Witching Hour

by Skylar Finn

  Tamsin, on the other hand, couldn’t stop rambling about him. The whole way up the block to her dorm it was Cristo this, and Cristo that. I tuned her out after ten minutes and was still zoned out by the time we got to the front of her building.

  “Are you coming up?” she asked, turning to me on the front steps. “I have popcorn.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Peter.” I checked my Swatch. “Like right this very second now, oh man. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

  “That’s not like you,” Tamsin said. “It’s good to see you finally lighten up for a change.”

  4

  Psychic Friends Network

  The sports bar where Peter always went after work was perpetually flooded with reporters, a local watering hole where he overheard a ceaseless stream of information. It was right around the corner from Tamsin’s dorm, so I wasn’t as terribly late as I could have been. I was surprised when I got there to find that Peter was nowhere in sight.

  It wasn’t like him to be late, which meant a rough day at the office. Instead of grabbing a table at the center, in the main hub of all the action and information, I got a table out back near a trellis of creeping vines where I knew Peter liked to decompress after an especially unpleasant day.

  I ordered drinks, and the speedy and efficient server had just dropped them off on the table when the back gate swung inward. Even having seen Peter so recently, I was never really prepared for how beautiful he was. Several heads swiveled his way and there was more than one disappointed expression when he threaded his way through the tables and sat down next to me. I wondered what I had been thinking earlier. I could never get tired of Peter.

  Peter, looking bleary-eyed, downed half his beer before he said anything. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Sorry.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then leaned over and kissed me. “Hello and how was your day and thank you for getting the table in the back.”

  “It was fine and you’re welcome and do you want to talk about it?” I said.

  Peter winced. “Not really,” he said. “Tell me what you did.”

  I told him about going to the estate sale with Cameron and Tamsin’s bizarre, eccentric teacher. I embellished the strangeness of the people I’d encountered in order to distract him from whatever was on his mind.

  “You get into the oddest adventures,” he said. “Tell Tamsin to stay away from her teacher, who is clearly planning to seduce her. And you’ve got to show me this cat clock of yours. I’m dying of suspense.”

  “It is a pretty great clock. I’m not going to lie.” I studied the happy hour menu. “Are we getting an appetizer, or…?”

  “I don’t think I can eat right now.” He shifted uncomfortably and sighed. “I don’t think I’m going to eat for a while.”

  “Can you tell me, or is it a secret?” Peter often didn’t like to talk about stories he worked on, with good reason. Sometimes I regretted asking.

  “Kind of.” He bit his lip. “I don’t know if I can not talk about it, either. It’s too horrible. I just don’t want it in my head anymore.”

  “What is it?” I was growing concerned. Peter was pretty stalwart about the things he had to write about. He said he was still trying to prove himself at the paper and didn’t want to seem squeamish.

  “Someone found a human heart in a hand-carved box in a doughnut shop,” he said as matter-of-factly as it was possible to utter such a phrase.

  I thought of what I had seen that morning in Peter’s kitchen. So my vision was real. But whose was it? And what did it mean?

  “Where was the rest of the body?” I asked after a beat of repulsed silence.

  “That’s the question of the day,” said Peter, finishing his beer and signaling our server for a second round.

  “Do they know who did it?” I asked.

  “No idea,” he said. “But whoever it is, they’re clearly a maniac. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill, every day kind of murder.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying that. Maybe I’m not meant to work at a city paper.”

  “Peter, how can you say that?” I said. “You’re really good at your job. Anyone would be freaked out at the idea of a human heart being found among the doughnuts. That’s normal.”

  “Yeah, but like, why?” He ran a hand through his hair until it stood up. “What is wrong with people that this is even part of my job description? You know what’s even worse? The day I don’t get freaked out about human hearts stories. The day I become so jaded that it’s just commonplace.”

  I bit my lip, thinking. My mind was racing a mile a minute: why did I have the vision of the heart, and what did it have to do with me? Was it my connection to Peter that led me to see what he’d seen? I also tried to come up with something reassuring to say. I found that I didn’t have a lot of fallback comfort words for the scenario at hand.

  “Do you want to watch Inside Out?” I finally asked. It seemed like the farthest thing from Peter’s day possible.

  “Yes,” he said gratefully, relieved. “I do.”

  Peter passed out facedown on the couch fifteen minutes into the movie. I pulled his shoes off and covered him with an afghan before going to the bathroom to take a shower. Peter lived in a historic building with an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub. Upon seeing it, I decided to take a bath instead.

  I washed my face while I waited for the tub to fill. Hot water gushed out of the brass tap. I leaned over to check the water temperature and screamed.

  My mother’s face rippled in the surface, looking concerned. “Sam?” she asked. “Can you hear me?”

  I had friends who complained when their mothers called them during a date, but none whose mothers appeared in their boyfriend’s bathtubs in the middle of the night. I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was probably the kind of thing she did all the time, but she didn’t exactly give me a handbook when she explained to me, shortly after my thirtieth birthday, that I was a witch. If she had, I can only assume there would have been a chapter about communicating via bathtub water.

  “Mom?” I crouched next to the tub, glancing over my shoulder. I heard nothing from the living room; evidently, I hadn’t woken Peter. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is the first time I’ve tried this spell,” she said, sounding excited. “It’s thought that water can be a communication element, but most don’t know how or why. I thought it might be similar to mirrors, due to the potential for reflection.”

  “This is all a little bit over my head,” I said. “Maybe you can explain in better detail when Tamsin and I come to visit this weekend.”

  At the mention of Tamsin, it looked as though someone elbowed her to the side. Tamsin’s mother, my aunt Minerva, appeared.

  “How is she?” Minerva demanded. “I can’t even get her to answer the phone. I know she’s gone wild in the city. Is she staying out of trouble?”

  “She is,” I said politely. “She’s really enjoying her photography class.” I was old enough to look out for Tamsin, but not old enough to rat her out. Where our elders were concerned, it was still us against them. “Hi, Aunt Minerva.”

  “Sorry, Sam.” She looked sheepish. “I just worry with her being away from home for the first time. And how are you, dear?”

  “I’m well, thank you. Is Grandma there?” I was now resigned to the unexpected conference call.

  “She’s in the living room,” said my mother, looking a little guilty. “She said we shouldn’t bother you until we had a more concrete reason for doing so. But we felt it was concrete enough.”

  “What is it?” I asked, alarmed. “Did you guys see something, too?”

  “Too?” my mother said sharply. “What did you see?”

  “I thought I saw a human heart in the refrigerator, but it turned out to be an artichoke,” I said, perplexed. “Then Peter told me he just got assigned to cover a case where a human heart was found in a doughnut shop.”

  My mother and Minerva exchanged a look. “I had
a vision of a very powerful magic, an old magic, residing close to where you are,” my mother explained. “I can’t tell if it’s light or dark. It’s possible that it’s dormant. But a human heart is something that can be used in a ritual to perform incredibly dark magic. This magic near you might be wielded by someone who desires to do harm.”

  It was my worst fear, confirmed. “What do you mean, it’s possible that it’s dormant?”

  “Not all magic is active,” said Minerva. “Some magic has been forgotten. That doesn’t erase it, or cause it to cease to exist. It’s still there, still powerful, and it can be sensed. It can also be harnessed. If someone with dark intentions knows of it, they might try to unleash that power and use it to do their bidding.”

  “I don’t like where you’re going with this,” I said.

  “We don’t necessarily know that’s what’s happening,” my mother said hastily. “It’s not that we want you to be frightened, and we certainly don’t want you to go looking for it. We just wanted you to know that it was a possibility, and to keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “And please tell Tamsin to be safe,” pleaded Minerva. “She won’t listen to me, but she’ll listen to you, Sam. I know she will.”

  “Of course.” I glanced over my shoulder again. “Listen, I should probably go. This isn’t even my bathtub.”

  “Right, of course.” My mother paused. “How’s Peter?” she asked conversationally.

  “He’s asleep in the next room, and I would strongly prefer that he not overhear me conversing with my mother through the bathwater,” I said impatiently.

  “Okay, dear. Remember what we told you. Have a good night.” My mother and Minerva waved. The water churned and they rippled out of sight.

  I shook my head and pulled the plug on the stopper, watching as the water funneled down the drain. I decided to take a shower instead.

  The next morning, I woke up before Peter. As disquieting as the previous evening’s watery conversation had been, I felt invigorated in the sense that something was happening and I needed to have a plan. Even if the circumstances were unpleasant (to say the least), it gave me a purpose.

  First, I needed to talk to Tamsin and make sure her college hijinks were under control, so she didn’t stray into the path of some dark and mysterious force slumbering beneath the city. Tamsin knew far more about magic than I did, and I thought the contents of my conversation with Minerva and my mother might unnerve and alarm her more than it did me. It might act as a kind of scared straight program for witches.

  I decided to stop at the co-op to get some fruit. I was sure Tamsin was living off Doritos and Top Ramen, and would soon develop scurvy. The co-op was located on the ground floor of the Center for Woke Wellness, recently opened by my ex, Les Rodney. Les taught a yoga class Wednesday mornings, and I could be relatively certain I wouldn’t run into him. He was a changed man, according to everyone that knew him, but that didn’t mean he was no longer a wellspring of bad memories for me.

  Sure enough, Les was nowhere in sight. Relieved, I perused the produce section and selected the ripest-looking oranges, grapefruit, and apples for my canvas tote bag.

  “Sam?” I looked up from the honey crisps display. Bridget, Les’s current girlfriend, beamed at me from across the aisle. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, how are you?” Bridget came over and hugged me. She was one of the most affectionate, open people I knew. I didn’t think that Les deserved her, personally, but undoubtedly she was a substantial reason for the recent shift in his personality—one roughly on par with a lobotomy, where a guy like Les was concerned.

  “I’m great!” She sounded like it. Bridget wasn’t one to feign wellness for the sake of polite conversation, and she was pretty much always well. “I’m meeting a friend of mine for tea, you should join us. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  I’d run into Bridget two weeks ago at Total Wine, but fourteen days easily constituted forever in Bridget time. “I’d like to, but I’m on my way to meet my cousin. Thank you for the invitation, though.”

  “Oh, but Sam—you really should meet my friend, Lindy. Do you absolutely have to meet your cousin this very minute, or could you maybe meet her after? I swear to you, Sam: Lindy will change your life, if you only let her.”

  “Who’s Lindy?” I asked, perplexed. It was hard for me to accept the change in Les, and my first impulse was to assume she was the latest addition to his harem of girlfriends. I reminded myself he didn’t do that anymore.

  “Lindy is a remarkable human being,” Bridget said solemnly. “I’m not normally into this stuff, Sam, but I truly think she might be psychic. She can tell you things about yourself she’d have no way of knowing otherwise.”

  Bridget’s claim hit me like a ton. If she’d told me this time last year she met a psychic, I would dismiss it as Bridget’s naiveté and inclination to believe nearly anything she was told. But now, I wondered if this friend of hers was truly what she claimed: and if so, was she merely intuitive? Or was she a witch, too?

  As far as I knew, my mother’s family were the only witches in the small town of Mount Hazel, where I was born. They told me they didn’t interact much with the outside world, unless it was to protect it. But there had to be other witches out there, somewhere, let alone in a city the size of this one. Maybe this Lindy was a witch, too.

  I was so excited at the prospect of meeting another witch that I dropped the oranges I was holding. They rolled down the aisle and Bridget scurried back and forth, helping me gather them. I shoved them into my bag.

  “I want to meet her,” I said.

  Bridget clapped her hands with glee, a classic Bridget move. “That’s so great! I knew you would. We’re meeting at that new place, the one around the corner? The one that used to be a head shop till they became a New Age place with CBD-infused teas.”

  I knew exactly the place she was talking about. The window display was filled with dream catchers and crystals. It was the kind of place that would have been invisible to me before, and admittedly even now I felt dubious about entering, but this was the first time I felt excited about something in months. I felt like wild horses couldn’t stop me from going and meeting this woman.

  Briefly, I flashed back on the conversation I’d had with my mother and Minerva: would Lindy be able to sense the force pulsating beneath the city? Was she the one who could tell me what it was?

  5

  Something Wicked

  I followed Bridget into the shop around the corner, New Waves. I glanced around dubiously. The shelf to my right was lined with crystals and various rocks. Straight ahead of us was a woman behind the register wearing what could best be described as purple gauze. On her head was perched a green turban with a single blue stone set in the middle of it.

  “Bridget!” She floated over and embraced my friend. Was this Lindy?

  “Hello, Magdalena.” Bridget smiled warmly as she returned the hug. Guess not. “This is my friend Sam. We’re meeting Lindy for tea.”

  “Lindy, my word. What a bright light in the darkness.” Did people really talk this way? I mean, did she actually believe what she was saying, or was it some kind of New Age façade? I glanced around the store again.

  This place was very different from the apothecary my mother and Minerva ran in Mount Hazel. Next to the register was a display of geodes and soy candles, one of which was purple glitter and described as being “unicorn-scented.” I’d have to ask Tamsin about this later. I seriously doubted this Magdalena was a witch, and I was beginning to have my doubts about Lindy as well. This place radiated something, but it wasn’t authenticity.

  “Come back to the tea room,” Magdalena was saying as she turned and disappeared through a narrow doorway just ahead of us. “I’ll put on a pot for you.”

  The tea room was slightly less hinky. But only slightly. The single window overlooking the street was draped in gauzy curtains similar to Magdalena’s robe, casting the entire room in a dim, claustrophobic l
ight. There were several small tables grouped around a fireplace, each with a long, tapered candle in a crystal holder. The clock on the wall had both hands set to twelve, even though it was ten o’clock in the morning.

  “The witching hour,” said Magdalena with a little wink when she caught me eyeing it. I was insulted. Who was this woman to talk about the witching hour when she clearly wasn’t a witch? I felt like she was appropriating my culture for marketing purposes.

  Minerva swept out of the room, presumably to start the tea. It would probably be terrible and unicorn-flavored. I turned to see Bridget’s eyes were sparkling with real excitement.

  “Isn’t this neat?” she said gleefully. “Such a fun little spot off the beaten trail.” She sounded like she was quoting Yelp. We were at one of the busiest intersections in the city, but I didn’t want to burst her bubble.

  “Super fun,” I echoed.

  The beads hanging over the doorway rattled and I looked up, expecting to see Magdalena returning with tea. Instead it was a slender, ethereal-looking girl with a distant expression on her heart-shaped face. She smiled slightly as Bridget leapt to her feet and crushed her slim frame in one of her golden retriever-enthusiastic hugs.

  “Lindy!” squealed Bridget. “I’m so glad you’re here! Guess what? I brought someone to meet you. This is my friend, Sam.”

  Lindy seemed to tolerate Bridget’s boundless affection rather than reciprocating it, waiting patiently for Bridget to release her like an old dog being manhandled by an excited toddler. She studied me curiously and I felt a strange and indescribable pang: as if she saw into me, rather than just looking at me.

  I quickly pushed the feeling away. Putting up a wall, my grandmother called it. She said it was essential that I learn how to do it, lest anyone unsavory or unwelcome peer into my mind. Maybe Lindy really was psychic.