by Jill Nojack
It's not much of an impediment for me. I assume the diggers planned explosives for it. They won't be needed when I'm done: I hope they appreciate the favor. The government can have most of what's behind this curtain. I am here for only one thing.
The stone crumbles when I lay my hands on it. The gravel moves off down the corridor behind me with only a little effort of my will, but I make sure to leave a smooth path by which I can leave easily.
I've entered similar chambers before and found myself misled, taken in by the ones who came after, who called themselves Ba'al to impress their local tribes and claim Ba'al's strength. But there is only one Ba'al, my Ba'al, the first to be called Master.
I grew tired through the centuries of being lured to Egypt when I caught a scrap of news that turned out to lead to a pretender. It took so long to travel in those days, only to discover they'd unearthed some small, local deity, many of whom were even human. Ridiculous! Pretenders to the throne who confused the historians.
This time, no one has claimed it to be his tomb. But I saw the writing on the wall, as they say. The style of the tomb paintings and their subject matter was enough to tell me I had to see it for myself. It's only a hundred miles or so from where I last saw him. A hundred miles was a long distance in those ancient times, but it was not so far for a god.
The corridor opens into the burial chamber now. The air is poor in here, but I won't be staying long. I take frequent, deep draws of it to satisfy the needs of this body.
The sarcophagus is undisturbed. It's remarkable no tomb robber has found it. It looks exactly as it would if it had been sealed yesterday. The canopic jars that look so much like the knock-offs I lined up around the top of the shop are placed just so, the organs inside still waiting for renewed use in the afterlife.
I walk to the coffin and run my fingers across the smooth lid, reading the words as much with my fingertips as with my eyes. The painted face is the face I knew. It's him. It's Ba'al.
I lift the heavy lid with magic, although I would sacrifice these arms, this back, these legs gladly if I had to. His remains are still wrapped in decaying folds of cloth. The mummy smells of antiquity and dust. I picture him beneath the cloth as he must be now. In such a well-preserved tomb, he might even still be recognizable.
But I haven't come to admire a corpse.
I set the clay Ab Khr that I prepared so many years ago beside me on the ground. I stabilize my mind around one thought and then extend my hand toward the mummy's chest and sink it deep, tearing through the rotted cloth and dried out flesh below the rib cage. When I pull it out again, I cradle his heart in my palm, then raise it to my lips for a kiss.
I kneel to place it into the Ab Khr and close the lid, sealing it with the beeswax and herbal potion that is traditional to my people. I murmur my intent to gather his essence back from the universe. Although there can be no breeze in this underground stone chamber, a soft draft moves my hair.
I close the box and my own heart nearly bursts with joy. It wells within me like lava flowing up from the heart of a volcano. It is hot and abundant, and it will burn away anything that gets in its way.
He has been gone so long it will require strong magic to draw him back to me. It's time to go home and get back everything I've lost.
***
It should have been an exhausting flight. I barely notice, I'm so buoyed up by my precious cargo. Getting through customs with a mummy's heart should be difficult, even impossible. But for me, I'm sure it will just be an amusing stroll. And if it isn't? I have a backup plan.
I keep the Ab Khr close, hidden in a large handbag my Eunice persona would reject as something Gillian would buy. It pulls my entire silhouette down. But until Ba'al has eyes to go with his heart, it makes no difference.
I hope he'll be pleased with my choice. He would have liked Eunice better—her extreme lean body was so much like my original one. It seems unfair that I could choose a form for him that pleases me when he has no choice in mine. Of course, he can choose any body for me on his return, and I will happily let go of this one to please him. But the small amount of wealth and property I've accrued could be lost, and those things are not so easy to gain in a world that doesn't leave gifts at our altars. It's no fortune, but it's enough for us to be comfortable anywhere we choose.
Once Ba'al takes Tom's body, he can easily override the human personality, destroying it and taking the Cat magic for his own. There was so little passed through history about his love of sneaking around in his alternate form, but the interest in cats you see in so many tombs was attributable to the cat-shifting god.
As I approach customs, I gaze casually at each of the officers in turn, blinking in a lazy way and yawning. As I do, each of them grows tired, asleep on his or her feet in seconds. I pass as they snooze. When they awake, they will be unaware that they had done anything more than blink.
The other sheep just wait for the attention of the officers to return. It won't surprise me if they start bleating.
I don't count on the armed guard on the other side of the customs tables who sees me pass unquestioned. I yawn, but he remains alert. Not suggestible. None of that useful human empathy. I've never had patience for his kind unless I needed a killer within easy reach.
As he heads for the end of the tables with his eyes on me, I reach for my middle, then snatch and twist the fine chain around my waist to break it and activate the spell I'd earlier cast in preparation for just this possibility. He falls with a snapped neck.
See? This is what happens when you're nice to the common people. They break your windows when they're not rifling through your tombs. The note I find on the downstairs parlor table tells me that the window is boarded due to a possible break-in. Then it asks me to drop everything to let the police know I'm okay. Like it's their business where I go or what I do. How has Kevin let them get so out of control? He's a simpering little toady, but he certainly had his uses when it came to keeping the local police force leashed.
I pick up the second note. Oh, how nice. The bill for boarding up the window. And an offer to repair it with a 10% discount to boot.
This all wouldn't have been such a surprise if I hadn't packed Eunice's cell phone instead of Cassie's on sheer force of habit. I snatch hers from the counter, and there are several messages. Most of them are from the police to tell me about the broken window and remind me to call when I can. One is from that awful Dan whom Cassie was engaged to, begging her to reconsider their relationship, and another is from Gillian reminding me about "choir practice" tonight.
I have no interest in attending, but I'll have need of the coven soon, so I can't blow my cover just yet. "Cassie" will have to attend. But I still have time to try to figure out who was here and what they wanted.
Nothing appears to have been disturbed downstairs, so I go upstairs. No—nothing missing that I notice on a casual inspection.
Then I remember that I didn't check the register. Funny that the cash is the last thing I think of. I trot back down the stairs—I love how these knees just bend as if it's the easiest thing in the world—and out to the shop. The old brass register opens with the sound of metal sliding against metal. The same small stack of bills I always leave for the next day's change is still there. If someone broke in, he wasn't much of a thief. A thief wouldn't have missed such an obvious payoff.
And what's this on the counter? Everyone has a message for me today, it seems. After reading it, I glance to the doorway. The extra set of keys that had gone missing has been returned through the mail slot just like the note says. I walk over and snatch them up, slipping the key ring around a finger so that I don't forget to hang them back in their proper place.
I look over the plastic name badge that was also left on the counter, but I don't recognize this man. And how tacky—really? Cassie has taken to plastic name tags? Ah well, it saves me the trouble of firing this Tom Collins, whoever he is. Since he had the keys, he isn't on the list of suspects, either.
It was probably
just some local hooligan who was quickly scared off by the cops. Good. Hopefully he'll try again, and I'll have great fun putting him through his own personal Scared Straight program. There was precious little entertainment in this town when Eunice still exerted her influence. But she doesn't have any influence on me now. And it is—how would these humans say it—time to set the "inner goddess" free.
***
First things first. This box gets hidden. With the possibility of unknown persons pushing themselves into my business, I need to get that taken care of right away. Up to my room I go. I hold the Ab Khr in both hands and tread carefully up the stairs. It's only clay. It can be broken. And until the quickening ceremony, the heart cannot protect itself.
I place it on the bedside table while I make fast work of the vent cover. Then I step down onto the bed and drop the screwdriver on the pillow to grasp the Ab Khr and place it in its resting place. The two hearts are now side by side after all these years. The screws go back in quickly. My hiding place is secure.
Once that's taken care of, it's time to start putting less important things back together again as they were. If Cat had been standing watch over the house while I was gone, I'd know exactly who to punish. It's time he comes home.
He isn't near. I'd feel him. But how far could he have gone? Into the woods, probably, to feed himself on wild creatures until he feels his human side slipping away and needs my help preserving it. Then, he'll be home. His vain hope of being a man again always works in my favor. I suppose I could have left a window open for him before I left, but he deserved to be punished for running away. He'll be glad enough of shelter after spending so much time out in the elements.
Time to sort this out: at least I know where each of the items I'll need is kept after putting them all back in their proper places. I walk quickly through the shop, collecting ingredients. There's plenty of time before midnight to get in a small locating ritual and send out a beacon to force Tom home.
I clear the parlor table and sit on a velvet chair facing it. Oh my, this body loves its sensual pleasures. I never realized how comfortable this chair is.
On a lace mat, I place the brown candle on its golden holder. After lighting it, I sprinkle rosemary, jasmine, and other herbs into the flame by crunching the leaves into small bits between my thumb and forefinger. As the powdered herbs alight in the fire, sparks glow with the color of their magical essences. I stop sprinkling and wave the now-extinguishing orbs toward my face, where I breathe them in. Oh my—it's an exquisite sensation as the magic hits my bloodstream.
The slightly ochre tinge of the questing magic tints my vision. I close my eyes but the image of the room remains. Yellow sparks guide me like fireflies and my mind follows along its path, seeing each item as I pass it in the shadow land of the magic. The trail of light moves into the shop and passes under a shelf, briefly illuminating a dust bunny made primarily of Tom's fur. False positive. It will move on.
But it doesn't. The light extinguishes. The spell fades.
Tom is gone?
An involuntary gasp takes me. It can't be true.
All those years I kept him alive, putting up with his disobedience, and he's gone now that I need him?
No. No, he was just outside the shop a few days ago. The pigeon snagged a piece of him. He must have finally discovered a way to hide from me.
If he isn't dead, when I find him, he's really going to wish that he was.
***
The night air is warm. Such a shame we'll be wearing robes instead of prancing around in our skins. I'd dearly love to show off my new one, get the warlocks—and the witches who are inclined that way—worked up for no good reason. Sadly, even in the sixties, the Giles coven didn't indulge in the "free love" revolution during ritual. Too many married members, and the high priestess before me was an awful prude.
These east coast witches be damned. They've always been far too prim and proper. The French had an easier way about them. That's what attracted me to them in the first place. That and the little slip of a French girl finding my Ab Khr after it languished in a seaman's trunk in the attic for too many years. I enjoyed that skin and the skins of her female descendants for generations until I hitched a ride to the states with Eunice.
Tripping along lightly as I imagine Cassie might do in this situation, I approach Robert where he's standing with his SUV door open, donning his robe. On his left hand, he wears the ring that denotes his role of leadership. I don't have mine, but I'll get it back soon enough.
I wonder who's wearing it, although I really shouldn't. I'm sure it will be Gillian. I forgot to check her fingers when she was in the shop. How fun to take it back from her. All the time she'll be thinking she's given it to someone nice who'll lead the coven in the right direction. I hold back a laugh. I dare say it might sound just a shade maniacal if I let it free here in the dark.
"Good evening, Robert. Where's that son of yours?"
"Too many other things to do. It's hard to keep the young people interested these days."
I can't imagine Kevin losing interest in taking his father's place when Daddy's gone. After all, he poisoned me for not moving swiftly enough to help him take it. I make a mental note to find out what Kevin's really up to. And then I'll decide how I can best use it to my advantage.
But for now, I play along. "You know that I'm happy to be here! I just wish Granny had told me about it a long time ago." I wonder if I got the gosh-gee-willikers tone right.
"Yes, I wish she had, too. You could have grown up in the choir instead of being on your own with your talents for so long." He ties his robe loosely around his waist and shuts the car door, offering me his arm in escort. Even in private, he was always a gentleman. I doubt age has changed him that much. Even if he hadn't been a gentleman in the sack, I'd still save this new body for Ba'al, as difficult as it's turning out to be. It responds to everything male. But there shouldn't be much time left to wait. My husband and I will be like virgins again in our new bodies. I'll hold on to my fleshly explorations until then—or, at least until Tom returns. I take the arm I'm offered, and we walk toward the clearing, the other witches falling into a loose group around us.
It suddenly occurs to me that "Cassie" is the only younger person in attendance. Ah well, it's an elderly group these days. Kevin is younger by this coven's standards, but even he is in his late thirties.
Perhaps I can change that now that I have something soft and juicy to offer the potential warlocks in town. And, of course, eligible warlocks draw the young women. The possibilities are rather exciting. And when Ba'al returns in Tom's succulent flesh….
Oh my, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm really not used to the chemicals running around in a young body anymore.
No one has their hood up yet. It's still meet and greet time. You'd think this was a gathering of the DAR complete with finger sandwiches.
Zelda and her daughter are either late or not coming. I spent a great deal of time grooming them over the years, pretending to take an interest in their lives. Perhaps they left the coven out of loyalty to me when I died? If they did, I can coax them back quickly. In fact, all of my devotees are missing tonight. But they'll return soon enough, when they see that I'm back in all my glory.
"Evening, Cassie," Natalie says as she saunters by. Wait a minute! Natalie's wearing my ring? Why would the coven put that buffoon in a position of power? It makes no sense. She's stolen something from everyone in the coven at some point. Kleptomania, my ass. The woman is just a thief. Although obviously, I'm not judging her. She's nowhere near the thief that I am: I've stolen an entire coven member, and no one has a clue.
I'd always thought Gillian would be everyone's choice for high priestess if Eunice stepped off before she did. It was her I was hoping to go up against to regain my power. Victory won't be anywhere near as sweet if I'm taking the power from Nat. There were times I even admired the old harpy.
Finally, Robert and Natalie draw their hoods up and others follow suit. Our priest an
d priestess walk among us, handing us each white candles, the color of cleansing and purification.
We form a ritual circle and Robert makes an inner circuit in the glow of his taper, lighting the candles we extend as he goes. I prefer a nice red candle myself. I have several waiting for Ba'al when he comes home.
The one who requested to be cleansed, Janice, walks to the center of the circle, seats herself cross-legged on the grass, and pulls her robe off her shoulders down to her waist, revealing sagging breasts and a stretch-marked belly. Her downward-facing nipples stiffen as the breeze blows across them.
I wish this was all over. Cleansings bore me. The chant begins, but I don't know the words to this one. Custom-made, probably, for Natalie to show off her bespoke casting skills.
Oh, let it be over. It's making me sleepy.
When Cassie—I still can't bring myself to think of her as Eunice—slumps to the ground, I creep cautiously out of the woods to join the circle. It will help to have as many people as possible who care about Cass lending their energies when Natalie attempts to cleanse her of Eunice's presence. Even someone with no magic. Love is a kind of magic in itself.
"Tom, get her and carry her to the center. Quickly. I don't know how long Eunice will sleep."
While I carry her to the middle of the ring as Natalie directed, Janice rejoins her peers, and the others start interspersing black candles with the white ones. Gillian told me earlier, when we were packing the items Natalie would need, that if what Eunice did to Cassie was a hex, the black candles would help. She just shrugged when I asked what affect it would have if it was something else.
Natalie claps her hands. "Everyone, join the circle now, very close. Take the hand of the person next to you and don't let go."
She begins the spell then, speaking quietly at first.
Outside the ring, the wind picks up, and Natalie's voice grows in strength to match it. Dead leaves swirl along the ground and the branches sway in the trees. Inside the ring, the candle flames stand straight, the trails of soot barely flickering as they head for the sky.