Dark Possession

by Carol Goodman

  I swung open the door, ready to greet my first tiny ghouls and goblins, and found a crew of slightly older trick-or-treaters—a rather large Scot in a kilt, with an assortment of fairies.

  “Scott!” I said, hardly recognizing my student, with his hair neatly combed back in a ponytail and with a clean white shirt tucked into a plaid kilt. “What are you doing here?”

  “Man, Prof, did you forget our folklore party?”

  “No, it’s just that I thought …” I turned from Scott to the woman dressed as the Fairy Queen at his side. “Ruby? I thought you were going home?”

  Nicky, wearing a Tinker Bell outfit and carrying two large reusable grocery bags, laughed and pushed past Ruby. “You know, we almost did go to New Jersey with Ruby, but then when we all met up at the bus station we realized we didn’t really want to go.”

  “Yeah,” Flonia said, carrying more bags over the threshold. “We wanted to be here—you know, with friends.”

  At the word friends, a crowd of my students came up the front path. “Is this where the party is?” asked a girl dressed as Alice in Wonderland.

  “Yeah,” Scott called back, “this is it. We hope you don’t mind, Prof; we invited a bunch of your students we ran into at the bus station. When they heard there was a party at Professor McFay’s, they all said that sounded better than going home. Hey, cool jack-o’-lanterns, Prof, especially the way you’ve got them wired for sound.”

  Scott edged past me to answer Ruby, who was calling him to come in and help, so I didn’t get to tell him I’d done nothing of the kind. Then I was too busy welcoming students to my house to figure out his meaning. I was touched to see how many of my students had come dressed as their favorite fairy tale characters.

  “You inspired us,” Tania Lieberman, dressed as Snow White, told me. “We were all planning it, and then we almost forgot and went home. Can you believe that? But then I remembered how much I was looking forward to my first Halloween at college, and … wow, your house is, like, totally cool! It looks like something out of Paranormal Investigations.”

  Stephanie Moss, a girl who never spoke in class, thanked me for the comments I’d written on her Beauty and the Beast paper. “I was feeling kind of homesick earlier today, but then I remembered what you said about how the heroines of fairy tales find their real homes in these stories, and that made me think … well, that Fairwick’s my new home. Anyway, I baked you some chocolate chip cookies from my mom’s favorite recipe.”

  About twenty of my students had resisted my homesickness spell and stayed—or, rather, they hadn’t had to resist the spell, because they had found a new home with their friends here at college. As they filled my house with laughter and loud voices, the smells of apple cider and fresh-baked goodies, I realized they’d turned my house into a home, too. I didn’t want to leave it, but as it drew closer to midnight I knew I had to. I waited until they were all in the living room playing a game of fishbowl (a version of charades that allowed talking—or at the moment some kind of wolfish howling), and I slipped out the front door.

  A chill wind bit into my skin as I left the warmth of the house. I wrapped my wool tartan shawl tighter around my shoulders and hurried down the steps before I could change my mind and turn back. The howling and laughter from inside already sounded far away and from a different world. I was alone in the cold and dark …

  Or not quite alone.

  Something squeaked at my feet. I knelt and picked up Ralph. Someone had tied an orange ribbon around his neck. “Thanks, little guy. But are you sure you don’t want to stay here and cadge some caramel apples?”

  But as I looked up at the house, I saw that neither of us was going back. Three sentries stood on the front porch—an ancient stooped woman in a black dress, a tall redheaded man in patched jeans and a flannel shirt, and a black cat grown to the size of a panther—my jack-o’-lanterns kindled into life.

  “You’ll watch over them?” I asked, worried about my unsuspecting students.

  The witch, scarecrow, and cat inclined their heads in assent.

  “All right, then,” I said, slipping Ralph into my skirt pocket.

  I started to go, but the scarecrow stepped forward and handed me a lit lantern like the one Adelaide had held.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the light from his hand. Then I turned and headed into the woods.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE NEEDFIRE LIT my way through the woods, its glow carrying a little bit of the warmth I’d left behind in my home. And not just the warmth of my home but the combined goodwill of the community. Its glow split the darkness and sent the shadows skittering off the path into the woods. I knew that some of the creatures were the ones who had been trapped here when the door closed. They were most likely watching me to see if I’d be successful in opening the hallow door, waiting for a chance to slither through the door before they perished without Aelvesgold. I thought of the creatures Volkov said were lurking in the tunnels and in the woods. Mostly I hoped there weren’t nephilim—although the rustle of wings in the branches above me suggested otherwise.

  The deeper I went into the woods, the lower the branches were. I was in the honeysuckle thicket, where the bare branches intertwined above my head like bony hands clasped together. The creaking they made as they rubbed against one another sounded like knuckles cracking—or like nephilim flexing their razor-barbed wings.

  At each crack, I ducked my head, and I nearly dropped my lantern more than once. I didn’t like to think what would happen if my lantern went out … but of course I did think about it, imagining how quickly the nephilim would be on me, how their barbs would sink into my flesh and mind, how they would suck the marrow out of my bones and my hopes and memories out of my soul. Those monsters don’t just kill you, Frank had said. They make you wish you’d never been born.

  I’d miss Frank in the circle, I thought. Moondance had said that Frank was one of the most powerful wizards she’d ever encountered. Would we be strong enough without him? Had Duncan attacked him to take out our most powerful member, so we’d be too weak to succeed without him?

  A fluttering above my head made me flinch. I had the sensation that I was being herded down this path to my death—like cattle driven through a chute to slaughter. Once all the remaining witches of Fairwick were gathered in one place, the nephilim would be able to destroy us all …

  What if this is a trap?

  The question so startled me that I stopped abruptly, caught my foot on a root, and tripped. I slammed hard onto the ground, the lantern rolling away from my hands, glass shattering, its light sputtering …

  Darkness rushed in around me with the sound of wings. The nephilim crashed onto my back and dug his claws into the nape of my neck. He took my breath away, and then he started to take my self away. The pointy barbs were in my brain, scraping away its tender parts: memories of my mother and father, Annie, my college boyfriend Paul, Liam, Bill … I could feel them all begin to slip away …

  Then I heard a strange yelp. The nephilim’s hold loosened enough for me to twist around to see what was happening. The creature was still straddling my back, but he was sitting up, his hands flailing at something behind him, his wings beating—something was crawling on the wings. Ralph! I saw the flash of tiny sharp teeth. Ralph was biting the nephilim to distract him, but how long would he be able to?

  I had to help. I unpinned the Luckenbooth brooch from my shawl and jabbed it into the nephilim’s thigh. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and reared back. I was surprised that it hurt so much—maybe these nephilim weren’t so tough after all. But then the nephilim bared his fangs and I revised my opinion. Those fangs were heading straight for my jugular—and then he was flying backward through the air. The nephilim landed on his back, wings pinned beneath him, Anton Volkov crouched on his chest. The vampire’s fangs were bared, his eyes flashing red in the fire’s glow …

  Fire?

  I looked behind me and saw the honeysuckle thicket in flames, kindled by my broke
n lantern. The fire was quickly spreading from the ground up to the arching canopy. Soon we’d be encased in a fiery tunnel.

  “Go!” Anton hissed. “I can’t hold him forever. Go to the circle.”

  It startled me to realize that Anton couldn’t kill the nephilim. We needed the angel stone to do that—which meant I needed to get to the circle and open the hallow door.

  “Will you be all right?” I asked.

  Anton’s amber eyes flicked to mine. Reflecting the fire, they seemed huge and inhuman—a tiger’s eyes. “Your concern is touching,” he said hoarsely. “I will … manage. Now … go!” He roared the last word, putting some compulsion into it, which got me to my feet and had me running down the path before I remembered that Ralph was no longer with me. But it was too late to go back, even if I had been able to resist Anton’s compulsion. Ralph was forged in fire; he’d find a way out—but I might not. The fire raced with me, devouring dry wood like a hungry animal. At least I no longer needed a lantern to light my way. The woods were bright with the clear orange glow of the needfire. Above the crackle of the fire, I heard retreating wings. The nephilim couldn’t reach me in my tunnel of fire, but they wouldn’t need to if I burned to death.

  When I reached the entrance to the glade, though, I saw a welcome sight. Mac Stewart and his clan stood in a circle around the glade. Every man, each in a flannel shirt bearing the Stewart tartan, stood with his arms stretched out to his sides. Filaments of red, blue, green, and yellow ran from fingertips to fingertips, forming a shimmering plaid hanging in the air. Sparks from the fire sizzled and died when they reached the plaid. The Stewarts were protecting the glade from the fire—and no doubt from half a dozen other threats.

  Mac smiled at me when I reached him. “Callie, we were worried you wouldn’t make it! It’s almost midnight.”

  “A nephilim tried to attack me, but Anton Volkov stopped him.”

  “Oh,” Mac said, his smile fading. “I would have whomped that winged bastard if I’d’ve been there, but I had to keep the circle safe.”

  “And a brilliant job you’re doing of it. Can your family hold the plaid against the fire?”

  Mac puffed up his chest. “The plaid can withstand anything,” he bragged.

  “Not forever, you dunderhead,” Mac’s father, Angus, interrupted. “Best let the lass go, son; she’s got a job to do.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  Angus and Mac did something with their hands to make an opening in the tartan field, and I stepped through it. As I did, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Mac on the cheek. “Thank you, Mac. Try to find Ralph and take care of him—and of Fairwick—if I don’t … well, if things don’t go according to plan in there.”

  Mac’s eyes widened and he began to object, but I pinned him with a look I used in class when a student gave me a lame excuse for not turning in a paper.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Good. I feel better knowing Fairwick’s in your hands.” I started to go in but thought of something else. “And Mac, the Alphas—some of them may not be as bad as their fathers. Keep that in mind.”

  Before Mac could ask me any questions, I stepped through the plaid and into the circle. I could tell when the plaid closed behind me, because I could no longer hear the fire or smell the smoke. Looking back, I saw that the predominantly red tartan was glowing with the reflection of fire, but inside the circle it was cool and still. For a moment I thought I was alone, but then seven figures in black cloaks stepped out of the shadows of the thicket. The one nearest to me pushed back her cloak, and I recognized Moondance.

  “We haven’t much time,” she said brusquely. “It’s almost midnight. Are you ready?”

  I’d been repeating Wheelock’s spell for the last few hours, but at Moondance’s question I suddenly felt, as I had when I sat down for my orals, that my mind had been rinsed clean of every scrap of knowledge I’d ever imbibed. This time it might actually be true. What if the nephilim attack had erased the spell from my brain? Around me were the hopeful faces of the seven people who had come to help me. They were all looking to me with complete trust. Moondance had let go of her wariness, Leon had dropped his habitual hipster attitude, Phoenix appeared calm and composed for a change, Jen seemed as if she didn’t even have a probing question, the look of worry in Ann’s eyes had been replaced with pride as she stood by her daughter, and Jessica … Jessica’s faith glowed with a purity of trust that took my breath away. Even my grandmother, who had rarely regarded me with anything but a mixture of annoyance and disappointment, was looking at me with complete faith. Each face, glowing in the reflection of the fire that ringed us, was like a smooth white stone dropped into a deep well. A feeling of quiet and calm came over me, and with it, like a stone dropping into the well, fell the words of the spell to become the hallow door.

  I nodded to Moondance, then to each of the others, and stepped into the center of the circle, to the empty place where once stood the door and where Bill’s blood had been shed. I took off the brooch, pricked my finger, and let a drop of blood fall on the ground. I recited the first part of the spell.

  “My blood binds me to the door.” A red mist rose from the ground and arched over me. I felt Bill’s love for me, so strong that he had sacrificed himself. That love bound me to the door.

  “I empty myself so that I contain all things.” I closed my eyes and became hollow inside. I’d felt like this before: when my parents died, when Liam left, when Bill perished. But each time I had been emptied, there were people who stepped into my life to fill that void. Annie, after my parents died. My friends and students, after Liam and then Bill had gone. I thought of all the good neighbors in Fairwick who had filled my life and who were depending on me to save them. They were inside me now. I had only to make myself a bridge from Fairwick to another world. And to do that I had to open myself up to the possibility that somewhere there was still love for me. That was the hardest part of the spell. Since Bill died, I had not allowed myself to think that there could ever be anyone else. It was too painful to hope. I had closed off a part of myself so that I’d never be hurt again. That was the part I had to open now.

  “I open myself to love,” I said.

  The red mist began to swirl around me. I felt a wrenching pain and then a dizzying lightness. I was inside a maelstrom. Around me, my friends stood in a circle of protection, and outside that circle stood the Stewarts, but none of them could protect me from the hurricane. I was alone here, open, unguarded, at the mercy of every fear and emotion, so torn by the currents of time that for a moment I didn’t seem to exist. In that moment, I became the door. I stepped through my own self, through my own pain and fears, and found myself standing on the threshold of Faerie, its iridescent dusk stretching out below me. I stepped forward …

  … right into the path of a galloping horse.

  I barely had time to throw myself to the side to escape being trampled. I fell to the ground beside a curved stone wall as the horse thundered past me, its silver hooves flashing mere inches from my nose. I looked up to see its rider glancing disdainfully over her shoulder at me, then tossing her silver-white hair and green cloak as she rode on. Another mount followed close behind, this one gold with jet hooves, its rider cloaked in gold. I recognized them both—Fiona, the Fairy Queen, and her king, Fionn. More horses followed in their wake, all decked in gold and silver and glittering jewels. It was the fairy host riding out on All Hallows’ Eve, just as they did in the ballads of Tam Lin and William Duffy.

  William. Was he here with them? I struggled to my feet, pulling myself up on the damp stone wall to scan the faces of the riders as they rushed past me, but they were all cloaked and hooded. How would I recognize him? But then I remembered the ballad and the sign William Duffy had promised his beloved—that he would leave one hand ungloved.

  I watched for a rider with a missing glove … and saw him at the end, on a white horse the color of moonlight, cloaked in black, one hand gloved, one bare.

 
I stepped into the path of the horse, which reared, diamond hooves flashing in the air inches above my head. The rider’s cloak fell back, and I saw his face in the moonlight against the shadow of the cloak. That is how he came to me first, as moonlight and shadow. I reached up, grabbed a handful of cloak, and pulled.

  He slid off his horse and landed right on top of me. We both tumbled to the ground, tangling in our cloaks. As we rolled, I felt him changing in my arms, his long, lean muscles lengthening and wrapping around me. When we came to a halt, I saw that I no longer held a man but was held instead by a huge serpent. Its eyes were still William’s, though, so I held on, remembering the story and bracing myself for the next transformation, which, if I remembered correctly …

  Dagger-length teeth snapped at me as slippery scales turned to deep fur in my hands. The lion’s great jaws opened wide and roared in my face, but the eyes were still William’s, so I held on …

  And was engulfed in flames. I had no eyes to look at this time, and I recalled from the story that this was where the heroine tossed her lover into a holy well.

  Which, if I wasn’t mistaken, lay just behind that damp stone wall I’d fallen against. I blindly groped my way to the wall, pulled myself up by my burning fingertips, and dove over, headfirst. As soon as I hit the water, I felt another body in the well with me, arms and legs flailing and dragging me down. There was nothing in the story about the hero drowning the heroine. But then he was pulling me out of the water, pushing me up on his shoulders so I could fling myself back over the top of the well. I turned and reached for him and pulled him, sputtering, sopping, and stark naked, out of the well. His long, lean torso and limbs gleamed like marble in the moonlight. For a moment I was dazzled at the sight of him—I knew that smooth chest, those strong legs—and then I thought to toss my sodden tartan over his shoulders, just in time to cover him before the Fairy Queen rode back to stare down at William from her silver horse.