her. It had remained blank for most of the morning. Her mind was on other things. There was something at the back of her head that told her she had dreamed, but she couldn't remember any of it. Every time she tried to close her fingers around the pictures in her head, they floated out of view. She had not told Alicia what the de Bruyns had said; had kept it to herself. She was keeping her own secrets now. It was odd, she thought, how much of our society was based around secrets. She knew that Alicia was keeping something from her, that things weren't being said. She knew it had to do with her use of magic. She could feel changes in her, they were happening inside her. She wished she could find out who her Guide was, that Cecelia and Naomi had talked about. If only she had someone to make sense of the changes going on around her, her world would make a whole lot of sense.
But why would she need a Guide? What was special enough to warrant something like a Guide to watch over her? There were too many secrets and not enough answers. She would talk to Alicia tonight. She had had enough with secrets, had had her fill of them. She hated to think that Alicia would be keeping things from her, but stuff wasn't adding up. Cecelia and Naomi seemed to know what was going on but were staying Mom on the subject. She had tried talking to Cecelia this morning but had gotten nowhere. "Your Guide must talk to you, dear," she had said. "It is the way things are done."
Poppy hated that answer. It infuriated her. She had long been doing things her own way and wished that others would do the same. She was about to put her brush into some soft blue paint when she heard a noise. It came from the other side of the attic. She was seated in front of one of two attic windows. The room was a bare space with rafters running along the ceiling. Poppy had brought up a fan; otherwise she'd be roasting in her paints. The attic was filled with furniture and nick nacks that decorated the corners, but Alicia had cleared out a large space in the middle of the room by the window and decorated it with a large, plush blue carpet, and a Japanese screen with a picture of flamingos on it, stretching their legs. Poppy thought that the items complemented the room. There was a certain old world charm up in the attic, surrounded by tons of old boxes, suit cases and stuff from their past. There were tons of boxes already in the attic when they moved in; they had yet to go through them.