by C. L. Bush
“We have to tell someone,” JJ whispered as she pushed him through the doorway. “We have to tell someone that Clara’s out there.”
“And where would that be?” The husky voice of Richard Gaskill startled them both. He lounged in a rattan chair on the Smiths’ porch, slowly turning a black notebook and one of Parker family tomes in his hand.
Sam cleared her throat and flipped her hair back. She could feel JJ shivering behind her.
“Good evening, Mr. Gaskill. Haven’t seen you in quite some time,” she said pleasantly, eyeing the leathery book he absentmindedly played with.
“Cut the crap, kid,” he drawled, slapping the notebook on the table. “Are you done with Helen Parker’s sermon? You won’t find what you’re looking for in there.”
“And where will we find it?” Sam stepped up, crossing her arms, ready to take on this conversation. Richard grinned, baring his canines, nodding at the empty seats. “It wouldn’t possibly be in your hands.”
“What did you find out, kid?” he asked, pinning his bloodshot eyes on a terrified JJ. He hesitated but took a seat, silently pleading with Sam to join him. She chose to stand.
“I don’t know,” JJ said honestly, rubbing his head and knuckles. “We entered and I just felt her. Felt Clara. Like I usually did before she entered the Arch. But the sense... it was fading the previous months, and tonight, it’s like she was right there a second ago, or-or a minute ago.”
Samantha’s hands dropped to her thighs. “She’s fading for you as well?” Sam asked quietly. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, JJ seemed distraught and desperate.
“She’s alive for now, and that’s miracle enough,” Richard said. “I’d suggest you two speak with your mentors because they aren’t doing a very good job training you.”
“We’re lucky they’re training us at all after last month,” JJ mumbled, and Richard snorted distastefully. “They think-”
“I know what they think. I also know training you isn’t a privilege. It’s their obligation. They can’t just cut you off from magic and pretend that’s going to solve anything except their own fears. And you can tell them I said that. Where’s the third one?”
“Damen?” JJ asked before throwing a look at Sam. “We’re having some... disagreements.”
“There’s no time for that,” Richard Gaskill interrupted him. “You’re feeling the connection fade. It’ll fade completely soon. I give it about a year.”
“What does the fading mean?” Sam whispered.
Gaskill shrugged. “No way of knowing for sure,” he admitted easily. “But soon, you won’t be able to reach her. There are some things only a coven can do. Until you go through the linking spell, you’re nothing more than a Scooby-gang.”
“A what?” JJ frowned.
Sam waved his question away. “How do you know Clara’s alive?” she asked, steadily holding her ground. Richard Gaskill leaned back into the chair, his face in the shadows once again. “You said you know she’s alive for now, how do you know that?”
Richard Gaskill remained silent, and Samantha stepped forward. “What’s Cathy using the Xhosa roots for?” she continued.
JJ frowned in confusion and Richard Gaskill laughed from the shadows.
“What roots?” asked JJ, but she gave him no attention.
“You’re not as scatter-brained as you let others believe, are you?” Richard asked, seemingly amused, and Sam didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or as an insult. “That’s something you’ll have to ask her. I will tell you this. Clara was here, and she was alive.”
“I knew it,” JJ whispered. “But how do you know?”
“After your shenanigans last month, Cathy and I found a trace of blood on the doorknob. Clara was the one who opened the front door.”
“So, she really is stuck in the Arch,” JJ confirmed, letting his hand fall. “Can we get her?”
“There’s no way to enter the Arch except to walk into it. It’s warded against even metaphysical entries from our world,” Richard explained, glancing meaningfully toward Samantha. “No one of us can enter it, except probably you.” JJ raised his look toward Sam, as well. “There’s no guarantee you’d survive of course, but the Arch would fall apart for sure. It would be pretty selfish and stupid to die and leave your mess for everyone else to take care of.”
“The Arch is going to collapse anyway. You said it last time,” Samantha retorted.
“Yes, it will,” he confirmed. “The least you can do is to be here and do something about it once it’s down.”
“And what exactly can we do?” JJ questioned and Richard silently twirled the notebook once again. “Is that Ian Parker’s journal? And the missing tome?”
“You could say so,” Richard confirmed and Sam folded her arms, resisting the urge to pry the notebook out of his hands. “The Parker tomes are in a safe place now. Better trained eyes than yours tried using the family history to figure out a solution, but whichever path presented as a possibility has too high stakes. This isn’t knowledge you can be trusted with.”
“I’m sick of other people making decisions for me,” Samantha announced, unafraid and unimpressed by his words. “You and our parents had all the possible knowledge and training you could get, and you still screwed it up. We’re not here for you to push your mistakes on us. We get to decide what kind of people we want to be, what kind of coven we want to be, and if we want to destroy the world, we get to decide which outfit to do it in. You had your chance, now it’s ours.”
“That’s a very nice speech, but it won’t get you far,” Richard mused. “I told you before, there are things only a coven can do, and you’re not a coven.”
“What’s in the notebook, Richard?” Samantha demanded.
His grin flashed from the shadows. “Ian’s consideration of possible long-term solutions for the Pandemonium problem Richmond had,” he answered simply. “His ideas about forming the Arch, and his sketch of the spell.”
“Can we have the notebook?” JJ asked politely, in vain.
“What went wrong?” Samantha cut in. “Exactly what happened when you figured out the spell was going wrong?”
“The Arch claimed the lives of those who participated in its creation in the days after its formation,” he explained. “Some sacrificed their lives by entering the Arch instead of those who were afflicted, like Clara did. No one has ever heard of them since.”
“Is there a possibility they’re alive?” Samantha asked.
Richard didn’t answer. Instead, he told her, “Soon, it’ll come to a tipping point and then there will be no going back.” He easily sprung to his feet and hid the black notebook and the tome somewhere in his trench coat. “If you want to be ready for that, you need to forget about the past. It might give you answers you think you need, but it won’t help you get ready for what’s coming. It would be better if you focused your attention on getting that spell off your ring.”
“Only Cathy can take the ring off,” Samantha retorted, annoyed.
“Who said anything about taking the ring off?” Richard asked sourly and stepped away.
Samantha rushed to block him, her eyes meeting his worn gaze. “Is she using the roots to travel between worlds?”
Richard sighed impatiently. “She’s visiting someone’s subconscious at a high risk for her own sanity,” he explained, somewhat amused by Samantha’s insisting.
“Who?”
“The only remaining spellcaster from the creation of the Arch,” Richard said meaningfully before turning away and leaving the porch in even steps.
“That guy gets on my nerves,” JJ confessed as the dark figure disappeared into the dark. “What did he even mean by that? Did you understand what he meant?”
“I think I did, but I’m going to need your help,” Sam told him before returning her gaze to JJ. “We should go. I think Richard just told me how to get my magic back.”
CHAPTER TEN
Day Five
CLARA
Clara poked the ground below her feet, nervously waiting for Helen to join her in front of the mansion. She shifted and moved the backpack to cover more of her back, the weight comforting her. The touch of the object was soothing, and Clara finally understood why Helen insisted on wearing huge scarves.
After yesterday’s encounter with the higher demon, Helen had been recovering. Although there was neither blood nor bruises on Helen’s body, there was a certain emptiness about Helen that Clara couldn’t comprehend. From what Christina shared, the creature was a higher demon and had been far from dead. She added that the only reason Helen was still alive was because she held no interest to the creature. The demon wanted Clara, her life, her energy and her magic, which had given Helen the slight chance to push the monster back to Pandemonium. Luckily, Clara was safe in her home, protected by her mother’s spells even worlds away.
It was hard for Clara to understand what exactly the demon had done to Helen, but she didn’t pry or insist. When Helen weakly appeared in her father’s room that morning and instructed Clara to be ready for a mission into town, she didn’t complain or ask any additional questions.
Clara grew anxious waiting for the trip into town. Although she had known Helen for only a couple of days, Clara was fairly certain being late or moving slowly wasn’t usual behavior for her.
“Are you ready?” Helen asked from behind her, and Clara silently nodded. “We’re going to town now, and I would ask you not to use magic. It’s questionable if I’d be able to defend our lives and I would rather not test my strength.” She waited until her Clara nodded and descended the cobbled stairs, taking in the view before them with a deep breath. “You’re going to meet your father today,” she said and walked away from the house.
Clara unfroze after a brief moment of shock and quickly followed. Her mind couldn’t keep up with the flood of information she had learned in just a few days. For a moment, she felt as if the cold would forever be in her, unable to feel the warmth of understanding again. But knowing she could meet her father? What had started as cold shock turned to warm excitement in an instant. If this was the only good thing she would gain from coming through the Arch, then she would take it.
Helen walked slower with less spunk or defiance than previously. She looked depleted, tired and white. Her face reminded Clara of the dark circles she saw around Sam’s eyes, and she swallowed heavily.
They walked in silence, slowly, and Clara studied the town around her yet again. This time, she purposefully ignored the deterioration and focused on the enduring similarities between this Richmond and hers. Clara counted every tree that seemed vaguely green, every standing house or building, everything she saw only to escape the multitude of questions plaguing her mind.
She was on her way to meet her dead father, so she counted every single step that led her there. Helen was silent, as well, and remained that way until she led Clara right to the town cemetery.
“Is this a joke?” Clara asked, feeling her heart sink.
“No magic can bring back the dead,” Helen remarked, fixing her shawl. “But proper magic can keep the memory of them for quite some time.” She walked slowly toward a formidable white, marble crypt that Clara hadn’t seen before. “You haven’t seen it in Richmond, of course. After I decided to enter the Arch, I was worried some might look for answers in the wrong places. So, I hid it even from magical eyes.” She looked at the heavy doors and stepped away. “I won’t be entering with you. I have a multitude of my own memories.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Clara asked shakily.
Helen hesitated before giving her a stern hug. “Inside, you’ll find tombs of your ancestors. Find your father’s. In front of the plaque, there will be a carved dent. In it, you’ll find amber pebbles. Each pebble is a memory of Ian. Take it in your hand and just let a slow current of magic flow into it. Memorabilia is a powerful spell, and the memories will be vivid. If you feel you can’t handle the intensity, stop.”
“Won’t my magic summon demons?” Clara asked.
Helen diverted her eyes. “You’re safe inside, I made sure of it,” she softly affirmed and opened the crypt doors with a creak.
Clara stepped in, fearful but curious. Inside of the crypt was cold, and Clara realized with surprise that it was the first temperature shift she had noticed in the Arch. She welcomed the change and shivered as she adjusted her shoulders. She strolled through the small room, reading the names and dates until she came across her father’s.
“Ian Parker,” she whispered, caressing the carved name. “Hi, Dad.”
She spotted the amber pebbles in a row below the name and nervously took one into her palm. It felt weightless and warm, and the soft pulsing coming from it mesmerized her. Clara squeezed the pebble in her fist and focused on her magic. Unsure of what to actually do, she let her mind wander, and the room disappeared in a million lights.
***
“You’re terrible at this,” a young, male voice mocked from nearby. “You should ask your mom for a better trainer, Ian, because your aim is pathetic.”
The two young men were standing in a glade, Clara thought it was the woods. One was tall and lean, his dark, curly hair barely staying out of his green eyes. He was fit, but not in the sports kind of way. In the way that young men who are still growing are. The other was shorter, with mousy brown hair and freckles that covered his face, almost obscuring the pale skin beneath.
Ian laughed and picked up the scattered daggers. “Why don’t you suggest that to her, Rich?” Ian answered with a grin, his suggestion greeted with roaring laughter. “How did you get so good anyway?”
“Tina’s been helping me out. That girl aims like a falcon,” the boy said with a wide smile and mischievous eyes. “I’m going to marry her one day.”
“I’m not sure if she’d be up for that trade,” Ian joked and dropped onto the grass, absentmindedly playing with the blades.
“I’m telling you, Ian. I won’t rest until Christina Wentworth agrees to be my wife.”
“You have to actually ask her that before she can say no.”
“I’m giving her a chance to fall deeply in love with me first.” The boy laughed nervously and playfully pushed Ian. “When are you going to ask Cathy?”
“It’s complicated.”
“The cat’s out of the bag, Ian. There’s no one to hide the relationship from anymore. This isn’t like the old times, anyway. Who cares what the coven thinks?”
“It’s not my coven to make that decision,” Ian explained. “Geraldine came to see me today.”
“Cathy’s mom? What did she want?”
“She...” Ian sighed and dropped the dagger. “She told me that if I want to take her daughter as a wife, there’s a Smith ring waiting for me when I’m ready to ask for her hand in marriage.”
“She offered you an heirloom? Who knew Geraldine was rooting for you.”
“Right?” Ian plucked a bit of grass. “There are things I have to finish here, Rich. I have to leave this town better than we found it.”
“You don’t owe this town anything.” His friend patted him on the back and happily laid on the ground. “You should do it next equinox. Just ask her, she’ll say yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“She’s my best friend. You’re my best friend. I know how you guys breathe,” he explained gleefully. “Just ask her. By then, Christina’s going to be madly in love with me, the four of us can grab that dream car of mine and we just ride south.”
Ian laughed without a worry for a moment and playfully punched his friend in the shoulder. “How south do we go in that dream of yours?”
“As far as the south goes, man.”
***
The crypt reassembled before Clara’s eyes and she breathed in deeply with shock. The green plane was gone, so was the sunshine. She was in a cold, bleak crypt.
That was her father. Her father who was real as she was, talking about
his future, about her mom. Talking with his best friend Richard Gaskill, young, joyful, laughing. He reminded her of JJ, the smiling JJ before magic came into their lives. Clara shakily placed the pebble back in line and hesitantly chose another.
***
A loud bang echoed across the field and Ian struggled to get up from the floor.
“Did I get you?” the scrawny boy nearby asked, a maleficent smile hiding in the corner of his lips.
“Not at all,” Ian responded, cleaning grass away from his pants and sweater. “That was really well done.”
“I’m good at offensive spells,” the boy said arrogantly and rubbed his hands. “Should we try again?”
“No need,” Ian answered absently, squinting toward the horizon.
***
The memory ended abruptly, and Clara frowned. It must’ve malfunctioned. She placed the amber back in line with the others and ghosted her hand over them for a moment, wishing she could flick between them like between TV channels. She closed her eyes and randomly selected one, breathed in and let the magic flow.
***
“As soon as it’s done, we go,” Ian said excitedly, kissing her hand. The young woman had straight hair, down to her waist, in the lightest blonde Clara had ever seen. Her skirt hugged the ground as she looked up at Ian with glowing eyes.
She smiled through a frown. “Where do we go?” You could hear the playfulness in her voice.
“Wherever you want. South, east. Choose.”
“Anything?” Her head turned up now, just inches from his lips.
“Anything.”
“How about... New York City?”
“NYC?” He pulled back a moment before placing his lips on hers, surprised.
“Yes,” she teased, the sparkles in her eyes giving her feelings away. “Let’s go to NYC and be disgustingly happy.” Her smile was incandescent. They were happy. They were in love.