by Kiki Howell
“Marcel? What is this place?” Her voice sounds behind me and I swirl my head around to find Clara’s ethereal body standing a few feet away, as translucent as my own.
“That I don’t know.”
Her eyes grow wider in her face, as she trains them from mine to her body on the bed. “Am I dead? Is that why you were able to come to me?”
Chapter Eight
CLARA – 2017
“No. See how you’re still connected to your body?” Marcel points to a thick cord of sparkling energy, much like an umbilical cord, linking my immaterial body to my physical one lying in bed. “This indicates you’re alive. Mine got severed when I passed.”
“So, what happened? The last thing I remember was leaving my office,” I hesitate and my voice trails off as countless images flood my mind. “No. Wait. I remember Jenny called as I was about to leave and I told Henry to tell her I’d call her back. I was embarrassingly late for an appointment.”
Marcel unfolds from his crouching position and stands by my side waiting for me to elaborate, I guess. When I don’t, he offers, “Yeah, that got us all worried.”
I knit my eyebrows trying to recall more, but instead I realize something. “You can’t read my thoughts anymore, can you?”
“I cannot. In all fairness, it’s the first time I’m interacting with a person who’s in a coma, so I don’t have the faintest idea how this works.”
“Intriguing. Anyway, as I was saying, I left my house in a hurry to go to this meeting in Palm Springs. On the road, some douchebag was driving like a grandma until he decided to go all road warrior on me. After that, I don’t remember a thing.”
“I heard Jenny and Sam talking about her phone call and how it wasn’t like you to disappear like that. The thing is she called you three days ago, so she decided to ask Fran if she knew what had happened to you. Fran called Henry and we found out you were in a serious accident and in a coma.”
“This doesn’t look like a hospital.”
Nodding, Marcel eyes the dim, dingy room around us. “Not at all. I’ve got no idea as to where we are.”
“And how did you get out of Club Desire?”
He reaches out to cup my cheeks and I close my eyes at the exquisite sensation. At the same time, I hear a soft sigh coming from the bed. Otherworldly eyes fly open and focus on my own face as I lie in bed. Such a weird concept and one I still don’t fully grasp, but I notice my eyelids fluttering and my breathing getting more labored. A tug on that cord connecting the two versions of myself pulls me closer to the bed as a faint sound of metal on metal comes from somewhere above us. A lock opens and I hear soft footfalls approaching. “Someone is here,” I whisper to Marcel, “and they sound like they’re coming down some stairs or something.”
“No need to whisper. They can’t hear us,” he replies before a gorgeous woman comes to stand at the foot of the stairs, made visible by the light she switches on.
When Marcel sees her, he flinches. It’s obvious he recognizes her.
“Who is she, Marcel?”
The stranger walks to the bed and sneers at me. Whatever she’s thinking or feeling is a mystery to me, but it seems Marcel can read her thoughts because in the blink of an eye he’s by her side roaring, “You stay away from Clara, you filthy witch.”
She seems unaware of our presence. Suspecting the woman’s identity, I don’t believe that could be right because she couldn’t be still alive and the woman standing next to the bed wasn’t a ghost. Plus, her designer ripped jeans and top weren’t trendy two centuries ago.
I whisper again, “Marcel, is that Marie Claudette?”
Before he has a chance to reply, the woman looks around herself, but doesn’t focus on either of us. When she speaks, she faces the opposite direction where Marcel is standing yet she’s talking to him. “What took you so long? I thought you were in love with little Miss Creamy-White Skin, here.” Scorn drips from her words like bile and I don’t need confirmation of her identity from Marcel anymore. How the hell did that happen though? More to the point, how come Marie Claudette’s still very much alive? “Yet it took you three whole days to come after her.”
Marcel’s distorted facial expression spells murder, so I run to his side and holding the hand he rose, clearly to strike Marie Claudette’s face, I beg. “Don’t. She’s taunting you because she knows it’ll drive you mad. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
“What? Nothing? She’s got you by the balls, huh? Or has old age softened you?” She pokes at his ego again and it’s almost impossible to restrain his hand this time, but I do.
Marie Claudette reaches inside a back pocket in her jeans and produces a small vial. The greenish amber liquid it contains must be foul judging by the disgusted expression that contorts her face and the gagging noises that escape her tight lips. She swallows it and doubles over. When she stands upright again, Marie Claudette looks straight into Marcel’s face, then into my eyes.
Cringing at the profound hatred I discover in her piercing black eyes, I still defy her, “It’s not control, it’s love.” I force my eyes to stay on hers, not only for effect, but because I don’t want to know Marcel’s reaction to my using the L word. Now is not the time for self-doubt.
“It may be misguided on your part, sweet thing, if Marcel doesn’t return your affection. After all, it took him three whole days to come looking for you.” Marie Claudette’s stare was glued to Marcel’s and her smirk was testing my self-control.
Anger flaring inside like Fourth of July fireworks, I hiss, “It’s none of your business, but Marcel didn’t know I was missing until just now. More to the point, where are we?”
“My house in New Orleans,” her flat reply throws my mind for a loop.
Before I can articulate my thoughts, Marcel demands, “How the hell are you alive? I used an oblivious empath who worked at the club to check on you online and found out you died in 1876 without leaving any direct descendants.”
Her expression changes in a heartbeat, from homicidal psychopath to just plain lunatic. If I had any sense of humor left, I’d laugh my head off at this unbelievable woman. I don’t, so anger still boils my insides, which churn at her next words.
Marie Claudette coos, “Oh, but you see, I was in love with a certain devilishly handsome man who broke my heart, forcing me to take extreme measures. When he stubbornly chose to die instead of being with me, I was left all alone. As much as I tried, no other man seemed to satisfy me.” Her hands move from her breasts to her sex as she speaks and I feel like puking. Thank goodness she doesn’t masturbate. “That’s why I never had kids, but I’ve got something much more useful than descendants. I’ve got many followers.”
Oh, shit!
Using either his mind reading powers or simple deduction, Marcel concludes, “And they’ve maintained the house. Good for you.” Sarcasm evident in his tone, he insists and I think he does so for my benefit as he must be able to read her thoughts since she’s not in a coma like me. “That still doesn’t explain you being alive.”
“My following is not only large, but talented and faithful,” she gloats. “With my help from the great beyond, they were able to work on a resurrection spell I wrote before I passed away. It took them a couple of generations to perfect it though, so they had to pass the spell on to their own descendants, but we finally made it work.”
“That’s black magic,” I accuse.
“What does a little actress like you know about these things?”
“I’ve done my research and only people dealing in dark magic would even consider doing such a thing. Plus, outcomes aren’t necessarily the expected ones. Most of the time, the spells don’t last more than a couple of weeks and they end in agonizing pain.”
“That was true for a long time. We’ve tried different versions of the spell multiple times and the spell wouldn’t last and people would suffer excruciating deaths. Again. I’m not dumb. I wasn’t going to allow my followers to bring me back unless the spell worked and lasted.”
Marcel’s disgusted expression reflects my thoughts when he demands, “How many people did you butcher for this?”
“Their sacrifices weren’t in vain. They knew they would become part of humanity’s most important accomplishment. We conquered death when the remaining followers brought me back last Halloween.”
So, she tested the spells on her own followers, but I knew resurrection spells required more sacrifices. “At what price? How many people did you kill so that you could stand here today?”
As I speak, I gaze at Marcel wishing he could still read my mind. I don’t have the heart to tell him I learned all I know about resurrection spells while trying to bring him back to life, nor the number of times I was tempted to go through with it. I never did because these spells come at too high a price without guarantees. At the same time, I feel guilty I never at least tried any.
He knows me too well though because he replies to my unuttered question. “You didn’t have to look for a spell to bring me back, Clara. Every Halloween did it for us.”
I smile into his hazel eyes, mesmerized by the emotions I read in their depths. How could I ever think Marcel wouldn’t return my feelings for him? How could I ever doubt he loves me as much as I love him? I bet this is why he was able to break away from Club Desire and find me. Our love must have overridden Marie Claudette’s hex. Despite the raving mad witch standing between us, all I want to do is run into his arms and lose myself in his embrace.
My elation is broken by her disdainful words. “You two are pathetic. You sicken me with this lovey-dovey nonsense. You think she loves you, Marcel, but she didn’t have the guts to go through with a spell that would have actually brought you back. Is that the kind of commitment you’re looking for?” She spits out her venom towards Marcel before turning to me. “And you think he loves you when he’s perfectly content with having one day with you in the whole year. That doesn’t seem passionate enough, if you ask me.”
Her attempt to play us against each other backfires as Marcel and I lock eyes again. His feelings are so plain to see that it’s almost as if I can read his thoughts. Our love is stronger than anything Marie Claudette throws our way. She will not twist our real feelings or cast doubt between us. It’s that simple. What I see in Marcel’s golden eyes is an exact mirror of what I feel for him.
The witch has lost yet another battle.
My turn to gloat. “You don’t recognize true love because you’ve never felt it.”
She snaps back at me, “Oh, but you see. I know true love. I had it with Marcel and I plan on getting it back. I won’t let you mess that up. Why do you think I came back? You think I would be content alive if Marcel was still a ghost? That wouldn’t make much sense now, would it? Why would I have gone to all this trouble to return?”
I don’t think she makes any sense, but I choose not to say anything about this. Marcel, on the other hand, seeming uncomfortable as the silent object of discussion, interrupts Marie Claudette, “You forget one important piece of this equation. What you call true love for me was never returned. I never loved you. I didn’t want anything to do with you back then. And I still don’t.”
“I’m confident I can make you change your mind.”
“That’s insane. I love Clara and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
“I know you do and that’s why I used her to lure you here, you fool.”
“Did you lift the spell bounding me to the house?”
“I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure what you think you feel for her did. After all, it’s all in your head, you know. That’s how this works. You thought you couldn’t leave the house, so you stopped trying. Until you forgot you couldn’t. In fact, the first thing I did last year when I returned was check on the hex and I discovered it was considerably weakened. I knew it was a matter of time until you realized that too, so I came up with a plan to bring you back this Halloween. So far, it’s working great. I’ve no doubt it’ll turn out just as I wanted it.”
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of what this crazy witch is capable of doing. I want to say something, but my throat suddenly closes and I choke. Chest pains rob the air from my lungs and dizziness threatens to overpower me. A strong tug in the energy umbilical cord connecting me to my material body pulls me towards it and I start losing consciousness. The last thing I see is a redheaded voodoo doll in the witch’s hands. She’s pulling off a series of pins from the doll’s head and body.
Chapter Nine
MARCEL – 2017
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You never learn, do you? I’m not giving up on you. I didn’t go through all that trouble of having my followers bring me back from the dead to lose you again.”
I try to snatch the doll from her, but I’m able only to knock it to the floor. Clara writhes on the bed, moaning, and I freeze. Hating Marie Claudette more than ever, I bark, “If you kill Clara, I promise I’ll hunt you down and kill you in a way that no amount of evil powers will be able to bring you back. I’ll make sure you die a slow and agonizing death.”
The witch’s insane laughter chills me from the inside. “Don’t be silly. I’m not killing her. Not now, anyway. She’s my leverage and I’m not dumb. I’m pulling the pins off, can’t you see?” She turns the doll so I can see there’s only two pins left now. “I’m undoing the spell, so she comes to.”
“You put her in a coma?”
“Technically, the car accident caused the coma. I just kept Miss Porcelain Doll like that for as long as I needed her to be quiet. I’m not a patient woman and I feared I’d wring her neck if I had to interact with her more than absolutely necessary. On the other hand, I did cause the accident in the first place, so I guess you could say I put her in a coma.”
Her babbling made no sense to me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I used my powers to cause the car accident, but I made sure she didn’t die. I just needed her to be unconscious, so I could bring her here.”
“Did you put a spell on the hospital staff so nobody would see you? What about the security cameras? No one saw you coming out of Clara’s room. All they have is an image of you inside the room, then Clara disappeared.”
Marie Claudette scoffs, “I’m not saying I couldn’t do all that, but it’d be such a waste of energy. I teleported out of the room. The only camera I had to hex was the one in her room.”
I’m so frustrated I can’t read her mind like I do other people’s. Instead, I have to extract information from her. “You needed Clara to lure me in. I’m here. Let her go. Take her back to the hospital.”
“Not so fast.”
I kneel by the bed when Clara’s moans grow louder and her eyelids flutter. I guess she’ll come to any moment now. I want to spare her all this drama. Pressing a hand to Clara’s forehead, I turn my head to look at the odious witch and spit out the words before I choke on them, “You win. I’ll do anything you want. Just take her back.”
Clara opens her eyes, but they’re unfocused. She reaches out and grabs my hand. Since she’s always been able to see me, I can’t tell if she’s aware of her circumstances at all. When she turns to eyeball Marie Claudette and a murderous glint shines in her eyes, I think she remembers what happened. Then, her next words shatter my hopes into a million pieces. “Who’s your friend? How did I get to Club Desire?”
“No, sweetie. We’re not at the club, remember?” I try to give her some hint as to what had just happened. She knits her eyebrows and I hear her thoughts loud and clear this time. She’s trying to process the information, but her brain isn’t cooperating. I lean down and whisper. “You were kidnapped and I left Club Desire to come get you. We broke the curse.”
Clara shakes her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Yes, we did it. We can do anything.”
Clara doesn’t hear my last words because she slips into unconsciousness again. When I stand up and swirl my head to look behind me, I realize why. Marie Claudette has
a pin buried in the doll’s head.
Her black eyes shine with spite and envy, when she drags them from Clara’s helpless body on the bed, to me. I ball my hands into fists to keep from scratching her eyeballs out. “As I said before, not so fast, pretty boy. You two love birds have weakened the curse, but you still exist in two different planes. Now, I’m offering you a chance to remedy that situation. I can turn your temporary Halloween body into a permanent one. You just have to say the word.”
“Which is what? Please? You want me to ask you nicely, is that it?” At this point, I just want this torture to end. I want to rescue Clara and be over with this whole Marie Claudette obsession. I’m tired of her craziness.
“Don’t be petty. That’s beneath you, Marcel Revault. Promise you’ll stay with me after I bring you back and I’ll teleport Clara back to the hospital.”
Bile rises up my throat and I reply without thinking twice. “I’d rather rot in hell.”
“Your choice.” Her comeback is followed by a sinister sneer as she twists the pin and Clara thrashes on the bed, wailing in obvious agony.
I cave in. “Okay, okay. Just stop it.” I want to make sure Clara is well and safe, then I’ll find a way to deal with this psychopath. “I said before I’ll do anything you want. Take Clara back to the hospital and I promise I’ll stay with you after you cast the spell on Halloween.”
The sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach grows stronger as a smirk splits her face. The feverish glint in her eyes does nothing to make me feel better. Squinting her eyes, Marie Claudette warns me, “Don’t try anything foolish. Don’t betray or cross me in any way, Marcel. If you do, I will kill Clara.” She stabs the doll with another pin and Clara sits upright, rocking back and forth, arms crossed tight around her midriff. The high-pitched cries coming out of her wrench me. This time I manage to snatch the doll from the witch’s hand. Pulling the pins out, I throw them on the floor yet nothing happens. Clara keeps howling in pain. “That’s not how it works, silly. I want to hear your words. Promise me.”
