The Craft: Book of the Movie

Chapter 9: It's All About The Power

Note: The last scene of this chapter is an actual deleted scene from the film. You can find it on the special edition DVD under "special features"

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Can I touch you, are you out of touch
I guess I never noticed that much
Geranium lover, I'm live on your wire
Come and take me whoever you are

Nancy wasn't satisfied. Oh sure, that neat trick with Rochelle was good for a while, satiated her hunger to see the magick...but at the end of the day it was just a trick. A trick.

Of course, there was the whole business with Chris to consider. But what good did it do her? All it did was make her feel like shit. The petite goth didn't totally believe it was the magick, either. Chris obviously liked Sarah more than her. Who wouldn't choose Sarah over her? Truth was, Nancy hated herself. Hated where she came from, hated how she looked like...even hated her brilliant blue eyes. Thought they "popped" out of her head, were too big. Yeah, Nance put up a good, tough front–you had to, in order to survive. Because somebody was always looking to take what was yours, to pull one over on you, to take advantage of you. And she learned those lessons at the altar of Mom's host of clients/boyfriends, Stan only being the latest of them.

Well, once she had the power of Manon, that would all change. Nobody would dare touch her ever again. Unless she wanted them to.

But she wasn't going to get anywhere being part of the "ooh look, a floating body!" cheering committee. The girls were getting too complacent. They hadn't performed an official spell since the field trip.

It was time to give them a gentle push.

She's a lot like you
The dangerous type
She's a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight

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Nancy stretched her arm carefully over the steaming slices of pizza and condiment containers that littered the outdoor lunch table and handed the thin volume to Sarah.

"This is what I've been talking to you about," she said with a crisp smile and the voice of a perky saleslady, "an invocation. It's the next step."

Bonnie and Rochelle craned their necks over Sarah's shoulders to look at the pages. On the left side was an odd, medieval-looking illustration of four girls dancing around a tree. Nancy continued.

"It's no ordinary spell, however. This one has to be good. It's for keeps. If we do it half-assed we're in danger of pissing off Manon."

"But this spell calls for animal sacrifice," Sarah said in a matter-of-fact voice, frowning.

The little raven-haired girl with the slicked-back 'do and the black PVC jacket sneered and sucked her teeth.

"It does not say anything about animal sacrifice, Sarah...read the chapter. We just need to bring them to the ritual. Like...witnesses. Witnesses to Manon."

"Well..." As Indiana Jones might have said: why did it have to be snakes? The whole issue of snakes gave Sarah the heebie-jeebies...snakes, insects, and rats just about horrified her more than anything else in the world. Note to self, she thought–put Nancy on snake detail. "...okay. Alright. I guess besides that this ritual doesn't look too hard to set up. Between the four of us we have enough candles to light up the LAX runway during a blackout."

"Cool," chimed in Rochelle, taking a swig from her soft-drink can. "It's settled then."

"Not exactly," Nancy said, lacing her fingers together and keeping them folded on her tray. "In order for this spell to work, we're going to need a higher grade of magick book. Llewellyn Press just isn't going to cut it. Lirio has a couple that might be exactly what we need." She paused to clear her throat. "But they are not going to be cheap."

Sarah imagined asking her father for an advance on her allowance for the next year so she could buy a book of witchcraft. Uh...no.

"Are...you sure a certain book is really going to make a difference, Nance? Maybe we could find something in the librar..."

That was all the petite Goth could take.

Inside angel, always upset...

"Who introduced this to you, Sarah!" Bonnie's eyes fell on the book in an attempt to disassociate herself from the tension and Rochelle sighed lightly. "How many years have you been studying the Craft? Please tell me...because I've only been reading this stuff for, gosh, I don't know–my whole freakin' life!"

Maybe that wasn't exactly true. But even as a little girl Nancy had been fascinated with stories about magic and spellweavers–first the fairy tales, then "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" (though she hated the ending), then Tolkien. She remembered this goofy little TV special she saw when she was like 10–"The Worst Witch." Always witches with her, always making little "spells," leaving little bundles of herbs and whatnot in places to freak her mother out or scare her johns. She liked being spooky, giving the impression that she had some sort of Power. And studying the books on Wicca, that was a natural progression for her.

But the book she wanted to purchase for the invocation–that had nothing to do with Wicca.

And now Sarah was standing in the way. Nancy bet she was doing it on purpose, wanted all the power for herself. Bitch.

Keep on forgetting that we ever met...

Meanwhile, Sarah–oblivious to the vaguely dangerous train of thought that was churning through Nancy's brain–merely felt like a wet blanket, a coward. Not a "team" player. That's probably why she had so few friends in her old school. She was a big drip.

"I'm...sorry, Nancy. You're right. Big spells need...big books." Buoyed by Nancy's sudden placated feline grin, the girl with the long brown hair nodded in resolve. "I say we all chip in for it. How much could it cost?"

That's a girl, thought Nancy.

Can I bring you out in the light
My curiosity's got me tonight
She's a lot like you
The dangerous type
She's a lot like you

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In the days that had followed, the girls went through the oddest transformation–odd partially because they hadn't even done the darn spell yet. What was that change...that made them walk with their heads held high and seemed to make them radiate beauty & personal power? Was it all in their heads? Had the trick with Rochelle and all this planning for the invocation fooled their minds in thinking they were more popular and successful than they were? What convinced Bonnie to properly take care of her hair and to actually show some skin (even if it only was her unscarred legs)? What took the cares away from them that had plagued their lives so oppressively only weeks before and allowed them to laugh carefree together as sisters during a sleepover?

That girl blissfully chowing down on the Ben and Jerry's–what made her forget that she carried the ravages of third-degree burns from a childhood injury on her back?

That girl with the corkscrew curls telling a saucy joke and rubbing her sock-clad feet together in content–what made her forget all the racist bullshit she had to put up with at St. Benedict's?

That girl leaning against the headboard and giggling and looking at an image of Elizabeth Montgomery from "Bewitched" and actually identifying herself with the beautiful and self-confident character–what made her forget that she tore her veins open only a year ago in a bloody attempt to end her life?

And that girl on the bed, slightly apart from the others, lost in reoccurring reveries concerning magick and power–what made her forget being molested by Stan?

An animated Samantha Stevens wiggled her nose.

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"This–school–is–ours!" Nancy crowed triumphantly as the four roamed the open-air cafeteria of St. Benedict's.

The museum directors with their high shaking heads
They kick white shadows until they play dead
They want to crack your crossword smile

Nobody dared make fun of them anymore–at least not to their face. Jocks and preps and cheerleaders alike all scrambled, it seemed, to get out of their way. And surely it was not because they were so scary, so monstrous–if anything, the girls never looked so hot in their entire lives. They all dressed rather alike now–Sarah, Bonnie & Rochelle taking a fashion cue from Nancy. Rosary beads and gothic necklaces draped their necks–Nance going one further and actually having the guts to wear her pentagram. And gone were the layered, drab clothing that hid so much...even though the boys feared them, they couldn't get their eyes off of the girls, either. Neither could a few of the priests. Nancy blew a kiss at one of them.

Sarah thought–this is the best time of my entire life. This moment, right now. And I didn't even need Chris for it. I guess I'm over him, after all. It was so silly for me to have gotten so worked up over him.

That moment when the four did their victory march through the school–Sarah freeze-framed it in her mind and would often look back at it. So happy. So innocent. So clueless.

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Target: Laura Lizzie

Sarah's mission: to help 'Chelle get a little payback.

Little Miss Bleach Blond in her Keds strutting down the hallway, so oblivious to what was going to happen as soon as–Sarah got–close enough–

Snatch!

The brunette's fingers deftly dug into Laura's mane & snapped like scissors, twisting around a thin lock and pulling it out.

"Ow!" the girl exclaimed, whipping her head back to face her assailant in shock & disbelief. "You pulled my hair out!"

"Sorry," Sarah replied with a deadpan look. "I thought I saw a bug. They have shampoo for that, you know."

"Stupid bitch!"

Ah, yes. Laura Lizzie. Racist. Lie-spreader. All-around toxic gal. Crying over a little strand of lost hair...just a little tiny strand of hair...

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"What do you think will happen to Laura," Rochelle asked with a thoughtful expression bordering on grave. They were all over Sarah's house for a late-nite meeting of the Bitches of Eastwick, and at the moment the hostess was braiding the pilfered strands of Laura's hair into the African-American's honey-brown curly locks.

"I don't know," Sarah replied, "if she leaves you alone nothing will happen to her, nothing good..."

Rochelle sighed heavily and turned away. "Fat chance." Then a black-and-white photograph in a beautiful, intricately carved wooden picture frame caught her eye. It was of a willowy blond in a sundress with a faraway expression on her face. "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's my real mother," Sarah answered, having finished her weaving and now consulting her spell book.

"Where is she?"

"She died when she was having me." The pale brunette's fingers flipped through the pages but it was suddenly hard to focus.

Yikes, Rochelle thought. I should never of asked, this is awkward.

"Sorry..."

"It's okay," Sarah said hoarsely, trying to bring the words in the book in focus.

"Manon..." Bonnie's voice cut through the room with the raw, heart-felt plea. "...take my scars..."

She was by the fireplace with Nancy, her shirt off and the rough, discolored skin of her back stark against the light of the blaze. The other girl hovered her palms over the ruined flesh in a healing motion, trying to project energy into the dermis.

"...give me beauty outside, as well as in..."

She wanted to be "cured" so bad! It was painful to watch her rock back and forth and squeeze her eyes in desperate concentration, painful to watch because honestly the other three girls deep down didn't think Manon could do it. Making some guy fall in love & some girl levitate–there was something abstract about it, invisible, like air. But to make something so heartbreakingly physical and real as those scars melt away...they just couldn't imagine it.

Correction–Sarah could imagine it. But intuitively she knew that Nancy was doing it the wrong way, that it wouldn't work with her. She couldn't explain how she knew–she hardly could explain it even to herself. But she knew, just as she knew that the butterflies were Manon's physical manifestation. Nancy just didn't have...the positive energy necessary to bring about the healing. She didn't have the requisite power...

...and Sarah did. And if she didn't act, Bonnie would continue to suffer, continue to live a life covered up from the world.

When Nancy stepped away to go to the bathroom & Rochelle was preoccupied with examining her blond "hair extension" in the mirror, Sarah discretely made the offer to Bonnie. The meek girl with the sweet smile and the oversized sweater quickly responded in the affirmative, as if she knew what the girl was going to say before she said it.

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They agreed to perform the healing ritual in Bonnie's hospital room the night before another of those pointless "experimental procedures". It was a very casual facility and Sarah had no problem getting in to see her friend, bag full of goodies in tow.

When the girl arrived Bonnie was in her hospital blues, sitting on the bed cross-legged and pensive, her body framed by the rain-spattered window.

"Hey, sweetie!" Sarah called out, shaking the white tote bag. "Don't look so glum; it's time to celebrate!"

Soon both girls were facing each other on the bed, the lighter-haired girl starting to pull things out of the tote.

"I just want you to know that everything that I have in this bag I personally stole from my parents."

The stressed young woman in the blue gown began to relax and started to laugh. Sarah took out a bundle of green leaves & continued.

"First we have sage–for healing." She then took out a bottle. "And we have sweet wine, for contentment–and to get totally shitfaced!"

Bonnie laughed again, her arms wrapped around her bent legs. "Excellent!"

Next was a magazine. "Elle," Sarah said cheekily, "for fashion." Then a green container of cookies: "Snackwells, for noshing." And lastly, a pink rose. Bonnie blushed. "A rose–for beauty."

The girls sat in silence for a second, the room soundless but for the steady streaming of water against the glass. Bonnie looked like she was a million miles away I thought.

"What?" Sarah asked in concern. "Bonnie, what's wrong?"

Bonnie lowered her eyes and smiled wistfully, trying to find the exact words.

"Did you know that...every morning I wake up and for a few seconds, I think I'm normal? And then I remember..."

"Maybe this time the doctors will do..."

Bonnie shook her head.

"No, the doctors have no idea of what they're doing." The girl suddenly looked deep in her friend's eyes with conviction. "Sarah, you can make this work..."

Sarah looked away. "No...I can't..."

"Yes you can! The first time I saw you, I knew it–you can fix me..."

Hearing Bonnie talk scared the hell out of Sarah...made her heart race.

"I-I don't want to screw anything up..."

"Sarah–please!"

"D-don't put this on me..."

Bonnie's voice choked with emotion: "I know you can...please...please..."

"I-I...I'll try."

Oh, God, Sarah thought. Oh God...please don't let me mess this up, mess Bonnie up. Please don't let me hurt her...like I hurt my mother...

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The lighted bundle of sage illuminated the dark hospital room. Sarah made an improvised sign of the cross/pagan hand gesture, blew a kiss at the leaves, and waved the smoking object over Bonnie's back as she lay on her stomach. The prone girl had her eyes clamped shut in anticipation and fear.

Oh, God, please give me the power...

After a few passes with the sage Sarah dunked the bundle in a glass of water; she knew intuitively that the sage had "absorbed" much of the negativity in the skin. Then it was time to touch the special preparation of healing oils she made–equal parts jasmine, patchoulli, ylang-ylang & myrrh–and anoint her friend's back, kissing the sacred ointment before she did so. Bonnie flinched slightly at the touch, but out of the sudden sensation, not any discomfort.

"Goddess of healing, let it begin...healing without, healing within..."

The girl on the bed started to moan softly as if in pain...the spot where Sarah was touching her...it was starting to feel like it was...burning...

Sarah frowned in disbelief at Bonnie's reaction, and at the heat and "buzzing" that was plaguing her own hand. Yet she continued...to stop a spell in mid-performance would be a far worse thing to do.

"Healing your spirit...healing your skin...goddess of healing...let it begin."

The other girl started fidgeting, rubbing her forehead against the mattress in a sweat.

"Ow...it's..it's hot!"

But Sarah would not–could not–stop the spell, only look on in horror, only continue to be this powerful conduit of Manon's...and the feeling...like being plugged into a light-socket...buzzing..powerful...

"Sarah, it hurts!"

Buzzing, powerful, burning...so much energy...can't stop...

"Sarah...aieeeee!"

Suddenly the window's shutters burst free of their puny lock, sending the teddy bears and get-well cards flying to the floor as a strong, hot gush of wind and rain shot through the room.

Sarah could feel the body of Manon standing directly behind her.

She's a lot like you
The dangerous type
She's a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight