The Patsy's Patsy

by Brooke Shelby

  For a few minutes, the entire town felt frozen in time. Above, the black clouds flashed mutely while the very air stood still. No wind stirred, not even a dry leaf, and the streets felt barren and apprehensive. The more perceptive people of Hope’s Crossing went indoors, even though they were uncertain of their own reasons for doing so.

  At the Corey house, Maggie felt the same eerie developments and it terrified her. Her heart was throbbing madly, so much that she could have sworn that she heard her blood rush through her veins. The experience was exacerbated by her familiar’s uncertainty. Given that he was her mentor and guide, she grew more anxious when he was at a loss.

  “All we can do is reinforce the wards, Maggie,” he advised. “I concede, I have no idea what is happening. All I know is that I felt this happen the night my poor Clara was ripped from her mortal coil.”

  “Please don’t say that! I know it is true, but please just don’t say it aloud, Bramble,” Maggie pleaded. “Let me live in some denial about the danger I am in, okay?”

  “As you wish,” he said.

  “Fear is only going to cripple us. Come with me. I need you to show me how to reinforce the wards,” she choked on her tears. “I am so scared, Bramble. Scared for my very soul.”

  “Don’t let it take you, my dear Maggie. It only has power if you give it power … as far as it concerns the power of will, that is,” he suggested. “Further than that, we only have our magic.”

  “I hate how still the air is,” she moaned as she carried her cat downstairs to the back door, where she wished to strengthen the corner wards. “Like the town is holding its breath.”

  “It might very well be holding its breath. This tight feeling of trepidation you are feeling is definitely not the climate,” Bramble reasoned.

  The glass-paned kitchen door that overlooked the backyard and greenhouses displayed the gradually creeping lightning even more clearly than her bedroom window. Maggie held her breath for a moment, before she hastened to strengthen the first ward. Keeping her head as best she could, she follow up on each of the spell walls of her home on Bramble’s instruction. One after another, they charged the wards, but as they moved to the next, they could already feel the previous being undone.

  “My God, this witch is formidable,” Bramble gasped as he felt the impending disarming of the Corey house.

  “I don’t need to hear that,” Maggie wailed, trying to keep her tears at bay. “Whoever this is, they are relentless and powerful and I … I think I am going to have a heart attack.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he said quite firmly, and Maggie realized that he took it seriously. “I cannot keep losing my witches. This witch is using counter-magic on us and all we can do right now is to fight it as hard as we can.”

  “And then?” she frowned. “What happens when we run out of tools to charge the wards with? What will their next move be?”

  Bramble looked at Maggie with a distasteful wince. “Don’t make me answer that.”

  Maggie breathed out a little helpless yelp and continued to do her best to employ her charges as best she could while she still had the energy to do so. She constantly had to return to previous wards to reinforce them once more.

  Suddenly, both Maggie and Bramble experienced an uncanny sensation. They could feel all the wards of the house unravel like a bad rug. From seemingly nowhere, a gust of wind licked at the walls of the Corey manor. Outside, the clouds began to rumble and the wind started disturbing the trees with great ferocity.

  “Okay, what the hell is that?” she panted, cowering in the corner of the lobby, peeking through the stained glass pane of the front door. “Where did the wind come from? Look, Bramble, it has suddenly become a storm outside! Looks like our opponent has the power of weather magic as well.”

  “It would appear so,” Bramble agreed. “If I may speculate, I think they are using the wild weather to prevent people … witnesses … from walking the streets. By keeping the townspeople busy with a storm, whatever they have planned for us will go unnoticed.”

  Maggie crouched in the corner, helpless. She had run out of ideas, but she could not give up so easily.

  “I did not beat my opponents so many times to just give up now!” she decided, though scared as hell. “No matter what, I am not going to end up like Auntie Clara! I will not! I cannot! I cannot let my ancestors down by letting some criminal murder me too!”

  “That’s my girl,” Bramble roared.

  “Our magic is not working. Magic is futile now,” she admitted. “It’s time to defend myself the good old-fashioned way. Kicking ass.”

  Maggie had had enough of fearing what Jaimie Kiernan had planned now that he was walking free again. Although he was nothing more than a skinny moron, she knew that he was merely a puppet. Whoever protected him was the one she had to look out for.

  “Puppets can be beaten, and this one is not the smartest I’ve dealt with,” she muttered as she fetched a gallon bottle of cooking oil from the cupboard and poured it all over her kitchen floor. “Let’s see how well he hunts when his ankles are broken.”

  Maggie wasted no time as the wind howled at the windows. She ran to her room and grabbed her baseball bat. Hastening downstairs, she stopped at the stair cupboard to trip the electricity and cut the lights.

  “I know my house. He doesn’t.” She kept talking to soothe her terror. Somewhere in Maggie’s mind, she wondered about the situation.

  I think knowing that someone is coming to kill me is worse than being attacked without warning, she imagined. She was grateful for the little sleep she’d had, otherwise she would not have had the energy to charge the wards or wait anxiously for her would-be murderer. With the house in total darkness, she retreated into her spice cupboard, bat in hand and heart like a locomotive. Bramble took refuge in the shadows nearby under the sofa, where he would not be observed.

  Maggie waited for her killer. She was so ready for the attack that she found herself practically bored during the few minutes it took for Jaimie to show up. In fact, in some twisted way, she was looking forward to the calamity if only to bring all this to an end. Her mind allowed the notion that she was indifferent to the outcome, as long as it could all just conclude already.

  From the refuge of her spice cupboard, she heard the violent shattering of glass. Around the house, the thunder clapped, but still it did not rain. On the other hand, she was grateful for the din as it masked any sound that could betray her location. Maggie finally got what she wanted. Jaimie Kiernan came through her door to finalize the matter.

  “Come out, come out, you little bitch!” he mocked. She could tell that he was as high as a kite on his own product, juiced up enough to have reached the violent aggression stage that came after the delirium. Maggie kept quiet, waiting for him to step inside the kitchen.

  “I am going to crush your goddamn skull, witch! Just you wait till I find you! I am going to bash your brains out and have a smoke on your miserable carcass,” he laughed, while Maggie could hear him trying to flick the light switch at the door.

  “Shit,” she heard him say.

  In the dark, Maggie smiled.

  27

  Wired on his own devilish elixir, Jaimie Kiernan felt confident in his abilities to brave the pitch-black darkness inside the creepy old house that used to belong to Clara Corey. His body ached from the poison coursing through it, but the hell it pushed through his veins only made him stronger and crazier. He proceeded carefully at first, but as he gained his footing in the dark kitchen, he became more valiant in his effort.

  That was exactly what Maggie was waiting for. She listened carefully. Jaimie walked right onto her greasy trap and slipped, falling hard on the wooden floor with a thump. He cursed and flailed from the shock of the impact, furious. Foaming at the mouth, Jaimie made sure that Maggie knew what was coming.

  “Do you think that will stop me? Just you watch, Maggie Corey! Just you watch!” he scampered about to get up, slipping and sliding, having no idea that he had dislocat
ed his knee and fractured his shinbone. To Jaimie, in his inebriated condition, it simply felt uncomfortable to walk properly. He got up on his shattered leg, but instantly fell to the floor again.

  From the darkness came the pain he could actually feel. Maggie came from oblivion, her first blow falling squarely against his head. It made a sickening sound that made Maggie cringe, but she knew it was necessary. He grunted at the wallop, which indicated that she had not yet killed him, and Maggie was relieved that he was still alive.

  “You think I am just going to let you come into my house and do what you want, you freak?” she seethed. Maggie discovered that most of her fear had turned to convenient anger, and this kept her thinking clear in the presence of such danger. She gave him another blow, but struck mostly flooring and table legs. Jaimie had moved and even she could not see in the dark. Maggie realized that making the house dark might also have impinged upon her flight and her fight alike.

  He is either sitting or probably slouching from that sore leg. Swing lower. You are bound to hit something, right? Right? she argued with herself in her desperation. The next swing, she measured well. Maggie’s bat clanked against more bone as she aimed low and struck his upper arm. In the thick darkness, she heard him squeal from her vicious swatting, so Maggie kept going. Long ago, on the streets of Boston, she had learned from the leathery biker types that, in a fight, you kept going. There was no stopping after the first shot, because people recovered quickly. Jaimie, especially, was too high to feel much, so he was even more likely to recover sooner than a normal person. Maggie took the hint and kept hitting him while she knew where he was.

  The next blow missed and hit the side of the stove. Maggie listened, but all she could hear was the wailing wind and sporadic cracking of thunder. There was no sign of Jaimie’s presence, although her gut screamed that he was close. Maggie tried to curb her mad panting so that he would not find her, but she was too late.

  Against her ankle, she felt a mild graze before his thin, icy fingers gripped her hard. Maggie screamed as Jaimie’s superior strength pulled her off her feet and brought her hard to the floor.

  “No! No!” she squealed in hysterics as she swung her bat, but, in one of her strongest swings, it left her hands and went clattering off somewhere in the dark. “Shit!”

  “Now I got you, bitch,” Jaimie snarled, snot and spit spattering as he hissed.

  “Screw you, you skeletal creep!” she screamed, kicking madly under his weight as he crawled up her body towards her face. His vile laughter made her sick, but as much as she fought with all she had, the Green Demon had made Jaimie unnaturally strong. His hands clawed at her body as he tried to find her face.

  “I’m gonna eat the flesh off your skull, witch!” he sneered.

  Suddenly, a feline screech ripped through the night sounds and soon after, Maggie heard Jaimie screeching in pain. Bramble had latched onto his back, clawing and biting at his body. With a torrent of swear words, Jaimie grappled in the dark to get the cat off his back while Maggie escaped, barely able to get up. She too was now covered in oil and it significantly impaired her movement. Bramble was tearing into his flesh with savage sharp nails, but Jaimie managed to get hold of the big black cat and summarily hurled Bramble across the room.

  “Bramble!” Maggie cried as she heard her familiar land among the porcelain and glass of the upper cupboards. His furry body shattered the glass panels of the cupboard doors and penetrated the piled porcelain with a powerful crash. “My poor Bramble! Are you okay?”

  There was no response. Maggie cried bitterly as she tried to get to her phone, but she was injured and slippery. Jaimie was still cackling like a warlock as he followed her on his elbows and one leg. At once, Bramble’s heavy paws pattered towards Jaimie in the black of the middle house. The drug dealer screamed frenziedly as the familiar took to his face and eyes.

  “This time I am not playing nice, you miscreant!” Bramble hissed and caterwauled as he worked the attacker’s eyes. Of course, unlike Maggie and Jaimie, Bramble could see in the dark. The battle continued in the center of the house, somewhere between the main hallway and the lounge. Maggie tried to find Bramble and Jaimie tried to find Maggie. Only the thunder, wind, and a lot of breakage sounded in the scenario as the three fought it out.

  While Bramble was paying attention to Jaimie, Maggie crawled into her spice cupboard and grabbed the nearest bag of spice. From what she knew of the setup, it was her cayenne pepper.

  “Hope this is it,” she sniffled, and cleared her throat before following the scuffle to find Jaimie. Bramble was hissing and Jaimie’s furious cursing drew Maggie directly to them.

  “Come and fight your own fight, bitch!” Jaimie snarled.

  She poured some pepper into her left hand and with the right, found her attacker’s already pulverized face.

  With a clenched jaw, Maggie said, “Call me bitch one more time,” and smeared a handful over his eyes and face. Not a violent person by nature, Maggie could not believe how she reveled in Jaimie’s bloodcurdling screams in the darkness of the stormy night. For once, she did not even feel a sliver of pity and certainly felt no guilt for relishing the moment.

  “Now you’re my bitch,” she sneered at him.

  Her body ached from the altercation, but she could not let Jaimie vanish from her vicinity. Once he was out of sight, so to speak, he would be able to attack her unexpectedly from any side. He screamed in pain for what felt like forever, but then Jaimie suddenly went mute—not a good thing for Maggie.

  “Bramble, where is he?” she sniffled through her drying tears.

  Weakly, her familiar answered, “He is right behind you, Maggie. Get out now!”

  Without even thinking twice, Maggie propelled herself toward the kitchen back door. Jaimie missed by a hair. Had she hesitated, he would have successfully seized her. He fell to the wooden floor as she eluded his capture, but when Maggie reached the back door, she could not open it.

  “What is this?” she shrieked as she heard Jaimie’s approaching steps. Hysterically she jerked at the door, but the screen door had been padlocked shut to hold her inside. She was screaming so loudly in frustration that she did not hear Jaimie fumble about in one of the drawers. As the lightning flashed outside, it briefly illuminated the sharp glimmer of Jaimie’s weapon, a butcher’s knife he took from the drawer. In the nick of time, she evaded the blade, hearing it clink against the steel mesh of the screen door that usually remained open even when the kitchen door was locked. Now someone had bolted it shut to keep her confined in her house with an animal of a different breed.

  28

  To her horror, the trapped witch felt his breath on her neck.

  Maggie tried to get out of the way a second time, but as she lunged to her left, she felt the burning cold of the blade cutting through her arm. Inadvertently screaming from the shock of being stabbed at, she fell to the floor in order to make it more difficult for Jaimie to stab her again. Bramble was badly hurt from being thrown through the glass door of the cupboard. He was limping toward the fight, but he moved too slowly to help his witch.

  As she clawed her way to the countertop with Jaimie falling about behind her (once more on the oily surface), she employed a desperate move and aimed for the Hot Foot powder. There was barely any left after she had used it on Gareth’s tires to make him leave Hope’s Crossing, but it was worth a try nonetheless.

  Trembling, her hand sank into the sack and collected the powder. The mix of pepper and salt burned the broken skin on Maggie’s hands, but she was fighting for her life and a little pain would not deter her. Jaimie came at her with the knife, but she tossed the last handful of Hot Foot in his face.

  She screamed, “Go away! Be gone! Off with you, you pest, and never ever come back!”

  Jaimie wailed in the sting of the powder, stopping him in his tracks. The hoodoo was fixed. Beyond the reaches of powerful magic and evil spells, the roots of hoodoo took hold in its simplicity and banished the emaciated attacker instantly
. Regardless of the power of his witchcraft, Maggie knew that hoodoo was so basic and so pure that it might work. And it did!

  Squealing furiously and clawing at his eyes again, Jaimie fled the house through the front door and ran into the stormy wind like a possessed swine. Outside the Corey residence, Maggie could hear the screeching tires skidding and the slam of a blunt thump as soon as Jaimie reached the street.

  She went to the window overlooking the street, but was too late to see who drove the vehicle. The trees bent hard under the fury of the gale and it blocked her view to the road. Maggie sighed. Hurt, but relieved that she and Bramble had survived, she took a moment to catch her breath. Finally, she could turn on the power again, and the house lit up all the damage incurred during the last half hour.

  The kitchen was in shambles. Blood, oil, and a sandy mess covered the floor amongst broken glass and smashed porcelain. The door was decimated. Her eyes scanned the room for Bramble’s black furry body, but he was absent.

  Thoughts of her brave black cat haunted her reminiscence and then she remembered how badly hurt he was. “Oh my God! Bramble!” she cried, making her way as quickly as possible to where she had seen him last. “Bramble?” she called, her voice breaking in weakness and sorrow. Maggie took a kitchen cloth and wrapped her injured forearm as she called for her beloved cat, but she heard nothing but the creaking floorboards and the whistling windows. Distraught, she sat down on the chair in the kitchen and cried.

  From the hallway came a shadow, moving slowly in its sleek progress. Around the corner, the trail of wet paws imprinted the wooden floor. Maggie hoped that he would be all right and she started crying when she saw her scruffy familiar enter the room.