Stray Witch

by Eva Alton

  “She’s just joking,” said the other one, looking with narrowed eyes toward the exit, where people had started to congregate due to some door malfunction. They spoke in a soft, melodic accent, which reminded me of Francesca. “Although there’s nothing amusing in what we came to tell you.”

  She grabbed my arm, but I shook it off.

  “Excuse me?” I said, trying to spot Clarence among the growing sea of heads outside. He was nowhere to be seen and must have remained in the parking lot. “Who are you?”

  “We are your friends,” said the first one. “And we have been informed that you are in danger. We know you have been captured by a clan of...” she lowered her voice and spoke into my ear, “vampires. Dangerous creatures who are keeping you as a slave. Is that true?”

  I started to laugh nervously, holding onto the handle of the trolley and pushing it to form a barrier between the women and me. For a second, the images of Clarence’s paintings flashed through my mind, but I brushed them off, more concerned at the moment with how those women had found me and why they knew so much about me.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. Please leave me alone, or I will alert security.”

  “The security guards are too busy at the moment, taking care of that stubborn door,” the other one said, “but you don’t need them. We didn’t come here to harm you, but to save you from a looming danger. Come with us, we can get out through the back door. We can help you, sister.”

  “I’m not your sister,” I protested, as I started to walk away from the checkout line and felt a pang of remorse for all the items I was about to leave behind. The woman grabbed my arm again; however, this time her touch felt like an electric shock. I screamed, but nobody noticed in the turmoil. Everyone was panicking around the glass doors and talking at the same time. We were seemingly trapped in the store.

  “It’s true, you’re not. You are just a stray. But we’ll help you change that,” said one of the women. “There’s greatness in you. It’s just dormant. Come with us and let us open a whole new world of wonders for you. We can save you.”

  “I don’t need anyone to save me. I’m perfectly fine, okay? I’m nobody’s slave. Now leave me alone.”

  “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

  “I said. Leave. Me. Alone!” I shouted, taking advantage of the growing chaos around us.

  The women’s sugariness evaporated as they tried to catch me. I sneaked between the legs of a man larger than a tank and managed to leave the crazy women behind. The revolving doors were still stuck, and the people trapped inside were banging against the glass and pleading for someone to help them out.

  I ran in zigzag lines, not sure of where to go. Finally, I spotted the restrooms, rushed into one of the stalls, and locked the door.

  The steps approached slowly. The women knew I was trapped, and there was no need to rush anymore.

  Getting myself locked in that cubicle was one of the most stupid things I had done in the past weeks, and I had done many lately.

  I heard someone flush a toilet and the sound of water running. Some girl washed her hands. At least I wasn’t alone in the restrooms, and my chasers wouldn’t dare to do anything suspicious. Behind me there was a window. I climbed on the toilet bowl and checked it out: it was a milky-glass fixed opening, with no handle to open it.

  To my dismay, the other stall occupant left, and I remained alone with the witches.

  “I see you don’t believe us,” a voice said, knocking softly on the door of my booth. “Why don’t you ask those bloodsuckers about their previous witch? Do you know what happened to her?”

  No, I didn’t, but they had given me Julia’s diary. I could just read it and find out.

  I wedged my fingers between the wall and the window frame, but it was firmly bolted to the wall.

  “You poor thing. They must have brainwashed you. You are coming with us, and you will also reveal the location of their nest. If you want to or not,” said the other voice, and I heard them pounding against the flimsy bathroom door. “Leaving you here would be an irresponsibility on our part. You’ll thank us one day.”

  The door shook perilously, and a chubby arm slipped through the gap between the door and the floor. I stepped on it viciously, and it disappeared from my sight with a shriek.

  Desperate, I started to rummage in my bag for something I could use to defend myself. I got out my phone, wanting to alert Clarence, then cursed aloud when I remembered that those stupid vampires were too cool to use cell phones like everybody else.

  My fingertips felt a folded piece of paper, and out of my bag came the Fulminatio spell Jean-Pierre had given me. With shaking hands I opened it and started to read the cryptic text in a quiet voice.

  “What is she doing?” muttered one of the women. They kept banging on the door, trying to get into the cubicle. One of the hinges gave way: they would be inside in less than two minutes. “I hope she’s not trying to wield magic in a public place, for Hekate’s sake!” they shouted.

  I kept reading the spell aloud, only to realize I had skipped a whole paragraph of convoluted Latin words in my haste.

  “Shit! Shit!” I groaned.

  I went back and re-read the missing part, then continued where I had left. The order of the lines was wrong, but there was no time to start anew.

  “Oh my Goddess, she’s reciting the Fulminatio!” one of the women yelled, sounding almost hysterical. “This one’s a public hazard!”

  As I reached the last word, a current of electricity started to flood my forearm. Not really knowing what I was doing, I shook my arm and directed it toward the locked window.

  What happened next was the most amazing thing I had ever seen in my life.

  The glass exploded in front of my eyes, sending tiny, sharp shards all over the restrooms. I jumped from the toilet bowl to the windowsill and sat there for a second. The floor was at least nine feet away: I squinted and avoided looking down. Then I let myself slide to the warm asphalt below, falling with a soft thud.

  Alright.

  I steadied myself against the warm facade.

  Did I just blow up a window with... magic?

  A trickle of blood clouded my vision and I wiped it away.

  The witches were screaming, about to jump out after me.

  “There she is, Gianna!” one shouted.

  I looked around the parking lot for the quickest escape.

  The women were halfway through the broken window. I ran toward the road among the parked cars. A large Jeep blocked my path, and a family of five was buckling their kids into car seats.

  Slowly. Very slowly.

  I was about to jump on the hood of the offending car when a strong arm grabbed me from the waist and Clarence threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  “You really are more dangerous than I thought,” he muttered, leaping over two cars like a tiger as he carried me over his back.

  I sank my nails into his stone-hard shoulders, too afraid to fall to conjure a punchy remark.

  “Clarence! I can walk on my own!” I screamed. We left the parking lot behind and reached the road which led to the shopping mall, followed by dozens of amused stares.

  “I know you can,” he said, finally allowing me to stand back on my feet in the middle of a bushy area beside the road. “But you always end up walking into trouble.”

  Chapter 23

  Alba

  We tread alongside the road, taking refuge behind the tall trees and bushes which grew on the other side. Clarence asked me at least twenty times if I was alright. Once I convinced him everything was fine and he stopped fussing, he still kept glancing at me with concern―almost like he felt guilty for what had happened.

  “Why can’t we just call a taxi like normal people do?” I asked him after a while. I was getting tired of walking, and we were still far. “Are vampires forbidden to ride cars?”

  It was past dinnertime, and I was weary, hungry and―even if I’d rather not tell him�
��sore. The cut over my eyebrow was still open and kept trickling into my eyes. I had to hold a tissue against it and I was starting to fear I might need stitches.

  “We can ride cars all right, but your face and shirt are covered in blood and I don’t want the driver to call the police on me,” Clarence answered in a pained tone, stopping his march to look at me from head to toe for the hundredth time.

  I touched my forehead, and I found it still tender and sticky.

  “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” he asked, averting his eyes from the fresh blood.

  “Not much. I think it’s just a scratch.” I grabbed a fresh tissue and started to wipe the half-dry blood away. “Better now?”

  He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Still looking like someone just beat you up, but the zombie survivor look is gone, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “Is it true that vampires can heal human wounds?” I asked tentatively, sitting down on the arid grass to rest for a while. From time to time, a lonely car passed by, and its headlights washed over us briefly.

  Clarence sighed with unease, like I had asked something utterly aggravating. “It’s partly true.”

  “Then why don’t you just work your magic so we can call a cab and spare ourselves a two-hour walk? I can put on my cardigan and it will cover the stains on my shirt.”

  “I’d rather carry you, then,” he said, his arms crossed. He was wearing slacks and a shirt and looked almost like a regular person under the light of the moon.

  “No way. The Paleolithic Era is over, Clarence, if you haven’t heard yet.”

  He chuckled softly but shook his head once again. Feeling uneasy, I tugged at the loose strands of hair which had escaped my pony tail during my little restroom adventure. “But I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t heal my cut.”

  He scowled and took a seat next to me, with his arms resting on his knees. “Because it would be awkward,” he said, with a sense of finality.

  I remembered the day those men had attacked me in the street and how he had mumbled a couple of magic words to make them forget. Why on earth couldn’t he just do the same and get rid of the cut on my forehead?

  And then it occurred to me.

  “Oh,” I said, noticing his eyes, which had started to flare in that strange, wolfish way. “This doesn’t work with magic words, does it?”

  “No.” His voice was slightly hoarse, and he kept avoiding my gaze.

  “Ok. Forget it.” I slouched, remembering how he had kept his distance the last time in the park. Maybe it was smarter to leave it at that. Everyone kept warning me against him anyway, although he had never substantiated any of those stories with his actions. “I’ll walk.”

  His hand held me down as I started to stand up. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll do it. Just stand completely still. Don’t you dare move an inch, do you hear me?”

  I nodded and held my breath as Clarence approached me with the distantness one would have expected from a physician. He put one hand on each side of my head and drew me towards him as I sat on the grass.

  “Close your eyes. And. Stay. Completely. Still.” he repeated softly, but in a commanding tone.

  I obeyed, lightheaded due to his closeness and his evergreen scent. His cold lips started to travel over my forehead. Then, his tongue brushed against my eyebrows, nearly causing me to faint. The smell of blood soaked the air, and I suspected that it wasn’t only mine. His cold skin brushed against mine, sliding from my hairline to my temples up to the very corner of my mouth.

  Time stopped.

  The cut on my forehead stung and burned. Next thing I knew, the pain had faded away, replaced by an irresistible wave of pleasure.

  Remembering his request to remain still, I fought the urge to twist my whole body under his touch, as a surge of repressed shivers built up in the depths of my chest like trapped steam.

  When I opened my eyes, I found him staring at me with something akin to hunger, his fangs clearly visible under the moonlight and my blood still on his lips. I jumped back, startled at the sight and the red gleaming dots in his gaze.

  Clarence lowered his eyes, then stood up and stepped back silently, turning his back against me with a deep, irregular exhale.

  “WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU do in that shop?” Clarence asked me, as I ate the falafel I had bought in a Lebanese stall near Saint Anne. After the taxi ride, we were strolling for the few blocks up to the cemetery as I finished my takeaway dinner.

  “I just read aloud the spell Jean-Pierre gave me, and it blew up a window,” I said, wiping the sauce from my mouth with a paper napkin. “It was awesome. And I actually read it wrong! But it worked anyway, can you believe it?”

  “Impressive,” he said, deep in thought. “What about those women? What did they want from you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, tilting my head as I tried to ascertain how much he might have figured out on his own. “I think they were... witches. The real ones, not like me.” I chuckled. “All I know is they wanted to take me with them and were very interested in finding out the location of The Cloister.”

  “Just what I thought,” he agreed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks.

  I thought of asking him about Julia, just like those witches had suggested, but eventually decided not to. I would read her diary first and try to find out by myself what had happened to her.

  “So, Jean-Pierre,” Clarence said, turning to look directly into my eyes, “did he tell you anything else? Anything... interesting?”

  I gave him a distrustful squint. “Is this about those paintings?” I said, finally.

  He lowered his gaze and nodded. “Are you very tired?”

  “Not really. I feel better now that I’ve eaten something. And my forehead feels great, too,” I hoped I hadn’t blushed, but the heat in my cheeks told me otherwise.

  Clarence smiled. He had noticed.

  “Very well. Because I’d like to take you somewhere.”

  WE TOOK YET ANOTHER cab, and he gave the driver an address in the historical center. The driver nodded and started the engine, and we both sat in the back, with our legs nearly touching. I pretended not to care each time his leg brushed against mine with the turns of the road.

  The car went up a sinuous path which led to the top of Magdalene Hill, the small hillock which rose over the oldest buildings of Emberbury. On top of it lay the church of Saint Mary Magdalene, a neo-Gothic construction which overlooked the historical part of the city. Hordes of tourists visited it every year; but in all my years in Emberbury, I had never found the time to admire the building from the inside.

  “You are taking me to a church?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And a Catholic church at that?” The last thing that I was expecting was to attend Midnight Mass... with a vampire.

  “Follow me, Isolde,” he said, winking as he took my hand. His good mood was back, which was a relief. He had been acting strange after our last dinner, and I hadn’t been too keen on talking to him, either, what with the horrific paintings and all the research for the electricity project, which had absorbed most of my waking hours.

  Clarence knocked softly on the sacristy door. After a while, we heard heavy steps coming from inside. A bulky man, possibly a custodian, appeared behind the door sporting a bored expression. He smiled as soon as he recognized Clarence.

  “Oh, my old friend, long time no see!” he said, extending his hand towards him.

  “Good evening, Quasimodo,” Clarence said, placing a very generous tip in the man's hand as he shook it. “Would you unlock the bell tower for us, please? We are conducting a study about nocturnal city birds and need a better view.”

  They both laughed, and I stood there like a clueless dummy.

  “Oh, you never brought company till now. But I see you have good taste to pick your research subjects, don’t you, old man?” Quasimodo motioned us to follow him towards a narrow, spiral staircase. He got a key out of his belt and gave it to Clarence. “I’m leaving you n
ow. I was in the middle of watching a game. Just leave the keys on the altar before you go, will you?”

  “Of course I will,” Clarence said, patting the man on the back.

  “You take care, girl,” the custodian whispered as he passed next to me, so that Clarence couldn’t hear it. A warning look clouded his gaze.

  The man disappeared through a small door in the front of the church, and Clarence guided me back to the central nave, pointing at the altar.

  “Saint Mary Magdalene,” he said, pointing at a beautiful depiction of the Virgin which hung on the wall, in the middle of the apse. “Do you know her story?”

  I shook my head. “My parents weren’t very religious, to tell the truth.”

  “They say she had seven demons inside of her when Jesus met her,” he explained, studying the painting with loving eyes. It showed Mary Magdalene as a delicate young woman with blond, vaporous hair and a halo of stars around her head. She held an exquisite golden goblet in one hand.

  “And Jesus was in love with her,” I offered, mostly because that was the only part I remembered.

  Clarence smiled and watched me with sudden warmth. “So they say.”

  “Seven devils sounds like a lot of creatures to carry around,” I commented. “I have only two, and I’m always exhausted by the end of the day.”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled, ignoring my remark. “Come to the tower, and we can talk about demons up there.”

  As we started to climb the stairs, I realized there must be hundreds of them: after the first twenty, I made a mental note to start jogging as soon as I fell back into a normal working routine.

  Desperate to take a break, I leaned against the stone walls and tried to distract him with small talk.

  “Quasimodo? No way that’s his real name,” I said, staring at Clarence, who was still fresh as a rose.

  “No,” he conceded, “but wouldn’t it be grand?”

  He snatched my arm and dragged me back to the winding stairs, ignoring my grunts of protest.

  By the time we reached the top, I was panting like a racehorse. Clarence didn’t even look the slightest bit tired, and I felt a deep pang of envy.