Of Flame and Light: A Weird Girls Novel

by Cecy Robson

  As one, the Lessers and I rise to our full height, a mix of shock, fear, and holy-shitness riddling our features . . . Except for the little brunette beside me who looks ready to puke.

  In her defense, she doesn’t puke. She does, however, take off in a mad dash, down the catacombs of halls that make up Vieve’s basement.

  “That’s Tori,” Paula whispers. “She was possessed last time.”

  “She was possessed?” I ask, trying not to shrill my words, but of course, not managing.

  Paula nods. “And the time before that, and the time before that.” She shakes her head. “The spirits of dead evil witches seem to like her.”

  “And demonic dogs,” another points out.

  “Oh! And that dead werehyena,” a really tall Lesser says. “Remember that creepy laugh?”

  Paula shakes her head. “No, the creepy laugh belonged to the dead witch. The biting, that was the werehyena.”

  They start arguing among themselves. They stop arguing when the dungeon doors (because I’m sorry, that’s what they resemble) are kicked open and a Lesser is dragged out by two Superiors struggling to keep her from clawing at her face.

  “Get her to Sister Genevieve,” our instructor Superior Nora calls from the door.

  I hug the wall with my back, clutching the box of garlic in my arms as they drag the Lesser in our direction. Her completely white eyes fix on my stare as a forked tongue slithers out through her teeth.

  “Popcorn. Motherfucker. Gum drops. Twizzlers. Ass wipe,” she hisses in another-worldly voice that send the tiny hairs on my arm shrinking inward.

  “Um,” I say, knowing I’ll never look at the movie theatre concession stand the same way again.

  Like me, the other Lessers don’t take to her presence well. They glance away as the poor possessed wanna-be witch is dragged away, lifting their boxes of garlic to shield their faces.

  “Demon,” Paula says. “Possibly from the third of fourth realm.” She thinks about it. “Or maybe the fifth. I think I read the fifth was more chatty.”

  “Who cares where it’s from?” Lesser Merri asks. “I’m ready to pee through seventeen layers of cotton here.” She glances to where the witches disappeared. “I don’t need this shit. I coulda been a lawyer.”

  “I’m sorry,” Paula says. “I was just trying to help.”

  “We know what you were trying to do,” the short Lesser near the door says, rolling her small green eyes.

  Paula quiets, her stare falling to the ground. I’ve noticed a lot of Lessers don’t like Paula, and consider her a know it all. They’re not seeing what I’m seeing, that she’s just as scared as the rest of us.

  “Excuse me,” I say, waving my hand and drawing the Tiny Green Eyes’ attention. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “It’s Cynthia,” she answers, scowling. “Cynthia Morton.”

  I put one hand on my hip and lean forward. “In that case, shut the fuck up, Cynthia Morton. We’re all a little tense here.”

  She narrows her tiny and rather eerie green eyes, but keeps her mouth shut. I glare at her until she looks away first. It’s a domination thing, something I learned from the wolves to demonstrate you won’t be pushed around. Technically, I’m challenging her, and according to the rules, she has the right to challenge me to a magical duel. She doesn’t though, and I think I might know why.

  Something switched near the end of the Plant Day term. The plants began to crave my presence and thrive, tugging on my skirt for attention. Superior Wilma couldn’t believe it, and tried to discredit me by moving me where some of the snapdragons were beginning to die. Somehow they didn’t, coming back from the dead. It’s not because my chants were any better or louder. But I noticed a change when I’d only feed them with my zombie arm and when I’d focus all my energy, positive and negative into the water cupped in my hand. They, I don’t know, liked it. My guess is because like nature, the magic that created this appendage is as old as time.

  The other thing changed wasn’t so good. The deaths of the witches hunting Savana had a profound effect across the coven. Some stepped up to hunt, furious over the loss of their sisters, but the underlying current is mourning and a quieter respect for life.

  I turn to Paula and smile, even though I’d rather run back to my car when more screams erupt from room and something hard bangs against the door.

  We exchange glances. “It looks like they’re almost done,” she says, when the screaming abruptly stops. “I think they banished them.”

  “Them?” the tall witch asks. “What do you mean them?”

  Paula makes a face. “We’re technically a more advanced class. They’ll call forth at least five entities to stalk and attempt to possess us.”

  I glance at my box. Some days, there’s just not enough garlic in the world.

  Mutterings fill the hall as people rummage through their supplies, shaking bottles of holy water to make sure they’re filled to the brim and tugging on sacred necklaces. Unlike the Superior witches, and those who are more advanced in abilities, we haven’t been given talismans, much less the stones that are supposed to amplify the magic within us. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least where my magic is concerned.

  I edge closer to Paula when she starts reciting the power words that help abolish malevolent spirits. “Does it help?” I ask.

  She tosses her long red braid over her shoulder. “Does what help?”

  “Going over facts in your head rather than taking in all the creepy shit we’re in for?”

  The fear everyone seems to be feeling reflects in her round features. “Not really,” she says. “Power words or not, I’m terrified to walk in there. I didn’t make it the last time around and asked to leave before the first demon took form.”

  “You can do that?” I ask. “I’m surprised more people don’t.”

  “You can,” she says. “But every time you refuse, you have to start the training from scratch.” She makes a face. “Which is why me, along with a few others, are repeating our studies and taking so long to master our magic.”

  “I see,” I reply. Hey, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not excited about this crap. But my door number two is death by psycho limb.

  Something else strikes the door. As we watch, the door slowly creeps open. Two Lessers walk out. The first one, with pinkish hair dangling in messy strands from her bonnet, leans heavily on her larger friend.

  “It’s okay, Linda,” her friend says. “Maybe next year.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  The Lesser looks up. “A brain-eating demon broke through her wards at the last minute. It didn’t possess her, or eat her brain, but she couldn’t fight it off so she failed the assignment.”

  “So she has to do this again?” I ask, taking in her sickly and obviously traumatized condition.

  The small Lesser bursts into tears. I want to hug her, tell her how messed up this is. Mostly, though, I want to get the hell out of here.

  Paula takes me in. “How do you do it?” she asks.

  “Do what?” I ask, because right now, all I want to do is follow the other Lessers out.

  “Show no fear and all attitude. For one, you looked right at Lorraine, or whatever that thing possessing her was, like you weren’t afraid. I mean, it stared right at you and barely flinched.”

  “Oh, I flinched,” I confess.

  “But you still looked at her.” She stops as if unsure whether she should ask what she does. “Have you seen a lot of that?”

  “Possessions? Thankfully, no,” I add shuddering.

  “I mean evil,” she says slowly.

  I smile, but I’ll admit, it’s not with a great deal of warmth. “Yeah, that I have.”

  “You may leave,” Superior Nora’s voice echoes from the room. “Congratulations to those who passed.”

  She doesn’t quite finish her verbal pat on back before the group inside runs out, as in tears down the hall like something with fangs is chasing them. Supposedly, t
here are some sort of sacred bath salts you’re given following Anti-possession class. They’re meant to cleanse you of what you saw, and what you experienced, and basically wash the remaining evil away.

  My guess is, it’s bath time, and these Lessers can’t wait to lather up.

  “Come on,” I say, when no one moves. “It’s show time.”

  I stomp into the room like I own it, because it beats cowering. I’m going to need all the courage I can muster because holy bats and broomsticks, this place doesn’t simply house evil, it reeks of it. The aroma of brimstone spreads across the room, dusting the air and coating my tongue with its bitter taste.

  I’ll tell you this, witches never disappoint with this whole eye of newt vibe. The room is enchanted, making it resemble a dungeon King Henry would pop wood for, its magic stroking my arms like it owns me and I’m its damn cat.

  Pavers in different shades of grey and black make up the floor and walls, marred by deep scratches and blood stains from either demons or the poor saps who didn’t pass the class the first time around.

  Very large, flat, brass rings, are fixed to the floor in random patterns, separated with only enough space to walk or stalk through. The rings are about an inch thick in width, scratched and dented from use, and charred as if burned to protect something within, or maybe keep something else out.

  Up until this point, Anti-possession class was mostly a couple of weeks of self-study, mulling over words of power to help protect, and a great deal of mediation to strengthen focus. Superior Nora didn’t actually teach. She more or less paced between the rows of desks, verbalizing how to put our strength behind each word, the importance of being focused, and what can happen if we fail. Did you know an evil being can draw from your worst memories and play them out like a damn puppet show, using your intestines in place of the strings?

  Well, now you do.

  I highlighted a few passages in our text here, took notes there, and practiced my words. But seeing what we did in the halls, and what I’m seeing now, a Power-point presentation, some crib notes, and maybe even a YouTube video could have helped.

  “Take a place inside one of the circles,” Superior Nora calls, her voice ricocheting from all sides. I don’t see her at first. Well, until she rises from the floor like an apparition.

  Before she swooped into class, because turns out Nora can fly an actual broom, I thought she’d resemble, or at least dress to match the ambiance a class like this invokes: dark and mysterious with just the right amount of creepy and “help me, Jesus”.

  She wasn’t what I expected, but it’s actually a great thing. Long braids with silver beads sweep against her back, and instead of a crushed velvet gown, a white silk dress covers her shapely body and gives her dark skin a subtle glow. She’s not the angel we need to save us, and she doesn’t give out that ethereal feel Vieve does. But what does surround her is a strong feel of power and wrath I’ve never quite felt. When dealing with demons or whatever is planning to rise from the depths of hell, you want someone who can take them down.

  I step into what I think is a random circle and place my box on the floor. As I straighten she smiles, appearing impressed. “Very well, Lesser Taran,” she says. “You may go first.”

  I’m sure I misheard. “Um. What?”

  I glance down when she does, it’s then I notice the number one etched into the brass. I also notice that the rest of my class took circles closer to the door and further away from me. I’m ready to argue, but end up shutting my mouth for two reasons: I don’t want to look stupid or scared, despite how I feel.

  “To summon the dark is to risk your soul and those you most cherish,” Superior Nora begins. She walks forward and in the small space between the circles, the train of her dress dragging along the dank floor yet somehow staying clean, pure. “But there are those who are willing to risk much more for power, gain, or fortune,” she adds.

  The Superior witches who dragged away poor possessed Tori return, taking point on either side of the door as it closes shut, their talismans flickering as they ready for what’s to come.

  The sound of the door closing against the frame and the bolts surrounding it clicking shut echo along the room and beyond. I blink toward the wall as it shakes in blurry waves, like it’s under water. It’s a reminder that everything isn’t what it seems, and that the room extends beyond what we can see.

  “To be possessed is to be weak of heart, magic, and strength. Do not permit this, young Lessers. Do not be weak in the face of darkness.” She pauses. “When I call forth the dark ones, they shall be bound in chains and therefore bound in hell. They cannot fully leave or drag you back with them, but they can house themselves within your spirit and extend their time among us. Do not let them,” she stresses, her tone sharpening and causing the clear stone around her neck to glisten. “The Power of Good may limit their time here, but in the time they have they can cause tremendous harm.”

  My hands lay at my sides, pooling with sweat the more Nora reminds me of what’s coming. I have experience with the offspring of demons. I’ve seen them, fought them, and lay helplessly watching as they carried off my family. I hate them, but I also fear them in a way that can paralyze me.

  “The strongest in hell may leave independently and sporadically,” Nora continues, the reminder pushing the first drop of sweat to trickle down my moist fingers. “These are dark times we face. We cannot rely solely on the Power of Good. You must rely on the power within you.” She meets my face. “Three minutes. That’s how long each will stay.”

  The way Nora regards me and emphasizes her last words, she’s trying to make sure I understand that since there will be more than one, that window of danger will extend past three minutes. I nod because I get it, and because I’ll be the first.

  “Are you ready?”

  I nod again as the others call out, “Yes, Superior Nora.”

  “Then begin,” she says.

  The tearing sound of boxes opening and flasks of holy water hitting the ground seem too loud. I ignore them, hurrying to place the bulbs of garlic along the exterior of my brass ring. I know the majority of the Lessers will place their garlic on top of the ring. But having had first lines of defenses fail me in my past, I’m all about the backup plan.

  I whisper a power word against each bulb I set, putting all of my will into it and envisioning an aura of white light surrounding it, just like we were taught.

  “Protegeme” I say. Protect me.

  I choose the Spanish version since it’s the language from my mother’s side and closer to me than the Latin were taught. Vieve does that, choosing words in Italian to honor her ancestors. Nora chooses Swahili. “If another language calls you to that power word, use it,” she’d said. “Whatever helps strengthen you.”

  The sound of breaking glass followed by a wail makes me cringe. Someone broke their bottle of holy water. But I don’t dare look up, working fast when something shifts in the thick dusty air, sending a heaviness in the atmosphere that pushes against my shoulders.

  “Work faster,” Nora calls.

  Again the air grows dense, the weight on my shoulders becoming more burdensome.

  “They’re coming,” she says.

  I place my last bulb of garlic.

  “They’re here,” she says, her voice murmuring against my ear.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I don’t look up, concentrating on dripping the holy water onto the brass ring. “Defiendeme,” I say. Defend me.

  Like a gasoline circle that’s been lit, the brass ring ignites. Bright light shoots from the base, creating a wall a breath behind the demon that collides against it. I fall back, barely staying within the confines of my protection as a tongue as long as my leg slides against the wall of blue light.

  I bite back a scream. But not everyone manages, the gamut of their fear threatening to bust my eardrums. Except I’m too busy gaping at the creature in front of me to seriously give a damn.

  Demons come in all shapes and sizes.
All are scary. All are evil. And all are butt ugly. This one is no exception.

  A head, the length and width of my body make up its form and a mouth with jagged teeth split down its center. Eyes the size of softballs perch on top and claws dangle down from its enormous hands to scrape along the pavers. But it’s the three sets of testicles, dangling like shriveled grapes off a vine beneath it, which adds an extra dose of nasty.

  My body is shaking so hard I’m bouncing in place. The demon lifts his claws, slamming them against the protective wall, the points scraping against it like glass. The shield splits as the demon drags his hands down, opening gashes wide enough to allow the aroma of brimstone to seep in.

  Protegeme,” I stammer. “Defiendeme.”

  The protective walls burst with light, sealing the breaks close.

  Another demon appears, this one with the body of lizard and the head of a boar. It ransacks the wall, splintering it, and damaging the base.

  “Protegeme,” I yell. “Defiendeme!”

  My power words seal the cracks, igniting the wall with more light. The two demons roar, infuriated as they pound against the wall and a third demon appears.

  A slug-like body slithers across my barrier, soaking it with a tar like substance that seems to eat away at my protection. He presses his humanoid face against the melting wall. “Taran,” he hisses. “Taran Wird.”

  I cover my ears, screaming my power words with all that I have. It should be working, but then another demon appears, charging my protection and breaking through.

  Light and sound detonate around me. Like an axe coming down on my head, my skull explodes in pain.

  Something wet slides along my jugular, burning through my skin and jarring me awake. Eyes like bottomless wells sear through me as a tongue wraps around my throat like a noose. People are shrieking around me, I think I hear Nora shouting words in Swahili, and bright gemstone lights from talismans spinning like strobes in a dizzy swirl. Yet all I know is my desperation to draw air.

  My hands slap against leathery skin, my thoughts shouting my words of protection. Protegeme. Defiendeme.