The Book of Shadows

by James Reese

  At the slamming of the door, at the rattling of the glass panes, I leapt into Sebastiana’s arms. Roméo, at her direction, knelt to wrap my hands in bolts of black damask torn from beneath the divan. “In two hours’ time,” said Sebastiana, “the venom will be dry, of no danger at all.”

  Apologies and plans were made, but all I can recall is Sebastiana whispering, more to herself than to me, “I feared this might come to pass.”

  Soon it was agreed that sleep was the wisest course of action; and so I found myself settled into the lit clos. Sebastiana spoke somewhat cryptically of a “mission,” and of “the long, long days to come.” As if to assuage me, she added, “It was never meant to be permanent, my dear.” Then—with a blessing or spell—she slid shut the doors. I tried to stifle my tears, for Roméo, I knew, stood sentinel in the studio.

  My sleep, when finally it came, was deep, aided by a second tea I’d warily accepted from my Soror Mystica, this one thick and pulpy, pumpkin-colored.

  Sometime later, I woke and stepped from the lit clos into the cold and dark studio.

  It seemed whole days had passed, so deeply had I slept; but the clock, its golden works plain under a glass bell, showed an unlikely hour. It was dusk of the same day. I’d not even slept the night away.

  I turned from the windows to see Madeleine standing across the studio. The depth of the chill told me Father Louis was near as well, though I could not see him. Asmodei was gone, I knew not where. Within minutes, Sebastiana would come. And Roméo too: he would have with him the makings of a meager, but satisfactory supper.

  In contrast to when I’d last seen her, when she’d rushed gracelessly into the studio in Roméo’s company, dressed in only a single blue robe, her black hair in a hastily pinned-up pile, Sebastiana came as impeccably dressed as when she’d come to save me from C——. She wore her standard robes of azure silk, carefully draped and pinned to conceal her naked self; indeed, her form did sometimes show clearly through those folds of silk. She’d brushed her hair out, and now sported one long braid; wisps of blackest hair were contained by her red coral combs. Her feet were bare. A thin silver chain adorned her right ankle; it was hung with two scarabs of lapis lazuli. She wore no necklaces, no rings or bracelets; but her exquisite eyes, and perfect pale face, were set off by earrings of hollowed pearl, pendant from delicate silver chains and full of a scented oil, which dripped, at long intervals, onto her bare shoulders.

  Sebastiana suggested I bathe, but it was Madeleine who brought me a bathing shift of sheer muslin, who led me to the bath behind the muraled wall. There, in the quiet dark, Madeleine—so kind she was—sat plaiting my hair.

  Then, in the bath, Madeleine let me cry, encouraged me to cry. I did not notice the blood she spilled on the dark tile, on my skin and hair as she comforted me. (Discovering it, on my person, I simply washed it away.)…And Madeleine did comfort me, truly; it was as though she were able to distill her own pain and make of it an elixir. I relish the memory of it. I relish too events that commenced when there came a light knock at the paneled door; and before either the succubus or I could respond, we were joined by Roméo, who asked, simply, “May I?” Before I could answer—did the succubus answer him, or somehow draw him there?—he stripped and slipped down into the tub. “I could use a washing too,” said he. “It has been a…a dirty night and day.”

  Now my embarrassment was acute, relieved not at all by the ministrations of Madeleine, nor by Roméo’s sweet and constant smile. I was embarrassed bodily, of course, but also at the recollection of the dirt to which Roméo referred. Yes, he’d cared for me so patiently all that long night, he’d tended so casually to the base aspects of my body—dumping out those enameled bowls of spittle and vomitus and excrement, wiping the sweat from my brow, swapping out the sweat-darkened blankets he’d laid over me, holding back my hair as I retched again and again, my head hung over the side of the sofa….

  This grim recollection was interrupted by the succubus, who leaned nearer to whisper, Perhaps you owe the boy the washing he seeks? And before I could demur, could act in any way, she repeated her words; and, strangely, this time Roméo seemed to understand her every word, for he rose and came nearer, stopping to stand in the very center of the tub, where the water rose to his full thighs and…

  Roméo neared, and Madeleine shoved me forward: soon he and I stood face-to-face. Naked. “I never thought he’d be more than rude,” whispered Roméo. “I never would have left you alone with him.”

  Ah, the differentness! The sameness! Never have we seen the like of this! Louis…if only Louis…. My sudden, paralytic shivering amused the succubus. (Roméo was far calmer, and already aroused.) Yes, witch, said she, the sexual is the preferred means of communication among us, and the boy has been well-trained. And it was then she fully ceded to her nature, and directed us in a dance, the likes of which…

  You’ve no reason to be shy, dears, said she. Your wishes, your desires are known to me. And this she proceeded to prove. Ah, but wait, said she, and were it not for the fluctuating temperature in the steamy, dim room, I would not have known she’d left it; but leave it she did, returning in, quite literally, no time, with the standing mirror I’d put to purpose earlier. Too, she’d brought candles into the bath, and arranging these in their silver stands just so before the mirror, I saw what it was she sought to achieve—for now, by their doubled light—I cannot say how she caused the wicks to suddenly take flame—she would be visible to Roméo as well as me. He would see her in the mirror, a murky mass of steam, of condensation…of I know not what else.

  Now, said the succubus, settling on the tub’s ledge, before the mirror, what he seeks is the knowledge of what so drives Asmodei to distraction. As for you, witch, well…

  “May I see?” asked Roméo. “May I see your…your…”

  “But I cannot,” said I, shrinking back in my clinging shift, nearer the succubus.

  Madeleine’s laugh came like running water. You want to, witch; and so do it! Again I felt her cold shove, sending me tripping into Roméo’s opening arms. Do it! she commanded, adding, If there is an occasion for shame, I’ve never known it…. Now show him your…your self; he asks out of a tender care and attraction. Why look at him! Here you stand before him, that muslin a second skin, and yet his eyes are trained on yours. He awaits permission…. And what you fear will not come to pass: he will not turn from you, from the truth of you.

  “Can I not tell him? Must I show him?”

  No, no. Far more articulate, the showing…. But time…time is of concern to us this night; and so…Boy, raise your arms high above your head.

  Roméo stood still, and I realized with a sinking heart that I would have to translate for him the succubus’s every command; this, at her urging, I did.

  Madeleine directed me to mirror Roméo’s every move. We shall compare, said she, for his benefit and yours—and, she added with just a hint of apology, for my amusement. Again, the liquescent laughter.

  And so Roméo flexed this muscle and that, raised his spread palms to meet mine. We tested the slopes of each other’s shoulders, patted the flat plains of stomachs, smoothed the wet hair of heads and…Touch it, said the succubus to me. You first, then the boy.

  As my trembling hand rose from my side, as the fingers splayed and curled, and as I readied to take his tumescence and…Just then the near giddy succubus spoke: Ah, but wait, mes enfants, said she, in mortal years younger than us both. The pleasure is in the slow play, and I ought not to deprive you of it. She bade me touch Roméo’s brow, the curl of his ear; she bade me touch his lips, and tell him, repeat to him that he was to take my fingers, gently, slowly, with his tongue. It was then she directed my glistening fingers to his chest, so firm, so…so unlike mine. I told him: Touch me, as I touch you. (Was it the succubus’s command, or orders of my own?)

  It was then Madeleine sank her hands into the tub, and, with a smile, caused the water to heat; soon it churned as though rolling to a boil. “Does she mean to cook us
?” asked Roméo, in half-jest.

  I mean only to heat you, said the succubus…. Now continue. Revel in the difference, seek out the sameness…

  Take to each other’s most tender spots, with fingers first, then perhaps mouths, and…Her words, discernible now only to me, were lost in laughter. But I knew what it was she meant me to do: I took Roméo’s hands in mine and placed them…placed them on my breasts. The nipples, yes! Always best to begin there. Madeleine verily howled this; and by instinct Roméo understood, and when he, with forefinger and thumb, took both my…It seemed I would faint, but falling this time into pleasure, not fear.

  I did the same to Roméo, teased the ripening buds of his chest till his neck went slack, his head rolled just so, and his fruity breath—so intoxicating!—came in great waves from his mouth and….

  Still her with a kiss, said the succubus. “Kiss me,” came the echoed command from me; but as I readied to receive same—eyes rolling back in my head, lips pursed, my own fingers still at play on Roméo’s chest, as were his on mine—the succubus dug into her bag of tricks and…

  “Damnation!” I dared say when the cold, cold splash came over us both. But we all three of us soon dissolved into laughter, Roméo and I clinging fast to each other for warmth. As for Madeleine, she’d amused herself well; she applauded now by cracking two silver candlesticks together.

  Damned, indeed, said she, rising…and so I am reminded. Quickly, into the studio with the two of you! Such games as these will have to wait.

  “But,” I began, having hoped our game would resume. Roméo, I saw with relief, had hoped the same. “But…”

  Tonight it is you mortals who have eternity on your side. As for me…Now come! And she dipped her hands deep into the bathwater, threatening another rain of wintry water.

  We leapt from the tub, Roméo and I. We took to the hanging bolts of cloth and dried ourselves. And it was then, on our own terms, that we took each other in—with eyes only—and all of our questions were answered. When Roméo looked at me and, far from turning away disgustedly, smiled, I felt a flood of tears, for a dam of loneliness, long years in the making, had burst within me. Then came his final kiss, and hand in hand we left the bath, Roméo whispering, urgently, “You were never meant to stay.” I did not hear his words, did not understand them, not then; for too quickly came the light of the innumerable candles that had been set about the studio.

  29

  Preparations; and Departure

  RETURNING TO the studio—and let me say deep, deep was the ache of delayed satisfaction—I saw a purpose in Sebastiana’s eyes that I’d not seen since she’d entered the library at C——. I remember she’d fallen into conference with Father Louis then, and it was they who made plans now; rather, it was they who decided that the plan that had been in place, unbeknownst to me, had now to be put into action. “It’s time, yes,” I heard her say.

  “Madeleine will be pleased,” was Father Louis’s response.

  “That,” sniffed Sebastiana, “is of secondary concern.”

  What are you speaking of? asked the succubus from across the studio, where she stood helping me to dress in a simple shift and slippers. As for Roméo, he’d gone naked to Sebastiana’s side; and there he stood a long while before seeking out a robe.

  Ignoring the succubus, Sebastiana said to me, “Mon coeur, you must leave. Your safety cannot be assured.” And so, with no appeal, it had been decided: I would leave Ravndal, and soon, in the company of Father Louis and Madeleine.

  The mission? What I learned that night was that Sebastiana had little invested in it; it was of little consequence to her. It was, however, of primary concern and consequence to Madeleine, and Father Louis, too; and it was they who now pressed for a hastened departure. “She’s been most patient,” said Father Louis, referring to the succubus, and speaking to Sebastiana. “And need I remind you, there were promises made and—”

  “You need not remind me, Father,” interrupted Sebastiana. “I well remember…. How could I forget, haunted as I’ve been all these years?” It seemed Sebastiana had made Madeleine a promise long, long ago; somehow, I was the fulfillment of that promise. I understood too that there’d been a plan in place; this mission, as it were, was nothing new. There was much talk that night: routes discussed, details seen to, and from it all I gleaned this: I was only ever going to stay at Ravndal a few days. Now those days had been shortened farther, and mere hours remained to me….It is time, said Madeleine, again and again. It is time.

  “Time for what? Tell me,” I insisted.

  “Time to make preparations,” said Sebastiana. She beckoned me. The two of us stood in the dead-center of the studio. Madeleine, in full-form, was to my side on a spread of worn purple velvet, wet with her spill, near enough to hear every word Sebastiana spoke but far enough away so as…so as not to offend the chatelaine. Roméo, sullen, silent, sat in a far corner. Father Louis was near but took no form.

  When Sebastiana leaned nearer, it was to whisper, “As Téotocchi told me, long ago, to go north, I tell you to take to the sea. In a dream I had—a dream of you, a dream for you—I saw the sea.”

  What is it you whisper? asked an agitated Madeleine. Have I not suffered enough from the secrets you keep, the secrets of your precious Craft, which might have spared me…spared me this, if only you’d been brave enough to try, to try to—

  “Silence, sanguinary one,” shot back a slyly smiling Sebastiana, who went on: “Once again it is I who am to blame for your state? But was it I who bedded my parish priest with so little discretion, I who—?”

  Suddenly, the temperature in the salon plummeted; the fire sputtered and spat as Father Louis fast appeared. “Now, now,” said he, coming to full-form beside Madeleine. “Ladies…we’ve agreements, have we not?” But it went on:

  “I,” said Sebastiana, “I should again risk calamity—like the winter I wrought—just to aid you in your crossing over, in dying the second death you seek?”

  Yes!

  “And why? Tell me why?”

  I’ve told you over and over and over—

  Father Louis interceded. “Madeleine, perhaps with this new witch…” but the succubus did not hear him, for already she’d begun to wail, wail in horrid tones her sole truth:

  I cannot live this death any longer!

  I fell back from this little circle, nearer Roméo, fearful. But then Sebastiana, with a nod toward the succubus, said, to me, “I tried to help this pitiable one once, but I could not.” She smiled, rather wistfully. “I was…I was not new, then; and when I tried to…Ah, let me simply say this: you, as a new witch, are in some ways more powerful than I. And this one”—another nod in Madeleine’s direction—“this one needs your power…. Regarde! She all but begs it of you. Rather pathetically, it seems to me.”

  “What can I do that you cannot?” I asked of Sebastiana.

  “They’ll tell you in time,” said she, with a wave toward the elementals. “But now,” she went on, a too mischievous smile on her red-painted lips, “now I need something from you, something of you. Turn around, won’t you, dear?”

  I did. My back was to Sebastiana; and it was in that tall, free-standing mirror that both Madeleine and I had used earlier—for purposes perhaps illicit, but true—that I saw my Mystic Sister bend and draw from beneath the paint-splattered easel a black sack. It was sewn of velvet; rather large, it seemed heavy with something. As she stood, she nudged the bag away with her foot, and this set to tinkling the two scarabs at her ankle. The bag’s angles, the hard noises of its contents called to mind bones, or stones or shells, or worse…. Did I think the bag’s contents were alive? That Sebastiana would loose some scuttling beetles or crabs or rodents into the studio?…When I took a step nearer the mirror, Sebastiana laughed. “Nothing to fear, my dear. Nothing at all.” And I might have believed her, had she not already drawn from the bag a pair of large shears. Seeing the reflection of those glistening gold blades, I took another step, away; still I did not turn to face
her. “Eh bien, arrête!” said she, barely stifling her laughter.

  Sebastiana came up slowly behind me, the shears somewhere in her blue silks. She came so close I could feel her hot breath when next she spoke: “Such a sweet one you are,” said she in a whisper. “I wish you could stay. I would let you stay, were it not for…”

  For our mission! said a nearing succubus.

  “Get back on your drape, ghoul! What I whisper to this witch is of no concern to you.” Sebastiana then, rather roughly, lowered the robe on my shoulders. She took my long and still wet hair in her hands and I felt the cold blades come to rest against my neck. I could see them now…. Something—the hard cold shears, the words she would soon whisper—something caused my skin to contract. I was all gooseflesh, and I began to shiver.

  “Do you trust me?” Sebastiana stood behind me, winding my hair tightly around her tiny fist. “Answer,” said she—and I affirmed that yes, I trusted her, wondering all the while if she knew of my uncertainty. I couldn’t help but recoil from the blades. My eyelids fluttered; I worried that I might faint. But I was roused just then by a tug at my scalp, and in the mirror I saw the first strands of hair fall at my feet.

  I wheeled around and grabbed Sebastiana by the wrists. “What are you doing?”

  Perhaps I held too tightly to Sebastiana’s wrists. Perhaps I pained her…. Regardless, what I saw then stilled me, for…for, with our faces so close, Sebastiana showed me l’oeil de crapaud. It burst into her eyes, flared there like a flame. And I knew that yes, I did trust her. I let go her wrists and slowly, slowly turned back around. I saw then with surprise that my own eyes had turned as well…. And so I bowed my head, and bent at the knee so that my sister could more easily cut away the thick blond hair that I’d only recently begun to prize.