by J. S. Malcom
He looks at me waiting for a response. I shrug.
Steve continues. “So, one of our guys lifts the lid on that butter dish, and guess what? There’s a freaking stick of butter still inside. Don’t ask me how that’s possible. It completely defies logic. But, somehow, that one corner of the kitchen stayed cool enough that the butter didn’t melt, while the rest of the house cooked. Weird, right?”
He looks at me again, so I say, “Yep, that’s pretty weird.” I still have no idea what his point is.
“So, the fire department has no idea how this fire started,” Steve says. “I mean, they’re the experts, but they’re stumped. Still, they figure it for some sort of arson. Foul play, definitely. They call us in and we look around. I remembered that butter dish, and I figured that’s what happened here. This apartment is that butter dish. Weird as hell, but okay, that’s fire for you. I’m about to leave, thinking this is the last place I should be looking for any clues. I mean, everything’s fine here, right? I’m just about to close the door, but I get this tingling feeling on the back of my neck. Ever had one of those? Like something is just nagging at you?”
I wait to see if he’s kidding. He literally just described experiencing a psychic ping, but somehow doesn’t seem to make the connection.
“Like a hunch,” I say.
“Yeah, exactly. A hunch. So, I decided to poke around a little more.” He makes eye contact again, and then does the same with Ian and Autumn. “Remember when I said to tell me if you spotted anything unusual? You didn’t, right?”
“Right,” Ian says.
Autumn and I confirm the same thing.
“Exactly,” Steve says. “This is the one place where everything seems normal. That’s what I thought too. Then I noticed this.”
Steve points across the room to a mirror. It’s oval, with a wooden frame, possibly an antique that Bethany brought here from her family’s farm. Like everything else in Bethany’s apartment, the mirror appears to have been left untouched by the fire.
Then I squint, peering at what looks like a shadowy impression left on the glass. “Wait, is that—?”
Steve nods. “It sure is.”
He crosses the room and we follow him to group around the mirror. For the second time today, Autumn lets out a gasp. That shadowy impression I spotted from across the room is an image held within the glass. The image is faint, just barely there, looking as if it had been etched with smoke beneath the mirror’s surface. It’s a woman’s face. Her eyes pop wide with fear, and her mouth gapes as if she’s silently screaming. There’s also no doubt that the woman staring back at us is Bethany.
CHAPTER 14
The four of us remain standing before the mirror, shock having shifted to confusion. On a logical level, this image of Bethany makes no sense. A mirror is a mirror. The only images they hold are reflections. All the same, this one holds Bethany’s faded image within it, as if reflected from somewhere far away. From the look on her face, it doesn’t look like someplace I’d ever want to visit.
What we’re seeing resulted from magic. Of that, I feel sure. A moment of eye contact with Autumn—ironically, within the mirror—confirms that she’s thinking the same thing. What kind of magic, or what it means, I have no idea. Although, I can’t help but be reminded of that recent conversation I had with Maggie at Grimoire. At the time, we talked about what she called speculomancy. How witches long ago had used glass, typically mirrors, to see other times and places. Not just witches, I realize. Veil witches.
Still, I can’t see how Bethany’s eerie image connects to what we discussed.
“What about heat?” Ian says. “Could extreme heat capture an image this way? Possibly burn it into the glass?”
Steve cocks his head, and I know what he’s going to say. “Look around. It didn’t get hot in here. Or, if it got hot, it didn’t get that hot.” He runs his finger along the oval frame of the mirror. “This wood isn’t cracked or blistered. Look at the glass. It looks like someone just polished it yesterday.”
“Okay, so the mirror image is… strange,” Ian says. “To say the least. What about the residents? What did they report? Specifically, did any of them report anything unusual?”
Steve rocks back on his heels and shoves hands into his pockets. “As it turns out, I was saving the best for last. The fire happened late at night. Most of the residents were asleep. The alarms went off, the sprinkler systems kicked in, and people ran like hell. Hence the open doors along the hall.”
He pauses. Autumn’s right. Steve is a man who enjoys a bit of drama in his work.
Ian nods repeatedly in a “get on with it” fashion. “And?”
“There were a couple of residents who said they saw something. That there was some sort of creature running through the building. That it was, get this, spitting fire out of its mouth.”
I narrow my eyes at what could only be the description of some kind of demon. “What did they say it looked like?”
“A man,” Steve says. “Well, sort of, but with glowing green eyes and leathery wings. And, like they said, he could spit fire. What are you going to do with that, right?”
“Ignore it?” I say. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense.” Not to you guys, I think. And it barely makes sense to me. Now there’s a fire-spitting demon? What the hell is going on?
Steve points a finger at me. “Bingo. Makes no sense at all.” He gestures at Ian and Autumn. “Which is why I called these two. That’s what I do when things don’t make sense. Welcome to the team, by the way.”
I don’t know what to do with that, other than say, “Thanks.”
“You’re entirely welcome,” Steve says. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to know about the fire-breathing creature with wings. Clearly, that’s just nuts. And even if he stepped into this room and lit my ass on fire, I wouldn’t tell the guys at the precinct. But my old buddy Ian has a thing for missing persons cases. Especially those grounded in weirdness. I just figured I’d throw him a bone. As an added bonus, it turns out you guys know the girl, so I guess my instincts were good.”
Ian studies his old friend. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Steve takes his hands from his pockets, one of them holding his keys. He gives them a spin on his index finger. “That I don’t want to know what happens? Exactly. This one is all yours. Now, we should probably get out of here.”
“What about the mirror?” I say. “Can we take it?”
Steve hesitates, all of our eyes upon him. “Let me put it this way,” he says. “Make sure you lock up on the way out.”
CHAPTER 15
My gut starts to twist as we exit the highway. I look out at the fields and barns, remembering the last time I drove out this way. Images flash through my mind. Me as I checked my hair and eyeliner in the rearview mirror. Smoke rising from the chimney of the Aimes’s old farmhouse. A chestnut mare galloping across a field, one that turned out to have two riders. Phoenix and that blonde girl turning toward each other as they were about to—
“Doing okay?” Autumn says.
Of course, she knows I’m thinking about Phoenix. I could never come here and not think about him. All the same, I decide to lie. Because, you know, maybe if I pretend I don’t feel anything then maybe I won’t feel anything. This trip out here has nothing to do with me and Phoenix anyway.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “I was just thinking about what Steve said, about that creature people said they saw.”
Autumn lets enough time pass to tell me she doesn’t fully believe me. Then she says, “Think it was real?”
“Doubt it,” I say.
Autumn turns to look at me as she steers us along a country road. “Why?”
“Well, what did it sound like to you?”
“Some sort of demon.”
“Case in point,” I say. “People can’t see demons. They can feel demons. They can be used by demons, influenced by demons, manipulated by demons, but they can’t see them. Which is what makes t
hem so dangerous. They remain invisible, except to us.”
Autumn nods, slowing as we approach a stop sign in the middle of nowhere. “Are you ruling out psychics? What about werewolves?”
“Huh?”
“Well, that was a decent sized apartment building. So, I’m thinking at least a hundred people probably lived there. Who’s to say that one or two of them weren’t psychics, or werewolves. Or witches who don’t know they’re witches, for that matter.”
“Do you really think there were werewolves living in an apartment building? What do they do on the full moon, run through the building killing hamsters and gobbling down goldfish?”
Autumn laughs. “Okay, maybe werewolves is a stretch. I’m just saying you never know.”
I look out at the fields again. Yeah, you never know. For example, you tell the guy you’re seeing that you need some time. Then you decide to drop in on him. He comes riding up on a horse with some blonde chick and they start making out. You just never know when you’re going to feel like a total asshat.
“Speaking of hot guys,” Autumn says.
I pretend to not know what she’s getting at. “He probably didn’t exist,” I say.
“I wasn’t talking about the demon,” Autumn says. “I meant Esras. You didn’t finish telling me about him.”
Yeah, I did. I totally finished telling you about him.
I keep staring straight ahead through the windshield.
Autumn nudges me in the ribs.
“Did you really just nudge me in the ribs?”
“My hands are on the steering wheel,” Autumn says. “Must have been a snorfler. Maybe you have sugar on your shirt.”
“I don’t have sugar on my shirt.”
“Come on,” Autumn says.
“What?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it. Oh, wait! It was the sex, wasn’t it? Did the fae guy have like a super huge—”
“You’re going to miss the turn.” I point to where we’re supposed to take a left.
Autumn points out at the road. “Wait, did you mean that giant green sign right there?”
“You could have missed it,” I say. “You know, because your mind is totally slumming right now.”
Autumn ignores the comment. “That’s fine,” she says. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Good. I won’t.” Did I really just say that? Yes, I did. At least I didn’t cross my arms over my chest and flip my hair back.
Autumn turns left and we start to close the distance between us and the Aimes’s farm. Suddenly, I realize what she was doing by needling me. My big sister was reminding me that I made choices. That I created choices. I wasn’t a victim. Not totally, anyway. And, even if I was a victim to some degree, I went on to experience something no other woman on earth has experienced. Familiar fields come into view, along with a familiar house, but my heart isn’t pounding anymore. My gut isn’t twisting, as I remember the power I had in Faerie. Power entrusted to me because I too am powerful.
I speak softly. “Thanks.”
“For what?” Autumn says, even though she knows.
“For not missing the turn,” I say. “I figured you were going to blow it.”
~~~
We pull into the driveway as the sun is setting behind Isabel Aimes’s old Victorian farmhouse. Lights are on in the windows already, casting a cozy glow across the front porch with its swinging chairs. Not long ago, I sat in one of those chairs alongside Phoenix, soon to have his arm wrapped around me. Autumn had gone into town with Isabel and Bethany. Errands, they said, some things that had to get done.
At the time, it hadn’t occurred to me, but looking back now I suspect they left us alone on purpose. To give us a little time together while we were still getting to know each other. That was the first time we kissed, Phoenix and I, on a warm fall day, with the sun warming our skin. I remember the taste of his lips, warm and sweet. Those first lips to touch my own after I got my body back. Within a week, we had sex for the first time. I’d been afraid in so many ways, technically still a virgin. Even though I’d experienced sex many times while sharing Julia’s body, it hadn’t been the same. Not even close, as every part of me cried out with pleasure. That was the first time when the magic within me mingled with the magic of someone else. I could never have felt that while sharing Julia’s body. I needed my own body, a witch’s body, to feel that elemental ecstasy.
After, Phoenix held me in his arms as I nestled against him. He ran his fingers through my hair and trailed them down my back, caressing me until I finally fell asleep. It’s so easy to forget moments like that when you’re angry, but Phoenix knew what it meant for me to share my body for the first time. He treated me with a tenderness and respect I’ll never forget.
Autumn kills the engine and I make myself snap out of it. In this moment, the past doesn’t matter. What we face now won’t be easy.
“We should have called,” Autumn says.
I shake my head. “We’ve been over this. This is going to suck, but calling would have made things ten times worse. Isabel would have just spent the last two hours freaking out.”
“So, what do we do now? Just haul that mirror in there and say, hey, guess what we found?”
“Basically, something like that.” I look over at Autumn and add, “I know. It’s fucked, but we have to do this. We’re witches. We deal with shit. We figure things out.”
We get out and Autumn gets the mirror from where we’ve kept it in the back seat, wrapped in an old blanket Autumn keeps in her trunk. It’s weird either way, but it would have been that much weirder to keep seeing that image of Bethany every time one of us turned around. We go to the front door and knock, Autumn letting out a heavy sigh. I know exactly what she’s feeling, because I’m feeling the same thing. A combination of sympathy, confusion and dread. For a brief moment, I tell myself that Bethany will answer the door. That all of it was some weird misunderstanding. That if we’d just called we could have saved ourselves all of this anxiety. But, of course, my gut instinct had been to come here. My gut instincts are rarely wrong.
Bethany doesn’t answer the door. Phoenix does, his tall frame and broad shoulders filling the doorway. Despite our mission in coming here, my pulse escalates. He rakes a hand through his strawberry-blonde hair, pulling it back. He stares out at us with hazel eyes that betray his confusion. “Hey, guys. What… brings you out this way?”
“We need to talk,” I say. “Can we come in?”
“Of course.” Phoenix steps back, holding the door open. His eyes linger on mine for a moment before trailing away. He watches Autumn carry the bundled mirror into the living room.
“What did you find?” Phoenix says. “Some sort of magical object?”
I hesitate, and then say “We think so. What about Isabel? Is she home?”
I ask the question in the same moment she appears in the doorway. As always, her eyes light up at seeing us. “Hey, you two. What do you have there?” Her gaze flicks back and forth between us, reading our grim expressions. “Is everything okay?”
Obviously, she knows that’s not the case. The problem being where to begin, and what to say. Autumn and I exchange glances.
“Looks like they came across something,” Phoenix says, his tone still hopeful that, despite our strained silence, we might have simply brought them a magical curiosity.
Autumn, always stronger when it comes to difficult situations, speaks first. “When was the last time you heard from Bethany?”
“We’ve been getting worried about her,” Phoenix says. “That’s why I came over tonight.”
Isabel’s face goes pale. “It’s been a few days, and she hasn’t been returning any of my calls. Why? What’s going on?”
“We’re not sure,” I say. “There was an… event at her apartment building. It caused some sort of fire.”
Isabel locks her eyes onto mine. “An event. I’m assuming you mean magic.”
I nod, confirming that to be t
rue.
“The circumstances are beyond strange,” Autumn says. “Ian’s friend, Steve, wanted to know what we thought.” She gestures toward the mirror and adds, “We went there and found this inside Bethany’s apartment.”
While any other mother would have found waiting this long impossible, Isabel is a seasoned witch. I’m sure she understands there’s a reason we’re trying to provide context. But, clearly, enough is enough.
“Open it,” she says.
Autumn makes eye contact with her once more before going to the mirror. Carefully, she draws back the blanket.
I wait for Isabel to gasp with shock. She doesn’t. Instead, she goes to the mirror and drops to one knee, studying what she sees silently. Phoenix stands behind her, as he too peers into the glass.
Isabel speaks softly. “I’ve heard of this before. It’s called an Aucepis Monitum.”
I step closer. “What does that mean?”
Isabel doesn’t turn from the mirror. “A trapping spell,” she says. “I’ve read about this kind of magic, but only in old Books of Shadows. I didn’t believe anyone still practiced it.”
Autumn and I exchange glances. “I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t understand.”
Isabel draws the blanket across the mirror again. She rises to her feet and steps back. “There are too many dangers in using this kind of magic. Too many doors it can open. And, to the best of my knowledge, there’s only one kind of witch that’s ever been able to master it.”
She turns to face us again, her brow knit with confusion.
“I still don’t understand,” Autumn says. “Master what?”
I brace myself, hoping I misunderstood. Isabel’s next words tell me that I understood perfectly.
