Bewitched

by Mark Jay Harris

  “What do you think?” Samantha asked as they hovered two hundred feet above her house. “Having fun?”

  “No!” he squeaked. “I feel like I’m going to fall. This stick’s too skinny! I’m hanging on to you for dear life.”

  “Is that so horrible?” Samantha turned to look at him. “Sorry, I was afraid this might freak you out a little bit. But I assure you, you won’t fall as long as you’re hanging on to me.”

  “Yeah, but what if I pass out?”

  Samantha giggled. “Don’t do that. You’ll fall to your death.” She said this seriously, as if he should really reconsider if he was thinking about passing out.

  Then, without any warning, they streaked across the night sky. In a weird way, it was better because everything beneath Darren blurred. The ground was suddenly flying past him at an incredible speed. It was nice hanging onto Samantha with the wind blowing their hair out behind them. This part was okay, but it was over way too quickly. Less than a minute later, the ground came back into focus, and they were descending.

  “We’re here already?”

  “Yes, the besom can fly incredibly fast.”

  “It’s the only way to fly,” he muttered.

  “That’s right. The spell to levitate only raises things off the ground. In order to actually fly, Hazel wood is the only material that will work.”

  “Hazel wood or a jet,” he quipped.

  “No, the materials of a jet won’t accept the spell either. Jets are primarily metallic in composition.”

  “No, I meant because jets already fly.”

  “Oh, right.” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I should have gotten that.”

  She set them down softly, and as soon as he could, Darren jumped from the broom, happy to have ground beneath his feet. He walked onto his own porch and banged his foot against the reassuring cement.

  “No one can hear us, right?”

  “They can hear that. You’re hitting the ground; it’s not part of the spell.”

  “Oh.” It was his turn to feel stupid. “So, how do we get in?”

  “That’s going to be the tricky part.” She set the broom against the side of the house. “Where are your parents right now?”

  “Let’s see, Mom is probably out working, but Dad should be home. It’s,” he checked his watch, “seven thirty-six. He’s probably in the kitchen or the family room, which is to the side of our kitchen. As long as he’s not in the living room, we should be able to open the door without being seen.” Another wrinkle occurred to him. “What about the sound of the door?”

  “Does it make a lot of noise when it opens?”

  “A little, but the lock will certainly make enough to be heard.”

  “I have an idea. When I tell you, unlock the door and open it. Ready?”

  Darren pulled out his key. “Ready.”

  “Now!” she whispered loudly.

  Darren shoved the key in and turned it. Before he could hear it click and scrape across the bolt, a siren blared loudly from around the corner heading their way. He looked quickly at Samantha, who urged him to open the door. They rushed in quickly under cover of the siren. He shut the door behind them and froze in the entry of the living room, listening to the wail as it grew louder. The sound of the siren rushed down his street and faded out as it hurried off into the distance.

  “Clever,” he whispered.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” Samantha said plainly. “No one can hear you, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He laughed. “This is cool.”

  Without thinking, he took her hand and led her across the family room. They peeked into the kitchen where Darren’s dad had a host of ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, butter—scattered across the table. “Dad’s making cookies. Let’s stick around and steal some.”

  Samantha rolled her eyes and tugged on his hand. “You’ve been hanging out with Mike too long. Let’s go!”

  He guided her down the hall that led to his grandfather’s room, but stopped suddenly. Crissy was walking toward them, face down, gazing at the doll in her hand. They froze as she approached. Though they were invisible, they were still solid, and unless they moved, Crissy would run into them. They started to back up when Crissy looked up from her doll and straight at them. “Hi, Dawin. It’s safe. Grandpa’s sleeping now. Kiss Laura.” She held the doll up for Darren to kiss. Without thinking he bent down and did as he was instructed. Crissy then held the doll up for Samantha to kiss. She followed Darren’s example and said, “Night-night.”

  “G’night,” Crissy said, walking around them toward the kitchen.

  Samantha exhaled hard, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in her ears. “Okay, that was weird.”

  “How did she see us?” Darren’s gut clenched.

  “I have no idea. Who was that?”

  “That’s my little sister, Crissy.”

  “Your sister, huh? I wonder...” She shook her head and tugged on Darren’s hand. “Come on. We’re taking way too long to do this. She said your grandfather was asleep; let’s take advantage of that.”

  Darren led the way to Atavus’s room where they found the door ajar. From inside, he could hear the old man snoring along to the beeping and whirring of his medical equipment. Darren signaled for Samantha to wait by the door. He then dropped to all fours and crawled quietly across the room, over to the closet. He opened it slowly, wincing at every slight creak it made. He quickly found the duffle bag, fished around, and came up with the box that housed the strange items his grandfather had shown him the other day. He clutched it, shut the door a bit quicker than he had opened it, and scrambled across the floor until he ran into Samantha’s feet. He sprang up and rushed them back out into the hallway.

  He exhaled. “Got it, but there’s a lock.”

  “Let’s go. We can worry about the lock later.”

  They shuffled quickly back to the living room. This time, they opened the door and rushed out, shutting the door quietly behind them. Darren waited a few seconds but heard nothing from his father.

  Samantha was already astride the broom, waiting for him.

  “Couldn’t we just—”

  “No, Darren. Let’s go.”

  He sulked over to her and climbed on. Knowing what was going to happen didn’t help much. It was weird, but he tried to appreciate it. This was cool after all, flying on a witch’s broom.

  Just the same, he was relieved when they safely set down in Samantha’s yard.

  “Abrogare,” she said, wiggling her cute nose.

  “What did that do?”

  “It reversed the spells I cast on us. We can be seen and heard again. Come on. We’ve got to undo that bewitchment.”

  ***

  “We’ve got it,” Samantha announced, entering the living room with Darren right behind her.

  The two of them looked about in disbelief; the living room was empty, including the couch where Samuelson had been placed. They searched frantically when laughter in the kitchen stopped them.

  “Can you make him sing ‘I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad’ at the same time?” Mike’s voice had a note of humor to it.

  Serena giggled. “Oh, you’re evil.”

  Entering the kitchen, Darren and Samantha found all three standing at the kitchen sink. It was full of sudsy water and several dirty dishes. To the side was a draining board with cups, saucers, and plates. Serena and Mike stood on either side of Samuelson, who was busy scrubbing a pan and had just started singing, “I’ve been workin’ on the railroad, all the live long day...”

  “What are you doing?” Samantha asked, aghast.

  Serena immediately looked guilty, not quite sure how to respond.

  “We got him to do the dishes,” Mike said.

  “You used a slave-spell?” Samantha asked incredulously.

  Mike grinned. “Nah, he’s still asleep. This is a poopie spell.”

  “Poupèe spell,” Samantha corrected. Turning to Darren she explained, “Poupèe is French for doll. Sh
e’s using the spell to control his movements as if he were a puppet.” She turned back to her familiar. “Serena, this is dangerously close to coercive magic. March him back into the living room and release him from this enchantment!”

  Serena walked meekly behind the robotized Samuelson. Mike followed her. As they passed by Samantha, Mike grumbled, “We were just having fun.”

  “This is not fun!” Samantha snapped. “Coercive magic is black; it’s evil. Controlling others is what witches do; we are no longer part of that.”

  Serena looked chastened. Mike, however, was upset at having lost his entertainment. “Come on, Samantha. There was no harm done.”

  “Did you enjoy controlling him? Did it give you a thrill to exercise that much power over someone?”

  “Well, kind of.”

  “The use of this kind of magic is why people like Atavus and Darren exist. Witches desire to control others, enslave them, extinguish their own will, and in the end, destroy them.” She looked down at the now reposing Samuelson who was singing, “Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, strummin’ on the ol’ bango!”

  “Please, make him stop.”

  Serena muttered, “Abrogare,” and waved a hand over him. He stopped singing at once but continued to sleep peacefully.

  “Well, what exactly is the plan here?” Mike asked. “We’re going to remove the spell with the knife, and then what?”

  “The knife doesn’t remove the spell,” Darren corrected him. “It only reveals that you’ve been bewitched. The powder is what removes the spell. But all that doesn’t matter because there’s a lock on the box.” He set the box down on Samuelson’s torso.

  Serena stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it. Let me make up for the Poupèe spell I cast on him.”

  Mike blocked her path by kneeling down beside Samuelson. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, and produced a thin slip of metal. It was black, flat, and about two inches long with a swerved bump in the middle. “This is a padlock shim,” he explained. He wrapped it around the metal bar with the flat point of the hump facing down toward the locking mechanism. Working it into the small gap where the metal locking clasp was secured, he jimmied it around for a second or two, and the lock sprang open.

  Serena turned to Samantha. “That was almost as fast as a touch-spell.”

  “Very impressive, Mike,” Samantha agreed.

  “Nice going,” Darren added.

  Mike stood up basking in the accolades. “Is there nothing the Internet can’t teach us?”

  Darren opened the box still lying on the reposing Samuelson. Everything was laid out as he’d remembered. He removed the oilcloth bundle, unfolded it, and revealed the ivory handle with its gold and silver inlay followed by the blackened iron blade. He handed it to Samantha.

  “A Secespita,” Samantha marveled. “Do you have any idea how rare these things are without an enchantment? This is amazing. He put an Ostendo Sum on it. That’s so cool!”

  “And this is the powder he used on me.” Darren handed her the leather pouch.

  “Spira. Your grandfather is a treasure-trove of witch paraphernalia.”

  “Is the goal here to simply remove the bewitchment or remove the bewitchment and put a new one on him?” Darren asked. “One that makes him report to us instead?”

  Everyone looked at him, not so much because of the idea, but because the idea hadn’t occurred to them before now.

  “Ooh.” Mike whistled. “I like it.”

  Serena nodded. “That presents some excellent possibilities.”

  “That is very interesting,” Samantha said. “But there is a problem with it.”

  “Oh, of course,” Darren said. “The powder not only removes the bewitchment, it makes you immune to further bewitchments. If we remove the bewitchment, we can’t bewitch him again.”

  It was quiet as they thought this through.

  “What if,” Darren said still formulating his idea, “you didn’t remove the bewitchment?”

  “Then, he’ll go on spying and reporting on you,” Mike replied.

  “Yes, but, Samantha, can you put a spell on top of another spell?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “What if he does go on spying and reporting on me, but what he sees and what he reports from now on isn’t real? What if it was something we made him think took place?”

  Serena’s eyes lit up. “A story-spell!”

  “Okay, a story-spell. What’s that?”

  “Hmm.” Samantha paced the room. “A story-spell is exactly that. We make up a story, and that’s what he’ll believe he saw. That might work!” She grinned. “We could put him under a story-spell, simply tell him what to report, he’ll believe it’s what he’s witnessed. Then, the first spell that commands him to report to somebody will kick-in, and he’ll never know. What’s more, we might even be able to have him report to us and tell us who he’s relaying information to.”

  “Yes!” Serena exclaimed.

  “Darren, good thinking!” Mike clapped him on the back, and the two shared their finger waggles.

  “Okay, what do we do?” Darren asked.

  “Before I cast the spell, we should have a story in place. I’m guessing the reason they put a tail on you in the first place is to see if you ever met up with a witch or if you ever discovered who and what you are. That would be important to them if you suddenly figured out you’re supposed to seek out witches and destroy them. But until that happens, they don’t really care about you or what you’re doing.”

  “Who are they?” Mike asked.

  “The Northern Coven,” Serena replied. “There are many covens throughout the world. The Central Coven, where we come from, is the most powerful. It is home to the council of witches made up of representatives of all the covens. There are also covens in Europe and Asia separate from ours in North America. We suspect the Northern Coven is here in the Valley of Hidden Skins, attempting to get the Grimoire. We don’t know specifically where they are, but we’re almost certain some of their number is in Cache Valley.”

  “And they are very powerful,” Samantha added. “They want to be the most powerful coven in the world, and because of that, they resent the Central Coven. If they could obtain the Grimoire, they could easily take over and rule all the other covens. No one would be as powerful.”

  “So, we are essentially tracking down this group of witches?” Mike asked.

  “Right,” Samantha replied. “It helps to know who you’re up against. More than likely, they’ve already found the Grimoire.”

  “If they’ve already found it, how do we know they haven’t taken off with it?” Darren asked.

  “Well, it’s not that easy,” Samantha said. “Knowing where it is, is one thing. Getting it is another thing entirely.” She turned her attention on Darren, though she was speaking to everyone. “The witches of the Northern Coven were forced into exile by the Council Leader of the Central Coven. What you need to understand is that they’re evil, wicked, and cruel. Killing a human is nothing to them. It would be like swatting a bug. They destroy the souls of men when they can. There’s more pleasure in that for them. If you ever find yourself in a position to destroy one of them, you cannot think twice. You cannot consider any good you think they might have done; whatever it was, it was a deception. And if given the chance, they will kill you and think nothing of it.”

  Samantha’s serious words sobered the group. Fear prickled Darren’s insides as he realized his specific job was to kill witches and he still didn’t know how to do it. Atavus had yet to explain this to him.

  “This was all fun when we were marching Samuelson around like a puppet,” Mike said. “But now you’re beginning to spook me.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Serena replied. “You can’t be spooked now. He needs you.” She glanced at Darren. “And the world needs him.”

  “She’s right. If any of them gets their hands on that Grimoire...” Samantha shivered at the thought.

&nb
sp; “Atavus said there are other Pessum Ire throughout the world. They have a network. I met one once, and he looked like he could take care of things. We could get their help.”

  “Darren,” Samantha said, “Pessum Ire kill witches, including me and Serena and my aunt. We don’t have time to convince them our intentions are honorable. They are trained and conditioned to kill us, and rightfully so. When it comes down to it, you shouldn’t believe us; you should be thinking anything Serena or I tell you is all an elaborate trap. If I was anyone other than myself, I’d advise you to not trust me, to kill me just as Atavus has advised you. You haven’t seen what other Pessum Ire have seen. You aren’t jaded by what evil witches have done, the way they can manipulate a person so they think they’re getting what they want, only to be led to their own destruction, body and soul.”

  “And there’s the prophecy,” Serena added. “You are the ‘Warder at the Window.’ This is part of your destiny.”

  “She’s right,” said Samantha. “The only way to stop them from getting the Grimoire is with your help.”

  “Now, I’m just scared,” Darren confessed. “I don’t know how to do anything. I’m not a trained Pessum Ire. I don’t know how to kill witches. This destiny part makes my head swim. But, I’ll do what I have to do.” He nodded. “I have to tell you, this whole thing scares the livin’ crap out of me!”

  They looked at him gratefully. After a moment, they turned their eyes on Mike.

  “Yeah, yeah, I don’t get it either, but I guess I accept it, too.” Mike rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And I’m also scared to the point that I have no crap left.”

  Darren barked a laugh. The others smiled, then turned their attention back to Samuelson.

  “Okay, I think I know what to do.” Samantha approached Samuelson’s sleeping form and raised a hand about two feet above his head.

  “Fabula floccipendo autumo.” Continuing in English Samantha outlined what Samuelson was to report to his superiors. He would now report back to Samantha after reporting to the other coven. She gave him her cell phone number and told him he would only remember it when he called her and if she didn’t answer, he was to leave a message. He would not remember any of this, nor would he reveal any of what had taken place tonight to the other coven. “Clandestinus memoria,” she said in conclusion. “That should keep him from knowing about the spell if he’s ever interrogated. Did I forget anything?”