by E J Elwin
“I think,” said Harriet, “the reason was psychological.”
“Psychological?” I asked.
“Some part of you was resisting what you had to do,” she said quietly. “Some part of you didn’t want to kill your father, horrible as he was. You wouldn’t be the first witch whose abilities faltered in such a complex situation. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just means you have depth.”
I thought back to when my dad first ran at me in the church, how I could have thrown my axe but chose to move aside instead. It was hard to believe that any part of me would want to show him mercy after what he’d done. Then I remembered the flashes of memory I’d had as I ran from him, the memories of him chasing me playfully when I was little… Maybe some things were that complex.
“How did you get it back?” asked Lizzie. “Your fire, I mean.”
“Well, I… I thought of all of you. And Connor… and my mom… and it came back.”
All of them looked touched, and Harriet and Jessica’s eyes shined with emotion. We all took sips of our drinks before I continued. I told them how I torched my dad’s face, how Deidre had appeared right after and thrown me against the wall with her blasting squawk.
“Yeah, what was that about?” asked Sylvie. “Super squawking power?”
“It was most likely a demonic gift,” said Jessica. “If it was a gift she was born with, then she probably cast a spell to heighten it the way Jasper can heighten his Sight. The glowing red eyes you describe would certainly point to that.”
I told them how Deidre’s lover had appeared and revealed himself to be the Patriarch. They were as surprised as I was that it hadn’t been the older man with the wooden features.
“I guess they don’t choose their leader by seniority,” said Harriet. “They probably just vote for whoever they think is most qualified, no matter how young. How diplomatic of them.”
I described how he’d then eaten my dad’s heart. They all looked horrified and nauseated, and Jessica poured everyone more whiskey. I explained what Deidre had said about the heart of a man dead by patricide, how it was a good enough substitute for the final witch heart they’d needed so badly.
“Of course!” Harriet whispered. “I’ve read about those types of tributes in Magick Malevolent. An act like patricide generates a distinctive energy, one eagerly coveted by a lot of demons… Arthur, I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea your father was in the Brotherhood…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “No one could have known.”
I went on to describe the Patriarch’s transformation, his green limbs and giant wings.
“His name was Damon, by the way,” I said. “That’s what Deidre called him.”
“Damon the Demon?” asked Sylvie, with a scornful look that made me smile. “Unbelievable!”
“Then he attacked me and, well, you know the rest,” I finished, taking a sip of whiskey.
“So he’s dead, right?” asked Hortensia. “I mean, Lizzie shot him in the back and then he fell, but then it looked like he turned into a bunch of little versions of himself…”
“We can’t really be sure,” said Harriet. “Deidre might be the first witch in recorded history to gather such a powerful tribute of hearts and create such a demon. The important thing to remember is that both of them are now banished to the Hopeless Place.”
“I wish we could have kicked her ass,” said Sylvie. “Feels like she got off easy.”
“Oh, I guarantee you that she hasn’t,” said Harriet. “The Hopeless Place is… a fate worse than death. Or, ass kicking, as you say, Sylvie. It’s a land of torment, of unimaginable nightmares. Her time there will only end with being ripped apart by the hordes of demons that live there. They kill and eat each other, scavenging endlessly for something or someone to nourish themselves with…”
“Couldn’t she break out?” I asked. “Don’t demons break out of the Hopeless Place?”
“It’s possible,” said Jessica, “but it’s rare, difficult, and takes time. And if that was a Heightening Spell she cast on herself, then she’ll arrive there and just fall straight to sleep…”
I imagined the dark swan asleep on a filthy, rocky landscape while some nearby creatures crawled over to find their next meal… It would be tragic if she didn’t so deserve it.
“Well, I have to say,” said Harriet, “the four of you truly lived up to your name tonight. You made the world a much safer place for both witches and non-witches.”
“The Sacred Four,” said Jessica, raising her glass.
“The Sacred Four,” we repeated, and I felt the last of my bruises heal.
**
A while later, I wasn’t sure of the time, we all stumbled up the winding staircase to go take showers before going to bed. Harriet and the girls went to the upper floors while I used the second floor bathroom I had gotten so used to, and Jessica used the one in her bedroom.
I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror as I undressed and then jumped. For an instant, I thought the green-skinned demon had appeared, and then I realized it was the dark green Mending Mud on my chest and face, now dried and peeling. I stepped into the shower and relished the rain of warm water on my skin as the thunderstorm continued to rage just beyond the window above the tub.
I watched the flaky green residue fall off me and twirl down the drain, my body now back to the way it had been before the battle in the cemetery. I stretched my arms above my head, marveling at how completely I’d healed. I wished my grief could vanish as easily, that the raw pain of losing my mom could be dabbed away with Mending Mud or a teaspoon of Soothing Solution. I was grateful for these things, proud that they were part of my life. Despite the night’s horrific events, I had a new appreciation for magic. I had done extraordinary things with my sisters, had seen the true light and power of what we were capable of.
The rain pattering against the window began to ease. After a few minutes, it became a light smattering of droplets. The black sky lightened into a deep indigo, then a royal blue. The rippling waves of the ocean came into view as the bright yellow dot that was the sun peeked out over the horizon. In the growing light and the lingering haze of drizzle, I saw a rainbow.
**
Sylvie, Lizzie, and Hortensia finally went to spend the night at their own houses on Wednesday evening after having spent five nights straight at Jessica and Jasper’s. I’d gotten so used to their presence that I immediately missed them, even though they would be back on Friday evening to spend the weekend again. They went back to attend classes at Seaside High the next two days while I spent the time reading books in the fourth floor library and watching movies in the Silver Screening Room.
On Thursday night, Harriet and Jessica joined me for a screening of Rebel Without a Cause. Even though I couldn’t look at James Dean’s face without thinking of Connor and his transformation around Harriet’s cauldron, I savored the feeling of peace, the simple pleasure of a movie night. I was amazed to find that I still enjoyed these things, grateful that I was no longer the hollow shell I had been immediately after losing Connor.
I thought often of my mom, of her last words, of her grave in the cemetery by the sea. I accepted that she wasn’t coming back. Harriet took me aside after the girls left on Wednesday night to inform me that it would be impossible to resurrect her. People who were killed as exchanges in resurrection spells couldn’t be resurrected themselves. I replied that, strangely, I had sensed as much.
We brought out the Crossing Crystals and tried to reach her in the Halfway Place, but nothing happened. There was no breeze, no sensation of being on a merry-go-round, no shooting up into the sky. Harriet explained that whenever that happened, it meant that the person being sought was no longer in the Halfway Place. My mom had moved on right away. Harriet said gently that it made sense, that my mom had said what she needed to say to me in the cemetery.
**
The girls arrived early Friday evening, excited to spend time together without the stress of a life-or-death battle
. Hortensia worked with Jessica to prepare a Mexican dinner, which we enjoyed with several pitchers of Harriet’s color-changing margaritas. I watched them go from pink to orange to green, and even though neither of us said it out loud, I knew that Harriet was also thinking of Connor.
After dinner, we took the margaritas to the living room while Jessica went up to Jasper’s room with a plate of enchiladas. She joined us twenty minutes later looking cheerful.
“He’s much better,” she said. “I think he’ll be up to join us tomorrow night!”
“Have you told him about the cemetery?” asked Lizzie.
“I told him we got rid of Deidre,” said Jessica, “but I’ll share my memories of it with him later.” She waved her hand at the record player and “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles issued from it. Harriet caught my eye and smiled, and I knew we were both recalling the same memory.
We drank and danced and laughed, and the records magically changed themselves. We listened to David Bowie and Joan Jett, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Doors and Jefferson Airplane, and I was grateful for the joy I was capable of feeling.
Later, after Harriet and Jessica had gone to bed, the girls and I dipped into the kitchen for a large carton of ice cream, which we then took up to the Illusion Room. We sat under the stars of the Irish meadow, and it was there that I finally told them all about the resurrection spell that had brought Connor back. I told them who Father Gabriel was, what he had done to me, and how he had been the clear choice for an exchange. Even through mouthfuls of Rocky Road, I could see in Sylvie’s eyes that she wished she could have been the one to tear him apart.
I told them how the Brotherhood had tracked us in Wine-ville and how I worried that it’d been my fault. I told them about Sheriff Murphy and the Brotherhood’s first attack; the journey to Portland, the police chase and the giant party, the fire fight with the Brotherhood…
It was then that I stood up, put my palms up at my sides, and closed my eyes. The Irish meadow faded around us, and then we were back in the middle of the giant party in Portland, standing beneath the glowing red lantern. The crowd of partygoers stood frozen around us as they’d been when Jessica summoned the memory, only this time, we could see what they had actually been staring at.
There, standing beneath the red lantern, were me and Connor from the past, our faces and hair smeared with paint. The girls all gasped as they looked from me to my past self, and then to Connor. None of them had to ask who he was.
“He’s beautiful,” whispered Lizzie, tears shining in her eyes as she gazed at Connor.
**
The next afternoon, Sylvie, Lizzie, Hortensia, and I emerged from the Silver Screening Room after a showing of The Wizard of Oz.
“You could really rock that Glinda dress, Lizzie,” said Sylvie.
“Maybe for Halloween!” said Lizzie brightly.
We headed for the stairs down to the lower floors when Harriet suddenly burst out of the Illusion Room to our right, and so, to our surprise, did Jasper. His hair and beard were wildly unkempt, but he wore a wide smile as he gazed at us, a mug of Harriet’s Bewitching Breakfast Blend in his hand.
“Afternoon, witches!” he said, spreading his arms wide. We all bounded forward for a hug, and I found his heavy embrace warm and comforting. He smelled of bed sheets and breakfast food.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Great!” he said. “Much needed rest! We have a surprise for you, Arthur!”
“Surprise?”
“Remember when I told you,” said Harriet, “that I had a long-term plan for getting Sheriff Murphy off your back?”
Like my time at Wineville High, Sheriff Murphy felt like a distant figure from a past life. Still, I flashed back to the night that Jessica and I went out to find the girls. As Harriet and I had stood beside her cauldron conjuring up my James Dean outfit, I’d expressed my concerns about going out in public with Sheriff Murphy looking for me. She’d said that she had a surprise solution to the problem and I would find out what it was soon enough.
“Yes, I remember,” I said.
“Well, it’s ready!” she said excitedly. “In the Illusion Room.” The girls and I glanced at the door to the Illusion Room which was slightly ajar. “Now be warned, it’ll be a little shocking at first, but you’re perfectly safe. The only person in there is Jessica.”
My stomach fluttered nervously but I knew Harriet wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, and my curiosity was yelling at me to push through the door already. “Let’s see it,” I said.
She and Jasper led us into the Illusion Room and then closed the door behind us. There was the familiar momentary blackness before the scene materialized in front of us.
We were in a small, shabby motel room. There was a single bed, a small table with a lamp, and an old TV on a scuffed wooden dresser against the wall. The afternoon sunlight streamed in from a window but the scene beyond it wasn’t the rolling green grass outside the house, but rather a small parking lot with a few old cars. The room was awash in dull oranges, browns, and greens, and was minimally decorated in the style of the 1970s. The wallpaper had the characteristic abstract swirls that I’d seen in movies from that era, and the bedspread bore a similar pattern which clashed terribly. The carpet was torn and filthy, with large dark stains. It was the kind of seedy place where drug deals were made or where people went to cheat on their spouses. I couldn’t imagine what Harriet’s surprise was.
“Classy place,” said Sylvie, looking around at the room.
“It’s a motel room that I stayed in once in Michigan,” said Jasper. “It’s not important. We’re just using it as a backdrop.”
“Now, remember, Arthur,” said Harriet, “it’s just Jessica you’re about to see.”
I’d forgotten that Jessica was supposed to be in here. I nodded in understanding, then Harriet walked across the room to a door to what I assumed was the bathroom.
“Jessica, are you ready?” she called.
I heard someone reply but it wasn’t Jessica. It was a man’s voice. Harriet stepped back and then the person walked right through the wall. I cried out in shock and grasped Jasper’s arm next to me.
Father Gabriel had stepped into the room, in his full priest’s uniform, looking as alive and as hideous as ever he had. His murky gray eyes looked around the room and spotted me, then he smiled. I blinked in confusion and my shock lessened slightly. The person in front of me was an exact copy of Father Gabriel, but the look in the eyes, the kind smile that meant me no harm, were definitely not his.
“Jessica?”
“Yup!” said Father Gabriel, and I heard Jessica in his voice.
“What?!” the girls all said together.
“How?” I asked. “How did you do this?”
“With the cauldron,” said Harriet casually. “Standard magical disguise.”
“But— but don’t you need some of the person’s blood to make an exact disguise?” I asked, my brain struggling to wrap itself around the situation.
“I had some!” said Harriet brightly. “Remember the knife we used in the resurrection spell? I saved the blood on it.”
I gaped at the Father Gabriel disguise, stunned by how identical it was to the man I had known. I had become so used to the partial disguises, the lookalikes and the mild changes in hair and clothing, that I’d forgotten it was possible to completely transform into another person.
“Wait,” said Sylvie, glancing from me to the Father Gabriel disguise, “is this… him?”
I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t take a swing at Jessica.
“Some surprise,” said Hortensia, looking at the disguise with a nauseated expression.
“Right,” I said, remembering why we were here. “This is definitely a surprise, but, um… why?”
“Well,” said Harriet, “Father Gabriel is going to commit suicide.”
The girls and I stared at her in confusion. Jessica as Father Gabriel looked utterly chipper. I had no idea what Harriet meant, and then Jas
per leaned down and picked up a long black object by the bed. It was a video camera set on a tripod. Then I started to understand.
“We’re going to film a confession,” said Harriet, “and a suicide letter. Father Gabriel is going to admit to being the vile child rapist he is, and then he’s going to bid the world farewell. We’re going to send the tape to local news stations, expose him for all to see, and in the process, offer incontrovertible proof that you didn’t kill him. Sheriff Murphy will be off your trail, the people of Wineville will know who they’ve been sending their kids to Sunday school with, and the world will be a generally better place. We chose this charming rattrap as backdrop because it’s exactly the type of place Father Gabriel would have fled to if he’d left town to commit suicide. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded, speechless with astonishment. I had to agree that it was a very clever plan, effectively clearing me of killing Father Gabriel while showing everyone in Wineville who he really was. I glanced at the girls, who looked equally impressed by this surprise.
“I was going to wear the disguise myself,” said Harriet, “but Jessica is the actress among us. It definitely runs in the blood.” Jessica smiled and flicked back long hair that wasn’t there. She took a seat on the bed while Jasper set up the tripod in front of her. We all moved to stand behind him as he focused the camera and centered Jessica within the frame.
“Do you know your script?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Jessica, tapping a finger to her temple.
“Alright,” he said. “And… action!”
Jessica’s demeanor changed entirely. She looked sad and haggard, her shoulders hunched over, her lips pursed as if about to say something very difficult. She put a shaking hand to her mouth, her eyes watering with tears, and then looked into the camera.
“My name is Father Gabriel Martin,” she said in a choked voice that was spectacularly unlike her own. “For thirty years, I was the priest at St. Paul’s in Wineville, Oregon. I recently left my home behind because I realized that I’m sick. I’m a very sick man…”
For a moment, I felt like I was actually watching Father Gabriel give the confession that he never would have in life. I was awed by Jessica’s performance. Every trace of her was gone as she transformed completely into a person so powerfully the opposite of her. I watched her tearfully detail horrible crimes committed against children over decades, watched her sob into her hand where she clutched a necklace of blood-red rosary beads, then gradually pull herself together long enough to announce her plan to end it all. The world would be done a favor.