by M L Garza
A haunted radiator was beneath someone like Rachel, but it was exactly what she needed to clear her head.
“So, what do you think?”
She and Alice stood in front of the old car in the shed, their arms crossed as they stared at the thing. If one didn’t know better, one would think it was just a bit of trouble with the engine judging by the low-level rattling it was doing. Hardly something to call the local witch coven about.
That was, until the car began to growl at them in Latin.
“Damnant quod non intellegunt!”
“I don’t think it’s the radiator,” Rachel said.
“Nec aspera terrent!”
“And I don’t think it’s very intelligent,” she added.
“What is it saying?” Alice asked, looking between the young witch and her mother’s car.
The car revved dangerously but stayed put. For now.
“Just random phrases. I don’t even think it knows what it’s saying.” Rachel rolled up her sleeves and turned her back on the car to head toward Madeline and her daughter’s house. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s out shopping with some friends.” Alice jogged to catch up, occasionally shooting nervous glances behind her as the car snarled and revved in their wake.
“Haud ignota loquor!”
Once inside the baker’s home, Rachel began to formulate a plan. It was almost too easy to get back into problem-solving mode, even with the stress of Samhain always lurking at the edge of her consciousness. This was something she was familiar with, a challenge she was more than capable of facing alone.
But life was not made of boggarts stuck in old car radiators, and she would face much worse than that before the week of that.
Don’t think of that, she reminded herself as she took a seat at the table. You have a job to do. Focus on that instead.
“What are you going to do, Rachel?” Alice asked, sitting across from her. She kept glancing outside the window over the sink as if the haunted car would come flying in under its own power to attack them.
A proper demon, perhaps, but a boggart could never do such a thing…
“Lure it out,” Rachel said. “We need to offer it something it wants more than your mom’s car.”
“Like what?”
Rachel thought for a moment, a finger rubbing the bridge of her nose as it usually did when sussing out a problem. There wasn’t much on hand to work with; she hadn’t expected the day to hold anything more dangerous than a possible run-in with Grey. All of her equipment was at home, but if there was one thing her Aunt Miriam taught her, it was that a proper witch can always improvise with what was around her.
And what she had was Alice.
Oh, she’s not going to like this.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” the plump girl asked nervously. Her golden curls bounced as she looked right and left as though to discover what held Rachel’s sudden interest.
Unfortunately for her, she had to have a boggart in the car, and there were only a few things boggarts would go for once nested in.
“What did you have to eat this morning?” Rachel asked instead.
“Uh, just some overcooked danishes from the shop, why?”
“Any of that hot chocolate too?”
Alice blinked, still not quite grasping where her friend was going with this. “Well, yes…”
“Perfect. I’m going to need a shot glass, some chamomile tea, and a little paring knife.”
“Uh, why?”
“Trust me.”
She felt bad about it, truly she did, but there was no way around it. And by the time Alice realized what the witch meant to do, it was too late to try anything else. The car was getting louder and louder and had scooted a few feet closer to the house.
“It won’t hurt very much, I promise.” Rachel told her when they had washed both the knife and Alice’s hands thoroughly.
“Are you sure there’s no other way?” the girl asked in a high-pitched tone that betrayed her oncoming panic. “I need my hands to cook, Rachel.”
“I’ll heal as much of it as I can. It should be totally fine by the morning.”
Alice shook her head, not convinced. She eyed the knife Rachel was holding as if it was working for the boggart itself and about to strike. “How will I explain this to mom?”
The young witch sighed and glanced out the kitchen window at the slowly advancing car. They didn’t have time for this. “You can tell her the truth or say you cut your hand at work. That’s easy enough to do there, right?”
“Well, yes…”
“Perfect. Give me your hand.”
Alice hesitated.
“Please,” Rachel sighed. “The only way that boggart is going to come out is if I can offer it something better than a rusty old car. There’s no way it’ll be able to turn down fresh blood from someone who had pastries for breakfast.”
The woman grimaced but finally nodded, holding out a trembling hand for the witch to take. “Just… not too deep, ok?”
It would be a lie to agree, so Rachel said nothing instead. She murmured a soft spell to reduce the pain and encourage healing even as she pressed down with the sharp paring knife. The flesh split easily into a deep two-inch wound, and blood immediately began pouring out. She continued murmuring the spell for pain even as Alice whimpered, and held the hand over the shot glass.
Blood magic was a forbidden art to the coven of Ashwood Falls, and even using it as a lure was flirting dangerously close to it. The council would have disapproved for sure, and Aunt Mirriam would most likely have tossed a boggart into her closet to exorcise in punishment.
It can’t be helped, I have no time. No time for anything.
She watched as the blood continued to pour, not satisfied until it was at least a quarter full. By then, poor Alice was pale and shaking. Not for lack of blood, but from the ordeal, and Rachel knew she could not take much more of this. So, with one last squeeze of her hand, she finally released the girl.
Alice ran to the sink to wash out her hand while Rachel contemplated the glass before her. She hated working with blood, glad it was a magic Ashwood never encouraged.
“Are you sure this will work?” Alice asked from the sink. “Because I’m not doing that again.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, meaning it. “But yeah, it should work.”
She picked up the shot glass and stood to join the young baker at the sink. She peered over her shoulder at the old car, now halfway up the lawn and still sputtering random Latin phrases. The thing was probably sick, only made stronger due to the upcoming Samhain.
A soft sound of surprise caught her attention. Alice had stopped washing her hand and was now simply looking at it in wonder. Where there was once a deep wound that would surely require stitches was now only a thin pink line; the beginnings of what would be a scar within days.
“Amazing,” Alice breathed, and she smiled at the other woman.
Rachel smiled back and held up the shot glass of blood. “Let’s see if your mom’s car is hungry, shall we?”
They returned to the front of the house where the car sat grumbling at them.
Rachel approached the vehicle first, something Alice seemed very happy to let her do, and dangled the glass in front of it. “Ok, you pile of rust. Look what I’ve got.”
“Semper liber!”
“Yeah, ok. But you know you want this.” She edged closer to the car before crouching down in front of it. She nearly flinched back when the car revved again and flashed its headlights, but she forced herself still. If she couldn’t face down a simple boggart, what hope did she have of defeating the Leviathan?
Carefully, she put the shot glass down in front of the car and backed away, watching it for any signs of inner movement.
The car was quiet for a moment, all was still.
Then it lurched forward and crushed the bloody glass beneath a tire. “Faciam quodlibet quod necesse est!”
“Hey!” Alice shouted. “Tha
t was good stuff, you asshole car!”
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Rachel stood completely and returned to Alice’s side. “Your mom really should have called us sooner. That boggart is going to be hard to get out of there if he doesn’t want blood.”
“What now?” the girl asked. “We can’t just leave it like that.”
“We won’t.” Rachel put a hand on her shoulder and offered a comforting smile. “We’re going to tie it down so it doesn’t go anywhere, and I’ll go home to get some supplies. Then, I’ll come back and do it right. Now where do you keep the rope?”
A witch’s work is never done...
Chapter 4
“Where have you been?”
Great. Exactly what she didn’t need.
Rachel stopped mid-stride on the front lawn, the front door of the house just ten feet away. Behind her, she could feel Bryan’s presence getting closer. Of all people, it had to be Bryan. He was Sierra’s son, though not in the running for heir to the coven like she was. This was a matriarchal coven, and so no matter his talent, the highest rank Bryan would ever reach would be counsel warlock.
“Rachel?”
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me.
“What?” she sighed, not turning around. Couldn’t he just leave her alone for once?
“You’ve been gone a while.”
“Needed some air. I didn’t think I had to check out with you every time I left the house.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Princess. Not until Samhain, that is. Then you’d better show us something good.”
Rachel did turn around at that point. She shouldn’t have taken the bait, she knew that, but after the failure that morning and then dealing with Grey and Latin-spewing car, Bryan was simply the last straw.
“Look,” she huffed, digging her fists into her hips. “If you want to do the stupid spell instead, be my guest. It’s not working for me anyway so maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Maybe? Yeah, right.” Bryan smirked and shook his head, not at all appearing tempted by the idea like she expected. “You think that spell would work for me? You think it’s supposed to?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
But then he shrugged and shook his head again, giving her that stupid grin that he always gave when he knew something that she didn’t. “Use your head for once, Princess,” he said. “I’m not going to get eaten by that thing. Not over you. But you better figure it out by Samhain or you’ll end up just like your mother. And I don’t mean it as an insult either.”
He looked as though he would say more, but the front door opened and several members of the coven walked out, two young men about their age discussing a Halloween party happening somewhere downtown later that week before their own festivities were to begin.
“Bryan!” one of them called out, interrupting him from what he was about to say. “Get over here. I want your opinion on something.”
She used the distraction to walk away, slipping between the pair and walking into the house. He never respected her higher rank within the coven, not even in front of his mother the high priestess, but he’d save the worst of the comments for times where he had her alone.
First Grey and his suspicions and now Bryan and his snark… couldn’t a girl catch a break? Rachel knew she shouldn’t do anymore conjuring, that she should take an honest break like her aunt said, but dammit she had some steam to work off.
Rather than take a right into the communal area, she took a left and stalked down toward the ceremonial chambers once more. She had a spell to practice before she returned to Alice’s.
She didn’t lock the door behind her, not even Sierra was allowed to lock anyone out of a public space, but Rachel hoped the closed door would keep prying eyes away. Even if she weren’t in a foul mood, she needed all her concentration to try and get this right.
The black marble altar lay in the middle of the floor, an enemy where it had once been an old friend. It taunted her, mocked her weakness simply in the act of sitting there. It dared her to try once more, like it did every time.
Well joke’s on you, you slab of old rock. It’s my turn now.
Rachel lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward, not allowing the altar or the spell to intimidate her. If she was afraid, then the Leviathan had already won long before she summoned it from the black maw of the Nothing.
She took the coven’s Book of Shadows from its special nook, leaving the other items in their place for now. The athame, herbs, and crystals would stay in their places until the actual day of the ritual. The book was placed at the head of the altar and opened nearly to the end. Some of the pages of the spell were missing, torn off in the battle that killed her mother, but the contents were told to her by Mirriam and the others.
Kneeling before the altar, she cleared her mind of Grey, Bryan, and everything else that didn't exist within the four walls around her. Although the spellbook was open before her, she didn't even need it at this point; she knew it by heart. She'd been studying it over a year now, every day, since she knew the task before her. She pulled the power within her and summoned it forth, demanding it no longer remain dormant.
The magic was hers to command. Hers to order to bend to her will and she would not be denied!
Yet just like every other time, the spell eluded her, and slipped her grasp.
"No!" she cried, reaching out with her hand as if it could physically bend the invisible wisps. "You will do what I say! Come to me!"
It mocked her, and when she turned her inner ear to listen for the magic, she could hear it laughing at her, mocking her pain and desperation. It dared to call itself her master.
She slammed her fist against the marble altar before her. It did nothing to the altar itself, but she felt the thin skin split from the force of the blow. The pain was a welcome change from the endless nothing that the horrible spell offered him.
"It won't help. I promise you that."
Damn the spell and damn Aunt Mirriam. What was the good of having doors in this house if no one respected them when they were closed?
"Why can't you just leave me alone for once?" Rachel growled through the pain. She pulled up her bleeding hand and clutched it to her chest, letting the throbbing ease the frustration for now.
I can’t even banish a boggart! How can I possibly do this?
"Not at a time like this I can't. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry. They're sorry. Everyone's sorry, but no one can help me!" Rachel blinked away the burning in her eyes that threatened to turn into tears. She heard her aunt walk toward her and finally looked over to watch her approach. How many times had they replayed this scene? How many more times would they?
"But we can help you," her aunt insisted. "Maybe not in the way you want us to."
Rachel stood and went to her, letting Mirriam hold her, needing and hating it in the same breath.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Rachel,” her aunt said, smoothing her hair back gently. “We’ll be right there beside you no matter what.”
“But my mother. She—”
“We’ll be ready this time. You’re stronger than she was, Rachel. You can do this, I know you can.”
"And what if I fail?" Rachel whispered. "What if that day comes and the same thing happens? What if the Leviathan comes and I can't stop it?"
"Why do you want to think of such a horrible thing?" Aunt Mirriam asked. "Even the slightest doubt could weaken the magic within you and cause it to rebel."
"Because we both know there can only be two outcomes if I'm not able to destroy the Leviathan, Aunt Mirriam."
Her aunt quieted, but her hold tightened.
"Either it devours me and it’s satiated, like that night with my mother... or it isn't satisfied and devours the world."
Chapter 5
Her aunt stayed with her a while longer, doing what she could to help Rachel with every technique she thought n
eeded perfecting. At this point, it was all minute and minor. It was more the act itself of helping that made her feel better than any true guidance.
When there was finally nothing more to do, Rachel sat back against the altar beside Mirriam and gazed around the room. It was bare now, but in only a few days it would be completely transformed into something unrecognizable.
Just like her. Just like the coven. Just like the world.
“What now?” Rachel asked, contemplating a wet stain in a corner that had been there since she could remember.
“We need to get you out of here,” her aunt said. “You’ll go mad otherwise and then you won’t be any good at all.”
Rachel nodded listlessly. “Feel like tackling a boggart with me?”
Mirriam chuckled softly and nudged her with a foot. “Thought you’d never ask,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s been a long time since we worked together.”
It had been, hadn’t it? It seemed only yesterday that Rachel was tagging along with her aunt to jobs to see how Ashwood witches helped the community, but that was truly many years ago. Now it was Rachel leading the younger ones out into town to show them the ropes, being the example for the next generation to come.
Careful not to sully the spellbook with any blood, she put it back in its place of honor on the shelf. Blood magic was strictly forbidden within the coven of Ashwood, and even the accidental use of it, something as benign as a light smear, could be ruinous to them all
“Come on then,” Rachel said. “You’ll like this one. It speaks Latin.”
“Ooh, old school,” Mirriam grinned. “I can’t wait.”
Neither, it seemed, could Alice or Madeline.
When Rachel and her aunt pulled up to the old house, both bakers were already waiting outside for their arrival. Madeline still wore her uniform from work, flour and frosting spattered here and there over her front and in her hastily pulled-up hair. She looked like an older version of Alice, beautiful and fiery. The Queen of Sweet Nuthins.
