It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The wind was quiet. An excellent day for a street fair. The annual Fall Into Winter festival. From Alameda to Palace Ave and Peralta to Gasper. Four city blocks in downtown Santa Fe of southwestern, Native American, Mexican and 'other' wares–art, pottery, sculptures, native dress, books, jewelry. And the most important thing, my favorite thing, the food. Carts upon carts of native and local delights. Chile frito pies, tapas-style burrito bars, sweet chile corn fritters, empanadas filled with everything imaginable–pickled and grilled vegetables, sauted and basted meats, slow-cooked meats, and pastries for blocks.
And we had our very own culinary coup d'etat'.
"Peace, love, and sopaipilla's!"
"Oh Lydia. What did you do? These things are unbelievable."
Now, no one has to twist my arm to get me to eat a flaky fried sweet pastry confection. But what Lydia Hammer does to foods is heavenly. And unnatural. No really. It is unnatural. She bakes not just with love, but energy directly from the Fabric. Into her foods. She's a Phytora. Her gift is with plants, trees, all things green. But I swear, she deserves her own label in the Ngao'bliss. Like 'Magic Baker'. Obviously I don't contribute to these things. And shouldn't.
Antoinette and I took the first pastry with grace and patience. Licking each magic-soaked and sweetened finger slowly. Then assaulted the following two.
"Girls," Lydia chided us. "Slow down. You're going to sprout wings if you eat too many or too fast. And remember, every sopaipilla you eat takes money out of a needy child's piggy bank."
Antoinette and I finished shoving the third puff in, then blushed guiltily. Like every year, all of the proceeds from the sale of Lydia's magical confections were for the orphanage outside of town.
"Sorry Lyd. They're just so good," Antoinette said, whining.
Lydia blushed and shook her head, her long dangling feathered earrings mixing in with her hair. "Do you like them?"
I nodded violently.
"I added my own special almond cream," she said and giggled. "There's a sort of special surprise in each one! And I made an extra big batch for my kids out at Forever Found."
"Well, Lyd, bless your heart. I know you love those kids out there. But I'm going to steal you one day, make you my personal chef."
She blushed again.
"Hey, Virginia," Antoinette nudged me in the ribs. "Isn't that?" I turned and followed her gaze. Mrs. Scarlatti, Joy, was across the street. She was smiling and talking to someone at a yarn booth. The crowd finally parted to reveal it was Lilly. Antoinette and I shared a look. We then scanned the surrounding area for him.
It had been five days since our visit to the house. I'd been thinking on Lilly in every spare moment. I'd dialed their house number, after looking it up, several times. But never pressed 'send'. Antoinette and I got drunk one night and talked about how to entrap the husband into an alley, feigning an attack on a fellow witch. Sometimes being petty is all you have.
"I'm going to go say hi," I said.
Antoinette licked the remaining almond cream from her fingers, her hazel eyes carefully neutral.
I crossed the crowded fair street, letting my power rush out ahead of me. I wanted to see Lilly in the other spectrum. I just had to.
Threads of red, orange, and yellow danced in fluid open-figure eights up and down her spine. Like they were supposed to.
"Hi there," I greeted Lilly first.
"Ms. Walker!" She launched herself at me. I hugged her tightly then held her back.
"Lilly, you look wonderful."
"Thanks." She blushed and studied the sidewalk. "I wanted to go back to school this week, but mom says I have to wait till next week."
"Well, moms know best. I'm just glad you're feeling better."
"Do you like our bracelets?" She held up two colorful friendship bracelets.
"Oh, these are for you two?"
"Yes," Joy replied proudly, her eyes twinkling at Lilly. I took an extra moment to study Joy too. There was something different about her demeanor. She looked older. Happier. Younger. Wiser. Sad. She caught me staring at her.
"Lilly honey, stay here for a moment," she said, motioning me a few feet away into the open fair street.
"How are you Mrs.," I stopped, forgetting we were now on a first name basis. "Joy, how are you? It's good to see the two of you out enjoying the day."
She paused nervously then clasped her hands. "Virginia. I just…want to thank you."
"You're certainly welcome. Though, I'm not sure we did much."
She looked back up at me. "Yes, you did," she said, her eyes delving deeper into mine this time. "Lilly and I are staying at my girlfriends' house for a while. Until I can get a new place for us." This was the best news I'd heard in a long time. She played with the bracelet around her wrist. I let the silence drag on.
"I'm getting a divorce." She finally mouthed the words. I know they were difficult. And I know, I felt, her guilt, her shame. And her relief.
I opened my mouth to say something, then shut it just as quickly. What was I going to say to her? Nothing seemed appropriate. That she had to leave her husband, that she most likely loved, for assaulting their daughter? And that I was sorry?
"I'm so sorry." Yeah, that was the best I could do.
"And I'm pressing charges against him. I feel so awful. So angry. I…I should've known. How did you know?" The question was whispered and desperate.
I looked over at Lilly. "Does it matter?"
She looked back over her shoulder too. "No. I suppose it doesn't." She hugged me. I was surprised. But hugged her back, fiercely. She stepped back to Lilly as if nothing had happened. I politely ignored her few tears.
I turned to leave mother and daughter to their new day when Lilly called to me. "Ms. Walker?"
"Yes?"
She glanced over her shoulder at her mom, who was now busy with the booth artist. Lilly did something strange. She touched my elbow, motioning me to the side, out of earshot of her mother.
"Ms. Walker, I wanted to ask you something."
Uh oh. Whatever she wanted to ask me, about her father, about her mother, about why I had come to visit her, I could not answer. It would be entirely inappropriate.
"I…" she licked her lips, "I want to be a witch," she said, lowering her voice and leaning into me.
That was not what I was expecting. In any way. I couldn't help it. A silly grin split my face.
"Lilly, you can be anything you want for Halloween."
"Ugh. Ms. Walker, I know. I know what you did for me. I know what you did for us." She nodded over her shoulder at her mother. Lilly's young beautiful sea-green eyes were terribly grown-up at that moment. And I didn't want them to be. Innocence is precious. We can never get it back. "I know what you are. I haven't told anyone. Not even Mom."
I stood a little straighter and asked, my voice unfriendly and uncompromising. "How?" I needed to test Lilly.
"Antoinette."
Of course. Antoinette is about as discrete as Honest Abe. That night in Lilly's bedroom, now I remembered. The conversation was there in my head. Lilly had asked Antoinette how we knew each other. And Antoinette told her. We were best friends, and sisters of a different sort. We were coven sisters.
I glanced over at Antoinette. She looked normal. I hadn't noticed any changes, any obvious consequence for breaking the secrecy binding.
"What you did for us was…so amazing. I want to do that. For others."
I nodded my head at her, "Lilly"
"Please Ms. Walker," she interrupted me. "I want to be a witch. I want to help people. I feel…bad. But strong. At the same time you know?" I did know. "I want to help other girls like me. Help them not be afraid." Her little face held all the seriousness you'd expect, and quite a lot more than I'd ever had.
It was a lovely thought. But…
This moment was a crossroads. For me, and for her. Some witches are born. Some are taught. And some, like me, are shocked into existence. But, eventually, every single one of us is drawn. The Ngao'bliss says that there is a force in the Fabric that draws things together. The one pertaining to witches is simply known as the Draw. When we're drawn to the same cities or towns. When we're drawn to the same restaurant or bar for a chance meeting. These meetings are not chance at all. This is that Draw at work. It happens to all of us at some point. Like I was drawn to Santa Fe. And this may be Lilly's moment. Her Draw.
"Lilly," I lowered my voice and stepped closer, "you're too young."
"I know."
I scrunched my brow at her, "How do you know?"
She shrugged, "I don't know. I just do. Is it eighteen?"
"No. It's sixteen. No witch joins a coven until they reach the age of sixteen. That rule cannot be broken. There are even things a witch cannot witness or participate in until they are eighteen."
She nodded once and blinked twice. "Ok."
"And…we'd have to talk to your mother. Before you come of age."
"Ok." She seemed perfectly all right with my answers.
"Ok." I answered back, sounding surprising.
"I'll be fourteen in five days! Only two to go!"
I had to laugh. "You know what, just focus on being a young lady right now. And doing well in school! And we'll talk."
She smiled brightly and sighed. "Ok." Then burst into a full run across the street. She screamed at Antoinette. They hugged tightly. Then Lilly was headed back toward her mom.
"Oh!" She stopped and turned. "I'll see you next week at the reading hour Ms. Walker!"
"Sure." I nodded and waved at Lilly as she joined her mother. We'd never had such a young entrant. I'd have to talk to Newt. Lilly's mother was not a witch, so Lilly would really have to wait those two years. Before she experienced anything 'witchy'. At least from us. And Antoinette and I really needed to have a chat about 'oversharing'. But I felt too damn good to feel bad. Besides, the fact that Antoinette had suffered no consequence meant Lilly probably was a witch.
I reentered the crowded street, glowing from the inside out. I spotted Faith two booths up from Lydia. She was also pimping her witchly services at the festival. Her hand-painted sign read 'Psychic Readings'.
"Faith, since when are you a Prophet?"
She looked left then right and leaned across her table. "You know how hard it is to find dead people? They're off frolicking somewhere, or reincarnating, or drifting about like it's a goddamn mall up there. They don't come when they're called." She looked completely put out by this fact.
"So, I talk to whoever's around. Get some fun facts, make people feel like they're getting their money's worth."
I squinted at her. "Isn't that sort of…cheating?"
She opened her mouth to answer but was cut short by a gang of imps. Lead by James.
"Ms. Walker! Did you see Lilly is back?"
"Hey! Yes I did. Oh my James." Every year the 7th and 8th graders perform Jarabe Tapatio at the festival. All the kids dress in traditional Mexican And James looks silly handsome. His black suit was certainly traditional. As well as his white blouse and cravat. But his pants were studded down the side and topped with glittering red lace trim. A large black sombrero hung from his back. And his black boots were studded decoratively around the toe and up the side.
"You look very handsome."
He flipped a long strand of shiny black hair out of his face. "Thanks."
"Are you coming to the maze this year Ms. Walker?"
"I'm afraid not, Marcus. I wasn't asked to chaperon this year."
"That sucks. Hey, Ms. Walker? Is that a new chaperon?" his emotion at my absence was dubious, his question was rushed. I realized then that every boy, including James, was studying Antoinette as she approached us.
Oh boy.
"She's not a chaperon. She's a friend of mine."
The five young men straightened their shirts, smoothed their hair, and adopted, what I assumed was supposed to be, a macho stance.
"What's up." Marcus announced himself to Antoinette.
She surveyed the team of swaggering young men. "Wow. You guys look choice. Like the real deal."
Marcus grinned sideways. "I'm Marcus. I don't believe we've met."
"Yes, we have. A few years ago. But you were much younger." She looked at me.
Much younger indeed.
"Well, I'm all grown up now." The gang of boys at his back sniggered.
I frowned.
"So, you're not a chaperon?"
She nodded.
"Does that mean I could get a personal es"
"Ahem!" I loudly cleared my throat, interrupting him. I wasn't his home room teacher, or any teacher. But I was sure his parents wouldn't want him drooling all over strange women…and behaving in an ungentlemanly fashion. I was from the South. And in the South, children address adults with respect. Especially young knaves to women.
Marcus looked at me. "I was just gonna ask if"
"Mmmm" I cleared my throat again, staring him down.
"But I"
"Uh uh." I gave him one last warning.
"Ugh," he sighed, disgusted.
I was about to ask James when they were hitting the main stage when the boys became eerily quiet. Staring at something over my shoulder. I turned to see Newt standing just a few feet behind me. I hadn't heard her approach.
"I thought you were running errands today?" I asked her.
"I had to deliver something to Faith," she said, sparing only a small glance for me, but studying the group of young men, one by one.
They studied her equally hard. Carefully. As if she were an alien. Or an unidentified species.
"Hey, Ms. Hunter." James had met Newton several times at the library.
"How are you, James?"
"I'm pretty damn good."
"James," I chided him.
He blushed but Newton was unshaken. "It was a reasonable and honest answer." Newton nodded down at him. She sauntered off as the boys stared after her.
"Hey, hey! You boys get along and stop bothering these beautiful women!" A lanky blonde-haired man yelled after them, shooing the young men back into the fair crowd.
"Hi, Richard. How are you?" Richard Littleton was one of the teachers from Santa Fe Junior High. He taught math to seventh and eighth graders. And he was the gayest straight guy I'd ever met.
"Virginia!" he said, kissing my cheeks on each side like we were French. "Oh my goodness, I'm in a real pickle here. Would you please do me the biggest favor ever?"
"Um…sure."
"One of my parents cancelled for maze duty. And I need someone out there tonight. You don't have to do anything extreme. I just need a certain number of adults per child. You know where the corn maze is right? Down off eighty-nine?"
I guess I was on maze duty after all.
"Yeah, I know where it is. The Mathers Farm. I can help out."
"Oh thank you!" he kissed my cheeks again. "Just show up at six at the front gate, they'll give you a special badge. And when are you going to say yes to me? You're starting to give me a complex young lady," he said, smiling bright and winking.
Richard had asked me out a half-dozen times. Call me old-fashioned, but Richard's lovely effeminate nature was a bit too confusing for me.
I grabbed Antoinette's arm. "Sorry Richard, I'm a taken woman."
He put his hands on his hips, and blushed. "You," he simply said, thanked me again, and ran off.
"You're welcome," Antoinette whispered in my ear.
"Sorry about that."
"No worries, Weaver Walker. I'd lez out anytime for you. Now," she said, rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist. "Are you ready to get your eat on?"
"Gimme two seconds Elemental Black. I need to find a bathroom."
"Boo! Well, hurry up. We still have a lot of eating to do," she said after letting her eyes wander down a line of food stalls.
Unfortunately, it took me ten minutes of wandering around to find a single port-o-potty. And after a few minutes in the hot, stuffy, skanky confines of the green box, I was certain that hell had no bathrooms, only port-o-potties. If I believed in hell. Which I don't. In general, witches don't. And my mother's own assessment of 'those convenient fairy tales for the morally susceptible', was always stuck in my head. Claire, mother–she's got opinions on just about everything.
I dumped half a bottle of hand sanitizer in my palms, resisting the urge to do a full-body swab, and looked back up the street to the flurry of activity. Street musicians, artists, dressmakers, jewelers, Native American, Mexican, African, they all blended together to form a colorful quilt of humanity. I took a step toward the Cathedral, where my sisters were waiting, when something stopped me. A twanging in my subconscious.
I looked back up the fair side of the plaza, the St. Francis Cathedral on the left, people sitting on the grass under the oak trees, then down Cathedral Place. I scanned the adobe store fronts, all busy and happy of the pedestrian traffic.
"Oh no." I finally saw it. Clear as day. The slow rotating symbol at the corner of Cathedral Place and Palace Ave, near the edge of the park, directly in front of the 'City of Santa Fe' sign. I cautiously approached the hovering object.
The sound had not foretold the object, like it had last week. But there it was again. The round glimmering edge with six spires and the glowing lavender center. The thing rotated in clockwise motion on its own axis. Slow enough for me to get a good look. Again, like it wanted me to see it.
I looked up and down the street, around the plaza. No one else was looking at it. Or me. A couple moved up the sidewalk to pass me. As they came near, I caught the woman's eye, then looked at the symbol. Then back to her, and it. She noticed my movements and turned her eyes toward the sign. Then looked away quickly after sparing me a friendly grin. She didn't see it. And the thing was actually casting a shadow, reflecting off the metallic yellow surface of the hanging sign. I watched as the words 'Cathedral Park' darkened and muddied as it changed positions. I got my phone out of my purse and texted Antoinette.
Need a few more mins.
It was daylight. How much trouble could I get in, on a sunny day, and downtown no less? The fact that I had my cell phone this time made me feel ridiculously safe.
Besides, over the last few days I'd been thinking on the two brothers I'd found. I was certain that I'd been led to them, to help them. I was also certain that the one standing had beaten the other. Though I had no idea why. But who knows, it's family. And family can be real hell.
The thing glowed brighter as it picked up vertical speed and ferocity. Then it was on the run again. It dashed across and down Palace Ave, and waited for me at the next intersection. I followed and turned the corner, as it turned. We bobbed along Otero, going south, for two blocks, until we hit Paseo De Peralta. The thing turned right onto the block, moved about half way down the street and stopped. It slowed its vertical spin again. It seemed to be pausing, maybe trying to tell me something. Paseo De Peralta was mostly stucco houses and a few businesses. A rise of hill crested up into the sky on my left. But that was it. No people, no cars.
I decided to try something new.
I cast my power out hard. Calling the thread of time and slowing my perception until I found the seconds elongating. A gust of wind blew over from the west, bringing with it bits of autumn. The falling leaves up Peralta slowed their descent to a virtual crawl. I reached out and plucked one from the air, rubbing my fingers along the yellowed dry spine. Then crushed it, letting the pieces slowly continue their journey to the ground.
But the thing was gone. The symbol that had so quickly formed, blinked out of existence. I crossed the street and walked down the block where it had disappeared. There was absolutely nothing there but the dry dusty hill to my left and a short rust-colored brick wall and arch. I noticed something on the wall, a bit of graffiti.
"Death coms here!" It made me laugh. Some kid was trying to be cool but forgot to be smart. If you're going to deface public property, at least do a spell check.
I looked at the words again and the arch. The only thing I couldn't see was what was over that hill. I walked through the arch and onto the open paved stairs. A large space opened up at the top. Nothing much to speak of. Lots of the same dirt, lots of brush, with the occasional cactus or pine tree. But it was hard to miss the point of the path, leading to the Cross of the Martyrs. I knew more about the Cross than what it looked like. I'd been meaning to visit it for years.
The cross itself was basically two white iron joists sitting atop a cobblestone platform, surrounded by paved brick. But it was unmistakable and undeniable at almost twenty-five feet tall. The austereness of the Cross spoke for itself.
The Pueblo Revolt of 1680 was a bit of local history. During the long years of the Spanish colonization of New Mexico, and other southern states, Native Americans, especially the local Pueblo tribes, were devastated. Wiped out by means of murder, foreign disease, drought, fighting other local native wars. But the most insipid means of devastation was friendly colonization and the new religions. The tribal shamans were seen as using dark magic or sorcery by the church. A few years before the revolt, forty-seven shamans from the native tribes were taken by the governor at the time, a Spanish tyrant. He imprisoned and tortured all of them as examples. Killed half of them off.
Imagine what they would've done to us. The first witches to suffer from invading countries, monarchies and religions, were the Norse. Being a Seer and Prophet in the Norse clan societies meant respect and power. She was called on to use her powers to aid in everything from childbirth to waging successful wars. And like the Viking, she was badass. They did kick ass for a while, even against the hordes of Roman armies. As for the rest of witch history, specifically throughout the rest of Europe and North America, women that were killed for practicing this so-called 'sorcery', were not actually witches. Most of them were simply still worshipping in the old ways–multiple gods, the seasons, nature. Most individual witches were too smart to get caught. They saw the writing on the wall.
But the shamans of the Pueblo Revolt had help. The local tribe leaders staged a rescue of the remaining medicine men from their imprisonment in Santa Fe. One of those imprisoned native shamans made his mark on history–Po'Pay. After he was liberated, he went on a five year mission to rally support from regional tribe leaders to stage revolts in Santa Fe and parts of central and northern New Mexico Spanish occupied pueblos. A lot of Spanish blood was spilled. Most of the remaining Spaniards fled to my hometown, El Paso, TX. But the colonization, of course, continued. The Spaniards returned years later to this area, as did the French, and the English…and everybody else.
But still, you have to respect the man's luster for life and liberty. He was a single voice, that for a time, united many.
As I was reading through the plaques on the monument, something caught my eye. A man off to the right, running straight at me. Before I could get my wits about me, he tackled me. Throwing us both out of the cobblestoned monument and onto the unpaved landscape.
The air left my lungs, he rolled us over and straddled me, pinning my arms with his. I was so surprised I merely stared up at him as he stared down at me. His eyes bespoke of terror, panic and madness. The quick shifting of his pupils and intensified examination of my face foreshadowed something bad. He saw something that he didn't like. It was all I could do to squiggle and get my arms up in front of my face before he started pounding on me. Whatever he saw that upset him, apparently it rested solely in my face. I held my forearms in a tight grip, letting them take the blows. And then, just as suddenly, he was gone. I lifted up and tried to focus through all the dust bunnies.
There he was, laying in the dirt, being attacked by a woman. No. She was saying something to him. I shook myself off and stepped cautiously toward the two. My ears were still ringing.
"Lionel! Lionel! Baby are you alright?!"
Is he alright? I thought rudely.
As I reached the pair, he screamed and threw her off. She rolled into the dirt and brush, finally stopping and coming to her knees. I rushed over and helped her stand as she coughed up her own clouds of dust.
I turned to him. "What is your problem?"
"Baby, it's Jany. What's wrong? Why are you doing this?" she asked, still holding onto my arm.
The man, who I could clearly see now, was no older than Dylan. Maybe in his early thirties. He had a handsome face, square jaw and slight stubble. His hair was neatly styled in that short shaggy fashion. His clothes, though dirty, betrayed an attention to detail in dark stylish jeans and blue tight-fitted t-shirt and distressed brown motorcycle jacket. He sure didn't dress like a psycho. But his eyes were still crazy.
And that same foreboding stare with which he had fixed on me seconds ago, was solely directed at the young woman next to me. They dilated, shifted and frowned, got redder and puffier by the second. He studied her from head to toe, as if he'd never seen her before.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked her, without taking my eyes off him.
"I don't know. He's acting like he doesn't know me. Lionel?" she said, her voice squeaking. That seemed to make it worse.
He rushed forward, kicking up dust, then stopped abruptly. His hands and fingers splayed wide, his body crouched in front of us.
"Ok, ok, let's just relax," I said. "What's going on buddy?"
He swayed and jumped forward again, making us jump back. It was a weird kind of standoff. He shuffled to the right, we shuffled to the left. He shuffled to the left, we to the right. He took two steps forward, we took two back. He was not interested in me anymore. He watched her carefully. Gleaning strange things from her movements. His face telegraphed his next move, and he was on us before I could complete our turn.
It was a complete mess. A tangle of arms, legs and torsos. I somehow ended up back in the dirt and looked up just in time to see him punch, what I assumed to be his girlfriend, square in the face. She reeled back onto the ground onto her back. Blood spurted into the air from somewhere on her face. He punched her again. She turned over and got to her knees, began crawling away. I crawled forward myself and started pulling at his arms to slow him down, yelling at him to stop. He was speaking, yelling, in Spanish. So rapidly I could only catch a few words. Not enough to know what the hell was happening. He finally noticed me again and swung at my face, hitting my ear instead. I rolled back over and grabbed at my head, my ears ringing all over again.
Ever had your ear punched? It fucking hurts. Now I was pissed.
I reached down and cupped as much dirt as I could fit into my palm and yelled, "Hey!" He turned. I threw the dirt in my hand, hitting him square in the face. I felt satisfied some of it landed in his eyes.
As he yelled and fell back, I pushed myself up and went for the woman. She had blood pouring from cuts over both eyes and her nose…it gushed and hung sideways.
Run. I thought. "Run!" I screamed in her face and grabbed her arms, lifting an almost dead weight of over a hundred pounds into the air. She got her feet under her. I spotted the side street with cars and people. This was a good thing. We needed help. I half pushed/pulled her along toward the tree line and street. We were not ten feet from the sidewalk when her hand slipped out of mine as the blood greased our grips. Then he was on her again. Yelling, screaming, shaking, hitting.
This was getting us nowhere. How often do I forget I'm a witch? Too often.
But I was not calm enough to pull my own power. And I, we, didn't have time for me to think on how I would use it. Instead, I pulled on the memory of Newt's power. How it felt, how it entered my ears. Then infused it with my own. "Hey!" I yelled, coming to full my height, a few inches below him but feeling considerable. "Hey!" I yelled louder this time, pulling harder on the memory of my coven leader. He paused, froze in space and time. His ears and mind clearly processing the dredges of a Siren's gift. He blinked a few times then looked down at the ground. Though he was not looking at his girlfriend. He was studying something new, something shiny. A gun.
The two of us shuffled forward at the same time. But he got there before me. He picked up the revolver and pointed it at the woman, then me. Then her.
Where in the hell had that gun come from? One of them must've had it. It must've fallen out during the last scuffle. I didn't know guns very well. It was small, but I positive that bit of data was unimportant. If I got shot, it would still hurt like hell. He shifted to a double grip and began screaming again.
"Sacar de mi cabeza! Sacar de mi cabeza!" he yelled over and over. His hands trembling, his feet shuffling toward me then her.
As my hands came up, an instinctive reaction to a gun, my adrenaline spiked to terrifying levels. I could feel it, coursing through my veins, my nerve endings hot and wide, my lungs pumping twice as fast. The world began shifting, bleeding into lines and patterns.
Trees. Cactus. Dirt. Human.
I tried not to stare at him. But he was holding a damn gun. And his thought patterns were of the ugliest I'd ever seen. Almost too interesting not to look. They swam in confused circles, making wide arcs out toward his girlfriend mostly. I flinched as they rushed at my head, trying to pull on my own threads. What the fuck was wrong with this guy?
The longer I stared, the more the lines bled. The brighter they became. I tried to clear my mind, use some of the calming and focusing techniques I'd learned so long ago in the jungle.
'Your emotions are married to your power, Virginia. Steady your storm and mastery will follow.'
The voice in my head was Alberto, my mentor. Alberto was a shaman, famous for his intricate knowledge of the Fabric. Specifically, how to interpret and work with the threads and manifestations. A year after the accident, I sought him out. As have many witches. His lessons, his advice, had carried me through many difficult times. But right now, I couldn't hear his advice. All I could hear was the beating of my own heart.
I looked over to the nearby tree-line, focusing on a small pine. The patterns were simple and elegant. But the more I looked, the more they changed. The tree began shedding its needles. Until half the evergreen was lying in a brown spent pile around the bottom of the trunk.
Oh no.
Every once in a while, a long while, I don't call my gift, it calls me. The pulse of the Fabric, the very nature of life, fills my subconscious and dominates my senses. This is not a good thing. We witches should always have control of our power. And Newton Hunter is the only person on earth who knows this about me. But Lionel, whoever the hell he was, was about to find out too.
I tried to focus on nothing at all. The air. The sky. My mind zoomed in on the patterns in the air. Molecules of varying weight and shape. I remembered Dad's models, filling every corner of his office at the university. This was the real version. Electrons clearly binding with each other. It was so interesting. So beautiful and perfect. As I looked, magnetized by the microscopic patterns of movement, molecules began to be reshaped. Electrons pulled apart. The ground rumbled. I was changing things that weren't meant to be changed. I was my own worst enemy. The observer in the observer effect. The harder I looked, the more the patterns changed.
Even my own patterns. I could feel the life inside me. I was connected to all of it–the ground, the air, the plants, the trees, the water deep underground. One continuous motion of matter and energy. Connected to layers in the Fabric I could barely sense or see.
And there was the most interesting pattern in my immediate area, Lionel. I could sense his heart too, beating from the many feet between us. It's perfect rhythm of pumping. Blood rushing in one side, and pushed out the other. His arteries and veins, expanding, contracting. All the valves fluttering like the wings of an excited butterfly. A perfect organic machine. If I looked at him, it was over. I would probably kill him. Rearrange things in him that would shock the most jaded of surgeons.
Please don't let me kill this man.
I tried one last time, "Lionel! Put that gun down!" I yelled, calling on Newt's power from across downtown Santa Fe.
Through the pounding in my head, I felt his patterns shift. Become calmer, quieter.
"Lionel?" I tried again, my eyes still focused on the dirt at my feet.
I did not hear Lionel respond. Instead, I heard a low muttering of voices. Like whispers on the wind. And the panic in me, it began to recede. The tide of fear and anger was replaced with coolness and calm. I took a chance and looked up. A woman was standing next to us, not ten feet from both me and Lionel. Her hands were raised to the sides, her mouth was moving quickly. Too quickly, too low.
Whatever was happening, I was feeling better. I looked over at Lionel. He looked better too. His eyes glazed over. The gun in his hand dropped into the dirt. As did his body a second later.
"Sound body, mind and soul.
Pour your worries into these words,
Without thought, unwind, unfold
And let the tides control."
I could hear her now. It was a spell. It was a witch!
Lionel settled like the sky after a passing storm. He took a deep heavy breath then noticed his girlfriend. "Oh my god, what happened? Jany…what happened to you? Are you alright? Someone call an ambulance!" He scrambled over to her and began sputtering and squawking incoherently, as if he'd just joined the party.
Welcome back, Lionel.
"What is your name? Your full name?" she walked forward and asked him. The air around her trembled with power. She had to be a Siren.
"Lionel Reyna. My name is Lionel Reyna." He turned in the dirt to look up at her, his voice far away.
"Good. Good, your name is Lionel Reyna," she said. "Lionel you are calm and relaxed."
"I am calm and relaxed."
"Lionel, you are going to take a nap now. A quiet restful nap. A peaceful well-deserved nap."
"Yes, I am tired."
God, I need a nap too. The thought drifted up from my subconscious. I shook it off when I realized it was her.
Lionel Reyna laid down next to his girlfriend and closed his eyes. The woman walked over to me, extending her hand.
"Need some help up?"
"Oh! Please." I dusted myself off. "Who are you?"
She smiled. It was easy and relaxed. Almost a grimace. Like a happier Mona Lisa. "Aislinn Veragard," she said. "You must be Virginia."
…
We called 911, then sat and waited for the police and ambulance. As I sat there in the cold dirt, watching Lionel hold his girlfriend and cry, it occurred to me that something truly weird was happening. He had acted like he didn't know her. And I could've sworn I heard the name 'el Coco' being screamed, by him, several times. As far as I knew, el Coco was a figure from Mexican fairy tales. A sort of boogeyman creature used by parents to keep their children from doing naughty things.
The ambulance took both of them away, Lionel and his girlfriend. The EMTs probed me a few times, kept asking if I felt ok. It was annoying. I felt fine. The police just probed.
"So…this man, Mr. Reyna, stopped attacking his girlfriend suddenly? Because you asked him to?" Officer Stanza asked.
"No. He passed out." I lied.
"Ok." He scribbled into his notepad again.
"And why were you taking a walk up near the park? So far from the fair?" His tone was carefully neutral.
"That's a good question," a snarky voice said to my right. I turned to see Sandra Cravitz. Another teacher from Santa Fe Junior High. I'd met her a few times on her trips to the library. Sandra does not like yours truly. I think she suspects I pray to Satan and sacrifice chickens…or small children. Or something like that. I don't know what her problem is. She's probably just another nosy bored woman.
"Isn't this the second time you've happened upon a violent act? In the last week no less?"
Wow. News travels fast in a small city.
"And you would be?" The officer asked.
"Mrs. Sandra Marlene Cravitz," she said, haughty and self-assured.
I glanced at Officer Stanza. Who returned my glance. "Is that true?"
"Uh," I hesitated. I shouldn't hesitate. I didn't do anything wrong. "Yes. That is true."
"And this prior incident?"
"A few days ago. Downtown. I happened," I carefully used that word as well. "Upon a guy and his brother. I was out drinking and," I stopped, realizing how stupid and conspicuous I was about to sound. "Took a walk outside Teeny's."
Sandy pursed her lips. Satisfied and smug.
"Oh yeah. I remember that call. Guy was hysterical," the officer said.
"Tell me about it."
"Two hysterical men involved in crimes in under a week? Sounds very…odd." Sandra eyed me.
Officer Stanza peered at me again. "And you didn't know either men?"
"Virginia has done nothing wrong," Aislinn said, taking one calm step forward. "She saved that woman today from much worse injury. Possibly death." That wasn't entirely true. It was Aislinn that had saved her, us, in the end.
I wanted to laugh. Sandra visibly recoiled in a sort of disgust being just a few inches closer to Aislinn. Even Officer Stanza took an extra second to look. Aislinn had long wavy brown and mahogany ombre locks. That sort of two-toned style that's so popular. She wore a simple black cotton dress that wrapped around her torso and draped in front. Really draped. I could almost see her top ribs. But it wasn't distasteful. It was confident. In fact, if I were still a sleeper, I would suspect there was something very different about Aislinn. She looked like a witch. Smelled like a witch. Wore her magic on her sleeves, so to speak.
"No officer," I said, interrupting his mesmerized stare. "I didn't know them either. I guess I'm just lucky."
He stifled a laugh. "Right. Ok, so one last time. He was screaming, chasing her. He then attacked you. You tried to reason with him. You grabbed her and he gave chase?"
I nodded.
"And you didn't understand what he was saying?"
"I caught a few words here and there. That he didn't recognize her. But no, not really. He was speaking too fast."
I left out most of his burble. Especially the 'el Coco' bit. The man was clearly out of his mind.
"And you heard the screaming from street level and came up to assist?" he asked Aislinn.
"That's correct officer. But Virginia had already talked him down."
"Ok Ms. Walker, Ms. Veragard, that's all for now. If you remember something else, please call this number." He handed me a card. "But for now, this appears to be a case of domestic violence."
"Thank you officer."
Sandra opened her mouth to say something else, then quickly followed Officer Stanza back down the hill.
Aislinn shook her head. "I don't think she likes you."
"You think?" I grinned, shaking my hair out again. It still felt grimy.
Aislinn glanced over at me. "I don't remember Santa Fe being this exciting."
"Me neither. Hey, wait a second, that's right! You were Vala here before Newton."
"Many moons ago, yes. When Newton held your position. She was my Vinstri."
"Wow, I only missed you by a year or two then." Newton had only mentioned Aislinn once in ten years.
"Yeah, I missed the famous Weaver by a number of months apparently."
I swallowed and blushed.
"When I saw you back there, I knew who you were right away." She pointed at my face, her finger tracing a line back and forth in the air, her eyes zooming in on mine.
"Oh! Right. I forget. I guess I stopped noticing it years ago." That wasn't entirely true. Not in the sense I said it. But more because I stopped looking years ago. At some point, my blue eye became a constant reminder of that night. Of what I'd lost. "It was the left one. It was brown. It turned blue after…"
"After your dad died."
"After the accident, yes."
"Is uh, Lydia still around?" She politely changed topics, seeing my expression pale. "I miss her cupcakes more than Santa Fe I think. Though my ass is grateful for the respite."
I laughed. "Yeah, she's still around. I know what you mean. I was just stuffing my face with her goodies not an hour ago. She's down at the fair you know? You should say hi."
"I will. Speaking of the festival, I have to get back downtown. Walk with me?"
"Oh my god! Me too." Antoinette was gonna be furious. After my frantic and weird text messages and ignoring her phone call.
Aislinn and I made our way back down Peralta. She caught me staring at her in my peripheral vision.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked, her voice teasing.
"I'm sorry, Aislinn. It's just that, Newton never really talks about the old days. You're a Siren?"
"Yes, for the most part, my power is in my voice."
"You're not a lawyer too are you?"
She laughed. "Oh no! I'm a plastic surgeon."
I stopped mid-step and took another look at her. Aislinn had crystalline blue eyes, with an almost albino tendency. She had hints of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her cheek bones were high and prominent, but not overly so. Her heart-shaped lips were lightly glossed and red. She was definitely an attractive woman. Though I would not have guessed at her profession. I suppose I don't know what plastic surgeons are supposed to look like.
"What?"
"Oh! Goodness, I apologize. I didn't mean to stare," I said, picking up my pace.
"That's ok. Staring is ok." She smiled.
"It's just…you're sort of obvious."
She laughed hard and smiled even harder.
"I mean, us witches, we're supposed to be hiding or something right? Living in the shadows?"
"Mm," she chewed on her bottom lip. "Hiding is for fearful people. You're not afraid are you?"
I shrugged. "I suppose not. Hey, I want to thank you again for helping me out back there. I apologize for not saying something. Recognizing that you were casting."
"It's ok. You were a little preoccupied."
"Man, no kidding. What was wrong with that guy anyway. Not to be nosy but, what were you doing up there? How did you know? Don't you live in Colorado or something?"
"Arizona. I took over the coven in Tonto County when I left Santa Fe. It's a much different game. Managing a coven that big."
"How many?"
"Eighty-five last I counted."
"Wow." I had trouble keeping up with thirty of us.
"But I still have family here, my sister. She's a sculptor and these festivals are a great way for her to attract new clients. She actually lives just up the street from the cross. But you know how artists are," she laughed. "She forgot her planner this morning, so I walked back up to the house to get it. When I was walking back down, I could feel it. Something pulling me up that hill."
"Huh, lucky for us."
"There's no such thing as luck, Virginia. Forgetting her planner must've been part of my plan today. And yours."
Aislinn may not be a lawyer like Newt, but she sure sounded like her.
"I knew someone was in trouble. A witch was in trouble."
"Well, however you got there, I'm glad you showed up."
"You were doing just fine. But I have to ask, I don't understand one thing."
"What's that?"
"Why you didn't use your power. If the rumors are true, not that I believe everything I hear, then you have control over matter. Over time. Who knows what else."
"That is a good question isn't it."
Truth is, maybe I don't use it enough. Maybe I don't experiment. But this gift came at the expense of my father's life. I don't have the right to go around treating it like a toy.
Our footsteps echoed through the empty residential streets between us and the fair, emphasizing the quiet.
"It's complicated," I finally said.
"Fair enough. It's really none of my business anyway."
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude."
"It's ok, I might feel the same way. If I had been through the same thing."
"What do you mean?"
"I can only imagine what's it's like for you. Magic has been in my family for generations. The women in my family have been natural witches for as long as I can remember. I hear that your mother is a very powerful witch. But if I hadn't been born with it…to have my power wakened on the back of such a tragedy, I would feel…conflicted I suppose."
"Yeah. A little," I said. Though that was pretty much spot on.
"You know, I lost someone very close to me too, many years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She sighed. "Thank you for that. It was a long time ago. But I can still feel it, you know?"
I did know.
"And death…death leaves you with nothing but memories. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if even those were real. Sucks doesn't it? When you're a victim of the Fates."
I don't hate a lot of things. And I certainly treasured words. But those two words…victim and fate. They rubbed at my insides like sandpaper. I was stubbornly holding on to the idea that I had ultimate control of my environment and my destiny.
"I'm a lot of things Aislinn, but I'm no victim." I was getting angry again. And I didn't know Aislinn very well. I picked up my pace.
"I'm sorry, Virginia. I didn't mean to imply that you were."
"It's ok."
"And not to mention having a bunch of old women saying that the event was blessed and foretold," she said after a few minutes of silence.
Now she sounded like me. We laughed at her terrible impression of the group of ancient prophets.
I peeked over at her. "Do you believe what they say? What we say? That every event has a purpose, has a place in the tides?"
"Do I believe that using a particular type of toothpaste over another will affect the rise or fall of mankind? No. I believe in choice. Like my mother used to say, we all get shit instead of pie in life from time to time. But we must make the best of our circumstances."
I took another look at Aislinn. What a terribly grounded thing for a witch to say. I liked it. I agreed.
"Hey, wait a second, weren't you summoned for the upcoming council seat?"
Aislinn looked too young to be summoned. If I had to guess, she was barely in her late-thirties. Then again, Newton was barely into her early forties.
"Yeah. Ironic isn't it?" she smiled. "I take it you don't believe then?"
"Believe what?"
"In fate. In the ripples. In the tides."
"I believe in the present. I believe in being a good person. I believe in doing good things, helping others, when you can. Simple stuff I guess."
I may be a witch. Famed for my crazy woo-woo powers. But I'm still a person. And I still had my own beliefs. No one could take that from me.
"Do you?" I asked.
"Well, they probably wouldn't have summoned me for the seat if I didn't," she smiled. "I do believe in the search for meaning. In our greater purpose. I do believe in the greater ripples, yes. We are working toward something."
"And what would that be?"
Her smile widened. "I don't know yet. But when I'm chosen for the council, I'll be sure to tell you."
I laughed easily and shook my head. "You can keep it, thank you very much."
We walked in silence until we reached the cathedral. She stopped at the corner, "This is my stop."
"Hey, thanks again."
"I'm glad to help a fellow witch anytime. Look, Virginia," Aislinn carefully studied my face, as if debating whether or not I was sane. "I know we don't know each other very well. But have you spoken to your father since his assent?"
His 'assent'. His death.
"No. But I have tried."
"Well, my sister is an incredibly gifted Mortora. She could probably find him. She could find Elvis at a speed metal convention."
I laughed.
"If you had such a need to talk to Elvis," she smiled.
"That's a nice offer, Aislinn. But I don't know."
She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and scribbled something on it. "Here. This is my number. And the address of our house in Santa Fe. If you change your mind."
"Thanks."
She walked away; I looked down at the paper in my hand. I'd had Faith, along with a handful of other Mortora's, search for him many times in the last ten years. I finally gave up after a while. It was too heartbreaking. But maybe it was time to try again. Maybe…
"Virginia." A familiar voice boomed behind me. I couldn't help it. I cringed a little.
Newton and Antoinette were walking up Cathedral Place. Probably going to find me.
"Newton. What are you doing back here?"
"Antoinette called me."
Antoinette shrugged helplessly.
"Why? I'm fine." I purposely did not move my forearms. They'd taken a beating. And they were sore.
"Was that?" Newton asked, spotting the back of Aislinn's firey tips as they turned down Washington Avenue.
"Aislinn. From the coven over in Tonto County."
"I know where she is now." Newton's expression was carefully neutral.
"Wasn't she summoned for the Western seat too?" Antoinette asked. "What is she doing here?"
"She's visiting her sister. And she saved me. She saved us."
"What happened?"
I told Newt and Antoinette everything. With the exception of how much trouble I'd had controlling my power. But Newton, she's one tricky witch. Her intuition is sharper than a razor. I was betting she already knew.
"So…this symbol, do you know what it is? Have you seen it before?" Newt asked.
"I don't know what it is. And I looked through the book for any reference to it or harbingers."
"Wait, wait. So you have seen it before?"
"Ugh." I hadn't told Newton or Antoinette about the symbol or weird sounds coming from the aether in the past week. "Remember the other night? I saw it then too. Before I ran into those two brothers."
"Man, you're not very smart for a smart person," Antoinette said.
"You're not helping."
"Sorry." She shrugged again.
"Why didn't you tell us? Tell me?" Newton asked, her voice tinted with seedlings of irritation.
"I guess I forgot."
"You forgot. Then why didn't you call when you were out there? Ask for help? Use your power? Why are you so stubborn?"
"I did! And I'm not stubborn, I'm independent!" I yelled then stood back as two senior Mexican women passed us carrying arms full of pottery. They stared over their shoulders at us until they reached the street.
Newton leaned into me and whispered. "Virginia, I nearly ran into a Starbucks after you called my threads."
Oops. I'd forgotten about that. Trying to call on Newton's power on the hill. "Sorry. I got desperate."
She sighed and stood straighter. "Can you draw it?"
"Draw what? The symbol?"
"Yes."
"If you think it will help. I think so."
"Just humor me."
I drew the concentric circles around the outer one. The six spires with colored dots, extending out from the center. I described the various colors. Newton insisted I describe each color as it appeared in the circle, to its respective placement in a spire.
"What do you think it means?"
"Pretty. But I've never seen it," Antoinette said.
Newton studied the image hard, her significant intellectual wheels turning. "This looks like the Wheel of the Year. The symbol representing the seasonal festivals. We gave up following the Wheel about a half century ago. Though a lot of modern pagans still use it." She ran her fingers over the concentric inner circles and spires. "But the posts, the spires are incomplete. There should be eight, not six. And these breaks in the lines, the dots, I've never seen that."
"What about the colors? They don't seem to be in a pattern either."
"I would say they almost resemble the Hindu chakro, but the darker, almost black, at the top is throwing me off. Traditionally, that would be red. To represent grounding, stability, being in a physical body. And what about the seventh? It could be the center, or the edges…maybe these are the chakras and these colors are different for a reason. I don't know."
"I don't get the sense that this…thing, is dangerous. I also couldn't tell you what it is, or where it came from."
"So that's it?"
"That's it."
"Alright," she said decisively. "I'm taking you to the house."
"Antoinette's?"
"My house."
"No. No! I can't leave. I promised I would chaperon tonight for corn maze duty. And my word means something. I have to show up."
Her dark eyes fluttered. I wasn't sure if she was considering bespelling me or whacking me over the head. "Then…I will accompany you during this corn-maze duty. You can't go anywhere by yourself anymore."
"What?! Newton, I'm a grown-ass woman. I don't need parental supervision or a security detail."
"We have to treat these incidents like an attack on all of us. When one member of the coven suffers, we all feel it. There's no I in team, Virginia."
My ginger skin reddened even further. "I swear Newton, if you say somethin' like that one more time."
"I'm sorry," she actually laughed, her voice softening. "Look, truth is…I'm worried about you. You're not just my Vinstri, you're my friend. And you know, it can't hurt to have the power of three at your command. Besides," she glanced around us. "I feel like I need to be here."
"Fine," I finally huffed.
If Newton got a 'feeling', it was best to proceed with caution. Besides, she was right. Something weird was happening. To me. These events, I couldn't believe they were coincidence anymore. Or if there were more to come.