San Francisco Covens: Crucible

by Manuel Tiger

  This was sobering. All over the United States? “Do you know why?”

  “No one does,” he answered. “Who is this Heather you mentioned?”

  “A friend, a witch,” I said taking the gray V-neck from the hanger. “She was sent by her own witch’s council to retrieve the artifact as well.”

  “And this Scott?” he asked.

  “Why?” I asked glancing over my shoulder at him.

  “Just asking is all,” he said rolling his eyes.

  “He’s a friend as well if you must know,” I replied. “Not that you have any right to question who I could be dating or hooking up with.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Hooking up or dating this Scott?”

  “What the fuck does it matter if I am?” I said shaking my head then snorted. “He’s straight and has a crush on Heather.” I shook my head and hurried toward the bathroom before pausing and looking back at him. “Why did your friend of the Richmond coven want this artifact retrieved?”

  “Never really was said in detail to be honest. Only said it might hold an answer to what was going on. What about your friend’s coven? Why were they sending her to retrieve it?”

  “I…I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason. But believe me,” I said stepping into the bathroom. “I’m going to find out and see if they can help in locating her and Scott.”

  With that, I closed the door on him.

  III

  When I emerged from the bathroom after my shower Daman was kicked back on my bed leafing through the same magazine that Heather had leafed through the night before.

  Realizing that I felt a slight lump form in my throat. God, don’t let anything have happened to her or Scott. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since the events at the museum until I found my watch on my dresser and looked at the time. It was a little after six in the morning, so I had been out for twelve hours since the event had started at seven last night. Although looking toward my window the ever present storm clouds made it seem like it was still night time.

  “You’re welcome by the way,” Daman said setting up.

  “For what?” I asked turning around.

  “Giving you my blood,” he said nodding toward my right arm.

  I lifted my arm and absently ran my fingers along where the wound had been. There was not even so much as a scar. The skin was perfect. I had forgotten about the wound till then. I thought his savoir comment was in regards to him getting me out of the museum.

  I looked up. “You? You gave me your blood?”

  “Sire blood works better than that bagged shit you have in the fridge.”

  “It gets me by,” I said heading to my closet. I grabbed my brown combat dress boots and recalled the last time I had worn them and wondered why I had never tossed them out. Maybe I like torturing myself.

  “It does work in a jiffy,” Daman said watching me. “But you need the real deal for better healing and recovery.”

  “Believe me,” I said leaning against the wall as I slipped my foot into one of the boots. “I do get the real deal from time to time.” I winked and he merely nodded. “I’m headed to Heather’s witch coven. She said the council sent her so they will hopefully tell me why they did and why they wanted that artifact.” I stepped into the other boot, laced them both up and pushed off from the wall. “I imagine you can show yourself out of here?”

  “Who said I was leaving?”

  “You’re coming with me?” I arched a brow. No, it was time to draw the line. “Thank you for giving me your blood Daman. Thank you for getting me out of the burning museum, but from here on out? I work on this alone. My friends. My problem.”

  “And like I told you? We’re in on this together Henry.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you hit the pool too hard?” He got off the bed and walked over to his suitcase. “I told you that a witch’s council sent me to retrieve the artifact and the witch council here sent your friend to retrieve it,” he said opening his suitcase and retrieving a pair of similar boots that made mine look like shit. “We are both going to find out why it seems a council of witches want this artifact. I’m suspecting they know more than they are letting on.”

  Heather did say she would tell me more about why it was important to get the artifact. As much as I hated to agree with him, he was right.

  “I’ll be outside,” I said returning to my closet once more to grab a leather jacket. “Lock the door behind you.”

  IV

  When Daman emerged a few minutes after I did I had to take a double take.

  We were nearly dressed alike and I suddenly wanted to run back in and change my clothing. But that would be wasting time that I couldn’t afford. The sooner we arrived at the witch council’s residence the sooner I would have answers and hopefully the whereabouts of Heather and Scott.

  Apparently Daman noticed that we were nearly matching as well for upon seeing me he chuckled softly, but wisely stayed quiet on the matter.

  “I’m contacting an Uber,” I said not wishing for him to see the state of my car. I began to pat down my jacket and then jean pockets. “Forget my phone in the apartment.”

  “Your phone broke during the swim,” he said reaching into his jacket pocket and tossing me my phone. The screen was cracked and it was still leaking water. “We’ll take my car.”

  He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and motioned with his head for me to follow him across the street, swinging his car keys around a finger by the ring.

  I simply stared at the ruined phone in my hand. I would have to get a second job to afford a new one! It seemed this week was just getting worse from every direction.

  I followed after him at my own pace and stared at the car that he was getting into. It was a current year cherry red Camaro.

  “You…you got rid of the seventy-seven one?” I said walking around the car, checking it out from every angle. It was sleek and beautiful. I was instantly envious.

  “I got rid of a lot of things lately,” he replied leaning across and opening the door for me. “Get in.”

  “You’re good at that,” I said slipping into the bucket seat.

  If he heard me he didn’t let on. By the time I was settled in and pulling the seatbelt across my chest he was already whipping out onto the street.

  “Hey! Slow down!” I said snapping the seatbelt on.

  “Words you never said to me before,” he grinned, but seeing my frown he did as I asked. “So where to?” he asked slowing the car down.

  “The Pacific Heights district,” I said. “Twenty-one-eighteen Vallejo Street. It will be the house on the corner.”

  He nodded and punched the directions into the navigation system. After a few minutes of staring out the window at scenery I had seen a million times, I finally asked one of my many questions that I had. I had a lot to ask him, but went with the one that was the easier to ask at the moment.

  “How does Aadya know you?”

  When he remained quiet I looked over at him.

  He rubbed his chin with his hand before he answered. “I ran into her some years ago. She wasn’t pleasant then either.”

  “How did you run into her?”

  “I was helping a friend at the time who was wanting out of Mexico due to some issues with a group of shapeshifters there. Aadya was lending her Mercs to help the shapeshifters in destroying some vampire covens which my friend was part of.”

  “Mercs? As in mercenaries?”

  “Yep,” he said following the computerized voice as he took a left hand turn. “She is dangerous. Only loans her men out to the highest payer. Which,” he looked over at me, his expression grim. “Tells me that there is more to this then simply some stone artifact being stolen.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Aadya is always mixed up in some violent or dark mystical shit.”

  “She knew Heather to be a witch right away.”

  “Not surprised,” he replied. “Takes a
witch to spot a witch.”

  “She’s one herself?”

  “Of an old bloodline of witches.” He was quiet for a few heartbeats. “A very old bloodline of dark witches.”

  I knew that term. Heather had told me about them once. They were the witches that did not follow the path of helping others, but instead sought to hurt others and did some other dark magic that was usually fatal for whoever they were casting it on, or was simply fatal in general.

  “Nice ring you’re wearing by the way.”

  Drawn out of my thoughts I looked at my ring.

  “Where did you get it? Or was it given to you?” he said throwing another quick glance at it, his tone bordering on huffy.

  Seriously? He was getting huffy after ten years? When he was the one who left?

  “Given,” I replied and noticed his jaw had set into a hard line, his hand doing the driving gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. “It allows me to walk in daylight. It was given to me by the one that stepped in to help me when you…,” I shook my head. Why was I bothering with explaining the ring to him? “Look Daman,” I said staring forward while dropping my hand out of sight. “We could go round and round all day fighting about petty shit? But I rather not at the moment, okay? I want to find out what these witches know and if they can find Heather and Scott.”

  He gave a brief jerk of his head that I took to be a nod. “And then what? What will you do Henry?” he asked.

  “I will go and find Heather and Scott.”

  “You don’t know what you’re going up against.”

  “And you do?” I retorted. I knew he did, but it was the best I could come back with.

  He gave me a look like a parent being irritated with their child. “Hello? Did I not just tell you that I had a run in with her once? Anytime that Aadya is involved? You’re going to need to be fully stocked up on weapons, magic and at least have an army or two to go up against her. And that’s just dealing with her alone. There’s no telling what the person paying her is like. But if that one time experience has taught me anything? She tends to get involved with people quite powerful who have bottomless pockets and up to their head in dark magic.”

  I said nothing at first and instead looked out the window again to stare at the people that were going about their day. That was me just yesterday. Going about my day, going to work, shooting the shit with Scott or listening to some conspiracy theory he had to share. Later I would call Heather after work to see if she wanted to hang or hear how her day had gone.

  Now both had been taken out of my life, the only friends, the only family really, that I had.

  “I don’t care,” I said at last. “I’m going to get them back.”

  He looked at me and I met his gaze. He said nothing and pulled the car over, parking it rapidly.

  “We’re here,” he announced killing the car. He was angry at me, but was keeping it in although his tone had given it away. “Nice,” he said looking out the window at the three story light green house that towered over us.

  To lessen the tension in the air I went into a brief history of the council house.

  “The witch’s council has always resided here, well, since the earthquake back in nineteen-o-six. That quake destroyed their original residence.” I undid my seatbelt and by the time I had my hand on the door handle Daman was already coming around and opening the door for me. I hadn’t even been aware he had gotten out before me, or heard the car door close.

  The gesture brought back another particular memory from the past, a memory that I quickly pushed under. I simply nodded my head at him in thanks and got out without saying a word. He closed the door behind me then fell into step beside me.

  “This way,” I said nodding toward the gated entryway to the left of the house.

  “Why aren’t we going to the front door?”

  “We’re not witches. If we were accompanied with a witch we would, but we’re guests here.”

  “The same old prejudices against vampires here as well, huh?”

  “Can you blame them after everything that vampires have done to witches over the centuries?”

  He gave a non-committal grunt in reply.

  I continued on anyway. “They do work with some of the vampire covens and the witch covens to foster a truce among them, to avoid the old conflicts from arising again,” I said as I spotted a limo parked a few spaces up from Daman’s car. It was a common enough sight around here to see, yet I couldn’t help but feel drawn to it for some reason. I brushed it aside. “This council also serves as the governing body for all the covens in San Francisco and at times the surrounding counties when necessary. Anytime there is an issue that rises up they bring all the heads of the covens together for a meeting here with the current leader and the Council of Three to solve the issue.”

  “The Council of Three?”

  “Just a fancy term for the three witches from the three oldest witch families in San Francisco, if not the entire state.”

  He said nothing else as we approached the gated entryway. I pressed the button on the speaker box attached to the post to the right of the gate. “Henry Sullivan. I was with Heather Oakdale last night at the museum when – ”

  “Mister Sullivan, hello. Miss Samantha has been expecting you,” a female voice interrupted me. “Please, come in.”

  A loud buzz filled the air and the gate swung open.

  “There’s a witch here by the name of Miss Samantha?” Daman said with a grin. “Does she wiggle her nose too when she’s casting a spell?”

  I chose to ignore the remark as we stepped through the now open gateway feeling the subtle caress of magic pass over me the moment I crossed that threshold. We proceeded along the flagstone path to the side entrance. That caress of magic was the way in which the council could detect if any visitors were friend or foe.

  Giving Daman a sidelong glance he didn’t seem to have felt it, or if he had he ignored it.

  By the time we approached the door it was already being opened by a young woman with delicate features and a button nose, her rust colored hair swept back into a ballerina bun. She was wearing a black knee length dress, flats and held in the crook of one arm a tablet and folders, a pair of glasses were clutched in her hand.

  “Mister Sullivan,” she greeted warmly.

  “Ms. Goodwill,” I said with an inclination of my head to Miss Samantha’s personal assistant Honey Goodwill. I had met her a few times when I accompanied Heather here, but she had a full plate and often it was brief, very brief, encounters. Not only was she Miss Samantha’s personal assistant she also served as the council’s liaison with the other coven houses in the city.

  “I wish your visit came at a happier time for the coven,” she said and looked at Daman. “And who is your guest that you have brought with you?”

  “He’s – ” I began but Daman cut me off.

  “Daman Salvadori,” he said bowing at the waist. “Mister Sullivan’s ex-boyfriend and I pack one hell of a dick in my jeans. That’s all you need to know darling.”

  I wanted to melt into the ground and never see daylight again.

  I looked at him aghast but he was smiling that damn grin of his. I looked to Ms. Goodwill to apologize for she didn’t quite seem to know how to respond to that.

  “Please, come in,” she said with a slight stutter as she stepped aside.

  I continued looking at Daman as he coolly entered ahead of me, hands in his jeans pockets, whistling. I looked at Ms. Goodwill and mouthed “Sorry”, wishing I had arrived alone. She shut the door behind us then came to stand in front of us.

  “Miss Samantha and the council are meeting with someone right now, but I will let her know that you have arrived Mister Sullivan. Before I do is there anything that I can get the two of you? Drinks? Snacks?” she looked at Daman and arched a brow. “Manners?”

  “We’re good,” I stepping in front of Daman. “Thank you though.”

  She nodded and flicked another look at Daman who wave
d back at her as she turned and headed up the nearby stairs that were near the kitchen entrance. Once she was gone I rounded on him.

  “Can you behave just for a second? Or is that too hard for you?” I hissed at him.

  “No,” he said leaning toward me so that his face was directly in mine, his breath sweetly scented with peppermint. “And I believe that someone once told me that they enjoyed me misbehaving.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure as hell wasn’t me,” I said stepping back and turning away.

  “Eh, be that way then,” he said walking around me but brushing his shoulder against mine. He walked over toward the island in the center of the kitchen and hopped up on onto it. He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl next to him and rubbed it on his jean leg. He lifted it up, and keeping his eyes on me, placed his lips on the apple slowly and took a big healthy bite of it, blue eyes flashing over it as juice leaked from the left corner of his mouth that he wiped away with a finger, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

  I felt my cheeks heat up then quickly turned away with a shake of my head to focus on the décor of the breakfast nook and dining area that took up the left side of the room.

  The dining room was a wonderful example of early Victorian Era splendor – or overkill, depending on your viewpoint – with moss green velvet wallpaper, delicate sage colored silk curtains and a large solid wood dining table said to have been carved from a giant sequoia. A damask gold runner ran the length of the table and a vase of roses and assorted complimentary flowers resided in the middle. The row of windows looked onto the garden outside that was in full spring bloom. In between the windows resided statues of Greek goddesses, the ones that often pertained to witchcraft and were called upon in spells.

  The dining room, minus the statues, reminded me of the house I had grown up in as a young boy. A house where I had been gifted the so called pearls of culture, breeding and wisdom that would make me another proud member of the Sullivan-Ambrose family of Boston, the bluest of old blue bloods. Such gifts would help me navigate the world, to survive in it, and to succeed to secure my own position.