Dark Witch

by Katerina Martinez

  “You’d think that, but it scares me sometimes.”

  The cab ground to a halt, ending our conversation.

  “Six fifty,” said the cabbie.

  “I’ve got this one,” I said, paying the man before Damien could protest. Damien stepped out of the cab with the bags and I followed him out to the curb.

  Eliza’s house was the only one in the neighborhood not decked out with shiny Christmas lights, streamers and statues. She had decorated it in her own, humble way, though. A holly wreath hung from the front door, mistletoe was dangling from the porch and, off to the side, a basket full of fresh fruit had been tucked under a blanket offering visitors something sweet as a welcome gift.

  Understated and personal. Perfect.

  “Nice neighborhood,” Damien said. He had never been to Eliza’s place before.

  “Lots of kids,” I said, “So it’s pretty friendly.”

  “Eliza’s house kinda sticks out, though, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so. I think the decoration’s modest, but it does the trick.”

  “Sticking true to the old roots.”

  “As it should be,” Frank said. His lanky form came in to view from down the street. “I hate how commercialized this whole holiday is anyway.”

  “You and millions of other people,” Damien said.

  “Let’s not get into that, okay?” I said to both men, “Leave the politics at the door. There will be nothing but cheer and happiness tonight.”

  “Alright,” Frank said, “I promise I’ll tone it down. But I’m not happy about it. She should love me for me.”

  “And she will… but only if we give you up in small doses.”

  Frank looked like an ultra-rich, fluffy, strawberry cheesecake. I loved cheesecake, but I was partial. The cheesecake and I got along. We learned from each other and made each other laugh. I couldn’t get enough of the cheesecake. Others, though, couldn’t handle more than a few bites before realizing it was too rich for them. And then what happens? They would push the plate away and ask for the check. I didn’t want Eliza to push Frank away and ask for the check.

  Frank was here to stay.

  The saving grace, though, was what Frank was wearing. Wrapped around his skinny, lanky form was a cream sweater, a red scarf, skinny black jeans, thick—steel-capped—boots, and even a studded belt. And did I detect lip-gloss on his lips? Maybe it was chap-stick, but whatever it was, it made his lips look fuller and shinier.

  Frank had full lips and Damien had the killer lashes. I, however, didn’t have either. Why were both boys prettier than me?

  “Cute basket,” Frank said, lifting the basket and checking out the fruit beneath.

  Please let this go well, I thought as I rang the doorbell.

  After a few moments of waiting, Evan opened the door with a smile. “Hey,” he said, “Welcome, guys. Come on in.”

  “Hey Evan,” I said, stepping inside. The delicious, heady aroma of freshly baked cookies sailed out of the front door like a warm breath. “That smells great. Hazelnut?”

  “You bet. Eliza’s been stuck in the kitchen for ages.”

  She must have heard my voice, though, because Eliza broke out of the kitchen with a squeal and bee-lined for a hug. I had put my hands up and yell “Flour!” to stop her forward motion. She was covered in it! Shirt, pants, nose, cheeks, and hair.

  “Damn,” I said, “Did you save some flour for the cookies?”

  “Oh hush, at least I haven’t burnt them,” she said, settling for a light, dusty kiss on the cheek.

  “It was one time!” I said.

  “Yeah and you never made any again because you suck at baking cookies.”

  Eliza gave Damien a hug and offered Frank her hand, which he shook with grace. They exchanged pleasantries at the door, and Eliza invited them in. “Come on in and make yourselves at home,” she said, “Evan will get you guys a drink. Amber, join me in the kitchen?”

  I removed my Mac, hung it on one of the hooks by the front door and followed Eliza into the kitchen. Damien tried to steal a glance of what I was wearing but he wasn’t fast enough; Evan was quick at herding them into the living room. Good. I wanted him to wait.

  “Smells good in here,” I said.

  Eliza opened the oven and a tasty heat billowed out. Cookies filled with chocolate spread, cinnamon, nutmeg, hazelnut…

  “Doesn’t it?” Eliza said, “Of course it does. I’m the one making the cookies.” She took a whiff and smiled, proud of her accomplishment.

  “They smell so good. I can’t wait to—”

  Eliza shut me up with a raised finger, wolf whistled, and said “Well look at you.” She hadn’t noticed what I was wearing until that moment.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What yourself. I’ve never seen you wear anything this provocative. I’ve gotta tell you, if you’ve come here to seduce me—flattered though I am—you’re gonna have trouble. I’m not feeling very sexy these days.”

  “Oh come on,” I said, “You look fantastic. You’re glowing!”

  “That’s the same line every pregnant woman gets fed when they start getting big.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself, okay?” I said, approaching, “You’re gorgeous, and you’re glowing. And that’s a real compliment, Missy.”

  Eliza smiled, her ice blue eyes gleaming against the bright light above us. “Alright, fine. But I can’t promise I won’t be checking you out tonight. Or that I won’t cop a feel.”

  “And I can’t promise I’ll stop you. I really need tonight.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No, no… everything’s fine,” I lied, “I’m just stressed.”

  I had no intention of bringing up my expulsion. Not here. Not tonight. I knew Eliza would understand and she would probably spend the whole night trying to cheer me up or help me deal with it, but I didn’t want that. This was a celebration, not a support group, and I wanted to keep it that way. Although, I really did want to tell her; Eliza would know what to say. More so than Damien, I would admit. She got me.

  Still, not telling her was a good idea. We spent some time in the kitchen while the guys went about the business of setting up the dining table. They arranged the cutlery and cups, set the table cloth down, sorted out the chairs, and made sure the area was ready to receive the bountiful feast of pulled pork, stuffed turkey, and Lamb’s Wool Eliza had put all her energy into cooking. She had become quite the industrious little chef in the last few months, although she had had the turkey prepared for her at the market.

  Who could blame her? I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a turkey.

  But I did my part with the incense, the log, and even prepared the wassail—the mulled cider—this time without the help of the Dagda’s cauldron. I was sure it wouldn’t count as an abuse of powers if we had invoked the Dagda to help with the beverage we would be drinking and hurling at trees tonight, but I didn’t want to push it. Not after having already used the ritual once this month.

  Eliza swept into the kitchen and took a whiff of the boiling pot of cider brewing in front of me. “Smells good,” she said. “Apple?”

  “And sugar, cinnamon, and ginger. Look, two pots. One with alcohol and one without: just for you.”

  Eliza awed. “That’s sweet,” she said, planting me a light kiss on the cheeks.

  “You’re welcome. How much longer until sundown?”

  “About a half an hour,” she said.

  “Then it’s time.”

  “Yes it is. Should I tell the guys, or should you?”

  “You’d better go. They’d think twice about hating on a pregnant girl for coming between them and their hungry bellies.”

  Eliza nodded and headed out into the main room to ready the rest of the Wiccans present. The guys all knew that tonight wasn’t just about eating and drinking. Just like Mabon, there was a ritual to be done. We had thanks to give and a Dark Mother to venerate.

  And she liked this particular ritual to be
done just after sunset.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "From the darkness is born the light,” I said, “From void, fulfillment emerges. The darkest night of the year is at the threshold. Open now the door, and honor the darkness."

  The sun had set. Damien, Eliza, Frank and Evan were surrounding me. The altar Eliza had set up in her backyard for this ritual was perfect; eleven stones marked the extremities of a circle and four candles represented the cardinal directions; north, south, east and west. On the altar—the same oaken plinth we had used for Mabon—sat a tall golden candle and a large plate with a pentacle embedded into the ceramic.

  I was so proud of the hard work Eliza had done to make tonight special.

  All of that positivity made it easy for me to concentrate on leading the ritual at hand; concentration I desperately needed. So I had allowed myself a moment to breathe and relax before reaching for the small black cauldron at the side of the altar and removing the lid. Inside there was a thick black candle and a holly wreath. Evan, Eliza, Frank and Damien took turns calling the quarters as we had done at the cabin a few months ago. When they were done, I took the holly wreath, presented it to the four corners, and lit the black candle.

  "Hark!” I said, “Behold the rebirth of the King of the woodlands! Behold the Oak King, strong and vital he rises! Awake now thy mother, thy lover, thy lady. Awake now, thy Goddess of life, death, and rebirth."

  A warm tingling started to rise through my belly and into my chest. Above us the night sky was clear, but a cool wind was blowing from the east. I could feel the Power charging my fingertips, racing through my veins, as if I were on the cusp of performing an act of Magick. Only that I wasn’t. At least, not any that I was aware of.

  We continued with the ritual and at all times I felt as though—at any moment—Magick would come pouring out of me like a fountain and spill into the world around. I was like a dam threatening to break from excessive pressure. But I didn’t break. I said the final words and closed the circle and when we were finished with our moment of silent prayer, I stood up and walked across to Damien. He seemed perplexed by my sudden advance, until I took his face and went for his lips.

  Then there was only bliss.

  “Get a room, you two,” Frank said, breaking the moment.

  But Damien was feeling what I had felt. His palms were shaking, quivering against my hips, as if I had somehow shared my power with him. He couldn’t say a word, only look at me dumbfounded. And he had a right to be.

  In truth I didn’t know why I had just done that, but my body was on fire. I had never felt so charged during a ritual. This… was something else.

  “Alright… so… dinner?” Eliza asked.

  I turned to her and smiled. “Yeah, dinner.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, either. Everyone was feeling the cold, and the hunger. Me more than most. And the dinner Eliza had prepared was amazing. Seeing the spread put me in awe of Eliza’s talents, and tasting the food even more so. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a big meal like that one.

  Well, I guess I could. Back home, with my folks, Christmas dinners were usually as big as this, but they came with conditions. Or, rather, lots and lots of people. The house would be filled with relatives and distant relatives. People I didn’t even know existed until I met them in person. Thing was, my dad was insistent on keeping the family together. He was like a zealot when it came to family values.

  Once he even drove up to my aunt’s house—who was sick at the time—and told her to come to his dinner or else risk being uninvited from future dinners. I never knew if he was kidding of if he really did have it in him to ex-communicate certain people from family activities, but we all suspected that he did.

  My dad’s age—he was the eldest of his brothers and sisters—height and girth afforded him a great deal of respect. But after my grandmother died everything changed. She was like the glue that held the family together, and my dad was the hand that put all the pieces in place. You could say that her passing freed my father of his duties to the family, if you’re a naturally positive person. Or you could say that her death allowed the family to crumble like a poorly built shelter. There really wasn’t any right way of looking at things, but the end result was the same.

  So I spent the holidays here, in Raven’s Glen, with Evan and Eliza. We had celebrated Yule together before, but there were only three of us at the time and Eliza wasn’t… well, she didn’t cook much back then. I didn’t cook much either, which meant that previous Yule nights consisted entirely of store-bought produce, alcohol and bad movies. This, five people around a table enjoying a tasty meal, wasn’t something I did often; and I guess I was all the more appreciative for it.

  After dinner, Evan picked up the Yule log, fit it into the fireplace, and doused it with a special batch of spiced cider before setting it alight with a piece saved from last year’s Yule Log. We sat around the fireplace, watched the log burn, drank mulled cider and listened to some of Frank’s stories; most of which were cause for laughing fits to ensue. What was most important to me, though, was that Eliza was laughing too. I was worried about that most of all, and listening to her laugh herself into a snort at one of Frank’s anecdotes put a big smile on my face. A smile that would last.

  At least until I caught sight of a strange shape by the window.

  I wasn’t sure what I had just seen. Maybe I had sipped a little too much spiced cider, but I couldn’t shake the sickly feeling creeping over me like a thick fog. My attention darted about, back and forth between the holiday cheer of our warm living room and the bay window to the cold outdoors. Whatever it was that I had seen wasn’t there anymore, but that didn’t leave me feeling great.

  The fireplace stole my eyes, crackling and glowing. Sounds muted into each other. That’s when I glanced at the window again and saw him standing there. Tall, broad shouldered, and hooded. My heart shot into my throat. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. Time slowed to a crawl. I started to shake my head to break whatever spell I was in and my hearing returned, but Evan had moved into my line of sight and he was blocking the window.

  I stood upright to get a look at the window, but I moved so fast I almost knocked the table over in the process and the figure was no longer there. Eyes from all directions landed on me, quizzing but quiet, and all I could do was stare at the empty window. Had he gone around the house? I needed to catch him, but I also needed to do it without seeming suspicious.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, awkwardly.

  Good enough.

  I excused myself and crossed the living room, hurried through the open arch into the hall, and rushed for the back-door. The outside was quiet. White. Still and silent save for the breeze. I checked for footprints in the snow. Nothing. I went all around the house and found no trace of intrusion, but I had left without a jacket and the cold was starting to bite at my arms.

  “Amber?” Eliza asked. She had followed me out into the front yard.

  I spun on my heel. “Yes?”

  “Uhm… the bathroom’s inside. I don’t own an outhouse.”

  “Oh… yeah, that… I just... needed some air.”

  That lie didn’t come out quite as quickly as it could have.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, fine.” Only that it wasn’t. A growing dread was filling the pit of my already full stomach. Something wasn’t right

  “Are you sure? Because I’ve seen this face on you and—” Eliza cut off mid-sentence and clutched her stomach.

  “Eliza?” I said.

  She groaned and doubled over in pain. I rushed to her side and yelled at the top of my lungs for Evan. Her knees hit the ground and her shoulders followed. Soon she was in the fetal position, clutching her belly and screaming.

  Evan arrived, phone already pressed to his ear. Damien and Frank weren’t far behind. I stroked Eliza’s hair while Evan told the ambulance where to go. Her face had gone from pale and flushed to deathly pale in the space of se
conds, and when she pulled her hand away from between her legs, I found the reason why.

  She was bleeding.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I decided to go home alone that night. We followed Eliza’s ambulance in a cab all the way to the hospital and sat in the waiting room for as long as we could, but since none of us were family they wouldn’t let us in to go and see her. Evan, being the baby’s father, was the only one of us allowed to go in. That helped. But I still felt terrible. For the both of them. For Evan it wasn’t just Eliza who was in the Intensive Care Unit, it was also his unborn child.

  I couldn’t relate to that kind of pain.

  She had just collapsed. None of us knew why, only that she was fine one moment and the next she was down and bleeding. One minute we were all enjoying a meal, talking and sharing, and the next minute we were worried that one of us was going to have a miscarriage. What else could it have been but a miscarriage? Would I find out tomorrow that my sister was no longer pregnant?

  Gods. She looked so beautiful tonight. Radiant and full of life. How could this have just happened? I should have been paying more attention. I should have used my Magick to heal her the second she fell over. Instead I just sat there, stroking her hair because I couldn’t do anything else. I didn’t know what was wrong with her, and I didn’t want to risk hurting her more by trying to blindly heal her. I was impotent, and I would have never forgiven myself if...

  But nothing did happen to her, thank the Gods.

  It was a few hours before I heard news. Eliza was in critical condition, but recovering. She had lost a lot of blood but the baby, at least, was safe. Problem was that the doctor had no idea what had happened to her. They couldn’t find any internal or external lacerations, no signs of infection and no damage to the amniotic sac. The bleeding, they said, had stopped in the ambulance with no trace of how it had started. When they were satisfied that both mother and child were safe, they put her on IV fluids and kept her in the hospital overnight for observation.