by Bethan Tear
“I need some ingredients. It’s quite a long and bizarre list,” Hazelle said apologetically, holding out the scrap of paper she had used to jot down the components of the spell.
“Then you came to the right place.”
Johanna took the paper, unfolded it, and skimmed the contents.
“You weren’t kidding. Are you a practising witch? I didn’t get that vibe from you,” Johanna asked, sounding surprised.
“Oh no! This will only be my second spell.”
“Well these ingredients are rather exotic for a second spell,” Johanna muttered, frowning down at the list, “Powdered horn of narwhale, sun ripened honey, bats wings, raven feathers…”
“She’s casting a memory curse.”
The voice came unbidden from beyond the bead curtain, stronger than before, less hoarse and commanding more attention. Johanna paused and turned towards the voice.
“Bring the girl to me.”
Hazelle had been curious to see the old woman, but that was before she had been busted. Would she now be denied what she needed? She didn’t know of any other occult store in the city and doubted they would be as well stocked as this one. Hazelle was half tempted to snatch the list from Johanna’s hands and make a run for it, though that would have been risky in heels and she would still be stuck at square one, with an insufferable stalker and a sex demon she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be rid of now.
Johanna touched Hazelle’s shoulder gently and guided her to the curtain. It swayed in the breeze ever so slightly and beyond it Hazelle could see a sort of gloomy storeroom, firelight licking at brass candelabras and dancing across a bookcase crammed with tattered volumes, some of them looking as if the spines had been stained with blood. What had she gotten herself into? Blood, and sex, and black magic.
She swallowed nervously and glanced back at Johanna, who suddenly didn’t look so sweet and innocent with her face half hidden in shadow. She swept back the curtain for Hazelle, granting her entry to an area that was clearly out of bounds for an ordinary customer. Hazelle didn't know if she should feel privileged or like a prisoner. She hesitated before stepping over the threshold, warmth from the fire failing to unravel the knot of ice that had settled in her stomach. Johanna was behind her, letting the curtain swing back into place with a rattle of beads.
The room was small and stuffy, a thick layer of dust covering almost everything, giving off a musty, derelict smell. There was no natural light, the windows covered by blankets nailed to the rotting wooden frames, promising perpetual darkness if it hadn’t have been for the fire and the few candles scattered around the room. There were many random odds and ends that didn’t belong in the main store, torn books, rusted daggers, soiled robes and cracked crystal balls like the one she had seen in the window. Hazelle almost missed the bundle of purple and mauve scarves and shawls in the corner, and wasn’t able to distinguish a face until it spoke.
“Come closer child,” the old woman wheezed, beckoning with a wizened, claw like hand.
Hazelle looked back at Johanna but she was distracted, gazing into the fire, her eyes reflecting the flames. There was something strange about this family, even for witches.
Hazelle took a tentative step towards the old witch slouched in a Victorian armchair, her feet resting on a faded poufy, wrapped from head to toe in scarves and shawls, one resting on her head like a turban. Her eyes reflected the fire too, though they were not golden but shimmering white with blindness.
“Closer,” she crooned, gesturing again.
Hazelle obliged her, coming as close as she dared to, wishing she had just bought the stuff she needed and left quickly. Her curiosity for this witch was far from quelled, and as mysterious as Marguerite was this woman actually looked like a witch, like some voodoo high priestess that could predict the future and control the dead. Hazelle was dealing with demons though, not death.
“You have darkness all around you, clinging to you, suffocating your aura,” the witch muttered ominously, frowning, “There is great darkness in your life, and great passion.”
Oh, she had that right. Kaden was a lot of things, he was darkness, and passion, and danger, desire and delight. He infuriated her, charmed her, fascinated her and confused her more than any human ever could. But she hadn’t come about him, not this time.
“Why do you wish to cast a memory curse?” the witch asked bluntly, with none of the politeness of her granddaughter and all of the directness of her own daughter.
“I do have darkness in my life,” Hazelle agreed, her voice quivering, “And I wish to rid myself of it.”
“Come closer child, do not be afraid.”
Hazelle glanced back at Johanna who was watching the scene unfold silently. She shrugged and kept her distance, looking as disturbed by her own grandmother as Hazelle felt.
The old woman was smiling softly, her hand outstretched, waiting patiently. She didn’t smell like a kindly old woman, like lavender and home cooked dinners, instead she smelt like sandalwood and patchouli, with a hint of the spice she could sometimes smell on Kaden’s skin, especially when he was aroused. Maybe it had something to do with the magic coursing through their veins, seeping from their skin, intoxicating and otherworldly. The scent of pure power surrounded this witch, and lingered in her descendants.
When Hazelle knelt by the witch she pressed a withered palm to Hazelle’s cheek. Her skin was like old leather, dark, very warm and well aged, yet somehow comforting. Hazelle resisted the urge to break down and cry, to weep and beg for help in expelling the darkness from her life.
“You have a good heart, Hazelle. Despite the darkness trying to destroy you I can see that, even if I am blind.”
“Thank you,” Hazelle said quietly, not knowing what else to say to such a compliment.
“Give her what she needs,” the witch raised her voice, talking to her granddaughter now.
“Yes, Mama Belle.”
The old witch removed her hand, her eyes staring straight ahead, through Hazelle, as if seeing something that Hazelle couldn’t. Taking that as a dismissal Hazelle stood, brushing dust and cobwebs from her knees, oddly glad to have met the old woman and somewhat encouraged by her support. If she were doing wrong, if she were incapable of doing this, if she couldn’t deal with the consequences than surely an experienced witch like this would have warned her off it?
Johanna was waiting for her by the bead curtain, holding it back.
“Remember child, light and dark cannot exist in harmony forever. One must defeat the other or both are doomed to die.”
Hazelle paused at the curtain, glancing back at the old woman, filled with undeniable dread.
“Don’t worry,” she said solemnly, “I will.”
*~*~*
Hazelle left the store an hour later, over-burdened with bags and three hundred and sixty six dollars worse off, but it would be all be worth it in the end. There was no price she could put on getting Chris out of her life for good. She had the ingredients, she had the recipe, now all she needed was the courage to take that step and change her life forever.
Johanna had been more than helpful. It turned out she was in her last year of high school, studied magic in her spare time as much as she could and helped out in the store. She’d advised Hazelle on the best phases of the moon to practice magic, showed her a detailed chart of the planetary alignments and their significance to spell casting and even gave her a free resource book about the properties of herbs and flora used in Wicca.
Though what Hazelle was to attempt was right on the brink of neutral magics, teetering on black, Johanna didn’t criticise her because, technically, the spell wouldn’t do Chris any physical harm and even though it would tamper with his mind it would only erase the thoughts and memories she directed the magic towards. She was the one with the control, the chance to change her life, and Hazelle confided a little in the girl, knowing Mama Belle was listening from beyond the beaded curtain.
“He deserves this. Don’t you doubt it. We h
ave the internet, space exploration, women politicians and yet there is still little justice for women when it comes to challenging the power of men. We have to make our own power,” Johanna declared, sounding a little sinister. There was a scary gleam in her eyes, they had darkened and Hazelle felt a flicker of the power Johanna had spoken of. As slight as she was, as delicate as she appeared to be Hazelle pitied anyone who dared to mess with this girl.
Hazelle couldn’t have agreed with her more. She was tired of being the victim, of being bullied and blackmailed, not only by Chris but by everyone. She was tempted to mention Kaden before remembering that Johanna was a minor, still in high school, and Hazelle didn’t want to sully her mind with stories of debauched demons that lurked in the darkness, in the depths of the underworld, waiting to be unleashed by naïve, foolish young women who played with things they didn’t understand. She also didn’t think Kaden would approve of her outing him without his permission.
Johanna scribbled the phone number for the store on the bottom of the receipt, along with her personal cell number, asking Hazelle to let her know how the spell went. Hazelle reassured her that she would, thanked her and left, hoping she had the key to destroying the darkness in her life held in her hands.
As she approached the alley where she’d left the car she grasped the bags to her chest with one hand, the other fumbling in her purse for the car keys. As she extracted them someone breathed in her ear and she dropped them.
“Hello sweetheart,” the voice purred, amused, though it wasn’t the subtle, sultry tones of Kaden, no, it was the harsh, rasping, domineering voice of the very man she was planning to curse.
“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” Hazelle whispered, her throat constricted by fear. She didn’t dare to turn and face him. The alley was deserted, surrounded by derelict buildings, and there would be no witnesses to whatever was about to occur here. She was completely vulnerable and entirely at his mercy.
She wished, not for the first time, that Kaden was with her.
“And I thought I told you magic isn’t real,” he drawled, pressing his lips to her throat. They were cold, wet and repulsive.
Hazelle jerked away.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed icily, whirling around in fury, forgetting her fear in that moment.
Chris grinned at her, his lips drawn back in a scornful sneer before he slapped the bags from her hand. The contents spilled out as the brown paper split, jars of scales and stardust rolling away from her with a tinkling that reminded her of the occult store bell. His eyes skimmed the contents of the bags, as if fascinated by this. Did he realise what she was up to? Had he watched her that closely? Could he read her mind? Sometimes she thought he could, but if a demon couldn’t she doubted a human douchebag could.
“My my…you have been a busy girl,” he said sardonically, giving one of the jars a gentle tap with his foot.
“Please, just leave me alone,” she pleaded. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, one step away from a nervous breakdown. She had never been much of a strong person, had never claimed to be, she cried at soppy movies, she winced when she heard of animals being mistreated, she donated to every charity she passed in the street. Chris had known of her kind nature, had abused it, was abusing it still.
“I can’t do that Hazelle because…”
“Don’t say it!”
“…because I love you.”
His words echoed around the alley, revolting her, making her cringe and her skin crawl. She had thought she loved him once, she had thought he could be the one for her, but all that had changed almost overnight and now here they were, with her resorting to magic just to get him out of her life.
“You can’t love me,” she insisted viciously, backing away from him, “You don’t know what love is.”
She thought he was going to scream, or shout, or cry in a tantrum. His emotions and reactions were so volatile and sometimes unpredictable that she cowered, wondering what he would do next. Instead he was calm, placid even, his face inscrutable as he cocked his head to one side, studying her. She stopped and stood before him, chest puffed out, face flushed with fury, hands curling into fists, ready to defend herself.
“Well then…let me show you how much I love you.”
He lunged at her then, so fast she couldn’t scream as he covered her mouth with his sweaty, meaty hand. He shoved her against a wall and she tripped over a broken bottle, twisting her ankle and smashing the back of her head against brick, seeing stars as her vision danced and the darkness started to close in. She could feel his hands on her, one hand still locked over her mouth, preventing her from making a noise of protest, the other ripping open her blouse, buttons bouncing on the pot-hole riddled tarmac, exposing her bra and breasts. He grabbed one without hesitation, massaging it roughly, and she wanted to cry from the humiliation.
“Do you like this baby?” his voice was guttural, sounding more of a beast than Kaden. Right now she believed him more of a monster, more of an abomination than the horny bastard with teeth and claws.
She shook her head desperately, scratching her smarting skin on the brick behind her. The back of her head felt damp, something dripping on her neck. She was bleeding. That only seemed to spur him on.
“You will like what I’m going to do next baby, I guarantee it.”
He released her breast, that hand dipping down low to her pants, wrestling for a way in. There was nothing of the sophisticated, seductive grace that Kaden had. Chris manoeuvred his hand so that he was able to stroke her, to touch her more intimately than she had ever let him before, to where no man had touched her beyond her dreams. No man...but a demon had. She was so dry that it was sore, and he stroked vigorously, not arousing her in the slightest. When he slipped a finger in it was painful.
“You’re so tight baby,” he rasped in her ear as she whimpered, “So fucking tight.”
She bit down on his fingers, flesh crunching between her teeth, bitter blood spurting into her mouth. He howled in pain and recoiled, pulling his finger out of her, leaving her crumpled against the wall, spitting out his blood.
“You little bitch,” he hissed, his eyes ablaze with anger, cradling his hand to his chest, blood staining his shirt, “You’ve bewitched me, heart, mind, body and soul, you fucking tease.”
Hazelle wiped his blood from her lips.
“St-stay away from me,” she said shakily, still quivering with disgust, able to feel the ghost of his finger inside her.
His lip curled up and she thought he was going to attack her again. Instead he kicked the bottle of snake scales towards her.
“Play your little games,” he sneered, “I will have you, Hazelle.”
With that he was gone, leaving her alone in the alley, slumped against the wall, almost unconscious and barely able to breathe through the taste of his blood in her teeth. A feral cat came scampering towards her, not much more than a kitten, starving and mewling for milk. It began lapping up Chris’s blood from the small puddle on the ground. He was so poisonous that she was surprised the cat didn’t drop down dead on the spot.
Gathering her tattered dignity and spell ingredients she bundled them into the boot of her car, checking she’d recovered everything she needed. She had enough to do the spell, with more than enough left over, should she fail the first time.
With the security of that fact in the back of her mind she reversed out of the alley.
*~*~*
That night she dreamt for the first time in days.
“Good day at the office, dear?” Kaden drawled as he strolled into the lounge. He was wearing the same suit he’d been wearing for the Valentine’s meal, though it was slightly creased, the white collar stained with lipstick, his hair tousled.
“Not bad. How was work?” she asked casually, putting down her magazine.
“Same as usual. Broke a few hearts. Ruined a few lives. Ravaged a few maidens,” he said nonchalantly as he loosened his tie, rubbing his neck.
“
Sounds like a typical day at the office for you,” she jested, winking at him playfully. He rolled his eyes.
“I’d much rather be ravaging you,” he said darkly, lust flashing in his onyx eyes as they dilated, black conquering the white, his demonic nature slipping through his human façade. He was insatiable.
“Less talk. More stripping,” she purred, unbuttoning her blouse, giving him a glimpse of her clevage.
He hardened instantly.
She sauntered to him, swaying her hips seductively, slowly undressing herself, letting her garments fall and float to the floor. She felt sexy, sophisticated and sensual, even more so when he narrowed his eyes at her and they sparkled with dark, exotic, carnal desires that would make even the most vivacious women blush. She wanted to fulfil every last one of them.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked boldly, cupping her bare breasts.
He nodded avidly before sweeping her up into his strong, muscular arms, claiming her mouth with his. His was hot on hers, his hands grasping flesh, as much as he could, wherever he could, as if he was afraid she would be snatched from him and he would never taste her again. She welcomed his attention, savoured it, running her hands through his long, unruly hair, gasping and contracting when his hand brushed her womanhood.
“You want this?” he growled against her throat, the sound vibrating through her, giving her even more pleasure, more anticipation than she could bear.
“Yes,” she breathed huskily, her body demanding his touch in deeper, darker places.
That was all the consent he needed. He picked her up by the ass as if she weighed less than nothing, plunging into her. She closed her eyes and rocked against him until he froze, still inside of her, and she opened her eyes to find his face emotionless but his dark eyes dispassionate as he glared down at her. She felt the change in him, the more bestial, uncompromising, merciless side of the demon rearing its ugly head and she swallowed uneasily, dreading what would come next.