A Witch and a Secret

by Evangeline Blackwell

  “And how is that any better than the devil?” Jessie asks.

  “Trust me, it is.” Ciara kneels in front of the creature and starts examining it. “It’s a high-level demon, though. There’s no way he could’ve gotten here through the Mirror of Edana. The mirror is not powerful enough to let a full-blown demon through.”

  “So how did it get here?” I ask. “Did he just fall down from the sky or something?” We all look up at the ceiling which is perfectly intact.

  “Rose from hell?” Jessie suggests. The floor looks undamaged, too.

  “Okay, this is creeping me out,” I say. “Can we unconjure this thing or send it to wherever it came from before it wakes up?”

  “How can we?” Ciara says. “We have no idea where he came from and there’s no way I could manage a spell like that even if I knew. Even if we had another demon tear, I don’t think it would help.”

  “Is it even alive?” Jessie asks. “Because if it’s not, then the only thing we need to worry about is how to get rid of the body.” All heads turn in her direction. “What?” She shrugs.

  “I don’t think that’s an option,” I squeal, as first the creature’s fingers move, and then it groans. Ciara jumps away from it and hides behind me, peeking out from over my shoulder. Never thought I looked strong enough to protect someone from a demon, but whatever.

  The creature opens its eyes—which look surprisingly human and a pretty shade of blue at that—looks at us, says, “Oh crap,” mutters something under its breath that sounds like a spell and closes its eyes very tightly. Nothing happens. The creature opens one of its eyes and peeks at us. When it sees that we are still here—or that it is still here—it says, “Crappity, crap, crap.” Then it pulls out a weird cast iron pendant that has been tucked under its shirt. The thing looks a lot like the Celtic knot on Jessie’s green notebook.

  The demon holds the pendant in its red hands, says another spell, but instead of something happening, the pendant breaks into two very distinct halves. “Blighted gargoyle,” the demon snaps.

  The next moment it jumps to its feet, moans and grabs at its head—it probably has the same splitting headache that I do—moans again, dashes toward the window, tries to pry the window open, doesn’t have any luck with the lock, panics, runs to the couch, tries to get under the couch, can only fit one hand and a horn, but the rest of its body is too big. This demon must not be very smart. It reminds me of a cat who tries to fit into a tiny cardboard box and fails miserably. After a few agonizing seconds of trying to lift the couch and fit its huge hind quarters under it, the creature finally gives up. The couch flops down and hits it on the head. The demon moans and groans.

  Logan can’t watch the poor thing struggle anymore. He walks over to the couch and lifts it. The demon stops struggling, crawls out from under the couch, and sits, breathing heavily. It starts looking around, observing us, this time really paying attention to what it sees, at least that’s what I figure from the way it’s squinting its eyes. Or maybe it’s just nearsighted? Do demons have myopia?

  “So, are you getting under the couch or can I let it down?” Logan asks.

  “Down is fine,” the demon says in a perfectly human voice.

  Logan releases the couch and it falls to the ground with a loud thump. The demon moves away a little, apparently not wanting to get hit by the furniture again. It already has a huge bump on the top of its head—probably from hitting the floor when it landed in the middle of the living room—and I’m pretty sure there’s another one forming on the back of its head from being hit by the couch.

  “So, what are you planning to do with me?” the demon asks.

  “What are we planning to do with you?” Jessie asks, stunned. “Maybe you can explain to us what the hell you’re doing in our living room and where the hell you came from in the first place? And how we can send you back there?”

  “So, you’re not going to chop my head off?”

  “Why would we chop your head off?” I ask.

  “No reason,” the creature says quickly and seems to brighten up a little, but then it rubs the bump on its forehead and cringes. “I’m Azzie, by the way. I’m not really sure how I got here. And where is here exactly?” he asks, but before anyone can answer, he continues talking, “One minute I’m teleporting from Chicago to Washington, and the next minute I’m lying here, surrounded by witches, my witchlight broken, and I’m unable to zap myself out.

  “Blighted gargoyle, I’ve never gotten myself into such a pickle before. This is like the worst day ever. I knew I needed to get myself another witchlight, just in case. My cousin Ambrose lost his witchlight once and was kidnapped by a witch who held him in a dungeon for a few decades and did all kinds of dastardly things to him.” The demon shivers at the mention of those dastardly things, whatever they are. “But who knew that a witchlight could just break on you like that. You witches sure don’t advertise that part of the bargain. You are witches, right?” he asks, squinting suspiciously.

  “Um, yeah,” Ciara says uncertainly.

  “Kind of young looking.”

  “What were you going to Washington for?” Jessie asks.

  “Just have some business there,” Azzie says cryptically.

  “In Washington, D.C.?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do those things have anything to do with the upcoming election?” Jessie queries further.

  “Now why would you say that?” Azzie squints at her as if she’s the one who is up to no good. “So, where am I exactly?” He changes the subject.

  “You’re in Mystic Hollow,” Logan says.

  The creature’s—Azzie’s—eyes widen. “I guess it’s not the worst place I could have ended up in,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

  “How did you end up here?” I ask. “Washington is thousands of miles away.”

  “I’d like to know that myself. So, if you’re not going to chop my head off, maybe you could fix my witchlight and I’ll be on my way and out of yours.”

  “What the hell is a witchlight?” Jessie asks.

  The creature narrows its eyes. “What kind of witches are you?” He finally notices the coffee table with the broken Mirror of Edana and all the candles scattered around, wax dripping from the most unexpected places.

  “Oh hell no,” he groans and covers his face. “This is not happening to me. This just can’t be happening to me. I need to call my therapist.” Suddenly, he looks up at us. “Does at least one of you know what she’s doing?” He looks just a touch hopeful.

  We all look to Ciara, but her face is blank. “I’m sorry, I really can’t help you with that,” she says meekly. “I don’t even know what a witchlight is. But maybe we could figure something out? I mean, between the three of us we could find a way to teleport you to someone who can help you fix your witchlight.”

  “Do you have any idea how com—” Azzie stops mid-sentence, apparently having changed his mind about what he was going to say. “Actually, you know what? I think you might be able to help me.” He gets up and starts walking around the room. Finally, he stops and pulls out his witchlight, or what is left of it. “So, none of you know any adult practicing witches?” he asks.

  Jessie and I shake our heads, while Ciara says, “No. My mom was a witch, but she’s gone now.”

  “Well, that’s going to be a problem, but I’m sure three smart witches like yourselves can figure this out. You might actually need to make a new one.” He tries to put the two pieces of his witchlight together, but they don’t stick. “Yep, need to make a new one.”

  “Can’t you make one yourself?” Jessie asks. “I mean, you’re a demon, aren’t you? Don’t you have some special powers?”

  “Sure I do.” Azzie puffs his chest. “But I can’t use them in this dimension without a witchlight.”

  “And you can’t make one because—”

  “Because you, beautiful creatures of the night, have decided that we, lowly demons, are not worthy of such knowledge as how to make witchlights.�
�

  “Damn us,” I say. “Would have been so much easier if you at least knew what kind of spell we needed in order to make one.”

  “Well, I don’t. So you’ll have to figure that out on your own.”

  “Can’t you just go back to your own dimension?” Logan asks.

  “Theoretically, I could.” Azzie shifts from foot to foot and fumbles with the halves of his witchlight. “But I didn’t exactly leave there on good terms, so I might get into some trouble. Apparently, I’m not old enough to travel between dimensions,” he huffs.

  “Figures,” I say. “You look like a twelve year old with a really bad attitude.”

  Jessie pokes me in the ribs. “Emmy, come on! He is a demon, after all,” she whispers and grins at me. “But, yeah, you kind of do,” she says to Azzie.

  “For your information, I’m six thousand years old.” Azzie puffs his chest some more.

  “That’s how old in demon years?” Logan asks.

  Azzie’s chest deflates a little. “Four thousand years short of being of age,” he says. “So, you see why I can’t go home? I not only won’t be able to leave that place for a very long time, I’ll probably be put on lockdown for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, don’t be so pessimistic,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to sneak out.”

  Azzie’s eyes narrow at me. “You obviously haven’t met many adult demons, have you?”

  “Um—no, not really,” I say.

  “Well, if you had, you wouldn’t be asking such stupid questions. Instead, you would be trying to figure out how to get me out of here as soon as possible. You think your family would be worried if you ran away from home? Try fire-breathing demons who can scorch—”

  Logan drops a box of matches he’s been playing with and bends down to pick it up. “Sorry, go on.”

  “Right, what was I saying?”

  “Fire-breathing demons,” Logan helps.

  “Yes, fire-breathing demons who can scorch you with just one look.”

  “Shouldn’t that be with just one breath?” Logan suggests.

  Azzie squints at him, but doesn’t deign to answer. “And what do you think those demons will do to any witches who hold their child captive?”

  “We’re not holding anyone captive,” Jessie says quickly. “You’re free to go.”

  “Well, I’m not, as I have explained to you. So when they do come looking for me, they better find me somewhere else, don’t you think?”

  “Yep, that does sound like a better option,” I agree.

  Azzie yawns without bothering to cover up his mouth. “So, while you’re working on my new witchlight, I might as well take a nap. Who am I staying with? I’ve always had a soft spot for blondes.” He winks at Ciara, who is still hiding behind me.

  “Don’t be creepy,” Jessie says. “Or even your fire-breathing demon relatives won’t help you.”

  “Fine, fine,” Azzie holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’ll be good, I promise. Just fix my witchlight, and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

  Chapter 6

  We stand in the kitchen, discussing the situation with Azzie and trying to decide what to do with him.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to leave him alone?” I ask. As if in response to my question, there’s a sound of broken glass, followed by Azzie’s “Sorry!”

  “Apparently not,” Logan says.

  “I think it makes sense for him to just stay here,” Jessie says. She seems a little too excited about the prospect of a demon sleeping in her house.

  “He’s not staying here,” Logan says. “For all I care, he can sleep in the woods outside. But he’s definitely not staying in the house.”

  “It’s not just your house. I live here, too, and I want him to stay.” Jessie folds her arms across her chest and glares at Logan.

  “He’s not staying.”

  “Really? And what are you going to do about it? Tell Mom and Dad?”

  “I don’t have to. I’ll just throw him out the window.”

  Jessie squints at him. “I’ll just bring him back inside.”

  “And I’ll just keep throwing him outside,” Logan says. “And if I get bored or tired, I’ll snap his neck.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Jessie and I say together.

  Jessie stomps her foot.

  “Sure, throw a tantrum. That will definitely make me change my mind.” Logan smirks.

  Jessie is fuming, but there’s nothing she can do. Logan can throw Azzie out the window anytime he wants, and she won’t be able to stop him. I just don’t understand why he’s so bent on kicking Azzie out. He’s not demon-o-phobic or something, is he?

  “Why are you being such a jackass?” I ask. “Your parents won’t be back for another two days. Let him stay here at least until then.”

  Logan leans against the fridge and crosses his arms. He looks bored more than anything. “No.”

  Ugh. “Why not? Because that’s what Jessie wants?”

  His eyes widen for a second in surprise, but then the bored expression returns. “Whatever reason makes you feel better.”

  I feel an urgent need to throw something at him, but before I can find something I can hurl at his smirking face, he says, “Maybe he should stay with the person who is responsible for all this mess?”

  “And why are you looking at me while you’re saying that?” I ask.

  “Because from what you’ve just told me about your magical doodads and how they work, the blackout and Mr. Red here”—he nods in the direction of the living room—“are the result of your clumsiness.”

  My cheeks turn red. I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger. Probably both. “That’s not fair. I didn’t want to participate in this spell in the first place. If we are looking for someone to blame, I think we all know who started this whole mess to begin with.”

  We all look to Ciara who suddenly seems very frightened. “I can’t take him.” She wrings her hands. “My grandmother will kill me. Literally. And the way he looks at me—I think it’s safer to throw him out into the woods. I mean, he doesn’t have to stay there,” she adds quickly when Jessie and I glare at her. “He can go back to his own dimension. I think that would be the best solution for all of us.”

  “Well, apparently he’s not going anywhere until we figure out how to make him a witchlight,” I say.

  Everyone turns to me.

  “Why are you staring at me again?” I ask. “You know I have Chloe, right? She bursts into my room several times a day without knocking. What if she sees him?”

  “Who’s Chloe?” Azzie appears in the doorway. “Is she blonde?”

  I groan. “We told you to stay in the living room.” Has he been eavesdropping?

  “I got hungry.” His stomach grumbles as if on cue. “Can I have a snack? Zapping makes me ravenous.”

  “What’s zapping?” Jessie asks.

  “Teleportation,” Ciara says. “My mom told me,” she explains when we stare blankly at her.

  Azzie doesn’t wait for anyone to offer him food and goes straight to the refrigerator. He ignores Logan who is still leaning against the side of the fridge, opens the fridge door, and buries his head inside. A few seconds later he reappears with a bowl of macaroni and cheese, a slab of ham, and a can of soda. He tries to balance the food in his hands, but the slab of ham slips out and plops on the floor. “Whoopsie,” Azzie says and picks up the ham with his teeth, then slams the refrigerator door shut with his butt and trots towards the dining table.

  Logan looks at me. “That’s why.”

  “That’s why what?” Azzie says over a mouthful of mac and cheese.

  “I believe he’s referring to why he’s opposed to you staying here,” I say.

  “Oh? Where am I staying then? With you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Ciara who looks like she wants to disappear. Or Azzie to disappear. I’m sure either option would work for her.

  “I guess you’re staying with me,” I say with a sigh. “Because a
pparently in every other scenario someone gets hurt.”

  “Awesome,” Azzie says, chewing on the ham. “I definitely don’t want to sleep in the woods.” So he has been eavesdropping after all. “My cousin Affigy fell asleep in a tree once. Fell off the branch, cracked a horn and broke her tail. Even Grandma couldn’t fix the tail. They had to cut it off, you know,” he whispers dramatically. “Affigy was never the same after that,” he adds somberly. “So I’d rather sleep somewhere nice and soft. I really like my tail and horns. And my neck.” He gives Logan a wary look. Yep, he definitely has been eavesdropping on us.

  LOGAN VOLUNTEERS TO drive me and Azzie to my house, which is the least he can do after he basically threw us out of his. Ciara stays with Jessie to look through her grandmother’s notebook and hopefully find something that can help us locate a witchlight spell. And also to clean up. The living room is a total mess and so is the kitchen after Azzie’s snack. Some part of me is happy I don’t have to stay and help clean up the mess.

  When Logan’s car turns the corner to my street, I say, “Can you park a few houses down the street from ours? I don’t want anyone to hear the car and see me sneaking Azzie in.”

  “Sure, but then the two of you will have to walk up the street and someone might still see you.” Logan makes a good point.

  “True.” I sigh. There isn’t a best option here. Just a not so good one and a slightly better one, the one that poses the smallest amount of risk. And that option is to not wake up my family. “Still, I think it’s better if nobody hears the car.”

  “As you wish,” Logan says. He parks down the street and is about to get out of the car when I stop him.

  “Wait,” I say. “I have to tell you something.” Something that will probably get back to bite me in the ass.

  “Should I give you two a minute?” Azzie asks from the back seat.

  “No!” Logan and I both exclaim as we turn in his direction. “Stay in the car,” Logan says. Then he leans closer to me and asks, “What is it?”

  “Um, okay. You know Derek Smith, right?” I ask quietly. Azzie can hear everything I say, but it’s not like he can tell anyone.