Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  He began wiping blindly at his face, and when his fingers came away red, he squawked like a battered parrot.

  Mr Sheppard walked past with a smirk on his face. ‘Mr Wilson, at it again. Good effort, lad.’ He chuckled as he passed through the hallway to Hella. ‘He’s a bleeder this one, isn’t he?’

  James looked as if he’d stumbled into a bloody crime scene and had decided to roll around in the evidence.

  ‘Oh, James.’ Hella took him by the arm and dragged him into the girls’ empty locker room. She shoved him, fully clothed, into one of the showers and turned it on. He gasped at the cold water, but immediately started washing away the red.

  After a long ten minutes and finding some spare clothes in the lost and found, Hella determined that perhaps it would not be a good day—at least for James. He was still obsessively looking in the mirror, checking his hair, when Hella told him for the third time that she had to get to next period.

  ‘Fine, fine. Go. I’ll be okay.’ He was still looking in the mirror.

  She finally nodded and went to take off when he put a hand on her wrist. ‘And thanks, Hella. For helping me. You want to know something?’ There was an oddly serious look in his normally joking expression, his grey eyes were calm and steady, smoke drifting on water.

  ‘What?’ she asked, knowing her next teacher would not appreciate her tardiness.

  ‘It was Alexa that thought what you said, about yesterday, was just a story. I really do believe you. I want you to know that. I believe you saw a weird suit-dude with yellow eyes.’

  Hella blinked, then smiled. And then she felt worse as a weight that had been floating in her chest plummeted into her stomach. As if it was real after all. Her vision blurred as she envisioned those piercing yellow eyes.

  What in the living hell could explain that?

  Chapter Ten

  Hella

  Hella scraped by the rest of the day, unable to get James’s words out of her mind. He believed her. That the yellow-eyed man was real. Which meant, it really could be real. While her friends had not believed her, Hella could tell herself she had simply not seen him right. That it was the light, or a trick, or even contact lenses. Anything. James believing her was the worst thing he could have done. Because now she believed it too.

  The end of school bell rang. Hella gathered up her stuff, shoving it all carelessly into her messenger bag. Pulling out her cell phone, she shot off a text to her mother, who believed all kinds of weird things.

  Do you ever see people with yellow eyes? Hella wrote.

  By the time Hella had pulled on a light jacket and started for the bookstore, she got a response.

  Like with special lenses you kids wear? No, I don’t think so. Why?

  Hella covered her face. Stupid, she thought.

  Nothing, haha. Just a joke. Off to work. Love you!

  Hella twisted her braid until she arrived. She pushed open the front door and was surprised to hear the jangle of a bell.

  Hella stared around the room, her lips parting in a smile. The shelves in the room were now heavy with beautiful books, dusted, organised and placed carefully (and in order of genre or subject) on the shelves. It had taken her and Remy half the night and it would seem Remy a whole extra day of sorting. There were different shelves for different sorts of books. Hella stared, walking farther into the store. A lot of the books were on magic or witchcraft.

  ‘Hey, Remy?’ Hella called.

  The old woman came shuffling in from the other room. ‘Oh, hello again.’

  ‘Remy, you say you’re a “witch”, right?’

  She blinked but nodded. ‘Yes, dear. Why’s that? Want to join my coven?’ She cackled, her head tipped back. ‘Come help me sort these!’ She shuffled off into the other room without a backward glance, leaving Hella’s mouth open.

  Hella tried to let the crazy wash off her. ‘No, Remy. Listen. I saw something and I’m not sure what to make of it.’

  At that, Remy turned. ‘What did you see?’ The old woman’s sunken eyes gleamed.

  Hella opened her mouth. Then closed it. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for understanding in the right place. And if she did get it here, how would that help? ‘I saw a man,’ she said hesitantly, ‘that my friends didn’t see. And he had yellow eyes.’

  Something in Remy shifted. ‘Yellow? Hmf. Young men and their fancy make-up looks these days.’

  ‘What? No, it wasn’t a costume or make up. And he wasn’t young. He was at least fifty. Remy, listen. It was his eyes. He laughed at me, then vanished.’

  Remy looked her dead in the eye, full of scrutiny. ‘Was he glowing?’

  Hella scoffed. ‘What?’

  ‘The man, was he glowing? Was he corporeal?’

  Hella felt the crazy fall on her like a bucket of cold water. ‘You know what? I should be working. What can I do to help?’ She peeled her jacket off and set it in a corner with her bag.

  The old woman smirked, shaking her head. ‘Okay, okay. Want to earn your keep, I see. Good, then. I need you to set all these out. I’ve been making these in the last few months, beefing up the stock while I filed the paperwork to buy this lovely little dump. Here, go set them all in that front counter. Have a good look at them. You’ll be selling them after all.’

  Remy put a large box of jewellery in her hands, all neatly packaged in protective plastic bags. ‘Sure,’ Hella said, taking the box to its new home. Hella opened the glass cabinet at the front counter, kneeling down to set them all out. There were dozens of pieces, all stunning. Beautiful silver rings with shining stones, necklaces with intricate latticework and bracelets. She held up a crystal on the end of a singular long chain instead of a necklace. ‘Hey, what is this?’

  Remy looked at the chain; a long piece of silver with an emerald attached carefully at the end, filed to a point. ‘That’s a pendulum. When you pick a piece of jewellery, or a pendulum, or any kind of crystal, really, you should always pick one that is most connected with you. So, a pendulum can answer questions.’

  Remy took the chain from Hella, holding it in her left hand, over her open right palm.

  ‘What you do is think of a single yes or no question, then the crystal will sway. If it sways in a line, that’s a no, if it swings in a circle, that means yes. The more distinctive the line, or circle, the stronger the answer.’

  Hella looked at her. ‘You ask a question to a crystal?’ she said, red eyebrows raised.

  ‘Of course.’ Remy set the pendulum down. ‘Why, who do you ask questions?’ Her brows furrowed together, as if genuinely curious what the alternative options were.

  Hella frowned. ‘People. My parents. Friends.’

  ‘Ah, well see. There’s your mistake.’ Remy nodded. She looked sternly down at Hella. ‘You can’t trust people. They lie. Crystals don’t lie. They can’t. They tell the whole truth.’

  Hella tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Instead she murmured, ‘Mmm-hmm.’ She continued setting out the jewellery. Remy seemed to wear her own creations. Hella caught a glimpse of some sort of necklace she was wearing with an odd symbol, with a blue stone in the centre. It was nice, she thought.

  Hella unpacked more crystals. They all looked so different, Hella couldn’t help but ask Remy about each one. The first stone was a light shade of pink.

  Remy nodded as Hella set them out on a shelf by the door. ‘That one is called quartz. Rather common, but pretty. It’s also a spirit magnet. Ghosts are called to them.’ Remy smiled as she started unpacking tarot sets by the door.

  Hella set it down. Then she found a large purple stone. ‘This one looks cool.’ As Hella went to set the crystal down, Remy came over and touched a short, stubby finger to it.

  ‘That’s called an amethyst,’ she said. As both women touched the crystal, a zapping spark flew outward.

  Hella gave a startled cry. ‘What was that?’ she said, stepping back.

  Remy looked down at the new rug she had set on the fl
oor. ‘Probably just static electricity. Are you okay, dear?’

  Hella set the crystal down carefully, her fingers vibrating. ‘Yeah, I think so. That was weird.’

  Remy gave a small smile. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if weird things happen here.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Hella asked.

  ‘Dear, you’re in a witch’s shop,’ Remy said, dropping her cobalt eye in a wink.

  Hella rolled her eyes. She stretched her fingers, but they felt numb.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hella

  Today was Opening Day at Mill Valley’s Witches’ Wares. As Hella walked in the door, with a clang of bell chimes, she saw that the bookstore was crowded and bustling with customers. Hella smiled, proud of all she had done to help set up. Remy stood behind the counter serving her customers, long necklaces swaying around her neck as she moved.

  Dressed in her usual jeans and a black shirt, Hella swerved around the counter to dump her bag. Hella dodged the customers, smiling politely, and began restocking the shelves. Remy’s store was lined with aged oak shelves and cabinets, filled with herbal teas, incense, tourist maps and fortune lockets. Since literally nothing else seemed to be happening in town this weekend, news of the store’s opening had created a buzz of both locals and tourists who drove through Mill Valley on their way to Port Macquarie.

  Nag Champa incense drifted smoke throughout the Witches’ Wares’ store. The old owner, who called herself a witch, claimed to sell Wiccan potions and spells. But more importantly, Witches’ Wares was filled with hundreds of musty books, their pages delicate. They also stocked newer novels on modern neo-paganism, for those dipping their toes into ‘witchcraft’—Hella knew that her mother had dozens of these at home.

  Hella smiled around at the store, noting the little changes Remy had made between her shifts. Mirrors adorned the walls between the old oak shelves, reflecting the morning light cast by the high window above the front door.

  ‘Well, that was great.’ The old lady’s eyes sparkled as she shut the cash register, the store finally emptied of customers. ‘I’ll teach you how to use the register.’

  Hella noticed an older book, cast to the side of the register, which lay open, riddled with sticky-notes that clung to several pages. The writing was scrawled in Remy’s small, neat script. Hella caught the words: Spell ingredients essential, but difficult to acquire. Will need assistance.

  Hella glanced around the main room, now empty.

  To the right of the entry was a smaller room, up three small steps, filled with display cases of the store’s rarer objects: an ornate wand wrapped in strands of curled silver, an expensive good-luck charm, and an impressive collection of weapons. Hella particularly liked the short, sharp blades Remy referred to as athames. The blades were the length of her forearm, decorated with shining amethysts, with intricate carvings on the hilt. Remy’s prized collection were the matching set of three; each a duplicate of the last, only slightly different in size. She said they belong together and refuses to sell them. They were display-only.

  ‘Well,’ the old lady said, ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a cup of coffee after all that.’ She gathered up her skirts and went to fetch her purse.

  ‘I’ll have one too, please,’ Hella chirped. Remy gave a nod, the bandana on her head bobbing. She went off across the street to Café au Lait.

  Hella noticed a few boxes of new stock tucked behind the counter and started unpacking. The first box she opened was mostly herbs. As she put things away, she gave the shelves a quick tidy. She reordered the books that the customers had dishevelled. Hella’s neatness was a quality Remy had taken to enthusiastically. The old woman had carefully shown her the order the store should be in, and even took the time to explain which herbs and ingredients should not be near each other because they could create a ‘volatile combination’.

  Hella unpacked a small box. Gingerly, she unpeeled the layers of bubble wrap to find an amulet. It was a beautiful triquetra; three interlocking oval-like shapes, which met in the middle, surrounded by a connecting circle. A symbol of witches, Remy had told her, like the necklace she wore around her neck. In this piece, nestled into the centre, was a deep purple amethyst dangling from a silver chain. The shop didn’t stock many amulets.

  Hella held the amulet carefully. It was oddly warm to the touch. As she squinted at the amulet, the sunlight filtering through the high window hit the stone, sending it aglow in Hella’s hand. The amulet’s metal chain absorbed the sunshine, growing warm on her skin, until it burned, hot to the touch.

  With a gasp, Hella set it down on the wooden counter.

  Hella was unpacking some books when Remy returned, not only with coffee, but croissants too. Hella smelled the rich buttery pastry the moment Remy walked through the door, the bell chiming. Remy set the food and drinks down on the counter.

  ‘Oh, you got croissants too.’ Hella smiled, picking up her coffee with a grateful sip. Hella turned back to finish unpacking the books.

  Remy glanced at the amulet, then to Hella. ‘Did you touch this?’

  Hella shrugged. ‘I was going to ask where you wanted me to display it—in one of the glass cases upstairs? Why are you staring at me like that?’

  Remy looked at Hella carefully, then gave a shrug. ‘Be a dear, Hella, put the amulet on.’ She opened the bag of croissants, nibbling on one. Hella frowned.

  ‘I just want to see if I should adjust the length of the chain. Go on, or I won’t be sharing these.’ She held up the croissant bag, holding the pastries captive.

  Hella laughed. ‘Yeah, okay.’

  Hella picked up the amulet, then clasped it around her neck. Once it fastened, landing heavily on her chest, she gasped. The amethyst nestled into the triquetra glowed a dazzlingly bright purple, casting the bookstore in blinding light. Hella gave a confused cry. Remy took several steps back. The amulet’s glow crept over Hella, seeping into her skin, becoming one with her. Hella collapsed to the floor, her energy drained. Her eyes watered. Breath came in shallow gasps. The pulsing shimmer of light from the amulet softened to a dull glow. Hella was on her hands and knees, breathing in shaking hiccups.

  ‘Hella, dear, are you okay?’ Remy didn’t touch her.

  Hella’s long ruby hair had come loose of its braid, hanging across her face. Looking up, Hella glared at the old lady, shaking slightly. ‘What,’ she said, her teeth gritted, ‘the hell was that?’ Slowly, Hella stood up, her feet planted firmly. Her hands were still trembling.

  Remy’s cobalt eyes were dark. She didn’t look surprised, or afraid. Hella realised, with a jolt, that Remy looked happy.

  ‘What the hell?’ Hella demanded, leaning on the spider-webbed counter for support.

  ‘That amulet around your neck has just changed your life forever, little witch.’ The old woman smiled, letting her words sink in, as she turned and flipped the sign on the door to Closed.

  Hella blinked, then glanced around, as if looking for a more sensible explanation for what had just happened. The shop was empty of customers. Hella shook her head, flicking her loose braid. ‘What?’ she finally said, voice breaking. Hella reached up and unchained the amulet from around her neck then looked at it. The amethyst was glowing painfully bright, warm in her hands.

  ‘You should leave that on, dear. It will protect you now. It’s part of the prophecy.’ Remy smiled softly.

  Hella frowned. ‘Like hell it is. Crazy old lady.’ Hella brought the amulet down hard onto the wooden counter with a crack.

  Remy cried out. ‘Hella, no! You can’t do that!’

  Hella looked up at her, tears in her eyes. ‘You are crazy. I don’t believe in this crap. Leave me alone.’ Hella moved around the counter, out the store, into the cool fresh air. She leaned against the brick wall, taking deep breaths. This is mad, she thought. They’re all crazy. There’s no such thing as witches or magic.

  After a minute or two, Remy stepped outside. Hella was shaking. She could still see pu
rple when she blinked, the light seared into her eyes.

  ‘Hella, dear. Are you okay?’ Remy asked.

  Hella held her head in her hands. ‘No! I’m not okay! What the hell was that light?’

  Remy’s eyes were a storm in the ocean. ‘Hella, you’re a witch, dear.’

  ‘I don’t want your trinkets. Don’t make me into a witch like you.’

  ‘It’s not like that. The amulet simply activated your powers. You were born a witch, just like your mother, and her mother before her. Grace and I have known for a while that this would happen. You’re special, Hella. And there’s a lot to explain. Please come back inside, let me tell you what’s going on.’

  Hella shook her head, loose braid whipping the air. ‘No,’ she said firmly. Her mind swirled. The prophecy she heard her mum speak about. That was to Remy. ‘I’m a writer, not some magical witch. You and my mum are wrong, and you’re liars. Leave me alone.’

  ‘Hella!’ Remy called, but it was too late.

  Hella walked off. She pulled out her phone and dialled a number. James picked up after two rings.

  ‘Hello?’

  Hella was trying not to cry. Whether from fear, frustration or confusion, she couldn’t tell. ‘James? Can you meet me?’

  ‘Hella? Are you okay?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I have to tell you something. Can you meet me in the park?’

  ‘I’m coming, Hella. Hold on.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Hella

  Sitting on one of the two swings in the centre of the Mill Valley Park’s playground, Hella swung back and forth. Tears fell, dripping off her cheeks, to land invisibly onto the dark tanbark below. In this moment, she was grateful she didn’t often wear eye-make up, or else James would come and see her with horrible raccoon-eyes. Instead, he would just see her crying.

  He walked up to her. Wordlessly, he sat on the vacant swing. For a moment, James swung back and forth before speaking. ‘Hella, what’s going on?’ He looked her over. ‘What’s happened?’