by Les Goodrich
“It’s not just that,” Prisma said. “Decaf can kill an espresso faerie.” She held her hands to her throat, pretended to choke, then fell to the counter as if dead.
“It’s true. And don’t forget it,” Mims said smiling and Prisma jumped up.
“And as much as I do around here,” Prisma said and made sure Mims wasn’t looking. She leaned into the biscotti basket and rummaged under crinkling cellophane. She pulled out a tiny pink dollhouse coffee cup from where she had hidden it. She watched Mims, busy mixing Brit’s drink, and slid the little cup towards Jordan who looked down. Prisma looked to the cup then to Jordan and tilted her head toward the cup twice with her eyes bright and her eyebrows twitching.
Jordan sipped her drink, stoppered the full straw with her fingertip, and held it to drip Prisma’s tiny cup full. Prisma made the gesture of a wink and shooting two finger guns at Jordan and sat with her cup behind the basket where Mims could not see her. She drank the iced coffee and stomped her little feet with each sip.
Prisma had stashed her cup again and was dancing a hyper little number from the roaring twenties. She spoke without stopping her dance. “I have to fly around the block a few times. I’m going to get chocolate,” she said then flew up through a vent in the ceiling and was gone.
“She does leave me presents of chocolate sometimes,” Mims said and she handed Brit’s drink to Jordan.
“Where does she get chocolate?”
“I don’t want to know,” Mims said and the girls talked.
Jordan invited Mims to join her and Claire at Warehouse Friday night and Mims could not have been more excited. She said she knew just what to wear and Jordan decided that she would tell Claire to scrape together as much of a steampunk outfit as she had in her so she wouldn’t be the only plain one of the three. Mims said she had tons of hats and goggles and anything Claire might need and they agreed to set her up. Jordan dug in her bag to pay.
“I got this,” Mims said.
“Awesome thanks,” Jordan said and she tipped Mims two dollars into the tip jar and headed back to the shop.
Jordan had no idea how she would tell Brit about seeing Marshal leaving the store where the darkest witches in town worked, but she knew she would tell her one way or another. When she got back to the store Brit was ringing up a sale and a few other customers were milling about and Jordan thought about how cute Brit looked with her short sandy hair and her cheeks blushed pink from days and days of cold, sunny wind. She knew how happy she was to be excited about a guy and she wished she could cast some spell to make everything stay perfect for her forever. She waited until the end of the day when all customers had gone and just the girls remained locking cabinets and back doors and counting money.
“I have to tell you something. I don’t want to but I have to, so I’m just going to say it,” Jordan finally said after holding it in all afternoon.
“What?” Brit asked closing the register drawer and signing the book.
“When I went to get coffee I saw your writer guy.”
“Marshal?”
“Yeah.”
“At the coffee shop?”
“No. I saw him leaving The Poison Apple,” Jordan said and Brit’s pink cheeks went pale.
“Why did you go there?”
“I didn’t. I was spying on them. I saw him leave the store.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Positive.”
“But he told me he wasn’t going back there,” Brit said partly to herself and an unexpected sadness filled her.
“I’m just telling you what I saw. Believe me I didn’t want to.”
“I don’t want to talk about this here. But I don’t want to go home right now either.”
“Stonecloak Tavern?”
“Too dark.”
“Come on then. Let’s go to the martini bar. I’m buying.”
Brit walked her bike since Jordan had walked to work and they made their way through old town to the little martini bar in the small inn that faced the water. They walked along the waterfront and traffic backed up as the draw bridge opened for a sixty-eight foot sailboat to slip through. The girls watched the boat head north.
“Nice,” Jordan said and Brit just nodded. They walked on and looked across the street as they approached the martini bar and Jordan spoke again. “It’s been a while since we’ve been here. I think the last time was when you turned twenty-one. Remember?”
“Barely,” Brit said and they looked to a gap in traffic and ran across the street. Brit locked her bike on the side of the inn porch then they walked up together.
The girls smiled to a group at one of the tables outside and went in to order. Tony, early thirties, short cropped dark hair, trimmed goatee, dark eyes, slim but strong looking, dressed in all black, shook a drink behind the bar where five of the seven bar stools held women who seemed quite glad to be watching him. The girls made their way to a spot between the two vacant corner stools.
“Hi Jordan. Brit. What will it be?” Tony asked as he cracked open the shaker and poured a yellow drink into a clear martini glass with a black stem.
Brit ordered. “Um, espresso. I mean white chocolate mocha. No. White chocolate espresso martini. Isn’t that it?” and she opened a drink menu on the bar and the closest two women smiled at her.
“That’s it. And a cosmopolitain,” Tony confirmed and Jordan said, “Oh yeah.”
“I’ll bring them out if you guys want to sit outside.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said and the girls moved back to a table on the patio to watch the street and the sunset and with the dusk the air grew cool. Tony emerged with a tray and placed their drinks on the table. Brit sipped hers first.
“Amazing,” she said.
“Thank you,” Tony nodded as Jordan sipped her cosmo. It numbed her lips.
“Perfect,” she said. “Keep ‘em coming cutie.”
“You’re the cute one,” Tony said and spun back inside.
“How do you do that?” asked Brit.
“Do what?”
“You’re just so casual with guys. I mean Tony’s hot. I got flustered just ordering a drink from him. But not you. You just take it in stride. I mean there aren’t that many hot guys.”
“He dates that girl Michelle. The server at CJ’s. They’re practically married.”
“She’s pretty,” Brit sipped her drink.
“So are you,” Jordan said and drank.
“You’re sweet.”
“I mean it Brit. You’re so cute. And so smart. So motivated. You could do anything you want. If Tony was single I guarantee you could march right in there, tell him you think he’s hot, and have him up in your haunted little pad as quick as the two of you could get over there.”
“Marshal is lying to me.”
“Well dude, that’s certainly a possibility.”
“He is. He told me he’d never go back to The Poison Apple, and he did.”
“He said, never?”
“Yeah, I think. He said he wouldn’t go back there. He doesn’t even believe in magick or witchcraft. I thought that’s what I wanted. You know, a regular guy. Because of my choice to not do magick. But now I’m not sure. I really care about him, and we have fun together, but we always come up against that. It’s annoying.”
“Have you talked to him today? Since I told you about seeing him?”
“No.”
“You should. You don’t know why he was there. I mean it Brit,” and Jordan's voice grew lower. “He might not even remember. He might not even know he was there.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. I mean he might be under some dark spell. Think about it. A mind-bind. Something serious.” Jordan drained the last of her drink and Brit followed suit and finished hers.
“Oh my god do you think he is?”
“You should ask him what he did today. See what he says. Give him a chance to tell you. It could be nothing but I doubt it. But this is tricky. If he’s been hexed with a mind-bi
nd spell he won’t be able to tell you the truth. He won’t know it. If he’s there against his free will, he’ll just have some excuse.”
“Then how would I know?”
“All right,” Jordan said and leaned in. “You have to plan this out. You’d have to do a shielding spell. But ask him what he did today first, and see what he says. Then cast the shielding spell and ask him again after. If he says the exact same thing, then he’s telling the truth. If he’s been mind-bound then he won’t remember. The shielding spell will block the hex programming and stop him from involuntarily lying. You won’t know what they’re up to, but you’ll know if he’s been mind-bound or not. Undoing it’s another thing. If the shielding spell is powerful enough it can undo the mind-bind permanently. But, well, for now let’s just worry about finding out if he was hexed or not.”
“I’ll text him right now. Then you do the spell tonight and I’ll ask him again tomorrow,” Brit said and fished her bag for her phone.
“I can’t do it. It wouldn’t work. You have to have feelings for him for the spell to work. You obviously do. Only you can do it.”
“I can’t.”
Jordan looked at Brit then stood, still looking at her for a paused second. She turned and walked to the bar door. “Another round Tony,” she said and Tony said, “Coming up.” Jordan sat again.
“Brittany, I’m serious now. You have to do this. This has nothing to do with your parents.”
Brit turned in her chair and looked across the darkened river to the sailboats where their white anchor lights were igniting high atop the masts like low pale stars. She watched a green channel marker glow to life then fade out over and over in its silent slow-motion strobe and its reflection blurred across the water like a candle flame above black wax. She felt the world slow around her and sound faded. She remembered being in her back yard when she was a young girl and she took herself back to that time when things were so pure and new and brittle blades of grass stood in ten thousand shades of green around her and the summers seemed to last for years. She searched her memory for those excited feelings she had allowed to awaken for Marshal and she found them still there. She looked to her friend Jordan and Jordan could see into her heart where the dreams of her childhood knelt and she could see deep into her innocent friend’s emerald eyes where the hope of the world yet burned.
“I would never let anyone hurt you,” Jordan said. “But you have to do this yourself. You have to.”
One tear slid down Brit’s cheek and she wiped it away.
“Will you teach me?” Brit asked.
“Yeah,” Jordan said and Tony placed their drinks down but sensed their moment and left without speaking. Jordan gripped Brit’s shoulder in a firm yet genuine way and said, “I’ll teach you.”
Chapter 11
A Dark Visit
The book on Tanner’s varnished teak dinette table had a worn brown leather cover. On the outside of the book was a small gold flower publisher’s logo on the spine bottom, and a gold embossed skull rubbed thin on the cover. The title page read, A History Of Pirates And Privateers And Their True And Troublesome Exploits Among The Waters And Merchant Ships Of The New World Including Bold Thievery And Murder Most Foul, by Captain James Collins. The original book had been published in two volumes in 1725 England.
The combined edition that Tanner looked upon had been published in 1955, also in England. He had found the book at Thrift Me on his Wednesday off, and bought it for twenty dollars. His subsequent online search had revealed the book to be worth six hundred dollars or more. He decided that if he were to sell it for that, he would give Thrift Me back the twenty dollars. Maybe. He opened the book.
He sipped hot Earl Grey tea and read through the pages. The boat rocked gently at the passing of some trawler in the channel and the rocking set the lamp overhead to swing and Tanner read on into the night. He read about pirates he had heard of and some he had not. He read of pirates that were former military men and some who commanded multiple ships and even established towns and extensive networks of nefarious trade. He read of sailing with a pirate crew and the signing of intricate contracts that delegated the percentages of any treasure scored. Some contracts included provisions that would increase the crew member’s share in relation to any sustained battle injury: an extra ten Reales for the loss of a finger, a pound of silver for an arm or eye, and twenty gold Doubloons for the loss of a leg.
One brief story mentioned an island in the Southern Caribbean favored by scoundrels that was said to have never been discovered as a pirate cache by any Spanish or British authority of the day. The island was said to have large rock formations, limestone caves, and a coast of many hidden coves. The final sentence of the section, recorded from an unnamed pirate captain’s journal, seemed somewhat out of place amid the frank account.
A part of her is crippled, a part of her is honest, a part of her is deep, a part of her assaults, but I dare say that for all of her treachery, there is none more beautiful than Isabella.
Tanner peeled a green post note from its pad, stuck it to mark the page, and closed the book. Then he opened the book again and transcribed the sentence to a note on his iPad. He wondered who Isabella was. There had been no mention of her in the book so far and he skimmed ahead but did not immediately see the name again. He searched names of ships and names of towns. He poured over two Caribbean charts and he searched through a Bahamian travel book but he could find neither new world island nor shoal with the name Isabella and although he read until his head nodded he did not come across the name again.
Brit sat in her apartment and stared at her sleeping black phone screen. She lit it up then let it go black again for the third time. Then she lit it up, scrolled through her messages, found her last note where she had agreed to have dinner with Marshal, and typed.
Brit: I thought you were never going to The Poison Apple again?
A minute passed then her phone chirped.
Marshal: How did you know I went there?
Brit: I’m a witch like that.
Marshal: I’m just interviewing a person who works there. For a new article. I was going to tell you about it on Friday. The article is a feature magazine article. My first one.
Brit: Who are you interviewing?
Marshal: Her name is Datura.
Brit felt cold. Her hands shook as she typed.
Brit: I hope your interview with her is done now.
Marshal: I think so.
Brit: Don’t go back there… Please.
Marshal: I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.
Brit: I just want you to be safe. That store is not a safe place. She didn’t give you anything did she? Or touch you?
Marshal: Are you kidding me?
Brit: Did she?
Marshal: No.
Brit: Okay fine just don’t go back.
Marshal: And we’re still on for dinner Friday?
Brit: Yes I can’t wait. I don’t mean to be weird about this. I swear I hope you understand. Those girls are trouble. You have to believe me.
Marshal: I believe you. I won’t go back if it makes you feel better.
Condescending, Brit thought but instead she just typed, Ok, and left it at that. She immediately texted Jordan and told her what he had said. She made sure two times that she wasn’t texting Marshal by mistake then tapped send.
She and Jordan arranged to meet at Jordan's place the next night, Thursday, to do the shielding spell. That way Brit could ask Marshal in person for the second time about The Poison Apple, rather than texting him about it, so he wouldn’t have the messages in front of him to jog his memory as he answered her.
On the night of the spell Brit watched from the altar as Jordan cast the circle. Jordan swept the circle with her broom.
“You ever try to fly on that thing?” Brit asked.
“Of course.”
“Any luck?”
“Nothing. I heard Carol can.”
“Fly on a broom?”
“
Quiet now. This is the serious part,” Jordan said and she cast the circle from memory and Brit watched. Brit held a wand borrowed from Jordan: a crooked white mangrove wand with a quartz tip and two bands of blue crystals just above the black painted handle. Jordan had marked a spell book passage and Brit read nervously under the working candle light.
“For my friend that I love,” Brit read aloud then stopped. “Love?” she asked.
“Yeah love. It just means feelings. It doesn’t have to be the love of your life. It could be for a pet or your brother even.”
“Okay if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Go on.”
Brit composed herself again and looked to the book. She read the spell once to get the feeling of it as Jordan had suggested.
“For my friend that I love whom some spell or ill binds.
Free now their thought where no hex will it find.
Release the free will that was mind-bound before.
To a place where no sorcery thrives anymore.
Clear as water shining bright.
Under moon glow on this night.
So mote it be.”
“Okay that was really good,” Jordan encouraged and she moved to look at the book to see if anything else was needed before Brit cast the spell for real. “Now this is what you do. Gather up all the feelings you have for him. Picture him in your mind. You know this is the best thing for him. For his safety. Feel that. Know it deeply. Picture him safe and happy. Feel the feelings of everything about him that you like. Then read the spell again with all of your might. Imagine these words as energy. At the end, lift your wand to the top of the circle and imagine that energy flying out through your wand and into the sky. You are setting it free. Just let it fly away then we’re done. Then the whole, we don’t talk about this, bit starts. Got it?”
“Got it,” Brit said.
“Are you okay with all of this? Because you have to be or we aren’t going any further.”
“I’m fine. This is the right thing to do. I swear I’m fine with it.”
“Okay good. Go ahead,” Jordan said and she stepped back a few steps and watched.
Brit closed her eyes and allowed all of her good feelings for Marshal to fill her just as Jordan had said. She felt warm and happy. Then she felt annoyed that he refused to believe in magick or witchcraft even though he had been hexed. It’s not his fault, she told herself then she refocused on how genuine he was. How motivated. How good she felt when he hugged or kissed her. She looked to the book but the words were already there for her so she only glanced at it then said the spell from her remarkable memory.