The Conjure Book

by A. A. Attanasio

  Hyssop Joan’s antiquated handwriting and odd sketches filled the brown pages. Titles included Fever Depart, Power Be Mine, Dream Come Hither, Charm to Harm, Wart Cure.

  Wednesday after school, Jane summoned her familiar from his catnap on a windowsill lit silver by drizzling rain, “Hey, Jeoffry. Maybe we can use ‘Charm to Harm’ against Trick E.”

  Jeoffry mumbled without bothering to open his eyes, “Do regard the necessary ingredients.”

  “Oh…” Jane cringed at the very first ingredient: ‘baby fat.’ “Grotesque!”

  “Mmm,” the cat agreed from the far side of a dream. “Harm charms invariably are.”

  Jane committed herself to practicing spells that required no special ingredients. She learned to turn iced tea into a hot brew with a Boil & Bubble spell. Electric switches flicked on at her command when she sang Wink Wink Kindle Light then off again with Blink Blink Make Dark.

  While her father washed the car during a break in the weather and Mrs. Babcock puttered in her garden, Jane walked through the rooms chanting Dust & Fluff Shadow Me. A small storm cloud of dust, lint and dirt trailed after Jane to her room. There, she opened both windows and sent the haze of grime soaring into the sky with a spell called Smoke Be Bride to Wind.

  That spell proved a little stronger than she had expected, and the gust that sucked away the dust cloud also tugged dead leaves out of Bosky Glen’s gutters and tore loose a few roof shingles as well. But that fright proved a small price, because Mrs. Babcock cooed with delight when she came in to find the house cleaner than it had ever been in her memory.

  By Thursday, Jane didn’t need to bury the grimoire under the gazebo to hide it. She simply chanted the spell Squint & Never See and left the book on her desk in plain sight yet invisible to all eyes but hers.

  Satisfied with her new powers, Jane made a decision that drizzly morning. “Tomorrow the rains are supposed to stop and I’m skipping school,” she confided to Jeoffry. “I’m going to find the hollow hills and get Alfred’s soul back from the faerïe.”

  “Whoa! Go slow!” Jeoffry sat up from his snooze and flattened his ears fearfully. “Your ambition to confront the faerïe is a bit premature, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah and Alfred’s death will be premature too if I don’t help him.”

  “Alfred’s life isn’t worth a two-day-old dead minnow,” the Manx whispered, “if you get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Jane assured him, dressing hurriedly for school. “Hyssop Joan said the faerïe live underground. Well, I’m a caver. I won’t have any trouble getting in and out once the conjure book helps me find them.”

  Jeoffry leveled a cool, blue stare at the teenager. “I admire your self-confidence, but Trick E took Alf’s soul because he couldn’t have yours. You go after him, he may change his mind.”

  “The faerïe gave me their protection.” Jane paused in the doorway and winked at the nervous cat. “Don’t you worry. I’m a real witch now. I got magic.”

  ∞

  Later that day in school, at the bottom of her locker, almost hidden by the change of clothes she kept there, she found a hazelnut tied by green thread to a tiny note — a red piece of maple leaf scratched with minute letters in a knotted script she couldn’t decipher.

  The faerïe! she realized in a fright, and her stomach tightened. They want one of their two favors.

  All day, she kept touching the hazelnut in the pocket of her dress and fingering the scrawled shred of leaf, wondering what those mysterious creatures of twilight wanted from her. Curiosity haunted Jane the whole day. When school let out, she rushed home.

  While rain chuckled in gutters and drainpipes, Jane presented the hazelnut debt to Jeoffry, who was reclining on the cane chair.

  The familiar squinted at the faerïe script scratched into the leaf. “Oh, bumpkins!” An unhappy sigh seeped from him, almost inaudible above the persistent chant of rain. “It’s a faerïe summons. Those minuscule devils are commanding you to blind the township tomorrow — which is Samhain!”

  “Sow’-en?” Jane repeated the unknown word and flung an inquisitive glance at Jeoffry. “Blind the city on Sow’-en? What does that mean?”

  “Methinks the wee folk are expecting you to black out the township of Wessex on Halloween,” Jeoffry answered, not bothering to disguise the surprise in his voice. “Samhain, which is spelled no wise as it sounds, is the ancient name of Halloween, which for the old folks of northern Europe was the last day of the year. A sacred day indeed. The faerïe clearly wish to celebrate without the intrusive glare of city lights. No doubt, they expect this boon delivered by midnight of that hallowed day, when they usher in their new year. A rather formidable task for a young teen, if you ask me.”

  “Too formidable!” Jane pressed a palm to her brow. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  Jeoffry fixed Jane with a stern gaze. “You don’t dare disappoint your faerïe patrons, Jane. If you fail to deliver darkness by the specified hour, you lose the faerïe’s protection. Then, Trick E shall surely exercise his wrath upon you and everyone in this household — including me!”

  “That’s horrible!” Jane fingered the hazelnut nervously. “How am I going to blackout the town?”

  Fluffed with fright, Jeoffry peeped, “Magic?”

  “People could get hurt!” Jane’s mind whirled at the perilous possibilities. “Elevators will jam. Traffic lights won’t work. There could be tons of accidents in the dark.”

  “Buck up, girl.” Jeoffry drew a deep breath to calm himself, pressed paw to chin and mulled over the problem for a moment before addressing her confidently. “The faerïe don’t give a deuce about Wessex proper. They crave darkness in the outlying fields. Douse the township’s lights along the country roads, and you will inconvenience a minority of citizens while engaging the affection of all the faerïe.”

  “You make it sound easy, Jeoffry.” Jane paced her room apprehensively. “What about Alfred? I’m crazy with worry for him. That’s why I’ve been studying the grimoire so hard.”

  “All in good time.” Jeoffry returned paw to chin and resumed mulling. “Don’t be fooled by my calm demeanor, Jane. When Jeoffry feels the cold fist of Fate closing on him, one can be certain that solutions are soon to be squeezed forth.”

  Spirit Fox Interlude

  At the dinner table, Mrs. Babcock had arranged a pumpkin and several gourds as a centerpiece on a bed of colorful leaves. Her owlish face seemed more good-natured and kindly than usual.

  “I’ve made a decision,” she announced after Jane had cleared away the remnants of their pot roast dinner. “I shall be moving into a retirement home. Oh, but they aren’t called that anymore, are they? An assisted living facility is the ticket now. There’s a lovely one upstate run by the Quakers, where I shall be moving in a few weeks — after Christmas.”

  “Is that really what you want, Mrs. B?” Jane felt a pang of sadness that the old woman had to leave her beloved Bosky Glen. “We could help out more around the house, if that’s the problem.”

  “Oh, no, that’s not the problem, dear.” Mrs. Babcock sliced the currant pie she had baked that afternoon. “The housework you’ve done around here lately has buffed surfaces that haven’t shone in a century, I’m sure! I don’t know how you do it, young lady. But seeing the house so spiff — is that still the word? Seeing how spiff you’ve made the old house look, I realize I haven’t been a very good caretaker, not in a long while. It’s time I move on. I feel ready now for some assisted living.” She smiled warmly. “In my old age, I believe I’m finally learning to be a realist.”

  “We’ll help you with your move,” Ethan volunteered.

  “I am sorry to do this to you.” She placed a dollop of whipped cream and a sprig of mint atop each of the slices she had plated. “Your companionship these past months has been a comfort to me. I’ll miss you both. And I am sorry you will have to find other living arrangements on such short notice.”

  Jane charged up to her roo
m after cleanup. “I’ve got to conjure a spell for money,” she informed Jeoffry and flicked on her computer, intending to conduct some online research about historical renovations. “Mrs. Babcock doesn’t want to move. She loves this place. She just needs the money to renovate. I’m going to conjure a million dollars for her.”

  “A pang of pity for our impoverished landlady troubles my heart, as well,” Jeoffry said from the windowsill, where he sat staring out into the night. “But let us fetch back into the depths of memory, Jane, and recall what transpired the last time you conjured a spell on someone else. Does the name Alfred gong a bell?”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Jane said sullenly and got up from her desk to pace out her thoughts. “I’m going to get his soul back somehow. But first, I have to figure out how to keep my promise to the faerïe. If I fail to black out the town…” She shrugged her eyebrows. “Well, if things don’t go well for me, I’d at least like to have done some good with the conjure book. Mrs. B is only moving out because she has no other choice. I’m sure she’s heartbroken about it. Let’s see if I can make her rich before Christmas!”

  Jeoffry tapped a claw against the windowpane and sang in a melodious voice a line from a Christmas carol: “‘Do you see what I see?’”

  Out the window, beyond swishing branches, she spied a red spark streaking over front lawns across the street. She craned her neck to follow it, and the spark spun closer, then vanished among the trees.

  Jane’s computer shut down with a sizzling snap, and darkness seized the room. Jeoffry mewled with fright and sped from the windowsill to his hiding place under the bed.

  A moment later, foxfire flared in the trees like a churning police light. A conflagration of spinning laser rays flung wild and boisterous shadows around the room.

  Rattling loudly, the window to the right of the desk flew open, and a bitter rush of cold air blasted in.

  Jane backed off before the flapping curtains and flailing beams of crimson light. Just as suddenly, the radiant tempest died down, and the air went still and quiet.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” A fox of luminous red fur climbed through the open window, illuminating the dark room. His wide grin flashed teeth jagged and bright as lightning. “How you been, cutie?”

  Jane opened her mouth to cry for help, but the sinister expression in those long emerald eyes kept her quiet. She sensed if she made so much as a squeak, those fiery jaws slobbering blue voltage would rip out her throat.

  “What? You got nothing to say to me?” Sparks flitted from the fox’s glowing pelt. Bright commas of fire hung briefly in the dark air then burst into puny pinwheels. The spirit creature stepped from the sill onto the desk, leaving a comet trail of pastel vapors. “You had plenty to say last time we met.”

  “Trick E…” Jane eked through her shock.

  “Yep, that’s my name. And you certainly know my game.” The fox’s bushy tail of billowy red flame tipped with white fire twitched back and forth as he nosed among textbooks and school papers scattered across her desk. He stepped right over the invisible conjure book. “When we first met, you weren’t very willing to play. I’ve come by to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

  “The conjure book isn’t here,” she said in a frightened hush.

  “That’s too bad, sweet potato. I was really hoping you’d make this easy for me.” The spirit fox’s long-snouted head perked up abruptly. “Hey, hey, hey! Is that my old nemesis Jeoffry under there? Hey, buddy! It’s been too long. Come out from beneath that bed, you!”

  “I’d rather not,” came Jeoffry’s timid reply.

  “Now don’t make me crawl in there after you, pal.” Trick E flashed a brilliant smile at Jane. “He’s a genuine scaredy cat, isn’t he? What a hoot!”

  Jeoffry crawled forth on his belly, ears flat against his skull, fur puffed with fright. “Hullo, Trick E.”

  “Hullo to you, you silly cat.” A wicked grin flimmered across the fox’s fiery face. “Last time I saw you the fur was black and the tail long. Look what four centuries will do!”

  “No need for allusions to the past, sir.” Jeoffry crouched submissively. “Bygones and all that.”

  “Bygones — right!” Trick E glimmered with laughter. “If memory serves, I believe you were buried under a ton of dirt and left to starve to death beneath the hanged body of that loathsome witch, what’s-her-name? Hiccup June?”

  “Hyssop Joan, to be precise, sir.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Trick E’s acetylene tongue swiped across his snout, savoring the memory. “I can still hear the crack of her neck as the hangman kicked the stool out from under her. Ah, happy times. Too bad you had to go and spoil it all by creeping back here. Where is the hag, by the way?”

  “Still hanged, sir.”

  “Right, right.” The fox sniffed at the computer monitor. “It’s just her ghost that’s stinking up this place.”

  Jane found her voice: “The conjure book isn’t here. And I’m not giving it to you. Now, get out before I call for help.”

  “Hold on, sweet pea! Don’t get your molars grinding. I remember what you did to my snout the last time we met.” He twitched his nose and shot green sparks through his nostrils. “Still hurts. Now, look, I don’t want any trouble with you. You’re cute as a fruit and too much of a squirt to hurt. I just fell by to make you an offer. Hear me out.”

  Jane edged away, intimidated by the malicious gleam in the spirit fox’s hot green eyes. “Are you going to wake up Alfred?” Her heel touched a sharp shard, and she glanced down to see the small heap of broken glass from the shattered black mirror. In the frantic day since she had dropped it, she had forgotten that Jeoffry had whisked the mess under the corner of her bed. “My friend is innocent. He doesn’t know anything about the conjure book. Let him go.”

  “Janie, come on.” Trick E stepped off the desk onto the chair. The air around him smoldered with purple heat. “I already told you. This is a war. There are no innocents. Just like what happened to your dear mammy, anybody who gets in the way is going down. Now, if you want Alfie to come out of this alive, you know what you have to do. And you better do it right away, because I’m losing patience with you, sweetheart.”

  “Okay.” Jane knelt down and, without taking her eyes off the shimmering fox, felt under the bed. “You want the conjure book?” She carefully but firmly grabbed one of the larger slivers of broken mirror. “Come here.”

  Jeoffry, still pressing close to the ground in fear, saw Jane pick up the shard. “What ho!” The cat sprang to all four paws and scampered between Jane and Trick E. “I do believe we have a mistaken notion here!”

  The spirit fox reared back, motes of fizzling energy spilling onto the floor where he had nearly jumped. “Hey, watch it, furball! You trip me up, bygones or not I’m going to tear you apart.”

  “My apologies, sir.” Jeoffry bowed his chest and head to the floor. “But I am the young miss’s familiar, and I — well, you see, I would be sore remiss in my responsibilities — sore remiss indeed, you understand — were I not to, well, you know, intervene, shall we say, in this unequal exchange.”

  “What are you blithering about?” Fumes of electric fire slithered from the fox’s gaping jaws. “Give me the grimoire or Alfred is manure.”

  “Let’s not act hastily, please.” Jeoffry sidled closer to Jane and continued in his quivery voice, “You — you will recall, miss, that this — this radiant creature’s sobriquet is Trick E. With that in mind, don’t you think it wise that — well, I mean to say, in dealing with so devious and implacable a character, should we not behave more cautiously?”

  Jane heard the terrified tone of her familiar’s voice and caught his shining blue eyes flick nervously toward her hand under the bed. “What do you want me to do, Jeoffry?”

  “Consider that if you give this very dangerous fellow what you now hold in your hand, you forfeit young Alfred’s life.” The cat nervously faced Trick E. “Hear me, my zealous foe. This — this here child is no natura
l witch. She has no appreciation of the peril in which she presently finds herself. That is why I propose that you — clever and determined as you are — that you, well, may I suggest that you…”

  Needles of ire flashed from Trick E’s luminous eyes. “Spit it out already!”

  “Oh rather!” Jeoffry, fur bristling with terror, backed up into Jane’s lap. “I propose a more equitable arrangement, sir. I propose — well, I really must insist that we ascertain that Alfred’s soul remains intact. For all we know, you may well have gnawed him to a zombie. That would be a nasty trick indeed, exchanging our precious grimoire for a damaged Alfred. So, you see, if we could first have the opportunity to inspect...”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.” Trick E’s green eyes simmered with malice. “You don’t trust me. Fine. Maybe I should just chew your faces off and take the damn book. But I really don’t want to risk another smack across the snout — or breaking my promise to the faerïe. So, here’s what we’re going to do.” The fox’s gleaming eyes narrowed. “You visit your school chum in the hospital, Janie. And bring the conjure book. Use it to talk with the kid’s soul. When you’re satisfied he’s the same sweet laddie he was before I snatched him, I get the grimoire and you get Alfred awake. Deal?”

  “Most satisfactory,” Jeoffry quickly agreed. “Don’t you concur, miss?”

  The fox didn’t wait for Jane’s reply. He turned and stepped across the desk onto the windowsill. “Just do it soon. This kid’s whining is driving me nuts!”

  Breakfast with Gnomes

  “I know you’re angrier than a wet hen,” Jeoffry said after the lights came on and Jane closed the window. “Trick E murdered your mother, and he certainly was overstaying his welcome tonight — but, really Jane, glass cutlery? That is not the answer. His likes cannot be stopped with violence. He is, you will recall, a spirit fox.”