Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem

by Rick Bettencourt

  “You okay, dear?” Viola asked.

  I’m just dying inside. “I’m fine.” Carolyn’s faulting career weighed heavily on her.

  Derek whistled to the tune.

  Rebecca slammed the radio’s button off. “I’m sorry. I can’t listen to that for four and a half hours. It’s driving me—”

  “What’s gotten into you?” The shadow of Derek’s chiseled chin danced on the dash.

  “Nothing.” Rebecca placed a hand on Viola’s knee and forced a smile. Her piss-poor attitude had trouble maintaining itself in the old lady’s presence. “I’m glad you two had a good time.”

  “Oh, Derek’s parents were just lovely.” Viola tapped Rebecca’s hand. “I’m glad I finally got to meet them.”

  “Did they help with your decision to sell the inn?” Rebecca asked. The reason for Viola having tagged along had been for her to break free from the island and clear her thoughts.

  “You know,” Viola nodded, “they did.”

  “My dad’s pretty good with real estate deals.” Derek’s shadow made sharp points on Viola’s lap. “He liked Michael and Terrence’s proposal.”

  “So it’s a done deal?” Rebecca asked.

  Viola took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes.”

  “Nice,” Rebecca said. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving the island.” Viola’s plans to refurbish the house with the proceeds she made from the inn, which had been too much work for her to keep up, resonated with Rebecca.

  “Hungry?” Derek asked as they passed a billboard advertising fresh seafood.

  Viola rubbed her hands together. “The Lobster Pot in Kittery?” She’d only mentioned it several times since the idea of venturing off the island came up.

  “Let’s celebrate.” Rebecca’s outlook brightened. The way Viola appreciated simple things warmed her.

  “We’ll stop off for dinner there, and we’ll be home in no time,” Derek said.

  A flutter. Rebecca jolted. What the…? The tips of her fingertips pulsed, and she rubbed them together.

  “Becky?” Viola asked.

  “I’m okay. Just a crazy day. Tired is all.”

  “Take a little snooze,” Derek said. “We’ll wake you when we’re at the Lobster Pot.”

  Eyes heavy, Rebecca turned to him. “Yeah, maybe I—” A shadow. Her eyes shot open, and she screamed.

  The truck swerved.

  A car beside them honked.

  “Good Lord!” Viola grabbed the dash.

  Rebecca’s head slammed against the window.

  A set of black wings jutted out from Derek’s shoulders.

  “You’re him!” She rubbed her head.

  “Rebecca!” Derek yelled. “What the f— What the heck is wrong with you?”

  The wings disappeared as the truck veered back into the lane. A BMW tore past them. A woman in the passenger seat stuck up her middle finger.

  Viola clutched her chest. “My, that scared me. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Rebecca looked at the dash. The setting sun cast odd shadows is all.

  “I’m not fucking the bat man. I’m not fucking the bat man.” Alone, Rebecca paced inside the bathroom of the Lobster Pot in Kittery, Maine. “I’m just losing my fucking mind. No biggie.”

  “Rebecca?” Derek’s voice echoed outside the door. “Babe, you all right?”

  “I’m okay.” She’d felt nauseous when she abandoned the two stuffing their faces with fried seafood. “It’s just that time of the month.” It was. Maybe that played into it, too.

  “Your fries are getting cold. You want me to have them reheated?”

  “No, no. I’ll be right out.” She flushed the toilet. “It was just a bunch of shadows,” she muttered and opened the door. Derek’s chestnut eyes and five o’clock shadow welcomed her.

  He grinned, teeth white as snow. He looked over his shoulders, then stepped inside the woman’s room and kissed her. “You scared me.”

  Rebecca’s tension left, and she kissed him back.

  “C’mon,” he said, “we can’t leave Viola at the table alone.”

  She rubbed his shoulders. They were firm and muscular. No wings…I’m crazy. She kissed him. Her mouth grazed the fuzz of his beard. “We could have a little quickie.”

  He snickered. “I could probably help you with that.” He backed away. “But you need to eat. I think you’re going batty. You haven’t had a thing all day.”

  “Batty? I had a muffin in Salem.”

  He opened the partially closed door. “I’m sorry. You’re not…batty. I didn’t mean…” His thick eyebrows expressed remorse. “C’mon, join us.”

  Rebecca stood on her toes to kiss his pouty lips—and tasted a hint of ketchup and a bit of orange from his soda. Her cell phone rang. She pulled it from the back of red corduroys and looked at it. “It’s Bernie.”

  He kissed her head and left for the dining area.

  “Did you find it?” Rebecca answered.

  “I did. He wasn’t none too happy, but he agreed to send it back.”

  She sat on the toilet lid. “Thank God.”

  “Two hundred fifty bucks! Becky, you costing me a fortune.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I swear. We need that book of shadows to reverse the spell.”

  “I called Carolyn,” Berniece said.

  Someone opened the bathroom door. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No, no.” Rebecca stood. “I was done.”

  “Becky?” Berniece asked.

  Rebecca stepped into the hall. “Why did you call Carolyn?”

  “To say hi.”

  “Bernie?”

  “I wanted to see how her singing sounding.”

  “And?” Rebecca watched Viola and Derek laugh.

  “You’re right. Her singing ain’t going too well.”

  Rebecca huffed. “What did we do?”

  “We?”

  “Bernie. It’s not just me. Don’t leave this all on me.”

  “I’m sorry. We’ll fix it. I found a reversal spell on the internet.”

  “On the internet? A spell? Bernie, no.”

  From the back of the restaurant, she watched the waitress pour more water for Viola.

  “Did you know Carolyn knows Barry Manilow?” Berniece asked. “She just got off the phone with him when I called.”

  “No, I didn’t, but she is in the business. What’s it matter?”

  “She’s going to his concert in a couple months. He just gave her tickets.”

  “That’s nice. So, when’s the book coming?”

  “Becky, I got an idea.”

  Viola turned around and waved to Rebecca.

  “When’s the book coming?” Rebecca waved back.

  “Soon.”

  Viola and Derek kept eyeing her like they were talking about her—smiles plastered on their faces.

  “Look, Bernie, I got to go. No more cockamamie ideas. You hear?”

  She hung up, and when she returned to the table, she noted Viola’s flush appearance. “You two having a good time?” She reclaimed her seat.

  “Everything’s delicious!” Viola cut a French fry with her fork and knife. She’d only eaten a small portion of her meal—the fisherman’s platter.

  “Glad to hear it.” Rebecca pulled in her chair as Derek reached under the table and squeezed her knee. She sipped her diet soda.

  “John Arthur and I used to love coming here on our way back from Massachusetts.” Viola cut a shrimp. “I’m so glad you both let me come for the ride.” She took a bite.

  “Of course.” Derek slurped his soda and held back a burp that rocked his shoulders.

  “It’s a lovely little place.” Rebecca took in the vintage décor of the restaurant. “I love the way they decorate it. It’s so fifties. I love mid-century style.” She picked at her lobster roll. “Someday, I’ll have a house and fill it with all sorts of—”

  “Viola?” Derek asked.

  The old woman slumped forward. Derek rushed to her side before s
he slid to the floor.

  The staff at the Emergency Room of York Hospital in Kittery rushed Viola into a private room. Rebecca went with her while Derek remained at the front desk to fill out paperwork.

  Panic shot through Rebecca’s core. Her body perspired, and she felt cold and clammy. I just started to get to know her. The thought of losing the old woman—the one who’d been like the grandmother she never had—frightened her.

  Injections.

  Curtains drawn.

  Rebecca led out into the hallway.

  Questions about food allergies.

  “I-I don’t really know,” Rebecca stammered.

  Staff in blue scrubs rushed about.

  “Is she going to die?” The words came out of her mouth but found no answer.

  The chaos: another patient on a gurney wheeled out of an adjoining room. Machines in tow with four or five white coats pushing on the patient’s chest.

  “Please.” Rebecca wrung her hands.

  The room began to shift, and the hall became a clouded tunnel. She held onto a railing to her right. She knocked down a photograph on the wall.

  “Rebecca?”

  Derek. It’s Derek. The room shifted more.

  Black.

  Silence.

  Then, birds chirping.

  The roar of the ocean.

  Seagulls cawing.

  “Rebecca?” a low voice asked.

  She walked the beach. Where the hell am I?

  “Wisteria Beach.” The male voice was comforting, but Rebecca didn’t recognize it.

  The cold water at her feet stung her toes. “It’s so real.” Yet she knew it couldn’t be. She’d been at the hospital.

  “It is real.” Out of focus, like a clouded black-and-white photo, the man limped along the beach.

  As soon as she began to make out more of him—a high-hipped bathing suit—she took to the sky. Frightened, she hollered something inaudible. The force of the air rushing past ripped her sound away. Her cheeks quivered from the wind. The night air whipped her clothes, like a flag during a storm out at sea. Her speed intensified, and in an instant, it eased, like an astronaut floating in space.

  Silence.

  A sudden burst and she glided through the sky so fast it felt still.

  City lights.

  “New York?” she asked. The Twin Towers. The Empire State Building. Radio City Music Hall. She could see each in detail and all at once at the same time. “I must’ve passed out.” Like in the lucid dreams she sometimes had, she took to creating and manipulating the false reality. “Carolyn?” She moved through the air toward an apartment building.

  Inside, Carolyn appeared beside a piano. She wore jeans, a baseball cap, and a red leather coat. She futzed with the piano’s lid prop.

  A constant drip annoyed Rebecca. Her still-naked feet sopped into the plush of an Oriental carpet, as water careened from her body. “Why am I wet?” Her blouse clung, heavy and cold, like a soaked rag, her arms weighted with water. Then, she felt as if she were sinking into the floor.

  Carolyn hummed.

  At the piano bench, a beautiful woman with dark hair—ivory beads lacing an intricate bun—leaned back and caressed the keys. She had mahogany skin, and a glittering fawn-colored gown hugged her slender figure.

  Rebecca didn’t recognize the song. “Carolyn?” The actress couldn’t hear her. “Carolyn, you can sing.” She sunk farther into the ground.

  The carpet became sand.

  Derek.

  “Derek?”

  “Sweetie, you passed out?” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “You scared me. We don’t need two of you sick.”

  She tried to sit up, but he placed a hand on her chest.

  “Relax. Everything’s all right. Viola just had a touch of a food allergy that she didn’t know she had. And you…” His voice was mesmerizing, and Rebecca closed her eyes. “They gave you a little something to rest,” he continued. “They think you had an anxiety attack. It’s been kind of crazy.”

  “How long…?” She swallowed. Her throat scratched like sandpaper. “How long have I been out?”

  “Just a couple of hours.”

  She kicked back the covers and sat up. “The sand!”

  “What?” Derek jumped back.

  She patted the scratchy linen, expecting to find grains from the beach. She fell back onto the inclined mattress when she found none. “I had a weird…dream…or vision.”

  “Shh.” He kissed her forehead. “They said we could leave in a couple of hours. They wanted to keep Viola overnight, but she refused. We can pick up a room at a hotel. The Benadryl is making her a little sleepy.”

  The Tony

  “Call the superintendent!” Peggy yelled to the dripping ceiling. Her discarded shoes were scattered by the piano, and her nylons absorbed the water oozing from the carpet as she and Carolyn pulled the furniture off it. “My Chanzeaux!”

  “I’ve got it.” Carolyn placed the pillow onto the settee and dragged the divan onto the floor so that they could get the remaining items off the Oriental and save the carpet.

  A knock at the door. “My hot water heater let go!”

  “Call the friggin’ super!” The baubles in Peggy’s hair bobbed, and a few loose strands dislodged from their pinning and wavered in front of her face. “I can’t believe this. Of all fucking times.” Her voice choked.

  “It’s okay. Go.” Carolyn didn’t want her to miss the party. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Peggy’s face crumpled into tears. “I should’ve just gone earlier! I should’ve gone there early, but no!” She held out the vowel a little longer for emphasis. “I had to be fashionably late!” She dropped to the wet floor.

  “Peggy.” Carolyn went to her. “Your dress. You’re going to—”

  A drop of water from the ceiling landed on Peggy’s face. “It doesn’t matter.” Her hands flew up in the air and landed in a puddle beside her. “It’s over. My life’s over.”

  Carolyn knelt. Her jeans wicked warm water. “Your life’s not over.” She brushed back a strand of hair from Peggy’s eye. “We can save it. If you’d’ve gone, it could’ve been worse.”

  The actress cried and placed her head onto Carolyn’s shoulder. “I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Shh.” Carolyn petted her hair. The girl was so thin she didn’t want to touch her too hard. “It’s just some…water. Your insurance—”

  Peggy cried louder. “I don’t have any. I didn’t pay it.”

  Carolyn tried to hold her out by the shoulders to get a look at her, but the actress clung to her arms. “Why?” Carolyn continued caressing her bony back.

  Peggy sniffled. “It’s all a ruse!”

  “What’s a ruse?”

  She ripped herself from Carolyn. “All this!” She flung her hands out, indicating her surroundings. “I can’t afford it. I can’t do it anymore.” She kicked the settee, and the Chanzeaux fell into a puddle. “Fucking hell!”

  Carolyn rose but slid and fell on her elbow. “Ow.”

  Peggy crawled to the pillow. The trundle of her dress claimed water as she crept. “Enough!” She picked up the pillow. “I’ve had enough!” She flung it against the wall. It stamped a dark spot on the wallpaper. Her hand slid, and she fell sideward onto the teakwood floor.

  Now up, Carolyn’s boots slid under her as she went to her friend. “Let me help you.”

  Peggy crawled to a drier area and, from the look on her face, appeared bent on destroying other items. She rose, went to the shelf where her Tony sat, and seized it.

  “Don’t!” Carolyn grabbed it as Peggy pulled her arm back as if to throw the award. “You worked too hard for it.”

  “I don’t deserve it.” Peggy sobbed but still held onto the black armature with Carolyn. “You know how I got this? You know how I got the part?” The medallion shook. Her mascara limned her face. “I fucked my way there!” She nodded—a manic smile.

  “Peggy, don’t do this to your—”
<
br />   “I fucked Josh Robbins to give me the part, and I fucked Lenny Horne to write me the song.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You performed it. You sang it! You didn’t screw the audience into loving you!”

  Peggy let go of the Tony, coughed, and cried.

  “Look, I spin on top of sedans and sing about the quality of friggin’ car engines.” Carolyn slapped her thigh. “I sailed through a bowl of Cheerios to get my son to eat them. I played a witch. I was a friggin’ bee in silly—”

  “No.” Peggy put a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t. You walked out. You held your ground.” Her voice wavered. “You’re genuine. I’m weak.”

  Another knock at the door. “Superintendent.”

  Peggy raked her eyes with her knuckles. “Can you…?” She nosed at the foyer and then headed for her bedroom. “Thank you.” She peered out from the door and shut it.

  “Coming!” Carolyn said to the superintendent, returned Peggy’s Tony to its rightful place, and slopped through puddles on her way to the foyer.

  With Peggy’s place drying out with a large fan that made too much noise, Carolyn welcomed her friend into her apartment. She unbolted the front door and wheeled Peggy’s suitcase behind her.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Peggy said. “I’ll take the couch.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Carolyn locked the door behind them. “I just changed my sheets this morning. You can have my bed.”

  Peggy rubbed Carolyn’s shoulder. “It’ll be like old times, rooming together at NYU.”

  Carolyn chuckled. “We can watch movies and talk about boys.”

  “I got an idea.” She took her luggage from Carolyn. “I’m taking you out. So I missed the Grammercy party.” She dismissed it with a hand wave. “We’re going out on the town.”

  “Oh, Peggy. I don’t know.” Carolyn hung her keys on a hook by the door.

  Peggy knelt to the suitcase she’d placed on the floor. “I want to hear someone sing.”

  “Who?”

  “You.”