by H.T. Night
I woke up at 6 a.m. and I was starving. I opened my eyes and immediately craved a sausage and egg croissant at this place called Timmy’s in the city of La Habra. Best breakfast anywhere. It was a mom and pop place about fifteen minutes from my house and I didn’t have to be at work until 8:30 a.m.
I decided I would just run out and grab a croissant sandwich to go. I’d take it home and eat it while catching up on some DVR shows that I’d missed due to the suddenly bizarre turn of events in my otherwise mundane existence.
I decided to put on a pair of black sweats, a black T-shirt and pair of black sneakers. I realized how black and witchy everything I owned was. It’s funny how Paris subtle influence revealed how unaware of myself I really was. Hell, my entire wardrobe screamed modern witch. The only thing missing was witch’s hat for good measure. I didn’t own one and I was pretty sure a hat wasn’t a necessity for the gig. Paris didn’t wear one, why would I?
As soon as I had turned on my Mazda I noticed my gas tank was nearly empty. I’d forgotten to put gas in my car for almost a week and the last time I had a full gas tank was when I drove around the desert the other night with Paris.
There was an Arco near the restaurant and I decided to pull in and put twenty dollars worth of gas into my car. I remembered when you used to give the guy a twenty and almost get more than half of it back as change after you filled up your car.
I got out and saw a woman filling up her pink Volkswagen bug. She caught my eye because she looked so much like me, but she was wearing a loud green dress. Maybe that was why I noticed her. It was a bit eerie. I felt like I knew her. It reminded me of my encounter with Paris.
I quickly filled the tank up. Closed my tank lid and hurried back into my car.
I pulled out and headed toward the boulevard. The pink bug, that had the woman that looked so much like me in the hideous green dress, quickly pulled out in front of me, essentially cutting me off.
I almost honked, but I didn’t want to elicit another awkward and strange encounter. We both drove out onto the boulevard and I pulled up behind her at the turning light on the intersection. The restaurant with the yummy croissant sandwiches was across the street from the gas station. I immediately thought, wouldn’t it be funny if she turned into Timmy’s parking lot?
She made the U-turn, forcing me to slam on my brakes, and predictably turned into Timmy’s parking lot. Of course...
Timmy’s didn’t have a drive-thru as it was a little breakfast bistro. The thought of standing in line behind my hideously dressed doppelganger unnerved me.
I pulled in and parked on the same side of the parking lot as the pink Volkswagen bug.
I slowly got out my car and nearly peed my pants when my green dressed twin approached me from the side hastily, and blurted, “Are you following me?”
I gave her a look as if to say, ‘I’m just as freaked out as you.’
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was only teasing you.” The woman sensed my fear, and reveled in it.
“I saw you at the gas station and I was like, ‘Oh my God, that woman could be my sister... possibly even my twin.’”
I looked the woman in her eyes. Her eyes were brown as mine were green. But her face was so familiar. Too familiar. I wasn’t sure if I was losing my mind. I just smiled at the woman and wanted to get my sandwich and not deal with making a new friend like I did the other night.
“Do I know you?”
“Aside from the fact that we’re a few chromosomes off from being twins?” the lady joked, “I am certain we have never met.”
“How can you be certain?”
“I’m just am. I’m really good with faces.”
“Much better than me, I suppose,” I said, laughing.
The woman then gave me a strange, sharp look.
“How do you know Paris?” she asked.
I was thinking this girl might be her girlfriend and she was stalking me. What if USDA Spartan was a lie and instead her friend was this chick?
“How do you know Paris?” I asked, throwing the question back at her.
“One question, one answer.” Then this lady winked at me with her right eye.
Oh my God, she was doing a spell on me. She too was a witch. What the hell is going on?
“I’m going to repeat my question. How do you know Paris?” she asked me.
“Paris is a witch,” I said, against my will. “She thinks I have potential and she wants to train me.”
“To be a witch?” she asked.
Suddenly, I understood what was going on. I didn’t want to tell this woman anything. I was getting a sneaking suspicion that I was talking to Abigail. The actual infamous, treasonous, dark-side resident, Abigail.
This lady who I suspected was Abigail saw that I got my senses back and forced me to speak again, with what I assumed to be a forceful spell. “One question, one answer,” she said, again winking with her right eye as if she were experiencing a nervous tic. She took a deep breath and asked me another question.
“Is Paris training you to be a witch?”
“Yes, she is,” I said, against my will.
“You know if you use the spell three times on the same person, it backfires. I bet Paris didn’t tell you stuff like that.”
“Paris hasn’t trained me to do anything yet,” I said.
“Why did you tell me anything? I didn’t put a spell on you?”
“Because that’s what you do if you think the person you’re talking to might be able to use the information you’re telling them.”
“You’re very trusting. I like that,” she said.
“The way you say it makes me think you don’t like it for the same reason that most people like my honesty.”
“You are so green. I could just eat you up.” She pursed her lips, and then said with a straight face, “Then I want to spit you out.”
That sent a shiver down my spine. “Abigail?” I asked.
“You already know about me? Paris is so obsessed with me that she talked about me with you.” Abigail chuckled. Not like a witch, but in a creepy way, nonetheless.
“Why did you come to me and how did you know where I was going? You were ahead of me both times.”
“I remember being as green as you, but I hungered for knowledge, and sought it as if it was the secret to eternal life, unlike you.” Abigail looked me over and said, “You have an ambivalent aura.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said, finally standing up to the garishly dressed bully.
“So, you understand what I mean?”
“Yes,” I said. “You think that I don’t feel as passionate about the craft as you once did. Obviously, it’s you who doesn’t care about the benevolent roots of witchcraft, I do. Because look at you, you’re wicked. So wicked you’re bad, bad, bad.”
“Bad? We don’t call our side bad. We just choose to use ‘Black Magic’, but we don’t consider ourselves bad. We just have differing philosophies from those who think they are practicing the good side of magic.”
“So, you are aware that witches are on two sides?” I asked.
“Are they?” she said. “Or are we all on the same side and some witches haven’t embraced Black Magic because they’re afraid? We all don’t have to be enemies. That’s Paris’ side that drew the red line. Our side didn’t. Because of her, there is a split in the witch community.”
“Don’t you dare bad mouth Paris! Don’t implicate her in this so-called division. She’s looking out for everyone. She cares about the craft, obviously more than you ever will.”
Abigail began to get angrier as I continued to defend Paris. There was something between them that had seriously gone sour, on a personal level.“I’m done speaking with you. I need more time to figure out what our dear friend Paris is up to and whether I should confront her, diplomatically, of course.” Abigail gave me a strong stare accompanied with a contrasting kind smile. She turned on her heels and walked back toward her car, but stopped and stared at me one last time and added, “Wiser is she, wiser i
s he. You won’t remember me until the next time we speak.”
Chapter Fourteen