by Kat Turner
“Hey.” Helen laid a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. In an instant, Stacy fixed her slouchy posture. “You aren’t lowly. And if he doesn’t see your value but keeps stringing you along so he can sleep with you, forget him. You deserve better.”
“Nobody’s ever told me that before.” Stacy’s eyes misted.
“Well, now someone has.”
“Dang, I wish I’d had friends like you in high school, when the mean girls were peeing on my gym clothes and writing ‘slut’ in shit on my locker door. I gotta run, those drinks don’t sling themselves. See ya tomorrow.” Stacy hustled to the door.
Helen padded through the empty building, creaky hardwood floors the only sound as she turned off lights and set the thermostat. She whistled an upbeat tune, filling silence with cheery noises. Though things on the Brian front remained scary and unknown, at least she’d taught an awesome class. Even though her trance had gotten a bit strange at the end, the money spell had to be doing its thing.
Circumstances were improving, and Helen ought to honor and appreciate bursts of good energy when they erupted in her life. Express her gratitude to the universe and humbly ask for more bounty. Committing to operation count blessings and recognize positivity, Helen scooped her car keys out of a dish on an end table.
Chimes rung, the front door moaning. Who could that be? She’d just taught the last class of the day, and none of the studios in town offered yoga at the current hour.
But in the doorway stood Nerissa, jaw set in a clench. Balancing on a carved wooden cane capped with a porcelain bulb, she walked into L&E shaking her head. “Oh, child, it’s worse than we thought.”
“So now you show up, right on cue to reprimand me? How convenient. I get avoidance and phone tag until I’m due for my slap on the wrist.” Helen blew out a candle, the force of her gust excessive for the task.
“Not that I owe you an explanation for my methods, but I’m busy. Many clients, duties. Obligations. My own craft requires regular and diligent practice. I’m not on call for baby witches.” Nerissa walked into the vestibule and lowered onto a bench.
Helen sat beside the older witch. “Do your other clients include a shady as fuck music industry manager by the name of Joe, perchance?”
“No.” Nerissa rested her chin on the tip of her cane. “But I’m aware of him, his coven. It’s a bastardization of our practices. They’ve co-opted our lineage and line. Think Left Hand magic practiced with reckless abandon and zero training or skill, deployed in the service of absolute greed.”
Helen stroked the tassel edge of the seat cushion. “Let me guess. Their connection to us allowed them to commandeer my crystals and fill the rocks with their own evil juju.”
“More or less. Clear crystals are highly receptive, and our rival coven’s powers are stronger and more concentrated than yours. My astral connection to this cabal isn’t great, as their practices aren’t pure, but I have seen. Oh, I have seen.” Her voice rumbled, foreboding in its gravely, mannish timbre.
“I don’t want to know what you saw, but I’m guessing I need to.”
Nerissa nodded. She’d worn her hair loose, and a tangled riot of cobwebs rested against a T-shirt screen printed with discs of the moon phases arranged in semi-circle. “This music manager and his cohort wish to recruit the clone into their own agenda. And seeing that they have two of your crystals? They are already halfway there. Once they’re able to wield both hex and clone? Good luck stopping them. Such a thing is so far out of my league it’s an altogether different sport.”
An acute sense of defeat scooped out every ounce of Helen’s optimism. She hung her head. “I guess I’m destined to fail.”
Nerissa grabbed Helen’s hand, her touch papery and cool. “Enough. Enough of your bad attitude. Claim your strength. Find your true power and use it not only to beat these fools, but to become the best version of yourself.”
“How? How do I do that? Because even though you sound like a best-selling self-help book right now, I’m not sure what your words mean.”
“My words have been clear as those crystals. The Left Hand path does not suit you. Spells are boomeranging, becoming sentient beings in their own right as they run amok, seeking practitioners who can aid their agenda of destruction. Stop enabling, now.”
Helen threw up her hands. “Okay. As of right now, I hereby declare that I will stop doing Left Hand spells and stop enabling. But I’ll confess I’m clueless as to how to fix what I’ve done.”
“No, no. You aren’t clueless. You have more than a clue. What can you do with proficiency now that you couldn’t achieve before you began your practice of the craft?”
“Astral travel. Remote viewing.” Well shit, that answer came out in a spurt of confidence. Felt pretty damn stellar to wear accomplishment like a cute new outfit.
“Good girl. Now steer yourself onto the appropriate path. Reject the lures of the Left, leave such things to these buffoons you now must defeat.”
“Again, this sounds great, but how? Do I just say my intention to switch trajectories out loud, and boom, done?”
A chuckle from the old witch. She laid two firm fingers below the dip of Helen’s collarbone and tapped twice. “Your change of course comes from here, my darling coven daughter. It’s already in there, albeit latent and unsung. So sing it.”
“Could you please not speak in riddles and just tell me what to do?”
“I am telling you every single thing I know, so listen.” With a grunt, Nerissa stood. “The clear stones are the ultimate tabula rasa, reflective of the practitioner’s deepest truth. Once you are one with yourself, they will do your bidding. But that time hasn’t come yet. You have much to learn, many obstacles to overcome. When you’ve recovered the stolen crystals, bring them to me, and I shall help you charge them for your final battle.”
“How about a hint as to how I’ll use them in this battle?”
“Once your course is set on the proper line, purpose will reveal itself through the workings of the universe.” Nerissa ambled to the door. “I’m not omniscient.”
“Thanks.” A begrudging sense of appreciation saved Helen’s reply from outright sarcasm status. At least Nerissa intervened. “This has been marginally helpful and quasi-enlightening.”
“Helen.” Nerissa turned over her shoulder, a spark of knowledge flashing across her face. “One more clue has come.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Recall what happened the day the hex began its work. What you did, where you went after you left my home. With whom you interacted and any emotions associated.” With those parting words, the elderly witch left L&E, leaving the mirthful tinkle of wind chimes in her wake.
Fourteen
Tilly glanced up from one of the many fashion magazines fanned across the mattress of her canopy bed. Though she glared like only a mad teenager could, the childish dimensions of her—her bent and swinging legs, her fuzzy frog slippers—slew Brian.
The blue silk pajamas swallowing her gangly frame brought out the ferocity in her sapphire eyes, scalpel sharpness she’d inherited from her mother.
“What? Loom much?” Tilly said.
Brian stood in the doorway of his daughter’s old bedroom, which fortunately he’d preserved even after she moved out to live with her stepmother, Kris.
Tilly’s new bodyguard, Brutus, an ex-military man with python arms, texted from his seat on a pink couch. Relief and worry cascaded over Brian in competing intervals. Tilly threw a wobbly when he’d told her she was going on tour with him, an epic fit of inconsolable proportions. They’d compromised with the bodyguard. She was safe, that was all that mattered.
“Nothing,” Brian replied.
“So why are you staring at me?” A blend of irritation and amusement strung her melodious syllables, bringing out the faintest flutter of an English accent.
He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m relieved.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You never told me what’s going on, and why I have to b
e held captive here like a baby when all of my friends are going to the rave.”
“Someone threatened you in an effort to coerce me. It’s just for a little while, until I can establish if the threat is legitimate. You saw the girl being cut at that ceremony, so you should understand the severity of my distress.”
“Ugh, everyone who’s anyone in Hollywood right now is fake Illuminati. I’m sure it was nothing but a branding ritual, a little tattoo on her tummy. I overreacted. You are such a helicopter parent. I’m seventeen, not seven.”
She resumed reading, leafing through glossy images of emaciated models matching the ones cut out and taped to the walls. He needed to distance his daughter from the toxic modeling lifestyle Kris seduced her into, but that problem would have to fill up a future day.
“I need you to take this seriously, Matilda. I was gobsmacked by what I saw.”
“Okay, okay, whatever. I won’t accept candy from the clown who drives the white van.”
“No sneaking out tonight. I mean it. If I find you gone, you really are grounded. Which means no more fashion shoots.”
“Tyrant,” Tilly grumbled. “Fine. Consider me your gulag prisoner.”
Brian exhaled a burden of tension, laying a hand over his heart. “Dinner’s at six. Or should I say, brinner. I’m making your favorite, chocolate chip pancakes.”
“Those haven’t been my favorite since I was ten. And quit trying to use modern expressions, it’s cringe-worthy. Oh, before I forget, some woman was here to see you.” She ripped out a page.
Startled, he ran through possibilities. A state-of-the art security system kept overzealous fans, stalkers, and other uninvited guests far away from his Los Angeles home nestled deep in the Hollywood Hills.
“When? What did she want?”
Tilly snipped, red scissors outlining a woman’s picture. She popped out her paper doll and set the cutout on a growing stack. “Earlier this morning, while you were out running. It was weird. Like, really really weird.”
“What do you mean, weird?”
“I dunno. Like she wasn’t all there. I can’t explain.” Tilly rolled out of bed and walked to her dresser. She taped the latest photo to the wall, adding to a collage of scantily clad stick figures posing around the oval of glowing bulbs that circled her mirror.
“Well, can you try?”
“She was like…spacey. She blinked a lot. Then she was babbling, then she ran off before Brutus could deal with her. I assumed she was some nutty groupie or whatever.”
That hadn’t happened in years, not since one of Thom’s jilted conquests turned up on Brian’s property barefoot and screaming, wielding a gun and demanding Brian call his bassist.
He’d had the gate put in the next day, thirty feet of iron and spikes not even an Olympic pole vaulter could clear.
“What did she look like?”
“Cute. Pretty, in a regular person way. Dark eyes. Long brown hair with blonde highlights, freckles on her nose and cheeks. Big boobs, not super skinny. She was wearing a silver dress, like haute couture, and she talked with a funny accent. Like the people in that movie Fargo.”
Confusion smacked Brian upside the head, knocking out reason and logic. Minnesota accent? Helen? No way. “She didn’t say her name?”
Tilly kicked discarded clothing out of her path and made her way back to bed. She belly-flopped on her mattress. “Um yeah, she did. Ellen? Haley? Something like that.”
If Helen was in town, she wouldn’t have shown up unannounced, acting odd. But he hadn’t spoken to her since leaving Denver a few days ago, and this incident was as good of an excuse as any to call.
“Alright. I’ll figure it out. Don’t sneak away from Brutus. You are not safe.”
Tilly rolled her eyes.
Brian left his daughter and walked down the hallway to his room. He took his phone off the nightstand and went out on the patio, leaning over the glass balcony overlooking his infinity pool. Shimmering water merged with scruffy hills and the twinkling orange and yellow lights of the Sunset Strip below. The deck, terra cotta tiles, and padded lounge furniture in vibrant colors of aqua and cobalt, livened up his pool deck.
Though he got lonely in his castle on the hill, Brian’s comfortable home did calm him. Nice to have a break from touring to spend some time appreciating the fruits of his labor.
Sure would be nice to have a certain someone around to share the luxury with, sip margaritas and watch a sunset after a swim. Drawing in a rich breath of decaying foliage tinged with the dusty bite of smog, he rang Helen.
“Hey, Brian. It’s good to hear your voice. How is everything?”
Subdued waves rippled in an undulating pattern, the color-change lamps at the bottom of the tank infusing the liquid with an emerald glow, like an otherworldly aquarium. He sought centeredness in the water’s lapping rhythm, how its hue changed from green to blue to purple in a slow, dreamlike cycle. How much trust he could invest in Helen was still up for debate, he hated to admit, and because of the uncertainty he ought not go to mush.
“Stabilized. Tilly’s fine. The LA finale is in three days. Friday can’t get here soon enough. How are you?”
“I’m also fine. The studio’s doing well. Is there something else you want to say? You sound distressed.”
She saw right through him. Aggravating and endearing at the same time, to find himself unable to hide from the workings of the woman’s inquisitive mind.
“This is going to sound strange, but you aren’t in town, are you?”
A puzzled laugh from Helen. “No, I would have told you.”
In the extended silence that followed her denial, he plucked piece of errant debris off the steel bar capping the railing. “What?”
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“This whole mess. How to clean it up.”
“Well, perhaps we can clean it up together. We were making progress in Denver.” His cheeks warmed. Anyone’s guess whether they were, in fact, on their way to fixing the alleged supernatural debacle. But, despite lingering reservations, he felt better having Helen around.
And from the moment he’d walked away from that hotel room with Thom and Joe, a familiar ache returned to the middle of his chest. When he was with Helen, the hurt disappeared, replaced by the pleasures of holding her, kissing her, talking with her. Losing himself to the feel of her soft skin, her touch, the sensual pleasures they brought to each other.
He could not take for granted the straightforward yet brilliant joys of being around a person, a woman, he liked.
“Yeah. We were. Though I confess I’ve hit a bit of a standstill,” she said.
“How so?”
“My mentor put hard brakes on the kind of magic spells I’m allowed to cast. Which sucks, because I don’t know what else to do.”
“Los Angeles is a hotbed for New Age practice. There’s shops all along the boardwalk, psychics and palm readers, and all types of practitioners. Perhaps if you came out here you’d be inspired. Find someone or something who could lead you—us—in the right direction.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe I could get away for a few more days, spend a little time out there. It might help to have me around during the finale. Keep my eyes open for suspicious activity.”
He flicked a sliver of leaf off the guard rail. The slice of dead foliage swayed in a mellow back and forth dance down to the pool and made a silent landing, impact perceptible only by ripples.
There was that old saying about a butterfly flapping its wings somewhere and making an impact on an entirely different course of events elsewhere in the world. Perhaps Helen’s presence would influence him in a positive way, soothe his agitated mind through the ripple effect made by her charm, her humor.
Her proximity improved his state of mind, a simple yet assuring truth. She could relate to what he was going through. She acted as a harbor in the storm of his life, despite the fact that she played no small role in stirring up that storm. Making their
bond a shade dysfunctional, but still he missed her. Brian almost never followed his heart anywhere anymore, so the sheer concept of emotional abandon in and of itself made for an allure.
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice was low, smooth, and husky.
He laughed, the sound boyish and silly in his ears. “You. I miss you. Some random person came to my door today, and I let myself imagine she was you. How preposterous am I?”
In lieu of Helen’s immediate response, a faint electronic whine of interference travelled through the line. Off in the distance of the rocky hills, a coyote let off chilling howl.
“Did she look like she could have been my twin?” When she spoke at last, not a trace of the former casual lilt remained. Helen’s tone was as pressed and no-nonsense as a detective interrogating a murder suspect.
Nothing could be simple with Helen, never easy or light. Not for more than a few shoplifted moments. “I didn’t see her, Tilly did. Why, do you have a twin?”
“I’m a fraternal triplet, so yes I have a sister who looks almost exactly like me. But we haven’t spoken in years. There’s someone impersonating me. A doppelganger from another dimension.”
Wind sliced through in a cutting gust, making the hairs on Brian’s arms stand. A cluster of brown leaves skated over the deck, some landing in the pool where they floated like dead birds. He squirmed. “The things you ask me to believe.”
“I’m aware how outlandish it all sounds. Am I un-invited?”
He should say yes. Take Tilly and disappear. Get as far away from Helen and Joe and witchcraft and the occult and Los Angeles as he could. Go back to London. Start over.
But as bolloxed up as it was, his gut told him not to flee. Not to run from the first person in years who’d made him feel something other than ambition. The first person in forever to pull tenderness out of the forgotten chamber inside of him was complicated and challenging, a fact he didn’t resent as much as he wanted to.