Wickedly They Dream

by Cathrina Constantine

“Oh my God. Help.” Her voice scraped amid torn breaths. “The pain.”

  The room tilted on its axis as the floor rose to meet her.

  She crumpled.

  DO NOT TRUST IN EXTORTION

  SWOOPING TO THE floor, Markus knelt by her side. He sent a ruthless glower at Grogan. “What are you doing to her? Stop it!”

  “It’s not coming from me.” Grogan hoisted his arms in the air publicizing innocence.

  Markus’s eyes darted to Camille, who’d jumped to her stocking feet.

  “And it’s not coming from Camille. The spell is radiating externally.”

  Jordan heard voices, faraway voices. Seeley was screaming, shredding Jordan’s brain into thin strips. She had an image of her mom bowing over in agony.

  “Mom.” Squashing her eyelids shut, she strived to concentrate through the pain. “Mom’s calling me,” she managed to say between spasms. “She needs me. Now.” She tried to stand, clinging to her angel for support. “I have to go to her.”

  “What are you willing to offer?” Grogan wheezed, pointing a crooked finger in Ezekiel’s face. “For the lives of Seeley and Jordan?” He backpedaled. Spinning like a top, he resembled a swirling derby with his silky robe twirling about him.

  “I’d give my spirit for their lives,” Ezekiel snarled.

  His response provoked the sorcerer into a round of cheering expletives.

  Javelins of blue lightning lancing out of his fingertips, Grogan threw his arms toward the ceiling. The blue-charged electricity intertwined upon itself, forming a roiling, blistering power ball. A buffeting wind added to the mayhem and the spectrum of neon fixtures seemed to generate power, the entire sector became energized. Grogan unleashed the power ball, targeting Ezekiel.

  “Nooo!” Markus screamed.

  Ezekiel hardened his stance and took the full brunt of the sorcerer’s magic. He was enshrouded in a burning tomb, trapped.

  “What have you done?” said a terrorized Jordan. The bluish-white lightning sphere crackled as Zeke appeared to writhe in torment.

  “Now that I have your undivided attention,” said Grogan. “We can begin.”

  Markus charged the sorcerer in a fit of wrath. “I will snap you in two. You bastard.”

  “He accepted my offer.” Grogan’s eyeballs protruded as Markus reached for his throat. “Ezekiel is my bargaining chip. If you kill me,” he gasped as Markus’s fingers tightened around his neck, “he dies. His spirit will die with me.”

  “Stop. Markus!” Jordan scolded, while Camille stood by, snickering at the performance. “Grogan’s human. You can’t kill him.” She hopped onto Markus as if she was going for a piggyback ride, trying to impede him.

  “I can and I will.”

  “Ezekiel will die, Markus. He’ll die!”

  “He can’t die,” Markus said, baring his teeth.

  “I bound—” Grogan gagged, “—our spirits. He will die.”

  As if touching something repulsive, Markus’s hands snapped off Grogan’s neck, and Jordan slid off his back to the floor.

  Grogan staggered, pawing his throat. Mouth wide, he gulped oxygen. Camille was at his side, handing him the goblet. He sipped gingerly while, at the same time, elongating his neck like a turtle coming out of its shell.

  “Have we settled down?” His voice came out scratchy, and he wheezed even more. Then he revolved his arms like a pinwheel. A spectrum of lightning bolts flew into the sorcerer, setting him aglow. The room dissolved into darkness, except for a sparking Grogan and the bluish-white sphere housing Ezekiel.

  Grogan had recharged. His skin-tone glittered. “We can end this tonight.” He sounded revived. “I give you my promise. Ezekiel will be released when the deed is completed.”

  “Markus,” Jordan implored. “I hate to leave Ezekiel like this, but I have to help Mom.”

  Markus turned toward his caged brother. He knew that the supreme sacrifice of laying down one’s spirit to save a life was beyond human comprehension. His eyes probed the blue hemisphere, and he appeared struck with the oppression of Ezekiel’s agony.

  “Can he hear us?”

  “Yes.”

  Markus raised his hand and approached the power ball.

  “Don’t touch,” Grogan yelped. “You’ll get pulled in.”

  “My brother, I feel your pain.”

  Ezekiel’s countenance quaked. Girding his strength, he said, “Go. Save Seeley.”

  When Markus turned back to the sorcerer, Grogan was scavenging in his robe pockets. He withdrew a silver cylinder. “Here,” he said to Jordan, proffering it to her. “Seeley must drink this.”

  “How do I know it’s not poison?” She stared at the polished silver, now mirroring the blue light.

  “I guess you’ll have to trust me, won’t you?”

  “I don’t trust you at all. You’re just as slimy and immoral as Asa Trebane.”

  “Hah!” Grogan coughed. “I take that as a great compliment. Asa was, and always will be, the best sorcerer that ever lived.” He strode to Jordan, the cylinder held like a trophy between his thumb and forefinger. “This is very, very serious magic. It will weaken the curse, and eventually disperse the enchantment altogether.”

  “Will it hurt the baby?”

  “That’s why Seeley must drink it. Her blood flows into the fetus. It will take time for the magic potion to dispose of the curse.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Will it hurt the baby?”

  Grogan seemed tentative. “It depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  He stifled his response and walked to Camille. Exhibiting fondness, he stroked the scarred side of her face. Miraculously, Camille’s scars and melted eyelid were healed. Her skin appeared to excel in radiance. She was again the lovely girl Jordan had first met.

  Camille touched her fingers to her supple skin, and an ear-to-ear smile adorned her face.

  “My gift to you, my dear Camille, if you achieve what we’ve discussed,” Grogan said. “Do not fail me.” Like a master magician, he splayed his fingers in front of her. The charred, ruddy skin returned.

  “Go!” he bellowed. The rafters vibrated upon his command.

  Jordan felt unfulfilled. He had not divulged specific answers, yet, as she tried to speak, her throat compressed, choking on her inquiries.

  She knew where the spell was coming from and sneered at the sorcerer. The nod of his mangy head infuriated her as his obscene jaw line contracted.

  Jordan uncapped the cylinder and tipped it to her tongue.

  Markus released a sharp intake of breath.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the sorcerer yelled, walking toward Jordan. “You impertinent girl.”

  Less than a drop sank into her mouth and recapping the container, she rolled her tongue. She felt normal, no side effects.

  “Tastes like water. I had to make sure it wasn’t poison, didn’t I?”

  “You’re playing with fire.” Grogan said with a feral grin. “Hurry, it might be too late if you dawdle.”

  Camille and Markus were already jogging down the staircase. Jordan took one last look at the blue electrified haze. “Hold on, Zeke.”

  POWERFUL ILLUSION

  CAMILLE PEELED DOWN the street with the finesse of a racecar driver, weaving in and out of traffic, with Jordan riding shotgun. Markus, stationed in the backseat, leaned with his elbows over the two-bucket seats. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said to Camille as she pressed the gas pedal.

  “I don’t.” She looked at Jordan. “Well?”

  “I know exactly where she is.” Jordan brushed a hand over her brow then looked at Markus. “She’s at that…that church.”

  Markus stiffened then slumped into his seat.

  Camille performed a right hand turn. “I definitely know the way.”

  “I’ll be back,” Markus said.

  “What’d you mean?” Jordan swiveled to peer at him. “Where are you going?”

  “To see if I can rally up some help
.”

  “Like who?”

  His lips curved appealingly. “I have friends in high places.”

  “I thought they weren’t supposed to interfere?”

  “You’re right,” Markus said, transforming into his angelic state. “Only if it’s unavoidable.” He disintegrated into nothingness.

  “Angels can’t enter the church’s domain,” Camille said with a satisfied smile. “At least not holy angels.”

  “That was also believed about Trebane’s mansion, too.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not helping to disband the wards protecting the church.”

  “You could,” Jordan urged. “Couldn’t you?”

  “Are you shitting me?” Camille blasted Jordan with one of her if-looks-could-kill expressions. “I’m not that stupid love sick girl anymore. I’m over Mark.”

  “It feels like old times to me,” Jordan debated, hoping to quash the hatred. “Deep down, you want to be back in Elma with the girls. With Cayden and Paisley. Having good times. Entering your senior year of high school. Being normal.”

  “What makes you think that?” Camille quipped. Freeing a hand from the steering wheel, she rubbed the side of her warped face. “It will never happen.”

  “We could make it happen,” Jordan assured her. She was hanging out on a limb, and it was brittle. “Markus and Ezekiel will help.” She truly was deceitful. It didn’t bode well, and felt a tad of remorse. “You’ll miss watching the jocks playing football and the winter ball, and then the senior pro—”

  “Stop,” cried Camille. “Stop right now. I’m dead to those people.”

  Jordan noticed liquid pearls tripping over Camille’s eyelids. She’d cracked the girl, somewhat. “Ronan…um. Sorry. I mean, Camille,” she whispered, “it’s never too late to start over. You’re young. You can redeem yourself. I know you can. Help us.”

  Jordan nearly flew through the windshield as the car braked. Cutting her gaze toward Camille, thunder rolled across the girl’s face and her pulse throbbed at her temples.

  “Get out! Get out!” Camille screamed. “Get out of this car this instant, or I’ll throw you out.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  Horns blared as the car had stopped dead in the middle of the road. All of a sudden, her door flew open and Jordan went spinning into the roadway. The door magically clunked shut. Leaving her sprawled in the road. The car sped away.

  Jordan climbed to her feet, brushing dirt and tiny pebbles that had implanted themselves into the palms of her hands. “That didn’t go well.” She spotted the people in the nearby vehicles giving her crass finger gestures for holding up traffic.

  “I guess I’m hoofing it.” Unfamiliar with this section of the city, she walked to the sidewalk and asked a stranger, “Which way to Marine Drive?”

  Her feet took off at warp speed and glanced skyward to get her bearings. The inky heavens came flooding over the city, yet the bright lights kept the darkness at bay. A streetlight spilled into the mouth of a dismal alley, reflecting a tangle of gyrating fleshy bodies. Jordan accelerated, and turned up the jets. Detouring past the demon vibes she sensed everywhere.

  Motorcycles laced through snarled traffic, and taxi drivers shouted in a foreign language. She wished she’d brought some money. A taxi would’ve been ideal. She galloped onward in pursuit of saving Seeley and ventured into a less populated section, with fewer stragglers skittering to and fro. Deprived of the neon lights, the avenues grew darker.

  She found herself in a neglected part of the city, and shrieked as a rat the size of a terrier crossed her path. Buildings with broken windows and vandalized doorways lined the street, yet here and there, light shone through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

  Dumpsters spewed garbage throughout the squalid alley. And the onslaught of fetid odor had her blinking and tweaking her nose as her sneakers plowed through the trash. A skulking shadow emerged from the gloom. A man with malicious intent walked toward her. Then just as quickly, his eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost, and he ran in the opposite direction.

  Jordan smirked. He’d seen the ethereal Markus treading protectively beside her. She’d felt his presence only a moment before. “Thanks, Markus. I didn’t have to lift a finger.”

  “Anytime.”

  Up ahead, an oriental woman with skin like alabaster, in contrast to her gleaming blue-black hair, huddled with two men beneath an old-fashioned gas lamp. One man, with his back to Jordan, peered over his shoulder, watching her. His hair covered half of his face. The one visible eye, locking on Jordan, was distinctly red. Faster than any human could move, he yanked his hands from his pockets and squatted on his haunches.

  A trace of fear radiated from his body as he froze. Then his upper lip curled in acute anger, flashing pointed incisors and making gross sucking noises.

  Jordan lagged. Vampires? I need to stop watching those spooky movies. Soundlessly, all three plunged into the murkiness.

  “Thanks again, Markus. You really scare the hell out of them.”

  “If only it was always that easy,” Markus said with a crisp edge to his voice. “Do not go into the church until I come back.”

  “What’s going on? I thought you were getting reinforcements?”

  “And I thought Camille was driving you here,” Markus replied. “What happened?”

  “Deceit wasn’t working for me.”

  “Deceit?”

  “Tried to get the old Ronan back to Elma.” With a wry brow, Jordan glanced at him. “You know the gist. Repayment for sins. Help us ward off those nasty thingamabobs?”

  “From the looks of things, she didn’t take the bait.” His ethereal appearance withered from view like a figment of her imagination. Cogent and clear, his words, “Wait for me,” drifted in the air.

  “Great, thanks for leaving me alone, Markus.” Jordan pirouetted in a circle, browsing her environment. The church was within shouting distance, but at night, her calculations could be skewed.

  In the dinginess of the decimated zone, she suddenly felt the need to halt as her brain leaped into a precise visualization. Jordan loosened the restraints on her consciousness.

  Descending along a columned hallway, she knew her way well and ignored the ornate framed picture. Marching toward the soft light and gurgling baby, she wasted little time. There was Seeley looking directly at her as if she’d been waiting. Drenched in maternal happiness, Seeley bowed her head toward the infant.

  Rooted in the vision, Jordan couldn’t fathom why. Why now? There is a reason. A solution. Even in her trance state, the cogs of her brain functioned seamlessly as she leaned to look into the baby’s eyes. Wait! Don’t look. Not yet!

  It was as if she’d hit an invisible shield. In the vision, she stood still. Her fingers fiddled with something cold and round in her pocket. As in her preceding dreams, she’d been afraid to produce the blade. There is a better solution. God would not ordain killing the baby. She was positive.

  Saturated in palpable self-doubt, she mentally screamed. Think, think, think! Slowly opening her eyes, she met Seeley’s gaze and lifted her hand with the answer. There it is. A cylinder tube. Uncapping the tube, she handed the concoction to her mom.

  “Drink,” she ordered, her voice sounding far away, dreamy.

  Seeley paused, then took the cylinder and tipped the contents into her mouth. The tube fell from her mom’s fingers, rolling onto the floor.

  Jordan bent over the infant cradled in her mom’s arms. The newborn cherub opened its eyes. The infant’s pupil’s looked freaky with eddying tinges of black, blue, and, lastly, red. Like a spinning top losing sped, the primary tint of the eyes softened to a warm blue with a defined black pupil.

  Relief, however, was short-lived as Seeley belted out a bone-chilling scream.

  LYING ON HER back in the middle of the filth and garbage, Jordan blinked and stared at the star-strewn heavens. She must’ve fallen during the trance. Her mom’s scream still ringing in her ears, she rolled onto her side and cr
awled to her feet.

  Remembering the vision, she rammed her hand into her pocket. The cylinder tube that Grogan had given her was gone. What could that possibly mean? Not just a vision, an illusion, but somehow real?

  Subsequent to her the apparition of Father James in the woods, Markus had answered Jordan’s query as to why her prophetic visions occurred mainly during the night while sleeping. During the evening hours, her brain was unchained by daily interferences, a perfect opportunity to breach her psyche. Seldom had intact visions rocked her during the day, though it was now happening more often.

  Gathering her wits, she estimated her whereabouts and knew time was of the essence.

  Still loopy from her trance, and in the middle of a ninety-degree turn, she was clobbered from the side and jettisoned into a pile of rubble.

  Uttering a winded, “Oomph” and knocking the breath out of Jordan’s lungs, the interloper caged her in a fierce hold.

  CAN A MERE HUMAN

  ALTER A PREMONITION

  VITALITY POURED INTO Jordan’s bloodstream. She twisted, planting her feet in the interloper’s gut, and bucked like an ornery bronco. Her assailant flew through the air. She crouched into a fighter’s stance, watching the shadowy form solidify into a man with pale hair.

  A grumble reached her ears as he pounced.

  She executed a roundhouse kick to his jaw. The attacker feinted sideways, and her foot nicked his cheekbone. He barreled into Jordan’s unprotected midsection. Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she halted his momentum and blocked him from throwing her onto her back. A sharp elbow to his spine loosened his hold, and she followed up with three consecutive knee jabs to his torso. She cupped the back of his head and slammed him into the ground then backpedaled.

  Utilizing her telekinesis, she latched on to any available rubbish. Broken bottles, cast away hypodermic syringes, and serrated metal cans ascended and hovered above the ground. Like a cop directing traffic, Jordan gestured her arm toward the hulking shadow.

  The implements rocketed at the man. Her menagerie of zooming weapons stopped, and in an unforeseen turn of events, changed trajectory and hurled toward her. Taken by surprise, she quickly threw up a protective force field, deflecting the objects within inches of her body and leaving her unharmed.