Chapter Seven: Believing in Magick
As soon as LeBeau had left the infirmary, Wilson let out a sigh of relief. He was not used to treating Hogan's men, and he couldn't remember the last time LeBeau had visited him with such a horrendous injury. Sure, sometimes they were injured during their missions, but it was usually just a simple scratch or bruise, nothing serious. It wasn't anything that his regular bag of medical tricks couldn't solve. Sitting down in one of the chairs, he wondered if now was the time.
He was extremely nervous and hesitant at the moment; as he got up from his chair, he began pacing again. After all, it's been three weeks since my fortieth birthday, and what a celebration Hogan and his men threw for me! the sergeant remembered warmly, allowing a small smile to cross his face. But Hogan and his men aren't like me. Sure, I did have to give the Colonel a blood transfusion a month-and-a-half ago, and I distinctly remember him closing his eyes, but this is different. Sighing, he sat down on his chair again, resting his head on one fist, which in turn was resting on his right knee. But there's a change in the air, especially with that…competitor stirring up trouble for the men again. She must be new like me, or otherwise… But at the moment, they probably need all of the help they can get. It's time I show them the real Sergeant Joseph Wilson.
With that, Wilson hurried over to a spot on the floor that appeared to be just another wooden plank. Saying a couple words, he opened up the secret compartment and pulled out what he needed, or at least what he hoped he needed. With that, he hurried over to Barracks Two, not knowing how his colonel would take the news.
HHH
Down below in the tunnels, Hogan could only stare at his corporal, a quizzical expression clearly registering on his face. "No, I can't say that I have. Who is Angel?" he asked. "More importantly, how can he help us?"
"It's a long story, sir. Would you prefer the short version or the long version?" he asked. However, he only needed one glance from his commanding officer before he knew what the answer would be. "Right then, the whole story. No more secrets, as you said once," Newkirk responded, answering his own question.
"You see, Angel is an Irishman who was born Liam, in the year 1727. 'E was changed in 1753 by 'is sire, Darla…And no, you don't want 'er on this team. She's not exactly the most 'umane vampire. Anyway, I met 'im in the year 1890. I've lost count of 'ow many people 'e's killed, and my guess is so 'as 'e…"
However, he was suddenly cut off by Hogan, who was remembering well a particular part of the conversation that he, his corporal and Carter had once engaged in when he had first opened up to them. "Killed? More or less than three dozen? I need to make sure that I can trust this man."
However, before Newkirk could answer Hogan's question, a sinister smile suddenly appeared on his face. "What does it matter to you how many people Newkirk's vampire friend has killed? If I were you, I would be more worried about how many people he's going to kill!" the corporal shouted, speaking in Gretel's voice. Suddenly, his eyes shone green again, and his fangs emerged.
Damn! Doesn't she ever leave us alone? Hogan asked, as he positioned himself in a fighting stance. "Newkirk, I don't want to hurt you, since I realize that you're not 'you' at the moment. Whatever Gretel is doing to you this time, you have to continue to fight it!"
Hearing the commotion that was occurring in the main tunnels, Kinch and LeBeau could only quickly exchange glances. Even though Carter had wished it otherwise, they had both decided to watch over him after the bottle of sleeping pills had taken effect.
"If it's not one, it's the other," LeBeau said, before quickly rushing out of the tunnels, with Kinch fast behind him. However, the sight that lay before them shocked them to their core.
Before Hogan had the opportunity to fight back, Newkirk had thrown himself at his colonel, pushing him down to the floor of the tunnels. Before either of them knew what was happening, the corporal quickly and forcefully tore into Hogan's neck, and he began drawing the blood out of his commanding officer's body. He could feel the necessary liquid leaving Hogan's body and entering into his own veins, which only encouraged him to continue the act.
"Peter, stop it!" Kinch and LeBeau simultaneously shouted, trying to get their friend off of his leader. However, reaching both hands behind him, he roughly pushed them backwards against the wall of the tunnels. Regaining their temporary lost footing, they tried yet again to help their friend stop his act of bloodsucking, knowing full well that Gretel was controlling him at the moment.
"My God, it's worse than I thought!" a familiar voice suddenly exclaimed, seeming to come from out of nowhere. Turning around, LeBeau and Kinch's faces grew pale upon seeing that their camp medic had managed to sneak into the tunnels without either of them hearing him. They figured that he must have descended while they were trying to get Newkirk off of Hogan, which would have interfered with their supernatural sense of hearing.
"Wilson, what are you doing down here? We can explain…" Kinch quickly said, trying to keep control of the situation.
"There's no time for explanations!" Wilson quickly exclaimed back, while removing what appeared to be a green leaf from his jacket pocket. He quickly made his way over to Newkirk, and began rubbing the leaf on any area of exposed skin that he could find. The corporal responded by letting out a painful shriek, and pulling his fangs out of Hogan's neck. Before he had the opportunity to close his mouth, Wilson stuck the leaf inside his mouth. Even though the corporal tried spitting it out, the plant quickly dissolved on his tongue.
All was quiet for approximately thirty seconds, during which time seemed to be at almost a stand-still. As though in a daze, Newkirk looked around him, until his sight fell upon his commander.
"Gov'nor! Sir! What…what did I do to you?" Newkirk asked, suddenly getting down on his knees. "No…no…" he could only weakly whisper, shaking his head back and forth. Curse Gretel to 'ell! I would never, ever 'urt the Colonel!
Trying to make amends for an action that he knew he wasn't responsible for, Newkirk quickly picked up his commander and carried him into their private blood room. Opening the safe, he quickly drew out two of the blood bags, and began feeding them to Hogan.
Upon seeing that his commanding officer was feeling better, Newkirk could only sit back against the wall of the tunnel, wrapping his arms around himself. "Sir, I'm so sorry. Please, you 'ave to believe me that I would never 'urt you! I don't want to 'urt you!" he said, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.
"Newkirk, it's understandable. I realize that wasn't you out there, drinking my blood. I promise you, as soon as we find Gretel and retrieve your teeth, everything should be better," Hogan tried to reassure his man.
However, Newkirk could only respond by standing up. "Maybe I should fly back to London…maybe if I put enough distance between me and Gretel, she won't be able to control me any longer. It's one thing to be drugged, but quite another thing to be…" His voice trailed off, unable to finish his thoughts.
"Maybe if you have this, it will help you," the same familiar voice said, suddenly speaking up. "It's a leaf from the horehound plant."
At first, Newkirk and Hogan could only stare at Wilson, both being unable to utter a single syllable. At last, Hogan spoke up, "Wilson…Joseph, this isn't what it looks like. You're having a dream…dream…dream."
"Sir, that trick might work on the Krauts, but it won't work on me. I know what you are." Upon seeing Kinch and LeBeau gather around him, he turned to face them. "What all of you are."
"Yes, we're part of Hogan's Underground unit," Kinch said, hoping that this had to be what Wilson was referring to.
However, he could only shake his head back and forth, allowing a smile to appear on his face. "That isn't what I mean, Golden."
Kinch could only stand there, completely flabbergasted though he tried his best not to let this expression show.
"It's ok, Kinch. I know that you and LeBeau are werewolves, and that the Colonel, Carter and Newkirk are vampires. It doesn't surprise me. I will admit that I was a bit shocked learning that Klink was Nimrod, however," Wilson calmly replied. "You see, I too have a supernatural secret of my own." Letting out a big sigh, the medic decided to take the plunge, knowing that it was too late to turn back now. "I'm a warlock, or a male witch."
Hogan and his men didn't know whether they should be surprised or not. After all, it was one thing for Gretel to be a witch. She was a woman that they had only come in contact with for several hours once, and they didn't know too much about her. But it was quite another thing for one of the men in camp to confess to being a witch, especially a man that all of them knew relatively well and had worked with on several occasions.
"But that is impossible!" LeBeau suddenly shouted, voicing his friends' thoughts for them. "Surely our Colonel, or Newkirk or Carter would have been able to read your mind and discover this, or Kinch and I would have been able to scent it."
"Well, I haven't been a witch for very long. You see, unlike natural werewolves, no natural witch or warlock is born knowing magick. They have to come into their powers on their own, and always around a specific birthday. Some get their powers at a young age, such as sixteen. I had to wait until my fortieth birthday three weeks ago until I received my powers. But my mother—she's a witch also—always told me what I was going to be one day, so I've spent years reading and studying as much as I could, waiting until the day that I could put it to good use."
"That would certainly explain the case with the downed flier that we rescued two weeks ago," Hogan said, jumping into the conversation. "He was in really bad condition, and started having a heart attack two hours after we had rescued him. We all thought he was a goner, but you requested to be left alone with him."
"Yes, and after I had performed my magick, his heart was completely healed," Wilson said, smiling triumphantly. However, a dark shadow suddenly appeared on his face as he remembered a less-than-fortunate event that had once occurred. "I only wish that I had my powers during your Operation Briefcase. I would have been able to save that man…I should have been able to save that man!" he shouted, punching his left fist into his right palm.
"Wilson, you did the best you could under the circumstances. You can't be beating yourself up over that. Except, there's a couple of things that I don't understand," Hogan said.
Shooting his commanding officer a sly look, Wilson could only ask, "A couple?"
Responding with his usual twinkle in his eye, Hogan responded, "Well, for starters, what is magick?" he asked, emphasizing the "k" at the end of the word.
"Magick is when the elements are involved—namely Earth, Air, Water and Fire. That plant that I gave Newkirk was part of the Earth, and it's horehound. I know that there's another witch in town, and from the look of things she seems to be practicing dark magick. The plant I used will help you, since its properties include protection, healing, and the banishing of negative entities."
"So I suppose magic without the "k" is what I did before the war, as a regular stage magician," Newkirk replied, trying to understand the difference between the two words.
"Exactly. But you better keep this, and there's plenty more where this came from," Wilson said, handing Newkirk the rest of the horehound leaves. "Tell me, has Carter been affected by Gretel's magick too?"
"He has," Kinch replied. "Do you have any for him?" Wilson didn't answer, but instead only pulled out some more of the leaves and gave them to the sergeant.
"So, tell me," Hogan said, crossing his hands in front of his chest. "Are all witches, or warlocks as knowledgeable as you are?"
Wilson could only let out a small laugh, before shaking his head back and forth. "If only. I will admit that it did take me a while to put everything together. I was always standing downwind at the time, which is why Kinch and LeBeau probably didn't pick up my scent. But I've often sneaked out of the camp myself, in order to find the herbs, plants, and stones that I need for my magick. I saw all five of you going out on a mission once, and since only three of you were human and two of you were wolves, I was able to deduce that Kinch and LeBeau had to be werewolves. Plus, another time I saw Klink going on a mission with you, so I figured the only way that would make sense is if he was Nimrod. Then, in front of my eyes, I saw him shift into a wolf also. I heard you calling your men by name—Eagle, Golden and Loup, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out the Iron Eagle, the Golden Gloves boxer, and finally knowing that Loup is the French word for wolf. "
"And our own secret?" Hogan asked.
"That was more of a lucky guess than anything else," Wilson replied, almost sheepishly. "I remembered how you had to close your eyes during the transfusion, and I figured it might have had something to do with a vampire's desire for blood. I also noticed that out of all your men, Newkirk and Carter were looking at you with the greatest amount of concern."
"So, what other magick can you perform?" LeBeau asked, his curiosity having been piqued.
"Mostly healing spells for the time being, though I do know a couple of other ones as well," Wilson answered. "Would you like to see one?"
However, he didn't bother waiting for a reply. Staring at the safe, he allowed himself to visualize and concentrate on what he was about to do. After several carefully chosen words—
With this intent the magick I dare,
To send out to the element of Air.
The magick I cast this spell I'll see,
This is my will so mote it be.
, the men all watched in amazement as the medic was able to make the safe levitate a foot in the air.
"Boy, you really are a witch!" another voice suddenly spoke up from outside the main entrance, and all eyes turned to see a familiar face.
"Carter, how are you feeling?" Hogan asked with worry, hoping that Gretel wouldn't try to take control of his sergeant again anytime soon.
As though reading his mind, even though Wilson possessed no telepathy of his own, the medic spoke up. "I should trust that Carter is feeling well, but he better take some of that horehound just in case." With that, Kinch handed him the leaf that just moments ago he had received from Wilson.
Carter hesitantly took it, before sticking it in his mouth. "Minty," was all he could say. "Do you really think this will help to block Gretel's magick?" he asked. Sheepishly, he continued, "I heard the entire conversation, so I understand the difference between Newkirk's magic and your magick."
"It will work, but unfortunately it isn't the best remedy for her dark magick. There's a spell that can be used to break another witch's hex, but that one is extremely difficult to learn. You'll have to take one of those leaves every time Gretel starts to control you. The good news is that it will work immediately, but the bad news is that if she's completely controlling you, she'll realize what you're trying to do and might be able to stop you from eating the leaf."
"So, it looks like we'll still need Angel's help after all," Hogan said, understanding that Wilson's magick could only go so far.
"Who's Angel?" everybody except for Newkirk asked at the same time.
"He's a vampire friend of Newkirk's. He was just telling me about him, until Gretel was kind enough to interrupt our conversation."
However, Hogan silently caught Wilson's eye, and together the two of them left the tunnels, making sure to get out of his two shape shifter's hearing range. "Wilson, I don't know how to take this, and I don't know how to admit this. But, I've always heard that witches sold their souls in exchange for their powerful abilities," Hogan said, momentarily keeping his head lowered before raising it again.
"Sir, I think you've been reading too much from your history book again. Natural witches and warlocks are born knowing that one day they'll acquire their powers. If you're referring to those Salem Witch Trials, or another set of cases, those were nothing more than the rantings Ann Putnam and her group of friends accusing innocent people. Not a single one of the twenty people that died was a witch, and certainly none of them sold their souls. I worship God, and not some other deity, same as everybody else in this camp." However, Wilson's shock and slight annoyance at hearing his colonel admit his feelings turned to one of happiness. "I thank him every night for these powers, and the fact that with them I can better serve this camp as a medic. In fact, there's something I'd like to show all of your men, you included."
HHH
A short trip to the infirmary later, Wilson and the others were standing before the same spot that he had opened only a short time earlier. After saying another spell, the men watched in amazement as the completely solid piece of wood, with no trap door attached, was able to be opened.
"As you can see, I keep all of my magickal supplies here. Since I'm the only one who knows the spell to opening the compartment in the floor, the Krauts would never be able to find it. In fact, I placed a spell that if they ever dug here, everything would be transported to one of the room in the tunnels. After they left, all I would have to do is say the spell again and the supplies would be transported back here."
"But wouldn't that have been a little risky?" Hogan asked. "Suppose me or one of my men had found your supplies before you were ready to reveal your secret to us?"
With another sly smile, Wilson could only ask, "Sir, how long did it take you to find where Newkirk and Carter kept their blood? I suppose you're probably tired of your men keeping secrets from you by now, but it was really the only way. I needed to make sure that you would understand what I was and would accept me for who I really am before I could feel safe exposing myself to you. I figured that since you all have your own supernatural secrets, that you would be able to handle mine with relative ease."
"That does make sense," Hogan said after a couple of seconds of silence, while he was thinking over what his medic had just told him.
"Wilson, what is that?" Carter asked, inquisitively pointing to a black-covered, but beautifully bound book.
"Ah, that is my most prized possession. It's called The Book of Shadows, and every natural witch or warlock has one. They use it to record their spells, any important dreams that they might have, and rituals that they may have performed in. Mine just has all of the plants, herbs and stones that I use, and what their properties are. I also record when I used them, and for what purpose. So, it also serves as a quick inventory so I know when I'm running low on supplies….I would show it to you guys, but this is highly personal for me. You must promise me that under no circumstance will you ever look through this book."
"Wilson, we trust you with our lives. If you don't want us looking through it, we promise that we won't. Right fellas?" Hogan asked, to which all of the men also added their own promises.
"Right. Well, should I continue telling you about Angel?" Newkirk tentatively asked.
"By all means, go ahead," Hogan answered. "With everything that Gretel has done in the span of only one day, we'll be needing all the help we can get."
AN: Information presented in this chapter taken from The Complete Idiot's Guide to Wicca and Witchcraft. [Also, if you enjoyed this chapter, I recommend Crystal Rose's work-in-progress LiveJournal story The Spellcaster's Apprentice.]
