Better Witch Next Time

by Stephanie Damore

  "Of course I know Archie, but I haven't seen him. And if you do, do me a favor and tell him that he's fired," the old man grumbled.

  "Fired?"

  "The boy didn't show up for work again. I told him if he was a no-show one more time, he was out of a job. I'm a man of my word, unlike that young boy." The man shook his finger at me. "I need employees I can rely on. I'm an old man. I can't work seven days a week anymore."

  "I guess that makes two of us looking for him," I said, handing the man my change for the purchase. "Do you happen to know where he lives?"

  "If I knew that, I'd head there myself and let him have it. Can't believe he didn't show again. Now I have to stand here all day with my gout acting up. I'm not going to be able to walk the rest of the week."

  I felt bad for the man, truly I did. I wished I gifted in the healing department. My skills were more of the kicking-butt and mystery-solving type. That didn't mean I couldn't send some healing energy his way. In the meantime, I asked if he needed anything. "Do you have a stool to sit on?" I asked.

  "Nah, don't mind me. I'm just a grumpy old man with a bum foot," he replied.

  But I couldn't let it go. Here I was complaining about my feet hurting me, but I knew this man was truly uncomfortable. I took my candy and walked down the street to the grocery store. It was a smart pit stop, considering I should probably pick up a couple of items in case the Hendrickses returned home while I was out. I picked up a basket and walked the aisles, placing a loaf of bread inside and some cold cuts. Judging by the rate that Mary's platter of sandwiches disappeared in the fridge, it was evident that the Hendrickses were fans of sandwiches and late-night snacking. In fact, I suspected that Mr. Hendricks slept only a handful of hours a night, choosing instead to lock himself inside his study and burn the midnight oil. I had yet to find out what the man did for a living, but that was about to change. Before checking out, I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and a cold Coke for the newspaper stand man, too. Pain relievers and caffeine were pretty much my go-to for any non-magical ailment.

  The old man was chatting up another customer, still complaining about his foot, when I set the two bottles down on the wooden counter in front of him.

  "Maybe this will help. Give it a try," I said with a wink. If anything, the old man would at least know that someone cared. He was speechless, but in a good way. I walked away and took the rest of my purchases with me inside the Hendrickses' building.

  On the second floor, I cautiously opened the apartment door and stepped inside, thankful to be greeted by silence. It seemed that both Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks had yet to return home, and if they had stopped in while I was out and later questioned me on it, I would simply tell them that I had stepped out to run to the market, which wasn't a total lie.

  I walked through the apartment just to make sure the place was empty except for George and then headed to Mr. Hendricks' study. Like always, the door was locked. Even when he was inside working, I could hear him click the lock shut behind him. I put my ear to the door, listening intently to make sure that he wasn't inside and then decided it was time for me to enter.

  Thankfully, tumbling locks was Witchcraft 101. It was simply a matter of me taking a hold of the door handle, closing my eyes, and envisioning the metal pieces tumbling together, aligning to the right degree and gaining me entry. The entire process took me about three seconds. The doorknob twisted freely in my hand, and I pushed the door inward and stepped across the threshold.

  What a mess, were my first thoughts. Mr. Hendricks had books everywhere—crammed onto bookcases, stacked on his desk, and even arranged in towering columns on the floor. In fact, I was convinced he had more books in his collection than even some small-town libraries. This man would love the Internet, of that I was certain. Whatever he did, he was big into research. The books were all scientific in nature, heavy into chemistry and biology, several of which were scholarly journals and hand-bound copies.

  Mr. Hendricks' desk was up against the left-hand side wall. Directly across from his desk on the opposite wall was a tapestry. At first, it was hard for me to make out what it was, what with stacks of books covering two thirds of it, but I shortly realized that it was the periodic table of elements. Different colored threads were used to separate the table's categories—earth metals were embroidered in a different color than transition metals, and nonmetals such as the gases were embroidered in an entirely different color from the halogens. The result was a rich tapestry full of reds, greens, blues, and golds. While it was fascinating, the tapestry wasn't going to help me find Irene. What I needed was a clue, and my intuition was telling me that I needed to take a closer look at Mr. Hendricks' work. However, with this much paperwork and clutter, I wasn't even sure where to start. Thank goodness I'm a witch.

  Once more, I closed my eyes and turned in a full circle, extending my hand out at a 45° angle as if securing the space around me a circle of light. I walked in the circle a handful of times, not enough to make me feel dizzy, but just enough to feel grounded and calm. Then I said the magic words.

  Heaven and Earth I call thee,

  Show me the clues that I cannot see,

  to find Irene and restore her to me.

  A soft, warm wind rose up around me. I opened my eyes to see the papers on Mr. Hendricks' desk rise up and swirl slowly in the air like a controlled vortex until one piece of paper left the funnel and floated to me. I looked at the paper, my fingers feeling the ridge of the official government seal, and tried to piece together what the documents meant.

  It was a birth certificate, only I didn't recognize the name listed on it.

  The mother's name had been blacked out. All I knew was that the baby had been born in Allegheny County on April 3, 1940. Baby Howell. Howell. I said the name out loud to myself. I knew that last name. And if I could pick up the phone and call my best friend Lexi right then and there, at that moment, I would have. Lexi was a Howell descendant. She may go by Sanders in the modern world, but she always took her family name when working cases for the agency. The Howells were powerful witches and had a long history in the craft.

  I looked at the dates again. Seeing it was currently 1958, that meant the baby would be just over 18. The same age that Irene was now. Was Irene baby Howell? If that was the case, and Irene had been adopted, did she know the truth? And more than that, did that make Irene a witch? Could she be blocking her location? And if so, why?

  Just another piece of the puzzle.

  I walked the document back over to Mr. Hendricks' desk, where the rest of the papers had resorted themselves into their proper locations. The paper magically rose up from my hands and tucked itself back in place. That's when I found my second clue, Mr. Hendricks’ checkbook. The desk drawer was pulled open, perhaps the work of my earlier spell, or maybe just Mr. Hendricks’ negligence. Regardless, I pulled the binder out of the drawer and opened it up. On one side were blank checks, while on the other side were their stubs. The bills were mundane, checks for the utilities and donations to charity groups, but there was one specific paystub I was looking for, and that was for their regular housekeeper, Mary. I found several of them, and now I knew Mary's last name—Petrov. Hopefully that would be enough to find her.

  Old-fashioned phone books of the 1950s were things of beauty with their thick spines that would land with a thump on people's doorsteps year after year. The Hendricks didn't disappoint; they kept a tome in their kitchen drawer next to the phone. In fact, I knew exactly where was because Mr. Hendricks' weekly menu sat on top of it.

  I shut Mr. Hendricks' desk drawer and went to make my way to the kitchen when I stopped dead in my tracks in the doorway. Mr. Hendricks himself came walking into his office. We were face-to-face; in fact, we had almost collided. If there ever was a moment to freak out, this was it.

  But I couldn't freak out.

  I had to act fast.

  I reached out and grabbed Mr. Hendricks by his wrist. The shock of finding me in his office was still plastered on his face. I
felt the jolts fly from my fingertips and into his body, firing all the way up to his brain to rewire his neurons.

  I held on to his wrist until his expression softened, guiding him to turn until he and I had switched spots. He now appeared to have been in his office and I had been walking in. Slowly, I let go and clasped my hands behind my back.

  "You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked Mr. Hendricks innocently.

  "I did?" Mr. Hendricks brain was still off in space. "I, I don't remember..." He furled his brow, and I didn't want him to struggle too hard to remember.

  "You would like some lunch, a sandwich, isn't that right?" I nodded my head in encouragement.

  "Yes...ah, a sandwich would be great," Mr. Hendricks said, his voice a bit shaky.

  "I'll bring that in for you in just a moment." I smiled as genuinely as possible and then turned on my heel and went to do just that.

  It wasn't until I had gotten a sandwich together along with some chips and an iced tea and delivered it all to Mr. Hendricks that my heart rate had finally settled back to normal. The man sure didn't keep normal business hours. I was going to have to be more careful with my snooping in the future.

  Chapter 6

  I vowed to play the perfect housekeeper for the rest of the night, not wanting to arouse any suspicion that Mr. Hendricks' subconscious might want to dredge up.

  That evening, the phone rang a half a dozen times. It didn't matter who answered it, the caller always hung up. My mind raced with the possibilities—was it Irene trying to get in touch, but someone kept interfering with the call, or perhaps it was whoever had taken her, if that was the case. What was the caller's motive? Or, was it seriously just a bunch of wrong numbers?

  "I'll get it," Mr. Hendricks said as the third call had come in at dinnertime. Mrs. Hendricks and I had already each taken a turn answering the phone, but once again, no one was on the other end.

  "I told you to get our phone line checked," Mrs. Hendricks said. "I'm tired of this happening."

  "It's not like it happens all the time," Mr. Hendricks retorted.

  "Frequently enough," Mrs. Hendricks replied, leaving the conversation at that.

  Tonight, there was no talk of Irene at the dinner table. In fact, outside of that one conversation about the phone line, the Hendrickses didn't speak to each other at all. I found being in their presence to be insufferable, and I had a strong feeling that Irene had felt the same way. Now that I knew Irene might be a witch, I was back to thinking that she and Archie had simply run off together to make a new life of their own. After all, he hadn't shown up for work that day either.

  That still didn't fully explain the fog that had rolled in. Would Irene know how to do that? If so, she had a mentor, and I had no clue who that could be. Phone books at the time were impressive, but they weren't that impressive. Not only that, but Irene would have to be punching some serious power. More power than I'd ever heard a young witch possessing. The fog was a fact that I couldn't ignore, and a theory was just a theory until I had the evidence to prove it otherwise.

  That night, I woke to the sound of the fire escape creaking outside my bedroom's open window. I had no idea what time it was since digital alarm clocks weren't a thing yet, and the room was completely dark except for the light from the almost full moon outside. I thought for a moment that it must've just been my imagination or perhaps the wind had wrestled me awake, but then I heard it again. The creaking sound of footsteps; there was no mistaking it now. I darted my head from side to side and then quietly got out of bed, backing up until I was pressed against the same wall as my window. Slowly, I moved to look outside the drapes, hoping to catch a sight of who my visitor may be. I caught a glimpse of a man just as he climbed into Irene's bedroom window.

  I could've gone about this a couple of different ways; I could have rushed out of my room and thrown Irene's bedroom door open to catch the intruder in a rather dramatic fashion, or I could've even started screaming to alert the Hendrickses that someone had come into their home.

  But I wasn't going to do any of those things.

  No, I wanted to sneak up on this person and deal with him my way.

  I opened my bedroom window up slightly further so that I could step out onto the fire escape myself. With my back against the building, I crept along until I was at Irene's window. I crouched down and peered inside, unable to see the gentleman who had entered. Had he already exited Irene's bedroom? Was he now somewhere else, roaming about the apartment? Could he be about to attack the Hendrickses in their sleep?

  I ducked down into Irene's bedroom. My eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of movement. That's when I saw him. The man was to my right and he was going through Irene's desk drawers. He was looking for something, but I wasn't going to give him the time to find it. I stalked up behind him and twisted his arm behind his back with one hand, clapping my other hand over his mouth, and whispered, "Don’t make a sound. Do you hear me?"

  The intruder's body jerked in surprise and then he seemed to be paralyzed in fear. He began trembling under my fingertips. I quickly realized that the man was much younger than I had initially presumed, and I had a feeling I knew who he was, but I was going to make him tell me who he was and not presume his identity.

  "We're going to go back outside that window and you and I are going to have a couple of words. Do you understand?"

  The young man nodded.

  "Good." I dropped my hand from his mouth but still held on to his arm behind his back as I led him to the window. I had him step out first with me holding on behind him. I swore to myself that if he even attempted to make a run for it, I would blast him so fast he would think he had been struck by lightning, which would be a pretty accurate description.

  Once outside, the young man immediately started apologizing. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to talk to Irene." He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "I swear, I just need to talk to her."

  "What's your name?" I asked, even though I was almost positive that I already knew.

  "Archie," the young man replied.

  I was right, but I wasn't happy about it. If Archie was looking for Irene, then she hadn't run off with him. That made this case infinitely more complicated—and dangerous.

  "You and I need to talk," I said. "Wait here a minute and let me change. I think you and I can help each other out."

  I put on the outfit I had purchased previously that day, or make that the day before as it was now past midnight. Archie and I walked to a nearby 24-hour diner. It was the type of greasy spoon that served everyone's favorites, like pancakes the size of plates and triple-decker club sandwiches. The floor was black-and-white checkered, the vinyl booths were yellow, and by the looks of everyone's plates, the portions plenty. We sat down across from one another in one of the booths and each ordered a Coke.

  "You and Irene are close, right?" I said by way of broaching the subject.

  "I love her," Archie simply replied. He didn't look away or seem embarrassed, or even go in the opposite direction with the macho stance. It was just a straight-out flat I love her. There was such truth to his statement that it even made my cynical heart do a little pitter-patter. And that was saying something.

  "Here's the thing. No one has seen her for the last two days, and her parents have no idea where she's gone off to."

  "What do you mean? I don't understand," Archie replied rhetorically. It wasn't that he didn't understand, but rather that he didn't want to believe it.

  "So this is where I need your help in finding out what has happened to her or where she has gone off to," I said.

  "We had plans. She wouldn't have left without me," Archie said, believing every word.

  Or the locket, I thought, thinking of the piece of jewelry I had used to try to scry for Irene, and now that I knew she was adopted, I think I understood why. The picture inside the locket was Irene's birth mother. I was almost positive. The young woman in the picture had certainly resembled Irene, and that explanation made sense regarding
why the woman hadn't looked like Mrs. Hendricks.

  As I was thinking about the locket, Archie produced one from his pocket, though this one was larger and looked more like a pocket watch. That’s all I thought it was until he opened it and revealed that it was more than that—it was a watch with a lock of hair inside.

  "She gave me this for my birthday so that she could always be with me," he said. "We were going to make a life for us—just us."

  "That was you that called tonight," I said, thinking back to all the hang-ups.

  Archie nodded. "It was our code. I'd call and hang up until she answered, but she never picked up the phone tonight. Guess now I know why."

  "Archie, I'm sorry," I said.

  "I knew something was wrong when she didn't meet me last night." Archie shook his head as if he couldn't believe it. A wave of emotions poured out of him. I didn't need to be an empath to know that he was distressed.

  Out of the range of emotions that played across his face, he settled on anger.

  "Are you sure her father hasn't taken her off somewhere just to get her away from me? That seems like just the sort of plan her parents would orchestrate," Archie said with bitterness in his voice. That thought hadn't occurred to me, but I honestly didn't think that's what had happened. Especially seeing I knew for a fact that Irene's family never saw her again. If they had just taken her away for the summer or even a year, I wouldn't be here now. But that wasn't knowledge that I could share with Archie. He, however, was ready to take that idea and run with it. Hostility seemed to build behind every thought that he expressed as he rattled on about how much the Hendrickses didn't approve of him.

  "And you!" he shot across the table to me. "Who are you anyway?”

  Caught off guard by his sudden focus on me, I said simply, “I’m the housekeeper. Just temporarily, while Mary’s away.”

  “Why do you even care then, if you're just the housekeeper? I bet the Hendrickses paid you to say this to me." Archie was practically shaking as the words tumbled out of his mouth.