The Left-Hand Path

by Barnett, T. S.

Her phone’s sudden vibration in the silence startled her so much she dropped the stone mirror, and she scrambled after it but failed to catch it before it rolled away across the floor. Puffing out a sigh, she sat back on her rear and picked up her phone. She smiled to see the response from Nathan.

  Sorry to ignore you; bloody business here. Taking Elton drinking to celebrate. Wish me luck.

  Cora chuckled as she tapped her reply. What are you celebrating?

  Before she got an answer, the cellar door broke open at the far end of the room, and she looked up to see Thomas emerging from the hidden stairs. Right behind him, a man stepped out into the living room, followed by a woman holding the hand of a young girl. Sweat coated Thomas’s brow, and the permanent circles under his eyes seemed a little darker, but the family hauling their pair of suitcases from the cellar practically gave off waves of relief.

  “Guess that answers that question,” she muttered to herself. She pushed up from the floor and moved across the room to smile at their new guests.

  “Cora,” Thomas started, his voice sounding a little rough, “This is Charles, Lily, and Grace. They’ll be staying with us for a day or so until I can get them moved.” He nodded to the man he’d named as Charles and gestured toward her. “This is Cora. She’s—helping me,” he finished. The simple words somehow sounded awkward coming out of his mouth.

  “Well, you guys picked a great little getaway home,” Cora teased. She bent down and put her hands on her knees to look the little girl in the eye. “This place has really nice rooms, and really spooky rooms. Which one would you rather have?”

  The girl called Grace paused, mirroring the cheeky grin that Cora offered her, and then she half shouted, “A spooky one!”

  “You got it, kid.”

  Cora straightened and gestured to the family to follow her up the stairs. When she glanced back to make sure they were behind her, she stopped short at the sight of the woman with her arms tightly around Thomas’s neck. He wasn’t returning her embrace, exactly, but he did have enough compassion to touch one hand gently to her arm. As she pulled back, she offered him a teary smile and wiped the wet streaks from her face. Her husband shook Thomas’s hand with both of his own so fervently that Cora thought he might pull her housemate off his feet, but Thomas only nodded and quietly urged them upstairs to rest.

  Cora opened the upstairs bedroom that had the creepy grim-faced portraits in it, which Grace trotted up to peer at right away and the parents didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll put on the spare set of sheets for you guys,” she offered as they set down their suitcases, “and see if I can scrounge up something to eat. You all look like you’ve had a day.”

  “You could say that,” the woman chuckled. “Thank you.”

  “I gotta say, though—I didn’t think I’d ever see anyone hugging Thomas. He gives me a feeling like I’d get bitten if I tried it.”

  Charles gave a quiet laugh. “I know what you mean. But he’s nicer than he acts.” The man turned to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s hair. “He’s saved our lives twice now. You know what they do to kids like ours.”

  “Yeah,” Cora agreed softly. She brightened enough to offer them a smile and another promise of fresh sheets on her way out, but a small frown worked its way back onto her face for every step she took down the stairs. When she and Thomas had been in the Magistrate jail, he’d mentioned it wasn’t his first time being put under the cuimne, and that it probably wouldn’t be the last. How many times had he been caught and punished—tortured— for the same crime? And here he was again, still doing it, still risking his freedom and his sanity, just because it was the right thing to do. Maybe she’d been judging him too harshly. Who cared if he had a caustic personality? He’d done more for this single family than anyone could reasonably expect from him, and he’d done the same thing for a dozen or more others, too. She guessed she could forgive him being a little rude.

  ***

  Thomas apparently had to wait for the animals to be delivered before he could send the Walker family away—and still refused to tell Cora what he needed them for, which made her increasingly more suspicious. But she passed the rest of the afternoon chatting with Lily and Charles, assuring them that Nathan, like Thomas, was much kinder than he pretended. Grace eagerly agreed with her, so excited to show off the charm Nathan had made her that a gust of magic blew the contents of the kitchen counter onto the floor with a clatter. The girl grinned through her embarrassed grimace, giggling as Cora related the story of breaking a car’s windows with a sneeze before Nathan found her and took her in.

  When Thomas eventually showed himself around sunset, he was carrying his small leather satchel, and he stood in the kitchen doorway and tilted his head toward Cora.

  “It’s time, if you’re ready. For the cleansing.”

  “Oh—sure.” She smiled at Grace on her way out and followed Thomas to the front door. “Do I need to bring anything, or...?”

  “I have what we need.”

  She followed him into the yard and beyond into the woods, taking quick steps to keep up with him. “So what exactly is this ‘cleansing’ I need to do?”

  “We need running water. There’s a brook nearby that will do. You don’t need to do anything, really. I’ll perform the ritual.”

  “It doesn’t involve those creepy knives you bought this morning, right? You need to warn me before there’s any bloodletting, please.”

  “No bloodletting,” he promised. “Not today.”

  Thomas walked the uneven ground like he’d taken the path a hundred times—even in the dimming light of dusk, his steps were sure and steady, while Cora picked her way over roots and brambles and plucked sticky branches from her shirt as they tried to slow her progress. They made their way down a sloping hill to a narrow road cutting a path through the trees and passed a sign marking the trail as “Independence Greenway.”

  When they’d been walking for close to ten minutes, Cora spoke up. “How far are we going?”

  “Far enough.”

  “Helpful. Do you get, like, extra points from your demon friend whenever you’re cryptic or something?”

  Thomas snorted. “We need to make sure we aren’t disturbed. It isn’t far now.”

  “Please promise me one more time that you’re not taking me out into the woods to murder me. I’ve seen this movie. I don’t want to end up in pieces in your creepy outside fridge.”

  “You think I’d need to take you all the way out here to murder you?”

  “Not super reassuring, Thomas.”

  He stopped walking just short of the treeline and turned to face her. “Cora, jokes aside—if you’re going to do this, you need to trust me. Unreservedly. If you proceed with me, and you enter into that cellar, you need to have no reservations. I can do what’s necessary to protect you, but if the demon senses uncertainty, you could be in danger in its presence. Do you understand?”

  Cora watched his face in the growing dark, a frown on his lips and a crease in his brow, and for the first time saw something in his scowling that she hadn’t before—worry. He really was concerned for her. The thought made her smile despite his grim expression. He was nicer than he acted.

  “I understand,” she said. “I’ve never worked with any kind of spirits before, but you know what you’re doing. So let’s do it. I trust you.”

  Thomas hesitated a moment, searching her face, but then he nodded. “This way,” he murmured, and he stepped over the short railing and into the woods. Cora stayed close so she didn’t lose him in the darkness, but she resisted the urge to reach out and take hold of the back of his cardigan. The cold air brought up goosebumps on her skin even under her light sweater, and the wind that hummed through the trees wasn’t helping, but the moonlight pouring down on them in rays left everything in a soft silver glow that made it bearable. She rubbed her arms to warm them until they reached the promised brook, which was just broad and deep enough to splash pleasantly against the rocks that formed its edges. Thomas stopped
at the edge of the water and set his satchel down on a broken stump.

  “You’ll need to take off your clothes,” he said, and she stared at him.

  “How much of my clothes?”

  “All of them. You need to stand in the brook.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s freezing!”

  “It’s April,” he sighed. “You’ll survive.”

  “Yeah, well I’m from Arizona; we don’t do nighttime dips in rivers.”

  “It’s your choice, Cora.”

  She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the flowing creek. She didn’t really want to voice her deeper concern—that getting naked in front of Thomas was going to be awkward. It had to be awkward, right? But the way Thomas waited patiently, watching her without judgment or pressure, made the ball of tension in her stomach relax. It was just a body, wasn’t it? Thomas wasn’t there to leer at her. If he wasn’t going to be childish or weird about it, then she owed it to him not to be childish or weird herself. So she nodded, and in one determined movement, stripped off her sweater and shirt. She still swore against the chill in the air, but she passed her clothing into Thomas’s waiting hands and kicked off her boots, only pausing a moment more before removing her bra and panties. Thomas politely wrapped them in her sweater without touching them, his eyes never quite lifting to pass over her, and placed the bundle next to his satchel. He took a wide brass bowl from the bag and tucked a strange-looking, bulbed utensil into his sweater pocket.

  “Get into the water, please,” he said, “and recite this.” He passed her a slip of paper from his pocket that had “Psalm XIV” written on the top in the small, careful handwriting she recognized from the grimoire in his bedroom.

  Cora stepped reluctantly into the cold brook, hissing as the current washed over her lower legs and splashed her knees, and read the verse aloud, which somehow felt more awkward than being naked in the woods. She wasn’t religious; did this stuff even count if you weren’t a believer?

  Thomas crouched at the edge of the creek and filled his deep bowl while she read, and as he stood, he made the sign of the cross over the surface of the water and murmured softly to himself, “I exorcise thee, O Creature of Water, by Him Who hath created thee and gathered thee together into one place so that the dry land appeared, that thou uncover all the deceits of the Enemy, and that thou cast out from thee all the impurities and uncleannesses of the Spirits of the World of Phantasm, so they may harm not, through the virtue of God Almighty Who liveth and reigneth unto the Ages of Ages.” As he spoke his “Amen,” the water bubbled gently and flashed a soft blue before returning to the clear, cold water of the brook. He stepped forward into the water and stood scant inches from her, holding his bowl in both hands.

  He kept his eyes on hers, which she appreciated, as she was pretty sure her nipples were capable of any extra glass-cutting he might need just now, and her prickled skin trembled. He was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body, and she felt much more exposed looking into his dark blue eyes than she would have if he’d been staring at her bare chest. She swallowed down the feeling and clutched the paper in her fist as if it could help to ground her.

  “Are you ready?” Thomas asked softly, and she nodded. He raised his arms to hold the bowl above her head, and she lowered her eyes in preparation, attempting to focus on anything but the coming cold. Thomas’s exposed skin at his collar showed signs of chill similar to hers, which was satisfying, but her gaze settled on a dark scar that cut across his neck just below his Adam’s apple. Her brow furrowed in curiosity momentarily, but all thoughts quickly left her mind as Thomas began to pour the water over the crown of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the sound of his steady, calm voice to distract herself from the icy liquid dripping onto her shoulders and streaming down her body.

  “Be ye regenerate, cleansed, and purified, in the Name of the Ineffable, Great, and Eternal God, from all your iniquities, and may the virtue of the Most High descend upon you and abide with you always, so that ye may have the power and strength to accomplish the desires of your heart. Amen,” he finished as the final rush of cold fell from his bowl and took a step back from her.

  Cora squinted through the water dripping from her hair at Thomas retreating back to his storage stump, and she let out a grateful sigh as he tugged a long white robe from his bag and beckoned her out of the water. He wrapped it around her shoulders, fastening it with a simple silver pin, and bent to pick up his bowl again. He dipped the brass utensil into the last of the water, and Cora saw that the strange bulb at the end had holes in it, which explained themselves as he used it to sprinkle a few more drops of the blessed water over her forehead and shoulders.

  “All done,” he assured her gently, and he handed over her boots. While she tied them, he laid his cardigan over her shoulders to supplement the thin robe, and she shivered at the sudden warmth he’d passed to her.

  She stood and wrapped the soft knit closer around her, smiling faintly as he carefully packed her clothes into his bag. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll need to say a prayer in the morning and evening every day as long as you plan to enter the cellar,” he answered, already putting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll write it down for you. And nothing to eat but bread and water in the evenings for three days.”

  “At least I won’t have to cook in that fireplace, I guess.”

  A small smile touched his lips before he turned away. “Come on. Let’s get you warm and dry.”

  ***

  Back at the house, hair towel-dried and clothes changed, Cora cleaned up the remnants of their houseguests’ dinner while Thomas vanished into the cellar again. She didn’t even ask to come in this time—he’d told her that he would let her help, and she believed him. She had to trust him.

  She filled her arms with the few food items that needed to go back into the root cellar and nudged the back door open with her foot, leaving it open enough for the light from the kitchen to show her the way to the stone steps at the end of the yard. Halfway there, a soft sound drew her attention, and as she glanced toward the woods beyond her destination, she froze.

  Korshunov stood still beside one of the trees, his eyes locked on her. Panic flooded her at once, and her arms lost the strength to hold the vegetables she was carrying. The Chaser hadn’t moved; only the end of his coat shifted in the breeze. Before she could even form a coherent thought, she was shouting Thomas’s name and scrambling back toward the open door.

  Thomas was already in the doorway with his wand in his hand by the time she reached the house, but when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and turned to point toward the woods, Korshunov was gone. She scanned the treeline frantically and saw no sign of him.

  “What happened?” Thomas asked, following her gaze into the darkness with confusion on his face.

  “It’s Korshunov. That Chaser. He’s here. I saw him, right over there.”

  Thomas moved her behind him with a gentle hand, and she allowed it, watching over her shoulder in case she needed to tell the Walkers to stay inside. Thomas took a step into the yard, lifting the carved length of wood in front of him, and murmured, “Invieni eum sis.”

  A pulse of magic expanded from him, making Cora queasy as the ring seemed to cut through her middle, and the pair waited, silently listening, for a few long seconds. Thomas tilted his head, but when nothing happened, he turned back to Cora.

  “There’s no one here.”

  “He was there,” she insisted. “I saw him.”

  “It’s dark; you probably just saw an animal in the woods.”

  Her nostrils flared in irritation as she gestured toward the trees. “Yeah, Thomas, I saw a six-foot-tall animal in a tie glaring at me. That’s what I saw.”

  “Cora,” Thomas countered quietly, “there’s nothing here.”

  “No. I know what I saw. I’m not some frightened child jumping at shadows. This person is after Nathan and Elton, and he’s not afraid to come at m
e to get them. Just because your seeking spell sucks, it doesn’t mean he’s not out there!”

  Thomas visibly bristled at the insinuation, but he bit back his words and took a quick breath before answering. “Even if there was someone out here—”

  “There’s no if!” Cora shouted. “This has to go both ways, Thomas! You asked me to trust you—how can I do that if you don’t trust me, too?”

  He shut his eyes for a moment, seeming to force himself to soften, and nodded. “You’re right,” he admitted in a gentler voice. “But he’s not here now. Either way, the safest place is in the house. No one is getting inside here who I don’t let in.” He gestured toward the door, and she backed into the kitchen with frustration written on her face to let him shut and lock the door behind them.

  “We can’t just stay in here forever,” she protested.

  “We don’t have to. But let’s not take risks until Charles and Lily are gone. You’re safe here, Cora,” he promised. “Get some rest tonight.”

  She huffed and dropped her hands noisily to her sides, not quite agreeing but not willing to argue further. Yet. When he left her again, she went around the house checking the doors and windows, half expecting to see Korshunov’s face staring at her from the darkness every time she peeked through the dusty curtains. She slipped into her bedroom quietly to avoid the temptation to express her worries to the visiting family and picked her phone up from the nightstand. Nathan needed to know that Korshunov was in Salem.

  ***

  The woman from the shop in town came knocking on Thomas’s door early the next morning, and when Cora answered, she was presented with two cages—a plastic cat carrier and a wire cage just large enough for the magpie that sat morosely on its perch. Cora looked over her shoulder as Thomas approached, holding onto the handle of the cat carrier even when he tried to take it from her. He tugged gently once, then twice, but she wouldn’t let go.

  “What are you doing with the cat, Thomas?”

  “Cora—”

  “What are you doing with the cat, Thomas?” she repeated, her other hand creeping around to keep a firmer grip on the carrier.