by Holly Wentz
“You asked my algebra teacher what my name was?” she asked, a little mortified and a little disturbed.
“Well, she’s my calculus teacher. And I saw you leaving her class earlier today so…,” he gives a half shrug while pocketing his old phone again, “I thought she’d know it.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“What if you didn’t tell me? Then I wouldn’t know it. This way I know it and now I know you. And you’re coming over and I’ll teach you to tell my future.”
And then he gives that heart-stopping smile again, and she realizes he’s just weird and she has to decide if she can accept that, because he’s not changing.
“What’s your name?” she says, following him out into the hall but grabs his arm, stopping him before he can answer and say “Never mind.”
When his face falls she smiles big and says, “Who’s your English teacher?”
And he lights up, laughing. Mr. Regus lets her know his name is Jack.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Asudden embrace from behind her sends Marcy off the floor and whirled around, staring at the front door she had closed moments ago.
“Hello, Beauty!” Jack’s voice shouts right at her ear as the hug to her ribs becomes almost crushing. But she just laughs and leans her head back, waiting for Jack to decide when to release her.
In his typical fashion, it doesn’t happen immediately. Instead he bends slightly back to keep her feet from dragging and walks them into the kitchen, setting her down by the large granite island. He walks around to the other side and leans on his forearms, just standing there smiling and staring at her. Some may find him creepy the way he smiles and stares, but Marcy has learned some things about Jack over the last seven months.
He may wear all black and obsess over all things occult, and he may act strange and say spooky things. But the truth was that Jack was the happiest, kindest, most caring person she had ever met. His smile was big and genuine. His eyes were alight with humor and curiosity. And the reason he would stare at something was because, at that moment, there was nothing else he’d rather look at. And sometimes that something was her, which left her a little breathless and giddy, like now.
“Hi!” she says breathy.
He tucks his head down to rest it on his forearms, looks up at her, and says hi in reply.
“Whatcha got here?” he asks, reaching out and tapping on the box that she had laid on the counter.
“A present,” she says with a grin as she whisks it back off the counter and turns to leave the kitchen. He pops up to stand straight.
“For me? What is it? Let me see.” He jumps around the counter and blocks her way from leaving the kitchen.
Jack loves gifts, the giving and the receiving. And his enthusiasm and playfulness for when he receives one is so much so that Marcy finds herself looking for things to give him, just to experience his response.
“I haven’t decided if I am going to give it for your birthday or for Christmas,” she teases.
“What?!” he gasps, acting shocked, “They’re the same day and six months away, woman!” It’s true. Her sweet, silly Jack was a Christmas Day baby.
Marcy makes a feint to the right then tries to lunge past him on the left but he knows all her moves. And soon she finds herself pinned to the wall next to the fridge with Jack blocking her escape with one hand and tickling her with the other.
“Unfair!” she gasps between squeals of laughter, “This is torture! It’s against the Marcy-Jack Convention Agreement!”
“So is holding out on surprises for six months” he laughs as he goes for a particularly sensitive spot.
“No, it’s not!” she wails then thrusting the package at him, cries out, “Here! Take it! Take it! Just, please mercy! Mercy!”
Jack whoops as he carries his prize back to the island over his head as proud as a conquering hero. Marcy follows with her eyes narrowed.
“You fight dirty.”
“Only way to fight, Beauty.” He grins as he begins to open the box.
“Wow.” Jack breathes quietly as he stares down into the open box.
Marcy leans over from the other side to look at what it holds. Oh, technically she knows, as she’s the one who bought it. But they only had one picture of it on eBay and nothing that showed the inside.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asks, staring in awe at the old leather-bound book.
It sat nestled in packing paper within the plain box. A dark brown leather-bound book, corners decorated with metallic filigree and two clasps holding it closed that were of decorative leaf.
Gently, with almost reverence, Jack lifted the book from the box and placed it on the smooth counter. Lifting both latches he slowly opened it. The old leather crinkled and the yellowed pages crackled as he turned them over one by one. The words appeared to have been written in a small neat block print. There are one-word titles above the sections and occasionally a note was written in the margins in thick slashing script.
“It was on eBay.” Marcy spoke quietly, as though the moment called for hushed voices. “The seller found it in a hidden drawer of an antique desk they had bought. It’s legit, Jack. It’s a real spell book.”
She looks up at him with an excited grin. “The seller said that the desk had been made in the 1890s but it was in regular use at a Boston townhouse until the 1950s when it was placed in storage.”
“This is a real spell book. You got me a real spell book, Marcy.” Jack looked up at her and then kissed her.
Really kissed her. Not one of the quick pecks on the lips he had given before when he said goodbye. No, this time he slid his hand behind her neck, under her hair, cupped her face with his other hand, and kissed her.
When he pulled back, he said, “Come on. Let’s look this over upstairs.” And gathered the book and box and headed out of the kitchen.
Marcy just stood there, leaning on the counter, utterly stunned. Jack wasn’t really physical. It had caught her off guard at first, because everyone she knew was physical. At eighteen, she knew very few virgins; she herself wasn’t one. Everyone made out; everyone passed all the “bases.” But not Jack. He was intense, making the air around him feel heavy and charged. When he looked at you it could feel like a touch, and when he engaged you in conversation it could feel intimate. But actual physical displays of affection were few, subtle, and hesitant.
So the fact that he had grabbed hold and laid an open-mouthed passionate kiss for her meant that Jack was very, very happy with Marcy. And that made Marcy very, very happy with herself. Giving herself a little mental pat on the back, she grabbed two sodas from the fridge and followed Jack upstairs to the attic where he had made a little personal den for himself in the north corner of the long room.
When she ascended through the entry in the attic floor and came up into the room itself, she could see Jack in his area, the book sitting on the cloth-covered ottoman he used as an altar. Kneeling beside him, they began to look through the old spell book, finding most pages filled with instructions on potion making and meditation exercises. But halfway through the book they came across a page titled “Conjuring an Entity” with one of those handwritten notes in the margin that simply stated: Works!
Jack and Marcy shared an excited look and nodded: this would be where they started. This spell would bring up an “entity,” perhaps a ghost or a spirit, some being from the mystical realm, and they could speak with it; because surely if it can be conjured, it can be communicated with. Jack had studied all manner of psychic practices and séances. He was positive he possessed the natural “third-eye” as a psychic and would be able to recreate the spell.
“It says three people are needed.” Marcy frowned down at the book as Jack began to copy the portal’s symbols on the attic’s wooden floor in white chalk.
“Hmmm…,” he murmured as he continued recreating the image from the book’s tattered page.
Sitting back on his heels, he tipped his head up in thought just as the soun
d of a powerful engine revved below accompanied by a heavy bass beat.
“Aha!” he jumped up in delight and headed for the trapdoor.
“What?! No way! He won’t do it! Don’t ask him! Jack, please!” She followed him quickly down the short step ladder, pleading for him to see sense. “He’s just going to insult you. Come on, Jack, you know what he’s going to say. We can find someone else, literally anyone else! Jack!”
“He” would be Kyle, Jack’s older brother by eighteen months and the complete opposite of Jack in every way. Kyle was the guy that, if Marcy was honest with herself, she would admit she always tried to catch the attention of back in Florida. He was the typical frat-boy jock whose chiseled good looks and natural athletics got him every girl’s adoration and every guy’s envy.
Unfortunately, he also had the personality of a brute and the temper of an ogre. She could not understand how these two guys came from the same set of parents; they could not be farther alike, except in looks. They both shared the same beautiful dark blue eyes, but Kyle’s hair was lighter and his build was more muscular … and he was jerk—cannot forget that part.
And Jack, her sweet, spacey, odd, little Jack seemed to always try and engage his bully of a brother. It never failed; if she and Jack were heading out to see a movie or go for coffee or try antique shopping and Kyle was around, Jack would invite him. And he always did it with this optimistic air, as if he really was hoping Kyle would join them. Kyle wasn’t going to join them. Kyle wasn’t going to thank them for thinking of him.
No, Kyle was going to insult them—cruelly—and threaten Jack and send them off to the sound of his callous laughter. And Jack always looked slightly deflated afterwards; for a little while after, his normal bright light would shine a little less. Marcy wasn’t the type of person to hate someone but she hated Kyle, and she wished she could make Jack hate him too. But Jack didn’t seem capable of hate, especially towards his older brother.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Jack careened through the foyer and out into the bright sunshine. There in the driveway was a sleek and polished Ford Mustang, fire-engine red with 24” wheels and a stereo to rival a concert hall. The bass poured and pounded from the interior, unencumbered by the door which was wide open, along with the trunk. Kyle was just straightening from leaning in the trunk, in his one hand the end of a vacuum hose and in his other hand … a pair of purple panties. Marcy came to a halt behind Jack, wincing at the vicious grin on Kyle’s face and just knowing he was about to say something involving those stupid panties.
Sure enough…
“Hey Marce,” he shouts holding up the lacy underthings, “I would ask if these were yours but—” and here his eyes go to Jack—“I’d think you more likely to wear these than your ‘girlfriend’ would.”
He chuckles darkly, tossing down the hose and turning off the vacuum.
“Pussy,” he shoulders past Jack, knocking him as he goes.
Marcy narrows her eyes as Kyle passes her, to which he responds by giving her the middle finger.
“Can we please now look for someone else?” she asks Jack as the sound of the front door slams behind her.
Jack spins on his heel with a resounding “No!”
She follows quickly behind and joins him in the kitchen where he is currently pleading his case to a disinterested Kyle who stands at the granite island eating a Twinkie and flipping through a car magazine.
“Marcy got me a book, a spell book, and….”
“A spell book?!” Kyle interrupts, “Really, dude, really!? Are you gay? Serious question. Because you dress like a homo and wear makeup and now you’re doing spells. I mean I just want to know, I won’t disown you or anything.”
Then to her dismay, before Jack can respond to his accusation, Kyle turns to her and says, “He’s gay, right? I mean he’s not screwing you. I know how a girl looks after getting laid and you never look that way around him, so … gay?”
Her jaw hits the floor when Jack suddenly grabs hold of Kyle and yanks him close, “Don’t speak to her like that. Don’t speak to her the way you speak to other girls. I can’t stop you from dismissing and mistreating them but you will not dismiss Marcy, understand?”
Jack’s words are low but hard, none of the soft edges like his normal speech, and he holds Kyle’s eyes as well as his shirt.
“Get off me, man!” Kyle pushes him back and straightens his shirt front. “Fine. Sorry,” he says, his eyes briefly touching hers with the apology.
Marcy stands stunned, she would have never guessed in a million years that Kyle would have backed down so peacefully and apologized so quickly. He was always quick to throw an insult to Jack or a punch to anyone else. Still….
“So, you two bit…,” Kyle begins but stops with a look at Jack’s stormy face and continues, “...witches want to do some spell and you need me? What do you plan on doing? Cut me? Sacrifice? I’m not running around naked in the woods, at least not with you,” pointing to Jack, “Marcy on the other hand….”
“Stop!” She holds up her hand and ends what he is about to say.
Jack slides over, blocking most of Kyle’s view of her; pleadingly he says, “We just need another person to stand in the circle with us. All you need to do is stand and hold your arms out.”
Marcy looks up quickly to Jack in confusion; the spell calls for the three people to have their hands linked. But Jack shakes his head slightly. Apparently, he was going to bring that up after he convinces Kyle to participate. Of course, Jack is always honest and open but Kyle was such a detrimental influence on him that even in this he sways Jack. She hates Kyle so much!
“What’s in it for me?” Kyle asks smugly.
“Seriously!? You don’t have five minutes to just stand still to help your brother!” she snaps.
“Well, not now if I’m going to be yelled at.” Kyle jokingly frowns then begins to turn to leave the kitchen.
“I’ll pay for your gas this week.” Jack jumps forward to block him from leaving. Kyle raises his brow then shakes his head, “A tank of gas? Not worth my time.”
“I’ll pay your gas for a month,” Jack rushes.
“What?! Jack, no!” Marcy tries to intercede.
“And have your car detailed … every week, for a month.” “JACK!”
But Jack has Kyle’s full attention now.
“Gas and detailing for a month?”
“Yes, but you don’t just stand there annoyed. You have to do as I say and do it right or the deal’s off,” Jack makes his bargain and Kyle takes it.
“Okay, I’ll play,” Kyle says as he tosses the magazine on the counter and heads towards the stairs. “All premium you know, gas and detailing.” he throws over his shoulder.
“If you give me premium participation.” Jack throws back.
Marcy can’t help but look at him a little amazed, “Wow. Where did all this come from?” she asks him, amused.
Jack shrugs with a slight blush, “He knows not to talk rude to you. He, we … we’ve talked about it.”
“Talked about it?” Marcy follows Jack’s quickly receding form.
“Yeah, look” Jack turns suddenly on the stair above her, his hands braced on the banister and the wall. He leans down to eye level with her, “Kyle—I know what you think of him and I understand why, but he’s more than that.”
He turns and begins to climb but stops again and quietly says over his shoulder, “Don’t mention that I told you about us talking about you, he’ll only deny it.”
“Why?” she asks but Jack only shrugs as he begins to climb the attic stairs.
When she reaches the attic, she finds Jack explaining to Kyle what he needs to do as Kyle stands, hands on hips and a smirk on his face, looking down at the drawn circle.
“Okay, all set.” Jack stands from the last candle he has lit.
“Mom catches you burning candles up here and she will put you up for adoption,” Kyle deadpans.
But just as Marcy is about to retort, Jack blast out a la
ugh. “Yeah probably, if you could put a nineteen-year-old up for adoption. But let’s not get caught, okay?”
Jack holds out his arms, elbows bent slightly, palms up, and Kyle and Marcy join him. They take hold of his elbows so that their forearms are linked, then they join their own arms as well. They form a human triangle standing within the chalk-drawn circle. Their feet are placed within the symbols drawn inside it, and the only light comes from candles placed around in defined places and wax color per the book’s instructions.
The room has gone dark as a cloud passes over the late afternoon sun, and the temperature has dropped about 10 degrees. Marcy would have never noticed, so entranced was she by the intensity of Jack’s stare, if it had not been for Kyle’s unexpected whisper, “Spooky.”
Jack begins to chant and his voice warms her; it begins to entice and seduce her. Her breasts become heavy and her body becomes slick. Her breath is quickening and she must bite back a moan. Tearing her eyes from Jack, she sees Kyle in a similar state, aroused and panting. Both of their grips are kneading each other’s flesh as well as Jack’s, while Jack appears unaffected. His stare is inward and glazed as he continues to chant the given words, his voice growing stronger and the light growing darker.
Suddenly the candles go out all at once and the symbols begin to pulse with their own brilliance. They gleam, more as a snail’s trail in moonlight than beams of light. Jack continues as Marcy feels overwhelmed with what is happening to her body. And right as everything seems ready to climax, there is a distant scream and a pressure and then a suffocating darkness.
Marcy blinks against the grey light that seems too harsh to be overcast and takes stock of her body. She is lying face down on ashen earth; it has an inch of grey dust that reminds her of talcum powder. Coughing, she lifts herself up on straightened arms and looks around. Lying nearby are Jack and Kyle. They are lying so that each person’s head is by the other person’s feet and they remain forming a triangle. Shaking, she goes up onto her knees and realizes they lay, for the most part, on a crossroad of white and a city can be seen in the distance.