by E J Elwin
It was hard to get a good view in the darkness of who or what was beyond the yard in front of the house. The weeds were too dense to see through, but just above them, at shoulder level, I could see movement. People, about seven or eight of them, bobbed past over the weeds. They all wore what appeared to be black ski masks, with holes only for their eyes and mouths.
“Witch hunters,” said Harriet.
“What?” Connor and I whispered together, even though we no longer had to.
I squinted at the masked figures. They huddled together, and I could just make out their lips moving in conversation. Behind them, with the help of the moonlight, I saw the outline of a large dark van. That must have been what the bullets hit when they ricocheted, the source of the metallic pinging sounds. A man had also been hit by a deflected bullet, had cried out in pain. The figures that moved around in the darkness were his comrades, his fellow witch hunters, probably tending to his wound.
Harriet stepped back from the curtains. “Let’s sit down,” she said. “We don’t have to worry about them for a while. A rocket launcher couldn’t break through this force field.”
Connor and I followed her into the kitchen where not even half an hour ago, we’d been having such a nice time. Harriet took a seat at the table and looked down at the envelope. The front of it where the address would usually be written was blank. She turned it over to the side sealed with the red wax stamp and pulled it open. Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper that was the exact same cream color as the envelope. Harriet unfolded it, and Connor and I leaned in close on either side of her to read the thin black script that ran down the center of the page:
WITCH
You are surrounded and outnumbered.
One of your friends helped you commit an atrocity.
The other is the blasphemous result of that atrocity.
Surrender quietly and your deaths will be quick and painless.
Resist us and your deaths will be slow and gruesome.
Stamped at the bottom of the page in blood-red ink was the same ornate letter A from the wax seal. Even though it should have terrified me, I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the way this message was presented. The curly black letters and elaborately designed red A made it look more like a wedding invitation than a triple murder threat.
“Who are these people?” asked Connor.
“They’re called The Brotherhood of Armin,” said Harriet.
“The Brotherhood of what?”
“Armin,” she said. “So named for the man who founded it. That’s what the A stands for. But they’re more often known as just the Brotherhood, a very old, very powerful cult of witch hunters dating back to the Burning Times in Europe in the sixteenth century.”
“The Burning Times?” I asked.
“The most devastating period of witch hunts in history,” said Harriet. “Tens of thousands of people, most of them women, were burned at the stake. Very few were actually witches, but it didn’t matter. It still doesn’t matter to the Brotherhood…” A far-off look came over her eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitched from what was clearly a powerful underlying fury. “Anyway, the Brotherhood is made up of only men, as the name implies, indoctrinated from birth, groomed to be vicious, misogynistic killing machines who believe they’ve been divinely chosen to rid the world of witches.”
“But how did they find out about the resurrection spell?” I asked.
“They’ve recently acquired the ability to detect and track a witch’s magic, if it’s out in the open, outside of the house. They’ve murdered more witches in the past few months than they did in the last decade. I keep magic mostly in the house and always wear my Cloaking Crystal when I go out. The recent murders weren’t anywhere near here. I thought that Wineville was safe. My guess is that the resurrection spell, being so unusual and powerful, was too much for the Cloaking Crystal and sent out a bigger signal that they were able to detect from farther away. It did cause a thunderstorm, after all.”
“Why can’t they track magic that happens inside the house?” asked Connor.
“Because a witch’s house, or the place that she calls her home, is a magical sanctuary,” said Harriet. “While inside, neither she nor her magic can be detected or traced by anyone except by trusted members of her coven, if she’s a part of one.
“In the years after the Burning Times, powerful spells were invented by gifted witches to protect the home even more. The Invitation Only Spell became standard in every witch’s home, and has saved countless lives over the centuries. Once casting it, any person who wishes the witch harm can’t set foot into her home unless she gives them permission. That’s why the Brotherhood attacked the way they just did. They knew perfectly well that they wouldn’t be able to storm the house themselves, but that technically things like rocks and bullets could, at least until a more powerful barrier was put up.”
“But how is it even possible for them to track a witch’s magic at all?” I asked. “How can they do that if they aren’t witches themselves?”
“That’s a fun one,” said Harriet bitterly. “Only a witch can track another witch’s magic. The common theory is that somewhere, some witch betrayed us all and is doing it for them.”
“What witch would do that?” I asked, appalled.
“I don’t know,” said Harriet grimly, “but if I ever meet her…”
We sat in troubled silence, then Connor spoke. “One more thing, how did they find us tonight? How did they know Arthur and I were here? How did they even know who we were?”
We looked at Harriet, who thought for a moment before speaking.
“The Brotherhood is small and secretive, but has a disturbingly wide reach. They have people planted in government, corporations, law enforcement, which is almost certainly how they were able to pinpoint our location so precisely. As soon as they detected that a resurrection spell had been successfully cast here, I’m sure they started to monitor the police activity in town. They knew the spell would require an exchange, and so they knew to be on the lookout for reports of someone having gone missing. They would follow someone like Sheriff Murphy through his investigation, discover the camera footage in the church when he did, and see your involvement, Arthur. They would investigate you. They’d check the local obituaries and see the notable death of someone you knew.”
I gaped at her in shock. Connor looked equally disquieted. She continued.
“I’d imagine that tonight they followed Sheriff Murphy to your house, keeping their distance, listening on the police radio. They’d hear his report of you fleeing from him on a bike. They’d follow his search to the cemetery, see him question Old Lady Becky, watch him and his deputy walk right up to my front yard, then wait for them to leave…”
“But how can they—” I sputtered, “I mean, how can they just—?”
“Who has time for all that?” asked Connor incredulously.
“They do,” said Harriet. “They have the time, the resources.”
“So what are we going to do?” I asked.
“We’re getting out of here,” said Harriet. “But first, we’re going to listen in on them.”
She rose from the table and went down the hall toward the bedrooms. I had no idea what her plan was for getting us out of the house, which was apparently surrounded by members of the Brotherhood, as they’d claimed in their letter. I felt like I was in a submarine stranded deep in the ocean, and outside in the dark water, there were swarms of bloodthirsty sharks. Even though they couldn’t get to us in our steel vessel, it was hard to imagine how we were going to escape.
Connor reached across the table and took my hand. “Thousand-yard stare,” he said. “What’s going on in there?” He tapped two fingers lightly on my forehead.
“Sunshine and lollipops, hun,” I said.
He laughed, his joyful sparkling laugh, then leaned forward and kissed me. The predators outside faded away as I breathed him in, the oxygen left to me in the submarine.
We looked up as
Harriet came back into the room. She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt.”
She held a boxy old-fashioned radio that looked like it was from the 1930s or 40s. She set it down on the table and then looked around at the kitchen, squinting at the walls and up at the ceiling as if there were something written there in small print that she was trying to read.
“I saw one around here earlier…” she said.
“One what?” I asked.
We watched as she padded to the corner of the room where she kept her cauldron. She was still for a moment, squinting at the wall, and Connor and I exchanged a blank look. She suddenly clapped her hands together in front of her, then turned to us with a triumphant smile.
“A fly,” she said. She came back to the table, her hands cupped in front of her.
“A fly?” asked Connor.
“It’s how we’ll get ears on the Brotherhood,” she said. “Or antennae, if you like.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “How is listening in on them going to help us break out of here?”
“There’s a passageway beneath the house, right under the guest room,” said Harriet. “The witch who lived here before me built it long ago as a means of escape, probably in preparation for something like this. It leads a short distance away and opens up onto a road. I’m almost sure that the Brotherhood doesn’t know about it, but we need to be certain. If they do, they could have people guarding the other end right now, waiting to shoot anyone who comes out.”
Connor and I nodded. Harriet held up her cupped hands and closed her eyes.
“Fly on the wall, creature so small
Allay our fears, be now our ears.”
She opened her eyes and then her cupped hands. The fly stood there on her palm for a second, as though mulling over its orders, and then flew into the air toward the living room.
“It can pass through the force field?” asked Connor.
Harriet nodded. She pulled the old-fashioned radio closer and twiddled the dials. The three of us leaned in, waiting for the first note of sound. After a few seconds, we heard a man’s voice, garbled at first, then startlingly crisp and clear as though he were sitting right next to us: “…don’t see what the big deal is. What do you need me for?”
“Carlson, I told you to shut the fuck up,” said another man irritably. “The Patriarch wants all of us on this.”
“It’s an old hag and two faggot kids,” said the man called Carlson. “We would’ve already bagged them if Morgan wasn’t such a weak shot.”
“Fuck you, Carlson,” said a third man who had to be Morgan. “You’re the one who managed to get hit by your own bullet.”
“Because you hesitated and gave the bitch time to put up the force field!” Carlson spat.
“He hesitated because I told him to,” said a rough voice, several octaves deeper than the others. “We need the witch’s heart. If you damage it, Carlson, I’ll rip off your fucking ballsack.”
“I’m just saying,” Carlson said, “we don’t need ten guys for this.”
“Yes, we do,” said the man with the deep voice, who seemed to be the one in charge, the Patriarch. “No one goes anywhere. We’ll stay here all night if we have to. This witch is a tough old cunt. That’s why we need her heart. And I’m serious, Carlson! If you fucking shoot her in the chest and punch even one hole in the heart—”
“Okay, okay,” said Carlson like a petulant teenager. “Got it, shoot the bitch in the head.”
“This thing only stays up ‘til midnight,” said the Patriarch. “That’s when the witch has to reload it. We’ll only have a few seconds to take our shot. Morgan, you’ll man the bazooka.”
“Oh, and like that’s not going to damage the bitch’s heart?” asked Carlson derisively.
“We’ll only blow up part of the house,” said the Patriarch. “We’ll smoke these vermin out.” He paused. “The kid who was brought back from the dead… Every breath he takes is an affront to the Lord. We don’t stop until he’s dead, do you understand? Now get back into your positions, and tell Adams and Wallace to stay trained on the back of the house in case they try to make a run for it.”
“I think we have everything we need,” said Harriet. She cleared her throat.
“Hear my call, fly on the wall
Be now free, and blessed be.”
There was a pause and then Connor said, “Okay, well they’re crazy.”
“Why do they want your heart?” I asked Harriet, feeling sick at the thought.
“Magick Malevolent,” she said.
“Magick what?” asked Connor.
“Magick Malevolent,” Harriet repeated. “It’s a form of dark magic that exists solely to cause harm through the summoning of malicious spirits and entities. It calls for organ harvesting, among other things. This traitor witch is up to something terrible. Most witches steer well clear of Magick Malevolent, mainly because most of us have a conscience, but the thing is that it always backfires. Just like with magic performed purely out of greed or for selfish gain, there is simply no getting away with it. The energy will come back to you, with a vengeance. You’d have to be legitimately insane to do it.”
“I guess this witch is,” I said. I tried to imagine the witch who would turn on her own kind to help the Brotherhood. It was like a cow helping the butcher. Having only Harriet, who was loving and sweet, as reference for what a witch was like, I couldn’t picture this traitor. Whoever she was, she was one twisted sister.
“Now that we know they’re all outside guarding the house,” said Harriet, “it’s safe to head down the passageway. We should hurry. You heard what they said about the few seconds after midnight.”
Connor and I nodded. We looked at the clock on the wall. It was just past ten.
“So here’s the plan,” she said. “There are friends of mine, two witches, who live in Seaside. They’ll take us in. The passageway opens up onto a road that’s about a mile away from the bus station. The two of you will take a bus to—”
“You’re not coming with us?” I asked, alarmed.
“I will, but not right away,” she said. “The Brotherhood can’t suspect that we’ve somehow left. I’ll be here to make sure they don’t. That’ll give you two a safe head start.”
The idea of leaving Harriet surrounded by the Brotherhood while Connor and I went off alone into the night, to the house of two witches we didn’t know, terrified me.
“But Seaside is two hours away!” I said anxiously. “And what if we can’t find your friends’ house? And what if there are actually more members of the Brotherhood looking for us out there? What if they’re watching the bus station? What if—?”
“Arthur,” said Harriet, putting a hand gently on my arm, “it’ll be okay. All of the Brotherhood that came to Oregon because of the resurrection spell are outside right now. All of them. They’re all here for us only. They don’t know about the passageway. As long as I’m here to show them we haven’t left, they’ll stay here, and you two will be clear to make it to Seaside!”
I looked into her bright blue eyes which were so certain, then turned to Connor.
“Makes sense,” he said.
“Also,” said Harriet, “after tonight, there will be no coming back here. They will always be watching this place. Even if there’s no one around, even years from now, they’ll be watching. So I have to pack up all my things, books, cauldron, everything— well, except for the furniture.”
I looked around at the kitchen, at the stacks of books and the cauldron in the corner. There had to be more stuff just like it in her bedroom. I couldn’t imagine how she was going to walk away from the house carrying all of it.
“How do you expect to—?” I began.
“Remember how I lifted the dirt out of Connor’s grave?” she asked. “And the casket?”
“Yes…” I said, remembering the big block of earth rising out of the grave. “But—”
“Well, like that,” she said. “That’s how I’m taking everything.”
I
was still confused. “So you’re going to levitate your stuff into the passageway and then…?” A ludicrous image flashed through my mind of Harriet striding through town toward the bus station with her cauldron and her many books floating behind her.
“I won’t be taking the passageway,” she said, “and I won’t be going to the bus station.”
“Then how—?”
“Connor, any ideas?” she asked brightly.
She spoke as if the three of us were on a fun school field trip and she was challenging Connor with an academic question, apparently forgetting that mere moments ago she had said we needed to hurry, and also that we had less than two hours before a pack of murderous men was set to shoot at the house with a bazooka. Connor squinted his eyes in thought, looking like he too was on that field trip.
“Um…” he mused. “You’re not taking the passageway and you’re not taking the bus… You’re going to levitate your stuff…” Then he jumped, his eyes wide. “No!” he breathed.
Harriet smiled widely. Connor turned to me, his eyes alight with excitement.
“She’s going to fly out of here!”
“Are you serious?” I asked Harriet.
“Of course,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t very well walk through town with all my things levitating next to me, can I? Also, it’s the only way to get away from here fast enough. The second I leave the house, the Brotherhood will be able to enter. They won’t even have to wait until midnight to shoot at it with their bazooka.”
“But didn’t you say enemies couldn’t enter the house without permission?” I asked.
“They can’t,” she said. “But tonight, I’m leaving this house forever. It will no longer be my home, and therefore, they’ll be free to walk right in.”
“So where is it?” Connor asked excitedly. He looked around at the kitchen, at the many stacks of books, as though he’d missed something.
“Get your stuff together first,” said Harriet. “Then I’ll show you.”
“I just have the clothes you brought me,” Connor said to me.