"God is in the details. Bind it with specificity and you're good to go."
I sighed again and sipped my drink. I'd been sighing a lot lately. "I miss the days when getting laid was my biggest problem. Maybe I should become a kept woman. No responsibilities, no bills, just lots of sex and high-priced gifties."
"If that's what you want, Little Miss Difficult, you're gonna have to stop saying no." Gus tapped his pipe into a pot of dirt, getting rid of the used tobacco. He slipped the pipe into his man-bag, then stood up. "I just stopped by to light a fire under you. And now, I have a hottie waiting for me at Rage."
"Rage?! Bastard. I never get to go anywhere fun."
"That's because you're always broke. Go forth and be witchy, little woman. The echoes of one realm makes ripples in the other." He kissed my cheek and then he was off, trailing scents of amber, patchouli and vanilla behind him.
As I watched Gus get into his SUV, I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said. He had a point. Why was I being so reluctant to use magic? It's not like I was making a frivolous request. Incipient homelessness combined with joblessness was a big deal. Could I really afford to be hamstrung by a dream about my dad?
As I stood up to go in, a crow flew into the courtyard and a long, black, wing feather slowly floated down. I caught the feather as the crow settled on the second-floor iron railing, loudly cawing.
I looked up at him. "I've already had one lecture tonight. I don't need one from you, too."
He cawed one more time, turned around on the railing and lifted his tail. I dodged under the overhang, barely avoiding a runny white plotz. While some cultures considered it lucky if a bird poops on your head, I considered it kinda gross and something to be avoided at all costs.
Later that night, with Gus's words ringing in my ears, I decided to put my doubts aside. After Mrs. Lasio was asleep, I closed my blinds and got out all my witchy accoutrements. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do, but I had a feeling it would require more oomph than just wishing.
I lit two candles: a red one for illumination and a blue one for the ancestors. Given Mrs. Lasio's hypersensitive nose, however, I skipped the incense.
Then I placed the cauldron in the center of the room, poured in a little bit of rubbing alcohol and fired up the liquid with a long-handled lighter. The sudden flare quickly spread into a small pool of blue fire. Flames licked up the side of the black iron, casting playful shadows across my tattoos.
I waived the crow's feather over the cauldron, sweeping the air currents in a circle, as I waited for guidance from the ancestors, for words to pop into my head.
Within minutes, I heard myself chanting: "Lady of the Cauldron, Lady of the Grail. Be with me here, guide me through this trial. Show me strong, show me true, just what is it I need to do."
I got a clear visual in my head and opened up a box of Sculpty clay. As I softened and shaped the clay in my hands, I circled the cauldron, continuing to chant:
"From the currents of the air, from the feathers of the birds, from the darkness of the void, I make you."
I formed the clay into a rough image of a bird. I pushed the crow's feather into the clay.
"By the power of the Goddess of the Witches. By the power of the Horned God of Old. By the power within me, until your task is accomplished, live and be free!"
I brought the clay bird up to my lips. "With my breath I give you life. Fly where I can not. Fly and search on my behalf. Fly and bring me back a home."
I took a deep breath, so deep it felt like I was pulling it up from the center of the earth. It went through my entire body until I exhaled loudly into the clay bird fetch, with the intent of breathing life into it. I tossed the bird into the cauldron and blue flames flared up.
To my shock and amazement, I saw the spirit of the fetch as it left the cauldron, soared through a closed patio door leading to an outdoor alcove, and out into the night.
When I looked back at the cauldron, the blue flames curled in on themselves, then were sucked back into the iron and extinguished. Utter darkness enveloped the room.
Chapter Nine
I turned on the lights. What the hell was going on? I had never seen a fetch take life like that. I mean, as much as all those fantasy books and movies about witches would have you thinking that Otherworld realms are three-dimensional and you can interact with fairies as if they were solid beings, the reality is usually quite different.
As a witch, you can 'see' other dimensions, but it's a third-eye thing. It's almost like having an overactive imagination, but one that's eerily accurate. Fleeting impressions on your mind's eye. Not full-on, 3-D hallucinations that are as solid as my hand.
Was it because of my birthday? Did turning twenty-seven activate some kind of latent powers? Did it have anything to do with entering my Saturn return, astrologically? I thought about it for a second and then shook my head. It was probably a brain tumor. That made more sense. And it would explain the impending doom portents in my tarot cards. If I had any health insurance, I'd go see a doctor.
Unless I was just losing my mind. I'd certainly seen it happen to others. Traveling too far into the Otherworld, too often, can negate your ability to return to the mundane world.
What if my dad had been right with the Do No Magic warning? Even if it had been just a dream, what if it was my subconscious warning me that I was about to go too deep and cross a line I couldn't uncross? I just hoped it wasn't too late to find my way back.
That night was the worst yet. When the nightmares hit, they hit hard.
I was walking through a forest, when I emerged onto the shoulder of a paved road. It was early and the sky was a swollen bruise, all purply-red, as the sun violently erupted into morning.
On the other side of the road, a forked pathway lead back into the woods. If I took the right fork, I knew the path would lead me to a lake. Even though I couldn't see it, I could smell the algae-filled water and the rotting fish.
If I took the left fork, I knew beyond doubt the path would take me to the stone cottage. It lurked there, on the edges of my subconscious, like an unspoken threat, beckoning to me.
I decided to try the path to the lake for a change. As I walked to the center of the road, a Volkswagen Cabriolet appeared out of nowhere, speeding towards me. The top was down and the driver, an old woman who looked half-corked, was happily singing along with the radio. She seemed completely unaware of me as the car sped up.
My feet were rooted into the road, I was unable to move. As the car was just about to hit me, a large screech owl soared down and flew directly into the windshield. The woman screamed and twisted her steering wheel.
But the owl shattered the windshield, its bloody body hitting her squarely in the face, like a feathered missile. The sheer force of it pushed the woman's thin facial bones through to the back of her skull. Death was swift and merciful.
The car continued on its trajectory, until it slammed up against a lightning-blasted oak tree, blood spattering everywhere.
The front end of the car crumpled and the woman's corpse fell forward. Her lifeless body hit the horn on the steering wheel, a last cry of protest, her head falling to the side.
Disturbed by the noise and motion, a flock of crows rose up from the tree. They circled the ravaged flesh that would soon be their dinner. One of the more adventurous crows leapt through the busted-out windshield and, reaching quickly and carefully with his sharp beak, dug out what was left of the woman's right eye. For one stomach-turning second, the crow turned and faced me, the eye speared in its beak, the pupil looking at me.
I sat up with a gasp and clicked the bedside lamp on. 4:00 a.m. I reached for the glass of water next to the bed, took a sip and held the glass to my forehead. The beads of moisture felt good against my hot flesh.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep again. Because the next thing I knew, it was morning. The sunlight pierced through openings in my blinds and I could hear birds arguing over stray pieces of bread and a dog across the st
reet, yapping its little lungs out.
I was just nodding off again when Mrs. Lasio walked past my bedroom window, loudly chastising her youngest daughter, Lupe, over the latest boyfriend fiasco. In the short distance to their car, accusations of "putana" and "ashamed in front of God" and "that nice priest" echoed through the courtyard.
I buried my head under my pillow to muffle the cacophony. And it almost worked. Until Gus burst through my bedroom door with all the force of a tidal wave.
"Wake up, sleepy-head!" he said, jumping onto the bed and bouncing up and down.
I groaned. "How did you get in? I locked the door. I put garlic over the windows. Are you even supposed to be out in daylight?"
"I'm the mighty, the invincible, the immortal Count Gusula. C'mon, wake up! We've got things to do."
I groaned again. "Weren't you just here yesterday?"
"And if you're lucky, I'll be here again tomorrow." He got off the bed, opened up a green duffel bag he had brought with him and dumped his dirty clothes on me. "Come on, woman. Rise and shine. Laundry's not going to do itself, y'know."
"Ugh," I opened an eyelid. "Get your stinky ass sweat socks off me."
"Get out of bed and make me. I brought quarters," he said helpfully, raining them down on the pile of laundry.
"Ow!" An errant quarter hit me in the head. I swept off the covers, sending clothes and quarters flying, and sat up. "I see," I said in a chilly voice. "Since I own a broomstick, you've obviously mistaken me for your maid."
"Jumping Cernunnos, woman, but you're cranky in the morning. And here I was being generous."
"How do you figure?"
"I brought enough quarters for both of us."
Gus gave me his best little boy smile while I contemplated flushing his quarters, and his head, down the toilet.
I clenched my teeth together into a smile. "How thoughtful. Maybe next time, you could also bring your mother. I'm sure she'd love to spend her weekend doing your laundry."
"Is this your everyday, general crabbiness? Or is it that special time of the month?"
"You don't value your life much, do you?"
"Hormones, hormones, lovely little hormones," Gus sang. "Give 'em chocolate, give 'em salt, give 'em a credit card and let them sort themselves out. But you never give 'em a gun. Hormones, hormones, lovely little..."
I gave him the hairy eyeball, then flopped back down on the bed and put my pillow over my head.
Gus shook my arm. "It's no use sleeping your life away, Goldilocks. Time marches on and you'll still have to move."
I shifted the pillow so I could glare at him. "I'm starting to understand why you have no friends."
"I'm so charming they can't take the competition." Gus grinned.
I snorted. "I have an idea. Why don't you take the quarters and you do all our laundry, while I sleep?"
"Step back, you evil daughter of Eve," Gus held up two fingers in the shape of a cross to ward me away. "Spinning, weaving and laundry is woman's work."
"Oh, it is so on." I thwapped him in the face with my pillow and soon we were rolling around on the bed, tussling like children, until he pinned me in a wrestling hold.
"Come on, give it up. Say it. Gus is the King of the Witches."
"In your dreams." I got an arm free and elbowed him in the stomach. He tried to pin me back down and with all the strength of my pre-caffeinated morning irritation, I punched him in the arm.
"Ow!" He swung my arms behind my back and knelt on my hands. "Gus is Master of the Universe. You can do it."
With a loud grunt and a determined effort, I reared up and flipped him off of me. He fell off the other side of the bed and landed face-first on the pile of dirty clothes. "Give up yet?" he asked, his voice muffled.
I had to laugh. What a goof.
Gus climbed back on the bed. "At least you're hitting like a boy now, instead of that girly-girl slappy shit. I'm having a positive influence on you."
I got out of bed and stretched through an even bigger yawn. Gus leaned against the headboard, interlocking his fingers behind his head and stared at me.
"What are you doing?" I asked, irritated.
He grinned. "Enjoying the view."
I rolled my eyes. "If you don't stop looking at boobs, the West Hollywood boy's club is going to revoke your pink panties."
"What boobs?" he asked with mock innocence. "I was looking at your tattoos. Zane does incredible work."
I laughed. Trust Gus to take the sexuality out of naked bodies. I pirouetted in front of the mirror. On my back, there was a huge tattoo of a human morphing into a winged dragon. On my thigh was an elaborate Tudor rose, with the vines snaking into a knotwork legband. There was a crowned skull with a serpent slithering out of its eye socket on my belly and an intricately shaded, Celtic knotwork armband with a triple horse motif around my upper arm. It really was nice work.
"When you die, I want your skin."
I stopped, arrested by a visual of myself as a rotting, skinless corpse. "Why?"
"Book covers, drumheads. Can't let that kind of artwork go to waste."
"You just want an excuse to pound on me all day."
"It's a bonus," he admitted with a grin.
I snorted. "You want any other parts, or can I keep the rest?"
Gus thought about it for a second. "Well, your head, of course. Can you imagine? You would make one hell of an oracular skull. And your bones. Femurs, fingers... I can make all sorts of things out of you. Bone flute, bone grail, bone walking stick. The list is endless."
"So pretty much, you're just going to dig me back up and recycle my entire body."
"Sacrilege, woman. Bones become fragile when you bury them."
"They become really fragile if you cremate them."
"Much better to put a few dozen beetles in the casket with you and let them do their work. Above ground. After I skin you, of course."
Ick. This post-mortem imagery of me was a bit much, first thing in the morning.
"You know who's carrying caskets now?" he continued. "Costco. I can even get one delivered. How great is that?"
I was starting to feel decidedly queasy. I rubbed my stomach, "Whatever happened to talking about things like politics or religion or what I want for breakfast?"
But Gus was still thinking out loud. "This kind of thing is impossible when you live in an apartment complex. Could you give me a six-month warning before you kick the bucket? So I can rent a house?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll put it at the top of my to-do list. Freak."
"Great. So, my domestic little goddess, you get on the laundry and I'll go pick us up a couple of lattes."
I thought about it for a second. I really didn't have anything else to do. "Get me a pumpkin scone with that latte and I'll think about it. Any other wifely chores you have in mind though, you're on your own."
"Just me and my hand, as always."
"Really didn't need that visual."
As I was about to walk into the bathroom, Gus picked up a glass of thick, grayish water from my nightstand. "Gross. How long has this been sitting here?"
Ewww. I looked at it and cringed. Did I actually drink from that glass last night? "It didn't look like that when I went to bed."
"You must be having some interesting dreams." He held the glass out to me like it was full of nuclear waste. "Please, take your spirit scum away from me."
I grabbed the glass from him, planning to dump the water down the toilet. "Why are you still here? Get moving, barista boy. Quad shot, half and half, extra foam. And I want it like ten minutes ago."
"Four shots? Are you sure..." as I glared at him, he hastily revised what he was going to say. "I shouldn't make it six? Maybe seven? After all, why stop before you go into cardiac arrest?"
My eyes narrowed and my upper lip curled over my teeth. Gus did what any self-respecting male witch would do -- he beat a hasty retreat.
I could hear a muffled trumpeting sound and an off-key rendition of "Off Gus goes to save the day!" as h
e walked through the living room. I laughed and shook my head. Who could stay mad at someone as goofy as him?
But as soon as I opened the bathroom door, everything went to hell.
I heard an ear-splitting scream rip through the room.
It took me a few seconds to realize I was the one screaming.
Chapter Ten
Gus came rushing back in from the living room. "What in the world... ?"
But then he saw it.
Laying in a shower of glass on the tiled floor, was the bloody, beat up body of a crow.
"One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth," he muttered.
One for sorrow. I couldn't stop shaking. I wondered if this was the same crow that had been hanging out in the courtyard all week. The thought that it probably was, was making me hyperventilate.
"Breathe, Mara. Slow breaths. Slower. What is wrong with you? I've never seen you freak out like this. It's just a crow."
I took a deep breath and it all came out. From the nightmares to the vision of my dad and his warning to stay away from magic before some mysterious curse finds me, to the weird hallucinations and my secret late-night ritual, to the too-vivid dream that wrenched me awake and the crow on my bathroom floor.
And then I started smacking Gus.
"What?! What did I do?!" he asked, trying to dodge the blows.
"This is all your fault. You and your what kind of witch are you bullshit. I was right. Just because someone can do magic, doesn't mean they should. Now look what's happening!"
"Are you kidding?! I wish something like this would happen to me. Color me jealous."
I wanted to shake him. "Of what? That I'm cursed and living on borrowed time? Or that I've got a brain tumor?"
"You are such a hypochondriac. You don't have a brain tumor."
"So you think I'm cursed. Thanks."
"You're not cursed."
"Oh, my God. What if I killed someone in my sleep?!" Every option was just getting worse.
Gus laughed. "You're not a God. You can't kill people in your sleep."
"You didn't see this dream!" Okay, so maybe I was being a little hysterical, but still...
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) Page 6