An Ignorant Witch

by E M Graham

“I can’t help you with anything,” she almost spit at me. Her face was taut and showing how tense she still was.

  “I’ve gotten in over my head,” I continued, still keeping my voice to the barest minimum, and motioned her to come even closer. She reluctantly bent her head toward me.

  In as few words as possible, I told her everything, all about Benjy and the fairies and the baby and the dwarves and the evening’s plan. Her eyes grew wider and more horrified with each sentence.

  She glanced over to the backs of her friends. Seth was now staring off into space, his smile grown to a full blown sneer of triumph.

  “Just drop it all,” she almost mouthed the words. “Do not get involved. I advise you to call Hugh right now and ask him to come get you.”

  “I can’t do that, can’t you see? I’m meeting Alice and Dirk this evening, and I need you to come help me,” I said louder than I meant.

  A susurration began around the room, the whispers echoing off the high ceiling. I couldn’t tell which of the Witch Kin were speaking or who started it.

  “Alice.”

  “Sweet Alice.”

  “We’ll help you, Alice.”

  “Come play with us, Alice.”

  “Alice of the half-blood elf-blood.”

  A chill ran down my spine. Sasha stared at me, the skin around her lipstick almost white.

  “Get the hell out of here!” My sister screamed at me. “Leave me alone. Get out of the country while you’re at it!”

  “While you still can...” This last whisper danced around the dusty sunbeams streaming through the skylights.

  If I’d known what was happening, what was really afoot, if Sasha had had the decency to take me aside and explain, just a couple of words would have sufficed, I would have grabbed Alice and taken off to the safety of Hugh and Dad and confessed everything, let them put me on a plane to anywhere at all. Never mind Benjy or the baby, frig them both, Alice was my true family and the most important person in my life and I was endangering her.

  If I had but known how serious the threat was.

  But I didn’t, so I chose to cover up my fear through taking the offensive. These fascist bastards had made no secret of their prejudice against half-bloods or that they were cheering on the deaths of my kind. Dad was going to love hearing about the sentiments expressed by Sasha’s fine friends. Maybe I wouldn’t be the one sent away, after all.

  “I’m going, but I’m sure we’ll have a lovely chat over the dinner table. Daddy will want to know how my day went. And what I’ve learned about your friends.”

  I turned and left, but not before I noticed how quickly she stiffened and how quiet the room suddenly became. Damn right I was going to spread the news to Dad and Hugh that this little nest of vipers might be single-handedly responsible for the deaths of innocent people.

  Vipers? I did snakes a disservice. They were more like bored, indulgent cats looking for the thrill of torturing and killing for their own amusement, pushing people out of their way like a cat clearing a tabletop the better to stretch out for its own comfort.

  I shivered and exited the building to head for the library. I needed to deepen my research into the supernatural and perhaps what I might be capable of, for tonight was getting ever closer and I still didn’t have a workable plan to free Benjy and the baby.

  15

  I FOUND A REFERENCE to an old court case from 1880 that looked promising, a man suing his boss for lost wages due to the fact that he’d been taken away by the fairies on his way to work and thus unable to show up to his job. It was pretty cool that none of the people involved – the judge, the boss, the lawyers for both sides – not one of them questioned the likelihood of the existence of fairies, they only quibbled about making up the lost time. However, the report didn’t explain how he got away from the fairies, so that didn’t end up helping me.

  Using new search words on the library computer, I stumbled across a source I’d never heard of before. This got me excited and put the whole run-in with the Witch Kin students out of my mind.

  My Life Amongst the Fine Folk, and How I Escaped Theire Clutches was a small book from the early 1700’s, purporting to be one man’s tale of his trials with the fairies and how he managed to get away from them. It sounded like it would be really promising for information on how to defeat those supernaturals, and I needed all the ideas I could get.

  It was stored in the Rare Documents section of the Archives, way down in the basement and far removed from the dangers of dampness and sunlight. I didn’t mind going down there, it was just an unpleasant route along the long, empty corridor. A very ill lit corridor.

  My sneakers made little sound on the concrete floor, yet I could hear echoes of steps in time with my own. I looked back, and I looked ahead. I could see the whole hallway, and there was no one else with me. And yet, I could hear whispered giggles reverberating all around, and soft rustles as if children were playing games, hiding in the door jambs and behind the walls. And I could almost see them from the corner of my eyes, small flashes that danced just out of sight of my vision.

  My hackles rose, but I forced myself to carry on. Sweat was gathering on my back in this cold underground space.

  I almost fell through the glass door leading into the harsh fluorescent lights of the Rare Books Archive, and must have looked a sight to the woman behind the desk, flushed and panting and crazy eyed. Pausing a moment to collect myself, I sent a quick mental feeler all around the room. No, there was nothing here to be afraid of. Apart from the leftover vibrations from the ancient books and papers, I could sense nothing, and there was nothing here to be afraid of.

  The librarian was still staring at me. I smiled to put her at ease, trying to act normal. After showing her two IDs, she reluctantly verified me as a legitimate student and had me sign my life away before she fetched me the book and a pair of cotton gloves for my hands. She made me sit where she could keep a close eye on me, right in front of the desk.

  You’d think a book as old as this would have been digitized, or at least on microfilm by now, but I guess it wasn’t considered a high priority for the library’s limited resources. It was a small book, barely fifteen pages long, with a brown leather cover. It had no publisher’s marks or ISBN of course, and was probably an early version of vanity publishing. The print inside was tiny.

  The author had a loquacious and poetic style, telling the reader all about his early life which had nothing to do with the promised story. He was a travelling minister, a man of God he pointed out frequently, and had scoffed at the tales of little folk and supernaturals.

  I quickly scanned his words till I got to the part about where the author was out walking one day and passed a fairy ring, a circle of mushrooms growing on the moors of Cornwall. He stopped to watch the fairies dancing.

  I settled in to be enlightened, but despite the claims in the title, this author had not gotten himself mixed up with the fairies after all. He had watched the Fine Folk at their games, but when he realized they had seen him he threw the bread from his pocket at them and ran away. He lived to tell the tale.

  What a letdown. Fifteen pages of tiny print that was a lot of blethering about nonsense, nothing concrete that would help me. This was no use to me at all, except to remind me to bring bread to distract the fairies when I invaded their home to steal away the baby and Benjy. Like that would be a big help.

  I yawned and stretched, then shivered into my hoodie. The basement room had gotten noticeably colder in the short time I’d been there. They must have the air-conditioning up on bust. Looking up, I saw that something else had changed.

  The dragon lady librarian was no longer standing over me with her hawk eyes. There must have been a change of shift, for the only person I saw was a student worker, a girl with long blonde hair who had her back to me.

  I was getting pretty hungry by this time, having abandoned my muffin in the Arts Building Cafe, and I returned the old book to the counter. The gloves were giving me a bit of warmth, so
I kept them on. The girl ignored me, continuing her busy activities.

  “Thanks,” I repeated in a slightly louder voice. “Do I need to sign something to return this?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at the entrance, gave a small nod. Without even turning around to me, she walked through the door into the depths of the archive storage. It softly closed behind her.

  “Okay,” I said. I admit I was a little put out by this. Did she want me to sign it back or not? Frig it. This was pretty lax security, and I bet her boss wouldn’t be happy to hear about it. But I had no plans to steal the book or get her into trouble, so I left it on the counter and turned to go.

  That’s when I became aware again of the whisperings and laughter that I’d heard in the corridor outside the room, only they were louder now, not coming from anywhere in particular but reverberating through the large reading room. I was instantly on high alert, for my senses were telling me this wasn’t the air conditioning system. There was something unnatural afoot.

  The fluorescent lights began to flicker, giving off a static electric sound, buzzing like something from a horror movie. The air was charged all around me and the whispered laughing grew in pitch becoming frenzied and hysterical and echoing through my head.

  I clamped my hands over my ears and shrieked in pain. And then the lights failed entirely with a final clap and I turned towards where I remembered the exit to be. Fumbling, my head roaring and my knapsack half off my back, I found the door and pushed through it into the black corridor outside. Which direction? Right, I had to turn right. I saw the exit sign gleaming red far away.

  Then cold hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me roughly aside.

  16

  THE NOISE WAS SO LOUD in my head it was painful, but that was forgotten as I struggled against the very physical grips on my arms which hauled me out of the Archives and into the pitch black corridor. But no use fighting, for my abductors were far stronger than me.

  I heard a door open, then I was thrust inside a tiny space and just before they let me go, a whispered voice rose above the clamouring, so close to my ear I could feel the warmth of the breath.

  “This will teach you not to poke your nose in where you’re not wanted,” he hissed, then I was given another thrust and thrown against something hard and sticking out, my shoulder taking the brunt of it. The door slammed behind me. All was quiet now, my head no longer reverberated.

  Dazed, I sank to the floor, scattering unseen objects on my way. A wooden stick fell against me, striking me on the head before clattering away.

  The place smelled like chemicals. Cleaning fluids, that harsh ammonia-like odor which creeps in your nose and stays there, no matter what perfumes might be added to cover it up. And underneath that there was the lingering smell of dirty mops abandoned while still wet.

  I was imprisoned in a janitor’s closet. How frigging humiliating. I kicked out and a metal bucket rolled and rang hollowly.

  Those had been human hands on my shoulders, of that I had no doubt, strong fingers digging into my flesh as they forced me into this cramped space. Malice aforethought, definitely, and I was pretty sure I knew who my abductors were. Those bastard Witch Kin, for I had recognized Polka-Dot-Quiff’s aftershave.

  The second Archive worker, the one who had ignored me, she must have been one of their friends.

  Right. I was going to get them back, I vowed as I lifted myself up carefully from the floor. Later, after I’d rescued Benjy and the baby, they would feel the force of my wrath. After I got out of here.

  I found the doorknob, but it wasn’t turning. My hands felt all around the door – yes, there were the hinges, there was the outline of the wood, but it wasn’t moving, not even when I banged against it with all my might. The door should at least have been shaking against its jamb, but nothing, it was as solid as if it was nailed into place.

  Fumbling with the handle again, I felt for the unlock button but there was nothing there, just a smooth ball of metal. No need to have an inner lock on a broom closet, right?

  They had magicked the door shut. It had to be a magic spell keeping that door closed, and I cursed the father who had refused to let me develop my innate talent. It was his fault I was stuck in here powerless, unable to help myself against the malicious actions of the Kin.

  I had (sort of) joked with Dad that he was going to cast a spell to keep me barred in, and he’d replied that it wasn’t that simple. Well, it turned out it was, as long as the spell caster wasn’t bothered by minor things like ethics.

  But even in the midst of my fright, I took off the cotton gloves to be sure, and yes, I could feel the spell just around the door handle – like a little itch on every third nerve of my fingertips, like tiny shocks along the hairs of my forearm. This was what magic felt like. I remembered this faintly, from the games played with Sasha and my other siblings in my childhood. Too bad I’d never been taught to properly work this energy.

  I shoved stuff out of the way with my feet and sat on the floor cross legged, my elbow leaning on the overturned bucket and tried to think my way out of this situation. It was pitch black in here, so either the corridor lights were still off or the spell had sealed the door so completely nothing was getting through.

  There wasn’t a lot of traffic outside at the best of times as the library staff would use the inner staircase. Patrons had to use the elevator or go down the concrete staircase through the basement corridor, and not many people frequented this out of the way spot, not so early on in the semester.

  I felt for my knapsack and with a sigh of relief found it in a corner where it must have slipped off when I was tossed inside. Okay, first things first, because I was starving by now. But no luck in that department, I hadn’t been bold enough to make myself a lunch in Cate’s kitchen, and there were no crumbs of chocolate or cookies in the depths of the bag, no matter how hard I searched. Crap.

  But Alice’s phone was there, I grabbed it and pressed the button to make it come alive. It was now almost one o’clock; Hugh wouldn’t be looking for me until after three when my last class finished.

  I found him on the contacts and pressed dial, but nothing happened at all. Looking closer, I saw there were no bars, no reception way down here in the bowels of the concrete library.

  The glow from the phone illuminated my prison, even without the flashlight app on. It was a creepy little space in this twilight, the thin sticks of brooms and mops crisscrossed in the shadows, their heads hovering above me. The metal of two industrial shelves glinted in the faint light, loaded with plastic bottles of chemicals and paper towels and a forgotten Tim Horton’s cup from last spring’s Roll Up the Rim contest, the rim unrolled and evidently a loser.

  Closer to me on the floor was a dustmop and buckets and an old pair of rubber boots. The corners of the closet were blurry with accumulated dust underneath the spartan industrial sink. Not a great place to spend an afternoon.

  I kept my ear opened for someone passing by, anyone, but no one came. The time was long and my thoughts drifted to the unfairness of my life, as this wasn’t the first time I’d been bullied by Witch Kin kids.

  At my elementary school, St. Mary’s, I hadn’t experienced much trouble. That was a tiny school crammed between Waterford Bridge Road and Topsail Road, saved from the inevitable budget-driven closures by dint of the rich people whose children attended it. If it had been located up in the projects it would have been shut down long ago and the poor people’s five-year-old kids bussed up to Mundy Pond. But wealthy educated folk sat on the school board, and their kids were staying in their own neighborhood.

  Quite a few Kin kids went to St. Mary’s, it being located near the huge old houses along the river, the homes that stayed in wealthy families for generations. They kept to themselves, for they were a tight-knit group although we all shared classrooms.

  This was long before the new movement against half-bloods started. Back then, we all just accepted our differences, apart from the odd scuffle in the
playground which is just normal little kid behavior.

  It was only in highschool when it started to get rough. Edna wanted me to go to Holy Heart of Mary in the center of the city because they offered so much more there in the way of music and art, not that I was talented in either of those. But she had dreams for me I guess, back then, and she drove me and Alice there and back every day.

  Holy Heart was where all the Kin kids went too. Imagine Sasha’s horror when she saw me there on the first day of classes. Being a year older than me and the legitimate offspring of our father, she was of course far too superior to acknowledge my existence, despite those few sunny days we’d shared as kids. But that didn’t stop her and her gang from pulling some mean tricks.

  The sneering and the name-calling I could handle, but when they began messing with my locker I learned to keep my eyes open. Somehow they must have found out my combination and for a while, every day there was a special new treat inside for me. Their favorite was to pile all my books on the top shelf so everything came crashing down as soon as the door opened, but there other things too. The dead rat in my lunch bag was the worst. I learned to tread very carefully in that school, and found all the quiet nooks to hide in. The positive side was that I met a lot of interesting nerds that way.

  I didn’t realize back then that Sasha and her friends were witches, or that I was too. I just thought she was mad because of our dad.

  Edna put it all down to teenage bullying, the usual crap that kids pull on each other, and maybe that’s all it was. But it was enough for me to spend the next four years going out of my way to avoid my brothers and sisters. It became a habit I became very adept at, and this made my actions that morning in the Arts Building all the more unusual, the boldness with which I’d entered their eyrie as if I belonged.

  You’d think she would have gotten over the whole father thing by now, I thought as I listlessly kicked a mop in the dark. But she had been scared this morning too, beneath the anger and spite. Was her fear on my behalf because I’d trespassed into the Witch Kin den? Had she known they would get back at me by playing silly tricks like this?