Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  “Yes.”

  Frustrated, she asked, “What time is it?”

  He glanced at the luminescent dial of his watch. “Eleven twenty-five.”

  “Thirty-five minutes.” The beam of light she held trembled.

  “We can do this,” he insisted. “That’s plenty of — ” The shrill ring of his cell phone echoed in the lonely graveyard. “Maxine?” he answered.

  Abby took hold of his sleeve.

  “Meet me at the north entrance to the cemetery.” He flipped the phone shut. “She’s got it,” he told her.

  Within ten minutes, Maxine arrived and folded the necklace into Abby’s hand. “Hurry,” she urged. Turning to Jack she added, “Save her this time.” Without another word, she got back in her car.

  Not knowing what to say, Jack once again took Abby by the hand and looked around. “Let’s go.” Instinct again told him to veer left. He guided her quickly, but carefully through the rows of head stones.

  “These are all around the right time period,” she noted, verifying the dates and using them as reference points. Abby hurried alongside him as best she could. As the minutes ticked by, her panic grew and frustration only clouded her senses.

  Jack clenched his jaw, not daring to check his watch again. They were running out of time. He knew it. Abby knew it. And he believed somewhere close by Bridget knew it. Her words burned in his mind, warning that even if they remembered, she had somehow turned the tables on them.

  That’s when he saw it. The silhouette of a gnarly, petrified tree loomed in the distance. He picked up his pace, practically dragging Abby behind him. “Hurry,” he urged.

  Adrenaline pumping, Abby stumbled yet kept her footing. Barely matching his long strides in the dark, her breathing changed to gulps as she struggled to keep up. Once there, she saw the boulder Jack had described. Its flat top could have resembled a stone bench.

  “That’s it,” he huffed. “We’ve found it.”

  Abby felt the amulet warm in her hand. She opened her palm and turned her flashlight away, leaving the necklace in the dark. “Jack,” she whispered.

  He didn’t need to look to see the pulsing glow, but he did. Mesmerized, it resembled liquid gold. “Now what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. Dreading, but knowing she had to see the name, her name, Abby shined her flashlight on the small, plain headstone. “Nooo,” she wailed.

  Understanding, Jack comforted her. “I know it must be a shock, to see your name, but — ”

  “No,” she cried. “It’s not my stone.”

  “Look, this is a lot to — ”

  “It’s not mine, Jack.”

  Jack instinctively brought up his light. “What the hell?” He read the tombstone, “Sarah Spencer, Cherished Daughter, 1686–1692.

  Abby’s flashlight dropped from her hand. “Oh, my God.”

  Jack redirected his beam to the tree, then the huge boulder and back to the marker. “I don’t care what this says — ”

  Another flash. He saw Jackson seated on the bench-like boulder, a spray of burgundy mums in hand. The stone he looked at read: Abigail Corey, My One and Only True Love, 1674–1692.

  “This is the right grave, Abby.”

  She snatched up her flashlight. “No, it isn’t,” she cried. Turning her beam on the surrounding markers. “It’s nearly midnight, and this is not Abigail’s grave.”

  “Forget the damn marker. It is,” he swore, more certain than ever.

  “It’s not!” Abby started to run, zigzagging through the cemetery. “How will we find it now?” Her flashlight darted and beamed like a laser, spotlighting every marker within its reach. “Please, God, life can’t be this cruel again.”

  By the time Jack caught up with Abby, she was sobbing. Frantic, she clung to him. “Help me find it, Jack.”

  Maxine’s words echoed in his head — Save her this time.

  Jack eased her away. “You have to trust me, Abby.”

  She felt the amulet warm noticeably as he spoke.

  “Do you?” he asked quietly. “Do you trust me?

  Again the stone warmed. “Yes.”

  He walked her back to the boulder beneath the tree. “I don’t care what the marker says. This is Abigail Corey’s grave. I ought to know. I buried her there.”

  Abby’s sobs hitched, and she let him continue.

  He checked the illuminated dial on his watch — eleven forty-five. “Do you trust that what I’m telling you is the truth?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and cleared her mind. “Maybe switching headstones is how Bridget tried to turn the tables on us.”

  “I think you’re right.” He took the necklace from Abby’s hand and slipped it over her head. “We’re running out of time, so try to channel what you remember from that All Hallows Eve in 1692.”

  Abby stood deathly still. She took another deep breath, turned her face skyward and focused on the full moon.

  “I think,” she began, exhaling slowly, “I think Abigail and I need to come together as one.” Her words were soft, spoken more to herself than to Jack.

  Jack snuck another look at his watch — eleven fifty. His mouth went dry. Feeling nearly as powerless as he had over three hundred years ago, all he could do was pray Abby could save herself. That’s all he really wanted.

  As she cast a circle around the grave, she said quietly, “Beloved by the Universe, I, Abigail Corey, both past and present, am loved and protected by all that is divine and pure.” She lay down on the earth and closed both eyes, with her head touching the inscribed front of the marker.

  Jack watched in fascination as the amulet at Abby’s throat pulsed with her every heartbeat … and his? Stunned, but not frightened, he felt the power surge through his body and warm his blood. The age-old rhythm kicked up a warm breeze that, within seconds, surrounded the two of them. As Jack stood cocooned by the darkness, and mesmerized by the comforting, steady throb coursing through his veins, the world around them, above them, and below them absorbed the synchronicity like a parched desert floor soaks up rainwater.

  Suddenly, electricity exploded all around them. Instead of the soothing drone, it sounded like hundreds of light bulbs simultaneously dropped onto concrete. Light fragments sparked and splintered. Fireworks erupted within the circle. The pitch intensified. The louder the whine, the faster the wind. The stronger the wind, the colder the air. Jack’s ears itched from the reverberation. Like a carnival ride, centrifugal force plastered his clothing against him. Frosty puffs of breath slipped through his chattering teeth.

  Unable to move a muscle, Jack strained to keep his eyes open and locate Abby. He blinked in disbelief and blinked again. He was nailed to the spot surrounded by some kind of conjured up, supernatural whirlwind. How could she lay unaffected in its midst? Her dress remained unruffled. Her auburn hair fanned over the grass, every strand in place. Her breath did not form a frigid cloud above her lips. Instead, she remained untouched as if in the eye of a storm.

  As suddenly as the wind had gusted, the temperature had dropped and the buzz had intensified to the point of head-splitting, everything returned to normal. The air around them grew deathly still. Warm. Silent. To Jack, it felt like being dropped down a well. One moment he’d been soaring, the next he hit rock bottom like a bag of wet cement. Jack staggered but somehow managed to keep his footing as he looked for Abby.

  She stood up, eyes still closed, but Jack saw it. A smoky tendril, barely discernible at first, was inching its way out of the earth behind her. Hesitating as if to decide, do I stay or do I go, it undulated and strained like a baby wriggling from a mother’s womb. With each twist and stretch the filmy wisp elongated and broadened. Jack held his breath and watched the misty form writhe and strain. One at a time, legs protruded. Dark shoes with brass buckles dangled. Arms extended and fi
ngers wiggled. White petticoats appeared beneath a long, black dress. And then he saw the face start to emerge. At first the features looked like they were pressing against Saran Wrap. Then, like focusing a camera lens, the image materialized. Green eyes. Auburn hair. Full lips. When the mist around her cleared, Abigail Corey hovered just above the ground.

  When Abby’s lashes fluttered open, she saw Jack, but he wasn’t looking at her. Hairs prickling at the nape of her neck, as she pivoted to follow his gaze. It was like looking into a fogged up mirror in the dark with only moonlight to illuminate your image. Transparent features. Blurred boundaries. Eerie familiarity.

  Abby blinked. Looked again. Blinked. She lowered her head, then forced a calming breath. As she raised her gaze, one final glance at the now-clear image of herself was all she needed. Abby closed her eyes again to focus all her energy. “Join our lives, Abigail and me. Make us whole for all to see. Fuse two lost souls and make them one. Nevermore to be undone. As I will so mote it be.”

  Unafraid, she relaxed and allowed the unification to begin. As she and Abigail united, Abby felt the whoosh sensation. Tingly. Breathtaking. Like the scene from a movie when the ghost walks right through someone, and the person feels it but doesn’t know what it is. Kinda like that. Only better. So much better. Because Abby knew exactly what it was. This melding had purpose. This joining of spirits was her destiny. This incarnation was exactly what she has been missing all her life. Finally, Abigail Corey would make Abby whole, and, in turn, she would do the same for Abigail.

  Abby’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s done,” she said softly.

  Jack marked the time — eleven fifty-five. They had made it in time.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Not quite in time, Jack!” Bridget swore, appearing from behind the tree.

  The flash Abby got was every bit as defining as it was fast. She saw Bridget as a young girl of about twelve with long dark curls playing by the pond with a much younger girl. Her laughter had turned to cruel teasing, and then she pushed the small, blonde girl into the water.

  “Sarah.” The name escaped Abby’s lips like a prayer. “Sarah was your stepsister.” She met Bridget’s icy stare. “Oh … my … God. The name on the headstone — Sarah Spencer was Maxine’s daughter, and she was only six years old when you let her drown.”

  Bong! Peeling through the cold October night like a funeral dirge, the first chime marked the countdown to the witching hour.

  “Not my fault that brat couldn’t swim.” Bridget saw Jack check his watch. “That’s right, Jack — or should I say Jackson? The witching hour is nearly upon us. So, say goodbye to your beloved Abigail again.”

  Bong!

  When Jack lunged at Bridget, she thrust one arm straight out in front of her, its flat palm facing him. The staccato gesture stopped him cold, and the air around him stood still. Bridget exhaled a ragged breath.

  Bong!

  Abby recognized the same force Bridget had used on Jack earlier. When she rushed to his defense, Bridget turned on her. Abby splayed her fingers, casting sparks.

  Bong!

  Abby and Bridget squared off. The hum of electricity crackled between them, rekindling an age-old power. Face to face, only twenty feet separated them. Linked by time through space, for the second time in history on All Hallows Eve blue eyes challenged green as the standoff began. With arms raised in confrontation, a palpable, albeit invisible, force connected the two.

  Painfully aware of his surroundings, Jack struggled to be free of his invisible shackles. Like over three hundred years earlier when he had been tied to the tree, tonight he fought with every ounce of his being to break Bridget’s spell. Like before, he watched the battle for power begin, praying Abby could somehow remember all she needed to hold her own. Sweat dampened his forehead … and he could feel it. This spell was not as strong as the last one Bridget had cast on him. So, he labored harder to free himself. He strained every muscle. Pulled like a sled dog. And that’s when he felt it. Something gave — just a little.

  With everything at stake, how in God’s name could Abby be forced to fly by the seat of her pants? Witchcraft was new to her, at least in this lifetime. Tonight, she had to try and draw on knowledge from her past life. As she and Bridget stood, locked in a macabre checkmate, they stared each other down. Abby knew just checking Bridget’s power was not an option; she had to defeat her.

  Like two men arm wrestling, the hold was locked. No one moved. No one gave an inch. Electricity splintered the air between them. Sparks flew. The surrounding atmosphere quivered with visible but silent sound waves. No one took a breath.

  Bong!

  The silence was deafening. The sky grew blacker. The moon beamed brighter. A golden glow bridged the gap separating the two women. With it a discernible hum broke the night’s silence. Not a comforting, soothing sound. This was a disconcerting buzz. Like angry bees. Bees with an agenda. Bees that were so pissed off they would be happy to sting you over and over again until you died.

  Bridget gritted her teeth. Abby locked her jaw. Energy warmed the distance between them. A force, strong enough to hold them fast, raged between the two, holding them together, keeping them apart.

  Bong!

  As the pressure around Bridget and Abby escalated, the animals residing in the cemetery scattered. Paying little or no attention to one another, squirrels and rabbits skittered away. Deer and raccoons zigzagged behind them. Birds and bats took flight, nearly blocking out the moon. Owls screeched as even the trees pulled back.

  Against the laws of nature, the evergreens, maples and oaks leaned away from the energy field. Creaking, their giant limbs bent and strained almost to the breaking point, as the pure voltage that had been created in that small circle released skyward, searing their branches and scorching their leaves. The smell of smoldering pine and charred bark tainted the breeze. The night sky exploded into a million sparks, breaking the standoff.

  Abby watched Bridget’s smugness melt — ever so slightly — like warm candle wax. Abby blinked. That wasn’t just Bridget’s expression that had changed. It was her skin. Literally. A chink in her armor?

  Bridget jabbed her front finger in Abby’s direction.

  Abby hit the ground hard.

  Bong!

  Rattled, she jumped to her feet and mirrored Bridget’s motion. Sparks flew as the force that swooshed between them knocked Bridget backwards ten feet and slammed her into a tree. Her slow recovery gave Abby time to glance at Jack. In the moonlight Abby could make out his breathing and saw his fingers twitch.

  Bong!

  Singed by the smoldering bark, Bridget pushed away from the blackened trunk — but slowly. She raised both arms above her head in a dramatic, wing-like motion. With the full moon at her back and her long, black sleeves billowing in the cold night breeze, she resembled a giant bat.

  Bong!

  Able to writhe in slow motion now, Jack watched Bridget bring down both arms in unison. Unable to believe his eyes, he would swear she had aged. Her back was bent. Her face was chalk-white. Her hair was gray.

  The force propelled Abby over twenty feet, sending her backwards over a tombstone and knocking the wind out of her. Gasping, she struggled to her feet.

  Abby prayed Bridget’s powers were weakening at the same rate her body appeared to be, but after witnessing her strength, she knew time was running out. Still trying to catch her breath, Abby yanked off one of the silver laces from her dress as the clock chimed. How many times did this make? Eight? More than that? She wasn’t sure.

  Bong!

  “I was only twelve back then.” Abby spoke fast as her shaky fingers tied a knot in both ends. “Too scared of you to tell anyone what I had seen you do.” She saw Jack’s arm and one leg break free. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”

  Bong!

  As Bridget charged forward, Ab
by dangled the silver cord in midair. She pulled the amulet from the pocket of her dress and tossed it. The instant Bridget instinctively caught it, Abby spoke, “A weight, a ban, a stop I place, never again to see your face. As I will so mote it be.”

  Bong!

  Even in her weakened state, Bridget writhed and fought like a wild animal. Agonizing, she struggled to escape but stood rooted to the spot. Arms raised to the night sky, she let out a blood-curdling scream. Her neck snapped back and she howled at the moon. Cursing and swearing, she twisted and thrashed. Clawing the air with her crone-like hands, she snapped and snarled like a rabid dog and rushed toward Abby.

  Jack broke free and fell to his knees. Shoving off the damp earth with both hands, he heard Bridget begin the spell. Jack raced between them and threw himself in front of Abby.

  “Go back in time. Your fate I take. This wish, this vow is mine to make!” When Bridget’s arms came down together, it was Jack who was caught the crossfire, not Abby.

  Abby saw Jack coming and heard Bridget’s words, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jack ran. Bridget began her spell. Jack dove. Bridget extended her arms. Sparks flew. Fog billowed and swirled. Surrounded Jack. Pulled him away.

  Horrified, Abby reached out. “Take my hand, Jack!” she screamed. For an instant their eyes locked and his fingertips brushed hers … and then all she saw was smoke.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Jack! No, Jack! Nooo!” Fire flew from Abby’s fingers. In a white-hot rage, she turned on Bridget and, without thinking, snapped the cord in two. She never saw Maxine running toward her. Never heard her screams. Never processed her warning.

  The full moon turned blood red. Lightening split the sky. Abby’s eyes glowed like fiery embers as she roared, “For this horrific crime you’ll pay. You killed my love. It ends today. You will go back in time tonight. Right now. Be off and take your flight. As I will so mote it be.”