The White Raven

by Carrie D. Miller

  “What’s your assessment, officer?” I make him look at me with my words.

  “Vandals, ma’am. It appears they destroyed a good part of the downstairs. Seems like the fire started in the front by the windows. The cause has not yet been determined.”

  My heart sinks with his words. I knew some of this; but hearing it makes me choke. I must get inside and see for myself. But now that this will be considered a crime scene, I won’t be allowed in, nor will the grand opening happen. I cannot allow this.

  “Officer,” I say, my voice resonating around him. His steely eyes glaze over, and his shoulders slump forward slightly. “This was an accidental fire, started by a candle left unattended.” The command must be simple for it to take hold. Too much detail and the mind will fight against it.

  The officer blinks at me a few times then looks down at his notepad, which is now blank. He looks up again with confusion. He sways slightly then inhales deeply through his nose, straightening himself.

  “This was an accidental fire, ma’am. Appears to have been started by a candle left unattended.” He flips his notepad closed and stuffs it into his pocket. Turning on his heel, he disappears behind the ambulance.

  Ignoring the three pairs of astounded eyes upon me, I push myself from the bumper of the ambulance, flinging the blanket from my shoulders, and walk to the gate. My Sight shows me four firefighters inside my home. I touch their minds and repeat the same message. Within a few minutes, they parade out the front door.

  The leader of the group approaches me and announces that the fire started accidentally downstairs. A candle left unattended. The sprinkler system did its job, and the rest of the house is fine. In silence, the firefighters load up their truck. I turn my attention to the crowd. Some stare at me with pity on their faces, others at the house, pointing and making assumptions as to what happened. The message I send is silent. One by one, each person becomes bored with the scene and loses interest. After a few moments, the street is blissfully empty and quiet.

  The speechless trio continues to stare at me, but I have no desire to explain. I want to see my shop, my home.

  I do not hesitate this time. When I step over the threshold, what overwhelms me is not the stench of wet ash and smoke, but the array of negativity still hanging thickly in the air. Instinctively, I push against it and have to stop myself. I need to feel it, I need to follow it, to see what happened.

  Many footsteps hurry behind me onto the porch but pause outside. I sense their apprehension. I hold up a hand, needing them to stay outside for now.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale the wretched air deeply. The paths the boys took through my shop appear to me as thin trails of black ether, twisting wickedly in the stillness, and I follow that of Will Jacobs. I walk to the right and my vision is filled with the shattering of my silver and purple glass dragon. It was one-of-a-kind, lovingly handmade by an old man I found living almost a hermit life in northern Oregon. Glints of silver dot the floor, covered mostly by blackened matter—too much to find any trace of purple. I turn to the display cases, or what used to be them, and watch as Will pummels them with his crowbar. Both boys’ arms come down onto the cases over and over until nothing of what they used to be remains. Their laughter and exuberant hoots resound in my head. The precious contents of each case lie strewn upon the floor, smashed and broken.

  As I gaze about, I hear intermittent clicks that puzzle me. Is that a camera shutter? Looking deeper into the vision shows me each one’s cell phone held aloft, snapping photos of their handiwork. Fresh anger washes over me.

  I follow Will’s trail into the library. The fire did not reach this room, but the contents are soaked from the sprinklers. I close my eyes to the devastation, but that does not impede the vision that assaults me. Each book is torn apart and cast aside. Will stabs and rips the couch like a madman. I stagger backward, Will’s emotions making me dizzy. Cal’s arms are around me immediately, and I let him hold me while I regain my balance.

  He says something apologetic, but I’m not listening. Drawn back towards the front of the display cases, I kneel, ignoring the pain as my knees are pricked by sharp bits of glass. I brush away a coating of ash from a small object and pick it up. Negativity floods over me, and I almost drop it. In my fingers rests the Eye of Horus pendant. I see how the fire begins. How my hex upon Will’s hand flares out aggressively, powered by his rage, licking at the paper and fabric remnants on the floor. The fire is my fault.

  My fist closes around the pendant, and I let its sharp edges cut into my palm. If I had not been so angry with him, if I had not cursed him so, this fire would never have happened.

  I stand up slowly, trembling. I turn to face those behind me, hearing for the first time the crunch and crackle under my bare feet. The sound and pain startle me, pulling me back to the here and now. The sight of my friends comes into focus, and their words are becoming clear again.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Jo says again.

  I nod, still clutching the pendant.

  “Aven, you’re bleeding!” Cal sees trails of blood seeping through my fingers and takes my clenched fist in his hands. He is pulling at my fingers, telling me to let go. I can’t seem to obey him. “Aven!” he snaps, making me jump. I release my grip, and he opens my hand gently.

  Jo and Sylvia are behind him as he pulls the bloody pendant from my palm. His eyes widen with recognition.

  “The fire is my fault.” Hearing the words aloud makes me flinch. I touch the white raven’s mind so that she will hear also, and I recount the events that led the emergency vehicles here. My voice is monotone and I stare at nothing, stating the facts only, which helps to keep the raging emotions at bay.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Cal mutters when I’m finished. My head snaps in his direction, my expression making him put his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just, I would never in a million years have thought Will was capable of something like this.”

  “Why did they do this?” Jo asks, her hands clutching the obsidian pendant at her breast.

  “Revenge, I suppose.” There’s nothing but anger from Will’s travels through my shop; it’s clouding anything else I could see.

  Cal looks away as he talks. “I grounded him. There was no way he was getting away with stealing or talking to Sylvia like that. I only took away the things he likes and didn’t let him go out; it’s not like I busted his ass, although I wanted to. He was pissed at me, of course—he didn’t speak to me for weeks. But…this!” He rakes his fingers through his hair as he looks around.

  Sylvia comes from upstairs, followed closely by Maggie. “You need to put these on.” She hands me my tennis shoes. I don’t look at her as I take them. I lean against the blackened wall and wipe the glass and grit from my bleeding soles. Maggie sniffs my feet. Shocked at their condition and concerned about infection, Cal tells me I need to clean my feet right now with alcohol, but I wave him quiet.

  I feel Jo’s fury. In the dim, gray light of pre-dawn, her splotched cheeks and the deep grooves between her eyes are clearly visible. She’s wandering around, eyeing everything with a mixture of contempt and disbelief. When she sees the library, her hands clench at her chest. I finally look at Sylvia. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes red and puffy; she looks around the shop, stifling sobs, but her shoulders quake.

  The emotions of my friends touch me deeply. They love this shop as if it were their own. They are part of it and have given so much to put it together. What has happened to it was not just done to me, but to them also.

  “The grand opening will go on,” I announce. My hand goes up to stave off the chorus of ‘hows.’ “I can repair some of this. I can reassemble the things if all of their bits and pieces are around. But things that burned up, disintegrated, like your teas, Sylvia, I can’t fix. I’m sorry.”

  A glint of hope lights in both ladies eyes. Sylvia’s not affected in the slightest by the loss of her teas. Cal’s eyebrows go up. “Should I even ask how?” I inc
line my head to him and raise an eyebrow; he knows the answer to that already.

  “We won’t be as well stocked as we would have been and things won’t be perfect, but the party can still go on.” My chin lifts with my confidence. I will not be defeated, especially by two punk teenagers. “Sylvia, head to the storeroom and find out what is salvageable. Make a list of what we need. I’ll give you my credit card, and you can get to shopping as soon as the stores open. Unless you need more sleep. I’m sorry, I forgot what time it is.”

  “Screw that!” Sylvia’s voice has its smile back. “Just let me get my binder and put some clothes on. I’m freezing!” She’s out the front door like a shot. Her exuberance tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  “What are you going to do about Will and Kyle?” Jo asks when Sylvia is out of earshot. “I assume you have a plan since you didn’t let the cops have them.”

  “I won’t put any energy into that right now. I need every ounce for this. But yes, I will deal with them in my own way.”

  Jo gives an exaggerated whole-body shiver, then turns for the door. “I’ll go make us some coffee. Be back in a bit.”

  Cal comes over and opens his arms, silently asking if he can hug me. I soften to his look and step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around me, murmuring an apology that’s not his to make. I tighten my arms around him and let go of the hold I have on my anger. Negative emotions will not help me with what is to come.

  43

  When Jo is back with leftover angel food cake and coffee in a large, pump carafe, we head upstairs. Sylvia bangs through the front door, binder in hand, and beelines to the storage room.

  Since it wasn’t a requirement to install fire sprinklers in the private residence portion of my home, I did not, and I’m very thankful for that. There is only a thin coating of ash on everything, but the entire house reeks of smoke. I magick all of the windows open. Cal pulls on a sweatshirt he’s left here, and Jo is already bundled up after coming back from her house. I’m still in my pajamas.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Cal asks before shoving a handful of cake into his mouth.

  I force a weak smile. “My anger keeps me warm.”

  Jo pumps us each a mug of rich smelling coffee. The flutter of wings comes from behind us as Ren soars through the kitchen window, landing on the back of a chair. Jo pulls off a small piece of cake and places it on the seat. Ren hops down and pecks hungrily at it. Jo offers a piece to Maggie, who tilts her head questioningly. Jo tuts at herself and pops the morsel into her mouth.

  Jo pulls out a chair and sits heavily. “So, what’s the plan?” We join her at the table. I take a few sips of the delicious dark roast, delighting in the warmth. Jo pushes the cake towards me, but I decline.

  “Well, as soon as Sylvia is done with her inventory, I’m running all of you out. I need to start with the downstairs. I won’t know what all I can fix until I get into it.” A twinge of panic pricks my stomach.

  “You really think this will all be ready by tomorrow night?” Cal looks dubious.

  “It’s not going to be remotely what I had planned, but I won’t be defeated. I, we, have put much too much into this to have it all dashed at the last minute.” I give Jo a wink, and she raises her coffee cup to me, mouth full.

  A new flood of guilt washes over Cal’s face. I speak before he does. “It is not your fault. You cannot control the mind or actions of a troubled teenager.”

  He huffs. “He didn’t do this on his own. I mean, Kyle helped him, sure, but to be honest, my nephew is kind of a pussy and doing this requires some real balls. Somebody put him up to this.”

  Jo almost chokes on her mouthful with stifled laughter.

  “I completely agree,” I say, grinning at Jo. “I can picture your nephew spray-painting my front porch but no, not this.”

  “But who hates you this much? How stupidly angry are they to do something like this to you of all people?” Jo wipes crumbs off her mouth as she speaks.

  “Well, most people don’t know Aven is who she is,” Cal says. “If they did…” He whistles.

  I mentally go through the list of people who have a grudge against me, and Mandy’s squirrel-like face features prominently.

  “Mandy comes to mind but then, really, I don’t think she’d do it. She hates me, yes, and would love to see me fall on my face, but acting against me like this is not something I think she has the guts for. She’s a coward, and her reputation is everything to her.”

  The breeze coming through the house shifts enough to bring a foul odor across our table.

  “Oh god, what’s that smell?” Cal covers his nose and gets up. I pale at the thought of what could be up here. I haven’t gone through any of the rooms yet. I don’t follow Cal. Jo puts down her coffee with a disgusted look and fans her nose.

  Cal looks around the living room then pokes his head into the bathroom, bravely sniffing the air, following the scent. He is in my bedroom when I hear his shout.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I don’t want to know, but I get up anyway, followed by Maggie. Jo stays at the table, shaking her head vigorously.

  The wretched odor hits me in the face when I enter my bedroom. In the middle of my bed is a pile of human excrement.

  I block out what my Sight would show me. I don’t need to know the details; the result is plain. My hands ball into fists and fresh rage flares across my body. I stand at the footboard, glaring at the revolting dark pile upon my crisp, white comforter. My right hand lashes out, blasting blue and white fire at the pile. With my left, I create an invisible shield to contain the small inferno. Cal stumbles back and Jo runs into the room.

  Bearing my anger down onto the defilement, I funnel everything I have felt for the last hour into the confined blaze. The excrement disintegrates within seconds, but I do not stop. I let it all out and watch it burn in a ball of blue fire, swirling and twisting, pushing against the protective sphere, begging to be freed. The anger drains from me, and the fire dwindles.

  I am dizzy when I release the shield, stumbling back but grabbing the footboard. Cal’s arms are around my waist, and I lean back against him. Having that negative energy purged from me makes me instantly tired…and very cold. I feel empty now, as if the anger was all that I had inside me.

  “Please don’t hurt Will,” Cal breathes into my ear. “Or Kyle. Promise me.”

  My stomach sinks. He has seen my power and knows of the darkness that I carry in my heart, and I am ashamed.

  I take a deep breath and place my arms across his. “I won’t hurt them. But they will learn what it is to cross a witch. This I promise you.”

  After Sylvia leaves with her moderately long list and my credit card, I usher Jo and Cal out the door. Ren heads off for a more substantial breakfast.

  I close the door and lean against it, taking in the room with a renewed sense of disbelief. “Where do I start?” I ask into the stillness. I save the worst for last and turn my attention to the library.

  Standing at the threshold, I take several deep breaths, clearing my mind of negativity. I have a singular goal; I have no thoughts but this one. Join the pieces to reform the whole. I lift my arms from my sides and flare my fingers wide. Wet pages and soggy, torn bits rise into the air. Each bit and page finds its home and joins together with a flash of silvery light, instantly dried and whole again. My breathing is slow and even; my body feels light and cool. Happiness fills me as solid books form, laying themselves onto the empty shelves.

  44

  Mandy struts along the sidewalk with her chin held high, delighting in the sharp clicking sound that her high-heeled boots make. It’s the day of Aven’s grand opening, or would be if it wasn’t for Mandy. She grins widely then laughs out loud.

  Mandala Moonchild has single-handedly taken down the not-so-great-after-all, overly-full-of-herself Aven Dovenelle. She laughs again, rubbing her leather-gloved hands together. She is on her way to bask in her triumph—to see a dark and quiet house, devoid of decoration o
r merriment. She’s been practicing her shocked and appalled expression in the mirror all morning. She must see the devastation first-hand and will feign such sympathy that it would easily win her an Academy award.

  As she rounds the corner onto Derby Street, she turns up the collar of her full-length leopard coat to stave off the brisk chill in the late October air. She picks up her pace, eager to get within view of the house. She wants to run the last few yards, but her boots aren’t having it. Her face aches from the amount of smiling she’s done since seeing the images on Will’s cell phone yesterday. The butterflies in her stomach flit with excitement.

  What she sees stops her like a punch to the chest.

  Several men are unloading a van, carrying tables and chairs. She hurries, gripping her collar against the wind. When the yard is in view, she lets out a small cry. The smile that’s been etched on her face crashes, and she digs her nails into her collar. She snarls at the impossible scene before her.

  There is a flurry of activity from half a dozen people. Some haul silver banquet serving trays, others boxes of liquor and wine—all going into Dovenelle’s. One man nearly drops his burden of stemware when he trips on the curb in his rush. The shop girl is standing at the gate with an open binder across her arms, making marks on pages and giving direction as needed. She helps the man up and ushers him to the porch.

  Mandy is stunned, paralyzed by the impossibility of what she is seeing. Those fucking brats lied to me! She glares at the house. It takes several seconds for her to find her legs. She snaps around and trots away before she is recognized.

  Those lying little pieces of shit! I will kill them. I will have Morris kill them! Morris will be so angry; her fear of him slows her steps. She takes scant solace in knowing that she won’t be the target of his wrath; those boys don’t know what they’ve done. But she’s the messenger…

  She is winded by the time she reaches the door to her condo building. She’ll have to hurry if she’s to be showered and dressed in time for the party. I’m absolutely going, goddammit. What’s more, she needs to be out of the condo before dark, before Morris comes. He usually comes when the sun sets.