by Adam Bennett
Once Cleo was convinced that when her end came, she would bitterly resent the years she never got to live. Now she knew it wasn’t so. After the past year, she was more certain than ever that a life without magic was far worse than any price she would have to pay for what she intended to do tonight.
Always a price to pay. That was one of the first lessons Mother taught her.
Mother taught her everything she needed to know about magic; everything except how to protect it. When he came, Cleo was alone. She let him in, and without even knowing what he was doing, he sunk his claws in deep to tear her asunder. If only she had known, she would have done the same as every witch before her did; take what she needed, and then cut him free.
Damn him, and damn them too!
A low murmur from the corner of the room saved her from herself. Her magic was gone, but that didn’t mean everything was lost, not if the old texts meant what she thought they did.
Witches were far from the sole purveyors of magic in this realm. There were warlocks and imps, changelings and demons, sprites and skinwalkers. And then there were the Fae.
The little fairies who roamed unseen were the only hope Cleo had left. To those who didn’t pay heed to the tales of old, their magic was impossible to grasp or even comprehend. However, the Fae were only invisible to those who didn’t know where to look for them. Cleo knew precisely how to draw one out into the open tonight.
Her right hand reached automatically for her wand before she jerked back with a muttered, pointless curse. Nearly a year now since that infernal, wretched stick had done anything for her, and yet still she reached for it whenever she was in need.
She threaded her fingers together and rose to her feet, determinedly averting her gaze from where the dusty wand lay on the sideboard, taking up far more space than it should. For just one more night, she would have to do everything the human way.
“Cat,” Cleo said, crouching down low and forcing a tight smile onto her face. “Cat, come here.”
The sleek, snow white animal refused to even acknowledge her words. Its ears flattened back against its head, and though its eyes narrowed, they didn’t flicker towards her at all.
“Ridiculous creature,” she said under her breath. “Cat, here!”
Nothing. Rolling her eyes, Cleo darted forward and pinned the cat against the peeling, sun-faded wallpaper. It thrashed and hissed furiously at her, claws flying fast enough to draw blood, but such fleeting pain barely registered to her. Holding firm, she kept the cat in place with one hand, and with the other she reached into her pocket for the inch-long silver blade hidden within.
Her heart was beating faster. It would be all too easy to unleash the simmering, pent-up frustration she carried around as a constant companion since her magic receded, but she knew she had to exert a measured hand. Too much and the creature would fade and die; too little and the fairy would stay away.
Cleo waited until her hand was steady before she struck. With a shiver of breathless anticipation, she sliced open an incision on the creature’s flank as neat and precise as anything a surgeon could craft.
It arched and unleashed an ear-splitting howl before it broke free of her hold to hurtle to the far side of the room. No matter. The deed was done. The door was closed and the window open only the merest sliver to allow the fairy an entrance. The cat could retreat if it so wished and lick its wound. It would not be fatal; she cut deliberately to ensure it was so.
All there was left to kill now was time. When she took up her post in the old rocking chair once more, the sun surrendered to the dominion of the night. As its dying vestiges sunk below the horizon, Cleo settled down to watch and to wait.
Time crawled past like never before. Silence reigned, punctuated only by the faint, snuffling breaths from the corner of the room and the cat’s occasional yowling protests. When midnight drew near then passed uneventfully, her thoughts turned to the execution of tonight’s plan. For the first time, a prickle of fear crept inside her mind. That was no wonder. The only remarkable thing about it was that it had taken so long to do so, for everything hinged upon tonight.
In the darkest days when Cleo first realised her magic was lost to her, she didn’t think she could carry on. To her, magic was everything. Those untouched by its power could never hope to understand the soul-defining rush of feeling it flow through their veins and out into the world. But for those who possessed it then lost it, nothing could ever come near to the pure ecstasy of controlling and manipulating the world around them.
The magic she inherited was gone. This bitter truth was something she had come to accept now. But although her matriarchal magic had abandoned her, she still had the lore of old to fall back upon. Thick, well-thumbed tomes lined the walls of this little room that had silently witnessed so very much, and amongst their yellowed pages Cleo found the answers she desperately sought. With her ancestors’ words to guide her, she crafted both the perfect trap and the means to enact it.
The thick salve in a clay pot at her side was a binding paste; calendula, foxglove, althaea and honey, with a tiny twist of monkshood stirred through the mix. If she understood the lore correctly, then the salve would act as an unbreakable bond between her and the fairy, its magic hers, its body reduced to no more than a conduit for Cleo to use at will.
All she needed now was a fairy to arrive. The Fae were powerless to resist the pull to tend to any injured creature. Whilst it was distracted doing so, she would pounce.
Her right hand drifted towards the lidless pot as her head rolled to the side, her eyes open only the barest of cracks to sift through the gloom. There was no light in the room save for that of the moon. Cleo dared not risk alerting the Fae to the fact she wasn’t truly sleeping.
The hands on the clock crawled round, and then just as the small hand hovered over one, the faintest shimmer in the air by the window made her stomach give a wild leap.
There.
The cat was drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, stirring every now and then to protest its pain. It didn’t notice the fairy as it settled at its side, but Cleo’s eyes were firmly fixed upon the prize. She couldn’t see the shape of the fairy itself, but even in the darkness she could see the little ripple in the air, the tiny disturbance that announced the presence of the Fae.
She waited, holding her breath until she found the strength to do what she must. Swift and silent, she dipped her index finger in the salve and then lunged forward to capture the fairy in a pincer grip between her thumb and ring finger. She still couldn’t see it, but she could feel it.
She had it.
Fighting back a fierce stab of triumph, she breathed in deeply and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. It was imperative that she stopped the fairy from escaping, and to do so she had to take away its capability for flight. With no hesitation, Cleo gripped the gossamer wings between her fingertips and wrenched them away.
The piercing scream was like nothing she had ever heard before. Shrill and monotonous, it was all Cleo could do to grit her teeth and do what she had to do. She would withstand the scream and the pain it caused her, for it meant the plan was working. The fairy couldn’t flee. Holding it firmly between her fingers nonetheless, she trapped it under her right index finger and pressed down hard so the magical salve could weave its unbreakable bond between the two of them.
A violent shudder ripped through the entire length of her body. It was working. She could feel it spreading through her veins, that gloriously familiar thrum of something undefinable moving through her, something greater and more powerful than any ordinary human could ever hope to attain.
Dazed, Cleo slumped back against the wall. She ached from head to toe now. As she waited for the pain to abate, though, a realisation struck her and her mouth grew dry. The fairy. She could feel it bound to her finger, just as she had planned, but it was still and silent. If she was wrong—if she had misunderstood—then all was lost.
But then the fairy spoke. Just one word. One soft, single-s
yllable word that echoed ceaselessly inside Cleo’s head the moment it was spoken.
“Why?”
Cleo moistened her lips. It was hard to know how to answer that question. There weren’t words enough to explain. “Because she is more important than either of us,” she finally said.
Almost as if it knew what they were talking about, it opened its eyes. It had been still and quiet all night. Perhaps finally it understood the futility of screaming for attention. Now it was silent no longer. Barely more than a mewling whimper, it stirred and kicked the threadbare covers away as Cleo rose to her feet again.
She lifted her hand to her mouth, lowering her voice to speak intimately to her finger. “Would you like to see her, little fairy? She is, after all, the reason why you and I must be bound together so.”
No answer was forthcoming, but none was needed. The fairy could hardly defy her now.
Cleo crossed the room and bent over the cradle. Her left hand stroked a wispy curl away from the baby’s face, and in an instant it ceased its cries. Wide blue eyes fixed upon Cleo’s pale face, and a faint, gummy smile rose from nowhere that made Cleo swallow hard.
She lowered her head, but then a thin shaft of moonlight reflected off the looking glass propped up on the bookcase in front of her and her stomach lurched.
This, then, was the price she must pay.
Her mouth was dry as she stared into the mirror at the face she didn’t recognise. The weight of all her forebears lay heavy on that face. Lined and pale, it was framed by a tangle of lank, thinning curls of the purest white.
Her face.
To claim what little magic she could steal from the fairy, she had lost many more years of the short lifetime that stretched out before her. Her grandmother’s words came back to her now as she stared at the face she now wore, her lips parted and tears she wasn’t accustomed to spilling hovering in the wrinkled corners of her eyes.
Everything has its cost.
Cleo steeled herself and lifted her right hand, startled by the way her index finger trembled when she extended it to point directly at the aged mirror. The faint tingle of magic was just the same as it ever had been, the captive fairy’s broken body a seamless substitute for the wand that no longer worked for her.
Holding her breath, she reached out and spun the mirror around, a perfect pivot that hid her reflection away. It was the first magic she had managed since he left. It wasn’t the same, but then nothing ever stayed the same. It was just different, not necessarily worse.
Time inevitably brought change. The two went hand in hand, and in time now there would be another witch sitting in the old rocking chair. Cleo would be mother and grandmother both to her, guardian and teacher to the baby who was destined to fulfil the family destiny. A dozen witches had taken their place in line, and now came number thirteen.
“Fay,” she said.
Months had passed without Cleo feeling the need to give the baby a name, but this one fit her as if she had worn it from the moment she drew her first breath. The thirteenth witch was named Fay, and it was the magic of the Fae that would protect and shape her into what she was fated to become.
“She is ours, little fairy; our baby,” she said quietly, stroking Fay’s soft face until she fell silent. “And she will be glorious.”
The baby slept once more, and in the witches’ cottage, time moved on.
Pumpkin Oaksgourd's Game of Hide & Seek
T.D. McIntosh
Festival Grounds, Hollowmore
It was finally Halloween, and as soon as the sun set fully, the music kicked up and spread across the town. They made sure not to make too much noise, for fear that the Pumpkin King would magically appear in the sky as a gigantic and frightening jack-o-lantern, bellowing for them to cut the crap. The last time he did that, the people’s ears rang for at least two weeks.
As the rum was passed around, food was cooked, and the dancing began, the people wearing costumes. Their realm was unlike any other, so their masquerade masks were highly detailed, bearing the face of different creatures, devils, gods, and heroes; each got their time to walk amongst the living once more in the form of giggling children bolting to and fro like badgers evading danger.
“Hey, have you ever played quis venari?” a kid questioned his friends, a small roving band of upstarts who’d been known to play pranks around Hollowmore for cheap laughs. As they entered the town square, all eyes were on them in an instant.
“Yeah!” responded a girl with long pink hair who jumped in excitement. “It’s that secret game that all the cool kids play with gold jacks! They play it in creepy places, right?” She kept jumping, her pouch of gold jacks jingling with each step.
“I heard only ghosts play the game! It’s really cool!” said a husky kid who looked older than he was and wore a mask of a bear-like creature in mid-roar. His voice hinted at him being at the threshold of puberty and he easily towered over the rest of his gang.
“Yeah, I guess,” retorted the kid who stood next to the burly one, easily the shortest of the bunch, who held up a finger to interject. His voice released a whining tone. “But I also heard that it’s really dangerous. Those who go to play never come back.” The boy lowered his head as if suddenly stricken with fear. “Everyone says not to go near wherever they’re playing.”
The leader nearly jumped on the smaller kid. “That’s exactly what’s so cool about it! I bet they’re just trying to keep all the fun to themselves. You know how the cool kids get.”
“Wait, I thought we were cool too?” the husky kid questioned, and the leader made unsure sounds.
“Well… we are… We’re so cool, the other cool kids are afraid to talk to us!”
“Oh, okay,” the husky boy chuckled. It was too easy to convince him.
The smaller boy stepped up to the leader and fought to keep his knees from quivering. “I heard that… devils created the game. If you look into their lights, you’re lost forever.”
The leader burst into hollow laughter from behind his mask. “Devils!” The people near them looked on with curiosity, hoping that the band of delinquents weren’t planning some new prank that would take days to clean up. They’d had their ears pulled for unleashing mayhem on Hollowmore, and the next time would get them a one-way ticket to the King of Hollow’s throne room.
The meek one continued, “Ye-yeah! They say devils created the game to have fun each Halloween. Their lights are so alluring… little devil kids running around, and only gold can distract them.” He explained and pantomimed with his hands to drive his point home. “If you follow them, they’ll snatch you up in a burlap sack! I heard… a lot of kids went to go play last Halloween and never came back.”
The burly boy spoke up, working to hide his sudden fear. “Stop with the ghost stories! That’s a pile of crap; you’re totally lying!”
As if on cue, another girl appeared beside the leader, her mask in the shape of a fox. She stood as thin as a rail, not moving, not breathing. The frightful boy nearly jumped out of his skin.
Fox spoke as if her voice was put through a filter. The other kids disregarded it as a feature of her mask or some weird vocal trick, yet the meek boy couldn’t shake his uneasy feelings about the new girl. “Maybe he’s not lying,” she said.
Letting loose a huff, the meek one dialled back his fear to keep providing information. “It’s no lie! Okay, my friend once told me he saw a wraith with five candles on its fingers walking through a forest while he was trying to get home.”
The leader cocked his head to the side while the first girl, who stood by in silence until now, decided to speak up. “Then why don’t we ask your friend more about it? Where does he live?”
The meek boy lowered his head. It almost sounded as if he fought back tears. “I haven’t heard from him since he told me. His mom said he disappeared.”
The leader threw up his hands. “You see?” His exclamation attracted more people’s attention, and several adults itched to tell the congregating children to
move along. “Why don’t we all go there and find out for ourselves?”
“What?” The meek boy yelped. “No way!”
“Alright, kids.” A large man shouldering a slab of meat came up from behind, startling them all. “Let’s move it along.”
The kids were ushered forcefully from the main square until they were out of sight, out of mind. Now on a quiet street, where the only shops still open that time of night was a fortune teller place with a huge tree poking from its roof and a private investigation firm, the small gang looked about for anyone else who could interrupt them.
“Looks like no more looky-loos,” the leader noted as he situated his hands on his hips. “Now, back to what I was sayin’...”
Fox laughed. Her giggle felt empty, but it was loud enough to keep the other kids’ attention.
“What’s so funny?” The husky kid lumbered forth as if he meant to strike her.
“The game you’re so eager to play,” she answered. Under her breath, she continued, “Fools are easily amused…”
“What was that?” Her current opponent was suddenly filled with bravery.
“Wait, you know about it?” the leader spoke up, holding back his feisty friend. “You better not be jerkin’ our chains!”
The long-haired girl found herself gripped with curiosity. “Well, come on, spill the beans!”
Fox laughed again, this time a hearty chuckle. “Quis venari is a secret game known only to those with… friends on the other side. It’s a game of hide and seek,” she explained, circling around the group with her hands before her. Her fingers danced as she continued, “The only Halloween game worth playing. Sometimes, the lights get eerily brighter as the silence mounts. You can’t even hear your own breath, and the chosen place becomes a labyrinth. When that happens, it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught.”