by Kezzy Sparks
What she did after the disastrous battle, was to cling on to that freight car for about a mile and a half, and then she jumped off. She knew by then the Breaker and her fellow would have long been left behind. They had already been tired and worn out anyway by the time The Mage performed her great train escape, and couldn’t have followed for any meaningful distance.
After finding her feet on solid ground, and waving goodbye to the chugging locomotives, she hightailed it to this Union Cemetery, a place for the undead she likes to hang around sometimes at night. But today was different in that she hadn’t come to communion with the apparitions, but to sue for their protection.
At this place, her usual go-to dead person in both good and bad times, but mostly in good is Guillermo. He has been resident here for many years, and the moment she arrived, she searched for him.
“I really need it,” The Mage pleaded in the phantom language, showing him the wounds of battle. “A good protection.”
In response, the apparition, for once seeing the Mage was tonight quite the damsel in distress—unlike other times when she was magically high and mighty—spoke in an unusually calm and sympathetic tone for the downright badboy ghost he was.
“Mage, I see your troubles,” he said, “and I’ll do something.”
“Sure, guy, please try.”
“Holy Jove, you already know the best I can give,” he replied. “Let's get a poltergeist spell up for ya.”
“Yes,” she said, “give me that.”
A poltergeist spell works like a continuous noise bomb that unleashes itself on any would be assailants. The Breaker and anyone in her company, should they ever want to capture her, would be bombarded by such deafening noises in their heads, they would give up.
With Guillermo, they spent almost the entire night scrounging the ingredients, but by dawn they had everything.
The phantom prepared a good type, one which in addition to the unbearable noises also had the uncanny ability to show horror images on the periphery of an attacker’s vision. “Prolonged exposure to this one will lead to temporary madness,” Guillermo elaborated. “You will be untouchable virtually by anyone.”
Now that everything is in place, The Mage at this point perhaps should be going, but the apparition seems to have things to add.
“And now, for the hard part,” he says. “You know, great sorceress, that you will have to be a citizen of this place, to be permanently protected.”
Of course, The Mage is aware poltergeist spells only hold for eternity inside cemeteries, but if taken out, their power could last only for a day or two at most. Could she live in here for forever then?
Hell no, I can’t do that, she thinks. I certainly can’t become the only living resident of this ghostly place.
That for sure would be like becoming a prisoner, and Mel and her fucked-up buddies, even if they couldn’t get her, would revel in that she was now a condemned felon living among the tombs. “It will please my enemies, and that’s unacceptable,” she confirms loudly to the badboy ghost. “I only need the protection temporarily...until I reinvent myself.”
That said, it’s time to part. Sunrise is on its way, and this ghost must go to sleep.
“Fine, I’m going home,” she says. “Thanks for everything.”
“Stay here if you are under siege.” Guillermo tries to reason more. “No need to go and expose yourself.”
“No problem, I’ll be okay,” she says. “And you, too, should be leaving; the light is coming, goodbye.”
“Alright.” The ghost nods.
Knowingly, The Mage halts before tracing her steps. There is always a price to pay for everything and before this ghost vanishes, he will want something for all the pains he took to help. He always needs something from her anyway.
“Li`amantatish,” Guillermo confirms in Quimglich what The Mage is imagining. That is to say I love you.
That’s all the signal the ghost will give. He wants to touch her and take a soul bite.
“You know I can handle it, boy,” she whispers to him. They do it all the time anyway.
The ghost brings his shadowy void of a mouth to her. Guillermo is of course all skull and bones and at best will only draw saliva from her. She opens her lips wider and Guillermo sucks and sucks while his bony frame leans in tighter. “It acts like a coolant,” he always tells her. “Good for down there where it’s hot.” The Mage isn’t dead yet, so she doesn’t care much about what exactly goes on below there, underneath the gravestones. So all she usually does is smile at the cryptic words, and today she does the same.
Sated, the ghost releases her and then shuffles ten yards. He stands at a headstone, and the ground there opens up. Then Guillermo lowers himself, and the ground shuts up again, all by itself. Everything returns to normal, no single grain of soil or blade of grass looks displaced.
Finally leaving herself, The Mage walks down the roads until she turns into Savage. The train tracks are only yards away, but it’s not until she steps on them that the bad feelings about the battle loss rears up. She had banished all emotions when she was in the cemetery, but now they flood her.
Heartbreaking images of all three of her familiars come up: Wheeler and Tyrese lying helpless on the ground waiting for slaughter, the fire from their eyes gone; Ratan, his sapped shadow slumped near the tracks, totally unable to move and at the mercy of the enemy. All are indeed gone.
What a loss, and the worst to think is that she ran away with her life at the most critical time: when her family was in need. Truly, that was like—she faced the word—cowardice. A lump forms in her chest, rising to her throat.
Tears stream down her cheeks, unbidden. “Oh Tyrese, Wheeler, Ratan.”
Will she ever talk to those three again? Maybe in hell.
“My guys, will I ever see you again...”
Sixty
When she arrives home, all is quiet. Nothing has been disturbed, and her witching bag is intact on the couch where she left it as she rushed out for battle.
“Good Jove, how lucky. So much in order,” she mutters. “I expected chaos.”
The worst she had imagined was to see her dead felines tossed into the home, but hell no. The Breaker and Zed hadn’t come here at all.
“Maybe the wards I put up deterred the fuckers?” she muses.
That could be possible, but judging by what she saw of the two last night, she doubts if anything much can stop them, except only for the poltergeist.
Anyway, she now should be going ahead with what needs to be done. The most important thing would be to start reinventing herself, a process which in a nutshell entails three things. The first is that she must go back to the magic drawing boards and fight to obtain new powers. The second is to join a new coven, and the third to acquire new familiars.
There is also a fourth: and that’s to move to another town, but that one isn’t always essential and some powerful mages skip it—like she is going to.
Her work for the coming hours and perhaps also for the next few days is therefore cut out, but before she begins on it, she takes a quick nap: just to rest her tortured body and mind.
By the time she wakes up and has taken a shower, Milyn downstairs has reported for duty. That maid will help The Mage greatly because resigning from the Scarlets to join another coven will be her first act, and Milyn will be the one to mail the resignation letter.
It bugs The Mage to be forced into doing this, leaving a group she has had her heart in for decades, but it has to be done.
And since it’s decided, why not start right away to write the letter? She grabs her pen and paper. The note will be addressed to sect leader Kramer who is resident in Salem, Massachusetts.
This is just to find out how you are, Chief, and to give you a heads up, she begins.
Life has gone on very well for me over the years, but as it is, things have changed, and I need to move on. You see, it really pains me to be saying farewell to people I have been with for years, and it’s sad that it has com
e to this.
The Scarlets have indeed been my operating home for long, and I shall always be proud of the many successes we scored and the unity I helped build.
A good reason for leaving would be needed, otherwise the whole coven will be up in arms with her for betrayal. She can’t openly admit, though, that she was defeated by The Breaker and company—because it would be too embarrassing. She instead opts for something less, and goes...
Two weeks ago, I had my home burgled by a trusted coven member. Discipline has been declining, and for that reason, I see no other option than to part ways. Honestly, the times have changed, and the respect for authority that used to be there has all but vanished. Ambitious people just do what they want, to obtain whatever they wish for. It’s a state of affairs I can’t handle.
See you again, Kramer, real boss.
—Mage Extraordinaire.
After signing off, she thinks to add another tiny heads up, just for the benefit of the coven leader who was once a great mentor and friend.
PS. Yesterday I had a bit of misfortune and lost quite some things I valued, but that isn’t my reason for leaving. It truly was great knowing you.
This part is done; now she must mail.
“Milyn, please,” she calls downstairs. “Go get me some envelopes.”
She hears the door open, and she knows the faithful maid is going.
In less than thirty minutes, Milyn is back with a whole lot of gray ones, but she has no stamps. Previously such an omission would have been punishable, but The Mage controls herself, realizing these are her last hours with this maid. “I will have to go get one myself,” she says.
“I am very sorry madam,” pleads the maid.
“It’s fine, I forgive you.” She has never been this benevolent. It’s a parting caper.
***
Next from here is to start work on rebuilding her powers, and that is a process that could go on for months if not years, but today she will begin with something very special. Something that, according to her knowledge, has never been done this century. She will concoct a flying broom.
“Milyn you don’t have to be here for the whole day,” she says again to her maid. “You can take the time off and go.”
The Mage will have to be alone for this whole thing.
When the maid hastily departs, she rushes upstairs to look for her enchanted, virgin broom she specially acquired decades ago but never got to use. The broom is stored in the prayer room.
For a moment, the quietness inside that stronghold hits her the wrong way as she remembers again her departed familiars—those who were a permanent fixture in this room. She fights back a tear. No longer shall she find Tyrese and Wheeler lying in those cot beds. Ratan isn’t to come here anymore to communion with her and then grab his soul bites. Last night was just an unbearable disaster.
Anyway, some things are just to be forgotten.
“Jove, where is my broom?” She looks around and then finds it on top of a drawer chest. Its handle is made of ash wood and the frilly head a natural fiber that can absorb and store magic energy. She takes it downstairs, picks up her witching bag and then goes out into her fenced backyard. No one is going to see her out there.
Long ago she was once introduced to the art of concocting flying potions although she never got to try one. The chance is now here.
As a beginning, she takes off all her clothes, because that’s the required first act when making a flying broom. Next, she brings out the necessary ingredients. Only three are needed, and these are fine charcoal powder, snake oil, and then a specially ground mixture of burnt owl and crow feathers.
Owls and crows can fly, and so their ability to lift into the sky is contained in that burnt feather mixture. She takes it and sprinkles most of it onto the broom’s frilly head. Following that, she blends the snake oil with the charcoal, to make a thick gooey ointment that she then finely rubs onto the ash wood handle. She furiously utters chants as she does all those things.
“Very good,” she mutters in between. “We are on our way.”
Her hands become sore, but she really has to lay the goo thick and rich.
Once she is satisfied, she lays the broom on the grass to charge it up by letting it absorb some of the earth’s energy fields. It will become even more charmed that way. In addition, she also enters into a very long prayer sequence that takes maybe two hours. By the end of it, her voice is hoarse and grainy.
Fine, now it’s time to test. Her heart begins an anticipatory pound. “Okay, here we go.”
She utters a lifting chant, but alas nothing happens. She issues the second one but again nothing. Worry creeps into her. “Did I do anything wrong? What’s going on here?”
Now she forcefully hurls out the third incantation, blowing her lungs out until she is almost coughing. Suddenly the broom lifts up one yard high, and then stays there, horizontal.
“Uh, we got something here.”
Instantly she knows what’s wanted to make it go higher. The broom needs an enchanted rider on top, because it can’t just take off on its own. She jumps onto it and sits, properly balancing herself as though she were on a seesaw pole. “Now go higher,” she commands as a chant.
Magically, the broom lifts high above her fence. This is great and unbelievable, but can she go somewhere naked like this? No, that would be improper. The feeling of being high in the air is exhilarating, though. She can see the top of her roof as well as miles into the distance.
This has never been done in a century! It’s a world first, and she is right at the center of it!
Sixty-one
Last night, after securing those nasty familiars into detention, we drove to Anastasiana’s place where we were treated to doses of her black magic decontamination concoctions. She sealed us in a room with burning incense and other healing herbs. The scratches and bites almost dried up to leave only faint black lines and spots.
“All will be gone after the weekend,” she said.
After that, we drove back to William to let Zed pick up his Honda. I then stayed in the office for some time, ostensibly to jot down some notes and file away a report, but more really to just relish what we had accomplished for that night.
It all seemed good and heroic, but later a thought of the possible tragedies that could have occurred had we been defeated struck me and sent chilly vibes into my chest. Demon and feline familiars aren’t easy things to fight against. Our guts could have been spilled or our throats torn up. When witch hunters lose to the evil side, the result can be death or disability for life.
Before those fears had entered my mind, my plan had been to stay in the office a good while, but now because of them, I had to consider leaving. I drove home and slept, now imagining the bad poison that had entered my system might build up and kill me but thank God, it didn’t happen. I have woken up safe.
The morning actually looks great, and my vitality is restored in full. As usual it’s time to plan the day, but before I can work anything out I get a call from Zed.
“You okay, buddy?” he asks. His voice carries a ton of concern for me, but I also detect in it a whiff of pride over what we achieved together.
“I am really well, and thanks for checking on me,” I say.
We relive things together, pondering how things could have gotten bad had fate not worked favorably for us.
Later Zed says, “Listen, I have something more important.”
“Like…?” I ask.
“I was thinking let’s not slay those felines. Why not hand them over to a shelter for adoption?”
“What, man?” I immediately protest. “It won’t ever work.”
Truly, this request is unthinkable, and I wonder what’s gotten into Zed. We never try to normalize anything that has been exposed to so much black magic. We just slay it.
“I know what bureau rules say, and that’s to just kill,” Zed presses. “But since you decided to save those two for a while, maybe let’s approach the issue with compassionate h
earts.”
“Compassionate with black magic?” I counter, but also realize it’s me who started this whole thing by temporarily saving the cats. And the demon, too, of course. “Is that possible?”
“No, it isn’t so bad a thing,” Zed replies. “Remember those felines were once innocent little kittens before they got captured by magic.”
I wonder why Zed is acting all so saintly this morning—really what’s gotten into his head. He was the one who wanted me to destroy them once and for all, but I saved them just as a way to trap The Mage, knowing that somehow she would discover they were alive and try to track them. And then, like Eve, she would walk into the Alcatraz.
“The two could cause havoc.” I protest once more. “They are feral.”
“Probably not, according to what I have intuited. If they get help, they might become normal again.”
“Alright, let me see,” I say finally, even though the thought still sounds ludicrous.
His idea of mercy riles me but I will let it stand. I take a shower and prepare, while I try to remember which of Buffalo’s animal shelters are the best to take those two to. I don’t own any four-legged pets myself so which shelters do what is beyond me. Eventually though, with a little help from Google, I settle on the one on Harlem Road, which incidentally is not very far from here.
Despite this is now more like a goodwill mission, I still pack into my tote the graveyard wand, which I will use to slaughter the cats should I find they have been too much overrun by bad magic. Also I don’t forget the all-important Pendle wand—in case I am lucky to find The Mage stuck within the walls of the Alcatraz, but that’s a stretch. Foxy witches like her tend to be too smart enough to walk into those traps.
Soon enough, the journey to Hamburg takes place. Arriving at our farm in daytime makes me see how really derelict it now is. The house windows are boarded up, the roof is caving in places, and weeds stand feet tall in scattered clumps. That doesn’t bother me much, though, compared to the fact that as far as this trip was concerned, there is no Mage anywhere. The Alcatraz is empty! She never came!
