Eliza's Shadow

by Catherine Wittmack

  Nan nodded in assent, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Alright then. I respect that. What about Jack Connelly?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

  I paused thoughtfully for a moment and recalled the distrustful expression on Jack’s face the day Ren and I left the tea house after I learned that I was a witch.

  “Do you know for a fact that he’s been talking about me? What does he say?” I asked Nan.

  Nan nodded. “Obviously, Jack has affection for you Eliza and the heated discussion you had with Ren in his tea house raised his dander. He’s been asking people around town about Ren, checking into his character, you know, that kind of talk. He hasn’t seen your aunt Jane lately but it won’t be long before he crosses her path and when he does, he intends to bring it up with her.” Nan’s lips drew together in an expression of irritation.

  I imagined the fact that Jack was speaking unkindly of her grandson was something that bothered her more than me. However, the last thing I needed right now was to have to defend my relationship with Ren to Jane, which was the tipping point.

  “Ok, let’s try it. You’re sure we’re not going to hurt him, right?” I asked Nan sternly.

  Nan laid a hand across her heart and smiled. “I promise Eliza. Obviously, I have not entirely gained your trust yet so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I do not practice evil witchcraft. If I had any doubt about our ability to cast this spell safely I would never even attempt it.” She stated direly.

  I nodded in acceptance of her promise. “It’s not that I don’t trust you Nan. It’s just that so far, nothing I’ve done has come out exactly as I intended.” I said shaking my head.

  Nan chuckled and patted my shoulder. “That’s the way it goes at first, Eliza. And that is exactly why you need practice, practice, practice.” She said with exuberance and hopped to her feet.

  “Alright then, let’s gather our ingredients, shall we?” She said extending a hand to me.

  I took her outstretched hand and rose to my feet. As soon as I gained my balance, Nan was off darting down one of the narrow aisles of the greenhouse.

  “Eliza, can you bring the book with you? Better make sure we don’t forget anything!” She shouted back at me.

  I scooped the book up with one hand and took a minute to review the list of ingredients.

  For this spell you will need:

  Leaf and sprig of Adder’s tongue for direction

  Fresh bud of Clove to weaken the gossip

  Fresh Dodder, any variety will do, for strangulation

  Dried or fresh leaf of Peppermint to dispel wicked thoughts

  I shook my head in amazement at the descriptions listed in the book then set off swiftly after Nan who was quickly fading into the foliage. When I finally caught up with her, she was leaning over a large flowerbed lush with an informal growth of plants. Most of the plants looked like weeds. Yet Nan’s glasses were perched on the tip of her nose and she picked through the rangy greenery with an air of purpose.

  “This here is adder’s tongue. It’s easy to spot. See how the sprig sprouts next to the fan leaf?” She gestured instructionally, peering at me over the top of her glasses.

  I squinted at the weedy looking plant, attempting to discern its unique qualities from the rest.

  “Ah, well, there are pictures in the book. When you need to find something, you can use your guide. I suppose you shouldn’t worry about that for your first spell.” She mumbled after absorbing my confounded expression.

  She turned her attention back to the bed and plucked leaves and buds off several of the plants without further discussion, all the while stuffing the contents hastily into the pouch in her apron.

  “Alright, then. That should do it.” She said looking satisfied after a cursory review of the list from the book she’d taken out of my grasp. She turned on her heel and headed in the direction of the table where we’d left the dodder.

  Nan spread the spoils of our harvest along the table in neat little piles and studied them individually as one would inspect the quality of fruit in a market. She laid the book on the table, leaving it open to the page containing the spell’s instructions.

  “We just need one last essential item.” She muttered excitedly before retrieving a medium sized cast iron pot from a shelf against the wall.

  “Our cauldron.” She said with a wink in my direction.

  “Alright Eliza. Now for your first casting lesson, come stand next me so that you can follow along.” She directed squinting down at the instructions in the book resting on the table.

  I quickly stepped to her side and glanced down to review the instructions as well.

  1. In sequential order (Adder’s tongue, Clove, Dodder, Peppermint leaf) add a thimbleful of each herb to your cauldron. Use the same hand to select and add all herbs.

  2. Once all herbs have been properly added to the cauldron, ignite contents with a clean flame*. USE OPPOSITE HAND or that of a fellow witch to toss the flame.

  3. Repeat the name of the gossip monger three times before chanting the spell below. Take care to complete the chant before the smoke dissipates. Should the fire go out before you have completed the chant, the spell is useless and you must dispose of the cauldron contents and repeat steps one through three.

  I read the fine print on the bottom of the page.

  * Clean flame – a flame originated by magical means and unpolluted by a physical catalyst.

  I lifted my eyes from the page to find Nan’s watchful gaze upon my face.

  “Would you prefer the ingredients or the flame?” She asked pointedly.

  I pondered the thought for a split second before remembering that I had no idea how to produce a clean flame.

  “Uh, ingredients, I guess.” I said.

  Nan’s lips spread across her face as if to smile but halted in a line and her brows drew together.

  “Alright then, Adder’s tongue first.” She prompted and nudged my elbow gently.

  I gingerly took a pinch of each herb and dropped them into the pit of the pot. When the last ingredient was added my shoulders sunk in relief and I turned to Nan for assistance.

  I cleared my throat before speaking. “How are you going to make a clean flame?” I asked tentatively, hoping my question did not disrupt the flow of the spell.

  Nan did not answer my question. Her eyelids lowered, leaving just a slit of iris showing. An arm drifted from her side and curved at the elbow bringing her hand, palm up, to the front of her body. As quick as lightening, I detected a snap of her fingers and twist of her wrist. Before I even had a chance to blink, a tiny flame appeared in her palm.

  Without even a moment’s glance my way, Nan tipped her palm and with a flick of her wrist the tiny flame fell into the pot. Instantly the contents caught fire and began to emit noxious blue smoke.

  At last Nan turned to me. “Repeat Jack’s name three times, Eliza. Then we will chant the spell together.” She said urgently.

  My lips felt thick and clumsy as I blinked against the dense smoke swirling around my face.

  “Jack Connelly.” I muttered.

  “Speak up, Eliza!” Nan retorted loudly.

  “Jack Connelly, Jack Connelly!” I repeated.

  Almost instantly the smoke cleared from my face. It formed an orderly funnel directly out of the top of the pot and curled gracefully toward the glass ceiling.

  “Good. Now for the chant.” She said.

  Together we carefully read the words off the page in unison.

  Swift as an arrow

  Fly like a sparrow

  Find the tongue

  Of the troublesome one

  Limit the feast

  And weaken the beast

  Cinch the fool

  By pinching its tool

  With the beast stoned

  Scatter the bones

  At the last word the small blaze in the pot snuffed out as quickly as a candle is extinguished. The stream of smoke detached from the fire and floated purposefully toward the glass
ceiling.

  “My goodness I forgot to open the hatch!” Nan shouted with alarm.

  She dashed toward the wall and flicked a switch. A concerning amount of creaks and groans echoed from above. One of the panels detached itself from the lattice of metal trim and glass and slid back pulled by a rusty metal coil providing a small portal to the cold sky beyond. A current of air strong enough to blow strands of hair into my face rushed upward toward the opening.

  The cloud of dense smoke at the ceiling crept toward the opening as a snake slithering toward a rabbit’s burrow and slipped out. When the last remnants of smoke disappeared through the hatch, my heart quivered with worry.

  Nan flicked the switch again and the rusty metal coil pushed against the glass to force it back into place.

  “How will we know if everything goes ok?” I asked.

  Nan smiled and sauntered toward me, a relaxed smile on her face. “Eliza, you are a natural worrier. Has anyone ever told you that?” She jibed, trying to lighten my mood.

  I crossed my arms tightly around my chest. “Is it such a bad thing to have a conscience?” I asked crisply.

  Nan uttered a soft tisking sound. “If you’re that concerned why don’t you drop by Jack’s place tomorrow? I assure you, you’ll notice a hoarse voice but nothing more.” She said and turned toward the table to clean up the remnants of our experiment.

  I frowned at her back, concerned by her attitude. There was something that bothered me about the way Nan dispassionately chose Jack Connelly as our guinea pig. I wasn’t suspicious of her motives or worried that she was an evil witch contrary to her promise. I believed that she was a good person but what surprised me was how little she cared about Jack as a neighbor. Her lack of concern for Jack punctuated my observation that she was suspiciously removed from the Port Rune community.

  I’d first noticed Nan’s reclusiveness when I began introducing Ren to people around town and no one ever inquired about his grandmother. When he did mention her name, no one seemed to be able to place it. It was as if they’d heard the name in passing but couldn’t attach anything of importance to it to make it stick, which was shocking considering Nan’s personality was not one that would make a light impression.

  Her low profile seemed strange to me considering that she had lived in town so long and her family had been one of Port Rune’s founding families. Even if Nan herself was antisocial, her house was distinctly grand compared to the rest of Port Rune’s residences and it had to be on the historic registry, which would undoubtedly have brought attention to her over the years. The more I thought about it, the more it puzzled me that Nan had seemingly lived such a reclusive life in such a small town.

  I glanced sideways at Nan as she bustled around the table sweeping the wilting leaves of plants into a small basket.

  “Nan, can I ask you something?” I ventured hesitantly.

  “Sure, what is it Eliza?” She responded without looking up from her task.

  “You don’t seem to be all that involved in town. Why is that?” I asked delicately. I didn’t want to offend her with my line of questioning.

  Nan shrugged and I noticed her eyebrows rise with surprise, though she never stopped moving.

  “Oh well, I suppose old prejudices die hard.” She said softly without glancing up at me.

  I stared at her busy form for a moment before deciding to press the topic further. “What do you mean by prejudices? Do you think people in town are prejudice against you?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound rude.

  Nan paused and sighed, dropping her gloved hands to her sides. “No, it’s not that anyone in town, at least these days, would have any reason to hold a prejudice against me. I’m ashamed to admit it but it’s me who holds the prejudice.” She wrinkled her brow and tweaked her lips in a manner that made her look apologetic.

  “What do you have against the people around here?” I asked surprised.

  Nan’s expression hardened in response to my question and she met my curious gaze head on. “Eliza, did it ever occur to you why in this enlightened day and age witches are still underground? Magic the stuff of fairytales and ghost stories?” She asked and waited with her hands neatly folded at her middle for my response.

  A prickling heat crept up my neck and fanned across my cheeks. The answer to her question was, no, I hadn’t thought of that, though it was such an obvious thing I was embarrassed to admit it.

  Nan read my response on my flushed face. Her expression softened and she pulled out a chair to sit, gesturing for me to do the same.

  “Eliza, has Ren told you about the history of our family?” She asked calmly.

  I slid into the seat opposite Nan at the table. “He told me that your family has lived in Port Rune for a long time and that his great-great grandfather built this house. I saw his portrait in the sitting room. Ren looks a lot like him.” I said, recalling the large oil painting and the luminous eyes of the man immortalized.

  A tight smile spread across Nan’s face. “Yes, that’s right. Our ancestors immigrated to Massachusetts from England oh around three hundred and fifty years or so ago. They came as part of the British colonization effort looking for more freedom but also believing they could use their magic to help keep the settlers alive.” Nan shifted in her chair, stretching her back and sucked in a breath before continuing. One of her hands kneaded the other tenderly, probably working out an arthritic spasm.

  “At that time, without science or medicine to help explain natural events and physical ailment, people attributed most negative forces to the presence of evil. My ancestors worked within their small community for years as ordinary citizens. However, when an occasion rose where they could exercise their talent to help heal a sick person or intervene with the elements in order to save a crop, they stepped in for the good of the community.” She explained, her face a palette of frustration.

  “But a time came when people grew suspicious of them despite the fact that they had reaped the benefit of their efforts for years. You have heard of the Salem Witch Trials, haven’t you Eliza?” Nan asked pointedly, her tone dire.

  Taken aback, a shocked chirp escaped my mouth. “Of course, I’ve heard of them. Were your ancestors killed during the trials?” I asked without thinking, only realizing afterward how insensitive my question sounded.

  “No, no. I wouldn’t be here if they were murdered.” Nan retorted. “My ancestors left town and went underground for a number of years until everyone who’d known of my family had long forgotten the association with witchcraft and the trials. It was at that time they settled in Port Rune. Of course, they never openly used magic again. For safety, they always cast an amnesia spell over the family residence to ensure that no one in the community would pay attention to the goings on in their household. The spell my family has always used is quite benign really, it’s attached to a home rather than our bloodline.” She said with a sigh.

  “Amnesia spell?” I asked with one eyebrow cocked.

  Nan stretched her fingers wide and began to rub each one individually in a distracted fashion as she continued.

  “An amnesia spell prevents people in town from remembering things associated with a house. So, for example, if they see something strange around the spellbound house they’re not able to remember it long enough to form an opinion or talk about it. Consequently, it tends to make the home’s residents rather unmemorable too.” She explained with a mild shrug of her shoulders.

  I gazed around the room with a new appreciation. “So this house still stands under an amnesia spell?” I asked.

  “Yes, it does. I know it may seem pessimistic of me that I’ve never removed it and given the good people of Port Rune the chance to overcome hundreds of years of history…” Her voice trailed and she cast her eyes about the room fretfully as if she was mentally wrestling with unpleasant thoughts.

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides occasional bouts of loneliness, it really doesn’t bother me that people tend to forget my name or details abo
ut conversations we’ve had. People are friendly enough around here, it’s not like I walk around always feeling like a stranger.” She said decidedly resigned.

  Then something occurred to me and I shifted in my seat feeling hot and uncomfortable at the thought. “As long as Ren lives here, the amnesia spell could have the same effect on how people react to him, too, right?” I asked.

  Nan pursed her lips. “Well yes, it could, but he hasn’t been here long enough for it to take effect, you see. I’ve lived here all my life.” She responded dismissively.

  “I’m immune from the spell, right? Because I’m a witch?” I clarified.

  “Yes, Eliza. You are immune as is any witch who enters the area. The spell assumes there is no need to shield our behavior from our own kind.” She conceded with a nod. “Now, when can you come back for your next lesson?” She asked brightly forcibly changing topics.

  “How about Thursday? I have a school project due that day so I’ll be spending most of my time on that until then.” I offered.

  A relieved smile lit Nan’s face. “Thursday it is then.” She concluded, slapping her open palm on the tabletop for emphasis.

  A subtle vibration sang through my system as I detected Ren’s approach.

  “Nan, one last question. If I read this book alone,” I said gesturing toward The Herbologist Field and Garden Guide. “Is there any chance I might find myself in mortal danger?” I asked anxiously.

  “Absolutely not. It’s not that kind of book, just black print on plain white pages.” She smiled sympathetically and patted my forearm before pushing back her chair to stand.

  “Hello!” Ren shouted cheerfully as he bounded through the door of the greenhouse.