by Alisha Basso
The big doors were stainless steel and polished to a silvery sheen. I could see myself in them, and in my reflection my eyes widened when something occurred to me.
My stomach jumped and I looked back down at Olivia. She would have been standing right here in front of it when she died, and if that was the case, then I could use my mirror spell.
I had discovered, through necessity, that shiny surfaces acted like a temporary camera and could replay what had happened in front of them, but time was of the essence. The images when exposed to sunlight would degrade and finally disappear as time passed.
Gauging from Olivia’s cold skin, she’d been dead for quite a while, probably since shortly after I left, which meant I couldn’t wait for the OS. By the time they arrived, the images would have faded completely.
I hesitated for a moment. This mirror spell would be dangerous in many ways. Shiny surfaces captured not only images, but also emotions, and I was in a very fragile state. But I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
Since I was just going to look at events, a simple nature circle should do the trick. I didn’t want to tap the dragon currents or, as we witches often called them, the Torrent, to make a stronger circle. Dragon currents were earth's psychic and supernatural subterranean highways, and strongly connected to supernatural, paranormal and psychic powers. Along these mystical routes were the hyper-dimensional worlds and electromagnetic vortex gateways to many different realms.
Why would I not want to use the Torrent? First, I was too tired, and it was entirely possible I could lose control of the energies and kill myself. Also, since I’m a nature witch, I prefer to use only Earth magic.
Manipulating and drawing on the Torrent required the use of an entirely different school of magic—the darkane. Darkane magic, or energy magic was incredibly potent, dangerous and addictive. It was different from a shaman’s elemental magic which was at its root, earth-based.
I’d never been inside the currents. One needed a dragon to travel them, because they were patrolled by fearsome lindworms—serpents with long, lethal talons which swam through and fed off the Torrent. The Torrent was also the route used by vamps, werewolves, fae and demons of the supernatural and psychic realms to enter the Earth realm. The only way to access the gates to other realms was through these currents.
But you first had to get past the guardians at the gates. I shuddered, renewing my decision to never, ever traverse the Torrent. The most darkane work I’d ever done was tap into it to make a circle on very rare occasions, and I intended to keep it that way. The path of the darkane could lead to ruin and madness. I was not so power hungry, and was more than content to use my nature magic for my recipes.
I would never consider using runic magic, the third school of magic. It wasn’t simply banned, it was what had cracked reality and allowed the impossible to become possible. Runic magic left smut on your soul and was evil. It required using gestures and was demonic in nature. The only gesture I intended to make at the appropriate time involved the use of my middle finger.
I was a student of physical magic. The schools had diverged, and using a wand had almost fallen out of favor. I inhaled my spells and the knowledge of how to work it implanted itself in my brain. If I used a spell often, I could recall it in its entirety, since I had strengthened my connections to my mind and my metaphysical magic. Knowing me, I had probably skipped the anatomy of a spell class in school, and since I hadn’t used this spell in months, I’d have to refresh it.
I went over to the stove, took the lid off the black potbelly cauldron, and reached with shaking fingers for my handcrafted grimoire—my spell book or book of shadows, chock full of the spells I had collected and/or created since I awoke into a world I didn’t know. I kept a separate kitchen witch spell book for my cooking recipes.
I thumbed to the mirror spell I had originally concocted to help me find a pair of misplaced crystal earrings. Olivia had given them to me shortly after we’d met, and I would have been heartbroken if I’d lost them. It had been quite spooky to watch myself performing simple, everyday tasks until I saw where I had misplaced the earrings. Now it would give me insight into Olivia’s death. Clues I could hopefully pass onto the OS.
The spell had worked like a charm. Olivia had been awed, too, said it was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, and how did I think up things like that? I didn’t really know. It had just come to me, fully made, and I used it to find those beloved earrings, even though I knew as a witch I shouldn’t be so possessive about “things.” Maybe it was because I had forgotten everything I ever knew, and holding on to my few things gave me comfort and a sense of security.
I perused the list of ingredients and was relieved to note I had them all. Frankincense, which increased the power of conjured work; licorice root for commanding; bluebell for truth; Dittany of Crete for manifestations; sweetgrass for calling spirits.
Normally I would add hellbore black, but in this case I didn’t need protection from images. As a base, I used sun water, and a simple binding spell to set the potion. I went into my stirring trance by reciting the words. “Stir me once, stir me twice, stir me thrice, and all will be nice.” It was a silly rhyme taught to witchlings—young witches—but it worked fine for me, and I liked the simplistic beauty of it.
Spells shouldn’t be rushed, but I had already imprinted this one, and I was just doing a refresher so I didn’t make any mistakes. Once I inhaled it, I then gathered my big, round candles, a taper and moved to where Olivia’s body lay.
The spell firmly in mind, I bit my lip. I always did it before launching into a spell; don’t ask me why. The spell was one I had stirred in my stove-top cast iron cauldron. Time was ticking away fast, and I already should have called the OS.
I placed a white candle towards the east, a red candle to the south, a blue to the west, and a green to the north.
I closed my eyes to better commune with the elements, shutting out all other stimuli. As I lit the white candle, I said, "I call forth the sylphs, powers of air from the east that I may be like the air, light and clear.” I opened my second sight, and there, dancing on the tip of the flame, was a tiny, lithe fairy with white wings unfurled.
I then moved to the south and lit the red, reciting, “I call forth the powers of fire from the south that I may be like fire, tempered and strong.” With my second sight open, I watched the small salamander form, its fiery tongue a small shooting flame.
To the west, as the blue candle flared to life, I said, “I call forth the powers of water that I may be like water, liquid and flexible.” Water was my elemental favorite, and my tattoo responded by twisting itself into a fluid, rock-strewn brook running down my arm to my fingertips. A water nymph appeared in my second sight, its tail swishing softly in unseen currents, an open and winsome smile on her face.
I moved to the last candle and brought the flame to life as I said, “I call forth the power of Earth that I may be like Earth, still and watchful.” And, with those words, a small gnome formed and bowed with a flourish of his red cap.
I centered myself both physically and mentally and said, "Welcome air, fire, water, earth, shine your light and lend your strength to this, my circle, today." As I said the words, beams of light snaked from each of the candles across the floor and joined, illuminating for a moment. A sheen of pure blue light formed, encompassing me in a sphere before retreating a bit into a complete and perfect circle.
I said softly, "Negative forces be gone. You are not welcome here.” I recited, “Now is my circle cast, unbreakable and without harm. Thus is sacred space decreed, in which no act goes unnoticed. So mote it be.”
Casting a magic circle creates sacred space and inaugurates sacred time. It’s like entering a place when the world was original. In the language of fairy tales, a magic circle allows you to stand at the moment when the universe began, the moment we call “once upon a time.” We experience stopping the world. We stand in a circle, and we are between worlds of ordinary and non-ordinary
reality. All times and all places meet within the circle, and it becomes the center of the universe for us. Like the pentacle, we are the star within the great circle of life.
There were many times I wondered at my abilities, and so had Olivia. Because of my amnesia, I couldn’t remember my name, or anything about my life before the sundering, but it seemed like I had retained my knowledge of witchcraft, and it came to me as easily as breathing. The doctor had called it procedural memory, and explained that it guides the processes we perform regularly and habitually, and most frequently resides below the level of conscious awareness. When needed, procedural memories are automatically retrieved and utilized for the integrated procedures involved in both cognitive and motor skills, from brushing your teeth to riding a bike to writing. Procedural memories are accessed and used without the need for conscious control or attention.
I sometimes wondered what procedural memories might surface if I were pressed. I decided, now that Olivia was dead, I just might find out.
I faced the fridge, closed my second sight adjusting to the blurred and distorted world that looked like a watercolor painting, and took a deep breath. Behind my closed eyes I envisioned the spell, and as I released my breath I gathered my will—my magic—and whispered the Latin word for illuminate…illuminant.
The spell made a popping sound as it adhered to the refrigerator’s surface, and a shimmer of power spread out with a soft whoosh, coating the silver doors with a burgeoning haze that turned the metal into a liquid quicksilver, sorta how I thought Alice’s looking glass would have appeared…a thick, wavy, permeable surface.
As I watched images begin to materialize, the lines of the kitchen re-formed and strengthened, but with gaps and blurred edges, like looking through a window peppered and smeared with rain. I had been right. The image was already beginning to seriously degrade.
Then I heard humming in a soft, fluid tone. Olivia. I also felt her emotions. She was scared, worried, regret lying heavy on her heart. I realized she was sorry for what she had done, but was still determined to complete her plan.
I gasped. Olivia had really, truly betrayed me with clear intent. I could only wonder at the reason. My chest ached and my throat tightened. Why? Why had she been willing to leave me alone, broke, and hurting? It must have been very, very important to her. I believed it because, along with the other emotions, I could feel her love for me.
Then suddenly, she stepped into view, the white dress she wore filmy and delicate on her winsome body. Her blue eyes, like a slice of sky, sparkled with a deep and secretive light. Then I saw myself walk out of the hallway from the bedrooms, dressed exactly as I was now. I shuddered and felt my skin ripple at seeing my reflection.
Olivia leaned out of the image, and when she came back, she placed a steaming mug in my hands. “Coffee,” she said, “you’ll need it. It’s going to be a long day and night for you.”
“Sure,” I smiled at her. “It’ll be worth it. Our supplier runs in the best of circles. It can only bring us good publicity.”
She nodded. “Just be careful, Lily. Chris can get very cranky during the full of the moon, and werewolves are never to be taken lightly. They live in a closed society and, at best, only tolerate the other supers.”
“Then I’d better walk lightly and carry a big spell,” I said with a laugh.
Olivia laughed with me, and at the time I thought it impulsive, but she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. The memory mingled with my pain, confusing me further, showing me she did have regrets. She released me and looked at the clock. “You’d better get going.”
“See you tomorrow morning, and don’t forget the cream puffs we need for Mrs. Cary’s tea.”
She nodded and I walked out of the viewing field. Shortly after that, Olivia left, and the kitchen stood empty. I watched patiently until she returned.
She went about her business, and at one point approached the fridge to open the door. I was disoriented by the movement and the swift images, but the door soon closed and she moved back to the counter. I heard a knock and Olivia’s head jerked up, as if she wasn’t expecting it.
She dried her hands on a kitchen towel and left my field of vision. I heard voices, one clipped and the other musical. Finally Olivia walked back into the kitchen, and I braced myself, hoping for a glimpse of the person at the door, the voice which was decidedly male.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Olivia said calmly, the barest hint of a threat in her voice. “I need the dust, pure and simple. It’s imperative.”
“You’re getting reckless and expensive, Olivia.”
“It’ll be worth your while,” she said, her blue eyes narrowing in a way which sent fear tripping through me. I’d never seen her look at anyone that way.
I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. Olivia wasn’t an idiot, and she wouldn’t get mixed up with pure dust. My stomach clenched and churned, and for a moment I thought I was going to be sick again. But only for a moment.
“I don’t like you cutting me out,” he said, handing her an envelope.
“This isn’t about you,” she hissed, snatching the envelope out of his hand. Energy thrummed, and her beautiful face contorted in a rage I had never seen from her before. Even from within my circle I could feel the force of it. I stepped back, barely remembering to stay within the circle’s protective boundaries.
Finally, the man moved into view and I gasped, the sound loud in my kitchen. Chris Bailey growled softly, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I could hear how close he was to changing, see the power of transformation rippling in his thick muscles. “You watch your tone, witch. I’ll give you my contact’s name, and then you are on your own.”
“I have to do this alone,” she muttered. The revelation cut me, made my heart throb with pain, and I felt this morning’s anger surge back.
He slapped a piece of paper down on the counter and Olivia snatched it up. Her chin came up as she faced off with him. “Goodbye,” she said decisively, and he turned and left.
She went back to preparing the cream puff filling she had taken out of the refrigerator. Then suddenly her head came up and she looked around in a panic. I couldn’t see what threatened her, but I knew what was coming, and desperately wished I could end the spell and somehow prevent Olivia’s death, but I couldn’t.
She ran out of the kitchen, and I realized this must have been when she spelled the lock. When she came back into view, I watched as she read the scrap of paper, and then burned it in a small bowl, dumping the ash into the drain and then thoroughly washing out the bowl.
She finished the filling, covered it, and stored it in the fridge.
I sniffed back tears and Olivia disappeared. She came back with a small bag, the one we’d found with a few of her belongings in it. She had been leaving, then, with no word to me.
She walked up to the fridge and picked up the pen and poised to write. The close up look on her face made my heart twist. She looked so torn and unhappy. What could have happened? Why hadn’t she confided in me? Then her eyes filled with tears and she dropped the pen. “What could I say? She’s never going to understand.” Tears gathered in my eyes at this one last glimpse of her. I wanted so much to reach out and hug her, but it was impossible. This had already happened. All I knew was that I was so thankful to be able see her once more. Then her face crumpled and tears slipped down her cheeks.
Some of the pain in my heart eased a bit as I watched her struggle. She looked scared but determined, like something really heavy was taking up a lot of space in her head.
She raised the pen again, but the air shimmered at the entrance to the hall and she dropped it, looking around, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. She moved to the place where she was murdered, and I was sick with the knowledge of what was coming.
I watched in fascinated horror as something dark, covered in a cowl, seemed to split open the air and step out. In the figure’s hand was a dagger which writhed with dark tendrils like shadow s
nakes.
He walked up to her and she turned, as though she had felt or heard something. Without saying a word, he plunged the knife to the hilt in her abdomen and jerked it up.
Olivia cried out, grabbing the hilt of the knife in her belly while blood spread over her white dress, bright and ruby red. Her stricken eyes were wide. “Lily,” she whispered, “forgive me.” The figure pulled the knife out and, with a soft exclamation, Olivia fell to the floor and lay still.
All my emotions knotted into a tight ball in my chest, and a small sob escaped me. The shrouded head turned with supernatural swiftness and focused on me.
I realized with dawning horror that he could see me.
Chapter Three
The look in his dark eyes sent ice straight into my bones, all the way to the marrow, and carried with it a level of terror beyond anything I had ever felt or could even imagine. It surged and boiled and merged with the heartbreaking grief.
He simply stepped out of the reflection on the refrigerator, implacably holding his knife ready in front of him. He hit the energy of my circle, and a haunting, unnatural sound caused a cascading slew of chills rippled and merged with a horrified shiver.
He swung at me with the knife and I panicked, my fear making me almost mindless.
Too late my mind cleared, but my heel had already hit the white candle, and the small sylph blinked out, the blue light disappeared and my circle collapsed with a terrible whooshing blast.
He made a different sound this time, eerie and full of triumph. It rasped out of him and froze my blood, paralyzing me.
Move! I screamed inside my head while he surged forward. I backpedaled until I came up against the wall, a solid barrier. I had nowhere to go. I was three stories up and had no time to open the window.
I watched him approach with horror, the feel of a thousand cold needles prickling my skin, and icy dread burned blue-white across my soul.
I could feel his purpose, mindless, empty like the black hole in my mind.
