The Red Witch

by Katerina Martinez

  I watched her head to the small window in the corner of the room and look at it. It was a narrow slit, barely large enough for you to stick your head through, and it stood at the tip-top of the wall; inches below the point where the wall became a ceiling.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She turned around, walked toward me, and took my hands. “We are going home ze express way.”

  “Expre—”

  The word didn’t have time to form. Darkness gathered around me with such speed it made my head spin. Collette was there, with her hands in mine, but the pitch blackness clung to her, lapping against the sides of her face and her arms until she looked almost like a two-dimensional image herself; a a half-person with eyes that shone sky blue against the dark.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Collette said.

  “W-what… where… what’s going on?” I asked, struggling to find the words.

  “We are going home.”

  “Going home? But… we’re… not moving.”

  “But we are, ma cheire,” she said, smiling.

  And then I understood. I remembered a moment back at the house a couple of days ago, when she had seemed to arrive as a shadow on the back of the wind. A shadow only my witch’s eyes could see. I had always wanted her to teach me how to do it, but she had said it was too dangerous to teach me more Shadow Magick. A sorceress’ power was mutable and malleable, like clay, but Shadow Magick came from a Shadow, and I—sorceress or not—didn’t have one.

  My stomach started to feel like a sack of feathers. I imagined this was what astronauts must feel like when they’re up there in zero gravity, and I didn’t much care for it. The sensation made me feel queasy and ill at ease. More so than the fact that, around us, there was nothing; not even the vague impressions of a landscape rolling past us. How did she know where we were going? How were we even going anywhere? And when could I learn to do this?

  Those were all questions I wanted to ask, but I chose it better not to ask them. It didn’t seem right to speak in this null-space we were in. It almost felt like a library, where one has to keep quiet all the time so as not to upset the order of things. But before I could finish the thought, Collette smiled, spun me around, and pointed over my shoulder to the spot of light in the dark.

  “Walk towards it,” she said, “I’m right here.”

  And I did, slowly at first, accelerating into a normal walking pace when I found my confidence. Suddenly, we were in the real world again, with autumn rustling around us, leaves and twigs caught in an updraft and into the sky. Our house stood before us, as was my car safely tucked in the drive, and my sycamore tree swaying gently with the breeze.

  But my heart didn’t soar at the sight because my eyes stole to the Stevenson house; or at least, what remained of it.

  The thing was a wreck of charred wood. The roof had caved in, and much of the lower level had exploded out onto the lawn scattering bits of white, brown, and black debris all over the yard. I had seen a house fire before a couple of years ago when one of the places on Spruce Avenue caught fire after its occupant fell asleep with a cigarette in her mouth. Her dog had warned her of the danger, and they had both, the only occupants, gotten out. But the fire, unchecked, spread and consumed the house in a giant blaze.

  But the house had largely stood even after the fire was put out.

  This house, though… it was like a bomb had been dropped on it, and the ensuing explosion had left only a blackened skeleton covered in pieces of its former self; burnt rags, ruined furniture, shattered glass… cooked flesh…

  I didn’t want to think that the firemen hadn’t been able to retrieve the bodies. They must have, even though the house was surrounded by black and yellow tape. That was for the forensic analysis later, not because they were still looking for bodies. The people in Raven’s Glen were good, hard working. They wouldn’t have stopped until the bodies had been retrieved.

  Collette placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “Such a tragic loss of life,” she said.

  I took her hand and nodded. The tears were coming, but I fought them back. “We should go. I don’t think they’re home.”

  “I don’t think so either,” she said.

  We crossed the road and closed in on the house. I fished my keys out of my back pocket, unlocked the door, and entered. It was quiet in there, and dark, and the house still smelt of burnt wood—flesh-—and earth, and it was empty.

  “They must be at the party already,” I said. “Why don’t you go up and get changed? We can go and surprise them.”

  Collette nodded and headed up to her room at a brisk pace. We agreed to meet downstairs in just a few minutes—showers could be had later—so I headed up to mine, opened the door, and stepped inside. And in the bedroom, I could smell nothing but Aaron. The air, the carpet, the bedsheets, the pillow; it was all him. I threw myself on the bed, buried my nose in the scent, and smiled, carving this moment out from the grim reality of my life to appreciate one of the finer things about it.

  I realized, then, that I couldn’t wait to see him. To wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like I had never kissed him before. I wanted to go already, make tracks to the Centenary Hall and watch his face light up when I come bursting through the door. But I didn’t have anything to wear for the party, and that was a problem. Typically, I had left costume hunting for the last minute, and now I didn’t have one.

  When the realization hit me, I shot up out of bed, threw my closet door open, and started frantically pulling at clothes hangers. There had to be something I could wear, something that even remotely resembled a costume. Collette had it easy; all she had to do was slap a little white makeup on, frazzle her hair up, and she was a ghost or a ghoul. I, however, needed a costume. Something. Anything!

  And then I saw it.

  I tugged at the clothes hanger tenderly and pulled the item out of the closet with a delicate hand. I ran my fingertips over the fabric, brushed it along my cheek, and smiled. Then I pulled it off the hanger, slipped it over my shoulders, tossed the hood up, and went to check myself out in the tall mirror. The red cloak I used to wear during our Wiccan rituals with Eliza hadn’t been worn in a long time, but looking at myself in it now, I thought it at least bore a resemblance to Little Red Riding Hood’s cloak.

  “This will do,” I said to myself.

  Then I headed out of the bedroom, cloak trailing away behind me, and waited in the living room for Collette, who took another five or so minutes to finish getting ready. I had heard her moving from one room to the other once or twice and thought about calling up to her, impatience getting the better of me, but decided against it.

  I was definitely running a fever. I had felt it once on the flight to the US from London, but then I had fallen asleep and besides waking up a little shakily, I had been fine. Nothing a bite to eat couldn’t fix. But now, in the time I spent waiting for Collette, the fever had come back in the form of the shakes and the aches. If I had been given a choice I wouldn’t have gone to a party right now, but I couldn’t just stay at home. Not tonight.

  Collette came prancing down the stairs in a black cloak, a tight black bodice that made her figure cause the jealousy sprites living within me to multiply like rabbits—as if I needed any more of those little bastards—, a long skirt, and pointy black boots. Good thing I wasn’t trying to out-dress her, otherwise I would have been disappointed.

  “Damn,” I said, although it sounded a little more like da-yum. “If I didn’t know you I would ask you who you’re going as, but I know that’s just your usual lying-around-the-house look.” My smile flattened when I saw how serious her expression remained. “Is everything alright?”

  Something’s different about her.

  “Oui,” she said, approaching fast. “Look, zere is something I want to tell you.”

  “Alright, shoot.”

  “On your bed I have left you some things.”

  “Things? What kind of things?”

  “Trinkets. Knic
k knacks. You gave your books to Luther, so I wanted to give you something in return.

  “Coll, you didn’t have to.”

  “No, but I wanted to. I think you will enjoy them more zan I.”

  “I kinda wanna see what you’ve given me, now.”

  “Later. Right now we have somewhere to be, do we not?”

  I hadn’t noticed until now, but she was practically nudging me out the door. “Yeah, I guess. But look, is everything okay? You’re acting weird and keeping shit from me and I don’t like it.”

  “All in due time, Red Witch. I promise. All in due time.”

  As we left the house, I got the feeling we were working on some kind of schedule I wasn’t privy to; a timetable only Collette was clued in on. I didn’t know how I felt about it, but the feelings of immediacy and urgency were circling us like carrion birds. Leaving the thing unspoken of left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of her. The best witches took their secrets to their graves. And Collette was, after all, much better at being a witch than I.

  Above us, the stars were cold, high, and indifferent in a night sky devoid of a moon.

  CHAPTER 29

  The Centenary Hall was a walk away from our place. We hadn’t noticed on the way in to my house, but on the walk out of my neighborhood, the full force of Halloween hit us suddenly and unexpectedly. Front lawns were decorated with scarecrows and pumpkins; little kids were running around in masks and in costume trick-or-treating, while the older kids and younger adults were walking toward the party in groups.

  There were slutty vampires, slutty werewolves, and even slutty Rag Doll Sallies walking alongside zombies, mummies, and even one guy in a Scream outfit. Hadn’t that trend died already? I was about to call them out on their unoriginality, but then I remembered what I was wearing, and the introvert in me prevailed.

  Collette received a couple of wolf-whistles from an already wasted guy in a chicken costume drinking beer from a plastic cup at the steps of the Centenary Hall. He tried to get up to approach her, but she pressed her hand against his head and with a little push sent him toppling into the bushes to a round of laughter from the guy’s also drunk friends.

  “That was pretty cool,” I said as we prepared to enter the hall together.

  She smiled. Sighed. “Some boys never learn, do they?”

  I shook my head.

  “But yours has. So go and get him.”

  Collette pushed the door open, and I swept inside to a flood of pulsing lights, a rush of music, and the press of people all around. The place was packed! Aquatic Bumblebee, a local teenage band, was covering a My Chemical Romance crowd-pleaser which had people jumping and singing along. The drinks were flowing from the makeshift bar in the back of the hall, contributing toward the creation of more drunks like the one we had seen outside. And the air was heavy with the smell of cologne, sweat, and alcohol.

  All in all, it seemed like Frank had done a great job! One he could be proud of.

  And yet, beneath it all, like an electric current, there was that vibration. Tingling feelings of… dread? Anxiety? They seemed to be coming out of the Centenary Hall itself, as if it was somehow anxious about the night ahead, and that didn’t sit well with me. It was making my muscles and nerves twitch uncontrollably. I thought maybe a drink—just one drink—would help to settle me, but I didn’t think my stomach would be able to handle one. Not after the way I had been feeling lately with the morning retching and the—

  Oh fuck.

  Fuck!

  I swallowed dryly. Then I did it again. The music dulled to a faint hum, the room started to spin, and my legs turned to putty and became unable to hold my weight. I reached for the first person I could find, grabbed a hold of his shirt, and used it to keep myself from going down like a house of cards.

  Had I honestly been too busy to notice I had been throwing up most mornings? How was that even possible?

  Thinking back in that moment as I righted myself against the body of the guy whose shirt I had just pulled, I could recall maybe two occasions where I had run to the bathroom in the morning… maybe three, tops. What if there had been more, though?

  Yanking on a guy’s shirt and tugging on it to stop a fall, though, didn’t go unnoticed. He turned around with a look in his eyes like he was about to deck someone. Me. But his expression turned from surprised anger to wide-eyed shock. It was Aaron whose shirt I had tugged.

  “Amber?” he asked, his voice loud enough to hear over the swell of music.

  “Hi,” I said from beneath my hood. I worked my way back to a standing position, pulled the hood down, and let him see me. I was the one that was shaking now, like a fig leaf caught in a strong wind.

  He hugged me without saying a word. It was a powerful hug, the kind that turns your back into an arch and made your feet raise a couple of inches off the ground. I hugged him back, buried my face against his neck, and enjoyed the smell of him.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said into my ear, “I fucking missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I said, fighting back a wave of emotion that threatened to spill out of me at any moment like water out of a broken dam. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  Aaron pulled back, his sky-blue eyes still filled with the same surprise I had seen a moment ago, only this time the worry-line had appeared in the space between his eyebrows. He took my hand and led me through the press of people and through a small brown door which, while not soundproof, did enough to cut the sound down by a couple of decibels.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.

  “And I can’t believe you’re not in costume, Mister Cooper. I thought this was meant to be a Halloween party.”

  “I’m sorry… I was hoping you would help me put something together, but you weren’t here.”

  “Couldn’t have bought a mask or fake werewolf gloves? I bet Damien and Frank are in costume.” I said, playful eyebrow arched.

  Aaron simply smiled. “Can we just appreciate the fact that you’re here? I… I had no idea when you would get in.”

  “I know,” I said, “That thing has been working overtime to keep us all apart.”

  He nodded, and then he hugged me again. I was sure he could feel the thundering of my heart beneath my shirt, but if he did he didn’t say anything. What if I’m pregnant? The tremors came again unbidden. I could feel myself starting to shake, and Aaron clearly did too now because he held me more tightly against his warm body.

  “Are you—”

  “I shouldn’t have hesitated,” I said, “Out in the woods that day.”

  “Amber.”

  “No. Listen to me.” I pulled back and looked up at him. “I shouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “You don’t have to do this right now.”

  “No, but I do.”

  “I put you on the spot out there. It wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to assume that… I guess it was just too soon and—”

  Before he could say another word, I placed my hand around his mouth, and said “Yes.”

  Aaron’s aura flared up like an explosion of fear, joy, anxiety, and excitement, but he didn’t say a word. Not a one. So I kissed the back of my hand again, then removed it, and kissed his lips, long and deep, drinking him in, parting his mouth with my tongue and searching for him. My hand found the back of his neck, then his hair, and a short moment after that, the kiss was in full force; a kiss like no other. A kiss which said more than words could ever say.

  But when the kiss broke, and we stood there, breathing each other’s heat, I said it again anyway. “My answer is yes.”

  He nodded, and it was a simple gesture, but maybe he wasn’t sure what to do. I guessed he had had it all planned out up in the woods, but I had taken him by surprise here and Aaron wasn’t good with surprises. We kissed again, enjoying the moment we had carved for ourselves like a pause between heartbeats. Neither of us spoke for a long time, but then the wayward thoughts returned like
a comet coming back from a quick orbit about the sun.

  Morning sickness. The aches. The pains. What if you’re pregnant? Fate doesn’t care, remember? Fate doesn’t care.

  I stared up at his quiet, smiling face for what seemed like an eternity, and I was about to open my mouth when the door swung open and Collette—and the treble and bass of a live band—came rushing in with the swing.

  “Zere you are,” she said in haggard breaths like someone who had just run a hundred meter sprint.

  “Collette,” I said, pushing away from Aaron. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Damien. Something’s not right.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “In ze main room. Come.”

  She took my hand and pulled me with her, either oblivious to the tone of the conversation I had just been having with Aaron or acting on that same sense of urgency I had felt ever since we landed in SFO. I guessed the latter since Collette was pretty damn observant, but that didn’t do anything to soothe me.

  Questioning her about what was going on, though, wasn’t an option because we had found Damien in the crowd without too much trouble. His face was powdered white; he had black lipstick and eyeliner on, and he was wearing a black shirt wrapped at the wrists, elbows, and torso with black tape. He was supposed to be the Crow—one of my favorite movies—and he had done a good job with his costume. And much like Brandon Lee throughout most of the movie, Damien’s face was all gloom and seriousness.

  “There he is,” I said, tugging Collette through the crowd. But Damien turned and started to carve his own path between the revelers. I followed as best I could, but keeping track of him wasn’t easy. Damien was headed to the side of the room closest to the bar, and that was the part of the hall which was thickest.

  About thirty feet ahead, Damien pushed open a set of double doors leading to a corridor of harsh, fluorescent light. Then the doors shut behind him, and I knew—I just knew—that something was about to happen.