The Secret of the Sacred Four

by E J Elwin

  Jessica smiled at her, then turned to Lizzie, who looked less enthusiastic. “What do you want us to do, exactly? You want us to… to kill these people? These Brotherhood people?”

  “I don’t mean to scare you, sweetie,” said Jessica, “but they’ll probably try to kill you first.” Lizzie’s eyes widened in fright. “Don’t worry, though!” said Jessica quickly. “This is what you were born for, and together, the four of you will be more than capable of defending yourselves. I’m sure that as soon as you all meet, your other powers will kick in.”

  “What other powers?” asked Sylvie, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “They’re tied to the gifts that saved your lives,” said Jessica. “Arthur, the Burned Witch, has the power to conjure and control fire with his bare hands.”

  Sylvie and Lizzie both glanced at my hands, as though expecting to see them in flames.

  “Lizzie, the Drowned Witch, you have the power to become invisible, to turn as clear as a drop of water, as Ursula put it.” Lizzie looked at her hands and the rest of her body in disbelief, as though trying to imagine how such a thing could be possible. “You can also breathe under water,” added Jessica, “and go deeper into it than anyone else ever could, into depths of the ocean where the intense pressure would normally kill someone.”

  A shadow of sadness crossed Lizzie’s face. She likely had no desire to be in the ocean or in any other deep water after what happened on the Seastar.

  “And Sylvie—” Jessica said, and she and Sylvie looked equally excited, “you, my dear, the Hanged Witch, have the power to fly— without a broomstick.”

  Sylvie’s mouth fell open in a comical expression of complete amazement, and it reminded me of Connor and the endearing way he unabashedly showed his awe at things that he found wonderful. I thought yearningly of him in the Halfway Place, beneath that otherworldly sky with its glimmering stars and massive moon. I wanted so badly to be there with him.

  “Fly?” asked Sylvie, and I was brought back to where I was. “Are you serious?!”

  “Serious as a sword through the chest!” said Jessica cheerfully. “It really is an enviable power to have. Broomsticks aren’t always the most comfortable…”

  “I can’t believe this,” Sylvie whispered, then looked quickly around at the room. “Oh, please don’t let this turn out to be a prank…”

  Jessica laughed. “I swear to you that it’s not. Just wait. In the prophecy, Ursula refers to the Hanged Witch as master of the air, which is pretty badass, frankly. There’s also no telling how much your powers will grow. Arthur teleported into my house in a cloud of ash last night.”

  Sylvie and Lizzie both looked at me as if I were an alien from outer space.

  “It’s true,” I said, grimacing sheepishly. “I don’t fully remember it, but it’s true…”

  It was weird to feel intimidated by something I, myself, had done; maybe because I hadn’t actively made the choice to do it, or because I hadn’t been able to take Connor with me, or maybe because I had wound up naked and unconscious on a stranger’s living room floor.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” said Jessica.

  She reached into her purse and brought out two of the thin silver necklaces with the purple and blue Cloaking Crystals hanging from them.

  “These are for you,” she said, handing the purple to Sylvie and the blue to Lizzie. “They’re called Cloaking Crystals. They prevent your magic from being detected. Wear them anytime you leave your houses. Magic is safe behind the walls of a place a witch calls home but outside, you’re vulnerable to being traced. It’s how the Brotherhood found Arthur and our friend Harriet in Wineville.”

  I watched them examine the small crystals and suddenly realized something. The Brotherhood detected the resurrection spell even though Harriet had been wearing her Cloaking Crystal when she cast it. She had guessed it was because the spell was so powerful and unusual that it overpowered the crystal and sent out a big enough signal for the Brotherhood to detect…

  But there were actually two witches in that cemetery casting the spell. I hadn’t chanted or consciously performed any magic, but I had taken part in the spell by killing Father Gabriel and by simply willing Connor to return… And I had done it all without a Cloaking Crystal.

  Was I the reason the Brotherhood was able to detect the spell? The reason they had found us? Had I unwillingly been the cause of Connor’s death and the deaths of so many others in Portland? The thought was too horrible to bear, and my breath caught in my throat.

  Stay calm. Don’t fall apart. You don’t know anything for sure. Harriet will know…

  “Arthur, are you okay?” asked Jessica.

  I nodded and downed the rest of my whiskey. The two Cloaking Crystals now gleamed from Lizzie and Sylvie’s necks. “It’s so pretty, thank you,” said Lizzie, admiring her crystal.

  “You’re so welcome, sweetie,” said Jessica.

  “So let’s go!” said Sylvie, practically shaking with excitement. “Let’s go find the other girl and make this happen! Where is she?”

  “Where do you think she is?” asked Jessica.

  “What do you mean?” asked Sylvie. “I thought you knew.”

  “We cast a spell to find the three of you,” said Jessica. “It told us to come here and we’ve now found two. It should take us to another place next. Where do you think we should go?”

  Sylvie looked baffled. “Why are you asking me?” she asked. “I don’t know where she is.”

  “Just pretend we’re not looking for her,” said Jessica. “Pretend the four of us are just hanging out. Where would you want to go from here? What’s the first thing you can think of?”

  “Um…” said Sylvie, looking blankly at me and Lizzie, “well, I’m kind of hungry…”

  “Great!” said Jessica. “So we’ll go get some dinner. Where should we go?”

  “Um…” said Sylvie.

  “Top of your head,” said Jessica.

  “Well, there’s a good Mexican place down the street…”

  “Sold!” said Jessica, and she rose from her seat. “Let’s go!”

  Sylvie, Lizzie, and I exchanged looks. “Come on!” said Jessica, as though we were all missing something very obvious. “The spell will lead us to her, I guarantee it. If she’s not at this Mexican restaurant, she’ll be somewhere else, but we will find her. Let’s go!”

  We rose from our seats and followed her to the bar.

  “I just have to close out my tab,” she said.

  Ed the bartender quickly stepped forward as if he’d been waiting for Jessica to rise for her next drink. I glanced at the men sitting around the bar, who were staring at Jessica, me, Sylvie, and Lizzie like we were zoo exhibits. The man in the trucker hat from earlier watched me with an expression of bitter hatred on his face. His skin had become pink and blotchy, either from the alcohol or from the bar nuts he was still shoveling into his mouth. I wasn’t scared of him but it wasn’t a nice feeling to have his beady eyes on me. He spoke for the first time as Jessica was putting her change in her purse.

  “Hey Legs, you’re not thinkin’ of leavin’ are ya?” he asked, his mouth full of bar nuts, and his true level of drunkenness clear now that he spoke.

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Jessica said calmly.

  “Come on, lemme buy ya a drink,” he slurred. “What’re ya drinkin’? Gin and tonic, right? Ed!” he grunted at the bartender. “Get the lady another gin and tonic!”

  “No, that’s fine, thank you,” Jessica said politely to the bartender. “We’re leaving.”

  “We?” Trucker Hat grunted, squinting at me. “You’re not leavin’ with junior, are ya?”

  “Now, Donny,” said Ed the bartender, “behave yourself.”

  “What?” Donny replied, bits of bar nut flying from his mouth. “Junior wouldn’t even know what to do with her. Looks like a cocksucker too,” he said, eyeing me with a gaze that was all too familiar; the gaze of a man looking in hatred upon something he doesn’t
understand.

  “Hey, fuck off!” snapped Sylvie.

  Donny squinted at her and started to say something, when Jessica intervened. “You know,” she said, looking coldly into his beady eyes, “you really shouldn’t joke. Talk with your mouth full… and you’ll choke.”

  “I got somethin’ for ya to choke on, sweetheart—” Donny grabbed his crotch, but then went silent. He made a spluttering noise and his hand moved from his crotch to his throat.

  “Sorry, what was that?” asked Jessica.

  Donny gasped for breath and his already blotchy pink face turned beet red.

  “Oh my god, he’s choking!” said Ed the bartender. He ran around from behind the bar as Donny slipped off his stool, eyes bulging, his face going slowly from red to blue. The other men jumped up from their stools and gathered around him.

  Jessica turned to me, Sylvie, and Lizzie as we watched the writhing Donny on the floor.

  “Shall we then?” she asked brightly.

  We looked at one another in amazement, then followed her to the door. On the way out, I noticed the small sign taped to it that read:

  We’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time!

  CHAPTER 13

  Huerta’s Restaurant

  Did you seriously just kill that guy?” asked Sylvie, as we walked out to the parking lot.

  “Oh, he’s fine,” said Jessica dismissively. “They’re Heimlich-ing him as we speak.”

  Sylvie watched her with admiration as we piled into the Benz. Lizzie looked uneasy.

  “So where is this place?” asked Jessica, as she started the car.

  “It’s just at the end of this street,” said Sylvie. “It’s called Huerta’s.”

  We drove past more bars and late-night dinner spots, before arriving at a building with a glowing red sign that read: HUERTA’S RESTAURANT – Fine foods from Mexico.

  A few moments later, we stood inside the softly lit restaurant which was decorated like an old-world hacienda. Rustic tiled roofs jutted out over intimate little booths, and wrought iron chandeliers stocked with electric candles bathed the place in romantic mood lighting. The booths were packed with people having lively conversations as they munched on tacos and chips and salsa, and sipped on large scrumptious-looking margaritas. I spotted a glowing jukebox in a far corner but currently the music came from a real live mariachi band in the center of the room. It consisted of three older men in traditional Mexican dress, playing their large wooden instruments just loudly enough to be heard but to also allow people to carry on conversations at their tables.

  A young hostess approached us. “How many?” she asked.

  “Four,” said Jessica, winking at me.

  “Follow me,” said the hostess.

  “Keep an eye out,” Jessica told us, as we followed the hostess through the restaurant. I looked around at the many patrons, mainly adults in their twenties or older.

  “Your waiter will be with you in just a bit,” said the hostess, as we sat down at our booth, which had a bright red table cloth and a single candle burning in a holder at the center.

  “Do you see her anywhere?” asked Jessica.

  Sylvie, Lizzie, and I scanned the place, but there weren’t any teenagers, girls or boys. I also knew that I would recognize her as soon as I saw her, like I had done with Sylvie and Lizzie.

  “No,” said Sylvie, frowning at the crowd.

  “Maybe she’s in the bathroom?” I suggested again.

  “We could go check?” offered Sylvie, gesturing at Lizzie.

  “It’s okay,” said Jessica. “If she is, she’ll be out soon. Just like you were.” She winked at them, then picked up her menu. “Hey Arthur, check out their Famous Flaming Margarita.”

  I looked down at the menu at the margarita that the restaurant apparently served with a live flame burning on its surface. I’d never seen anything like that in Wineville. I glanced around at the room and saw a waiter carrying a tray of drinks that indeed flickered with real fire.

  “Those are amazing,” said Sylvie. “So could you touch the flame and not be burned, or how does that—?” She broke off. We both saw her at the same time.

  A teenage girl emerged from a nearby swinging door that looked like it led to the kitchen. She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and wore black jeans, black lace-up boots, and a black t-shirt bearing the words System of a Down, the name of a heavy metal band.

  “That’s her!” Sylvie and I whispered together.

  Just like with Sylvie and Lizzie, I felt like I knew this girl even though I’d never seen her before. Jessica and Lizzie looked around at her.

  “You feel that, right?” asked Sylvie, and I nodded. “Lizzie, do you?”

  Lizzie also nodded, looking mystified. Without further ado, Sylvie waved at the girl, gesturing for her to come over. The girl looked around her as though to make sure she was the one being flagged down, then walked to our table.

  “Hi,” she said, “your waiter will be with you in a moment.”

  “Do you work here?” asked Sylvie.

  “My parents own the place,” said the girl. “I’m just helping out.”

  “Were you born on September fourth at four forty-four in the morning?” asked Sylvie.

  Lizzie, Jessica, and I looked at her. I admired her directness.

  “How the hell do you know that?” the girl asked, looking stunned.

  Before Sylvie could respond, a woman poked her head out from behind the swinging door and addressed the girl. “¡Hortensia! Mija, ¿podrías sacar la basura?” she said in Spanish.

  “¡Ya voy!” the girl replied. “I’ll be right back,” she told us in English. She gave us all a curious look, especially Sylvie, then went off to join the woman who I assumed was her mother.

  “I can’t believe it!” said Sylvie. “You were right about her birthday!”

  “She’s the Stoned Witch,” said Jessica breathlessly. “She completes the Sacred Four!”

  “The Stoned Witch?” asked Sylvie, raising her eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s not me?”

  Jessica laughed while Lizzie looked unamused. “So named,” said Jessica, “for the way they stoned people to death during the Burning Times.”

  “Does that mean she survived a stoning?” asked Lizzie, looking appalled at the thought.

  “Probably not a stoning, exactly,” said Jessica, “but something like it. She has a pretty incredible power…”

  Jessica started to describe the gift of the Stoned Witch but I wasn’t listening. The girl— Hortensia, her mom had called her— had just come back out of the swinging door holding two large trash bags. As she tied the bags closed, I noticed two young men in their early twenties, watching her furtively from a nearby booth. They leaned into each other, having a hushed conversation as they watched her. Darkness radiated from them, and I wasn’t sure if they could be part of the Brotherhood as they seemed too young, but there was definitely something wrong.

  Hortensia hoisted the bags up and walked down a hallway that must have led to a back door to where the garbage was. The two men whispered to each other, grinning deviously behind their hands. Then they rose from the table and walked off toward the hallway after Hortensia.

  Sirens, like so many of the police ones I had heard in Portland, went off in my head. I reached out and found Sylvie’s hand. “Did you see that? Those guys?” She shook her head. “Two guys just followed Hortensia down that hallway.”

  “The girl, you mean?” she asked.

  I nodded and stood up. “Let’s go.”

  “What—?” Jessica and Lizzie looked up at us.

  “There’s something wrong,” I said. “Let’s go check on her.”

  Jessica saw my expression and without a word, grabbed her purse and stood up. “Which way?”

  We hurried down the hallway, followed closely by Sylvie and Lizzie. There were two doors labeled damas and caballeros and then one at the end with a glowing red EXIT sign above it. I pushed it open and we came
out onto a small concrete lot lit by a single flickering yellow lamppost, and bordered by a thick growth of trees that rose up onto a hill behind the restaurant. I could smell the ocean in the air and sensed that it wasn’t far beyond the hill.

  There was a large metal garbage can beneath the flickering lamppost and its lid was open, but Hortensia was nowhere to be found. “Where is she?” I asked, panic flaring up in my chest.

  Jessica, Sylvie, and Lizzie looked around but before any of them could respond, a scream erupted from somewhere in the trees, a girl’s scream. There was a moment that lasted less than a second in which the four of us looked at each other, then we all ran into the trees without another word. We darted around tree trunks and branches and hanging leaves, all the while moving up the hill. Hortensia screamed again and it was closer this time, then I heard male voices.

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “Hold her arms, man!”

  We broke through a patch of trees and saw them. One of the men who had followed her was struggling to keep Hortensia’s arms behind her back while she squirmed and kicked out at the other man in front of her, who was trying to find a way around the boots flying at his face.

  “Get away from me!” Hortensia shouted at the top of her voice, and the man holding her arms tried to put a hand over her mouth.

  The man in front of her looked up just in time to see Sylvie’s heeled black boot flying at his face. He was knocked off balance, screaming in pain and clutching his nose. His friend looked wildly around, caught off guard, and Hortensia was able to wriggle free from his grasp just as Lizzie and I both grabbed him and threw him against the nearest tree. The wind was knocked out of him and then Hortensia darted forward and punched him ferociously in the face. He lunged at her, disoriented, and she swung her boot up hard between his legs. He made a gagging noise like he was about to throw up and collapsed onto the ground next to the tree, curled up in a fetal position and holding himself.

  We looked around and saw that Sylvie wasn’t finished yet. She jumped into the air and kicked the other man hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back onto the floor. For a second, I thought she had just used her power of flying for the first time but then recognized it as a martial arts move. The man scrambled backward from her, one hand on his face and one put out as a sign of surrender, asking for mercy. She responded by leaning down and taking the extended arm in both of hers, and then there was an audible cracking sound, followed by a blood-curdling scream. She finally stepped back and looked down at the man who was now sobbing.