Authors: Multiple
Chapter Ten
Cold, Hard Bitch
In the city, a modest
apartment normally cost around 1800 a month – and when I say modest, I
mean a studio that one shared with two other people.
For half that, I had a luxury
apartment in the heart of Raleigh, minutes from Glenwood South. I could still
remember seeing the posh building for the first time. The fanciful architecture
reminded me of some gothic science fiction novel, filled with vaulted ceilings
and high-tech gadgetry.
My apartment lacked most of
the pomp and circumstance. I only had a bed, a couch, a coffee table, an old
box type TV that worked when it felt like it, and a dresser.
Growing up, my father was one
of the precious few televangelists who didn't live in multi-million dollar
homes paid for by some poor sap down on their luck. He always taught me that a
clutter-free home (e.g. No pesky LCD TVs or fancy furniture) equaled a
clutter-free spirit. It was just about the only Dad-ism that stuck, but there
was something about living in a building that I wouldn't be able to even walk
inside in New York that was hard to pass up.
I flicked on the light switch
in the kitchen and the modest kitchen was illuminated. Most of my food
consisted of stuff that could be zapped - Ramen, TV dinners, etcetera. But I
wasn't looking for something to quell my appetite...the woman from the coffee
shop, Amy Jones, would be arriving any minute.
I pulled open the cabinet
above the stove and pulled out my spice carousel. I swiped lavender, cinnamon,
and wormwood – all agents to clarify and soothe the portal between our
world and the All. Hopefully it would also aroma-therapize the woman's lover.
Usually, if the ghost died a violent death, or if the connection summoning them
had unfinished business, or if the last contact had been a throwdown argument,
things could get a bit dicey.
I grabbed the blanket I used
for spellwork and spread it in the center of the living room. Next was my
makeshift altar, a small workbench draped with a white scarf. I lit the coals
inside the burner and put in the spices. Almost on cue, a couple of timid
knocks sounded at the door.
"It's open!" I
called out as I lit a bit of sage and walked around the room in clockwork fashion.
I could almost feel the walls sighing with relief as I stripped away the
negative energy. I was a regular supernatural Mr. Clean.
Amy stood frozen in the
doorway, her mouth agape. As was my front door. I hustled over to the door and
ushered her a few feet closer into the threshold before pulling the door
closed. If there was one thing I didn't need, it was a neighbor or two going to
management over the weird goth chick doing Satanic rituals. In New York, it
would garner a shrug. In North Carolina, at best it would lead to prying eyes.
At worst, eviction.
"It, uh, smells nice in
here," she said quietly, still clutching her bag like it was her lifeline.
"Good," I said with
a smile. "Hopefully Cady will agree with you."
"Cady," Amy
repeated as she scanned the room with skepticism. I could tell from the firm
line of her jaw that she still believed it was a crock. She was thinking my
apartment smelled like Bath and Body Works instead of ash and sulfur, or
whatever the horror movies claim a witch's lair smelled like. I had no crystal
ball, no skeleton head, or bubbling cauldron. "No Book of Shadows or
wand?" she said warily.
"You would have found
all that crap more believable?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Her eyes were apologetic.
"I'm sorry. Just a little on edge. Maybe you could explain what everything
means?"
I gestured at the counter,
where I'd stacked an array of magical tools that I'd gathered this morning.
"Witch hazel for purifying, the heart of an apple for knowledge,
and-" I brandished the silver pentacle around my neck. "My talisman
for strength and protection."
Like most mortals, she was
drawn to its gleam. Talismans were usually family heirlooms and are chalk full
of hundreds of years of family magic. Unmagical mortals and the supernatural were
drawn to them when witches use them for spellwork, which is why real witches
didn't perform rituals out in the open unless they wanted to draw unwanted
attention.
Amy absentmindedly reached
for it, her mouth agape, until I tucked it inside my t-shirt and mouthed a
small veiling charm. Once it disappeared from view and the power behind my
charm took effect, she shook her head, snapping back to reality. "I don't
believe in this stuff, you know."
I chuckled at the irony of
that, considering a few seconds ago she was ready to get down on her knees and
worship a bit of silver. "It's a lot to digest." I reached out and
steered her toward the ritual space I created in the living room. "You
brought the things I asked for?"
She pulled out a plastic
shopping bag from her purse and handed it to me. I peered inside. A picture of
Cady and Amy. Their house key. A folded letter that had clearly been read over
and over again. And a pacifier. "Your daughter's?"
Amy mustered a quick nod.
"Are the items okay?"
I trembled as I felt the
quiet power emanating from the items. "Oh yes."
I grabbed a can of salt from
the coffee table and handed it to her. "Shall we begin?"
She offered a nervous laugh.
"Too late to turn around now, right?"
I crossed my arms, my voice
serious. "Absolutely not. This isn't some parlor trick or ouija board,
Amy. If you're not totally committed, this could be dangerous. For the both of
us. So if you have doubts..."
She looked down at the items,
her eyes stopping on the pacifier. "N-no. I'm sure."
"Alrighty," I said
with a bright smile. "Let's get to work." I picked up the antique
bell I used for summonings. "While I walk in a circle, ringing the bell,
you have to walk behind me, creating a barrier with the salt." I stressed
the next words. "It's very important that it's a continuous, unbroken
circle. Understand?"
"I understand." Amy
said solemnly.
I walked slowly, clockwise in
a circle. Ding. Ding. Ding.
I stepped back and looked at
the circle Amy drew. It was near perfect, unbroken. "Good job."
Her lips twitched as she gave
another nod.
"Now you just sit back
and relax," I said, giving her a reassuring pat. I gave my pentacle one
last squeeze and said the incantation. Almost instantly, an apparition appeared
at the center of the circle, writhing and shaking until some of the energy
dissipated, leaving behind the woman from the photograph. Her golden hair fell
in tumultuous waves down her back and was in a disarray, like she'd just been
shaken from her slumber. Her oversized Meredith College t-shirt and bare legs
confirmed it. Cady died in her sleep.
Amy pushed past me, her eyes
widening in disbelief. "C-Cady?"
The ghost's oval eyes
brightened as she reached out. "Amy! I-" They both gasped as Cady
stopped when she hit the barrier just past the line of salt. She could go no
further.
Amy looked at me, her green
eyes filled with longing. "I can't touch her?"
"'Fraid not," I
replied. I pushed my will toward her as she took a few steps too close for
comfort toward the salt line. "If you break the circle, Cady will be stuck
in our plane. Purgatory. She'll never rest."
The ghost took two steps
back. "Well, next best thing, right?"
Amy broke down then, her body
spasming with heartbreaking sobs. "I miss you so much, baby. I've lost
everything. You, Hayden-"
Something flickered across
the ghost's ashen face. Something that looked an awful lot like guilt. The gasp
that fell from Amy's lips told me it wasn't lost on her either.
"Y-you knew," she
said hoarsely. "You changed your will. You cut me out."
The ghost shook its blonde
head then stopped, staring at the ground. "I loved you, Amy. I really
did."
"Loved?" Amy
repeated. "Did? As in past tense?"
I felt a real chill as the
ghost raised its head, the cold eyes filled with disdain. "Did you really
think I'd leave my baby with you so you could raise her with that bitch?"
"What?" Amy gasped.
“Who-what are you talking about?”
"Don't insult me,"
the ghost said disgustedly. "You know who."
I took a step back,
surprised. This was like Maury, live in my living room.
Amy's face fell, guilt now
evident on her face. The jig was up. "How did you know?"
"You stank of her cheap
perfume," the ghost said acidly. "And you started singing again. We
were arguing 98 percent of the time we were together, Amy. You didn’t have a
damn thing to sing about. It was so obvious. So I-" the ghost stopped,
seething with a quiet rage.
"I ended it," Amy
said, taking a step further. "Weeks before..."
"I bit it?" The
ghost finished cruelly. "You know, they say the likelihood of aneurysms
are increased by stress." The ghost eyeballed me. "If you found out
your significant other was screwing an 18-year-old while you're working 10 hour
days and trying to raise a baby, wouldn’t you be a little stressed?"
I cleared my throat, fumbling
with the hem of my t-shirt. "I'd, uh, rather stay out of it."
Amy was making sounds that I
was sure my neighbors would mistake for medieval torture. I gingerly patted her
on the shoulder. "Maybe we should-"
"How COULD you?"
Amy wailed at her lover. "You're gonna punish me for the rest of my
life?"
"Yep." The ghost
said shortly.
"You took away my
daughter because of a mistake? One horrible, stupid mistake?"
The ghost stood tall, her
words like daggers. "Maybe you should have thought about that while you
were in between her legs."
The room went quiet then, the
tension so evident you could cut it with a knife.
"Damn you!" Amy
shrieked suddenly, lunging forward. As she flailed manically, it took all my
strength to keep her from breaking my hold. She was cursed now...apparently she
wanted her lover to share her fate.
The ghost was laughing now,
evil guffaws full of hate. Each new round drove Amy even wilder, turning her
into a raging bull.
"God damn it, Amy!"
I said in between gasps as I gripped my pentacle. I could feel her slowly
weakening, my magic reining her in. "I can't let you do it." Not that
I didn't want to. Cheating was bad, yes. Horrible even. But using a child as a
chess piece was worse. And B was doing me a solid letting me do a discount
summoning. But if shit hit the fan, The Watchers would come for both of us. And
having B on my ass just wasn't worth it.
"Then send her
back," Amy sobbed. "Send the bitch BACK!"
"Reverto ex unde vos
venit," I said in between grunts. The lights flickered then returned to
normal. The ghost was gone.
I released my hold on Amy and
she sank to her knees, sobs erupting from her body in gasping rhythm. I didn't
even bother trying to comfort her.
With shaky hands, I swiped my
cigarette case from the table and pulled one out, lighting it with the candle.
So much for true love.
"How could she?"
Amy sobbed. "How COULD she?!?" I heard a ripping sound and turned
back to her as a flurry of fragments from their photo fell to the carpet. Amy
was on all fours, her chest heaving up and down.
"Amy-" I stopped
when I saw something glowing on her chest. I sank to the floor beside her,
peering at the opening of her blouse. "Oh my god!" I gasped, my eyes
going round. It was the same symbol that Kenny had on his wallet...right before
he shoved it down his throat.
Amy looked at me peculiarly,
clutching the opening of her blouse. "What-what are you-"
"N-no," I
interjected, realizing I probably looked like some perv. "I'm just trying
to help."
"Right," she
scoffed, pulling herself to her feet. She glanced back down at the pacifier,
tears streaming down her face. "Next time you wanna help me...don't."
And with that she marched to
the door, leaving her memories and what her life could have been on my living
room floor.
Chapter Eleven
The Mark of the Cursed
I took one of the paper
napkins and wiped down the old plastic chair beside Mom's old couch. I said a
little prayer of thanks that her dirty windows prevented the bright rays of
sunshine from illuminating the true state of her home.
There were stacks of books
piled on every surface, only a slender lane cleared through each room to
maneuver back and forth. Clothing was strewn and draped all over with no rhyme
or reason. Her cat, Midnight, sat perched on top of a leaning tower of
notepads. Cans of chicken noodle soup were scattered throughout, telling the
story of Campbell’s evolution.
I glanced over at Mom, almost
in awe of how out of place she looked amid the mess. She was statuesque, her
frame thin and lean. She had a dancer's body but preferred to spend her time
indoors with the company of books. Her swanlike neck led up to a beautiful
face, complete with petite and gentle features. But it was her eyes that drew
you in – big, almond like opals that bore into the soul.
While she was beautiful and
one of the most powerful spellcasters I knew, tidying the house was not her
forte. My mother operated on another plane of existence, where a Hoarders-like
home was preferred instead an organized mess.
My first summer with her in
Greene County, I'd tried to straighten up a bit. Big mistake. When she saw that
I’d rearranged her things, she had said a few choice words in Latin and slept
outside in a tent for a week. I'd learned to just stock up on antibacterial and
allergy medicine.
"Biscuit?" I said,
holding out my bribe. I hadn't called her in two weeks and showed up at the
spur of the moment. The Kenny thing was really bugging me and I hoped she could
shine some light on what was going on.
She eyed the aluminum
wrapping of the cheese biscuit I offered and shook her head so hard the windows
rattled. "You know I don't eat that stuff."
I took a hefty bite of the
cheese biscuit in my hand. "Cheese biscuits from Fast Break." I
moaned with pleasure as a string of hoop cheese touched my tongue. "The
only good thing about this town if you ask me." I cleared my throat,
giving her a toothy grin. "Other than you, of course."
"Smartass," she
said with a Cheshire cat grin. "You got that from my side. Your daddy was
about as excitable as a lawn gnome."
"Hey!" I said
defensively. "Dad is...exciting."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Did he start putting ketchup on his fries? Watching a TV show that wasn't
on the family channel or some religious zealot preaching the end of days?"
"Mom-"
"Or maybe he waits one
month instead of 3.5 weeks for a new hair cut? Hums to songs on the radio?
Hell, says more than two words at the dinner table?"
"You finished?" I
said with an edge, dabbing at the corners of my mouth.
"Sorry," she said
peevishly, pushing back from the table as the microwave dinged. "Your
father is a good man. Predictable as the moon, but a good man."
I eyed her bowl of chicken
noodle soup with a smile. "You're one to talk about predictable."
She ran a hand through her
graying dreads and grabbed a plastic spoon. "You know why I eat this soup
all the time."
"Soothes your senses and
takes you to a happy place-"
"So the voices don't
drive me batshit insane," she finished, sitting back down on to the table.
"You know, anyone else
would recommend you see someone. Professional."
Her brown eyes softened.
"We aren't all chosen to go to the big city and hone our craft."
I snorted, balling up my
trash. "Don't be silly, Mom. There are soothsayers, witch doctors, and
plenty of remedies for the voices. You just have to leave the house."
"Why do I have to
leave?" she said stubbornly. "I have a TV, books, food, and a
daughter who occasionally returns my calls and even comes to visit when bad
things happen."
Busted. "I just came to
see how you were doing, Ma."
"Child, please,"
she said with an eye-roll. "I may not be a fancy schmancy necromancer, but
I'm not a recreational Wiccan either."
"I-I’m not coming for a
supernatural reason," I reiterated. "I'm just checking on you. And
getting my cheese biscuit fix."
She made a face. "The
biscuits aren't that good. And sooner or later, all that Chinese and junk
food's gonna catch up with you."
I yawned. "May the
object seen become un-"
"Hush!" She
scolded, her eyes going round. "You think it won't work just because you
say it in English?"
"That's exactly what I
think," I said with a wink. I unscrewed the cap on my soda and took a long
gulp. "What good is magic if you can't scratch your own back?"
"Gods keep you!"
she hissed. "If the wrong people hear you say that..." Her voice
trailed off as she shuddered for effect.
I reached over and squeezed
her hand. "You worry too much."
"Pshaw," she
snorted, slurping a spoonful of soup. "So you gonna tell me what your
problem is before Hades punches my number?"
"I don't have a
problem," I said unconvincingly.
"Uh huh." Mom
pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, staring off into space. She gave
a small nod then turned her gaze back on me. "Some lawyer was
killed...hexed, you think. You saw some sort of symbol..." She grabbed a
Harlequin and scribbled an image on the inside flap. "You saw it on a lesbian's
chest too." She stopped, looking at me peculiarly. "I know you
dabbled around in high school, but I thought you were with that vampire? Jack?
Does he know you're looking at women's chests?"
"Mom!" I exclaimed,
my cheeks burning hot. "I wasn't looking at anyone's chest!" I
cleared my throat. "And just for the record, most mothers would frown on
their daughters dating someone that eats people."
"But he sounds so nice
over the phone," she cooed. "You guys had a fight, huh?"
"Jesus, Mom!" I
said, bristling with embarrassment.
"What?" she said
innocently. "You've found a nice boy that you don't have to lie to. What
more could a girl want?"
"How about someone who
doesn't need to drink blood to survive? That I can grow old with? Maybe
someday, in the distant future, procreate with?"
"You're too young to
worry about such things," she chided. She took one look at my face and
held up her hands, a metaphorical white flag. "Alright, alright, I'll stay
out of it."
She pushed back from the
table and walked around the room absentmindedly before stopping at a stack of
books in the foyer. "Grab me a bit of water."
I walked to the cupboard and
swatted through the cobwebs for a glass cup. I filled it with water and
maneuvered around her things to where she stood, eyeing a plant that I was
pretty sure was half past dead.
"That plant needs a last
will and testament more than water," I said, passing her the cup.
She gave me a small smile as
she slowly poured the water into the thirsty soil. "When are you gonna
learn that things aren't always what they seem?" She closed her eyes, her
hand just above the wilting leaves. "Resarcio quod redintegro quod
reverto...ut vestri decor."
Instantly, the plant
stretched its limbs and mended itself, now healthy, bright, and vibrant.
"Not bad for an old
witch, huh?" She winked, grabbing a dusty black book from the top of the
pile. She flipped through the pages, stopping about halfway through. She blew
the surface and a cloud of dust swirled around her head.
I coughed, fanning the air
around me. "How do you LIVE here?"
"Here's the
symbol," she said, showing me the page.
"Oh my god," I
breathed, tracing it. It was the same symbol branded into the lawyer's wallet.
"The Mark of the Cursed
is a brand left by a witch when she places a hex on a mortal," I read
aloud. "A witch? But why would a witch wanna hurt Kenny? Maybe a scorned
lover?"
I glanced over at my mother,
who was staring off into space again.
"Mom? Hello?" I
said snapping my fingers.
She snapped back to
attention, her face filled with worry. "I don't have a good feeling about
this. Maybe you should come home until things settle down."
I rolled my eyes. "Not
the time for jokes."
“I’m not joking, Jade! There
is bad juju radiating from this whole mess.”
“I’m 21-years-old,” I said to
her, my lips firm. “Your house is a sty. I’m not moving in with you. End of
discussion.”
She let out a loud, dramatic
sigh. "Stubborn. THAT you got from your father." She closed the book
and turned to me, cradling my chin. "You'll be careful?"
"Of course."
"I'm sure Jack will
protect you. When he can."
"Mom!" I said,
laughing in spite of myself. "He's a vampire for gods sake!"
She leaned over and planted a
kiss on my forehead. "You know, I'm not grandmother material anyway."