by Eliza Grace
“I reach beyond reality to open the door,” I repeat.
Nails down a chalkboard is the sound of the door opening, because it doesn’t want to. I am forcing it to yield to me. I am forcing my way into Elisabeth’s chosen place. I want to see it; I want to know where Hoyt was trapped.
Do not tempt fate. The witchfinder whispers. Your human was lucky that Elisabeth released him. She is not always so benevolent. Now please. Please, let me go to her. I will be her plague and I can finish my existence in peace.
The Neverwhere is revealed now, the door fully open. I can see a dark place beyond the door. The trees are their own kind of monster, reaching with leafless, twisted limbs towards the starless sky. A fog hovers over the ground like a depressed ocean. “You want to go in here?” I ask out loud, disbelieving that this is the place Elisabeth would choose for eternity.
Please let me go.
“The mind inside of mine. The soul without a form. I open up myself, wide to the world, and I release you.” I wait a moment, feeling the witchfinder restless in my head.
Say it again. Say it again. He pleads.
“The mind inside of mine. The soul without a form. I open myself, wide to the world, and I release you.”
Yes. The witchfinder holds the one word, dragging it out until his voice fades to nothing.
My chest launches forward and my back arches. An eruption of black solution pours from my nose and mouth. I cannot breathe around it. My eyes are damp. My body lifts in the air and my toes dangle against the floor. The force of the expulsion pushes me backwards into the wall.
He is a sliver of a presence; how can so much be coming out of me?
I don’t think it will ever stop.
And then it suddenly does and I, once again, fall like a limp noodle to the floor.
The airborne, viscous ooze is snaking through the room, hitting walls and ceilings. It’s trying desperately to find the exit. I raise my hands, concentrating until gold power warms my palms. Straining, I shoot the magic in shimmering streams, trying to redirect the witchfinder’s essence towards the portal. It works, and the blackness flies over the threshold. I scramble to my feet as the final tendrils of his soul disappear into the Neverwhere. I run and I slam the door. I slam it and it disappears immediately.
“He’s gone,” I say to the nothing around me. “He’s actually gone.”
It is such a relief, to own my own head again and to not fear him taking over my body. I am free of him. I am free of him and I feel like the world is new.
Smiling, I turn around. I am lost in the moment and nothing else matters.
Until my eyes fall on the cauldron.
If the timeline has changed and the monsters are back in the forest, it will not be long before they rediscover that the barrier spell is no longer in place. I have to get the mixture to the fence. We have to repair it as fast as we can, or the town will be in peril once more and it will be my fault all over again.
I dig through the witchfinder’s supplies until I find two large mason jars and a wooden ladle. I fill the jars up to the brim and secure the lids. The cauldron is still half full, but I don’t think I can carry more. Two jars will have to be enough.
After I descend from the hidden witching room above, carrying the two jars and my family’s grimoire, I look around the witchfinder’s home and part of me hopes I will come back one day. Though the magic of the house has faded against me, I still admire its charm. I can see myself reading by the fire and practicing spells in the hidden attic room.
“Sure, come back and take a vacation in the witchfinder’s house. Awesome idea, idiot.” I hold the mason jars tightly and I walk quickly out of the front door.
The garden is fragrant and beautiful as I pass through it and I realize that the sunlight is hitting the plants exactly as it had when I’d arrived. The golden orb in the sky has not moved at all. How long have I been here? How long has it been since the time spell?
How long have Jon and Hoyt been in the forest whilst the monsters roam again…
That thought sends me sprinting down the path towards the door. The book is beneath my arm and I balance the jars long enough to jerk the exit open. I nearly cry when I see both Jon and Hoyt sitting on the ground on the other side.
“Tilda!” Hoyt shouts. As soon as I am through the door, he is standing and ready to grab me into a tight bear hug. He embraces me tightly and the glass jars are shoved against me between us. “God, I was worried.”
“I’m okay.”
“Really?” Jon eyeballs me, keeping his distance from us.
“I am. I promise.” My gaze darts around the woods, looking for danger. “We have to go though. And fast.” My backpack is still on the ground where I left it. I wish it was big enough for the potion jars, but it’s not. And it’s probably not smart to have the glass banging around against each other anyways. It will fit the grimoire though. I set the jars down and I put the backpack on after drinking some water and stashing the tome. I don’t realize how thirsty I have been since walking into the witchfinder’s home until a drink—a drink I trust isn’t going to kill me—is at hand. I look at the guys, who are still staring at me in relief and making no preparations to leave. “Come on. We really have to go.”
“No, it’s fine. Honestly. We’ve been here for hours, no signs of danger anywhere.” Hoyt smiles down on me, squeezing me gently to him.
I look up at the darkening sky. What time is it? Again, I wonder how long it has been since I manipulated time. “Hoyt, Jon. Just trust me. We have to go. The witchfinder helped me change time so that none of the monsters have escaped the forest yet. They’re here. They’re everywhere; you just haven’t seen any of them yet.”
Hoyt’s eyes grow wider, thick lower lashes brush his upper cheek. “Come on,” he releases my body and grabs my hand.
“I’ll run point,” Jon says quickly, rushing down the red brick path towards the end of it where the fairy circle had dumped us out. “If there’s trouble, I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“We’ve got to get out of the forest and reset the barrier spell.” I am cradling the jars to my chest. I’m so worried they will break. But… I have magic. And I’m an idiot. “Hoyt, wait a second.”
I pull my hand away from his and I place the jars gently on the ground. I kneel, putting one hand on each lid. “I want these jars to be unbreakable. I want the liquid inside protected.” I don’t have a special chant. All I can do is feel the earth beneath my legs and connect with the magic permeating the soil. I can only use my willpower, my intent.
The purple ooze glows for a moment, rainbow light tossing colors on the ground around them. When I am confident I have done all I can to keep the potion safe, I stand up and hand a jar to Hoyt. “You take this one. And try not to drop it. I’m not totally confident that what I did worked.”
He nods. “I won’t drop it.” He tucks it under his arm in a football hold, his large hands easily circling the large jar. It is hard for me to grip it with one hand. I have to be far more careful. “Let’s go.”
Jon is still ahead of us, checking the path. We follow the bricks until we see him at the end of the trail. “Rock trolls on the other side. They’re stalking the fairy circle, hoping for prey.”
“They… eat fairies?” I gasp out, feeling sick.
“I told you rock trolls are nasty little buggers.” Jon shrugs. “Be ready. As soon as we step out on the other side, we’re going to need to run. They’re slow at least. We have the advantage of speed.”
I take a deep breath, looking down at the circular scorch marks in the grass. “I’m ready.”
“I’m not,” Hoyt laughs uncomfortably. “Tilda?”
“Yeah,” I turn my head to look at him.
“When this is all over, let’s go out properly. Dinner. Movie. Whatever you want.”
I smile. “If we’re not dead, it’s a date.”
“Oh brother,” Jon sighs out. “Let’s just go already.” Like last time, he is the first o
f us to step through the crimson burning bridge to the other side.
Okay, I think. Ready or not. I step forward into the circle and I half-expect the witchfinder’s voice to come alive within my mind. But… he is truly gone.
A Useless Gift
-Jen-
“They’ve been gone too long,” I can’t hide the fear in my voice. Leaning against the studio window, I stare out across the meadow.
I’ve been so full of nervous energy that I’ve organized everything in the house. The place hasn’t looked so clean and taken-care of in months. My art supplies are color coded and I’ve even cleaned each tube of paint.
“They’re fine, Jen. I promise they are.” Archie comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders.
“God, I really didn’t realize how annoying that was until now. Jon is right; we shouldn’t say things like that. It makes things so much worse when we’re wrong and it turns out to be a bunch of lies.” Nevertheless, I soak in Archie’s offer of comfort and I lean into his body.
“Come on, let’s get some food. Food always cheers me up.” He takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. In a daze, I sit down at the table and now stare out of the window there. I can’t seem to take my eyes off the forest for long, always hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of the trio returning. “Grilled cheese?”
“Sounds good,” I say noncommittally. I’m not really hungry, but Archie seems to need something to do.
As I stare out into the woods, I begin to feel tired. It is an eyes-drooping, body-dysphoria-inducing, deep exhaustion. I cross my arms on the table and I rest my head against them, still positioning such a way that I can see the forest. My last thought before I doze off is that Tilda has to be safe. How could I face my sister in death if I let her daughter die whilst I stayed safe in this house?
The world is red.
Crimson smoke chokes out any light that might exist.
I hear someone coughing. I push through, forcing my way into whatever is happening inside the heady fog. I see a person’s form. Large, thickly-built. The shape of the body seems familiar. Hoyt. My brain puts two and two together.
He is surrounded by a spell and the spell does not want him. It is trying to expel him, rather than let him pass. I reach forward and press a hand to the boy’s chest. I don’t know the measure of my magic. I am only an artist. I have no sense of spells and power.
But I feel something vibrate through me. I feel my hand warm like it is held to a fire that burns and rages and flickers golden. Let him through, I think. I feel the spell give way, the magic bending to my request. I watch Hoyt fade away. And as he does, so too does the red fog.
Can I pass into that place as well?
There is a circle on the ground, formed of too-perfect mushrooms. I step into it. There is no red assault of faux flame. I simple shimmer out of solid form and then shimmer back into being on the other side. I see Hoyt walking down a trail of bricks. I follow him. Along the path, we see Jon. The vampire boy seems disoriented.
“I was walking this way,” he points, and then turns the other way. “No, that way. But everything looks the same. I don’t understand. Something’s messing with my head. I can’t find Tilda. I can… smell her. I can hear her. But I can’t find her.”
Hoyt also turns in a circle, confusion coloring his gaze. “The path is right here. We just follow the path.”
“Great. Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Jon spits out. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do? At one point, I swear Tilda passed right by me, but I couldn’t see her.”
“Come on.” Hoyt begins to walk confidently. But after a short while, he stops in his tracks. “I’ve seen that before.” He points at a stump.
“See. It’s like… you know where you’re going, but you can’t get there.”
I realize, then, what is happening. There is another spell here, keeping unwanted trespassers confused. Tilda probably didn’t experience this, not with the witchfinder as her guide. I step forward and place my hands on the two boys. My fingers grip their shoulders and I try to project feelings of clarity. I’m an artist, feelings come so naturally. I think, more than anything, perhaps this is my gift. I can calm fear and see the many different hues of human response. I can gently coerce the magic, because I’m stronger when it comes to the connection I feel to everything around me. It’s how I live life. It’s how I paint.
Jon shakes his head and Hoyt’s expression shifts from blankly muddled to eyebrows lifted and gaze wide. Both boys begin walking, slow at first and then faster when they realize that they’re now making progress. I struggle to keep up, and am relieved to release them once I see Tilda in the near distance. She is stood beside a door that has appeared from thin air.
But then… then she is yelling and being forced through the portal. They’re not going to make it to her in time. I run past the boys. I run faster than I ever had.
But even I am too late.
“Tilda!” I jolt up, screaming her name and blink in confusion when I realize that I am still sitting in the kitchen. The sun is a bit lower than it had been when I’d fallen asleep. The meadow is such an empty expanse of zero activity. Yet, I know now that in the forest… things are happening. And I can do nothing. I am useless.
You’re not useless. The voice in my head is peaceful, so very sure. You’re not useless, and I love you so very much. Thank you for caring for my daughter. I freeze at the table, heart beating, eyes damp. It is my sister’s voice, though I know she is gone. Tilda has told me everything that happened. Embrace your gift, Jen-Jen. She uses the childhood nickname I’ve not heard since we were very little.
My gaze moves to the studio. That is my strength. I have drawn with my power unintentionally before. I can do it this time, but with purpose.
Archie sets a grilled cheese sandwich down in front of me. I mumble a thank you, but I get up from the table without eating.
“Eat, Jen. It’ll get cold,” he calls after me.
But I can’t eat. There is only one need in my body, and it’s not hunger.
I have to draw.
My fingers are twitching and I am seeing slideshow in my mind.
I see Tilda, Hoyt, and Jon. They are at the boundary between the woods and the meadow. I see shadows move between trees, ready to strike. I see the broken section repaired and Tilda knelt in front of it. She is going to sacrifice everything to change fate. I see the end in the beginning. I see the ripples of a shifting universe.
My fingers tear off a large piece of sketch paper. I grab my roll of pastels and a stubby charcoal and I fall to the floor. My hand moves beyond my control, slashing lines across the pale paper. I fight the red and yellow pastels from their webbed pocket and I smudge bright splashes of color onto the black. The sky is navy blue. Dark gray tentacles hang in the air. The shadow beasts will try to attack.
I have to be with her when it happens. I know it in my heart; I feel it in my gut.
She will need my strength. I will sacrifice everything I have. It’s my job. Not hers. I’m her guardian. I’ll keep her safe.
When the drawing is done, the sky outside is deepening. It is not that navy hue I have placed on the paper, but it will be soon. I grab the corner of the picture and I bolt to a standing position. Archie has been sitting on the sofa behind me and he calls my name in surprise as I race out of the studio. The kitchen still smells like singed bread and melted cheese as I run through it.
Yanking the back door open, I feel the summer night come alive against me. The last of the day birds sing. Crickets are sharpening their wings to put on a chorus show. Stars are beginning to sprout in the sky above. I am on the ground, moving as if carried by a tornado wind. I hear the house door squeal open, its broken hinges protesting the repeat use. Archie is following me.
The flapping of the paper in my hand harmonizes with the thud, thud of my feet hitting the grass. I’m halfway across the meadow; Archie catches up. He is breathing too heavily to question me. I say nothing, but I point ahead of us. My eyes have seen them.
Jon is throwing Tilda over the barrier. Hoyt is catching her. The shadow beasts are converging, ready to attack. The vampire boy stands his ground against the threat.
I am here. My power is not useless. I am here, and I can help them win.
The Barrier Spell
When the singing red smoke is gone, I can’t believe what I see. It’s just… not… possible. What a silly thing to think, though, after everything I have witnessed.
Jon is wielding a long branch and he is systematically knocking back what appears to be stacks of stones. They are like little gray snowmen that will never melt no matter how hot a summer day becomes. I do not see eyes though, or mouths. They roll forward, both connected and disconnected. They try to slam into Jon’s lower body and cause him to fall. But Jon is superhuman fast and he avoids the battering rams deftly.
I tiptoe out of the fairy circle and hope I am not noticed. I’m surprised they didn’t catch wind of me the moment the inferno burned me through. Hoyt comes seconds later. His head is back, his mouth open in a silent cry. The fairy circle burns far hotter for him. Alarmed, I reach my hand forward into the still-thick red smoke and flame. I recoil, thinking that the fire has burned me, but when I peer at my hand there are no marks.
The raging crimson finally fades away from around Hoyt. He is panting, but looks no worse for wear. I want to ask him why it was worse for him, but there’s no time. “Tilda, look out!”
Jon’s voice warns us as a trio of rock trolls move like cannon balls in our direction. “Leave us alone!” I scream, kicking out as hard as I can and catching one of them in the second stone, the middle rock of the snowman stack. And then its mouth appears, a crack in the stone that gapes open as it screams hoarsely. And its scream sounds like pebbles tumbling down stairs. It is clicking and clacking and headache-inducing. As I watch, the stones shift and protrusions of rock jut out from the central body part. If I thought they were odd-looking before, now they defied all explanation.