Tabitha ignored the question. “What’s that one for?”
“Oh, that? That’s a very special bit of magic. Just for you,” she said smiling.
Tabitha didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s it do?”
“You’ll see later. Consider it payment for a job well done,” she said.
“Umm. Okay. Is it a sex thing? Cause you don’t need a spell, I’ll try whatever.”
“Sort of, but not really. Just don’t worry about it. We have to focus on Pete now,” Julie said.
Tabitha remembered the photo and checked the computer. No spell yet. Actually, he logged out of the program altogether.
“False alarm,” Tabitha said.
“Cop must have let him off with a warning,” Julie postulated.
“Hey, they won’t be able to find out about what we’re doing right? The cops I mean,” she asked, considering the possibility for the first time.
“Don’t worry girl, I’ll make sure you don’t go to jail,” Julie reassured her.
PETE
Engine sounds weren’t enough to calm Pete down this time. He barrelled down the road, passing every car he approached, disregarding the double yellow lines separating the two-lane road. His head spun, heart thumped. He thought he should be crying but never even came close, overtaken by more of an angered confusion than a guilty sadness. When Pete finally noticed the red and blue lights flashing in his rear-view mirror he wasn’t sure how long they’d been on.
The Trans-Am rolled to a stop in front of a parking meter only two blocks from his apartment, it still had ten minutes worth of credit according to the digital readout. At least they can’t get me for illegal parking, he thought. Reflected in his driver’s side mirror was the police cruiser, parked bumper-to-bumper with his Trans-Am. An officer stepped out with a clipboard in his hand, mid-twenties, right out the academy, military haircut, mirrored Aviator sunglasses. Pete rolled the window down as he approached.
“License, registration.” He said it as a statement more than a request. Pete dug the license from his wallet, registration from his center console and handed them over. Officer Wilkins, according to his name-tag, laid them across his clipboard and gave them a long look.
“I had my lights on a mile back. Is there a good reason why you didn’t stop sooner?” he asked.
“My boss had a heart-attack at work today. Died right in front of me. My mind’s just been drifting since then.” It was partially true, but Rick’s death didn’t bother him much. Rick went quick, painless, and clean. But poor Tina…
“Sorry for your loss,” Wilkins said flatly. “Still, that’s no reason for you to be going twenty miles-per-hour over the city-wide speed limit. I’m going to write you a ticket for reckless driving.”
“Reckless driving? Can’t you just let me off with speeding? I’m having a really rough day here,” he said.
“Tell it to the judge. Maybe he’ll be in a good mood. The way you were passing cars back there you’re lucky to get off this easy.” He leaned over and sniffed. “You haven’t had anything to drink today have you, son?”
“Two vodka’s officer. I swear that’s all.” He sounded desperate. “Besides, my apartment building is right over there.” He pointed at a old brick-faced structure, seven stories high. “I could just walk from here.”
“Okay, okay. Just make sure to feed that meter before you go sober up. I’ll be right back with your ticket,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” said Pete. “For reference, can I take a picture of you real quick?”
“My name will be on the ticket, son,” Wilkins said.
“I know, but I may not have the ticket on hand when I need to know which officer I spoke with,” he explained.
“Alright, but make it snappy.” He smiled at his own pun. A smile that looked uncomfortable on his stern face. Pete held up the phone. It clicked with the mock sound of a camera shutter.
Wilkins started a slow walk back to the cruiser. Pete already had the cop’s face in his digital cauldron, he was just looking for a good recipe. Maybe, he thought, there was something that would keep him from writing a ticket without killing him.
As he scrolled through the recipes, a static-filled voice leaked through the window:
All units be advised, we have a probable suicide at the Drinks & Links. We need two clean up crews immediately. All officers are needed on hand to take statements from customers.
Pete had decided on a spell called Memory Wipe, already mixed in the ingredients. The little witch smiled at him as his finger approached Apply.
“Your lucky day, son.” Pete flinched at the sudden sound of Wilkins voice, dropping the phone. Wilkins didn’t take the time to explain why it was a lucky day. He tossed the license and registration in Pete’s lap and took off.
Pete picked up the phone and exited the application. He took a deep breath and started the car. The officer would be busy for a while, Pete drove the two blocks to his apartment.
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
It was two weeks after the Pete Incident when they first made love. Tabitha had reservations about witchcraft, but didn’t mind being under Julie’s spell. It was the first time she’d been with a girl. The latest in a series of firsts for Tabitha. The week before, they had watched strangers from the window in Tabitha’s 5th floor apartment. Tabitha would pick someone at random; a homeless person, a mailman, a meter maid, and Julie would cast a spell.
The homeless man was sleeping behind some garbage cans. When Julie finished mixing her brew, the man stood with something glittery in his hand. From the window all Tabitha could see was a sparkle. Soon a man with an expensive-looking suit came over, something Italian she figured, and started speaking with the derelict. It was impossible to tell what was being said, but Italian-suit-man handed over a wad of hundreds in exchange for the sparkling trinket.
The mailman didn’t have it quite as good. Julie watched him hop out of his blue mail-truck and stuff some envelopes through a slot on the duplex across the street. When he tried to drive off the mail-truck wouldn’t start. The ignition grinded, but the engine wouldn’t fire. A half-hour later another mail-truck arrived. The driver exited with jumper-cables in hand. As soon as all four clamps connected to the terminals, sparks started flying. At first it looked like an Independence Day celebration, but then the sparks morphed into a blaze. A fire-truck extinguished the flames before any explosion occurred, but both mail-trucks were total losses, metal skeletons with a burnt-toast look.
The meter maid wasn’t a random pick. Tabitha spotted the woman, probably a retiree working part-time, putting a ticket on Julie’s forest-green Accord.
“Julie, you’re gettin’ a ticket,” she called to her in the bedroom where a hangover was being slept off.
Julie, an apparently light sleeper, came rushing out the bedroom door to the window.
“Fucking bitch,” she muttered and stomped off to the kitchen.
Tabitha heard a commotion, but before she could ask Julie what she was mixing up, the meter maid fell over. Didn’t get back up. Died.
Tabitha knew she should have been scared, angry, upset. But she didn’t feel any of those things. Didn’t feel much of anything really, except powerful. Power by proximity, a girlfriend that no one would fuck with. Or if they did, they’d regret it, just like Pete.
TABITHA & JULIE
Watching the computer screen proved to be boring, like a long day of fishing with only a few bites. The girls played Gin Rummy for a while, sitting around a coffee table in the living room. Eventually they moved on to video games, the latest zombie shoot-em-up. After a few hours of play and a half-dozen beers they nearly missed the bell for Pete’s latest victim. Tabitha was on her way for beer number seven when she noticed a new face on the screen.
“Jules. There’s an old lady on the screen,” Tabitha called.
“An old lady? Wasn’t expecting that,” Julie said.
“Maybe we oughta let this one slide. He’ll just think the program malfun
ctioned or— ”
“Shush,” Julie interrupted. “Look, it’s a luck spell. She’ll be fine.”
“But I thought you said Four Leaf Clover was really a curse?” Tabitha asked.
“It is, but not for the target. The old lady will probably find money laying in the street or some handsome young man who’s into granny-sex,” she explained. “But that luck is absorbed from the folks nearest her, and judging from this photo, that would include Pete.”
Tabitha gave a sheepish laugh and grinned. “You’re so gross,” she said. “He’s about to tap the button, you ready?”
Julie urgently walked to the book cases and scanned the labels. She picked up a container and flicked the lid off in the floor. She looked over her shoulder. “Just say when, Tabby,” she yelled.
Tabby printed the photo and carried it to the kitchen where Julie was stirring up the ingredients with a stainless steel whisk. She heard the click from the computer’s speakers and whispered softly into Julie’s ear. “When.”
Zippo. Burning photo. Eruption of flame.
“Done,” Julie said. “Now there’s some blue-haired old lady out there ready for sexual healing.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes and grinned, kissed her on the cheek.
PETE
He sat straight up when he woke, noticing first the reek of bile and vomit soaking into his belongings. Next, he noticed it was dark outside. He had been sleeping for hours, or perhaps in a coma. What’s the difference really? he thought.
The stink was too much to bear. He took the coffee table to his bathroom and tilted it over the side of the tub. The puke dribble down, made splatty sounds as it hit the ceramic. Pete took the shower-head from its nozzle and turned the chrome lever beneath. He accidently used hot water at first, amplifying the stink. He quickly switched over to cool and rinsed the table-top clean. It was a chunky vomit and he had to use a plunger on the shower drain to get it all down.
He left the table leaning against the bathtub and went to take care of the rug. It was a much simpler task. A dumpster set in an alley three stories below his living-room window. He rolled up the stinking mess and dropped it. It landed with an inaudible softness. The smell still lingered on Pete’s clothes so he stripped naked and dropped them down on top of the rug.
He sat down on the couch, bare ass-cheeks sticking to the leather, and thought for a few moments. Thought about seeking some help from an expert. But then, who the hell is an expert on spell-casting phone applications? Thought about finding a way to use Witchcraft 2.0 for profit, a luck-increasing spell maybe. Reasonable, but he didn’t want to risk testing a spell on himself. Thought maybe he should just delete the damn thing, but couldn’t bring himself to give away the power.
Pete got up, got dressed in a clean Mass Effect t-shirt and blue jeans. He grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone from a small wicker basket by the door and headed for the exit.
Across the street from the apartment building was a convenience store, built into the lobby of a cheap hotel. The booze was overpriced but Pete bought it frequently anyway. That was the pretense on which he entered the shop, wandering around aimlessly, pretending to read names on bottles. The moment he was waiting for arrived when an elderly woman asked for a lottery scratcher. She was short, skinny and hunched over, wearing a purple flowered dress with an oversized collar that made it look like her head was poking through a doily. Her white hair had a hideous blue sheen that matched her dress.
“Give me one of the Four Leaf Clovers,” she said. Oddly enough, that was also the name of the spell Pete had queued up on his phone. The ingredients were already cooking, the witch was just waiting for a target.
Pete turned the flash off and held the phone up, pretending to send a text. He captured a three-quarters profile of the woman’s wrinkled face, hoped that would be enough. He applied the spell quickly, before she could start scratching.
A pair of reading glasses hung from a chain on the lady’s neck. She put them on, took a penny from the cashier and began to scratch. When everything was uncovered she paused for a moment, glancing at the rules then back to the numbers. She flipped the ticket over and read the tiny text, ticket held inches from her eyes.
“Holy shit!” she cried. Pete felt uneasy hearing the words coming from her clownishly red lips. “I just won ten thousand dollars, per month, for life!” Pete rushed out of the convenience store. No one noticed thanks to the old lady’s distraction. Now that he knew the spell worked he was aiming for higher payout than any scratch ticket could offer.
TABITHA & JULIE
Tabitha’s kisses started at the cheek but inched their way to the neck, just behind Julie’s ear. Julie let out a soft moan and shivered.
Ding Ding.
Tabitha pulled back and shivered also, but in frustration.
“Fucking obnoxious little bell,” she said.
“He’s probably gonna try that luck spell on himself,” Julie theorized.
But as they walked from the kitchen to the computer desk in the living room it wasn’t Pete’s face on the monitor, but a cop. The same cop as before.
“What’s with this guy?” Tabitha asked.
“I bet he caught him speeding again. No warning for Asshole this time,” Julie said.
He’d chosen the same spell as before, The Broken Heart. Julie leaned in close to the screen.
“What is it? What do you see?” Tabitha asked.
Julie leaned in even closer, her nose almost touching the screen.
“It’s time, Tabby. Let’s end that prick right now,” she said.
Then Tabitha noticed. The cop fit the image of every other cop. Buzzed head topped with a blue hat, mirrored Aviator sunglasses. Short mustache. But there, in the center of those ridiculous-looking Aviators was a crisp reflection of Pete’s face, angry and red.
Julie pushed Tabitha aside and sat at the computer. Within seconds she had the photo zoomed and cropped. The picture was grainy, but it was Pete. It was definitely Pete.
When Tabitha saw his face, flush with fury and pixelated, but still not unattractive, she hesitated. “Jules, I’m not sure we should do this.”
Julie printed the photo and feigned deafness.
“I mean, he’s a dirt bag, but does he really deserve to die?” Then she added, “Did any of them really deserve to die?”
Ignoring the question, Julie took the photo to the kitchen. Tabitha followed.
“Julie! Are you even listening to me?”
Julie held the lighter, thumb on the wheel, ready to strike.
“Julie!” Tabitha grabbed her by the shoulder. Julie turned to her lover and curled her lip, made a short growling sound, snarled. For an instance, Tabitha could see her eyes flash from green to red. She blinked to clear her vision, Julie’s irises were green again.
Click. Strike. Burn.
It was over. Pete was out on some highway, grabbing his chest, about to die.
PETE
Pete launched himself into the Trans-Am, put it in drive and headed west, towards Asheville. About fifty miles past that quaint little city in the mountains was Harrah’s Cherokee Casino Resort. A place that Pete thought he might put out of business with the Four Leaf Clover spell.
He stomped heavy on the gas, speeding towards his future wealth with visions of sugar plums dancing in his head. Except they weren’t sugar plums dancing but the spinning red and blue lights of a police cruiser.
Pete glanced in the mirror and instantly recognized the cop as Officer Wilkins. Probably looking to finish writing that ticket, he thought. Furious, he grabbed his phone. A picture of Wilkins was already on hand, saved in his memory as PIG.jpg. Overcome with greed and power, and only a little nausea, Pete grabbed his phone and launched Witchcraft 2.0.
A memory wipe wouldn’t be enough to satisfy. Pete wanted Officer Wilkins gone for good. He cooked up The Broken Heart; 3 pinky bones, 1 virgin’s tongue, 2 crow’s wings, 8 spider legs, dragging them into the cauldron quick while Wilkins was still fumbling with p
aperwork.
Wilkins exited the cruiser just as Pete touched Apply. A pain shot through Pete’s chest, his hand involuntarily squeezed the phone. Confusion hit him with the same intensity as the pain. He forced his head down a little, stared at the screen over his bottom eyelids. The face in the witch’s cauldron was Pete’s own. He had a laughable thought about looking good for a 36-year-old. The photo of his face bulged out in the center, making a fat caricature of his features. A halo of light bent around the edges of his portrait. Then he realized, he had caught an image of himself in Wilkins’ mirrored Aviators, the only bare face in the photo.
Wilkins made it to the car. “What’s wrong, son?” he asked.
Pete wondered if he would ask the question again after his body fell limp, like Rick’s. A laugh forced its way through teeth clenched in pain. It must have sounded like a groan to Wilkins.
Pete died.
TABITHA & JULIE
“What the fuck was that?”
“It was exactly what we talked about,” Julie responded.
“Why didn’t you answer? It’s like you were possessed or something.”
“He had to die. Can’t have any loose ends.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll understand soon enough,” Julie promised.
Julie stepped out of the kitchen and came back with two plastic containers. She removed the lid from one and dumped the contents into the Crock-Pot. Her lighter was ready to ignite the mixture.
“What are you doing? Stop. I don’t want—” Julie ignited the brew before Tabitha could finish her sentence.
A green Chinese dragon, the type you see in Chinatown parades, was tattooed across Julie’s shoulders. The heads started on each of her wrists, their body crawled up the arms, looping once around her neck. When Julie cast the spell, the dragon started to grow. Lines tracing the scales along the dragon’s back faded as the tattoo spread, until Julie’s exposed skin was entirely green. Tabitha was so enchanted by the magic that she missed how Julie’s face turned the same color. By the time she looked up, Julie was a different being. No longer the sexy, tattooed misfit that she’d fallen for six months ago. Now she resembled the little cartoon witch on the computer screen and Pete’s phone, only scarier with her ruby red eyes.
Kzine Issue 9 Page 9