by Multiple
For half that, I had a luxury apartment in the heart of Raleigh, minutes from Glenwood South. I could still remember seeing the posh building for the first time. The fanciful architecture reminded me of some gothic science fiction novel, filled with vaulted ceilings and high-tech gadgetry.
My apartment lacked most of the pomp and circumstance. I only had a bed, a couch, a coffee table, an old box type TV that worked when it felt like it, and a dresser.
Growing up, my father was one of the precious few televangelists who didn’t live in multi-million dollar homes paid for by some poor sap down on their luck. He always taught me that a clutter-free home (e.g. No pesky LCD TVs or fancy furniture) equaled a clutter-free spirit. It was just about the only Dad-ism that stuck, but there was something about living in a building that I wouldn’t be able to even walk inside in New York that was hard to pass up.
I flicked on the light switch in the kitchen and the modest kitchen was illuminated. Most of my food consisted of stuff that could be zapped - Ramen, TV dinners, etcetera. But I wasn’t looking for something to quell my appetite…the woman from the coffee shop, Amy Jones, would be arriving any minute.
I pulled open the cabinet above the stove and pulled out my spice carousel. I swiped lavender, cinnamon, and wormwood – all agents to clarify and soothe the portal between our world and the All. Hopefully it would also aroma-therapize the woman’s lover. Usually, if the ghost died a violent death, or if the connection summoning them had unfinished business, or if the last contact had been a throwdown argument, things could get a bit dicey.
I grabbed the blanket I used for spellwork and spread it in the center of the living room. Next was my makeshift altar, a small workbench draped with a white scarf. I lit the coals inside the burner and put in the spices. Almost on cue, a couple of timid knocks sounded at the door.
“It’s open!” I called out as I lit a bit of sage and walked around the room in clockwork fashion. I could almost feel the walls sighing with relief as I stripped away the negative energy. I was a regular supernatural Mr. Clean.
Amy stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth agape. As was my front door. I hustled over to the door and ushered her a few feet closer into the threshold before pulling the door closed. If there was one thing I didn’t need, it was a neighbor or two going to management over the weird goth chick doing Satanic rituals. In New York, it would garner a shrug. In North Carolina, at best it would lead to prying eyes. At worst, eviction.
“It, uh, smells nice in here,” she said quietly, still clutching her bag like it was her lifeline.
“Good,” I said with a smile. “Hopefully Cady will agree with you.”
“Cady,” Amy repeated as she scanned the room with skepticism. I could tell from the firm line of her jaw that she still believed it was a crock. She was thinking my apartment smelled like Bath and Body Works instead of ash and sulfur, or whatever the horror movies claim a witch’s lair smelled like. I had no crystal ball, no skeleton head, or bubbling cauldron. “No Book of Shadows or wand?” she said warily.
“You would have found all that crap more believable?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Her eyes were apologetic. “I’m sorry. Just a little on edge. Maybe you could explain what everything means?”
I gestured at the counter, where I’d stacked an array of magical tools that I’d gathered this morning. “Witch hazel for purifying, the heart of an apple for knowledge, and-” I brandished the silver pentacle around my neck. “My talisman for strength and protection.”
Like most mortals, she was drawn to its gleam. Talismans were usually family heirlooms and are chalk full of hundreds of years of family magic. Unmagical mortals and the supernatural were drawn to them when witches use them for spellwork, which is why real witches didn’t perform rituals out in the open unless they wanted to draw unwanted attention.
Amy absentmindedly reached for it, her mouth agape, until I tucked it inside my t-shirt and mouthed a small veiling charm. Once it disappeared from view and the power behind my charm took effect, she shook her head, snapping back to reality. “I don’t believe in this stuff, you know.”
I chuckled at the irony of that, considering a few seconds ago she was ready to get down on her knees and worship a bit of silver. “It’s a lot to digest.” I reached out and steered her toward the ritual space I created in the living room. “You brought the things I asked for?”
She pulled out a plastic shopping bag from her purse and handed it to me. I peered inside. A picture of Cady and Amy. Their house key. A folded letter that had clearly been read over and over again. And a pacifier. “Your daughter’s?”
Amy mustered a quick nod. “Are the items okay?”
I trembled as I felt the quiet power emanating from the items. “Oh yes.”
I grabbed a can of salt from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Shall we begin?”
She offered a nervous laugh. “Too late to turn around now, right?”
I crossed my arms, my voice serious. “Absolutely not. This isn’t some parlor trick or ouija board, Amy. If you’re not totally committed, this could be dangerous. For the both of us. So if you have doubts…”
She looked down at the items, her eyes stopping on the pacifier. “N-no. I’m sure.”
“Alrighty,” I said with a bright smile. “Let’s get to work.” I picked up the antique bell I used for summonings. “While I walk in a circle, ringing the bell, you have to walk behind me, creating a barrier with the salt.” I stressed the next words. “It’s very important that it’s a continuous, unbroken circle. Understand?”
“I understand.” Amy said solemnly.
I walked slowly, clockwise in a circle. Ding. Ding. Ding.
I stepped back and looked at the circle Amy drew. It was near perfect, unbroken. “Good job.”
Her lips twitched as she gave another nod.
“Now you just sit back and relax,” I said, giving her a reassuring pat. I gave my pentacle one last squeeze and said the incantation. Almost instantly, an apparition appeared at the center of the circle, writhing and shaking until some of the energy dissipated, leaving behind the woman from the photograph. Her golden hair fell in tumultuous waves down her back and was in a disarray, like she’d just been shaken from her slumber. Her oversized Meredith College t-shirt and bare legs confirmed it. Cady died in her sleep.
Amy pushed past me, her eyes widening in disbelief. “C-Cady?”
The ghost’s oval eyes brightened as she reached out. “Amy! I-” They both gasped as Cady stopped when she hit the barrier just past the line of salt. She could go no further.
Amy looked at me, her green eyes filled with longing. “I can’t touch her?”
“‘Fraid not,” I replied. I pushed my will toward her as she took a few steps too close for comfort toward the salt line. “If you break the circle, Cady will be stuck in our plane. Purgatory. She’ll never rest.”
The ghost took two steps back. “Well, next best thing, right?”
Amy broke down then, her body spasming with heartbreaking sobs. “I miss you so much, baby. I’ve lost everything. You, Hayden-”
Something flickered across the ghost’s ashen face. Something that looked an awful lot like guilt. The gasp that fell from Amy’s lips told me it wasn’t lost on her either.
“Y-you knew,” she said hoarsely. “You changed your will. You cut me out.”
The ghost shook its blonde head then stopped, staring at the ground. “I loved you, Amy. I really did.”
“Loved?” Amy repeated. “Did? As in past tense?”
I felt a real chill as the ghost raised its head, the cold eyes filled with disdain. “Did you really think I’d leave my baby with you so you could raise her with that bitch?”
“What?” Amy gasped. “Who-what are you talking about?”
“Don’t insult me,” the ghost said disgustedly. “You know who.”
I took a step back, surprised. This was like Maury, live in my living room.
Amy�
��s face fell, guilt now evident on her face. The jig was up. “How did you know?”
“You stank of her cheap perfume,” the ghost said acidly. “And you started singing again. We were arguing 98 percent of the time we were together, Amy. You didn’t have a damn thing to sing about. It was so obvious. So I-” the ghost stopped, seething with a quiet rage.
“I ended it,” Amy said, taking a step further. “Weeks before…”
“I bit it?” The ghost finished cruelly. “You know, they say the likelihood of aneurysms are increased by stress.” The ghost eyeballed me. “If you found out your significant other was screwing an 18-year-old while you’re working 10 hour days and trying to raise a baby, wouldn’t you be a little stressed?”
I cleared my throat, fumbling with the hem of my t-shirt. “I’d, uh, rather stay out of it.”
Amy was making sounds that I was sure my neighbors would mistake for medieval torture. I gingerly patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe we should-”
“How COULD you?” Amy wailed at her lover. “You’re gonna punish me for the rest of my life?”
“Yep.” The ghost said shortly.
“You took away my daughter because of a mistake? One horrible, stupid mistake?”
The ghost stood tall, her words like daggers. “Maybe you should have thought about that while you were in between her legs.”
The room went quiet then, the tension so evident you could cut it with a knife.
“Damn you!” Amy shrieked suddenly, lunging forward. As she flailed manically, it took all my strength to keep her from breaking my hold. She was cursed now…apparently she wanted her lover to share her fate.
The ghost was laughing now, evil guffaws full of hate. Each new round drove Amy even wilder, turning her into a raging bull.
“God damn it, Amy!” I said in between gasps as I gripped my pentacle. I could feel her slowly weakening, my magic reining her in. “I can’t let you do it.” Not that I didn’t want to. Cheating was bad, yes. Horrible even. But using a child as a chess piece was worse. And B was doing me a solid letting me do a discount summoning. But if shit hit the fan, The Watchers would come for both of us. And having B on my ass just wasn’t worth it.
“Then send her back,” Amy sobbed. “Send the bitch BACK!”
“Reverto ex unde vos venit,” I said in between grunts. The lights flickered then returned to normal. The ghost was gone.
I released my hold on Amy and she sank to her knees, sobs erupting from her body in gasping rhythm. I didn’t even bother trying to comfort her.
With shaky hands, I swiped my cigarette case from the table and pulled one out, lighting it with the candle. So much for true love.
“How could she?” Amy sobbed. “How COULD she?!?” I heard a ripping sound and turned back to her as a flurry of fragments from their photo fell to the carpet. Amy was on all fours, her chest heaving up and down.
“Amy-” I stopped when I saw something glowing on her chest. I sank to the floor beside her, peering at the opening of her blouse. “Oh my god!” I gasped, my eyes going round. It was the same symbol that Kenny had on his wallet…right before he shoved it down his throat.
Amy looked at me peculiarly, clutching the opening of her blouse. “What-what are you-”
“N-no,” I interjected, realizing I probably looked like some perv. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Right,” she scoffed, pulling herself to her feet. She glanced back down at the pacifier, tears streaming down her face. “Next time you wanna help me…don’t.”
And with that she marched to the door, leaving her memories and what her life could have been on my living room floor.
Chapter Eleven
The Mark of the Cursed
I took one of the paper napkins and wiped down the old plastic chair beside Mom’s old couch. I said a little prayer of thanks that her dirty windows prevented the bright rays of sunshine from illuminating the true state of her home.
There were stacks of books piled on every surface, only a slender lane cleared through each room to maneuver back and forth. Clothing was strewn and draped all over with no rhyme or reason. Her cat, Midnight, sat perched on top of a leaning tower of notepads. Cans of chicken noodle soup were scattered throughout, telling the story of Campbell’s evolution.
I glanced over at Mom, almost in awe of how out of place she looked amid the mess. She was statuesque, her frame thin and lean. She had a dancer’s body but preferred to spend her time indoors with the company of books. Her swanlike neck led up to a beautiful face, complete with petite and gentle features. But it was her eyes that drew you in – big, almond like opals that bore into the soul.
While she was beautiful and one of the most powerful spellcasters I knew, tidying the house was not her forte. My mother operated on another plane of existence, where a Hoarders-like home was preferred instead an organized mess.
My first summer with her in Greene County, I’d tried to straighten up a bit. Big mistake. When she saw that I’d rearranged her things, she had said a few choice words in Latin and slept outside in a tent for a week. I’d learned to just stock up on antibacterial and allergy medicine.
“Biscuit?” I said, holding out my bribe. I hadn’t called her in two weeks and showed up at the spur of the moment. The Kenny thing was really bugging me and I hoped she could shine some light on what was going on.
She eyed the aluminum wrapping of the cheese biscuit I offered and shook her head so hard the windows rattled. “You know I don’t eat that stuff.”
I took a hefty bite of the cheese biscuit in my hand. “Cheese biscuits from Fast Break.” I moaned with pleasure as a string of hoop cheese touched my tongue. “The only good thing about this town if you ask me.” I cleared my throat, giving her a toothy grin. “Other than you, of course.”
“Smartass,” she said with a Cheshire cat grin. “You got that from my side. Your daddy was about as excitable as a lawn gnome.”
“Hey!” I said defensively. “Dad is…exciting.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Did he start putting ketchup on his fries? Watching a TV show that wasn’t on the family channel or some religious zealot preaching the end of days?”
“Mom-”
“Or maybe he waits one month instead of 3.5 weeks for a new hair cut? Hums to songs on the radio? Hell, says more than two words at the dinner table?”
“You finished?” I said with an edge, dabbing at the corners of my mouth.
“Sorry,” she said peevishly, pushing back from the table as the microwave dinged. “Your father is a good man. Predictable as the moon, but a good man.”
I eyed her bowl of chicken noodle soup with a smile. “You’re one to talk about predictable.”
She ran a hand through her graying dreads and grabbed a plastic spoon. “You know why I eat this soup all the time.”
“Soothes your senses and takes you to a happy place-”
“So the voices don’t drive me batshit insane,” she finished, sitting back down on to the table.
“You know, anyone else would recommend you see someone. Professional.”
Her brown eyes softened. “We aren’t all chosen to go to the big city and hone our craft.”
I snorted, balling up my trash. “Don’t be silly, Mom. There are soothsayers, witch doctors, and plenty of remedies for the voices. You just have to leave the house.”
“Why do I have to leave?” she said stubbornly. “I have a TV, books, food, and a daughter who occasionally returns my calls and even comes to visit when bad things happen.”
Busted. “I just came to see how you were doing, Ma.”
“Child, please,” she said with an eyeroll. “I may not be a fancy schmancy necromancer, but I’m not a recreational Wiccan either.”
“I-I’m not coming for a supernatural reason,” I reiterated. “I’m just checking on you. And getting my cheese biscuit fix.”
She made a face. “The biscuits aren’t that good. And sooner or later, all that Chinese and junk food’s
gonna catch up with you.”
I yawned. “May the object seen become un-”
“Hush!” She scolded, her eyes going round. “You think it won’t work just because you say it in English?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” I said with a wink. I unscrewed the cap on my soda and took a long gulp. “What good is magic if you can’t scratch your own back?”
“Gods keep you!” she hissed. “If the wrong people hear you say that…” Her voice trailed off as she shuddered for effect.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You worry too much.”
“Pshaw,” she snorted, slurping a spoonful of soup. “So you gonna tell me what your problem is before Hades punches my number?”
“I don’t have a problem,” I said unconvincingly.
“Uh huh.” Mom pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, staring off into space. She gave a small nod then turned her gaze back on me. “Some lawyer was killed…hexed, you think. You saw some sort of symbol…” She grabbed a Harlequin and scribbled an image on the inside flap. “You saw it on a lesbian’s chest too.” She stopped, looking at me peculiarly. “I know you dabbled around in high school, but I thought you were with that vampire? Jack? Does he know you’re looking at women’s chests?”
“Mom!” I exclaimed, my cheeks burning hot. “I wasn’t looking at anyone’s chest!” I cleared my throat. “And just for the record, most mothers would frown on their daughters dating someone that eats people.”
“But he sounds so nice over the phone,” she cooed. “You guys had a fight, huh?”
“Jesus, Mom!” I said, bristling with embarrassment.
“What?” she said innocently. “You’ve found a nice boy that you don’t have to lie to. What more could a girl want?”
“How about someone who doesn’t need to drink blood to survive? That I can grow old with? Maybe someday, in the distant future, procreate with?”
“You’re too young to worry about such things,” she chided. She took one look at my face and held up her hands, a metaphorical white flag. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay out of it.”