by Wendy Wang
Chapter 9
The bell rang, and teenagers flooded out of the classrooms. Charlie stood in the middle of a long hallway. She recognized the place immediately although it had been over 15 years since she'd been here. It was her old high school. Everything looked almost the same except the kids. The kids, while they looked like her kid. Only a little older. Charlie caught sight of the girl from her car, Ryan, and she followed her into a classroom.
This is a dream, Charlie thought.
Ryan sank down into the chair of the first desk in the row of desks running along the wall. Charlie glanced around taking it all in. A teacher walked through her and it shocked Charlie.
Charlie understood she was here for a reason. She took a deep breath and pushed her way into the girl's head, so she could hear her thoughts and feelings. Ryan had chosen the chair on purpose, not because it was assigned. It gave her a good vantage point of the whole classroom and still allowed her to see the board without her glasses. Her stepfather had knocked them off her face when he'd gotten home Saturday night. She needed them for her classes and she didn't know when her mom would be able to replace them. It all depended on her stepfather and when he would decide that she could see again. She pulled her notebook from her backpack and the small paperback of Shakespeare's sonnets that she had picked up at the used book store for a dollar. That way she could write in it and make notes, which was forbidden in the textbooks. Her English teacher Mrs. Newman was at the blackboard writing questions about Sonnet 130. They'd studied Othello last semester and she'd enjoyed the play, but the sonnets really touched her. She couldn't imagine loving someone so much.
“All right settle down,” Mrs. Newman said facing the class. “Who wants to read aloud for me.”
Ryan sank lower in her seat not wanting to be chosen. She hated public speaking, hated the idea of her classmate's eyes on her. What if they noticed the bruises on her arms or at the base of her neck? The door to the classroom opened and Layla Blake walked in late. Mrs. Newman stopped speaking, put her hands on her hips and gave Layla a disapproving look that rolled off the girl like water on a duck's feathers.
“That's your second tardy this week, Layla,” Mrs. Newman said.
“Noted,” Layla said and took the empty seat behind Ryan. Mrs. Newman went easy on Layla. Anyone else would've gotten a tardy slip and been sent to detention. It was almost like she had some sort of spell over Mrs. Newman, or maybe it was because Layla loved Shakespeare, and could talk about things that no one else in the class could. Some people around school were afraid of Layla. Not because she was smart, but because she played with dangerous things -- there were rumors that she was into Satanism and witchcraft. Any time Layla crossed the most popular group, which was led by Madison Holt - Queen of the God Squad and founder of the local abstinence campaign, the word witch got thrown around. But it never seemed to bother Layla. What would it be like to be so cool, that even bullies like Madison didn't get to you? Ryan would never know. She did whatever it took to stay out of Madison's way.
Madison Holt sat two rows over and stared at Layla.
Ryan tried to ignore her, instead focusing on Mrs. Newman's voice and the imagery of Sonnet 130.
“You know I've got something that'll take care of that,” Layla whispered.
Ryan cast a glance over her shoulder. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah.” Layla grazed her finger over the back of Ryan's neck beneath her ponytail. Ryan shuddered at the touch and pulled away.
“Stop that,” Ryan said. “I'm trying to pay attention.”
“He got you good huh?” Layla said.
A cold rock dropped into Ryan's stomach and she met Layla's gaze. “I don't know what you're talking about. I can't afford a bad grade in this class.” Ryan pulled the collar of her white T-shirt up. Trying to cover the fading bruises at the back of her neck.
“I get it,” Layla said leaning forward, lowering her voice. “I had a stepdad once, too.”
“Who said anything about my stepdad?” Ryan hissed.
“You know people talk. They talk a lot actually.”
Ryan swallowed hard and stared into Layla's face. There was no pity, thank God. Just sense of understanding.
“Ryan,” Mrs. Newman said. “Would you like to share whatever you're talking about with the class?”
Ryan jerked toward Mrs. Newman, horrified that she'd been called out. Ryan sat up straight and cleared her throat. “No ma'am.”
“Okay then, no talking in class.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Ryan said, turning toward the front of the class. From the corner of her eyes Ryan saw Madison Holt wearing a condescending look on her heart-shaped face. Madison pursed her perfectly plump lips and held her cell phone just underneath the desk as she texted something to the girl in front of her, Olivia Martin. They both cast a glance her way. Ryan forced herself to look at the board, at Mrs. Newman, anywhere except at Madison and Olivia. She didn't need to be noticed. Especially not for making “friends” with weirdo Layla Blake, with her dyed jet-black hair, her black clothes, and shiny black fingernails. Layla who had pentacles drawn on the back of her notebook.
No, she didn't need that kind of heat. So she kept her eyes on her own paper and listen to Mrs. Newman drone on and on about the dark lady in Shakespeare's sonnet.
Charlie awoke with a start. She sat up, flipped on the light and dug through the drawer of her bedside table for a pad and pen. She quickly scribbled down the details of her dream that she could remember. Ryan's name -- Whisnant – and the other girl with the black fingernails -- Layla Blake. They were both at Palmetto Point High School. Was that for real or just a construct of her mind? There was only one way to find out. She would have to go back to high school. That thought scent a fresh wave of cold dread through her stomach. She had hated high school.
A cross between a purring and gurgling sound made her look toward the corner, where the ghost of Penny the chicken was roosting. The hen had her eyes closed and kept opening and closing her beak as if she was drawing in deep breaths, causing the faux snoring sound. Spirits often kept their habits from life. She guessed it was no different for the chicken. Even though it really didn't need to sleep. Or snore. Charlie got up out of bed and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She turned the light on over the sink and took a clean glass out of the drainer and filled it. The cool water washed the dry arid feeling out of her mouth she often got after a strange dream. Her heart leapt into her throat and she peered out the window. She could see an apparition of a man in the woods.
She quickly turned off her light. Maybe her eyes were playing a trick on her. After her eyes adjusted, though, she could see him glowing plain as day along the edge of the woods. He had gotten through the first line of defense of wards around the property and was now pressing up against the second. If he somehow managed to break through, there would be no stopping him. He would be able to get to her. Charlie checked the clock on the wall above the small bistro table. It's glow-in-the-dark hands read 2 AM. Charlie scrambled to find her phone she'd left charging in the living room.
She quickly rattled off a text to her cousin Jen, unsure if Jen had her phone with her. She knew she wouldn't be awake. She was probably sleeping deeply and who could blame her? Jen would be up in a couple of hours to go into work. Charlie watched the 6-inch screen of her phone waiting for any sign that Jen was responding. But none came. She was on her own.
“Think, Charlie,” she whispered to herself. Then she remembered the Gods-eye cross she'd made for dealing with a vengeful spirit last year. It was a simple cross made of sticks from the yard and yarn. Jen had shown her how to wrap the yarn in between the cross-like structure of the sticks. It was essentially a trap meant to capture the spirit until it could be released someplace safe, like holy ground or in her case she'd given it to Tom and he had taken the spirit onward to wherever it was supposed to go.
She went into her living room. On one wall underneath the bank of windows was her sofa and a big cus
hy chair. And across from the sofa on the other side of the room was a large duck egg blue dresser. It had taken her two whole days to paint the dresser with chalk paint and then another two days to wax and buff it. It was her favorite piece of furniture, other than her old spindle bed, which she had inherited from her grandmother Bunny. She used it as a television stand and a place to store extra towels and blankets. But the top center drawer was a catchall that held mostly stuff that didn't have a home, like stamps, and plumbers tape, a flashlight, a set of screwdrivers, and lots of little junk. She pilfered through it trying to remember where she had put the Gods-eye cross. It wasn't there. She scanned the room quickly. Where had she put it? She spotted the old trunk that she used as a coffee table. She went over to it and lifted the old brass latch, pulling the lid open. Sitting on top of a stack of spell books that had belonged to her grandmother Bunny was an extra God's-eye cross. Charlie grabbed it and held it to her chest.
Charlie tried to remember the simple spell that went with it. It had been several months since she'd needed to use one. And she had no doubt that the spirit wouldn't go down without a huge fight. One cross might not be enough. She looked down at her phone hoping to see a message from her cousin but there was nothing.
She took a deep breath. Tom had told her that if she needed him he would be there. All she had to do was call his name and if he were in his reaper form he would come. Well, she wasn't crazy about seeing him in that form. Nothing was quite as terrifying as staring into the face, if you could call it that, of a reaper.
Nevertheless, she said his name aloud. “Tom?” Her voice shook a little. “Tom are you there?”
Charlie listened to every little sound waiting for any sign that he had heard her. Something scraped on the window over the couch, drawing her gaze. The spirit had somehow through sheer force of will pushed through the boundaries that her cousin had set up around the property. The spirit stared at her with a gleeful leer on his face. He was enjoying frightening her. Is this what he had done to his stepdaughter? Terrified her? No wonder she wanted to curse him. He pushed his hand through the window and then his whole body followed suit.
“Hello, witch,” he said. “Are you ready to pay?”
Charlie held out the God's-eye cross, and began the incantation,” “Goddess of the moon and sun, I call upon your aid. Put the spirit where he belongs, with others like her, let him fade.
Earth, wind, fire and air, return this spirit whence he came and soothe his anger and his fear. So, mote it be.”
The antique iron floor lamp that she had gotten in an estate sale and restored herself lifted into the air and flew at her, interrupting her incantation. She dove out of the way just in time to see it smash into her television and leave a wide gash in the top edge of her dresser. Charlie gritted her teeth and held up the cross again. “You bastard. That's my favorite piece of furniture.”
The trunk slid across the floor toward her and she rolled out of the way, but not quite fast enough. It clipped her elbow and her hand opened as an electric spark of nerves traveled from her elbow down to her fingers. She cried out and dropped the God's-eye cross.
“When are you going to learn? You're just like her. You think you're better than me. Well I'm dead, witch and I can see the world. You think your stupid little protections will stop me? Nothing can stop me. You can ask Ryan if you don't believe me. Your little charm necklace was worthless,” he said hovering over her.
He held his hand out just over her neck and began to squeeze. A fresh wave of pain went through her throat and she tried to scream but the only thing that would come out of her mouth was a gurgling sound. Charlie clawed at the invisible hand around her neck, but it was useless.
A strange screeching clucking sound and a flapping of wings filled the air. He loosened his grip on her throat and turned toward the sound just as Penny the hen flew at him, feet and spurs first. She flew right through him and he backed off.
“What the fuck?” he said, swiping at the air.
Charlie flipped over on all fours, coughing and crawling for the God's-eye cross. The hen disappeared. Charlie grabbed the cross and held it up and began her incantation again. The spirit-man scowled and turned on her again. He raised his hand and the television levitated. He pulled his arm back almost as if he were going to throw a ball at her. Charlie continued her incantation and he began to flicker. The television dropped and crashed onto the dresser. He started to scream and curse at her. She got to her feet and held the cross out, more determined than ever to stop him forever. Behind her she heard her front door burst open. Charlie dropped her arm, halfway expecting to find Tom. But a man she had never seen before stepped inside.
“Get behind me,” he said, and he pulled a glowing gold amulet from his pocket.
The spirit dove for the window, disappearing into the night.
“What the actual hell?” Charlie yelled. “You let him escape. I had him. And look what you did to my door!”
“Sorry about that. Don't worry I'll fix it. It will look brand-new by the time I'm finished with it,” he said, turning to face her. He was tall, at least six feet two by her estimation. And he had a round, boyish face but there were determined lines carved into his forehead and he wielded that amulet like only a witch could.
“Who the hell are you?”
He smiled an easy smile, and she knew immediately that it was part of his persona. A weapon to charm and disarm. Scott, her ex-husband had that same sort of smile that he used to pull out whenever he wanted something from her.
He held out his hand. “You called the defenders of light. I was the closest agent in the area. I'm Ben Sutton.”
Charlie crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly aware that she was only wearing a cotton nightgown. She shifted her feet.
“Do you always make your house calls at 3 AM?”
“You weren't supposed to know I was here. If it weren't for the spirit, you never would have.”
“Oh, I don't know about that,” she said. “So are you a medium? Is that why you could see him?”
“Nope, I'm not. I'm not a conduit like you evidently are. I'm a necromancer. Spirits only come to me when I call them. I take it you're more at their mercy.”
“I'm not at anybody's mercy, dead or alive,” Charlie said defensively.
“Whatever you say, honey,” he smirked.
She wasn't sure if it was his tone or the simper on his lips but something about him rubbed her the wrong way. “I'm not your honey.”
He chuckled. “Sorry about that. I thought that was the norm down here.”
“Only if you're from here, which obviously you're not.”
“No, I certainly am not.” He let his eyes wander around the room. “You have quite a mess here. Would you like me to help you pick it up?”
“No thank you.”
“You sure? I can have this place restored in a jiffy.”
“How?”
He furrowed his brow, “You're a witch, right?”
“Yes,” she said tightening her arms across her chest. “That doesn't mean that the world bows down to me, though.”
“Then you're doing it wrong, honey,” he said, giving her half smile that irritated her.
“I do not need you lecturing me on how to perform my craft. I can't believe that you are the representative of the Defenders of Light. I thought --” she stopped.
“You thought what?”
“Nothing,” Charlie said, shaking her head. “I think you should go.”
“I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I've been chasing this witch across the country. I finally tracked her when I get word there's a witch in the area who's had a vision about my perp.”
“Your perp,” she scoffed. She'd never heard Jason use that term when talking about different perpetrators. He always said suspect.
“Yeah my perp. Do you have a problem with that?” He stepped closer and she looked him in the eye.
A hissing sound came from behind them and Charlie turned just in t
ime to see the reaper's robes move past her as he swooped into the room, grabbed Ben by the throat and pushed him up against a wall.
“Tom!” Charlie rushed forward, panic squeezing her heart. “No! He's a witch!”
Tom looked over his shoulder at her and hissed. It took everything she had not cower at that sound and at that moment she realized with Tom in his natural form she had no idea how he would behave if threatened.
“Tom, please. Just let him go. He's here because I asked him.”
Tom's long thin skeletal like fingers released the man, letting him drop to the floor.
“Holy shit,” Ben said, rubbing his shoulder where Tom had picked him up like a ragdoll. “You called a reaper on me?”
“No, of course not. I didn't call him on you. I called him to help me with that spirit.” Charlie turned to Tom. “Could you please go into my bedroom and change. It would make it much easier for everyone I think.”
“Of course,” Tom said, his silky voice sliding across her senses.
“It's right through there.” Charlie pointed to the door of her bedroom and Tom glided across the floor, his robes fluttering behind him as if a fresh cool breeze followed him around.
Charlie caught Ben staring at her in awe. “What?”
Ben shook his head. “Nothing.”
A moment later Tom appeared fully clothed wearing his glamour.
“Holy shit,” Ben muttered under his breath.
“Tom, this is Ben Sutton. He's a witch. He works for the Defenders of Light,” Charlie said. “He's here because I asked the Defenders of Light to help us find this witch that cast the curse.”
“I see.” Tom regarded Ben with caution. “I apologize for not getting here sooner. I heard your call, but I was tied up with something. Are you all right?”
“I'm fine. Thank you. I actually had it under control until he showed up. I was about to capture the spirit with a God's-eye cross, but he let him get away.”
“It was a slight miscalculation on my part,” Ben said. “I thought she was in mortal danger. That's why I intervened.”