Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Beginnings

by Lydia Sherrer

  Saturday finally came around again, and she was already up and dressed when her phone rang at ten o’clock. The jaunty beat of the 1960s theme song from Bewitched told her it was Sebastian, prompting the usual ironic grin that came every time she heard it. She’d flatly forbidden him from disturbing her during the week, so this was his version of a “crack-of-dawn, lets-get-to-it” wake-up call—to Sebastian, ten in the morning was the crack of dawn.

  Lily picked up her phone.

  “I’m dressed and ready to go,” she said. “I’ll meet you at your house in fifteen. Will you be ready by then?”

  “Errr…” was his reply. “If I have to take a shower it’ll be more like thirty. But if you’re in a rush I could skip that part.”

  “Make it thirty,” Lily said, firmly. “I’ll bring breakfast.”

  “Breakfast as in your homemade muffins?” Sebastian asked, his tone painting a vivid picture of puppy-eyed pleading.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “I suppose it could be arranged.”

  “All right! See you then,” he said, and hung up.

  Lily glared half-heartedly at her phone, trying to feel offended. It was hard to be upset at being taken for granted when it was done with such fawning enthusiasm.

  They munched on muffins and bagels with cheese during the drive south, arriving at the Jackson Mansion a little before one o’clock.

  While Lily got her things out of the car, Sebastian unlocked the front doors and went inside to find Francis. By the time Lily made it up the steps, the ghost was waiting for her, looking as hopeful and expectant as one could when made of gloomy, grey mist.

  “Have you done it?” Francis asked anxiously. “Have you found a solution? A counter-curse?”

  Lily had to hide a smile. “No, not a counter-curse. We’re trying to un-make it, remember? Not counter it.”

  “Ah…yes, of course. I must confess I do not quite fathom the difference—”

  “You and me both pal, you and me both,” Sebastian cut in from where he leaned against the doorframe.

  Francis shot him a disapproving look, but continued “—however, I trust your expertise.”

  “Thank you, Francis.” Lily said, bending to set her carpetbag in the middle of the grand hall floor. Light spilled in from the open front doors and lit up the hall with summer sun, making the ghost barely visible where he floated, half in, half out of the sun’s rays.

  Straightening back up, Lily turned to fix the half of Francis she could see with a serious look. “I appreciate your confidence, but I haven’t solved the whole thing yet. There are some critical pieces missing that I hope you can fill in.”

  “Of course,” Francis said, coming closer and out of the beams of sunlight. “Any way I can be of help.”

  “Alright.” Lily got out her eduba, summoning her notes on Annabelle’s diary to its pages and readying a pencil. “I know we’ve already talked about…that night. But I need you to try very hard to remember more detail. Those foreign-sounding words you heard? I need to know what they were and what she was doing when she spoke them. Can you do that?”

  “I….” His voice faltered, and he struggled to regain his composure. “It was so long ago…and I am loath to remember. Annabelle was the most beautiful, wonderful thing that ever happened to me. I am eternally ashamed of the selfish attitude of self-preservation that took hold of me. Yes, she had her troubles. But she was a lonely soul, hungry for understanding, and I could have given it to her. Instead, I was too afraid of losing the riches and station I was accustomed to. I acted in a most reprehensible and cowardly fashion. The shame haunts me every day. Worst of all, I never had the chance to ask forgiveness and make things right. My sweet Annabelle went to her grave thinking I did not care. To spend eternity knowing you are unforgiven is pure torment. Yet, if reliving my sins has any hope of freeing me from this curse, I will try.”

  He began a halting, blow-by-blow account of his rejection, obviously reluctant even now to repeat the excuses and platitudes he’d spoken in an attempt to justify his decision. If a ghost could have blushed in shame, he would have done it.

  “…and then she began to throw various objects: books, my snuff box, a vase off the mantelpiece—mother’s favorite, she never forgave me for that—and even the end table. She turned over the chairs and screamed names at me, accused me of leading her on and being a coward, a farce, a…well many other unpleasant things besides.” The ghost looked down and fell silent.

  “And then?” Lily prompted. “When did she start speaking a foreign language?”

  “Well, I had taken refuge behind the open door to the next room and was trying to talk sense into her. When there was nothing left to throw she simply stood there and screamed, describing all the horrid things that ought to happen to me. They were quite disturbing. I, ah, politely insisted she return the ring and leave at once, before she did something rash.

  “That set her off again, and she began throwing broken pieces of objects she had already thrown. That was also when she started saying odd things. I am truly sorry, but I cannot remember what they were, I have no mind for languages. In the middle of it all, I heard a metallic clink as something bounced off the door and fell to the ground. She yelled a bit more in that language, then stormed out. When I dared reenter the room, I found my grandmother’s ring lying upon the floor. That is…what happened,” He finished, lamely.

  “Hmm….” Lily mused, thinking hard. “Did you notice anything different about the ring?”

  Francis thought for a moment. “Not exactly. It looked as it ever had, though it was rather hot when I picked it up.”

  “Ah ha!” Lily exclaimed. “That’s it! I should’ve known. Why didn’t you mention it before? You never said she threw the ring at you.”

  “Well, I was not eager to remember the…sad details,” Francis murmured, eyes downcast.

  Lily opened her mouth to reply, but a thought struck her, and her heart sank.

  “I don’t suppose you still have the ring, do you?” she asked, unhopeful. Such a valuable item would surely have been sold off to pay debts.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Francis smiled for the first time since Lily had met him. It was a small, weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. “After my wife died I could not bear to part with it. I put it in our family safe and it has stayed there ever since.”

  Lily’s excitement returned, though she was skeptical. “But wouldn’t the new owners have sold it off or put it in a safe deposit box or something?”

  “One would suppose. However, I died rather suddenly, as did both my parents, and the records of the combination were lost. It has stayed locked since my death.”

  “But why didn’t they force it open? Or move it?”

  Francis raised an eyebrow. “My dear, that thing is a Hall’s Patent safe. Its walls are eight inches of solid cast iron, and it weighs almost half a ton. It was put in place when the house was built, and would take herculean effort to move. Besides, it is a valuable antique and it would not do to harm it. Various owners have considered moving it but never gotten around to doing so. It has become a part of the scenery, tucked away in the upstairs office all these years.”

  “Well then, why didn’t you tell anyone the combination?” Lily asked.

  Francis shrugged. “I am a ghost. No one listens to a ghost.”

  Lily shook her head, incredulous, but grateful. “Well, will you tell us the combination so we can banish this curse once and for all?”

  “Certainly,” Francis said, and gestured with an arm toward the grand staircase. “After you, Miss Singer.”

  * * *

  Lily sat cross-legged on her pillow—her preferred position for complex spell-work—and centered herself. The calming scent of burning sage from her small brazier filled the room. There was no shield spell this time: a barrier would create interference between the anchor and the invisible mist sunk into the walls around her. For protection, she had to rely on her personal ward, a much more complex and powerful version of
the shield spell. It was anchored to the engraved beads woven into the cord of her amulet bracelet. Its magical power followed the curves of her body, fitting over her like a second skin, quite invisible to mundanes, and even to wizards unless they were looking. Madam Barrington had given it to her when she’d started teaching Lily magic. She’d said it was to “keep you in one piece until you learn some sense.” Lily had since become adept at making her own wards but kept her mentor’s gift, anyway.

  Sebastian watched from a safe distance, observing through the open front door as he stood by her carpetbag containing her eduba and other materials she’d brought. She noticed he was fidgeting distractedly with his coin, apparently unable to be completely still. Francis, however, hovered across from Lily, regarding the proceedings intently. Between them, on the smooth wood floor, lay the ring. Despite its age, the gold band and diamond gemstone sparkled in the sunlight. To Lily’s eyes, they weren’t the only things that glimmered. She could see dimmu runes sunk into the ring’s surface, and they glittered darkly—an impossible feat, yet that was the only way to describe how sharp and there the darkness was.

  Though aware of Sebastian’s curiously impatient stare on her back, and Francis’s painfully hopeful gaze on her front, she breathed deeply, relaxed, and took her time, running over the words she would need in her head. When she felt ready, she opened herself to the Source, drawing steadily but not releasing its power, letting it slowly grow in her until she was full to the crown. The ring pulsed with an insentient malevolence, and Lily knew its power, fueled by rage and grief, would not be easily overcome. Steeling herself, she reached down and picked up the ring, holding it firmly between forefinger and thumb of both hands as she closed her eyes and spoke the words of power, commanding its curse to be unmade.

  What happened next was like nothing she’d ever experienced or even read about. She knew instinctively as the words left her mouth that her spell was correct. Yet despite her impeccable Enkinim, her words didn’t unmake the curse. Her power hung in the air, full of purpose, yet opposed. Something pushed back, as if the ring itself were alive and casting its own counter-spell. But that was impossible. It was inanimate. Even if counter-spells were present, they would have been activated and done their job without delay. They wouldn’t have hung there, pushing back with equal strength as though opposing her will.

  Straining to maintain her spell, knowing she had to find a way around this or else give up, she probed deeper, opening her mind to the opposing magic, trying to understand it. Deeper she went, until, in her mind’s eye, she could see the black mass of clinging mist at its heart. She hesitated. Thoughts of “stupid” and “rash” flashed across her mind. But she’d come too far to back down now. She had to figure this thing out.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached out with her mind and touched the mist. It enveloped her, and everything went black.

  * * *

  When she regained awareness, she knew at once something wasn’t right. She no longer wore the jeans and t-shirt she’d put on that morning. Instead, she was clothed in flowing black robes. Her senses felt dulled, her body sluggish. The Jackson Mansion was gone and all she could see around her was dark, glowing mist. She turned her insubstantial body, looking around, and jumped in surprise.

  Behind her stood a stunningly beautiful woman whose fiery red hair flowed down her shoulders in luxurious, cascading curls. She had brilliant green eyes, strong cheekbones, and a dainty nose. Her heart-shaped face tapered to a sharp chin that nonetheless flowed gracefully into a slender neck. The woman wore a breathtaking wedding dress, its entire length covered in delicate lace and beadwork. Its design was so intricate it couldn’t have been made by human hands alone.

  Yet for all the woman’s beauty and fine clothes, she was covered from head to toe in black streaks of…something. Soot perhaps, or dried ink. Lily wasn’t sure.

  She was sure, however, of the woman’s identity.

  “Annabelle Witherspoon,” Lily said. It was a statement, not a question.

  The woman glared at her. “Who are you and where did you come from?” Her voice had soft, musical undertones, yet she spoke harshly.

  Lily raised her hands in a placating gesture. “My name is Lily Singer. I’m a wizard, like you. I’m here because I’ve been asked to help get rid of the curse you cast on Francis Jackson and his house a hundred years ago. What I want to know is, how did you get here? They buried your body in 1911.”

  Annabelle had opened her mouth to interrupt, but froze in place at Lily’s last statement. Her rosy features blanched white under the dirty smudges covering her skin.

  “What did you say?” she whispered, hostility turning to horror.

  “I said, they buried your body in 1911. It’s been almost a hundred years since you died. What are you? A ghost?” Lily took a step toward the obviously shaken girl; Annabelle looked ready to faint.

  “One hundred years…” Annabelle murmured, shock and disbelief in her wide eyes as she slowly sank to her knees, dress pooling around her in slinky folds. “I knew I had been here many weeks, perhaps months, but…a hundred years? That is impossible…”

  She looked up at Lily, expression confused, eyes desperately pleading for some sort of reassurance. Sighing, Lily sat cross-legged in front of her and tried to take her hands, unsure if her spectral body could even touch the other wizard. It could. Annabelle’s hands felt ice cold, and Lily squeezed them reassuringly, not sure what else to do.

  They sat in silence for several moments before Annabelle spoke again, an edge in her voice.

  “I suppose this means…he is dead now too?”

  Lily didn’t need to ask who “he” was. “Yes, sort of. You and he actually died around the same time. But he’s still here, as a ghost.”

  Annabelle looked up sharply, body going rigid and hatred warring with longing for supremacy on her face. In the end, neither won. Both were swept away by the sorrow, sharp and piercing as a sword, that overtook her expression as she burst into tears.

  She wept for a long time, body heaving with sobs as she wailed in sorrow and rocked back and forth. Lily felt incredibly awkward intruding on this private moment, but it felt cruel not to offer some sort of comfort. She moved to sit beside the weeping girl and put an arm around her shoulders. Annabelle leaned into her, and there they sat until the girl’s storm of grief began to subside.

  Once the sobs had faded into sniffles, Lily ventured to speak again.

  “I know this is hard, but if we’re going to make things right, I need you to tell me what happened. I have much of it worked out, between what Francis told me and what you wrote in your diary. But th—“

  “My diary!” Annabelle interrupted, pulling back to look at her. “How did you find it? I had it very well hidden.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Lily said, confused. “You left it with all your other belongings in your apartment when you died. It got packed away in a relative’s attic, then donated to a local museum, which is where I found it.”

  “That is…well I…I mean to say it was rather rude of you to read someone else’s private writing.”

  “Not at all,” Lily said, a bit stiffly. “You’ve been dead for a long time. It’s no longer personal, it’s history.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “For what it’s worth, it’s clear from your writing that you’re incredibly skilled. I’ve learned a lot from the diary, though some of your spells I found rather… reckless.”

  Annabelle smiled faintly, as if remembering better days.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened that night,” Lily continued, “then I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll figure this out.”

  The girl was silent for a while, staring at the ground. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft and halting that Lily had to lean close to hear it.

  “When Francis…” she paused and took a shuddering breath, blinking back more tears, “when he informed me we could not be wed, I was so angry, so hurt and betrayed,
I called upon the most harmful spell I knew. It was foolhardy, I know, but obviously I was beyond reason at the time. I had never actually tried the spell before, but the theory was sound. Its intention was to bring upon the recipient the same sorrow they had inflicted upon the caster. I had this rather romantic idea that I would leave him miserable for a few months, unable to be happy with anyone else, then he would come crawling back to me on hands and knees, begging me to reconsider. I would magnanimously forgive him and all would be well.

  “Yet, something went wrong. I was so furious, so violent in the casting, that I must have thrown too much of myself into the spell. I have thought for endless hours about what happened, and I have decided I must have made the spell too personal. Somehow, I tied part of my soul, my suffering, to the anchor. How else was the spell supposed to accomplish what I commanded, to make Francis suffer what I suffered, without a part of me to fuel it?”

  Lily saw it then, the reason Annabelle was never able to dispel the curse, and why she, and therefore Francis, had died. But she kept silent, to let this bit of Annabelle’s soul finish her story.

  “The last memory I have is completing the spell and releasing it as I threw my ring at that good-for-nothing. Then I blacked out. I woke up here—” she gestured at the shining black mist around them “—in this godforsaken place. There’s nothing but mist. It has no end, no walls, no features of any kind. I have walked endlessly and never come upon a single thing but mist. I never tire, hunger, or thirst, as if I am in some kind of stasis. I have had nothing but hatred and hurt to keep me company. It is a wonder I have not gone mad. I should have; I thought I would. But even my moods have disappeared.

  “I have tried to escape so many times, but there is no way out. I am cut off from the Source. I can not feel it anymore, or else I would have freed myself long ago.”

  Annabelle fell silent, and Lily suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t imagine the horror of being trapped here, unaware of the world or anything in it, including her own body.