by Tara West
“I am psychic,” I muttered. “Or I was.”
“You still are. You’re just going through some changes, like they said.” Krysta nodded to Aunt Bertrice.
“What are you ladies muttering about back there?” my great-aunt asked. Her grey eyes glanced in the rearview mirror and caught mine.
I looked away. My butt hurt. My broken arm felt eight sizes too big inside my cast. Six hours in the car was too much. “Nothing.”
“The Universe works in mysterious ways, girls,” Aunt Bertrice said, hitting the turn signal and making a wide right turn. The street on either side was lined with big Colonials in bright colors with little more than postage stamp front yards. “You should learn early that every twist and turn you take in life shapes the woman you’re to become.”
Krysta grinned. “That’s cool, Aunt B.”
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t cool. It was cryptic and stupid. This twist and turn was setting me completely off my path to nationals.
“Are we in Salem now?” Krysta asked, craning her neck to look out the window.
Aunt Bertrice nodded. “We are.”
We took yet another turn onto an even narrower road, but the houses were still just as big and just as pretty. There were a lot of people out walking or working in the yards, chatting with neighbors or untangling sprinklers on their patches of grass. It was idyllic. Even in my funk, I could appreciate how pretty it all was.
“We’re headed into the heart of the town. Where I live,” Aunt Bertrice spoke up again.
I had a feeling she was trying to make small talk.
“These houses are huge,” I muttered, my gracious attempt at small talk back.
“They’re all very old. If you notice, many of them have little plaques near the doors telling you who built the house and when. Owning a Colonial was a status symbol a couple hundred years ago. Many affluent people lived in town.”
I shrugged. “Rich snobs. Great.”
I felt Aunt Bertrice’s gaze in the mirror. “Today, they’re prized. There is a lot of history in Salem. It’s something we’re proud of.”
No, playing on varsity as a sophomore was something to be proud of, not a stupid house built by some stupid ship captain two hundred years ago.
Aunt Bertrice signaled once more, and whipped her little sedan into a street-side parking spot with efficiency. She shut off the engine and removed the keys.
“Which one is yours, Aunt B?” Krysta asked excitedly.
“Right there.” My great-aunt nodded at a two-story, dark blue Colonial with a brilliant sapphire door and matching shutters. Beds of tall ferns and colorful flowers flanked the front door: colored daisies, tulips, and small pink roses. A trail of leafy vine snaked up the right hand side, like a necklace on the house.
“It’s lovely!” Krysta breathed.
“It’s a house,” I murmured.
My best friend shot me a Look.
Aunt Bertice either didn’t notice the exchange or chose to ignore it. “Come on, girls. It’s time to see your temporary home.”
As I struggled to get out of the low-hanging car with my heavy arm in a sling and my ribs screaming, I held on to that one tiny word.
Temporary.
***
Krysta
When AJ came home from the hospital, she was a little worse for wear, but I thought she had gained some perspective. You know, something like being alive was great and all the other stuff was secondary.
But her mood had gotten increasingly foul the closer we got to Salem. Now that we were here, it was like someone had flicked a switch, and I didn’t even recognize my best friend anymore.
I could understand she was worried about her powers. It was weird she went from being able to see everything coming before it happened to seeing nothing, and I know she blamed herself for the accident, but we had an explanation. And we had Aunt B.
At least AJ was actually exhibiting signs of her powers changing.
Nothing had changed for me.
I pushed my worries about AJ away, because frankly, I was sick of babying her. If she couldn’t figure it out on her own, I couldn’t tell her.
And more importantly, I was in love with Aunt Bertrice’s house.
I stood on the sidewalk, one hand on the handle of my rolling suitcase, and stared up at the perfectly symmetrical home. On either side of the door were two tall windows on the first and second stories, and on either side of the house two chimney stacks, like a cat’s ears.
And speaking of cats, Cemi poked her paw out of the carrier in my other hand and meowed.
“What is it, sweetie?” I asked her, lifting the carrier so I could meet her eyes. She purred, flipping over onto her back and giving me a big, brown-eyed love stare.
She had been such a good kittie on the drive. I couldn’t wait to let her out of the box and cuddle her.
“I expected witches to live in little cottages with giant ovens meant for children,” AJ joked.
I rolled my eyes. “Omigod, AJ. Seriously.”
Aunt Bertice chuckled. “A witch can live anywhere she wishes, and I wanted to own an old Colonial in downtown Salem. I bought this house when I was in my twenties.”
“That’s a long time to live in one place,” I said wistfully.
“Krysta, when you find a place that feels right, you better hang on, and never let it go.” Aunt Bertrice smiled. “Salem was that for me, the moment I visited for the first time. It’s like that for many witches. A place where you aren’t the different one. You’re the norm. Surrounded by kindred spirits.”
The word “spirits” brought me back to myself. I tried to stifle a shudder. Exactly how old was Aunt B’s house? I opened my mouth to question her, and to ask if she’d ever noticed anything odd, but she interrupted me.
“Well, are we going to just stand here all day?” Aunt Bertice teased, motioning for us to follow. She gripped AJ’s suitcase in one hand and mounted the four concrete steps that led to a small stoop at the front door, the suitcase thudding on every stair.
“Are you okay to carry Sif?” I asked AJ.
“I’ve got it,” she snapped.
Don’t react, I told myself. She’s just going through some stuff.
I didn’t respond either as I bypassed my best friend and was the first to follow Aunt B into the house.
The foyer was dim and smelled faintly of cloves. Sunlight splashed from open doorways on either side, slanting golden rays across hardwood floors that were shiny but scarred with age. One doorway revealed a sitting room filled with antique, claw-legged furniture in warm mocha colors and a giant stone fireplace that held a black cauldron hung over a pile of charred logs. To the left was a dining room with a long mahogany table covered in all manner of odds and ends; it was comfortably cluttered. I saw a pile of tea light candles, a stack of dried branches of some plant, a large, bound book open to somewhere in the center, and a half burned stick of incense popping out of a glass with Mickey Mouse on it.
Aunt Bertrice was a character.
She led us through the dining room. “This is more like a workspace, so we won’t actually eat in here. The kitchen is always open to you girls. Please, help yourselves to anything.” She pushed through a swinging door in the back wall, and we entered the kitchen.
The walls were painted burnt orange, and the cabinets were white. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the light fixture over the four-seat table, and from a string twined up between the fridge and the pantry.
“This is the back stairway,” Aunt Bertrice went on, flicking a switch above a narrow set of steps next to the side door.
We followed her up, making a ninety-degree turn at the top onto a landing. “You’ll each have your own bedroom, so you’ll have your privacy. This is mine,” —she motioned to a closed door— “but you can have your pick of the other three.”
I glanced at AJ, whose blue eyes shone with interest for the first time since we’d left home.
“I’ll make something easy for dinner. Once
you’re settled, come on down. I know you must be tired; I am, too. We’ll eat and then call it a night.” With that, Aunt Bertrice smiled, and moved to go back down the stairs. She paused. “Oh, and girls?”
AJ and I had started to walk away, and turned back to face her.
“I’m really glad you’re here.” Her footsteps faded down the stairs.
Chapter Seven
AJ
Early morning light touched the edge of the horizon. I hurried down the gravel road, glancing once behind me, and clutched the book against my chest, my heart pounding.
He had almost found it. I didn’t know how; my hiding place was perfect. But the devil had almost found my book, and if he obtained it...
Not only would he murder me, but he would have access to the very power he claimed to loathe.
A sign appeared just ahead: Salem. I veered off the road into the trees.
The terrain was rough, my trek arduous, but when I found the cave in the dawning sunlight, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Tucking the book beneath one arm, I lifted a hand and concentrated. Pale white light burst into life above my skin.
I would never let him have my Book of Shadows. Never.
I entered the cave.
Day three of waking up in an unfamiliar room with yet another dream haunting me.
The sun slanted through an opening in the heavy green drapes covering the window, illuminating dust motes floating on the still air. It was comfortably warm and peaceful beneath my heavy blanket, despite the dull throb in my healing arm. Even though my concussion had healed, I thought it peculiar Aunt B couldn’t completely fix my arm. She had told me the arm had been broken in so many places, it would take longer to mend. Personally, I thought Aunt Bertrice just wanted to leave me with a little memento of the accident. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t complain too much about missing sports if I knew I couldn’t play, anyway.
I heard voices rumbling downstairs. Krysta and Aunt Bertrice were awake.
I rolled over and groaned, trying to shake the dream woman’s fear. Why was she so worried about some old book? I was starting to think the dreams were nothing more than fiction, and my power had decided to stop working altogether.
That would be just my luck.
Aunt B’s house was so alive with sound compared to home. I’d awakened halfway through the night to the steady thrub thrub thrub of music and tinny laughter from a pub one street over, and this morning, I’d heard neighbors calling, kids screaming, and cars passing.
I was in a completely different world.
We had to start lessons today. Witch lessons. Like freaking Harry Potter or something. Aunt Bertrice had given us a couple days to “get used to” Salem, as if a couple days were all I needed to feel normal again.
Yeah, right.
“AJ? Are you up?” Krysta’s voice floated up the staircase and through my open doorway.
“Yes!” I yelled back.
I knew Krysta was mad at me. She’d tried to get me to leave the house with her last night, but I refused and locked myself in my room again with Facebook. What was I going to do in Salem? Go to one of the weird witchy occult stores?
Soft weight pounced on my side. I lifted my head and caught Sif’s eye. “What?”
She meowed, a sharp “quack” sound that made me giggle.
“Are you hungry?”
Quack.
I sighed. “Fine.”
After brushing my teeth and tossing my hair into a ponytail, I scooped Sif up from the bed and headed downstairs.
Krysta sat at the kitchen table with an open magazine and a plate of pancakes drowning in syrup. She looked up momentarily, but then looked down without saying anything. I dropped Sif to the floor and went to the pantry for her food bag.
“Good morning, AJ. How did you sleep?” Aunt Bertrice asked. She stood at the door, staring out into the backyard with a mug in one hand.
“Fine.” I poured some kibbles in Sif’s bowl.
“I hope the noise from the pub didn’t keep you up.”
I shrugged, taking the seat across from Krysta and piling pancakes on a plate. I had noticed the music was a little louder than it had been before, but it hadn’t bothered me. At least they liked good music.
I noticed a glance pass between Krysta and Aunt Bertrice but ignored it.
My great-aunt shuffled in her slippers to the coffee maker and topped off her mug. I tucked into my breakfast, trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence.
“Ladies, I’m going to go prepare for our first lesson,” Aunt Bertrice said after the silence had dragged on too long. “Once you’ve finished eating, meet me in the dining room.”
Alone in the kitchen, Krysta finally spoke. “AJ, I’m worried about you.”
I picked at my pancake and didn’t respond.
I was worried about me, too.
***
Krysta
“As a witch, one of the most important rituals to have in your repertoire is a ritual of purification.” Aunt Bertrice held out her hands. There were two pale gray bundles in her palms. “White sage. An absolute must-have for every witch’s cabinet.”
I took the one she held out for me. It was a fragrant bundle of leaves wrapped tightly with white string. To my right, AJ hesitated for a moment before accepting hers.
Aunt Bertrice went on. “Purification always starts with smudging.”
“Smudging?” I asked, brow wrinkling.
Aunt Bertrice nodded. She picked up her bundle and held it to the flame of the white pillar candle in front of her. The leaves smoldered, heavy, white smoke drifting lazily into the air.
“Smudging is the act of using smoke to purify and cleanse something or someone. You can smudge magical tools, a house, a pet, even a person, while saying a blessing for eliminating negativity.” She pointed to the edge of the table where Sif and Cemi rolled around with a ball of yarn. “We’re going to smudge them.”
“The cats?” AJ asked, incredulous.
“Yes, of course.”
“But they’re cats.”
“Our familiars require purification.” Aunt Bertrice pursed her lips. “I believe you do, as well.”
AJ rolled her eyes.
Aunt Bertrice ignored her. “Most ritual is personal. What you say is what feels right to you.” She paused and whistled, a musical three-note sound. Within moments, her familiar, Wicce, strolled into the room, his black tail twitching. “On the table, please, Wicce.”
The pure black cat looked more like a panther than a common housecat. His muscles bunched as he launched himself to the tabletop and sat beside her.
Aunt Bertrice waved her sage around him. “In the name of the Goddess and my ancestors, I purify my familiar from all negativity, and ask for blessings to protect him from any who would harm him.”
As she waved the smudge stick once more, the room got noticeably warmer. I fanned myself with a hand.
Aunt Bertrice put the smoldering sage in a small black cauldron at her elbow and smiled. “Warm, Krysta?”
“Yeah, like all of a sudden!”
“That’s energy. You felt the spell. That’s all magic is, manipulation of natural energies. Energies anyone can draw from, if they know what they’re doing.”
AJ pouted. “I didn’t feel anything.”
Giving her a pointed look, Aunt Bertrice said, “Magic isn’t instantaneous without effort. You have to believe, too.”
“I thought spells were, like, rhymes?” I asked, rolling my sage bundle between my fingers.
Aunt B smiled. “Sometimes. It really depends on the witch. I’ll tell you right now—I couldn’t rhyme a spell to save my life.”
I giggled, and even AJ snorted, amused.
“Krysta, why don’t you try smudging Cemi?” Aunt Bertrice said.
I stared at my kitten. “I don’t know....”
“You can do it. It’s a part of you, Krysta. Open yourself to your powers.”
Holy crap. Could I do this?
“Her
e goes.” I took a deep breath, and stuck the raggedy end of the sage bundle into the candle flame, waiting for it to light. Like Aunt B had done, I gently blew the flames out so the leaves burned orange, and then walked over to the kittens.
“Cemi?” I said tentatively, feeling kinda weird talking to a cat.
Her dark ears perked up, and she turned her back on Sif. With feather-light steps, she came to sit before me and cocked her head.
“What do I say?” I asked Aunt Bertrice.
She opened her palms to the ceiling. “Say what feels right.”
I moved the sage above Cemi. She sneezed.
Taking a deep breath, I kept it short and sweet as I waved the bundle around my cat. “I ask that Cemi be purified of all negativity.”
As with Aunt Bertrice before, a wave of warmth washed over me. Cemi closed her eyes and purred.
“Well done, Krysta.” Aunt B smiled.
I glowed.
***
AJ
“AJ? Would you like to give it a try?”
I winced. “No, thanks.”
Aunt Bertrice pushed the candle across the table. “Please. For me.”
Well, when she asked that way, I couldn’t say no. The woman had saved my life.
I lit my sage and whistled for Sif. She pranced over and swatted at my arm as if she were reprimanding me.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I sighed. Waving the translucent smoke over my kitten, I murmured, “Purify Sif and keep her from harm.” I waited to feel something, like Krysta, but nothing happened.
Despite the anti-climactic atmosphere, Aunt B smiled. “Yes. Perfect.”
“But nothing happened!” I couldn’t stop the whine.
“Not true, AJ. Let’s experiment, hmm?” She picked up her bundle and re-lit it, then came around the table to stand beside me.
I froze.
The sweet scent of sage struck me as my great-aunt smudged me. “In the name of the Goddess and my ancestors, I purify AJ from all negativity, and ask for blessings to protect her from any who would harm her.”
And then I felt it—warmth. It fell over me like a blanket, covering me from head to toe. I gasped.