"Harbingers, harbingers…ah, here we go." I finally landed on something useful.
I'd been rummaging through the Ngao'bliss all morning. First at Antoinette's, then in my office at the back of the library. Normally, Antoinette guards the book. It is a collection of knowledge of our world: incantations, the history of witches–from the Norse to the Greek Oracles to the Salem trials, the rules and structure of the Council of Prophets and covens, all known manifest powers, bindings, everything. But I was searching for something specific. And unlike modern tomes, our ancient text has no convenient index. I was looking for a possible explanation for the last few days of activity from the aether. The strange manifestation of sound and now, vision. Especially given it had now foretold a bogey. Not that the two were necessarily related. But it was itching at me. Unfortunately, there is no section in our book for harbingers. Only historical references to harbinger accounts. The small reference to harbingers in the largest section, that of the Fabric, was not much help.
"An omen, or portent, is a rare manifestation in the Fabric. They are a sign, a psychic signpost. Which can be intended to be warnings. Or simply messages containing energy or information of some future or past event. It is believed they are formed from convergences in the Fabric. Some event occurs and has no proper channel into which it can manifest. The residual energy travels along the lines, looking for an outlet that matches its frequency." I read aloud, my fingers tracing the aged and blessed ink.
"Hey, Virginia, I thought you were off today?"
I startled awkwardly and shut the Ngao'bliss, covering the face of it with most of my forearm. "Ah, yeah Jason, I am."
"Then why are you here?"
I paused. That was a good question. I'd gotten in the car this morning, picked up my coffee, then… Wasn't I supposed to be at the gym right now? For some reason, my car had driven me here.
"I was just doing some research." It was the best answer I had.
"Oh. Is that a new reference book?"
"No. This is the…Walker book of genealogy. A sort of living heirloom." I grinned at him.
"Cool. Can I see it?" He reached out toward my desk, his fingers coming within inches of getting the shock of his life.
"No!" I screamed. "No, I'm sorry. My Aunt Louise is very superstitious. She'd kill me if she knew any non-family members saw this." I had one uncle and one estranged aunt, but no Aunt Louise. I drew the name from the last image I'd seen this morning, Thelma and Louise, playing on Antoinette's TV. And had he touched it, without a coven binding, my digital assistant and computer guru Jason Harel would be waking up in a hospital somewhere wondering how he got a sudden violent onset of irritable bowel syndrome. As well as a host of other nasty ailments.
"Alright, it's cool." Jason thought I was weird, knew I was weird. Just not how weird.
"Did the new DVDs we ordered come in yet?" I asked, eager to change the subject.
"Yep, all catalogued, filed and ready for check outs."
Poor Jason was extra smart and extra fast. I had to work hard to keep him busy. Not a bad problem to have.
"Did you fix the problems reported with the web portal?"
"Yep."
"How about the WorldCat connection issue?"
"Yep."
"The magazine collection upload?"
"Yep."
"Ok. Well…good job."
He simply stood there while I stared and grinned.
"I think I'll go scrub the database," he finally said after a few awkward moments of silence, eyeing me suspiciously as he walked back out to the floor.
"Thanks Jason," I yelled after him and sighed, then put our magical tome away in my bag. It was dangerous even taking it out of Antoinette's house. Which is where it lived.
"Ms. Walker?" I looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was in her late forties, dressed in a conservative polyester blend pantsuit, clutching a handbag and looking nervous.
"Mrs. Scarlatti. How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."
"I'm sorry to bother you. But your assistant said I could find you in your office."
"It's alright. What can I do for you?"
"Can we talk?"
"Sure. Give me a few seconds and I'll meet you up front?"
"No," she said, her voice cracking. "I mean, can we speak somewhere privately?"
I gave her a small nod. "Sure." I quickly cleared my messy desk into a drawer, brushed my spare office chair off. "I'm sorry Mrs. Scarlatti, I don't often have visitors."
"Oh, it's alright." She sat down delicately, still clutching her handbag like a lifeline.
"How is Lilly? I haven't seen her in a while." I asked, not wanting to rat James out.
"Well, that's actually why I'm here." Mrs. Scarlatti patted and smoothed her perfectly styled and frosted hair self-consciously. "She's been sick for quite some time. We thought it was just a flu at first then…" She trailed off. "She doesn't seem to be getting better." She mumbled the last and studied my desk as if it were very far away. "She's so tired all the time."
"I assume you've seen a doctor?" I asked her softly.
"Oh yes! Many times. We've run every blood test imaginable. The doctor has some ideas, but we're simply waiting for her condition to change before taking further steps."
"Mrs. Scarlatti, are you from Texas? I thought Lilly was born in Santa Fe?"
"No, she was born in Midland, Texas. Which is where the Dawsons' hail from. Why do you ask?"
"I recognized your accent. My family is from El Paso. My grandmother used to say she could recognize any southern accent down to the state and city." I gave her a friendly smile.
She laughed. "Oh yes. My mother, Lilly's nana, could nail down a Texan to the zip code." She quieted again. "She was so upset when we moved away. But my husband wanted to move closer to his brother. She passed away a couple of years after we left."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Ms. Walker," she began.
"Virginia will do just fine Mrs. Scarlatti."
"Right. Virginia. You can call me Joy."
"Sure, Joy," I smiled.
"Virginia," she said, taking a deep breath. "I heard that you once helped someone with a problem. Or I am aware that you ah," then swallowed and licked her lips, "participate in a certain…" she stopped and wrung her pale hands together. "Or I had heard that you perform a sort of…"
I frowned. Where was this going? My instincts fired. I probed the threads around her head, around her mind. Tangled thin yellow fibers struggled like snakes trying to get free of their skins.
"Healing art?" I offered her a word, a phrase. Perhaps a safe phrase.
"Yes, I believe so. I can't remember the word Lilly used."
"Reiki?"
"Right!" she yelled excitedly. But her expression, she didn't seem quite convinced. And she was right. It wasn't Reiki.
Now I knew why I'd driven here instead of to the gym. And I wasn't at all surprised to see Lilly's mom. This often happens when spells are performed. If the intended was unable to use the magic, or if wasn't enough, the spell finds a way to work.
"Yes, I am a certified Reiki practitioner. Among other things." I added, confirming, or not, her suspicion of the W word. These conversations, they are always delicate work.
All I ever wanted to be was academic, like Pops. When I found books, all I wanted was to be a librarian. But after the accident, I couldn't deny that I was different. And after moving to Santa Fe, I decided to try and make the best of it. I was determined to turn that memory into something beautiful. Something good. Especially given what I could do. How I could see things, living things, differently. So I began studying every kind of healing art I could find. Over the years I learned how different cultures from around the world treat medicine. The body, mind, and soul, like one thing. It appealed to me. I absorbed techniques from Reiki, Light Work, T-Touch, Yoga, Acupressure, and a half dozen others. I even studied martial arts. I also spent some time in the jungle with a famous Shaman. I learned more from him than anyone. Especially about the Fabric.
But at least, with a certification of some sort, it gives people something concrete. So I don't look like I'm waving my hands around the air for nothing. Though these places of power, like Santa Fe, they tend to draw the weirder sort anyway. Painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, crafters. So it wasn't a complete stretch.
I probed her again. Her patterns and colors were better, pinkish and smooth. More calm.
"Well Virginia," she said. I tried my best not to laugh. The way she spoke my name. Like it tasted funny on her tongue. "I was just wondering if uh, you would mind uh…helping." She stopped there, squinting and studying my expression. Clearly expecting me to interpret her non-statement statements.
Which I did. "You'd like me to come see Lilly?"
"Yes," she quickly replied.
"Absolutely. I'd be happy to."
Her shoulders slumped, her entire body deflated. "Oh my gosh, thank you." She straightened again. "Can you come tonight?"
My face fell just a centimeter. I had a busy day ahead of me. I still had to pick up Dylan's gift for his birthday tonight. And I really needed a disco nap. But this was important.
"Of course."
"Oh thank you!" She reached forward to hug me, then pulled back awkwardly. She wrote her address on a sticky pad on my desk. "Anytime you're ready. We're home all night," she said and turned to leave.
"Oh Mrs. Scarlatti? I mean, Joy."
"Yes?" She stopped half way out the door, looking over her shoulder.
"Mind if I bring a couple of friends?"
"Of course not," she said and smiled. The smile was stretched and thin, but it broke through some of the tiredness, the haggard lines in her face. So that's something.
…
I rang the doorbell of 719 Rocking Horse Drive, then blew on my icy hands and stuffed them back into my jacket pockets.
"Hey, thanks for coming with me."
"Of course." Antoinette smiled.
"I knew this was coming." Newton replied..
"Really?"
She shook her head, "You know you two should really learn to expect the unexpected. If you follow the spell, you can feel where it's going."
Antoinette rolled her eyes.
"Uh, Newt, can we keep the judgy comments to a minimum right now? I'm tired…and cranky."
Newton's normally ambivalent brown eyes frosted and frowned down on me.
"Sorry I just"
My apology was cut short by our invitee. "Hi there Ms. Wal…Virginia."
"Joy, how are you?"
"Well, I'm just fine." Her sweet southern accent peaked. "Thank you so much for coming. Please, won't you come in?"
We stepped inside the warm, but terribly nuclear house. The walls were painted one of those pale pastels, that are probably supposed to keep you calm or something. The living room was off to our left, dining room to the right. With a hallway directly ahead. Covered in framed photos of the family.
"Joy, these are my friends and associates. Newton Hunter and Antoinette Black."
"So nice to meet you." Joy extended her hands, greeting my coven sisters warmly. Though her eyes could not stop drinking them in. Newton looked more or less normal–custom fitted silver-toned jacket and skirt. To me, Newt always looks ready to litigate. Antoinette and I were in jeans and simple cotton shirts. Far more casual. But Antoinette is a lot of woman to process.
"Can I get you some tea? Or coffee?"
Newton's mouth opened to answer then closed just as quickly.
"No, thank you. Is it ok if we go right in to see Lilly?" I answered for us.
"Of course. She'll be so happy to see you. She rarely gets visitors these days. My husband...well, we've been worried sick about Lilly overdoing herself. And these are the friends to which you referred?" she asked of the strange duo. Emphasizing the word 'friends' as if it had some secret meaning.
"Yes," Newton said curtly.
"Virginia is more of a sister than friend," Antoinette said warmly.
I let their small-talk drift over me, calling my power and myself fully into the house, let it speak to me. I looked with new eyes.
Houses are more than just materials: drywall, wood, glass, paint. They are a collection of spiritual energy. Emotional energy. When someone says a house is 'haunted' it usually means energy has become trapped inside. Saturating the walls, floors and very objects in the house. The lines connecting it to the Fabric have become clogged or simply cut-off. But this house looked normal.
We reached a door with 'Lilly's Hovel' written in printed block letters on a sign. I put a hand on Joy's shoulder. "Do you mind if we spend some time alone with Lilly?"
"Oh certainly." She flipped her hair back over her shoulders and smiled tightly, an uncomfortable gesture but she opened the door anyway. "Lilly, honey, your friend Ms. Walker from the library is here to see you."
I smiled as softly as I could as Joy closed the door behind us. It was having a lot of faith and trust in someone to leave them, and two virtual strangers, alone with your thirteen year old daughter. In her case, maybe a fair bit of desperation.
The three of us turned and stood there, taking in the room. A single lamp, decorated with running horses, cast a low shadow on the 'hovel' of a young girl. Board games, yarns, toys, a soccer ball, littered the floor near the closet, while a pile of dolls lay forgotten in the corner near a desk. Lilly was in her bed, turned toward the windows. A tightly clutched large brown teddy bear peeked its head up from over her shoulder.
"Lilly?" I asked softly, walking toward her. Her body turned slowly toward the door and stopped me dead in my tracks. I didn't stop because of Lilly. It was the thing crouching next to her on the far side of the bed. Newton and Antoinette moved up behind me.
"Is that…a clown?" I heard Antoinette's whispered disbelief from behind my left ear, felt the warmth of her fire. She'd already called her power. She could see it too.
It was our second bogey…in days. Not unheard of, but certainly not normal. Unless some societal tragedy was taking place in Santa Fe. Which I was pretty certain there wasn't.
I hate clowns.
But this thing, it wasn't a children's entertainer. White-faced and wide-grinning. It was decay and rot. I could almost smell it. Where there should be smooth fat rosy cheeks, there was discolored pock-marked old white paint, the flesh falling from its bones. Where eyes should be crinkling and happy, there was sagging blackened and greyed lids with crusted crows feet.
"Hi Ms. Walker," Lilly said quietly.
"Hi sweetheart," I said, continuing and smiling down on Lilly as if nothing at all was wrong. I grabbed the stool from her vanity and scooted up to her. "How are you feeling honey?" I picked up a strand of her sandy-blonde hair, removed it from her sweaty face and tucked it behind her ear. I brushed her cheek with my fingers. They came away clammy and cold.
"Oh," she blushed, "I'm just so tired." She stopped and coughed violently. I quickly grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. "Thanks." She wiped at pale pink lips. "Why are you here Ms. Walker?"
I looked into her bloodshot green eyes, "We can dispense with formalities, honey. How bout just Virginia?" I asked, ignoring her question. "Have you met my friends? These are my two best friends in the world. Newton and Antoinette."
They walked forward, Newton smiled down on Lilly, "Hi Lilly, nice to meet you."
Antoinette grabbed a chair and scooted up next to me. "Hi Lilly, I love your room!"
Lilly's energy spiked in her chest, reaching out toward Antoinette. "Oh my gosh, I love your hair! It's so beautiful."
"Oh seriously?! It's so dry right now. You know how the cold weather is so wretched on hair. Is this the new Demi Lovato CD?" Antoinette asked, reaching past me and picking up something from the end table.
"Yeah! It's crazy kewl."
I quietly and inconspicuously left my stool to talk to Newt while Antoinette took my seat.
"What do you think?" I asked her in a low voice.
My body pulsed as Newton's power flared. Her eyes scanned the room studiously. "I think that thing is feeding off her. And the Fabric…it's feeding off it too. Corrupting it in this house. I can feel it. Look." She was right. Vertical lines of energy blinked on and off. Seeming to resist the draw it was pulling. Especially Lilly's. "Someone really hates clowns in this house. That bogey is very dense." When something has no true physical manifestation in the Fabric, the form is coalesced from the viewers. Witches don't always see the same thing. But when there is a strong emotional reaction, the form takes a stronger shape. Maybe Lilly didn't like clowns either.
"Mm hm."
"Virginia…" She eyed me seriously. "You're going to have to bind yourself. And it's going to fight."
I glanced at it again. She was definitely right about that.
"Yep," I sighed. "Time to get to work." We could sit there and cast. Between the three of us, we could dispel it. It would take time. Occasionally, we'll get a request to clear a dwelling, or an area of land possessed of disgruntled or lost energy or spirits. Our Mortora, Faith, is an expert at this. She could probably dispel the thing quicker than me. They're good at that. But she's not here. I am.
"I'm going to stay back here and work," she said. Meaning she'd be casting herself, adding her source to my own as I worked.
"Cool. Thanks."
"She's going to be alright."
I nodded back. I needed to hear that.
I approached the bed again, pulling the chair down a couple feet away from the two chatty Cathy's. I've known Antoinette for almost as long as Newton. We've seen and done some crazy shit together. And we know each other well enough to know our jobs, our places. She was doing exactly what we, I, needed–distracting sweet Lilly. I'd seen Lilly through two formative stages now. Watching her grow from pigtails to preteen. I was taking the thing in the corner personally.
I took a deep breath and centered myself, calmed my breathing. Then called the thread of time. I find that it helps during this kind of work.
Time appears, to me, as a fine bright thread. I'm certain this is the Fabric, presenting a concept I can barely conceive, in palatable terms. Time has no special markers. Only a sense of continuity. Sometimes feeling endless, sometimes circular. But I've found it can be called and stretched. Like zooming in on a moving picture. Slowing things down to get at a still photo.
I spent many hours as a kid listening to Dad talk about all manner of theories on space and time. From time being relative to space, to four-dimensional space. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. But it sounded mysterious and cool. I knew I wasn't speeding up, as time slowed down. Quite the contrary. Sitting there, next to Lilly's bed, as the bubble slowly formed around me, everything felt slowed down. I touched Lilly's foot, encasing us both, up to Lilly's neck. Her mind would remain in the present as I worked.
The world came to a crawl. Lilly's body brightened into fine lines of intersecting pink and yellow lights.
First things first. I thought, my eyes drifting up to stare at the clown. After several lasting seconds, it finally noticed me, noticing it. It frowned, its beady small red eyes boring into me. Seeming to say 'how dare you look'. But I did look. It growled and drooled, its wide misshapen sloppily red-painted mouth showing sharp moldy teeth. I did not react, but stared on with a clear intent. To recognize.
When I was a child, I thought my mother was extra weird. But now, I knew these were the kinds of things she saw too. It almost made me feel for her. Almost.
I moved my right hand up, slowly crossing the length of Lilly's body, toward the thing at the corner of the bed. It glanced at my outstretched hand and screamed, gesticulating violently from head to toe. It looked upon Lilly with a feral and desperate hunger, especially her now brightened face. It wanted that. Lilly's innocence and brightness. Newt was right. It was feeding off her.
While it studied her, I quickly covered the last foot of space and touched the lines. Letting my hands be dissolved into pure energy. I hadn't done this serious kind of healing in a while. It felt good…and strange.
The thing startled and stared down at my glowing fingers, wrapped around its skinny blue arm. We were bound together. Its head slowly raised and it studied me again, this time fear passed behind its dilating greasy pupils. It screamed again, this time at me, and struggled in my grip, its orange-curled wig bouncing back and forth.
I held on tight and intoned under my breath, "You are lost." I willed more of myself into the Fabric, pulling the thing apart at the most basic levels, my fingers moving wildly. It bucked. It wriggled. It looked up into the aether, looking for help. But I was in charge. It spit at me. My chest mirrored its emotions–sadness, desperation, guilt, sickness.
"Wholly uncrossed." It bit uselessly at my hands, trying to sink its rotting teeth into my flesh. The essence, the memory, of my flesh.
"So get tossed!" I intoned for the third time, saturating my low words with all my might, with all the emotion and love I had for Lilly.
The screaming thing next to Lilly's bed shook and broke apart like a puzzle. It fluttered, angry and confused…then winked out of existence. The wispy filaments of its being dissolving on the air like the embers of a dull fire.
I took another look at Lilly. She was already brighter. And still talking animatedly to Antoinette. I thought I heard the word 'witchcraft' at some point in their conversation. But their voices were far away.
I don't know how long that thing had been feeding off her, but it was gone now. I expanded a new bubble inside this one, delving deeper into the seconds, looking even deeper into Lilly's body. I reached forward with both hands, seeing darkened areas around her forehead, and pulled the lines of light up from the bottom of her skull. Kind of like re-threading a loom.
I continued the re-threading down the line of her body till something caught my eye. The area just below her belly button, near the back of her pelvic girdle, pulsed with an irritated orange glow. I've done this a dozen times and I've seen this kind of disturbance before. The rotation of energy, combined with the location, was usually associated with a sex problem: an STD or maybe over active sex drive. But Lilly was too young for either of those. I reweaved the lines in her lower stomach and moved the blockage up and out of her body, smoothing the natural flow of light down her spine.
As I was finishing, coming up out of my bubble, I saw a beautiful thing. Lilly's rosy cheeks. The color in her face had returned.
In that moment, I was not a powerful witch, or a coven leader, or even a librarian. I was a healer. It was moments like this that made me look on that day with different eyes.
"Lilly," I touched her hand lightly, "How are you feeling honey?"
She looked at me as if I'd just appeared out of thin air.
"Oh. I guess…ok. I'm really thirsty all of a sudden."
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Yeah," she smirked, "I'd love a Coke."
"Hmm…are you supposed to be drinking soda right now?"
"Oh, come on Ms. Walker. I mean, Virginia. I haven't had a coke in like, forever."
"Yeah, come on, Ms. Walker," Antoinette added.
"Oh man, I should not have introduced you two. Tell you what, I'll see what your mom says."
I left the room spent, but grinning so hard my face hurt, I couldn't help it. "Joy?" I called through the hallway. "Mrs. Scarlatti?" I reached an empty kitchen and decided Lilly had earned a treat. So I popped open the fridge to grab a Coke. I jumped halfway out of my skin as the fridge door shut, revealing a new member to the room sitting at the kitchen table.
"Oh! My god. You scared me."
"Sorry," the stranger mumbled, then went back to his reading. He was wearing a grey business suit, white starched shirt, and a loosened tie.
"You must be Lilly's father."
"Yup," he said. I guessed Mr. Scarlatti was uninterested in small talk. I shrugged it off and made my way back down the hall, figuring maybe he didn't approve of his wife's call for help from three strange women.
I made it to the end of the hall when something strange, something ticklish and cold crept up my spine. I turned around to look at the man again. But Newton stopped me.
"Hey, are we ready to go?"
"Um, just one last thing. I could've sworn I felt something in the…" My voice trailed off. "Hold on." I walked the Coke to Lilly.
"Ok, here you go. Don't tell your mom I got that for you."
She nodded and smiled, popped the tab on her soda, and sucked down a huge gulp. "Oh my gosh, that tastes amazing."
"Wow, you really were thirsty. Do you mind if I borrow your new best friend for a second?"
"Sure."
I grabbed Antoinette and closed Lilly's door, stopping in the hallway.
"Do you…feel anything strange out here?" I asked them both.
Newton answered immediately, "You mean like that?" She pointed toward the kitchen.
Mr. Scarlatti was still sitting there at the kitchen table, looking up at us, and so was the clown. The face, red-nose, blackened-eyes and everything, was perfectly superimposed on top of his.
"What the fuck?"
"I think," Antoinette whispered in my ear, "that our little demon has found its home."
Of course. I watched as the thing pulled itself into Mr. Scarlatti's body.
Mr. Scarlatti stared at us as we studied him. At first, there was lust, as his eyes passed over Antoinette, then as his gaze crossed Newton, then myself, a terrible fear and guilt filled his face. He cast his eyes down quickly. And at that moment, I knew.
Horror gripped my stomach, turning it inside out. My mouth was suddenly dry and tasteless. My curiosity and hesitance morphed into anger and hatred. I took two steps toward the kitchen, toward him, before I felt Newt's hand on my arm.
"What do you think you're doing?" Her power slithered into my ear canal and down my throat. Seeming to wrap around my will.
"I…I don't know." I was so damn angry. I turned to her. "Did you see that?"
She stared at me. "Yes."
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.
"Look, you didn't see what I saw in Lilly." I shook my head in disgust, wishing for the thousandth time that Newt could see the Fabric and manifestations, as I saw them. "But it was there. He did something to her."
"We can't be sure, Virginia," she said.
"I'm sure!" I croaked out, trying desperately to keep from screaming.
Antoinette stepped forward. "Newt," she said. It was a simple statement. Her expression was clear. Antoinette trusted me. Not that Newt didn't. But she was willing to make a leap of faith. And I was positive that man had done something terrible to his daughter.
Newton stood a bit straighter and pulled her leather jacket down. "Alright," she said and licked her lips. "We can't interfere."
Strictly speaking, we're not supposed to cast against others. Unless we're defending ourselves. Sort of a prime directive for witches. But rules seemed ridiculous and paltry to me right now.
"So…do you think she knows?" Antoinette whispered into our trio.
Speak of the devil. Joy chose that moment to enter Lilly's room.
"Oh my goodness sweetie! You're sitting up. And look at that color!"
I sighed loudly and looked at Lilly's open door. "I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe. Why else would she have asked for my help?"
"I suppose it doesn't matter," Newt said. "The mother did ask for your help, our help. So we can cast for her–the mother. Reveal a Truth," she said, decisive and fierce. Antoinette and I grinned at our clever Vala; Newton knows every spell in the Book of Incantations. In fact, she's written more than a few of them herself. She plucked a few strands of her strawberry-blonde locks and placed them in her palm. We did the same.
"Wait!" Antoinette said, racing into the hallway toward Lilly's bedroom. We heard her cooing over something then "Ow!" followed by, "Oooh, I'm sorry Joy!" Then she was running back to us.
"Here," she said, placing a long white-blonde and frosted hair in with ours. "We do it properly." It was one of Joy's hairs.
Newton grinned approvingly then mumbled something low under her breath while I held the hairs and she braided them together. When she was finished, Antoinette pulled out her Zippo and stroked the wheel. The hairs erupted, turning to a single wisp of energy, the Corpalm, hanging between us. We joined hands.
"Reveal a Truth," the three of us intoned.
Newt did not move from his view, Mr. Scarlatti. I don't know if she did it on purpose, I really didn't give a shit.
"Lies, false dreams, murky waters
To these we hold"
Her low but deep and powerful voice filled the hallway.
I thought hard on Joy, Lilly's mom, just a few feet away in Lilly's room. I focused on the glowing DNA thread between us, as it soaked in the spell. I attached all of my emotions. Love, fondness, courage. Mostly the intent, the instinct mothers feel, to protect their children.
"Swallowing enough dullness
To clog purity, to break bone
Hidden from the prying eyes
Of the-truth-be-told
The truth will out!
But you must be bold
So rive, rip, rent, tear
To pierce the veil of the known
To lift walls, to split thick
The deception is now un-sewn"
At the bottom of the third repetition, the spell sealed itself, rushing in the blink of an eye into Lilly's room, binding itself to her mother.
I opened my eyes. The bastard was peeking up at us over his paper. I really wanted to hurt that guy.
"Fuck," I muttered into my palms. "There's nothing? No anti-perversion spell or binding?"
"We can bind his wiener," Antoinette whispered.
"We're not binding his penis!" Newton answered hotly. "And of course there are bindings. We could bind his lust. Bind his tongue. Hell, we could bind his mobility. But, again, he hasn't done anything to us. Directly. We could get in big trouble."
When a spell, a binding, is created in the Fabric, it is said that the council can feel each and every one of them. I'm not sure I buy that. But binding negative intent is big no-no. Because it can also be turned against you. Which I learned the hard way in that first year. Several times.
"And none of that will last anyway. None of that will make him whole. He hasn't chosen it. Even binding a more positive spell won't do much good. We can't affect will without someone paying the price. That is the Natural Order of Things. What that man really needs is jail time and some long hours of psychiatric treatment."
I hated to admit it, she was right.
"And we still don't know for sure." Antoinette and I began to protest. "But" Newton held up her hands, "…I do have an idea."
"What?" I asked her eagerly.
"Look at him. I can smell the stench of his fear from here. He's scared of us. I'm guessing he's superstitious." She looked only at me. "You stay here."
Newt straightened to her formidable height, especially in heels, and walked down the hall. She removed a pen from inside her jacket and stopped just in front of Mr. Scarlatti. He had already placed whatever he was reading carefully on the table and was watching her. She calmly reached over and snatched one of his papers from the table, making him jump.
"Excuse me?" he said. She was right, I heard his voice squeak.
She flipped the paper over and drew something on it. Then casually and deliberately slid the paper to him. He looked down at it, then up at her. She said something, far too low to hear from down the hall, but whatever it was, Mr. Scarlatti fell back in his chair, onto his ass and onto the kitchen floor. Beads of sweat had broken out over his forehead. She made her way calmly back down the hall.
I went to Lilly's room, said goodbye to her mother. She was profusely grateful. But we knew she had bigger fish to fry.
I kissed Lilly on her forehead. "May the spirits protect you." I weaved one last utterance into the line connecting her to the Fabric. As we were leaving, my body stopped of its own accord. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave her alone with him.
"We can make her forget. If I tried hard enough, I bet I could make her forget," I said, casting one last look at her door. I knew what mental patterns looked like. And what are memories but familiar electrical charges?
"Absolutely not," Newton said. "That is completely against the NOT. And we don't have the right." I nodded and followed her out.
We had done all we could. It was up to her mother now. And the spell. May it work quickly.