by Nancy Warren
“Now her hands,” I said to Nyx, sounding firm, but stroking her belly with my other hand so she’d know it was just for show. Nyx obediently licked my hand again and I touched both Margaret’s hands.
"That should take care of it," I said.
I wasn't certain she believed me but she reached into a rather capacious handbag and withdrew a compact mirror, which she used to look her face. She tilted her face this way and that and then pulled the hood away from her head. She didn’t look very grateful. "There are still scratches on my face."
I thought ‘thank you’ might've been a more appropriate response, but then I hadn't lived with warts and boils all over my face and hands for several days. I looked closely at her.
"They're fading minute by minute. If they're not completely gone by tomorrow, come back and I'll do another treatment."
She sniffed, clearly annoyed at receiving instructions from a much younger and less experienced witch, but, she had to know, as I did, that the magic was coming, not from me, but from Nyx. Finally, glaring at the cat, she nodded.
Then, almost as though seeing Pete for the first time, she snapped, "And you'd better do a forgetting spell on that one."
"He's one of us," I said.
Pete nodded. "Margaret Twig. You came to Sydney to give a workshop on healing herbs. Very impressive it was, too. I think we all learned a lot that evening."
I got the feeling that Margaret's evening was suddenly improving. She looked at Pete and then dipped her chin and flirted with her eyes. "Thank you. You’ve got some very accomplished witches down your way."
Now that she'd calmed down and I had my cat back, I felt more kindly disposed to Margaret. Also, I was curious as to whether she had felt the odd change in energy in the atmosphere. "Have you been aware of a strange energy this evening?"
She looked at me, sharply. "I thought it was just my own anger reflecting back at me because of what that wretched cat did to my face."
"Are you still feeling it?"
She breathed in and out, slowly, and closed her eyes. I had Nyx back and was within a few feet of my home, where I felt safe, and yet, I was still aware of the scent of danger, the crackle of negative energy in the air. It was hard to explain, like a faint scent that you grow accustomed to, but if you stop to smell it, you find it's there.
She opened her eyes and nodded. "There is something." She looked at me closely. “You’re not dead, I see. But I take it you haven’t vanquished the evil warlock who’s after you. The revealing potion didn't work?"
"Well, it hasn't revealed a monster, if that's what you mean. But I've trusted that if someone consumed it and didn’t turn into something nasty, that they were probably safe."
She shrugged. "Unless the evil one is powerful enough to neutralize the spell."
Now she told me this was a possibility? I felt like scratching her myself and cursing her with a fresh dose of boils and warts. "You mean, it might not work?"
Her cloak fluttered as she shrugged her shoulders. "It's a very faint possibility."
I’d had enough of this witch and her condescending attitude. "I'm going inside, now. My mother's been alone all evening and, knowing her, she probably forgot to eat. I'd invite you in, but Mom doesn't believe in witches."
"Good heavens. Witch blood runs through her, strong and true, it's very sad to deny one's true nature."
People kept saying this, but I wasn’t so sure. “I really don't think Mom's a witch."
"Nonsense. That's why your magic is so powerful. She's denied her own, and it had to go somewhere, so it came to you."
I didn't really like the sound of that. "You mean I'm like a double witch?"
Pete said, "You’re a super witch, you've been supersized."
I shook my head at both of them. "You two have a lovely evening, I'm going home to bed, now."
"Wait," Pete said. "I'm coming in with you. I want to make sure everything's okay, and then I'll go back home." He shot a cheeky look at Margaret. “Your mum likes me.”
I had Nyx now, so I didn't really need him, but he’d been so kind to me that I didn't have the heart to tell him he couldn't come in. I nodded and began walking towards my shop.
"Wait," Margaret said, scurrying to catch up with us. "With that funny energy in the air, I think you need all the help you can get. I’m coming too."
"Fine," I said again. "But, remember, you're just a friend I've met in Oxford."
"You can tell her I'm your cat sitter," she said, and reached out to pat Nyx's head. Nyx hissed and took a swipe at her, claws extended.
"Yep, she'll believe that one."
Chapter 17
We got to the knitting shop and, though the blind was closed, I could see a faint light inside. I'd have gone all the way around and into the house from the back way, but since I’d obviously left a lamp burning, I decided to go in through the shop.
I unlocked the door and, as I did, I noticed something really strange was going on with the mirror in my bag. It began to hum. I glanced at the others to see if they could hear it, but they were talking about mutual acquaintances in Australia. I glanced up and down the dark street again. I'd be so glad when I was safely inside, spending what was left of the evening with my mother, knowing I had loads of protectors near me. While I knew the vampires could be trusted around most humans, I suspected that they’d be only too pleased to let their instincts to kill and destroy take over if there was a genuine monster to be beaten.
I opened the shop door and went inside. To my surprise, my assistant was sitting in the chair, rapidly crocheting one of her small dolls. She was wearing a purple coat dress that set off the silver gray of her hair. Her pink lipstick was freshly applied. In fact, she looked as though she were ready for the workday to begin, when it was nearly bedtime.
"Eileen," I said, in surprise.
She stood up and smiled at me. "Good evening, Lucy. You're rather late home. Out whoring, I imagine. Your mother was getting worried."
Whoring? Had I heard her correctly?" As I stared, wondering whether to chastise her for criticizing my personal behavior, or ask her why she was here, I noticed something very peculiar. Her outline began to shimmer.
The humming of the mirror grew louder and I gripped the mirror tighter in my hand. Oh, no! Not Eileen. Not my trusted assistant. But I didn’t like the look in her eyes, or that she’d referred to Mom. "What do you mean, my mother's worried about me?"
My heart was pounding uncomfortably fast and I was so happy to have Pete and Margaret as backup.
Nyx made a sound I’d never heard her make before. She was growling, deep in her throat. Almost in tune with that humming coming from the mirror.
Then, from the back room, I heard a voice that was unmistakably my mother's. She called out, "Lucy, run!"
I glanced behind me, to the still open door, not so I could run, but to make sure that Pete and Margaret were behind me. I was so happy they had decided to come in with me, as I felt certain I was about to need all the help I could get. But, to my horror, I could see them both on the other side of the shop's doorway. Their mouths were open and it seemed as though they were speaking, or, more likely, yelling, and banging their fists on what looked to be nothing but air.
Eileen said, still in that comfortable, grandmotherly tone, "I think it's time your friends went home."
And then, waving her crochet hook like a wand, and muttering something in a language I had never heard, she caused the door to bang shut in their faces.
No doubt Margaret had a spell that was equally powerful. I had to trust that she and Pete would break through the barrier, but, in the meantime, I needed to find out what was going on with my mother.
I started toward the back and Eileen didn’t stop me. In fact, she followed along, her orthopaedic shoes making soft, tapping sounds on the wood floor.
I pulled back the curtain and there was Mom.
She was sitting on one of the chairs in the back room. She was still dressed in the same black slacks and
blue sweater that she'd been wearing earlier. She looked for all the world like one of the vampire knitters who’d shown up early. Except that her arms appeared to be fastened behind her back and she was unable to rise out of the chair. Now that I looked, I could see her ankles were tied to the chair legs with coarse rope. She was also tied at the waist. Her eyes looked glassy with shock.
"Mom!" I cried, running towards her. I put Nyx down so my hands were free to untie her. But, before I was close enough to touch her, a burst of fire exploded in my path. It was so shocking, and so unexpected, that I screamed and jumped back. This was no pyrotechnic illusion of fake flame. I felt the heat and, to my shock, heard the crackle and pop as the wooden floor of my shop caught fire. I could see Mom, on the other side of the wall of flames, struggling in her chair. I was terrified she’d knock it over and the wooden chair would catch fire.
I didn't know the spell to turn out a fire, I was only a baby, fledgling witch, but my mother was on the other side of that flame. I needed to focus. That was all I could think of. I remembered my grandmother telling me that a witch's strength came from the natural world, from the elements, and being able to use their strength as hers. I imagined that I was cool water. I pictured a waterfall. We’d taken a family trip up to Maine one summer, I remembered. Mom and Dad and me. We’d taken a walk and a picnic one day, to a waterfall. It wasn’t particularly spectacular, as waterfalls go, but I could remember my parents holding hands, looking so happy, and the way I'd felt out in nature. I drew on all of that. The love and support of people I cared about, the feeling of being one with nature, and then I focused all my attention on the memory of that waterfall. I started to feel chilly, as I did when one of the vampires touched me.
I said aloud, “Put the fire out.” It wasn't any kind of a spell, there was no rhyme, no magic incantation, but no words uttered by any witch could have been more sincere.
I looked over at Nyx, who obligingly came near, and I picked up the cat and held her, picturing the waterfall dumping water on the fire. The fire dimmed, and the flames dropped until they were only rising about two or three inches above the ground, but they were still burning.
I said, again, holding Nyx's small, warm body against mine, both of us now looking at the flames. "Put the fire out."
And, then, as though the flame had been turned off, it simply went out.
I put the cat down and once more ran towards my mother. As my foot hit the ashy place where the fire had been, pain shot through my foot and up my leg. I let out a scream and fell back. I’d never touched an electric fence, but I knew instinctively that's what she'd done. She’d erected an invisible electric fence between me and Mom.
I turned my head, and there was Eileen, standing in the doorway, resting her hands on her ample belly. She shook her head. "Use your intelligence, dear. I’m not going to let you cross that circle.”
"There's no need to harm my mother. She is not a witch."
The creature, for I could no longer even think of it as Eileen, my-oh-so-helpful assistant, pulled another of the wooden chairs toward her and sat comfortably on it, resuming her crochet. She was between me and the doorway back to the front of the shop.
"Of course, your mother’s a witch. She’s deeply in denial. But, once you're gone, who's to say she won’t suddenly embrace her inner powers? And the desire for revenge is a powerful force. No, it would be too tedious to have to come back and dispose of another one of you. Besides, I think it will be rather amusing to let you watch your mother die.
She was sewing a couple of button eyes onto one of her crocheted dolls. While she appeared to be concentrating on her handiwork, I pulled the mirror from out of my bag and, pointing it toward her, began to recite the spell Margaret had given me. Eileen didn't look up from her work.
I’d only got a few words out when she took the needle she was using to sew on the buttons and very calmly stabbed it into the wrist of the doll. I screamed, feeling the terrible pain go through my own wrist, and the mirror clattered to the floor. As I looked down, I could see blood trickling out of my wrist, exactly as though a pin had stabbed me there.
"You are becoming a bore." The creature might sound casual, but I imagined a great deal of energy was being expended in order to maintain the perimeter barrier that was keeping out Margaret and Pete. Then it had caused the fire and stabbed me. I noticed that the creature was having trouble sustaining the Eileen image. Not only was it still wavering around the edges, but Eileen's face was beginning to change, twisting out of shape.
Whatever was underneath, it was horrific. I caught a glimpse of something skeletal, and hollow-eyed, with flames leaping up into the empty sockets. The creature seemed to shake itself back into the Eileen persona, but I wondered how much energy it was taking to keep all the strong spells going at once. Enough to weaken it, I hoped.
Margaret would be pushing, just as hard as she could, to break that spell keeping her out, I knew. Pete was no doubt helping, although, from the sounds of banging, I suspected he was more interested in human, physical force, at the moment. He was leaving the magic to Margaret.
No doubt the creature intended to suck the energy out of me and Mom and refill its tank. I did not intend to let that happen. I wasn’t sure I could do it alone, though.
Where was Rafe? And the other vampires? They must've heard the screams.
I noticed that the trapdoor was latched from my side. What if I could open it? What if that perimeter spell only worked around the edges of my shop and home, not above or below?
I looked over at Nyx, the only magical creature who was both inside, and my ally. The cat had retreated and jumped up onto the table where we kept the tea things. She was lying, Sphinx like, with her paws forward and her head up. In that moment, and in that pose, she looked as regal and as dangerous as a cat goddess. She seemed to be biding her time. What else could she do?
My mother still looked glassy-eyed with shock, but otherwise seemed unharmed. I thought, perhaps, she'd seen glimpses of the creature and simple horror kept her frozen, sitting in that chair. She wasn't even struggling against her bonds. Almost as though she accepted she was about to be sacrificed, and was determined to go with dignity.
But I wasn't going with dignity, and I wasn't letting my mother go, either. Not without every drop of fight I could summon.
Seeing Nyx sitting beside the tea things had given me an idea. I said, "Eileen, why don't I make us a nice cup of tea, and we can talk about this?"
The creature looked completely like Eileen again. Her voice was as sweet as always. "If you like, dear. There's no hurry. I can't leave until your father gets home."
Oh my God, not my dad. "Leave him out of this," I said. "He's completely mortal, you must know that."
"Of course, I do. But I don't want loose ends. There's going to be a very tragic house fire, I’m sorry to say. With all this wool and these paper patterns, and the old timbers at the heart of the house, it will be a real conflagration.” She said the word with relish. “There’ll be no sign of foul play. Just another, tragic accident. They do happen, every day.”
I felt frantic, now. If only I could think clearly. I had to keep control of my emotions. I needed to conserve my energy, and my power, and think. She let me put the kettle on and I clattered the cups together so she’d think my hands were shaking. In fact, they were remarkably steady. I could feel a cold stillness inside me. I can't explain it, but I suddenly felt I was drawing power from other sources than simply myself.
I looked at my mother. She was staring at me with the most curious expression on her face and I thought—no, I realized— that she was, at that moment, embracing her power as a witch, and, I suspect, freeing it. I closed my eyes and let our powers join. Nyx butted her head against my knuckles, where I was leaning against the table and, yes, I felt her power, too. And I felt it coming from Margaret, and Pete, and whatever network they were drawing from. All the witches past and present of Oxford seemed to whisper to me, You are not alone.
&nbs
p; The water had begun to boil. I slipped the bottle of revealing potion from my bag. I didn't bother to make it into tea, I poured the liquid straight into the tea mug, and covered it with boiling water. Then, walking over as though to offer Eileen a cup of tea, I threw the liquid over her.
She jumped and twisted, crying out, but more in rage than pain. And, then, I almost wished I hadn't splashed the revealing potion on her, because it was powerful. In horror I watched, as the Eileen façade fell away, following the splash pattern of the revealing spell. One arm was still clad in its purple coat dress, and part of her chest remained in the form I’d known as Eileen. Most of the face and hair remained, but what was beneath it was like a living skeleton pulsing with fire and the most horrible, sickly substance that looked liquid.
The evil thing glared at me. "That wasn't very wise."
“Go away from here, and leave us alone.” I sounded like a scared teenager in a horror film. That’s pretty much how I felt.
The creature, part Eileen and part monster, sneered. “Now, how shall we get rid of Mummy? I like to make the death fit the victim. That vile young warlock, Logan, was heartsick over that dull young woman, the archaeology student. When they said goodbye, he said to her, ‘You make my heart want to explode.’ That was a fitting end for him.” The chuckle was part Eileen, and part something unearthly. The sound of evil.
“When they do the autopsy, that's what they'll find. They’ll call it an aneurysm, quite common in cases of mysterious death among the young. But, really, his heart exploded. I call that poetic justice, don't you?"
She stretched out the doll she'd now finished and took another one from out of her knitting bag. I could see, now, that the second poppet had hair made out of black wool with two strands of white wool interspersed. I remembered the way she’d plunged a needle into the second doll and I had felt the pain. That doll I now realized had yellow wool stuck to its head.
"No," I whispered.
How could I have been so stupid? She’d even called them poppets in my hearing, and I'd assume she referred to poppet as a darling little creature, referring mostly to her grandchildren. Of course, poppets were also a kind of voodoo doll, a representation of a person and when you did ill to that doll, the human victim felt it.