Stray Witch

by Eva Alton

  No, I shrieked in my head.

  No, please, don’t let that be true.

  The idea made me feel suddenly nauseous, and I had to dump the pizza leftovers into the copper bin under my desk, or else I would have thrown up all over the carpet.

  Why, Clarence? I asked myself, holding back the tears.

  Was this what everybody had been warning me about?

  I inferred from the text that he had taken advantage of Julia while she was drunk and unable to give her consent, then he had erased her memories to pretend nothing had happened.

  Despicable.

  Disgusting.

  But accurate as life itself. The way of the predator. The law of the jungle.

  I was such an idiot for getting myself involved in a vampire nest and believing they were normal people, just quirkier.

  Mirrors can’t reflect a creature with no soul, he had told me once.

  Back then, I still believed that all living creatures must have a soul.

  At the moment, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  My desperation to escape Mark had made me turn a blind eye to the warnings which had been all over the place, including Clarence’s monstrous paintings, Elizabeth’s murky businesses and Jean-Pierre’s inappropriate advances.

  I wondered what had actually killed Julia. All of a sudden, I doubted the story that it had been just old age. The witches at the store had suggested otherwise. Had it been Elizabeth? Had it been... Clarence? Who knew?

  But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to stay around to experience her fate in my own flesh.

  “WAKE UP, GIRLS, WE’RE going to see your daddy,” I sing-songed, shaking Katie and Iris softly.

  It was early morning, and I had decided to leave without telling anyone. I could remember Clarence telling me how no humans got out of The Cloister with their memories intact. Even if they weren’t able to delete my memories very far back, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to finding out. The sole thought of Elizabeth making me forget things was enough to make me shiver.

  Elizabeth would be furious when she found out I had left unannounced. I didn’t want to be a complete jerk, so I wrote a resignation letter, hoping she would be able to find a new assistant very soon―although I suspected she wouldn’t. Luckily enough, she had never managed to draft our contract, and I casually mentioned that detail in my note, given that Elizabeth was as enthusiastic about legal matters as my very loving husband.

  Who I was unfortunately going to meet again very soon.

  Everything I had built, everything I had accomplished―all had turned to ashes in one single night. I couldn’t think of anything better than going back to square one: I was hopeless. And Mark’s divorce papers were waiting.

  I dragged my luggage and my children up the stairs that led out of the catacombs, and as soon as I closed the trapdoor under the mausoleum, my heart shrank with the realization that this might be the last time I stepped through that door. The black stone angels stared at me with apathy, and I heard Lillian’s snickers in my mind.

  The cab ride was a blur, with the girls talking non-stop about chess, Dracula and Francesca. My mind kept wandering into places I didn’t want to go back to. Places with black velvet canopies and depictions of the souls burning in hell; and the devil himself leaning over my nude body with the devotion of Mary Magdalene.

  Desperate as I was to flee The Cloister, I wasn't crazy enough to throw myself directly into Mark’s arms; especially after his disturbing behavior during our last encounter. I dialed my neighbor’s number and crossed my fingers for her to be home.

  “Oh, Alba, is that you?” May said, puffing, and I could almost smell the cigarette smoke through the line, a telltale sign that her husband just left for work. “I was wondering where you were; you didn’t reply to any of my messages. There's a lot of gossip going around, you know?”

  “Gossip about what?” I asked cautiously.

  May breathed out heavily, like she didn’t want to tell me. “It’s the other moms at the gym. They’re saying you ran away and left Mark.”

  “It's not far from the truth.” I sighed. “This may be unexpected,” I said with my eyes closed, “but Mark and I are not very amicable currently. Haven’t been for a while. He asked for a divorce, and things have gone downhill ever since.” I didn't want to tell her more than the indispensable, because I knew that whatever I said would go straight to The Bored Moms’ Secret Services’ information treasury. Plus I had two kids and a taxi driver listening to my every word.

  “Oh my gosh, Alba!” May exclaimed, and I could almost picture her expression of exaggerated shock. “Why didn't you tell me before? I suspected things were not right between you two, but I didn't know it was so bad.”

  “Yes, it's that bad. I was just on vacation with the girls, but I have to sign some papers for Mark, and he also wants to see the children, so I’m heading back. But I need to ask you for a favor.” I hesitated. May was not exactly my friend. We had the classical hello-goodbye-here-have-some-cookies neighbor relationship, plus we met at the gym’s bar from time to time and talked about toddlers and how our lives were ruined. But I had nobody else to ask, so I ate my pride and went on, “He hasn’t been very nice to me lately, you know... and it would be great if we could stay at your place for a while. Do you think it would be possible?”

  Please say yes.

  The girl was a gossip machine, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask for help in the whole city. In the whole world.

  “How long will you stay?” The fear in her voice was tangible. She was terrified I would crash on her couch with my offspring for years, right between the Blessed sign and the chalk paint dresser. Our presence there was going to ruin her modern farmhouse decoration.

  “Just for one week. I need to find a place of my own, but I hope Mark and I can reach an agreement until then. I’m sure little Andy will be happy to have someone to play with, don’t you think?” May had a four-year-old boy, so this wasn’t completely implausible.

  “Yes, Alba, of course,” she said tightly, after a very brief pause. “Come whenever you want.”

  BEFORE WE GOT OUT OF the taxi, I explained to the children that they weren’t supposed to tell anyone about our secret little vacation in The Cloister. After a few minutes of conversation, I remembered that tricking toddlers into lying was never an easy task, and ended up resorting to reality-bending methods:

  “You can tell daddy and May about the nice hotel we stayed in, okay? Tell them about the skylight on the ceiling, and the fun things nanny Francesca taught you.”

  But maybe skip the stories about Dracula and walking under Saint Anne’s cemetery, will you?

  “You can also tell daddy about the pretty garden with sculptures,” I added for good measure, as we approached May Yang’s house, and I prepared myself mentally for lots of kissing, hugging and feigned excitement.

  “You can use our guest room,” May said, opening the door of a frilly pink bedroom, which triggered a stream of “awes” and “ahs” from the girls. If only adults were so easy to please―I wished my life could get better just by looking at lacy curtains.

  “May, this is really kind of you,” I said with sincerity, leaving my bags by the bed. She hugged me once more and let out a theatrical sigh.

  “We are together in this,” she whispered, giving me a weak high five. “You know,” she walked around the room, emptying a few drawers to make space for our things, “Han and I are having problems, too. And you know what they say... I’ll scratch your back, and you scratch mine.”

  “Right now I have nothing to scratch your back with, but I hope Mark and I will work something out,” I said gloomily. Although I could ask Jean-Pierre to scratch her with his claws if she wanted.

  “When are you going to see Mark?” May asked, leaving a few clean towels on the bed.

  “Now,” I said, and I hugged her once more before leaving the house with my daughters.

  Chapter 26

  Alba

&
nbsp; Mark’s car was in the driveway, but the whole house was so dark that, for a second, I wondered whether he had vampires staying over.

  Inside, all the curtains were drawn and blocked out the blazing sun. The only light was the flashing of the TV screen, which was showcasing violent movie scenes as we entered. My husband was lying on the couch in an unrefined posture, right next to what I had taken to call Mark’s Altar: a collection of football trophies and pictures of his various life achievements, which adorned the mantelpiece since we had moved in. Those items were a subtle statement and had nothing to do with decorating: their sole mission was telling the world that the man of the house was a person accustomed to winning, with no intentions of adding the word defeat to his polished vocabulary.

  Mark wasn’t expecting us until a couple of days later, and it wasn’t by chance that I hadn’t warned him of our arrival. All in all, it was still my house, and it felt wrong to seek his permission; and also, I didn’t want to lose the small advantage of catching him unprepared―his spontaneous outbreaks were bad enough already.

  “Hi, Mark,” I muttered fearfully, approaching him from behind and waiting next to the TV, but careful not to obstruct his vision. Years of cohabitation had taught me to avoid unnecessary battles, and I was terrified of how he would react when he saw me.

  Mark jolted in his seat, realizing he wasn’t alone anymore, and extended his hand towards the remote to turn off the TV. Iris and Katie greeted him excitedly, but he just detached them from his pants and stared at me.

  It was strange to find him home at 11 AM on a weekday, so I wondered whether he had been sick. He was wearing track pants and his chin showed an unusual shadow of stubble―all of that was a rare sight in my otherwise perfectionist husband. Taking in his disheveled looks, I felt a sudden pang of guilt. Was it my fault that he had let himself go like that? Had my departure hurt him so much?

  “Have you been all right?” I asked tentatively, keeping the distance between us. The girls ran upstairs to their room, happy to be reunited with their old toys, and left us alone in the living room.

  Mark ignored the question and stood up, pacing in my direction. The tension between us felt like a quickly thickening fog.

  “Where have you been?” he snarled, his face almost crashing against mine as he leaped toward me and tried to wrap his arms around my back.

  I stepped back and gulped.

  “I told you, we went on a little vacation. I needed time to think. But we’re back, as promised.”

  “Did you miss me?” he said, licking his lips, and I held his gaze without answering. “You were with that guy, weren’t you? The one who gave you a shiner?” I recoiled a few steps more until I bumped against the dining table. “Sounds like a romantic. Is he good in bed?”

  “Mark!” I shouted, aggrieved, as I scurried toward the door. “That’s none of your business!”

  “I would digress, but okay.” His eyes narrowed and gleamed, full of badly concealed secrets. “The papers are waiting on the kitchen table,” he said, his towering figure looming over me like a bad omen and blocking the door. “You can read them now, and I’ll have them mailed officially to you later. Just sign everything, and I will leave you alone. Happy?”

  It sounded tempting.

  No more yelling. No more crying in the pantry or looking back in fear while walking on the street.

  Just a signature, and everything would be over for good.

  “Good. But I'm not signing anything without reading it first.” I exhaled slowly to calm down my labored breathing.

  “It’s just a freaking divorce petition, for God’s sake,” he snapped. “It’s not like you are selling me your soul.”

  No, because that I already gave you for free.

  He moved aside and let me enter the kitchen, where a stack of papers was already waiting for me in a folder with the logo of his office. A pot of cold coffee lay on the counter, and I poured myself a full cup before starting to read.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped, studying his absurd divorce petition with incredulity. The long list of allegations against me included accusations of deserting and mistreating him, neglecting the children, behaving unreasonably and―best of all―ongoing and repeated adultery during our marriage. The agreement let him keep the kids and the house in exchange for overlooking all my alleged felonies.

  Holding that stack of lies in my hands, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had ever considered that same man my pillar, my life companion and my one and only ally. Who was that stranger standing in front of me?

  “This is a bunch of lies,” I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief, sipping the horribly stale brew and spitting it back into the cup.

  He had been generous enough to leave me a small apartment we owned in Boston, which was currently rented by bankrupt tenants who hadn't paid a penny for the last six months, but also refused to leave the premises. Mark could have kicked them out in five days if he had wanted to, but he never cared to do it. It seemed to be his last and final joke: he would leave me virtually homeless, but I’d still own a home on the papers. After all these years, he was striving to fully ruin my life, not only taking away my kids, but even the very roof over my head.

  He just smirked and tilted his head with feigned innocence.

  “Mark, I can’t sign this. Child neglect? Adultery? Have you lost your mind?” I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh hysterically.

  “You don’t have to sign now, just wait for me to send it, will you? Just wanted to see your face... because, you know... it’s priceless.”

  “I’m never signing this,” I managed to say, then shoved the papers into his chest, but he put them back on the table and pushed them toward me.

  “You will, my darling,” he said in a threatening tone. “You’ll see.” He was grinning now, like he had total control over the situation.

  Making use of the last bit of bravery inside me, I threw the papers into the sink and poured the hideous coffee over them, cursing through gritted teeth as I held back the tears.

  “Too bitter for your taste?” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching me with smugness.

  With a growl, I walked out, throwing my arms in the air in surrender. I went upstairs, determined to lock myself in the bathroom and run a really long hot bath to help me forget about everything and everyone.

  A lavender smell floated in the air as I entered the bedroom, and the pillows were so carefully arranged on the duvet that it looked like a picture from an interior design magazine. Mark must have hired cleaning staff, because the last time I’d checked, he wasn’t even able to fold his own pajamas in half.

  I opened the small closet by the sink and stared inside, not sure what I was searching for.

  After shave.

  Hand cream.

  Soap.

  Red lipstick.

  Wait, what?

  I hadn’t worn make up in five years, let alone red lipstick. That thing was definitely not mine.

  Feeling slightly paranoid, I took a deep breath and dove halfheartedly into the trash bin.

  Tissues.

  Dental floss.

  Condom wraps

  Oh, gross.

  Using the tips of my fingers, I tried not to flinch as I picked up the revolting evidence, together with the lipstick, and put it all in a plastic bag.

  I HAD NO IDEA WHAT to do with the stuff I had just found, but I kept it in the hopes that it might end up being useful. Mark had accused me of adultery in his divorce petition―how, when and with whom, I still had no clue―but I wasn’t going to sit back and let him destroy my life if there was anything I could do about it.

  I needed to think, and walking outside alone usually helped with that―the bath would have to wait.

  The air was suffocatingly hot as I followed the path which led out of our upscale family neighborhood and to the riverbanks. Even in my light linen dress, I started to sweat copiously under the midday sun. Seemingly, one didn’t even need to be a vampire to bu
rn alive in Emberbury.

  I strolled down the road, seeking the shadow and thinking about my favorite spot by the river: a nook under a blood-red maple, near the old wooden bridge. I still hadn’t decided whether I was furious, sad or simply numb.

  Neglect. Mistreatment. Adultery.

  Was he even serious?

  Did he have any plans to prove all those accusations, or was he going to blackmail me into signing in some uncanny way?

  The riverbanks were deserted at midday, and the grass was yellow and parched. The water level was very low, even for this time of the year, and I remembered strolling along that same riverside many years ago. It had been a glorious spring day, when I was still pregnant with my first child, and I had wandered carelessly, full of hopes and dreams that never came to fruition. A monarch butterfly had landed on my belly, and back then, I had taken it as a sign of good luck and hope.

  Now there were no butterflies to be seen, and nothing to hope for, either. Bare survival suddenly seemed like a very attractive option.

  A loud crack swept me out of my reverie: my foot had got stuck in a hole in the middle of the gravel path. I cursed, wondering what had gotten into me that morning when I had chosen the most complex Roman sandals in the planet before leaving The Cloister. I crouched down to untangle the heel, but it was beyond repair. With a sigh, I turned around and started to walk back.

  I wasn’t excited about treading barefoot on the scorching curbside, so I tied the sandal to my foot and dragged myself back at snail speed, as the asphalt became soft and created mirages in front of my eyes with the looming midday.

  It took me almost an hour to get back to the house, and by the time I reached it, Mark’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway anymore.

  I held my breath, knowing instantly that something was wrong, very wrong.

  When my key didn’t want to slide into the lock, I realized Mark wasn’t just gone―he had also managed to lock me out of my own house. That bastard, who hadn’t been able to change a single toilet paper roll for the time we had been married, had managed to install a new lock in the time I had been away. I knocked on the windows, but nobody answered. He must have packed the kids into the car and taken them to God-knows-where.