But as the night wore on, it had become painfully obvious that her courage would remain elusive. Still, it was nice to get out, and she’d heard a few good poems. The MC for the night, Purple Scarf, had been quite annoying, though, unloading a steady stream of jokes that only he seemed to find amusing.
“Well then, if there are no other takers, I’ll close out the night with a piece I call ‘The One Who Got Away.’”
A few of those left in the theater got up to leave, and Karen followed suit. She figured this wasn’t anything she really cared to hear. Still, as she walked down the short hallway and up the steps that led to the coffee bar, Purple Scarf’s voice carried as if chasing her.
Your eyes haunt me
Your voice excites me
You made me want you
But you don’t want me
Well, fuck you you teasing bitch!
Karen groaned and wondered just who Purple Scarf was related to that got him the gig as MC of Open Mic Poetry Night. She walked past patrons sitting at tables or in groups on sofas and chairs placed throughout the narrow space of Coffee Underground, everyone ensconced in bubbles of laughter and conversation, little social islands from which she was barred. She saw some faces she recognized from campus, but no one spoke to her and she spoke to no one.
On her way out, she stopped at the front counter and ordered a blueberry-bubble tea for the road. Outside, she walked up the stone steps to street level and turned right on Main, heading toward where she’d parked near the Springwood Cemetery.
She walked down the busy street on autopilot, her feet taking her where she needed to go, weaving her in and out of crowds of people congregated in clusters. Her mind was on other matters. Foremost was Penelope; she was opening Karen’s eyes to so many possibilities. Already she felt less like a freak.
But also on Karen’s mind was Bobby. She definitely liked him, but she didn’t want to get overly invested in someone who would not reciprocate her feelings. True, he hadn’t come out and said he was homosexual. His exact words had been that he “wasn’t like other guys.” What could that mean if not gay? Maybe he just meant that because of his troubles—and clearly he was a troubled young man—he wasn’t in a place for a relationship of any kind right now. Hell, for all Karen knew, Bobby could be on some kind of medication that made him impotent.
There were many variables that might or might not be at play, and Karen supposed she’d never know for sure until she got to know him better. But Penelope had said that she had a gut feeling that this could become more than just a friendship. Perhaps the librarian was just trying to be nice and encouraging, but Penelope had proven she was a powerful woman with a lot of insight into people. Then again, she’d never actually met Bobby. Could she sense things about people she’d never had any contact with?
Karen was musing on all this when she became aware of two people walking with her, one on either side. A stocky man in his mid-forties on her right and a twenty-something wisp of a woman on her left. Could have been coincidence, just a couple of pedestrians going the same direction, but when Karen slowed her pace, so did they, and when she sped up, so did they.
She tensed, then reminded herself that she was on a busy street in the heart of downtown; it wasn’t as if she were alone in some back alley. Feeling emboldened, she turned to the woman and, trying to keep her voice light said, “So are we Siamese triplets or what?”
The young woman glanced at her. There was a heaviness in her stare that was unnerving. “Hello, Karen.”
Karen stopped suddenly, causing a group of skater boys behind her to curse and veer around her. “How do you know my name?”
The man answered. “You don’t have to be afraid of us. We just need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere for a drink maybe?”
“I’ve already got a drink,” Karen said, holding up her paper cup. “Besides, I don’t talk to strangers...even if they do know my name.”
She started to walk off, but the man took her elbow. He didn’t grab her and his grip was not tight, but it still alarmed her enough to consider throwing her tea in his face. Of course, the tea was iced so she wasn’t sure how effective that would be.
“I’m Night Eagle, and my friend here is Crashing Waves,” the man said.
Karen jerked her arm out of his grip. “That so? Those the names on your birth certificate?”
“Those are our chosen Wiccan names,” Crashing Waves said.
Karen was getting ready to bolt, but this stopped her. “What exactly is this about?”
Night Eagle said, “We need to discuss your association with Morgane Aster.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking....” Then Karen realized that she did know who they were talking about. Morgane Aster, Penelope’s “witch name.”
Karen walked to the edge of the sidewalk, next to a bike rack. Eagle and Waves joined her. “I’m not going anywhere with you guys, but I’ll give you five minutes to tell me what you want from me.”
“We mean you no harm,” Waves said. “We just need to warn you about Morgane.”
“Look, we’re not part of some World of Warcraft guild, so let’s stop with the aliases. I’m Karen, we’re talking about Penelope...and you are?”
Eagle visibly stiffened and his mouth tightened. Karen suspected he might be a World of Warcrafter. “Fine, my name is Boden.”
“And I’m Avandale,” the young woman said.
“I said we were going to use real names.”
“That is my real name.”
“Oh...my condolences.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. What is it you want to tell me about Penelope?”
“You can’t trust her,” Boden said. “She isn’t your friend.”
“Is that so?”
Avandale placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder and leaned nearer. “It is. She just wants to use you, your power.”
“And what makes you think you know anything about my friendship with Penelope? You don’t even know me.”
“But we know Morgane,” Boden said. “Or Penelope, if you prefer. We know how her mind works.”
Brushing Avandale’s hand from her shoulder as if it were a mosquito, Karen said, “So I’m guessing you guys are a part of her ex-coven.”
Avandale glanced at Boden then back at Karen. “She told you about us?”
“She told me she didn’t see eye to eye with your little group so you went your separate ways.”
“Is that what she told you?” Boden said with a smirk. “That’s a nice, sanitized, Disney version of what happened.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We banished her,” Avandale said.
“Banished? What, did you also brand her with a scarlet letter? You’re sounding a little medieval here.”
Boden took a step toward her but stopped when she stepped back. “I know you think Penelope is your friend, but you don’t know her. Not the way we know her. She’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous…how?”
Avandale answered: “True Wiccans respect the natural world. We understand that our powers come from the Earth. We do not use our gifts to pervert natural laws, and we have a strict code of ethics to which we adhere. First and foremost is to do nothing that would harm others.”
“And you’re saying Penelope uses her powers to harm others?”
“She is tampering with dark, destructive rituals and entities,” Boden said. “The forces she seeks to harness are abominations, powers no mortal should possess.”
Karen laughed, which seemed to disconcert the two witches. “So you kicked her out of your little club because you thought she was getting too powerful? Sounds like just some kind of Wiccan pissing contest to me.”
“You don’t understand,” Avandale said. “You need to listen to us.”
“So now you’re an expert on what I need, are you? I think this conversation has gone on long enough.”
She turned and hurried off toward her car. Behind her she heard Boden
call out, “Just trust your instincts, Karen. I sense great power in you running below the surface.”
Karen did not stop or look back. She pushed her way through everyone in her path, not pausing until she reached her car. Once she was inside with the doors locked, she glanced over her shoulder, afraid she would see the two witches coming after her, but much to her relief they were nowhere to be seen.
She started the car and pulled away from the curb, heading back toward campus.
* * *
Boden and Avandale sat down on a bench just outside a Thai restaurant. “I told you the direct approach wouldn’t work,” Avandale said.
“We’re trying to save the girl from Morgane’s deception; it just doesn’t seem right for us to use deception to do it.”
“What Morgane is planning…well, we have to do everything we possibly can to stop her. You felt it as well as I did, Karen is brimming with potential, more than she realizes. And you can bet Morgane senses it and plans to use it to her advantage. Do you want to see her succeed?”
“Of course not. Maybe we can talk to Karen again. This method was a bit of an ambush; you were right about that. But maybe the situation can still be salvaged. You’re closer to her age, maybe if you could talk to her one-on-one….”
“I think we’ve botched that idea.”
“Maybe someone else from the coven. Maybe they won’t even have to introduce themselves as part of the coven. They could get to know her first, win her trust.”
“You don’t think Karen’s going to run straight back to Morgane and tell her about us? I’m sure Morgane will give her the rundown on all of us, maybe even show her photographs. I think we’ve missed our shot to approach her directly.”
“So you think…?”
“We better meet tonight,” Avandale said. “I think we’re going to have to call on Jacoby.”
Chapter 6
Penelope lived in a quiet residential neighborhood. Not a gated community, but one with nice, prefabricated homes, each a variation on one of four- or five-floor plans. Penelope’s was a one-story, two-bedroom ranch-style with an attached garage, a small vegetable garden in the side yard, and a bed of hydrangeas out front.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” Karen said as the librarian ushered her into the small, rather messy living room.
Penelope shoved some magazines and books from the left side of the sofa to the already cluttered right side. “What, did you think I’d live in a gothic castle or maybe a decrepit old house with creaking doors and lightning striking overhead?”
Karen felt herself blush. “I don’t really know what I was expecting. I’m just being dumb.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Penelope said with a good-natured smile, “my broomstick’s in the kitchen.”
Laughing, Karen sat, causing a small avalanche of books to tumble onto her lap. She gathered them up and stacked them on the floor by her feet. Aleister Crowley was on top. Karen vaguely knew the name, thought he had some connection with black magick but wasn’t really sure.
“I made some tea. You sit tight and I’ll go fetch it.”
Karen nodded as Penelope disappeared down a short hallway that presumably led to the kitchen. Left alone, Karen smoothed her skirt then let her eyes dart around the room. It wasn’t exactly a pigsty, but there was a thin layer of dust on every surface. A wineglass with a red residue sat on a moisture-ringed coffee table, which was also laden with books and loose papers. A bookshelf in the far corner was ironically empty of books, containing instead porcelain figurines, as well as a shelf of colored crystals. The fireplace was filled with soot so thick it might have been accumulating for the past decade. There were boxes lined up along the walls, as if Penelope had just moved in, despite the fact that she’d told Karen she’d lived in the house for over a year.
Penelope came back into the room carrying a burnished silver tray on which sat a ceramic teapot and two mismatched cups. There was little room on the coffee table for the tray, so she balanced it precariously on a stack of books.
“It’s Rooibos, a South African vanilla tea.”
Karen took one of the cups and sniffed at the steaming brew. “Smells good. I’m not sure I’ve ever had hot tea before.”
“Well, we are in the South, home of the Sweet Iced Tea,” Penelope said, taking her own cup and sitting on the arm of a recliner piled high with file folders and loose paper. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. Believe it or not, I actually straightened up before you arrived.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Karen said, thinking of her younger brother Kip’s room back in West Virginia.
“I tend to be a bit of a scatterbrain, and that seems to manifest itself in a cluttered house.”
“Your office at the library is pretty neat.”
“Well, you’ll notice I have very few personal items at the office. That’s the only way I can keep it tidy.”
Karen nodded and sipped her tea. It tasted quite delicious. Warmth spread down her throat and into her stomach.
“So,” Penelope said, “once we’ve finished our tea, I’ll take you out back and show you my Circle. Have you thought about a name?”
Karen chewed on her lip for a moment, then nodded.
“Don’t be shy. Let’s hear it.”
“I was thinking about…Still Waters.”
“Still Waters…,” Penelope said, stroking her throat. “I like it.”
“You do? Really?”
“Yes, fitting I think. Has sort of a Native American ring to it. In fact, some members of my old coven had Native American-sounding names.”
Karen’s body clenched, and she wondered if the librarian was reading her thoughts or if this was mere coincidence. She’d gotten quite good at shielding her thoughts but she hadn’t been trying. Either way, this was the perfect opportunity. “Well, actually, since you bring it up—”
“Ah, you were contacted by some of my old friends, I take it?”
“Yes, I don’t even know how they knew who I was.”
“I think they’ve been keeping tabs on me ever since our paths diverged. I figured it was only a matter of time before they approached you, although I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to be so soon, otherwise I would have warned you. Who was it?”
“The man called himself Night Eagle and the woman Crashing Waves.”
“Those two,” Penelope said with a chuckle. “What did they tell you? That I’m a wicked old witch and someone needs to drop a house on me?”
“Something like that. They said that you were banished from the coven?”
“That’s true, they did ask me to leave.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“Nothing specific. Just something about you trying to break the ‘natural laws,’ or something to that effect.”
“And therein lies the conflict between me and them. They have self-imposed too many constraints and limitations on themselves.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“You know what I hate about Christianity? Too many arbitrary rules and restrictions about right and wrong. With the Earth Religion, such concepts are irrelevant. Not to say there aren’t ethics, but they are…bendable. Ultimately the only real rule is to respect the power you wield. But the coven…well, they came up with all these regulations about what we should and shouldn’t do, minimizing what we could accomplish because they deemed too much power ‘wrong.’ They were getting a little too Christian for my taste, and when they found out I was attempting some of the spells they had forbidden, they booted me.”
Now Karen leaned forward, enthralled. “What kind of spells?”
Penelope was silent for a moment, looking indecisive, as if unsure what to tell Karen. Finally she sighed and said, “Well, the one that I think did it was when I attempted to reanimate a dead dog.”
“Reanimate? Wait, you mean…you brought a dead dog back to life?”
“Let’s just say I made the attempt. It didn’t exact
ly go as planned.”
“So it didn’t work?”
“Yes and no. The dog was reanimated in that it moved around, but it did not breathe, its heart did not beat. It was not truly alive.”
“So it was…what? A zombie?”
“More like a puppet, I’d say, with my power pulling the strings.”
“And the coven wasn’t happy about it?”
“That would be a major understatement. They reacted as if I’d raised a zombie horde of undead animals to kill babies and rape old women or something. For them, there was no middle ground. Didn’t matter that my spell was unsuccessful; the very attempt was enough to get me kicked out. They said I didn’t respect the natural laws of life and death.”
Karen opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t want to offend Penelope, but there were things she felt she needed to know. “So you don’t think there’s anything wrong with attempting to bring the dead back to life?”
“Do you?” Penelope asked with an intense stare that caused Karen to glance down into the murky depths of her tea.
“I don’t know. I mean, it does seem kind of unnatural.”
“Do you think death is natural?”
“Well, it happens to everybody. It’s sort of inevitable.”
“That’s true, but how you die...now that’s a different story.”
Karen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When I hear the term ‘natural death,’ I think of someone passing away from old age or disease. But not every death is natural.”
“You mean, like murder?”
Penelope didn’t answer right away. She drank her tea and seemed to consider the question. “A coroner would consider murder unnatural death, but I actually think it depends.”
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