Everwish: The Primati Witches Book One

by Amelia Oz

  She studied me, took a sip of her wine and smacked her thin lips. Reaching into a drawer at her side, she retrieved a photograph and laid it onto the table in front of me. A laughing young man leaned against a car. He was thin and tall with thick, wavy brown hair and mischievous eyes.

  "That—" she tapped a thick fingernail on the table above the man's face "—is your father."

  I blinked hard, trying to focus on every detail of his face. He was exactly as I imagined. I used my fingertips to draw the photo closer to me. Another picture landed on the table. The image was of the same man with his arm around a petite woman. She had straight blond hair and a happy smile. Their arms wound tightly around one another. In the background I recognized the Golden Gate Bridge. Mahari's thick Slavic accent drew out her next words.

  "My son—Lasho."

  I couldn't meet her eyes. She’d had these and never shared them with me. Had probably known I existed and allowed me to go into foster care. I focused my attention on the faces in the photos. My parents.

  "I don't like to talk about him. When you love someone too much, holding on can create ghosts or worse. That's not good for their soul, and it's not good for you.

  "But I want to tell you something about him now. He was strong. He was good with business, but he loved to write his poems more. We lived in San Francisco then. I had a pretty good income coming in and the family was solid." I heard her glass as she lifted it to her lips for a noisy gulp and then the thunk as she banged it back on the wood table.

  "Your mother was a runaway," Mahari continued, a note of derision in her voice, "She arrived in San Francisco and lived in a tiny room over your Aunt Lenora's tarot shop. Vivian had an adopted brother visit her at the time. I forget his name." Brother? My mother was an only child. Perhaps Mahari was drunk.

  "One day she ran into Lasho in the shop and that was it. My boy was bewitched. She got him into all sorts of trouble. But he loved her. I'll give you that. You live awhile you start to recognize true love. They would have died for each other, your parents. Perhaps they did."

  I raised my face to hers. "How would you know what love looks like?"

  She stood and retrieved a yellowed package of cigarettes and a translucent purple lighter from a cabinet before sitting down heavily. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke over my head. She wore a loose brown dress with a crocheted vest I knew she’d knitted herself.

  "You're lying, anyway. My mother was an only child." Sam would have told me if he had an adopted son. She gave an infuriating shrug.

  "I'm an old woman now. There is no reason to lie. You think you know what love is? As far as I know you love three people." She raised three fingers around her cigarette while picking a piece of tobacco from her tongue. "I know my Silvan is one of these. He is beloved by many in our family, but I know your heart is small. He holds a large part. You know there is power in the number three? I wonder what would happen if it becomes four?" Her eyes slid craftily over my face, and I clenched my jaw. Before I could respond, she spoke again, tapping ash from her cigarette once more.

  "Did you know I was born in Siberia? My family was poor but we had what we wanted and were very good with the horses. The Gadjo women would come to hear about their husbands from my mother and her sisters. They would do some dukkering to put food on the table—lift bad things and help them bring their husbands back to them. That kind of thing. The women in my family could read fortunes in firelight. Most can use tea leaves or hands but we—we could read the flames."

  "In the war our men were pressed into the army. So, we moved west. And were taken into concentration camps by the Nazis. I married an older man to save myself. We came to America and started over." She blew out a perfect smoke ring and then another that passed through the middle of the first.

  She tapped the deck of cards. "Pick," she said shortly.

  I cut the deck and began to flip over the first card. Her hand clapped down hard upon mine.

  "No! Play with them first. Feel them. Focus and then pick."

  I placed the photos carefully to the side and pulled the cards towards me. I shuffled them several times and even closed my eyes to better feel them between my fingers. One card seemed to fall out of the others. I pinched it between my fingertips to slide it back in the deck but it seemed to have a restless energy. It didn't want to be returned. Opening my eyes, I placed the card on the table.

  The King of Diamonds.

  Mahari grunted. "When bees drink the honeysuckle, red lips shall reveal love."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You pulled the King of Diamonds. That's what it means." She grunted and shuffled the cards again. I could see her doing this all night. Controlling the conversation with vague rabbit holes. What I really wanted to know was too painful to leave to her shenanigans.

  "You must have known there was a baby. Why did you abandon me?" I asked, lips numb with emotion. Now that the words were out there, would any version of the truth make it better? She didn't seem to hear me. She flicked ash into her empty glass and tapped her knuckles three times on the top of the neatened deck of cards.

  A scream rent the air. Then shouts.

  We stared at one another, and color drained from the old woman's cheeks. We jumped up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor. She hurried from the caravan, and I vaulted the steps, landing near her.

  "There's a circle. No one should be able to get through," she muttered.

  I ran before her to the center of the field. It took me several seconds to comprehend what I was seeing. Figures in black clothing and hoods carried guns and large knives. A few restrained children, knives to their throats as they screamed or whimpered. The adults stayed back, terrified of making the wrong move and seeing their children hurt. One such figure held Midora down on the ground, a blade pressed vertically against her throat as if ready to saw through her flesh and into the earth.

  Mahari yelled something in another language, and the barrels of fire became columns of flame that rose into the sky.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," taunted a vaguely familiar voice. I searched for its source and found its speaker on the makeshift stage. He clasped Amanda with an arm around her throat, a gun to her temple.

  "Marcus," I whispered.

  It couldn't be. Amanda said he was history.

  "There she is," he chortled. "Come closer, dear. I've been looking for you."

  I took a step forward and met Mahari's arm.

  "What do you want?" I screamed, thrusting Mahari's arm away. It returned, smacking into my belly.

  "I want you to come with me. And no witnesses." He smirked and jammed the gun harder into Amanda's head. She gripped his arm, eyes wide and terrified, but did not cry out.

  No witnesses? Did he mean to kill everyone here?

  There were shouts and tussles as the family comprehended his words. I saw Midora's husband nearby, on his knees and helpless to interfere while the blade pressed firmly into his wife's throat. Midora herself looked pissed off and I noticed her hands curled into the dirt as if preparing to grab handfuls. Knowing Midora, she was preparing to fling them into her attacker's eyes, despite the fact that he wore a mask.

  I searched the crowd and found Silvan on his knees with the rest of the musicians, his violin smashed on the ground. Air filled my lungs with a tiny measure of relief that he was okay. We could always replace a violin.

  Marcus felt for Amanda's necklace and jerked its chain from her neck. Amanda gave a whimpering shriek, but he clutched her tighter, tapping the gun's muzzle against the side of her face.

  "Worked like a charm. Ha! Literally. I placed a locator spell on her Pagatio and she didn't even know it. I knew she would run straight to you. Useless little witches today..." he crowed as he tossed Amanda's Pagatio to the stage floor.

  "Run into the woods. To the south," whispered Mahari.

  "No!" I replied fiercely. I would not abandon my friends and family. I pushed my way past her arm and ap
proached the stage. Marcus wore no hood and his red hair shone in the light, matching the maniacal intensity of his gaze.

  "That's it. Come closer." He loosened his grip on Amanda, swinging her away from him with a grip of her hair. She cried out in pain and I nearly shrieked in frustration. There had to be a way to negotiate with him to let her go. Let them all go.

  "I'm here! I'll come with you if you want. Just leave everyone here alone," I said, trying hard not to sound demanding.

  "You will come with me no matter what." He grinned. His confidence made me stumble.

  "Why do you even want me? Did I run over your dog in a past life?"

  He started to reply but I watched in horror as events played out in slow motion. Amanda's hand reached into the cross-body purse, withdrawing the bear spray I’d given her. She thumbed off the cap and sprayed it into Marcus's face. It mostly missed his eyes but surprised him. Silvan jumped up and rushed across the makeshift stage to tackle Marcus at the knees.

  Marcus fell backwards and fired several shots into Silvan's chest, the sharp sounds echoing within the clearing. Silvan fell, his back striking the edge of the platform before he slid, his head landing on the ground. The spread of scarlet against his white dress shirt. His hands grasped at his chest.

  Then Jing San was there. She wore black, too; her hair tied back and a wide sword in her hand. My hands trembled as Silvan's boss brought the sword across the neck of one of the figures holding a little girl. His head fell and his body seemed to fold in upon itself. One of my uncles grabbed the girl, pulling her from the dead man's grasp.

  I ran to Silvan but Mahari was already there. She opened his shirt and removed her vest, pressing it against his laboring chest. Blood trickled from his lips as he glanced wildly in my direction. His eyes were bewildered and beseeching at once. My vision swam, his image distorted as I tried to help. I was muttering something. Repeating it over and over. No. No. No. No…

  Screams filled the air. Mahari instructed me to keep pressure on his wounds and then left us. The air warmed and brightened as fire erupted across the field. There was so much blood. Far too much. The wet heat soaked my hands up to my wrists. I glanced around, frantically searching for help. Someone to call an ambulance. Everyone was running around. Marcus's followers were doing their best to cut down my family. A figure in black marched towards me but then Mira was there, taking the brute force of a punch before several male cousins jumped in to help her disarm and tackle the man to the ground.

  Then I saw Alaric in the firelight. He picked up a large man as if he were a rotted branch and broke him in half across his knee, his torso to the side of his hips at an odd angle. The man screamed and kept screaming as Alaric kicked him to the side. Impossible. I looked across the field as Jing swung two swords as if performing a ballet. Her movements were lightening swift, her swords dripping crimson.

  Silvan's gasps brought my attention back to him. He couldn't breathe! I removed my hands from his chest and dragged him backwards by his armpits until he lay even on the ground. What should I do? I raised his head, placing it on my lap and then reapplied the pressure. I closed my eyes, begging God to intervene. Fiercely promising anything to save him.

  My breathing slowed and I focused on my hands. I imagined light moving from my body to Silvan's. Offering all my life energy to flow into his. I chanted over and over again, "Live. Just live." Silvan, with his sweet mischievous ways, his talent and unwavering loyalty, couldn't leave me alone. Liquid covered my cheeks and dripped onto his hair and face. I rocked us, begging him to stay with me. My hands, slippery with his lifeblood, kept applying pressure.

  "Stell..." he whispered between awful gurgling sounds.

  "I'm here, Silvan. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe." My hands began to burn, but I refused to let up on the pressure. I kept visualizing the light, telling him again and again that I would never leave him. I bent and kissed his forehead.

  "No, Stella!" Alaric roared. He stood over us, horror etched on his face. Mahari appeared next to him, her expression aghast. What?

  I looked at Silvan and he was very pale, his chest unmoving. He wasn't breathing. I shook his shoulders. “Silvan? Silvan?” His eyes stared without blinking. I felt it then. The absence of him. Silvan was no longer there. He wasn't here anymore. I was holding something but it was no longer Silvan. I stared hard, looking and looking as ice crept into every part of me.

  A high keening cry broke the night, followed by wails of agony. As Alaric pulled me away from Silvan's body, I noted that some of those awful cries timed perfectly with the ravaged sensation in my own chest and throat. The world dipped as my feet left the ground and my eyes closed tight against the terrible night. My first rule of life was true for a reason. Don't get attached. Not even to your own life. People who had something, or someone, to lose always lost it. I attracted death for anyone idiotic enough to care about me. My parents and now Silvan. Possibly for a future lover who I would doom to the grave.

  I welcomed the muffling sensation around me and pulled it closer, vaguely recognizing Alaric's voice mixed with others. Movement. The voices grew distant as he continued to travel away from the field and its bright firelight. I was placed upright, Alaric's hands holding my face as he shouted. Like a cranky radio station, his voice rose and fell in volume.

  "Can you sit on the motorcycle? Answer me, Stella!" What? I heard him curse as I sank back into the comforting darkness, my body falling towards the street pavement. I was caught, my form moved, positioned facing Alaric on the motorcycle. My arms were threaded through a jacket and then the roar of the motorcycle rumbled beneath us as Alaric's arms caged me close. My cheek sank against his chest.

  For a long time, I was aware of nothing in particular. Time passed with only the bike's rumble and intermittent motion as we leaned this way and that. Stopped and moved again.

  I gradually noticed that my legs ached and I realized they were draped over his thighs and around his waist, locked behind him. My arms were wrapped around him, and I was burrowed into his warmth. Flashes of Alaric hurting the man from Mahari's field entered and left my mind in quick sequence. His arm curled around my back, holding me closer. I shifted and soon felt the bike slow. The crunch of gravel and then the smooth hum of wheels on blacktop.

  Alaric brought us to a stop and held me for a long moment. He spoke quietly into my hair in French, and I recognized only petite etoile—little star. I shuddered and lifted my head to squint at harsh lights. We were parked behind a truck stop.

  "Stella. Do you want to clean up?" Alaric asked gently. I shook my head. He sighed and dismounted the bike with me in his arms. He waited patiently as my feet found the ground. I hissed as the blood began to pump through them again. He held me close, rubbing my arms.

  "You need to walk around a little," he said in a low, soothing voice. On autopilot, I followed him as he steered us towards the ladies' room entrance at the back of a low building. He escorted me into the bathroom, then nudged me until I shuffled towards a row of rusty sinks and turned on a tap. I raised my hands but they were covered in the long black leather sleeves of Alaric's jacket. I was a wind-up toy, hitting a wall with no ability to help myself. He removed the jacket for me.

  I placed my hands beneath the freezing water and looked down at myself for the first time. Screams ripped from my sore throat. My hands were covered in dried blood up to my elbows. Most of my clothing was wet with blood, parts of my silk pants stiff with it. I raised my head and viewed my reflection. Mouth gaping, eyes dead and feral at the same time.

  Alaric shushed me, turning the taps until the water ran warm. He massaged soap gently into my hands and arms and rinsed them while I stared blindly at the girl with specks of blood on her face. My mind grew thick, as if cotton were stuffing itself around every nerve ending—yet I was aware when he ripped the towel dispenser off the wall with muttered frustration. I heard a feminine voice and Alaric's sharp reply.

  Then he placed my arms once
more into his jacket; bundling me on the bike again so that I faced him and I buried myself in him as he started up the motorcycle. As he rebalanced the bike, I raised my head with a great deal of effort.

  "Did I see Jing San hack at people with big knives?" I could not tell what was real and things were hard to absorb.

  "Yes. But they were wakizashi and only the bad people. Don’t worry. Your friend Amanda is safe. Shhhh, now."

  We rode for a long time. I nodded off and was awakened by Alaric's hands on my back, rubbing circles. I opened my eyes and lifted my head. We were stopped, in complete darkness with only the wind and gentle patter of rain on leaves for company.

  "We're in the heart of the Olympic Forest. I'm taking you somewhere safe," he said. I didn't reply. The part of me that thought and felt were far away, leaving behind just this person now, who followed directions but otherwise was a shuttered, one-dimensional object.

  "Can you walk?" he murmured softly. I thought and then nodded.

  When he stood me on my feet it took several minutes to get feeling back in my legs, the pins and needles oddly comforting. When he was satisfied that I wouldn't collapse, he parked his motorcycle deep beyond the dirt road we'd stopped on. I whimpered at his absence, hugging my middle and he reappeared immediately. Taking my hand, he led my stumbling form over uneven ground and damp fallen logs as we made our way into the dark forest. Soon after, he cursed and swung me up into his arms. I didn't complain. We moved much faster. The cool night air smelled clean and earthy beneath the light drizzle. Tiny dancing lights seemed to guide Alaric's steps. At first, I imagined it to be glowing honey fungus on the trees but then the lights darted from tree to tree. Lightening bugs couldn't live in this climate and I'd never even seen one before. I waved at one that flickered near my face and it zipped over Alaric's head.

  Time drifted until Alaric finally came to a stop, releasing me with gentle hands to stand once more. We stood in a tiny clearing brightened by moonlight. An enormous Sitka spruce tree loomed overhead, surrounded by tender saplings. It was so huge my VW could probably fit inside with plenty of room. "Thank you, TirieFliuch," I thought I heard Alaric whisper. Then he lowered his face to my neck.