"So…what did you say to him? To Mr. Scarlatti?" I asked Newton from the backseat of Antoinette's coupe as we made our way up hwy 57 toward town.
"Yeah, he looked like he crapped his pants," Antoinette laughed.
"Not much. Just showed him his greatest fear."
Antoinette glanced at me from over her shoulder in the driver's seat. I shrugged. "Ok. So what did you write then?"
"Again, not much. I'm pretty sure I drew the alchemy symbol for putrefaction. He brought meaning to it. Sometimes fear is a good short term motivator. He'll be thinking of us tonight." Her grin was smart and wicked. "I also know a cop in the 12th. Sometimes he'll do favors for me. I can have him run this guy for a record. Maybe find a reason to checkup on the family."
"Hmm. I guess that's why you're Vala." I could feel her smug satisfaction. That was just fine with me.
Antoinette turned to me. "You really hate clowns don't you?"
"You have no idea." I muttered. But that was not entirely true. It was decay that I feared. Death. And while Mr. Scarlatti might be chased by wart-covered cackling witches in his nightmares tonight, mine will be consumed by running. Me running, from death.
…
By the time we hit Teeny's bar, the party was in full swing. I saw a few coven members. Most of them drinking, happily chatting with each other or mingling with sleepers.
Teeny's is our favorite bar. It's kind of shithole. It's in the basement of old dry cleaning business gone belly-up. The walls are covered in old photos, license plates, random Native American and Mexican folklore…and beer stains. It's too small, too crowded, the floor is sometimes sticky, and the drinks are cheap. It has, as they say, tons of spirit. And we like it just fine.
"Hey, it's the famous Weaver." It was Faith, nursing a cocktail and holding up a grungy wall. Faith is the only Mortora, dead-talker, in our coven.
"Howdy, Faith, how's the dead?" I asked of her third ear.
"Who the hell can hear them in here? Though I think some drunk got shanked in the alley behind the bar. And he's still pissed. And still drunk. Slurs like an asshole. How's the multi-dimensional fabric of spacetime?"
"Busy apparently." I wanted to share my story with her. About the bogey, about Lilly. Faith is a good listener. But it was loud in the bar, and it was probably not my place to share such things.
"Yeah, so's the birthday boy," she said, pointing toward the mass of human bodies. I followed her finger to find Dylan at the end of it. In the middle of the small dance floor, sandwiched by a group of college girls.
"Oh, man. Thanks."
"Sure."
I pushed through the crowd, "Hey birthday boy! Happy Samhain!" It was a week till Halloween. We witches love to joke.
"Sister V!" He greeted me with a crushing bear hug.
"Here you go birthday boy." I pulled the small package from behind my back, "I got you something."
"A present!" He ripped through the carefully, and might I say beautifully, wrapped package on the spot. "No way. DVD box set of Doctor Who?!" He hugged me tightly again. "You know this means we have to burn through these together right?"
Dylan and I have standing TV show and movie dates every week. Which I love. "Yeah, of course. But you know we still have to burn through season three of AHS? It is the Coven you know."
"Why do I need to watch the season with a bunch of hot chicks in it? I've got that already. Anyway, you're gonna love the new Doctor. Well the last one. Before the current one. You know what, don't sweat it. I'm gonna get you a drink. No! A shot. We need shots." His little bubble butt was moving through the crowd toward the bar before I could stop him. He returned moments later with two dark liquid-filled shot glasses on fire.
"What is this?" I asked as he handed me the hot blue glass.
"Fire shots. We're doing it right. We're fucking witches right?"
Maybe Dylan didn't need another shot? But to hell with it. "Well then…to you my brother," I said, raising my voice and my glass.
"To the Witches of Norwood County!" He screamed over the blaring music, drawing curious eyes and ears from nearby bar patrons. Who obviously didn't understand, or didn't care what he said, and instead began yelling encouragement.
I'm not sure if drunk screaming in a crowded bar with a bunch of other drunk people qualified as 'revealing' ourselves, but I shrugged it off. "To the coven!" I yelled with him. Taking the chance on a possible rash or sudden onset of mono.
We blew out our respective fires and downed the shots. The firey whiskey coated my throat all the way down. Though it did have a pleasant cinnamon after taste.
I don't really celebrate my birthday anymore. Suffice it to say that having your father die on your birthday, it puts a sort of damper on the whole thing. So I celebrate other birthdays extra hard.
I let Dylan talk me into one more shot then ordered a Rum and Coke. I tried to remember how drinking adds to my sensitivity. How the room could become a vast network of crawling lights instead of people at any moment. But I think that's the point of alcohol, to make you forget. And I had a lot to forget that day.
"Dance with me," Dylan said, grabbing me by the arm, and twirling us into a nasty mess of elbows and a two-left feet. A particular little brunette who'd been eying Dylan gave me a nasty look, as did the rest of her girl gang.
"I think your new friends are a little jealous."
"Of course they are. They got nothing on you girl."
"You have a sharp tongue Mr. Ford."
"That's what the ladies tell me." He grinned lasciviously.
"How old are you today? Fifteen?"
"Yeah, that's hilarious. Thirty-one smartass."
"I know how old you are." I grinned. "Where's the ol' ball and chain?"
"Hey, hey! Don't marry me off just yet. We've only been dating for six months. She had to work tonight." As he dipped me around, I caught him staring at Newton.
"What?"
"Do you think her dick is bigger than mine?" he asked in a slur into my ear.
I choked on a giggle and the swig of Rum and Coke in my mouth. I wiped my chin with my shirt and looked over at Newton. She was busy chatting up a gorgeous lanky redhead who was wearing jeans so tight I could make out her preference in underwear. And I knew exactly how big Newton's 'implements' were. "Do you really want to know?"
He paused, grinned, and shook out a hard no. "Nope." We laughed and danced some more.
Some people say that men and women can't be friends. Intimate friends. But I disagree. Not that Dylan and I haven't had our go at it. We got halfway into the act at my apartment one night, then realized it was feeling more like a weird inbred porn. While Antoinette is the sister I never had, Dylan is the brother.
Besides, every time Dylan relaxes, this happens. What was happening now. His eyes drifted to Antoinette. Hungry, beseeching eyes. "Oh my god. You two. You have the worst timing of any two people I've ever known." Dylan is off-limits to me for several reasons. The most important one being Antoinette. She won't say it, but she's got it bad for him too. Girlfriends just know these things. So my brother Dylan, he will forever be the undiscovered country.
"Shut up," he said, spinning me around.
Now only if the two of them could manage to be unhitched in the same span of time.
At some point, I lost Dylan. I ended up alone on the dance floor. Me and two dozen strangers. The DJ was spinning a combination of house music and Mexican rock. I don't really know. And I didn't particularly care. I have to admit, there are a few things that are much cooler as a witch. Sex, of course. And dancing.
I could see music now. Music connects us to different planes in the Fabric. And dancing, real dancing, is like falling in love. You know it when you get there.
I closed my eyes, let the music become part of me. Soon, I could feel my mental patterns changing to match the vibrations in the air. And then I was gone. I was no longer Virginia Walker. But some musical frequency version of her. I lost all sense of time and space for a while. It was perfect.
I felt a hand on my hip. The hand was warm and tender. I turned to see Antoinette. "Hey!" I said through slow and heavy lips.
She gyrated and slithered, wrapped her strawberry-colored cotton butterfly-sleeved arms around my torso and pulled me in. Without so much as a thought, a little bubble of time popped out from my center, encircling me and my sister Antoinette. The music became a dull throbbing chant for both of us as we danced. A rush of soft wind snuck up my back as Antoinette's power flared. The two of us swayed with the music, and rocked with the small buffeting winds, her winds, driving us together.
"Are you ok?" she whispered in my ear.
"Yeah," I slurred.
Her deep purr of a laugh reverberated in my ear. She grabbed my arms and pushed me back. "You need water."
"Boo." I pouted.
She pointed toward the bar. "Now." Then pushed me through the crowd.
She ordered a bottle of water from Missy, our most favorite bar keep in Santa Fe, and shoved it in front of me. "Drink." I downed half the bottle.
"Happy?" I winked a slow wink.
"Not yet. But I want you to finish that. Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."
I gave her two wobbly thumbs up. As soon as Antoinette left, someone took her place. He was a handsome Legolas type, long sandy-blonde hair, crinkling playful eyes, with a sly grin. Perhaps a bit too young for me, but cute as all hell.
"I was watching you out there. You're a great dancer."
"That's very kind of you to say. But completely untrue."
"Ah, you're one of those women."
"And what kind would that be?"
"One that can't take a complement." His grin, only seconds ago charming, was suddenly distasteful.
I frowned. "Well, I like to think of myself as a realist."
"Well, realist, can I buy you a drink?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm afraid I've been put on a water diet."
"Ah come on, one drink. One drink isn't gonna hurt anybody right?" He laughed and scooted a few inches closer to me.
Now I was annoyed. I let my power pulse slightly. His libido patterns were as busy as his thoughts.
"Look uh…"
"Frankie."
"Frankie, I'm sure you're a nice guy, but I'm all done for the night."
He closed the distance between us, and all I could think about was my experience a few hours earlier. I could still see Mr. Scarlatti sitting at the kitchen table. And this guy, his breath was suddenly washing down my chest as he bent forward, invading my personal space. His eyes roamed around my body like they were looking for treasure. Or by sheer will he could undress me. My breathing picked up. He was too close. He was speaking, leering, but I couldn't hear him. The alcohol, combined with my increasingly charged emotional state, made the world bleed into the lines.
My eyes followed his pint of beer as he raised it to his lips. The messy crystalline patterns in the glass glimmered and sparkled. A few of the strands shifted and moved under my fascination. The glass suddenly cracked on top, splitting down the side, dribbling beer down his t-shirt.
"Whoa!" He reeled back and reached for a pile of napkins.
"Oops," I said to myself but laughed.
"Well if you don't want a drink, maybe I can get you something else," he said, wiping at his chest.
"Ha!" I laughed. I couldn't help it. This guy wasn't phased. I wasn't angry anymore. But I was done messing around. "Look, I'm not interested pal."
"Come on, you don't even wanna know what I have to offer before you shoot me down?"
"Uh…not really."
He started blabbing again. This wasn't working. I could move. I could eyeball Dylan to have him rescue me. But I'm not a helpless woman. I'm a witch. And I was here first dammit.
"Orlando Bloom you're not
And your man musk stinks of rot
Stupid horny tricky little elf
Please go fuck yourself"
The utterance was spoken too low for him to hear. I watched as it passed from my lips to his essence. It wasn't nice. But neither was he. I don't like people who pretend. Pretend to be nice. Pretend to be your friend. It was the best that I could come up with on the spot. It was not a spell, and it would wear off soon.
Mr. Rude stood erect, and smacked his lips. As if tasting something vile. "Fuckin' lesbian," he muttered and walked away.
My intention behind the utterance was to repel. And he was. Repelled.
"Actually, that's bisexual!" I yelled after him, feeling quite pleased with myself.
I looked down at my water, finished it, then ordered another.
Then the room, it was suddenly too crowded too.
Air. I need air. I thought decisively then fought my way through the crowd and out into the night. The bitterness of the fall air hit me a few seconds later. Sobering me a little. I walked to the end the of building, then turned the corner. Buzzed people don't like to stand still.
As I shuffled along the edge of the parking lot, studying the darkened store fronts across the street, it happened again. The air became still. The rush of cars on the nearby freeway, the howls of party-goers from the bar, began to fade into the background. I stopped and listened.
The ping of a fingernail on a coin grew in intensity. As if it was coming from far away.
Pop! It finally burst and vibrated a high-pitched bite into the night air. Sound and movement returned to the world. It was the same sequence, the same sound. And the same flash of light blinked into existence across the street. It hovered roughly five to six feet off the ground.
I looked left, then right, then crossed Pen Street to get a better look.
As soon as I'd crossed the street, it was gone. I looked up and down the blocks. Nothing and no one.
Maybe it was a reflection in the shop window? I thought, staring in the window of a lamp store. Maybe it had been a coincidence. But there was the flash again, this time toward the end of the street.
I walked toward it, all the way to the traffic lights of St. Francis Drive, crossed the intersection, only to have it wink out of existence. Again.
I stood on the corner, looking down the intersecting streets. In one direction, there was only dust, and the freeway in the distance. In the other, businesses and a few industrial buildings. And as it was probably somewhere past one o'clock in the morning, it was quiet and restful. I stood there for a few minutes, waiting for it reappear. Just as I was deciding to turn back, the thing popped up, not fifty feet away from me, toward the north part of the road.
I waited. Feeling like I was chasing a dog. A dog that liked to be chased. It was late, and I was not in the mood to chase aether objects. But it remained there, hovering.
I took two cautious steps forward. It did not move. I took two more steps, quicker. It did not move. I covered the remaining distance casually. Coming to stand not a few feet away.
The thing in question, was not a blob of light, like I thought, but a symbol. A glowing twirling symbol.
It was round, like a coin, roughly four to five inches in diameter. The center glowed with a hot lavender light. Off that light, six spires shot out to the edges. Each of those spires held their own glowing smaller centers, two per spire. A sort of metallic grey, a soft tangerine, a sharp yellow, jade green, a deep cobalt blue, and finally at the top left, a royal purple. The thing rotated slowly on its own vertical axis, seeming to allow me to examine it, as if it knew I was watching. The spin picked up speed and the thing began to glow brighter, until it cast a brilliant light show on the sidewalk. The light show began to move.
I don't know how I knew, but I knew it wanted me to follow it. So I did.
It led me through parking lots and weed covered fields. We passed a cemetery at some point. As we crossed deeper into darkened areas of the neighborhood, I realized how cold it was, and how lost I was. Nothing looked familiar. And I had left my purse and phone in Antoinette's car trunk. All I had on me was some cash. Maybe it was a dumb idea to follow a hovering unknown symbol into an unknown neighborhood?
Just as I was deciding to turn back, to retrace my footsteps, the object, hovering near the edge of darkened single-story building, slowed and blinked out of existence. I frowned and waited. And then I heard it. A low rasping of air. A moaning. A growling.
My heart leapt up into my throat. I waited, stood there shivering and listening to the moans, trying to decide what to do. Or if whatever had led me here was deciding what to do with me. The sounds grew stronger. I licked my dry lips and hugged the cold brick, sneaking up to the corner. I held my breath and poked half my face around. There was nothing there. Just an old rusted steel green dumpster.
Hey wait a second, I'm a witch. If I got in trouble, I could call the lines right? Change things? Affect matter? "Alright Virginia, time to man up." I pulled my words and my courage up around me and stepped out of the shadows.
"Hello?" My voice squeaked in the darkness. "Is someone there?"
I made the nearest corner of the dumpster and heard a shuffling from the opposite side. I stopped abruptly and came near to impaling myself on the corner of the dumpster.
"Shit." I picked up my right foot. Shiny viscous liquid covered the entirety of the heel of my shoe. I took it off to get a better look, leaning out to get at a ray of streetlight. A drop of red fell onto the pavement below. Blood. I'd slipped in a pool of blood. My own blood cooled to match the temperatures around me. The shining pavement showed a pattern leading into the shadows around the opposite side of the dumpster. Where the sounds were emanating.
This was a bad idea. I should run the other way. As fast as I can. But something pulled at my center. I couldn't turn around now.
I followed the fresh trail as it led around the dumpster, stopping at the feet of a man, his hands and face as red as the bottom of my shoe.
We stood staring at each other until his face morphed into a sort of madness. Not mad, like I took his parking space mad. But insane mad.
"Can you hear them coming?"
I looked left and right. "Hear who?"
"The demons, the ghosts, they're coming for me."
Whoa.
I let my sight flare. The area around us was more or less empty. Though the lines in the Fabric vibrated thick and hot.
"Sir, what are you doing back here? How did you get here?"
He fell forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. "They can see into my mind. They know who I really am. I can't hide from them. They're everywhere!"
"Sir, there is nothing here. Only you and me."
His fingers dug into my muscles. His emotions took me down. I felt his mortal fear for my own. His terror. His sadness. His hopelessness. This was awful.
I took a deep breath. "Let's just calm down." Something occurred to me. "Sir, have taken anything tonight? Are you on any medication?" I asked him, as calmly as possible.
His eyes squeezed shut. "I've done terrible things. Awful things. They know. They can see it all. I'm sorry. Why can't they leave me alone."
I looked around again. The most interesting thing about the back of this building was…him. There was nothing else here. A pile of cardboard boxes, bits of trash.
"We're sorry. We didn't mean to do it. Why can't they just leave us alone!"
"There is nothing here sir, you need to just calm…wait, who is us?"
For some reason, this particular question got his attention. "Us. Yes us. My…my brother."
He let go of me and stumbled back behind the right side of the dumpster. I followed him cautiously around. There was another man lying against the wall of the building, his face a broken mess. Had he not had an obvious human form, I would not have recognized his face as such. His right arm hung from his shoulder at an unnatural angle. Like it wasn't attached anymore. His shirt was ripped open, everything hanging off of him in tatters, covered in fluids that should be inside, not out.
"Oh my god." I rushed forward. "What happened?" I didn't want to touch him. I couldn't even tell if he was still alive.
"I…I don't know," the man said, his voice cracking, heavy and confused.
Whoever he was, he checked out at that point. He slumped and slid down the wall next to his brother, his eyes disappearing behind a wall of terror.