Water Witch

by Carol Goodman

  “It’s not like there’d be anyone to really miss me,” I said.

  Soheila lay down beside me in the mud so that her face was level with mine. “My dear, why set your life at such a low value?”

  “I don’t … it’s just that …” I was going to tell her that I was afraid I’d never love anyone, but I realized in time that it was a tactless thing to say to Soheila who had selflessly renounced any chance at love. Still, I wondered if it were true. When Paul, my boyfriend of the last six years, had broken up with me last summer he’d said that he’d felt for a long time that I didn’t love him. He’d been right. I had kept a piece of myself apart. Maybe I’d been keeping that piece of myself separate and protected since the day I had learned that my parents were dead. And today, just when I’d thought I might be able to tell Liam I loved him I’d felt an iron band squeezing my heart – as if even the possibility of loving someone was so frightening my body had revolted. What was wrong with me? Was I ever going to be able to love someone?

  I hadn’t time to ponder that question, though, because Liz and Diana had returned, both of them sopping wet and out of breath. Diana plopped herself down in the mud puddle, a colorful quilted bag in her lap. Liz moved behind me. I felt her hands slide on either side of my neck, gentle but firm. For some reason I recalled the first time I shook Liz’s hand at my job interview. I’d been surprised at how firm her hand-shake was and thought to myself that beneath her pink Chanel suit beat the heart of a steely-willed administrator. Little did I know then that those steel hands would someday be around my neck. I tried to distract myself from the thought of what she was about to do by watching Diana. From the quilted bag, she had taken out two long knitting needles. I thought they had unusually sharp points. Then she took out a skein of bright pink wool.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It was the only color I had enough of.”

  “What … exactly … are you going to do … with it?”

  “Knit your spinal cord together, of course. I have to make the first stitch at the exact moment Liz realigns the bones. Oh my, but is it a knit or a purl? I don’t remember.”

  “Knit, I should think,” Soheila remarked. She’d gotten up and knelt behind me. I heard her voice close to my ear, but if she was touching me I couldn’t feel it.

  “I think so too. Hold on. I’ve got to cast on with an objective correlative spell.”

  “Isn’t that a literary term?” I asked. “Are you going to deconstruct my spine next?”

  Diana blinked her large Bambi eyes at me and I instantly regretted my sarcasm. “It’s the basis for most magic. It’s also called sympathetic magic. I’m going to create a correlation between your spinal cord and the yarn so that whatever I do to the yarn creates the same effect on your spinal cord. Are you ready?”

  To have my spine turned into yarn? I thought groggily. I supposed it couldn’t make it worse. I told her I was ready.

  Diana nodded and, leaning forward, plucked a hair from my head. She laid the copper strand along a length of the pink wool and made a slip knot while reciting the words, “Vice versa, topsy turvy, arsy versy.”

  She slipped a needle through the knot. I felt a slight tug at the base of my neck. Diana positioned the second needle tip inside the loop and looked up.

  “This may pinch a little,” Liz warned.

  “Iuncta hals-bein …” The three women chanted in unison. I missed hearing the rest of the knitting spell because of the extreme pain and screaming. I did hear a crack that sounded like a gunshot. I lost consciousness. When I came to, I lay flat on the ground staring up at three very concerned faces.

  “Callie, can you wiggle your toes?”

  I wiggled my toes … and fingers … and then, tentatively, stretched my arms and legs. I felt … pretty good. My back felt like I’d just had it aligned by a chiropractor. Still, I felt just a bit … wooly.

  I looked down at the bundle of knitting clutched in Diana’s hand. She’d knitted about two inches of a very skinny scarf.

  “The woozy feeling will go away when I cast off,” Diana assured me. “But it will take me a few days to finish it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”

  The pile of bright pink wool in her hand was sympathetically connected to my spine. I just had to hope she didn’t drop any stitches.

  “Thank you,” I said to Diana, and then, turning to Soheila and Liz, “Thank you, all. You saved my life.”

  “We endangered it in the first place,” Liz said, surreptitiously wiping water from her face. It was still raining too hard to tell if it was a tear. “And soon we’ll all be in danger of pneumonia if we don’t get someplace dry. This storm doesn’t look like it’s ending any time soon.”

  “I must have really ticked off Lorelei,” I said as Liz and Diana each took one of my arms to help me walk. I really didn’t need any help but there was no telling them that. Besides, it made it easier to be heard over the sound of the rain and our Wellies squelching in the mud. Soheila walked ahead clearing wind-fallen branches and whole tree trunks with gusty waves of her hand.

  As we made our way through the honeysuckle thicket, I told Liz and Diana everything that had transpired in Faerie – except for the part where I made love with Liam. I did tell them, however, how he’d twice saved my life.

  “It does sound rather as if he’s trying to make amends,” Diana said in her usually generous manner.

  “But it might be just a ploy to gain your sympathy, Callie,” Liz added in a sterner tone. “Incubi are extremely manipulative,” she whispered, presumably so Soheila wouldn’t hear. Soheila could probably hear the slightest whisper carried on the wind, but she seemed preoccupied with the mayhem surrounding us. The storm had knocked down dozens of trees. The last time I’d seen this kind of destruction had been when I’d tried to banish the incubus and he’d retaliated by raising a tsunami-sized wind. Liam had been born that night out of my ambivalence and inability to whole-heartedly banish him.

  I brushed away a tear and Diana patted my arm. I could tell she was getting ready to utter another consoling platitude so I changed the subject.

  “What are we going to do about the undines?” I asked when we’d almost arrived back at my house. “Lorelei might be crazy, but they’re not all like her. The young one I helped – the one who called herself Raspberry – was very sweet. If the Grove convinces IMP to close the door they’ll become extinct. Do you think there’s any chance at all that we could convince them the door needs to stay open?”

  “I’m afraid that this temper tantrum of Lorelei’s will just convince IMP that the door should be closed,” Liz said. “I’ll contact the other members of the governing board and see if I can get a feel for how they’ll vote, but I think we should concentrate on figuring out how to keep the door open should the Grove and IMP vote to close it.”

  “I’m the doorkeeper. I should be able to keep the door open.”

  I saw Liz and Diana exchange a look over my head.

  “Yes, you should …” Liz began uneasily. “It’s just that your power seems rather … unstable …” Liz’s voice died away as we reached my backyard. I looked up to see what had made her pause. My house’s roof, which Brock had been coming to fix, was in even worse shape than before. A dozen more tiles were missing and the gutter had been dragged off. Damn that Lorelei! She’d probably cost me another thousand in home repair and cost Brock a day’s work. His ladder lay on the ground … which was odd, because Brock took meticulous care of his equipment and tools. As I crossed the yard I tripped over something in the grass. A hammer. Brock’s hammer, hand forged in the fires of Muspelheim, the Norse realm of fire, and imbued with magical powers. He’d never leave it in the rain to rust … unless …

  Soheila gasped just as I looked up. Around the corner of the house, she knelt beside Brock in the grass, searching for a pulse in his neck and shaking her head. I wasn’t the only victim of Lorelei’s fury. Brock Olson had been thrown from the roof and killed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SOHEIL
A RAN A hand over Brock’s broad forehead and short-cropped hair. His face might have been handsome were it not for the many scars and craters in his skin. Looking at his body I realized how little I knew about him. He was a Norse demi-god, a blacksmith to the gods who had once forged their weapons and crafted jewels for their human conquests. More recently he and his brother Ike ran a gardening shop, Valhalla, outside of town and he did odd jobs and handyman work for me. Although he wasn’t particularly talkative, I’d found his presence in the house comforting when I was working and had grown to greatly appreciate his quiet, patient manner.

  Soheila held her hands above him. “His life spark has left his body, but I feel it flickering not far away. It was torn away by the storm. It might be coaxed back, but it’s not something I can do alone. We need to call Ike.”

  “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” I asked as Liz got out her cell phone.

  “If he’s taken to the hospital he’ll be declared dead. They might even …” She held up a finger indicating that her call to Brock’s brother had gone through and turned abruptly away from me as she spoke into the phone. Diana murmured something about blankets and ran across the street toward her house. I stood around feeling useless while Liz talked to someone in a language that sounded like it could be Old Norse. I decided the least I could do for Brock was pick up his tools. He’d want them if …

  My vision swam as I bent over to pick up his hammer. What if they weren’t able to bring back Brock’s spirit? Would he truly be dead? It seemed impossible. I wasn’t sure how old Brock was, but I knew he’d come to Fairwick in the mid-nineteenth century. He’d been sweet on the romance novelist Dahlia LaMotte when she’d lived in Honeysuckle House in the first half of the twentieth century, but Dahlia’s obsession with the incubus had kept them apart. I’d seen him once or twice out with Dory Browne, the realtor who’d sold me Honeysuckle House, but didn’t know if they were dating. Maybe I should call Dory, but then I didn’t know what the protocol might be for inter-species dating. Dory was a Welsh brownie and Brock was a Norse demi-god. I knew that some of the groups in the Fairwick community were clannish and didn’t mix well with others – succubi weren’t supposed to date witches, Soheila had told me, and I’d learned recently that gnomes had an age-old feud with satyrs. Vampires pretty much kept to themselves. It was a lot for a newcomer to follow and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I’d learned last fall that I was surrounded by supernatural creatures, but I still knew little about them – or about my own powers. I hadn’t even known that I wasn’t supposed to use a spell in Faerie. The fact was, I kept blundering into situations I knew nothing about and making things worse. That was why Liz and Diana had exchanged that look before when I asked if I would be able to keep the door open. They weren’t sure I would be able to.

  I circled the house and collected a handful of nails, Brock’s hammer, and the iPod I’d given him for his birthday last month. The iPod was still playing. I tucked one of the buds into my ear expecting … I don’t know … Viking sea shanties? But instead I heard the reedy voice of Bjork rasping out her rendition of “Pagan Poetry.” It sort of made sense, I thought, my eyes filling with tears. I tucked the iPod in my jeans pocket, thinking I’d give it to Ike.

  When I came around the house I saw that Ike and others had arrived along with a woman with long ash-blonde hair. She knelt beside Brock, the skirt of her long green dress spread out on the grass. Her hair was draped around her face, and she held her hand to Brock’s chest. Ike, flanked by two men who looked like they could have been Ike and Brock’s cousins, stood holding an umbrella over her. Liz, Diana and Soheila gathered on the other side. The scene looked like a pre-Raphaelite painting depicting an episode out of the Norse eddas – “Death of a Viking,” or “A Hero’s Journey to Valhalla.” All it needed was a ship and a funeral pyre.

  As I approached the group, the blonde woman lifted her head and shook her long hair back from her face, revealing strikingly beautiful features. At the sight of her I heard bells and felt slightly woozy, invariably my reaction when in the presence of Fiona Eldritch, the Fairy Queen.

  “I believe he’s journeying in Niflheim,” Fiona declared.

  “The Shadow World,” popped out of my mouth. Fiona looked up and pinned me with two razor-sharp green eyes. She rose to her feet, the folds of her green dress rippling like sea water, and then I was the one looking up. Fiona could make herself seem taller when she wanted to.

  “Ah, Cailleach McFay. Are you the one who brought the storm back from Faerie?”

  “I asked Callie to herd the undines back, Lady,” Liz interjected on my behalf. “And it was an undine who raised the storm.”

  Fiona’s eyes swiveled toward Liz. As glad as I was to have the force of her gaze off me, I could hardly let Liz take the blame for me.

  “I’m afraid I made the storm stronger by using a spell,” I admitted.

  “You fool! You didn’t know not to use a spell in Faerie?” Fiona roared, growing even taller as she turned once again on Liz. “Has no one taught this doorkeeper how to use her power?”

  My attempt to spare Liz blame for my behavior had backfired. I didn’t seem to be able to do anything right today. When Fiona had finished berating Liz, she turned back to me.

  “It’s unfortunate you’ve been trained so poorly,” she said, managing to encompass both Liz and me in her icy green glare. “But still you should have known better than to attempt a spell when you didn’t know its consequences. It’s your fault this has happened to Brock.”

  “Your Highness,” Liz said urgently, “I don’t think we should blame Callie …”

  “No,” I interrupted, “Fiona’s right. It is my fault.” I turned to Ike and his two companions. “Tell me what I can do to help him.”

  Ike shook his head. “I don’t hold you accountable, Cailleach McFay,” he said formally, “nor do I know if you can bring my brother back from Niflheim. The Norns, who are here on other business, may be able to bring him back …” His eyes flicked toward Liz. “For that I believe we need to call a spell circle.”

  “A spell circle,” Diana echoed, her face pale. “We haven’t had one for …”

  “For too long,” Liz said grimly. “I’ve been too lax. It’s time we marshaled our powers.”

  “Can I help?” I asked, desperate to find any way to help Brock.

  Fiona snorted. “That would be like lighting a match in a gunpowder factory. You have no control, no …”

  “But she does have the essential spark,” Liz broke in, surprising all of us, herself most of all, by interrupting the intimidating Fiona. She swallowed and went on. “Callie might be woefully untrained, but she has power. I’m sure of it. I will take it upon myself to train her. We need her – to help Brock and also to keep the Grove from closing the door.”

  Fiona’s green eyes widened at Liz’s last words and her skin seemed to stretch tighter over the fine bones of her face. I had never seen Fiona display any emotion but anger so it took me a moment to recognize the expression on her face. Fear.

  “May the Goddess Danu help us if she’s our best hope of keeping the door open,” she spat out, glaring at me. “But I will leave it to your questionable judgment. I will make preparations for the likely possibility that you fail, in which case I must set my affairs in order and decide in which world to stay forever.”

  She turned on her heel, the folds of her dress snapping like a sail in the wind. Again, I heard bells chiming, but now they sounded like they tolled for a funeral.

  “I’ve always wondered,” I said when Fiona had disappeared around the corner of my house, “why she’s here at all. I mean if she’s Queen of the Fairies why isn’t she in Faerie?”

  “She left because her husband, King Fionn, was unfaithful,” Soheila replied. “He betrayed her with a human girl.”

  “Is that why she hates humans?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” Soheila answered. “Although the first thing she did upon arrival here was to take a human lover.
I believe she has stayed here to taunt Fionn with her own affairs. But now she has to choose between never being able to return and returning forever.”

  “As will we all,” Ike said.

  I stared at him, startled. Ike seemed such a fixture of Fairwick. Would he really consider going? And what about all the other supernatural creatures at the college and in the town? Liz had once told me that about 30 percent of the town, and 40 percent of the faculty, were otherworlders. What would the town and college be like without them?

  “We must find a way to keep the door open,” I said, looking from Ike to Soheila to Diana and, finally, to Liz. “Did you really mean what you said about me having a spark?”

  “Yes,” Liz said firmly. “Although your magic is erratic, you possess a great deal of it. In addition to your fey ancestry, you come from a line of powerful witches. We could train you.”

  “Can I join this spell circle you’re calling?” I asked.

  Unsure, Liz looked toward Ike.

  “I think Brock would want Callie to be there,” he said in response. “The Norns are arriving tomorrow. We can hold the circle at our house and they can help.”

  “We’ll work together to bring Brock back,” Liz said, “and find a way to keep the door open.”

  Ike held out his hand and Liz took it in hers. Liz’s elegant, manicured hand seemed to disappear in Ike’s broad, calloused palm. Looking at the two of them I understood something about Fairwick I had never fully before appreciated. It had been founded as a place where fey and human could live together, but it was more than a neutral Switzerland between the warring factions of witch versus fey, human versus otherworlder. The conjunction of fey and human was precisely what made Fairwick strong. Without the fey, Fairwick would be a pale shadow of what it was now. As I watched Ike and his two companions lift Brock up and carry him to a red pick-up truck with the Valhalla landscaping logo on its side, I swore to myself that I would find a way to keep the door between the worlds open.