“I thought you cared about Sebastian. Loved him. When you love someone—”
“What?”
Meche’s quick turn of the head and the way she spit out the words, as though she had just swallowed sour milk, made Daniela realize she had misspoken. She blinked and scrambled to correct herself.
“I... I meant...”
“What did you say?” Meche asked, frowning.
“Nothing. I... we can cast the hex,” Daniela said, wishing only to avert Meche’s wrath, to make those dark eyes turn away from her.
Her acceptance had the expected effect. Meche smiled, looking smug, and tossed the bunny away.
“We should head to the factory,” she said.
Every crack on the pavement spoke words of warning to Daniela as she rushed behind Meche, towards the old, abandoned building. But there was nothing to do now. She was a coward and would obey, bend the knee. She always did.
“ARE YOU READY?” she asked.
“Meche, you can’t,” Daniela whispered.
The factory was cold. Shadows gathered at the corners of the window. The distant moon turned its face away from them, hiding behind a cloud.
Meche knew they shouldn’t do it. She could feel it in every fibre of her being, feel it from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, but she did not care. She would have her revenge. She would have her hex.
“It’s Sebastian.”
“I know exactly who he is,” Meche said.
She held the needle above the groove. There was only one song for such a spell, only one song for this kind of hex and she had known it from the moment her hand had found the record—guided by some unknown force, just like it had been guided in the record shop to find A Whiter Shade of Pale—waiting on the third bin to the left, near the Jimi Hendrix poster.
It was In the Court of the Crimson King. Recorded in 1969, it was the debut album by the British rock group King Crimson. Although it contained five tracks she knew which one she needed. Side two. Fifth song.
It was a track to bring down houses and topple monarchs and surely it would teach a lesson to a teenage boy. A lesson he would not be likely to forget.
The music began to play. Daniela and Meche held hands tight as the building groaned, reverberating to the sound of Greg Lake’s voice.
DANIELA WANTED TO pull her hand away, but Meche dug her nails into her palm and Daniela stopped fretting.
She was scared. The windows were tinkling, the glass straining in the frames and Meche’s hand felt like it was a hot iron poker. When she looked at Meche’s face, her eyes looked darker and older.
Shadows seemed to cloak Meche. She was robed in darkness. And the power in her burned, making Daniela wince.
SEVERAL BLOCKS AWAY Sebastian turned a corner as he had done many times before. But this time something felt wrong. Invisible hands seemed to hover on top of his own hands, invisible fingers making the motorcycle speed up, howl and screech and rush down hill.
He knew the hands.
This was Meche’s doing. She was trying to scare him.
“Screw you!” he yelled.
He didn’t know if she could hear him, but she hoped his defiance reached her.
The pressure of the hands increased, he swerved and almost lost control of the bike.
A cold bead of sweat dripped down his forehead and he was suddenly afraid. He realized she was not playing. It was not a prank.
“Mercedes!” he yelled.
The car hit him right at that instant and sent him flying through the air, tumbling over the pavement.
DOLORES WAS HALF-ASLEEP on the couch, her hands resting over a ball of yarn, when she felt the tugging. The web of magic drifting through their apartment shivered and moaned. She opened her eyes slowly, specks of darkness dancing before her eyes.
And she knew what was happening all of a sudden. Meche was casting a new spell. A very dark spell.
A spell of death.
Dolores stood up and shuffled towards her bedroom without bothering to put on her slippers. She opened a drawer and pulled out her thimble. She looked at her sisters in the photograph and wished they were still around. Lone witches are never much good. Maybe if the others were still alive they could have taught Meche the way Dolores couldn’t. Because Dolores had never been the head witch. Just a minor echo for her eldest sister. Always half-afraid of the spells and now unable to even remember most of them. They’d poured out of her one summer, long, long ago.
But perhaps there was one last spell she might remember.
Dolores put on the thimble. She took needle and thread and began stitching a handkerchief. Sweat beaded her forehead as she worked. The needle rose and fell, dipping until she tied a knot and cut it with her scissors.
There was a hiss, like steam escaping a kettle. Dolores winced as the thimble burned her finger.
She felt Meche’s death spell eroding and decaying, bits of it falling to the floor. The thimble also slid from her finger, shattering, bits of white dust scattered all around her.
Dolores closed her eyes and sighed.
DANIELA SAT ON the couch, heart beating fast, and stared at Meche. Meche was on the floor wrapped in a blanket, a cushion behind her head, eyes closed and humming. Daniela could barely breathe but Meche seemed to be making a quick recovery.
Watching her from her position on the couch, Daniela knew her friend was dangerous. She felt the same horror she might feel at discovering a scorpion in her shoe and though she was exhausted, hungry and in desperate need for a nap, she pulled her knapsack over her shoulder.
“I should go,” she said.
“Go,” Meche said, eyes closed.
Daniela walked out quietly, looking over her shoulder before she closed the door.
MECHE WALKED HOME listening to los Fabulosos Cadillacs sing Mi Novia se Cayó en un Pozo Ciego. She felt festive, moving to the rhythm of the trumpets, bobbing her head and smiling. By the time she stepped into the apartment she was dancing.
“Hey, mom,” she said, noticing that the kitchen light was on.
She poked her head in the kitchen. Her mother’s eyes looked raw and red.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I was hanging out with Daniela,” Meche said. “What’s up? Is this about Sebos?”
“Sebastian?” her mother said. “No.”
Odd. Because Meche thought maybe Sebastian’s mother had already called to give them the bad news: that her son had a little traffic accident, that he’d broken his leg and Meche could feign innocence. Buy flowers. Take them to the hospital. The joy of his pain would be like a candy, melting in her mouth. Perhaps he would think twice about messing with her again. He thought himself a warlock? Fine. She was a witch.
“Then what’s with you?”
“Your grandmother had a stroke. I just came to pick some clothes for her, some things—”
“She didn’t have a stroke,” Meche said.
“She did have a stroke. This evening.”
“But she couldn’t have.”
“Meche, I need to go to the hospital,” her mother said, rubbing her eyes and reaching for her purse. “I have to get a cab and get back there.”
“Can I go?”
“All you’d be doing is waiting.”
“I can wait.”
Her mother nodded and they hurried down the stairs.
The telephone began to ring when they shut the door, a lonesome and sad cry.
SEBASTIAN HELD THE receiver and leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch. He had bruised his knee, had scrapes here and there, a sprained ankle and a broken wrist.
“You are an idiot,” Romualdo said. “How come you were driving so fast? Don’t you watch where you are going?”
Sebastian pressed the plastic bag filled with ice and wrapped with an old towel against his leg, watching the bruises with a certain detachment, as though this had happened to someone else. It felt like it had happened to someone else. Like he was a character in
a video game, controlled by another player.
Meche.
The phone rang and rang.
Answer, he thought, gritting his teeth. Answer me. Tell me it was an accident, a game; you didn’t mean it. Tell me now.
“You know what’s going to happen, right? Mom is going to take away the bike. Not only that, she’s going to blame it on me for giving it to you in the first place. She’s going to say I did this. That’s bullshit.”
The phone seemed to pulsate between his hands, like a heart. Sebastian squeezed it, tried to find purchase on its surface, slick with his sweat.
Meche...
He needed her now. There. If she answered now, this might be forgiven. But she wasn’t answering. She was hiding from him.
He could see her in his mind, savouring her victory, her eyes indifferent to his pain. Indifferent to him.
He hung up and hung his head while Romualdo brought him another cushion and yelled and ranted.
MECHE WOKE UP feeling very cold, her eyes fluttering open. She had a vague, unpleasant sensation, like the one you might get when you crush an insect and rub your palm against your trousers, trying to wipe it away.
She thought of the hex she had cast with Daniela and for the first time that night seriously wondered if Sebastian was alright. The hospital’s clock read one a.m. and she considered, for a few seconds, daring to phone Sebastian.
Then she feared what he would say if she did phone and woke him up. His anger would still be so raw.
Even worse, she feared if he did not answer. What if she had really hurt him? What if he did not lift the phone and speak? What would she do then?
Meche took off her jacket and rolled it into a makeshift pillow, laying down on the plastic hospital chairs, staring at the white walls of the hallway.
She knew herself—wicked and cruel, the way true witches are, as in the stories grandmother told her. She knew herself and curled up into a tight ball, flipping on the Walkman and listening to Starship sing We Built This City, which was corny and sappy. But she needed corny and sappy.
“I’m going to make it all better,” she promised herself. “I can fix this.”
DANIELA HEARD IT from Catalina Coronado, who was faster than a telex: Sebastian Soto had an accident, ended up at the hospital and was sent home with a cast. She asked her sister to drive her to his apartment, a box of chocolates on her lap. Romualdo opened the door and let her in. Daniela shuffled her feet and bent her head as she walked inside.
“Hi, Sebastian.”
“Hi,” he said.
He was sitting in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, watching television. She noticed the cast on his left hand and the bruises on his face, blooming an ugly purple.
Daniela handed him the chocolates.
“Thanks,” he said, placing them at his side.
“How are you feeling?”
“Eh. Between this and the beating I’m developing a higher threshold for pain.”
“You know we did it, right?”
“I figured as much.”
Daniela placed her hands behind her back and stared at the scratched wooden floor.
“I’m sorry,” Daniela said.
Sebastian pressed the mute button on the TV remote. He sighed.
“Where is Meche?”
“I’m not sure.”
Sebastian drummed his fingers against the couch’s arm and shook his head. He did not look good and Daniela could tell it was not just as a result of the accident.
“Well, she has talent,” he muttered. “I could feel her hands over mine as the motorcycle swerved left and right.”
“Yeah, she has loads of talent. That’s probably not a good thing.”
Sebastian did not say anything. He was looking at the numbers on the remote control, rubbing a thumb across the buttons.
“She scared me. When we cast that spell on you... my God, there is something dark inside her. Magic only makes that darkness stronger.”
“What are you saying?”
“You know.”
Sebastian put the remote on top of the box of chocolates and knitted his long fingers together, flexing them slowly.
“She’s the real witch among us,” he said. “Meche doesn’t need a circle. At least, not for long. Whatever it is you’re supposed to have, she has it.”
Daniela had known it for a while. They were backup singers to the real star. Hearing Sebastian say it, however, made it tangible.
“That’s it. That’s what frightens me.”
“You shouldn’t be frightened. Meche is not mad at you.”
“But you? What if—”
“I have her object of power. Besides, I don’t think she would hurt me once more.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s Meche and Meche I know.”
Daniela did not think that was quite enough, but what else could she say? She brushed the hair from her face. Her lips trembled a little as she spoke.
“I am so sorry, Sebastian. I really am. I helped do this to you.”
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.”
She hugged him and Sebastian patted her back.
MECHE AND HER mother were sitting in the kitchen, eating in silence. Meche dipped her animal crackers in milk while her mother sipped her coffee.
“Your grandmother is going to have to go to Monterrey,” her mother said, all of a sudden.
“Since when?” Meche asked.
This was the first she had heard of this. Had she missed some important family meeting or was she supposed to divine tea leaves in order to be up to date? Really, what the hell.
“I talked to your aunt about it. We had a long conversation. Your grandmother is going to need a lot of care.”
“She could get better.”
“She had a stroke,” her mother said. “She can’t walk and she can’t talk. She can barely eat mush.”
“I noticed,” Meche said dryly.
“Your aunt is a nurse. Plus, she has more money than we do. A bigger place. Your grandmother needs more care than I can give her.”
“You’re just going to pack her off ’cause she’s sick.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Don’t I get a vote in this?”
Her mother did not reply. She looked at her coffee cup, long nails tapping the ceramic mug.
“Awesome,” Meche said, pushing her chair back and scraping the floor in the process.
“I NEED TO talk to you,” Meche said, cornering her outside the bathroom stalls.
Daniela had been evading her all day long. A clumsy effort at best because Daniela did not know the meaning of subtle. She waddled through school like a great, big goose, a panicked look on her face.
“I don’t want to talk,” Daniela whispered.
“Listen: I need your help.”
“To do what?”
“My grandmother had a stroke. She’s not well. I want to heal her. I think we might need Sebastian for this.”
Daniela moved towards the sinks, slowly opening a faucet and rubbing her hands with liquid soap.
“Sebastian is at home, resting. He’s in a cast. I don’t think he’d be up for it and frankly I don’t think he’ll be talking to you until you do some serious apologizing.”
“Apologize?” Meche scoffed.
“Didn’t you hear me? He’s in a cast.”
Daniela closed the faucet. The paper towel dispenser was empty, so she rubbed her hands against her skirt.
“I heard you fine. I’m not apologizing. He got what was coming to him.”
“Then don’t expect him to help you.”
Meche was tired, nervous and more than a little irritated. She squeezed Daniela’s arm and gave her a sharp, intense look.
“Convince him to help. Tell him to come by the factory and bring my Duncan Dhu record.”
“No way,” Daniela said. “I’ve done enough already. I won’t goad him into it.”
“I don’t care what you
want,” Meche said. “He will be back in our circle, ready to offer his assistance or you will be the next one hexed.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Daniela said.
“Try me. I think you’ll find I’m becoming very good at this sort of thing.”
Daniela’s eyes went round and glassy like marbles. She was really scared. Meche felt bad for a few seconds. She shoved the feeling aside. She needed Sebastian and Daniela. At the very least, she wanted her damn record back. If it took a bit of pushing around, so be it.
Daniela wriggled free of her grasp and took a couple of steps back.
“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”
“Today?” Meche asked.
“Today,” Daniela said.
“Remind him he still has something that belongs to me. He better bring it to the factory.”
SEBASTIAN DID NOT reply. He was staring at the big glass full of milk and chocolate powder, observing the beads of moisture rolling down the sides, trying not to think. Trying to ignore it.
“And then?” Daniela asked.
“I won’t help her.”
“She’ll hurt us,” Daniela muttered.
Sebastian did not want to believe it. Meche was many things, but would she really force them to obey her?
She could have killed you, he thought. She’s Meche but she’s also something else now.
Sebastian sipped his milk. They sat in the darkened dining room and he listened to the clock tick, measuring the minutes.
“It’s time we did something about this magic circle,” he said. “But not what she expects.”
“What, then?”
“Tell her I’ll be at the factory Friday evening.”
“You’ll do what she wants?”
“No,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “I won’t do anything of the sort.”
This day was supposed to come, he thought. He remembered his vision of Meche heading towards an airplane. He’d known, long before, that he’d lose her, but he couldn’t escape this melody.
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