Love and Magick, A Short Story Double Feature

by Andrew Michael Schwarz

  Copyright 2013 Chelsea Morgan Clark & Andrew Michael Schwarz

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2013

  Chelsea Morgan Clark

  PO Box 383

  Renton, WA 98057

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  The Sleeper

  Blue Moon Monday

  About the Author

  Love and Magic

  The Sleeper &

  Blue Moon Monday

  By

  Chelsea Morgan Clark

  and

  Andrew Michael Schwarz

  The Sleeper

  This wasn’t a fairy tale.

  A wrinkled finger ran down the middle of a crisp page. Page after page he scrutinized each entry. I wondered if the book had an index, then realized how silly a notion that was. It was handwritten in some places, typed in others and patched over with cut-out script here and there.

  “Patience,” he said, “is a virtue you would be wise to brush up on, Courtney, my dear.”

  Duly rebuked, I acquiesced silently.

  He was right. Even though I had as good a reason as anyone to be impatient, I couldn’t let it show, not here in the presence of the great Arcadian Feldspar.

  A pseudonym, yes, but the name he had chosen to represent his identity. He was a Grand Master, a true wizard, and a surly hermit.

  If you’d been practicing for a good, long while, and if you’d gotten your spells refined to a literal art, maybe, just maybe he would grant you a hearing for the Discipline.

  And probably not.

  Oh, one could visit the old man any time, for tea, herb, lore. But not to discuss the arcana; that was a special and treasured liaison few ever got. He just didn't trust people that much. Too much power when you can really do it, I guess.

  And I knew well, that should any of my sisters catch wind of my meeting here tonight, jealousy would be the lesser crime. A neophyte just wasn’t supposed to excel like that. So, I had no intention of telling anyone. I had fought hard to get here, but it would be a personal victory, unshared.

  “Here we are,” he said, nose down in the book. “Right where I remember it.” He laughed a dry chuckle. I edged closer, trying to peek over his shoulder. He smelled like cloves and nutmeg.

  “Now,” he continued, eyeing me most suspiciously in the flickering candlelight. “This is not something a young lady normally messes around with. But you are exceptional, as has already been demonstrated. However, and listen up, that is no reason for you to do anything outside of the parameters that I will delineate. Do you understand me? You must do exactly as I tell you.”

  “I understand. And will,” I said quickly.

  “Well, maybe you do and maybe you don't. Courtney, my precious girl, do not forget this is the Spell of Duality. It deals with the dual nature of self. And you must never, ever underestimate of what the self is capable. You may think you know the outcome once the spell has begun. Believe me you do not!”

  He was a scrawny creature, but when he intended to get through to you, he did in a big way. It got through and scared the hell out of me. He was an intensification of all that the Old Religion teaches.

  “I underst—"

  "You don't," he sighed. "Because you simply can't. Not because I say so, or because you are somehow inadequate, but because you've never paid the price for this particular incantation before, this particular time."

  "Price?" I could have slapped him. I'd paid the price. I'd paid it with flesh. I'd paid it with sweat and tears and…

  "Courtney, dear, please don't look at me with such naked furry. Oh!" He laughed. "My God, you're beautiful!" He paused as if for dramatic effect. "It's just that I have my doubts if you're ready, that's all! I have my doubts if I would be ready. It's not you or your lack of skill, my God, you have skill. So much craft in so little time, you're a prodigy!

  "No my dear, it's that this spell is almost too good. And it's dangerous because it's so unpredictable."

  "I thought you said it would--"

  "Work?" He really cackled then. "Oh, it will work. Oh, it will most certainly work. But look, you have to be willing to pay the price and it's personal and different for everyone. This is a spell about you!

  "So, before we go any further, I need to know that you are, in fact, ready. Take your time, take a break from it. Think about it."

  "No!" I couldn't risk where this conversation was headed. "No. I'm ready. I know I am. And I'm willing to pay. Whatever the price, I'm willing to pay it."

  "Tisk, tisk, I grow weary of such brazen bravado. You speak out of school. So young, so pretty, and so..."

  "Arcadian, please! Look, you know me. You've seen what I can do, how far I've come. No one else could have done that. That's proof enough that I'm ready."

  He stared at me, hawkish. I had no idea what was going on inside his head. "Very well," he said at last. "Who am I to doubt you? But what you reap, so shall ye sow. There will be a price and you will not know what or how much until you've already paid it. That much is certain."

  "Okay," I said. "Okay."

  He sighed. Looked up over his spectacles. “Have you contacted your middle vision before?”

  “Yes, I—”

  He cut me off. “The middle eye, think of it. Remember that spot right there! The old center of your being.” His hand passed over the candle making the flame erupt and sparkle.

  Sage, in the air now, stung my nose. He’d already begun the spell and taken me unawares. Something crunched underfoot. I looked down.

  Salt.

  He’d cordoned off the kitchen table where we were seated with a line of salt so adeptly I hadn’t noticed he was casting the circle. Then into the flame he’d cast the sage to purify the space. His arm moved and the flame waxed again, only this time it roared and some other spice punched the room. Damn it if he hadn't planned all the while berating me to cast this enchantment.

  Dizziness grabbed hold of me, made me teeter on my feet and he made me sit.

  “Concentrate on the middle eye!” he was shouting. I could see he was shouting and yet his voice was so distant. “The middle eye, Courtney! The center of your vision…duality, one vision, dual intent…!” And something else I couldn't understand.

  The room flipped. Tilter-whirled. My gut belly-flopped and my head seemed to blow up like a helium balloon.

  I stared down at the proceedings. Out of body, trapped by the ceiling.

  I saw why only a wizard such as Feldspar could originate the casting of this thing.

  “Duality...duality…”

  I watched my body slump forward. I could no longer feel its heart-beat or pulse.

  “Duality

  “Create a self of separate fate

  “And decree a love of mimicry

  “Dispense the narcissistic tense

  “With independent symmetry

  “Blessed be and we're done!”

  A great swoosh of light and sound and I was back, looking through my eyes again, Arcadian smiling eagerly. “Welcome back.” He raised a finger. “On the next full moon, when the moon is in Libra with the sun in—” An eyebrow quirked up.

  “Ah, Aries,” I blurted out, my lips not well under my control yet.

  “Oh, so you do know your cycles?” He chided.

  I nodded. Moon in Libra, sun in Aries. Would make the best combination for admiration of self, seemed like a no-brain
er.

  Then he handed me a folded piece of parchment.

  “Read this the night of and don’t deviate or back down,” he said. “No matter how rough it gets, stay the course. To do otherwise could be...well, deadly! For you and those you love! But if you see it through, you will gain the prize at the end. But it may not be the prize you expect!

  "Those are my instructions, Courtney, follow them to the T."

  "Cast the rest in Libra and Aries. Read this. Don't deviate. That all?"

  "That all? Don't underestimate any of that, but one for the road: let the magick guide you."

  “What form do you think it will take?” I asked sheepishly, to which he responded with a long rattle of dry laughter that sounded like rustling leaves.

  “I have no idea at all.”

  He stood, walked to my chair and helped me up. I shifted my weight onto my prosthetic limb. It had been getting easier, and at certain moments one can almost forget that it’s a fake leg. Almost.

  “Steady now,” he said. “You’ll be fine in a few steps.”

  He walked me to the door and I hugged him. He felt frail and weak under his cloak, but I knew the truth of it. I limped out into the forest and clicked on my flashlight, happy that I remembered to bring it.

  ***

  A week would pass before the moon entered Libra. I didn’t know what to do until then, so I cleaned. I cleaned the entire house, from roof to basement and then did it all over again.

  Then exactly seven days later (call it divine), the moon entered its Libra cycle and I fished out that scrap of parchment with Feldspar’s hand written notes. I looked at the paper in the dim candle flicker. It seemed his letters weren’t letters at all, but hieroglyphs. It was fun to imagine Feldspar as a great medieval wizard somewhere, casting his magick to save the kingdom. Was he doing anything different now? Perhaps it was just the world around us that negated it. Feldspar was indeed my Merlin, greater even, for it was Feldspar who had given me this chance.

  It was my understanding that the Spell of Duality opened a direct channel to the Mother Goddess and secondary channel to Danu, the proverbial faerie queen. Whatever the occultism behind it, I didn’t care.

  I had considered using the cloak I had purchased from The Eye of Horus druid store. I loved that robe, but wondered if sky clad might be the more appropriate lack of attire. Of course it shouldn’t matter much, it being more of a comfort consideration than a magickal one.

  For the sake of concentration, I opted for sky clad. I would be outside, but in the comfort of my California country home and there would be no passersby. And if there were? I have never been ashamed of my body, whether with two legs or one.

  I took the robe with me in case I decided against nudity once I got outside and felt the prickle of the grass or some other unanticipated development. Like ants.

  I hiked out to the edge of the property and admired the night. The moon was very full and bathed the countryside in a glorious silver glow. I could feel its energy and understood anew why this celestial body was so partial to the art. I got a sudden image of myself dancing naked by the light of the moon and laughed. The idea of witches as a lot of crazy, old crones stewing over a boiling cauldron had become so far removed from my psyche since the last year and half, I wondered if I had ever really thought that way at all.

  Oh, I suppose I had. But I was of the uninitiated then and one can’t blame the ignorant, at least not with any real rancor. I’d learned so much in the last months, spurred on by this one need: to make my body whole again.

  I undressed and threw my clothes in a pile. Then I removed my prosthesis. I probably didn’t need to, but I wanted nothing of an alien nature to alloy the magick inside the circle. I set it down in the cool grass. It was a bit of a thing to cast a circle while hopping naked, but when you have only one leg you make due with a lot more than that.

  In truth I was frightened. I really wasn’t sure what to expect. Would this stage of the spell mimic the violent first half cast by Arcadian? I didn’t like the idea of flying out of my body into the stars. I really didn’t. Vertigo kicked in just thinking about it.

  When I had finished casting the circle I drew half a dozen pentagrams in the open air with my ceremonial Athame knife (also purchased at The Eye of Horus) and then finished the otherwise tedious, but necessary down-in-the-trenches work of spell casting.

  Once finished, I lowered myself down to the center of the circle. To my pleasure the grass did not prickle and I did not need a flashlight to read Arcadian’s scrawl such was the strength of the earth’s only satellite. I mused of what great power could be tapped into if the earth had but two moons.

  With the space consecrated I faced the full moon, naked and confident. I recited, aloud, the words written by Arcadian: “I invite thee incarnation here into my home, and may it so be granted by maiden, mother, crone. Blessed be.”

  And that was it.

  ***

  The Highway Incident, as I call it, was the most horror I have faced in this life, and without even a hint of vanity, it would have been for anyone. That night has haunted me since it happened and may well for the rest of my days. Kevin Danielson had wanted something I had refused him.

  He took it anyway, on the side of Las Virgenes Road in Malibu, California with nothing but the moon and the mountains to clothe me. Funny, that night the moon was full. I have never thought of that until now.

  Rape is so vicious and hateful. The only thing more violent that night was the SUV that plowed into Kevin’s Acura.

  It had been dark as pitch out there on the side of the mountain road and it made his parked car invisible. Totaled it and him and should have totaled me. My leg was amputated because it would have killed me to keep it.

  The rape I got over.

  One year later Wicca found me.

  ***

  It had been three days since I had cast the circle and recited the incantation. Three long days. What did I expect? Bolt of lightning? Burning bush? It seemed the gods only spoke so dramatically in histories that no one could ever prove to have happened.

  So, I didn’t despair when there was no light from the heavens or earth shaking delirium. I carried on with my life and tried not to think about it. After the Incident I’d taken to our family vacation home, a charming cottage in Marin County, California, with plenty of space and grass and trees. "Sylvan comfort" as my nana used to say. So, I didn't want for much.

  I ate, slept, exercised and read three books. Waiting makes me nervous. I hate waiting, so the pages of a book seem the only way to escape it.

  On the start of the fourth day the waiting ended.

  The fridge had been looking very barren that morning and, despite my reluctance, I made tracks to the corner grocer. I was gone all of forty-five minutes and when I set the groceries down on the counter a sixth-sense type of feeling struck me.

  The house was not empty.

  Rosie, the live in, wouldn’t be back until Monday and she lived on the other side of San Francisco in far away Daly City. Besides, I knew it wasn’t Rosie. I just knew.

  I considered an intruder, a burglar, but distinctly remembered locking the door when I left for the market and, of course, unlocking it when I let myself back in.

  I listened, but heard no sound. Okay, go with it. What's the worst that can happen?

  Quietly—as quietly as a girl with a prosthetic limb can—I crept from the kitchen to the living room. Nothing amiss there. I checked Rosie’s room just for due diligence and found her perfectly made bed.

  I took a breath.

  There was only one other room to check now and I'd been avoiding it: my bedroom.

  See it through and get the prize…

  I crept slowly, carefully, my false limb hitching softly with each new step. I went through the hallway, back through the kitchen to my bedroom door. It was closed, like it always was when I slept. I placed my hand on the doorknob.

  “Mother Goddess, help me, give me strength…” My heart was tap-
dancing.

  It’s either nothing or something, now or never, for better or for worse—a string of clichés ricocheted through my head followed by a host of other random and disjointed rambles that meant nothing other than skittish nerves.

  Come on Court, you can do this—this is all what you’ve been working toward! Then I did it, I turned the knob and the door whined on its squeaky hinge.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  The contours of a human body filled out the blankets and a tuft of dirty blonde hair sprouted out the top hems.

  I pondered several possibilities. My sister, come to visit, taking a nap; or Jenny because her hair was nearly the same color; or…

  I walked inside, closer by inches. I waited and did it again. Minutes ticked by. Again, one step, then two, until I stood no more than an arm’s length away. I reached out and froze.

  Do it!

  My hand was shaking so bad I felt ashamed. Just do it! My fingers brushed the soft blankets and I peeled them back by half a turn, enough to see the face.

  My face.

  My first thought was some kind of life-like dummy. A kind of Madame Tussaud's wax replica. But before long, I saw the thing was in motion. "Oh my God, it's sleeping."

  Slowly, very slowly, I drew my hand back. Suddenly, the world seemed a very alien place. Prodigy or no, Feldspar was right, I wasn’t prepared for this.

  “No,” I said. “I don't like this.” I left the room and closed the door.

  ***

  I sat in Rosie’s room, phone in hand, fingers poised on the buttons for how long I don’t know. I contemplated dialing 911, then Rosie, then my family, then 911 again. After what seemed like hours I put the phone down. The sun had set long ago and the last vestiges of pink had faded to black. She—me, my doppelganger—was in my room. Did I dare check again? I didn’t see the use. If I were hallucinating then I would see it. If I weren’t hallucinating and she was really there, then I would see it. Either way, I would see it. And I did not want to see it.