The Dagger

by Marieke Lexmond

  Bridget stares at her computer screen, multiple windows are open. Witch familiars and how they work, astral projection, out of body experience. None of them has any real information, and she highly doubts if there was even a real witch involved in these articles. She would love to be able to look in the family grimoire now. Obviously the web is not a reliable source for witchcraft. She could try Maeve… Probably not a good idea after last night. It was good to hear her voice; she hadn’t realized that she missed her sister. This is not the time to become sentimental, better to approach this as a police officer. Where to begin? Let’s run Tara’s info through some databases.

  NEW ORLEANS

  Tara is not hanging around. Her window is open and her curtains billow in the wind. It’s already warm, but thankfully it’s too early in the season for the humidity to have kicked in. Blue Jays are building a nest in the tree close to her window, and for a moment Tara lets herself be distracted. Spring is her favorite season; it’s so full of life and hope. She needs all the hope she can get. There are still moments she’s so anxious about the future she can hardly breathe. She puts out her hand and sends a whisper out into the wind; very soon a Monarch butterfly flutters by. Tara smiles and the Monarch sits on her finger. She bends down and whispers something in her ear. The butterfly rises into the air. Tara follows her until she’s too small to see. Luna is right to question her. How much can she tell her children? Too many secrets for too long. Maybe her sister can help her sort some things out. It’s the only time she ever did something against her mother’s wishes. She did stay in touch with Lucy. How could she not? They don’t understand the bond between identical twins. Lucy didn’t mean it, and now she was banned from the family forever. Although over the years, they saw each other less and less, Tara can still feel her twin. It’s not like the old days where they could finish each other thoughts. Now it’s more like a feeling that you miss something, or something is just out of reach. Well Lucy is one thing she will absolutely not tell her children about.

  BOSTON

  Lucy, at that moment, is totally engrossed in trying to attune herself to the Dagger. She’s working in her occult dungeon. The room is dark; the windows are blacked out, except for tiny sunbeams that manage to shine through the cracks. Candles burn around the room. The walls are lined with shelves and every possible piece of bad-witch paraphernalia imaginable; skulls, rat-tails, chicken legs, voodoo dolls, you name it. In the middle of the room stands a big old wooden table. The legs are elaborately carved; naked people in agony swirl up. It’s very disturbing. Candle wax drips down to the floor. A very old manuscript lays open on the table. Lucy is bent over it; she tries to make sense of the spell. With a smile she turns to the Dagger on the table. Very gently she pets it, the Dagger makes a purring sound. Encouraged, she picks it up. ‘AGH!’ she opens her hand and the Dagger clatters to the ground. Blood forms from a gash on her hand. ‘You bit me! That’s not nice.’

  The monarch butterfly peeks through one of the tiny openings. She flutters against the window. Irritated, Lucy looks her way. ‘Not now.’ The butterfly is persistent. Lucy waves her hand carelessly and the butterfly incinerates. Lucy’s attention is already back on the book. ‘It must be somewhere in here. One of them must have written down how to attune the objects.’ Without touching it, she lifts the Dagger and puts it next to the book.

  Bridget forgets about the time as she digs deeper and deeper into Tara’s life. No strange things so far, and definitely no signs of Tara making it to Boston. She’s not crazy, she knows what she saw. She’s looking through Tara’s bank statements when Tom startles her. He stands next to her desk. Quickly Bridget minimizes the screen. ‘Back already?’

  ‘It’s three o’clock. Did you find anything? He bends forward but the only thing on the screen is Tara’s driver’s license.

  ‘Not yet. How was the family?’

  ‘I wish you would have come. They’re your kin.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ She gets up and tries to create a bit of room between Tom and her screen.

  ‘You know, a little spooky.’ She punches him playfully on his arm.

  ‘Her sister is on her way to identify the body. Why don’t you handle that one?’

  A little later, Bridget stands opposite Gwen. You wouldn’t take her for a witch in her white t-shirt and skinny jeans, but it’s clear that she’s Alana’s sibling. She has the same nose and sturdy chin. Quietly, Bridget nods to the medical examiner, and he slowly pulls back the sheet. A sob escapes from Gwen, tears start to stream down her face.

  ‘Take your time.’ Everybody dreads this part of the job. It’s always heartbreaking to show the family.

  ‘It’s her. Knowing is different than…’ Overtaken by grief, she can’t finish.

  Bridget waits in silence. When Gwen draws a deep breath, she seems to have gained a little self-control. Slowly she reaches for her sister. Gently she touches her cheek before Bridget can stop her. ‘Be at peace, dear sister.’ The body sighs.

  The ME jumps back. ‘She’s still alive?!’ he squeaks in disbelief. He feels for a pulse.

  But Bridget and Gwen pay no attention to him as they watch Alana’s spirit rise from her body. A ghostly face turns towards Gwen and smiles before she dissolves into a million twinkle stars, which slowly dim.

  Now Bridget turns to the ME. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘I know how to do my job!’

  ‘Of course. It was just a fluke.’ She tries to calm him down. The medical examiner sputters some more, but Bridget gets distracted by a voice in her head. ‘So, you’re a witch’, states Gwen with her voiceless witch communication. Bridget looks Gwen in the eye and confirms Gwen’s statement. It’s been a while someone reach out to her like this. Gwen’s voice in her head continues. ‘Did you say your name was Madigan?’ Bridget only gives her a small nod, unwilling to say anything. Gwen looks away and Bridget can feel her anxiety building.

  What’s wrong?’ asks Bridget out loud.

  ‘Where are her clothes?’ demands Gwen.

  The ME snaps back into duty. ‘They’re bagged for evidence.’

  ‘I need to see them.’

  ‘We will return them if you want after the investigation.’

  Gwen becomes agitated. ‘I need to see them. NOW!’

  ‘Calm down, what’s so important? Maybe we can tell you if it was there?’ Asks Bridget.

  ‘She was carrying the family heirloom. It’s extremely valuable to our family.’

  The ME reads from a list ‘She wore a five pointed star and that was it. No other jewelry.’

  ‘No dagger?!’

  ‘No. The star was the only thing.’

  Bridget sighs, giving into her witch side and adds in their quiet communication, ‘There was no magical object.’

  Gwen looks at Bridget again and answers out loud. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. What’s so important about the dagger?’ Bridget wants to know. This seems a bit over the top for a dagger.

  ‘Ask your grandma. We’re doomed.’ Gwen sags to the ground and starts to cry. Heavy sobs make her whole body shake.

  Bridget and the ME glance at each other. Bridget tries to console her, never her strong point. While questions race through her own mind. This makes no sense. Does she know about her grandmother? She helps her up, but Gwen pushes her away, and before they can try to pry more out of her, she runs out of the room, leaving Bridget with more questions than answers.

  Frustrated, she stalks back to her desk, but gets an unpleasant surprise when she sees Tom browsing her computer. She’s not in the mood. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Interesting stuff you’ve been looking at.’

  ‘It’s private.’ She cuts him off.

  Tom glances at the ID: TARA MADIGAN ‘Any relation?’

  ‘It’s my grandmother.’

  ‘Is this what’s been keeping you
occupied? I thought it was the case. Side project?’

  Bridget decides to ignore his questions. ‘Gwen, the murder victim’s sister, was very worried about some dagger, a family heirloom. Did she mention that before?’

  ‘No, she didn’t.’ Tom taps on the screen.

  Again Bridget ignores it. ‘I know what you mean by that- she’s a little different. I think she’s one of those new age witches or something.’

  ‘Or something, alright.’ Laughs Tom, ‘You two freaked out the ME! He called me.’

  ‘Oh that. It was nothing.’

  ‘That nothing cost me a half an hour, listening to his rambling.’

  ‘You know how he is.’ Bridget rolls her eyes. ‘It was something spiritual.’

  ‘Spiritual? So I was right? It is your kin.’

  Bridget laughs, time to get out of here now he’s on a positive note. ‘I’m going to see if my apartment is still in one piece. Wes and the dogs, dangerous combination.’

  ‘So…’ Tom nods towards the computer again. ‘I’m a pretty good detective.’

  ‘Okay.’ Bridget takes a deep breath, he’s not letting her off the hook, he won’t stop. ‘My sister called that Grandma is sick.’

  ‘So you check her records?!’ Says Tom in disbelief.

  ‘We have a strange relationship, what can I say?’ She grabs her coat.

  Tom is clearly dissatisfied with this answer but decides to let it go. ‘Spooky alright.’ They both laugh and make their way out.

  NEW ORLEANS

  It’s night and Luna walks around in her bedroom. The room is an elegant combination of modern and more classic furniture. The signs of witchcraft are there but it’s subtler. Luna slips into something more comfortable, a short wide shirt. Her long hair is brushed and hangs freely down her back. She blows out the candles around the room, until she stops in front of a picture of her with Maeve and Bridget. The girls must be around fourteen. They all smile at the camera, and the famous Yosemite dome rises behind them. Steve, her husband, had taken that picture on their summer vacation, happier days. Hesitantly she touches Bridget’s face. Why didn’t she understand? She did it for her. Luna opens one of the drawers and takes out her wand. She starts a sweeping move and halts. No. Not again. She can’t go through the pain of being rejected again.

  What she hadn’t told Tara or Maeve is that every year she still tries to reach Bridget on her birthday. ‘It’s been seven years. If she hasn’t forgiven me now…’

  She mumbles to herself, puts her wand back and slaps the picture face down on the dresser.

  Without looking back, she slides between the fresh sheets, time to get some sleep.

  BOSTON

  At the same time, Bridget sits at her living room table with a sketchpad. There’s no sign of witchcraft in her house. It’s a normal everyday home. It’s quiet in the house, except for some deep breathing from a couple of dogs sleeping on the couch. Only the light of the table lamp illuminates her work. It’s a pretty accurate drawing of the Dagger. She looks at it, closes her eyes and adds some little details. Pretty perfect. Satisfied, she leans back. She hears bare feet coming closer and watches with full of anticipation when Wes rounds the corner. He looks delicious, even just after waking up. He smiles at her and walks over to take a peek at what she’s doing. He turns it more towards him. ‘Your grandpa is not the only artist I see. You’ve been holding out, babe.’ Bridget shrugs ‘This needed to come out.’

  ‘Are you coming to bed? It’s late.’

  ‘Go to bed, I’ll be there soon.’

  Wes kisses her, she melts into it, and he kisses her more thoroughly. Finally, she pushes him away. ‘I promise.’ With a knowing smile, he walks away. Bridget lets out a deep breath; she can’t resist him at all. Right now she wants to run to bed, but the Dagger needs her attention. She shakes her head and grabs her laptop. She searches and searches but nothing comes close. She glances at the trunk in the corner of the room, buried under a bunch of stuff. She doubles her search online, still nothing. Finally, she gets up, snaps her laptop closed, and moves in the direction of the bedroom. Stops. Damn, she has to check it. She would never forgive herself if it was in there, and she just didn’t check it because it interfered with her no witchcraft rule. Now that she’s decided, she resolutely uncovers the trunk and opens it. It’s full of her personal witchcraft stuff. A book, a wand, crystal ball, incense, candles. And when she digs deep enough, her own spell book.

  She takes it back to the table and starts to browse through it. It’s filled with drawings, spells, stories and dried herbs, you name it. But she can’t find anything about a dagger in there. She’s tired and frustrated, time to go to bed. She closes the book, but leaves everything on the table when she finally joins Wes in bed.

  NEW ORLEANS

  In those darkest hours of the night, Tara makes her way to the tomb. A light globe above her hand leads the way, although she can probably make this trek with her eyes closed. At the tomb, she puts her hand on the fire symbol and barely waits till the door is open wide enough to disappear inside.

  She snaps her fingers and the torches along the walls flare to life. For a moment she touches the most recent tomb. She always takes a moment to say hi to her mother, a small private ritual. Now she needs all the help she can get. Tara feels the pressure of bad things coming. It feels like a freight train coming towards you and you’re frozen on the track. These days she doesn’t sit and wait and hope things get better. She learned the hard way that it’s better to do something than to do nothing. Some might question her sanity, though, to go and search the astral plane for answers. Stop stalling; she gives herself a mental shake and gets to work.

  With another snap of her fingers, she lights the candles on the altar. Tara rearranges some of the objects on her altar. Quickly and with confidence, she grabs a cup with salt and sprinkles salt on the ground while she walks in a circle. She starts in the north and then moves south. ‘Guardians of the East protect my circle. Guardians of the South, protect my circle. Guardians of the West, protect my circle. Guardians of the North, protect my circle.’ When the circle is complete she moves to the middle and sits down, while she takes the Wand out of her tunic. She holds it upright between her two hands and recites, ‘Covenant sisters, come to my aid. Covenant sisters, we cannot wait. Covenant sisters—’

  Suddenly, she stands in a forest. The sun peaks through the leaves and her clothes have changed; she now wears a red cape that flaps in the strong wind. She has entered the Astral Plane, a sort of dream state, a doorway of sorts. Although her body is still in the tomb in the real world, what happens to you in the astral plane happens to your actual body as well. As strange and dangerous creatures inhabit the planes it can be very perilous. It can give you the advantage of fast travel between two points, or you can search for things that are lost. Tara still holds the Wand. She quickly scans her surroundings, all good so far. She touches the Wand to her forehead and whispers ‘Please help me find the Dagger, your sister of Air. Find it now, find it quick. Things are afoot.’ Like a divining rod, the Wand starts to quiver and points her in a direction. Without hesitation, she follows the direction, all the while glancing around her. The Wand leads her deeper and deeper into the woods. The wind rustles the leaves and Tara glances nervously behind her. It’s like the color is leaving the world and leaves start to fall around her. A piercing cry makes her jump. She’s getting too old for this. Calm down, calm down, she tries to assure herself. A gust of wind rains leaves on her and she picks up the pace again. Better get this over with. The wind is picking up and it gets harder and harder to make her way forward. Something brushes her shoulder; she freezes and slowly turns around. A big goat like figure looms over her, his big jagged teeth in a demonic smile. Drool escapes on the side of his mouth. She swallows a scream. Two claws are about to touch her. Without thinking, she touches the point of her wand to its middle mass, ‘et in ruina ardeat’.
The demon explodes into a million pieces. Cries are erupting everywhere around her. She swears like an old sailor. The world around her seems to press into her. She mumbles another spell--

  In an instant, she’s back in her protective circle. Her eyes snap open, and in her shaking hands she still holds the Wand. Too old, she’s getting too old for sure. Damn that was close. The candles have almost burned down. She’s been in the same position for a long time, and she can’t really get up. She lets herself slide to the side, then rolls on her back and just lays there for some time. Finally, the feeling comes back to her legs and she scrambles up. She still hobbles while she unwinds the circle. What is she going to do now? Something happened to the element Air and now the astral plane is even more dangerous than normal. Generally, she keeps the Wand in the drawer in her bedroom, but with her mounting feeling of trouble, she better makes sure it stays safe. She looks at the tombs, walks over and slowly moves from one to the other. Letting her senses touch her ancestors. The tomb of her great grandmother gives her that little shiver up the spine. That’s the one. She waves her hands over the lid and it moves aside, revealing a skeleton with some remnants of clothing attached from an era long gone. The skeleton head moves to face her, and the empty sockets stare into her eyes. ‘Hello, Great Grandma. I need to ask you a favor. Would you mind holding on to the Wand for me for a little while?’ The skeleton mouth moves, although no sounds come out. Tara understands perfectly. ‘I know it’s my responsibility. There’s trouble, something happened to Air. The paths of the Astral Plane are guarded by dark creatures. I fear for the family. Please. For a little while till I know what’s going on. I need to know it’s safe.’ Great Grandma sticks out her boney hand. ‘Thank you.’ Tara gently places the Wand in it. Great Grandma takes it and the lid slides back into place.

  Back in her room, she can’t sleep and paces around. Seamus follows her every move. ‘It was bad out there, I know it’s been a while, but bad things are out. More than usual. I had to flee.’ Tara feels so agitated it’s hard to think straight. She needs to calm down, but the pressure on her chest makes it hard. She walks to her window and throws it open. The night air blows in, and with it the spring scents and quiet noises of the night. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out, it calms her down a bit. The cards, she needs to consult the cards. She lets her left hand glide over the bags full of tarot decks and picks one. She takes the cards out, shuffles them and thinks about her question. What does she really want to know? Is it what happened? Or what she needs to do? She must be sure to ask the right question.