by Beth Trissel
The witch faltered slightly under his intensity. “What if I keep this body, and you let me walk out the front door? In return, I will restore your father and his memory.”
Lips clamped, he crossed both arms over his chest. He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Surrender both, in their right minds, and then you can wing away.”
“The dude’s a rock when he wants to be.” Stan’s breath was warm in Avery’s ear.
“I wouldn’t want to face off with him.”
A slight tremor in her chin, H. eyed Ignus with contempt. “I could fry you like a bug.”
“It’s come to that, has it?” He thrust out his jaw. “You really want to take us all on? Defy the force?”
“What force?” she jeered. “Wind girl holds no terror for me. And you have a teleporter? What of it? I can come and go as I please.”
“Only not out the front door,” Stan shot back.
“Neither can you!” she shrieked at him. “I have barred your exit from this time and place. Me! I did that.”
“Wow. We hadn’t noticed. Besides, you’re the one who wants out.” He was in the war of words now.
Avery held her breath. The crone wouldn’t win a battle of wits with Stan, but wits might not settle it. As for Ignus, he was just getting going.
He swept her a ducal bow and beckoned. “We eagerly await your grand performance, oh mighty one. The hour approaches for your annual ghostly display. Make it a twofer. Leap in and out of the girl and give us a worthy show.”
Stan stifled a yawn. “Yeah. We’re getting bored. Let’s see some ghoulish action, or I might just pop off.”
Dear Lord. How he dared, Avery didn’t know.
H. stabbed a finger at him. “I can do far more than your puny mind can conceive.”
Another yawn. “Any time, my lady.”
“Midnight is the hour,” she insisted.
“Stalling, are we? Is one of your greatness bound by the clock?” Only his iron grip revealed his tension.
“’Tis the very hour on the selfsame eve when I first learned of my betrayal, and vowed never to forgive or forget.”
“Not one for moving on, are you, your highness?”
The eyes targeting Stan were molten. “I was a great lady!” she screamed at him. “Destined to be queen. Only he didn’t come back to me. Got himself killed in battle. Weak, paltry man. My noble knight.” She gave a harsh laugh.
“Be fair. An arrow through the heart, or a battle axe to the head will stop a fellow cold. Even a knight,” he reasoned.
“Makes no difference,” she snapped. “My prince had chosen another.”
Stan groaned. “We’ve heard. Over and freaking over.”
Ignus gestured at Avery. “She also chose another.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “And I didn’t even realize how much I loved her until that moment.”
Her jaw dropped, and Stan stilled beside her. They surveyed Ignus in gaping silence. He was in dead earnest. She had no idea he felt that way. Even if she had, she’d still make the same choice. Though she ached to cause their good friend pain.
Stan faced him squarely. “I didn’t know, bro.”
A wry smile crinkled his eyes. “And you’re the brilliant one, my man.”
“Nor I. Brains or not.” She clasped Stan’s hand, the same one she’d held since preschool. “But we belong together. I see that now.”
“It’s okay. I’ll deal. And you have plenty of smarts, Avery.” He returned his focus to H., who’d declared herself near royalty. “She’s with him, and I’m not going on some crazed vendetta. What the hell is wrong with you, Helen?”
She pinned him with eyes gone red. “Nothing you can fix, feeble male. You haven’t even the will to win her back.”
“Or perhaps I have the grace to accept her choice.”
“Grace, is it? When you are broken? Alone? Tell me of it then.” Bitterness seethed from the millennium old sorceress.
Avery bent nearer Stan. “I’m guessing she’s beyond therapy.”
“Hmmm…counseling for evil hags one-oh-one. I missed that class.”
Ignus hardened his face. His rigid posture proclaimed he was done. If that wasn’t a clue, white light shimmered from his cane. “Enough talk. Give me back my father. Unharmed, his memory restored. And leave the girl as she was, or I swear I shall destroy you.”
“Threaten me, will you, Ignus Burke?” With an unrepentant cackle, the demon incarnate whirled around like a dust devil. She’d wear out her newfound host in a hurry at this rate.
Flames flew from her fingers. Not for show. These were fiery hot. A bolt shattered the punch bowl. Shards of crystal and creamy yellow eggnog spewed over the table and the floor. Another flare sent the bookcase toppling in a crash of glass and leather-bound volumes. Greenery and holly smoldered, but the cuttings were too fresh to catch fire. The tree collapsed in a wreckage of shining balls wound in tinsel. Even the newly gifted gramophone took a hit. And yet, they’d seen this antique, and others, in unblemished condition in the future.
Scant time to wonder how that could be.
“Down.” Stan pushed Avery behind the couch and crouched near her protectively. “What is it with this psycho and wrecking the parlor?”
“Must be a thing.” She peered around him to see Anne and David wince at the battery to their lovely room, as did she, but the stoic couple remained immoveable.
Ignus thrust his cane at the cause of all this damage. “Come out of the girl.”
She stopped, sides heaving, and bent double, gasping for breath. “Or you’ll what? Destroy her?”
If H. didn’t kill her first. The poor thing wasn’t made for these wildly exaggerated revolutions, or emanating flames, and grief had taken its toll on her. Hopelessness washed over Avery. “The demon queen wins by taking a hostage.”
“No.” Stan had that ‘Not on my watch’ grit in his eyes. “Wait here. Something I’ve gotta do.”
Her heart ratcheted up its already rapid beat. “Be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?” His lopsided smile reminded her again how much he meant to her.
“Usually. But this?” The odds weren’t in his favor.
“Cue the battle music.” He left her hunkered by the couch. Not a mighty barricade, but well-padded.
When next she spotted him, he was behind Helen. “Afraid to put on that display, your croniness?”
Fury sparked from her fingers. She rounded on him, but the sizzling flash she fired missed its target. No damage was done to the blazing logs.
“I’m here. I’m there. I’m everywhere.”
With each utterance, he materialized before and behind her, tricking her into striking out repeatedly at the hearth. Those moments when he lingered in place, the weighty silver platter he’d grabbed deflected the blasts back at the sender like flaming ping pong balls. Young H. might find her hair singed, assuming they managed to save her.
Ancient H. sagged, panting, her physical form weakening.
“Best you’ve got, your ladyship?” Stan asked.
The next instant, he was across the room beside Jude. He transported him out of harm’s way as she lobbed a volley into the chair behind them. While Anne and David beat out the fire using a casually tossed wool coat, probably young H,’s, he stood the father beside Ignus. “Mr. Burke, it’s time to wake up and meet your son. Now.”
With the intensity of an owl, Jude gazed from the fuming woman hell-bent on destroying his haven to his sole offspring. He sniffed at the acrid bitterness accompanying her reign of terror. A glint of recognition lit his eyes. “Smells like Mordor in here. Somebody carrying the One Ring to Mount Doom?”
Seriously? The man sounded like he was one of them.
He smiled faintly. “Any hobbits about?”
Avery giggled and Stan threw back his head and laughed.
Ignus eyed his father as if trying to be certain he wasn’t a mirage. “Only the real Jude Burke would say that. Are you truly back with us?”
He resembled someone rousing from a deep slumber. “I’m not sure where I’ve been, or why. But I’m a quick learner. You sure have grown, son. Aren’t you about thirteen?”
“I was, Dad. You’ve been gone awhile.”
“Looks like you found me. Your mom all right?”
A sheen in his eyes, Ignus nodded. “She will be.”
Wonder in his face, Jude circled his gaze at the assembly. “Is that Avery Dunham and Stan Guthrie from down the street? They grew up fast.”
“Sure did.”
“Anne and David Burke? Am I in your time?” he asked his longsuffering protectors.
They nodded. “For seven years.”
“Dear Lord. Think I’ve overstayed my visit. Ignus, I’m so sorry for leaving you.”
Father and son threw an arm around each other, tears washing down their cheeks.
The red-eyed raptor honed in on Jude like prey escaping her talons. “Impossible. No one breaks my spell.”
Anne and David rushed at their relations and joined in the family hug. “Love has more power than anything. Even you,” the wise woman said.
A hand brushed Avery’s cheek, and she discovered Stan beside her. “Get ready. Her majesty’s gonna erupt like Mount St. Helens. And when she does, remember where we want her.”
“Ignus never intended to let that harpy fly out of here, did he?”
“Not unless H. repented of her evil ways. Uncommon with hellish hags. He’s buying time until midnight. As am I. But she’s not waiting. Can’t you tell?”
“Yes. She’s about to ascend from her current location and assume a vaporous form.”
“Thanks for the weather update. When she does, you blow that whistle, and Ignus will zap her. You can do this, together. I’m ready to poof us away, if need be.”
Steady, she cautioned herself, raising the hand carved gift from Mrs. Burke. She must concentrate hard, or her wind would tear the room apart.
Chapter Twelve
Seconds passed with an incensed H., drumming them with stench-driven hail. But she still hadn’t gone into ghost mode.
“Might need a tad more prodding,” Stan whispered to Avery from their hideout behind the couch. He raised his head. “Pardon me, your ladyship. Did you mention something about him leaving you? Or did he wander off? Let’s get this straight.”
“He never returned to me!” shrieked the misted female rising from her host. The exhausted girl slumped to the floor.
The instant the white lady freed her victim, Ignus aimed his cane at young Helen. A shielding bubble formed around her sprawled figure. There was no getting back into this host.
Emitting the cries of a banshee, H. floated near the ceiling. The eerie howls of coyotes had nothing on her. Those poor children and Marjorie must be cowering in their beds, or burrowed together in the same one. Avery pitied them, but bet Samuel was made of sterner stuff than most kids.
Ignus signaled her. “Now!”
Come on, wind. Envisioning a small cyclone, she piped on the alder wood whistle. Piercing notes rose amid the enraged howls from the ousted demon.
“Stop that, girl!” Opening her filmy mouth to giant size, H. spewed a sleety gale at her. She expanded ghostly hands and would’ve reached hazy fingers around Avery’s neck to cut off her breath, but the medal kept the ghoul at bay.
A wreckage of lamps, candles, glass balls, wrapped gifts, tinsel, greenery, books, pillows, china figurines, framed pictures, even chairs, revolved in a whirlwind. Only Avery’s strong south breeze could beat back the wicked blast. The girl lay untouched in her bubble, and the painting remained in place on the wall. It must be nailed down.
Putting her whole being into her task, she fought the acrid gale battering the beloved parlor. The room where the family had gathered through good times and bad, enduring war, celebrating peace, sharing joy and sorrow, simple days and those filled with such complexity no end seemed in sight, was now in shreds. The sight tore at her, but she must persist in her calling.
The citrusy sweetness of freshly cut pine trees floated on her warm wind. Rotten eggs rode on H.’s cruel blast. The two forces collided in a colossal clash. Goodness battled the evil raging against the light, the pure breeze opposing the vilest stench in Hell. Maybe H.’s torrent did originate in Mordor.
So powerful was the wind, Ignus lifted off the floor as he aimed his cane at the defiant spirit overhead. Blinking in the cycling debris, he fought to get in a strike. He missed his mark and took aim again. He needed help.
Back. She blew harder to corner H., and allow him an opening.
Heads down, coughing, Anne, David, and Jude huddled together against the raging vortex. Then Stan was beside them, and they were gone. He must’ve borne them out of harm’s way.
Avery was unrelenting. As long as she had breath left in her bone-weary body, she’d fight. Quitting wasn’t an option. Not with everything at stake.
Finally. She plastered H., thrashing and pelting hail, against the ceiling. If a ghost could gnash their teeth, hers would be ground to ashes.
Then a mighty whiteness sheeted at the screeching fury.
Ignus! The brilliance streamed from the cane he directed at her. He’d made a hit. “Go!” he bellowed above the tempest. “Back into the portrait, you venomous hag!”
Like being caught in a giant vacuum, the contorting haze was sucked, writhing, into the picture. Avery paused with the whistle at her lips, but she no longer blew it. Unbelievably, the room stilled. The great storm had ceased.
Ignus settled to the floor, debris falling around him. A wave of his cane, and it floated gently down. He stood, as if in the remains of a tornado, then waved his stick again and removed the bubble from the unconscious girl. He hurried to her and dropped to his knees.
From what Avery could tell, she was rumpled, sooty, her hair mussed and a trifle singed. All in all, she appeared in darned good shape for someone recently possessed by a violent entity. But then, she was ultra-pretty to begin with.
She moaned and fluttered her eyes. “You will be okay now,” Ignus soothed. She gazed up at him, a smile creasing her smudged face. Even after her harrowing ordeal, his charm wasn’t lost on her.
“Avery. You did it.” Stan knelt at her side. He caught her in his arms and held her against his hard chest.
His dear warmth enveloped her. Only then did she realize how chilled she was from the icy hammering she’d endured. H.’s freezing gale left her to-the-marrow cold.
He wrapped her in his suit coat. “We won. It’s over.”
“Really?” Through gasps of relief and tears blurring her sight, she wiped at her eyes to better see the portrait.
Teeth chattering, she surveyed her. The white lady was back, all right, her infuriated gaze not part of the original painting. Ancient H. survived—in there.
An ominous chill ran through her, and she shuddered. “Oh, no.”
Stan froze. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something we must do,” she said in barely audible tones.
“What?” he hedged.
“Helen’s fuming and waiting to work her black magic. In time, she’ll bewitch another. The cycle will repeat as long as she remains. Get that painting down and toss it in the fire.”
“Seriously? Witch burning?” He drew back to search her face in disbelief. “That’s from the Dark Ages. And hideous.”
“This is the only way. And it’s a painting. Not a person. Elaine Burke wanted to do the same.”
Doubt hazed his eyes. “But it houses a foul spirit. Shouldn’t we ask Ignus?”
“No.” She anticipated his response. “He won’t understand. Just get her to me. I’ll do the deed.”
With an incredulous nod, Stan vanished. She glimpsed him across the room standing before the hearth. He jumped up like a pro basketball player and yanked the portrait from the wall. She didn’t waver but ran to him and he gave her what she’d asked. The gilt frame was heavy in her hands. Hating what she must do, she flung the monster in
to the greedy flames.
Ignus whipped around from beside young H. as the fire Ancient H. had increased with each blast consumed her. The inferno licked at the canvas, oil paint, and the gold wood. The image dissolved in crackling hisses. Never in her life, did Avery ever think it would come to this. That she would toss anything, remotely containing a spirit, into the fire. But what choice had she?
“No!” Ignus sprang to his feet. He raked his hand through windblown hair. “This isn’t the way.”
“Someone had to do it,” she argued, choking back tears. “Helen must be destroyed, as you threatened to do.”
Stan closed an arm around her shoulders in a show of solidarity. “If you want to blame someone, choose me. She couldn’t reach the painting alone.”
“Not blame.” The wizard’s expression was one of empathy with his kindred fellows. “You see, Helen cannot be destroyed by us. At least, not by any means I know of. Only contained.” He gestured at the rapidly disappearing portrait. “Or was.”
Tears wet Avery’s cheeks. “But she would work her wiles on another victim if we’d left her on the wall.”
“Indeed.” Anne spoke from behind them.
The three turned as the older woman, David, and Jude entered the parlor. Anne picked her way through the debris littering the floor and laid a sympathetic hand on her arm.
“What my grandson thrice removed is trying to say, my dear brave girl, is that demonic witches cannot be destroyed by burning.” She gestured at the smoke rising up the chimney. “I know you never wanted to harm Helen. Part of her was much to be pitied. But she became the stuff of nightmares. Only out of desperation to protect the innocent did you, accidentally, free her spirit.”
“I what?” she gasped, past the knot in her throat.
Anne patted her kindly. “I’m afraid Helen is at large again. Out there, in the world. As mist, until…”
“She takes shape. The lore of the White Lady continues,” Stan muttered. “Only, it’s not lore.”
Was it her imagination or did Avery detect a gusting sigh of relief as the sorceress winged skyward?
She appealed to Anne in dismay. “What of this house, at least? I couldn’t bear to have that creature return and it be my fault. Not after all we’ve through to rid ourselves of her, like battling the Black Death. Worse. They have vaccines for that now.”