Imelda didn't know what everybody's problem was. How often do you find something like this? How often does somebody get the chance to reconnect with their roots? Isn't that why her parents kept those pictures in the first place? As the weeks were passing, though, Rafael's features began to haunt her. There was something about his eyes, but she couldn't place her finger on it.
It had been two weeks since her dinner with Jackie, and Imelda wasn't having any luck in the researching department. She exhausted all the online archives for New York City. She even tried the town that her family originated from, a place long forgotten by urbanization. Still nothing.
So, she supposed Clive's alternative—although crazy—was worth a try. Well, actually it was a special invite from Willow. Imelda was surprised that Willow and Clive stayed in touch. Willow was only there for one workshop before she had to go to Europe. Imelda actually looked forward to seeing her. There was something warm about Willow's presence that contrasted with the cynicism of Imelda's other friends. I guess you can say that urban life does that to you.
They met Willow at the Wicca Convention at the Moscone Center. Imelda was surprised to see Clive embracing Willow.
"Nice to see you both. Glad you two can make it," said Willow.
"Where've you been, Willow? You charted off to Europe before we got to the good stuff," said Imelda.
"I had to help out a friend. She's been trying to start up her own…business. I hate to say it, but my friend is in way over her head. But we're there for her," said Willow.
"Speaking of over her head, Imelda is still trying to find out who Rafael is," said Clive.
"Really?" asked Willow. "Well, according to the advert, there're some psychics here today. Maybe you'll have some luck?"
"I don't know, Willow. Aren't psychics known for giving bogus readings?"
"True. There are some that are hokey-dokey. But, it's worth a try. That's the great thing about these conventions. You might find little surprises."
As the three of them explored the convention, Imelda had yet to see any surprises. "Witches" were spread through the convention center, with their tables selling charms and love potions. Imelda was unimpressed, but she was trying to be respectful to Clive and Willow.
"Hey look, magic herbs to make your breasts bigger," Clive raised his eyebrows toward Imelda.
"Get the hell out of here," said Imelda, punching him playfully in the arm.
"Ouch, Clive, not cool," said Willow, as she tsked Clive.
"Ooh, there's herbs for guys. I got to see this. I'll be back," said Clive, as he made his way towards the table.
"I see a table selling Dragon's Bane. It might come in handy for my friend's sister. She's going through a change," said Willow. "I'll be back, okay."
"Yeah, definitely," responded Imelda.
Imelda walked alone. She admired a wind chime made of crystals.
"Do you want your fortune read?" asked a female voice. Imelda turned around to face a young woman with reddish-brown hair. The seated woman was dressed in a long black dress, with sleeves that resembled medieval flags.
The woman's palms were facing up. Imelda didn't want to be rude.
"I suppose so," said Imelda, as she sat opposite from the woman.
"What brings you to the convention?" asked the woman.
"My friend and I were invited by another friend," responded Imelda.
"Oh, so the redheaded woman you were with is a friend?" inquired the woman.
Imelda felt uneasy by the question. "Yes, she's a friend."
The woman gripped Imelda's hands. "It's so depressing. Most of this stuff isn't even magical."
Yeah, thought Imelda, this woman should be talking. She's dressed up like a Salem Witch Trial extra.
"I suppose so. I'm just here for fun," said Imelda, "Besides, who truly believes in magic. It's so not true."
"Oh, but I do believe in magic. I'm a witch, after all."
"Okay," remarked Imelda, the skepticism evident in her voice, "So what are you a witch of?"
"I guess you can say I've dabbled in everything. But I prefer the dark arts. I had a friend who dabbled in it. But she was too weak to take it to the next level."
Imelda just stared at this woman.
"I'm sorry. How rude of me. I should introduce myself. My name is Amy."
"Imelda. So, what do you consider real magic?"
"Something that connects you to the earth's elements. If you're in touch enough, you can really alter it for your own purposes. You don't believe me."
Imelda felt a shiver up her spine. "Oh, I do."
"Good," said Amy, "because then you would never find Rafael. Only he now spells it R-A-P-H-A-E-L."
"Excuse me?" asked Imelda, dumbfounded.
"Raphael…the long-lost relative you've been searching for for weeks," said Amy, as she gripped Imelda's hands tighter, "But are you really sure you want to meet him?"
"You mean learn about him. That would be…wait, did Clive tell you about my family history project?" asked Imelda.
"Clive. I don't know a Clive. But I'm familiar with your other little friend, and her penchant for causing trouble. And you will learn about Raphael…all right, if that's what you want to call it," said Amy.
Imelda looked nervously for Clive or Willow. She saw Clive at a table thirty feet away. He was grinning idiotically, as he held up a phallic-shaped idol. Willow was nowhere in sight.
"No, you have the power to reawaken him," Amy looked at the blank expression on Imelda's face, "The spiritual world works like a guitar string. You pluck the string a certain way, and power reverberates to make a sound…a channel of sorts. Does that make sense?"
Imelda was trying to back away, but her body would not budge.
"Okay, I'm done doing this sisterly bonding thing. You need to learn that there're consequences for associating with girls like Willow Rosenberg."
Amy's hands begin to twitch. A red mist begins to encircle her head. Imelda wanted to look at Clive, but was too scared to turn her head.
When Amy opened her eyes, Imelda could've have sworn they resembled black orbs. Amy raises her hands, and directs them at Imelda's head. The red mist seems to penetrate Imelda's eyes and nose.
Her thoughts are hazy, until she sees Raphael—as he looked in the picture. She sees him posing for the photograph. She sees him walking into a speakeasy alone. She sees him stripped naked and encircled by a group of men. She sees him being violated and tortured and thrown in the river to drown. She sees…she sees….
"Imelda, speak to me. Come on." Imelda begins seeing Willow's facial features.
"What the hell happened to me?" asked Imelda. Her head felt heavy as Clive lifted her up.
"I don't know. You were standing one minute, and then you were on the floor."
"Where's Amy?" asked Imelda.
"Who's Amy?" asked Clive.
A look of concern spread across Willow's face. "Okay, Imelda, listen to me. Do you remember where Amy went?"
So, Amy did know Willow.
"Clive, can you watch Imelda? I'll be right back," said a concerned Willow. She took off before Clive could respond.
Imelda was less concerned about Amy. She finally knew why Raphael's eyes began to haunt her.