by R.E. Rowe
***
Those who practice magic know that it takes effect immediately but that it may be days, weeks, or even months before it manifests in the physical world. As the weeks went by, I began to doubt that my spell had worked. I knew no more about my past lives than I had before, and the frustration was mounting. The only thing that seemed to have changed was my dreams. Echoes of frantic screams and the sickeningly sweet smell of blood tainted my waking hours until I fell exhausted into my dreams only to enter a world that was created through a series of flashes. My days slowed to a crawl as I dragged through them with the motions of exhaustion. Perhaps I should reverse the spell. Perhaps the voice was right; I can’t handle this much longer.
The thought teased me after the second week. By the third, I felt its allure pulling me into researching how to reverse the spell. Exactly one month later, I was pulling books from shelves at the town library, letting my fingers caress the engraved spines that announced titles in a faded gold or brazen black. I am sorry, Great Goddess. I can’t do this much longer. I wished to know about my past lives; not to live my current one shaken by nerves and exhaustion.
“M’am, I’m sorry. Can I help you?”
The voice shocked me awake and I jumped to face it. The man who stood before me smiled as he took the book from my shaking hands and sat it aside. “I’m sorry to disturb you. But you look as if you could use some help.”
The lines that marked his face as old captured my attention and I nodded, picking up the books that I had taken off the shelf. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired this afternoon.”
The man chuckled. “Ah. I thought I’d found another dreamer. That’s what books are good for out here, isn’t it? To trigger dreaming?”
I tried to smile in return but found that my cheeks were frozen as his face began to change. The skin that had folded in on itself around his face smoothed out to meet a head of dark hair trimmed neatly around eyes that hardened. His name was Jonathon Dickinson then. Shrewd and mean, he had spent his life trying to get out of his father’s book business. He turned to women and rum; both of which would be the death of him.
Despite myself, I stumbled backwards as the books in my arms crashed around my feet. Breaking the silence in a library is a sin; and the noise I created shattered it.
“Oh, my dear! You must be tired!” The man knelt forward and began to collect the books as I fought to keep myself from running.
“No, no. It’s alright.” I managed a shaky smile. “I am simply a mess. I spent the night reading, but can’t keep myself away from the library.” My hand rested against the crisp bend of his sleeve to stop him. “I made this mess. Let me take care of it.”
The cloth under my grasp lost the crisp feel to meld into one of scratchy cloth. A quick jerk of my hand dispelled it and he returned to what he was; an old man wanting nothing more than to rescue the damsel in distress. My smile was weak, but convincing as he nodded and stood. “Well, if you need anything, young lady, I’ll be right over there.”
Scooping the books back against my chest, I replaced them before rushing out of the library. It’s working! Oh my God…but why with him? Why can’t I know my own?
The bright sun stabbed against my eyes as I left the cool darkness of the library to head down the street towards our car. Jonathan Dickinson. But from where? When?
Excitement took hold of my fears and shook them away as I studied the faces of the people that I passed. The few that I encountered moved too quick for me to test my new skill. As the town gave way to the rows of fields that bumped against its outline, I was disappointed. Perhaps it was a onetime deal. And that man was in the right place at the wrong time.
The bright red of our clapboard house rose up amidst the soft greens that surrounded it. As the car came to a stop, I swallowed back the tears that threatened to break against the corners of my eyes. Maybe I was wrong. Thought I’d found something special. Now all I got is more disappointment. Sighing against the heavy feeling riding up in my chest, I made my way into the house and up to the bathroom to study the mirror.
The face that met my own was the one I had been born with. Studying the lines of it, I traced the strong jaw line, felt my fingertips brush against my lips, and stopped just below my eyes. Who was I? What was I once? Was I something special? More than just a girl stranded out in the middle of nowhere? I scrutinized myself until I became lost in the green glint of my iris and the reflection grew hazy through squinted eyes. A moment or so later, I turned away. Dammit! Grabbing a hold of the towel that had been folded next to the sink, I threw it against the nearest wall. Why can’t I see me? What went wrong?
“Julie, I’m home!” My mother’s voice broke through my frustration and the bathroom door jerked open from the force of my hand. Peering outward, I saw her cross into the kitchen. “Hey, Ma. You able to sell anything?”
Her thin hair was already hanging limp around her shoulders as she shrugged before taking out a glass and filling it with water. “Same ol’, same ol’. No one is biting these days.” A smile lit her lips as she gazed out the window before her. “But the Lord will provide, right Julie? He’s taken care of us so far. We’ll be alright.”
Oh, yeah. We’ll be fine. Just as long as He keeps paying the power bill. And the grocery bill with them Heavenly dollars. The sarcasm in my mind would never reach my words as I walked over to the table and fell down against the rough wood of the chair. Ah…but it makes her feel better. I can play along. “Of course, Ma. Of course.”
Her smile faltered for a moment before she turned to face me. “How was the library today? You learn anything?”
I couldn’t answer her. The woman who had raised me; the one that I thought I knew better than anyone else in the world had changed. The limp blonde hair had changed to a thick luster of black that framed a square face ruddy in its happiness. The thin suit she had bought last summer off the rack at a thrift store shifted into a fur so luxurious that it shone against the thin rays of sun that filtered in behind her. Swallowing against the lump that had formed in my throat, I searched for a voice that wouldn’t come.
Her name was Gail Walker. Author, women’s right activist. She cherished the written word more than her own life.
A voice broke through my thoughts and I watched as a man came through to the kitchen. Wingtips, rich suit, and a face rigid with anger. As he stormed towards the woman I knew to be my mother, I watched as her face shifted from the smile to fear in less than a second. It was here that I found my voice. “Daddy? Is that you?”
Neither responded as they focused on one another as a falcon would towards its prey. The voice in my head answered first, and the breath that I had been holding was once more caught up against the back of my throat. Not your parents. Not yet. You see, Gail fell in love with a man she shouldn’t have. One that wanted to shine as brightly as she did but never could.
The figures before me began to scream words that I couldn’t understand against the roaring that pulsated in my ears. Oh, Goddess…Make it stop. Please! The words I wished to speak found themselves trapped in my head as she took off a high heel that gleamed and threw it at the man. His reactions were quick; his hand even quicker to find the knife that waited for his touch. The gleam from the shoe had transfixed itself onto the metal blade and it was then that I found the voice I had been searching for.
The scream that escaped ricocheted off the cheap wood of the table as I shoved myself upwards from the chair and stumbled backwards. The scene before me faded until all that was left were the concerned faces of my parents. “Julie? What is wrong with you?”
My mother’s voice shook me and I resisted the urge to rush to her just to be sure that she was really there. My father stared at me as if I had lost my mind; and for a moment, I considered it a possibility. She’ll die soon. Her soul always does. Her time will come when
the next life is meant to be. You’ll see, child. You’ll see.
Groaning words to console myself more than my parents, I rushed to my room and slammed the wooden door against frame so hard that it shook. My motions were quick; jerky as I grabbed the closest candle and managed to light a trembling flame on to the wick. The slender wax was stabbed into a holder as I knelt down to my knees. I had learned how to cast spells through instinct. Now I prayed that I could reverse one the same way.
My hands clawed at the other until they managed to interlock at the fingers. My lips began to move; pursing together to release as the words slipped outward.
“Great Goddess, I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. You were right; I had no right to know these things. No right to ask for them. I ask that you reverse this spell with a heart so heavy; so filled with fear that I know not what I want. Only peace. With harm to none, so mote it be.”
I stayed crouched on the floor before the candle until the ache in my knees cried out through my bones. Standing in a stiff and awkward motion, I threw myself on the bed and hoped that my magic had worked. If only until I can truly reverse it. Oh please, my Gracious Goddess, please….
The voice that teased me; taunted me with the knowledge that I now feared laughed against the back of my skull and I hated it. Before you were so certain. So certain of your new found power to change the surroundings. My child, you must learn that once a spell has been cast, it cannot be undone. It will wear off in time. Until that time, you will learn things that you did not want to know.
“But it didn’t work! Not like I wanted!” My words were muffled into the pillow that now held my face. “I wanted to know about my past lives. Not everyone else.”
The chuckling was back, softer this time. You didn’t ask for anything specific; simply to know of past lives. Until this spell wears off, you will learn more than you ever thought possible.
I shot up from the bed, grunting only when my knees cracked against the aged wood that served as my floor. My hands worked with the desperation of the dying as I grabbed a hold of the books that were hidden there. Thin white pages flew beneath my fingers as I flipped through the instructions I had studied with such fascination before. There has to be a way…there has to be…something. I have to be able to do something.
Typical enchantments blurred in a mixture of white and black until I reached the back cover of the book. Throwing it back beneath the bed, I searched book after book until I reached the end of my stash. Oh, Goddess. What am I going to do?
The wood chilled against my skin despite the heated temperatures that marked a Southern summer and I was grateful for it. The cold helped me to focus. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply until my thoughts of panic cleared. Ok. How long is this supposed to last?
I couldn’t help but wonder if I was talking to myself as the voice responded. For one month’s time. One candle; one month. No more, no less. Silence echoed the words back to me. Resignation is a heavy thing; and I felt it more so than ever as I grabbed a notebook hidden with the books and began to write. Supposed to record the outcomes of all spells, girl. Might as well do this one as well.
My pen scratched the paper with fading blue ink until I shook it. As the blue began to mark the sheet, my calmness returned. The words soothed me; made everything more real to my scattered thoughts. The intensity of things that seem unbearable has always lessened when written. With script, I was no longer alone in my confusion. The paper shared it with me; and for that, I was grateful.