The Witches Of Denmark

by Aiden James

  “Well, it started with this,” said Grandpa, pointing to what was now a fully repaired window, courtesy of Manuel’s magic. “In addition to the pulley Harry broke, he snapped part of the windowsill off in the process. Too much brute force from a jackass who had the nerve to tell us he loves old houses. Said he grew up with his grandpa working on places just like this.”

  “Total bullshit,” added Manuel, who apparently was looking for other spots to fix before Harris returned.

  “Ah, yes… I agree,” said Grandpa. “But that’s not what stirred my anger to the rage it became. What did that was seeing all the crap he left up here, after I asked him nicely several times to kindly pick up after himself and to keep things neat. As you can see, that never happened…. Then, when I told him I was unhappy he had broken the windowsill, he lied and said it was already damaged before he touched it. I said, ‘What in the hell are you saying?’ and he repeated the same lie. I wasn’t about to let it go on, and I simply told him to fix it if he wanted to continue getting paid. I left him muttering under his breath, as I promised to take care of something for your grandmother downstairs. When I returned, he had made a childish effort to repair the splintered wood in the windowsill and added a fresh hammer mark to the middle of it.”

  “No, shit?” I could scarcely believe the gall.

  “Indeed, it’s true, son. It was something you couldn’t miss, but it’s gone now that Manny took care of it…. Still, it was enough to send me over the edge. Sort of like the guy was either baiting me to fire him or acting like a five-year-old brat for me calling him out on his antics—or both.” Grandpa shook his head disgustedly. “I thought about his little snide remarks from the past couple weeks. Apparently he hated the Clarkes, and kept calling our house a big fat pig. ‘You put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig.’”

  “He seriously said that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t present when he did,” I said, feeling my own blood begin to simmer. “I would’ve told him that the only pigsty around here is his frigging place, which was once the home of a well-liked gay couple who had it really looking nice, and who poured a bunch of money into it before one of the guys got really sick—according to Julien. ‘Horseshit’ Harry bought it for a song, and since then he and his brood have totally trashed it in just a matter of a few years. All it lacks is the lipstick he mentioned, and he’d have the pig he described!”

  Grandpa chuckled at my indignation, and maybe it made him feel better about his reaction, since any of us would’ve responded the same way. It sounded like Harris was coming up the steps to the porch, and my grandfather moved down the stairs to greet him.

  “Well, there is one last thing, and it’s probably why he left in the hysterical state he did,” said Grandpa, looking back up at me. “I decided to have a little fun with the sorry bastard before he left. Sort of a little ‘going away’ present to make sure he never comes back.”

  “Like what?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “Like me suddenly berating him like a madman, cursing in Romanian as I rose into the air above the banister,” he said. “Then I added a few illusions to drive the experience deep into his psyche.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “No, Bas, it was amazing!” said Manuel. “Father pulled the illusion he is famous for to this day with the Radus of Europe.”

  “Here in the States, I call it my ‘Sleepy Hollow’ trick,” said Grandpa over his shoulder, as Harris gently rapped on the glass of the front door.

  “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, delightfully yes, indeed!” said Manuel. “You should’ve seen the imbecile stagger back when your grandfather’s eyes turned into glowing red coals, and then fell to his knees when Father removed his head and tucked it under his left arm, while he continued to berate him in the finest Romanian swear words known to mankind. Too bad this Harry idiot couldn’t understand a damned thing thrown at him.”

  Impossible not to laugh at the inspired imagery, as I pictured my grandfather floating headless above the startled handyman that Harris insinuated might have a drug problem. Perhaps Harry thought this was a bad hallucination come back for a second turn. And for those worried about our normalcy cover being blown by Grandpa’s indiscretion, I ask this: Who would ever believe the ever-popular Harry Turner’s tale about a headless old man telling him he had been fired for his piss-poor performance? My point exactly.

  I would’ve laughed longer and harder had it not been for the distraught expression on Harris’s face when Grandpa opened the door.

  “Mr. Radu… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Ms. Sadee just now told me that she’s headed to the hospital. Ms. Meredith is takin’ your wife and Bas’s mom to the hospital right now.”

  “Huh? Why?!” I said, echoing my grandfather’s hushed response in panic as I raced down the stairs. “Are they hurt?”

  “No, it’s not them,” said Harris, fighting back tears. “I’m so sorry, Bas… your dad’s been shot.”

  * * * * *

  I hated asking Grandpa to allow Manuel to charm Harris. Yes, I could’ve done it myself, but a basic rule in our family of witches and warlocks is age and experience always comes before youth. Always. Grandpa did it himself, and we left my new buddy behind to work on the floor as if nothing was amiss. No crisis, no worries, and nothing to prevent Harris from keeping his full attention on stripping old carpet glue from the house’s original heart pine floor upstairs.

  In the meantime, the three of us took the wormhole route to reach Herschel County’s only hospital, located a mile south of Denmark’s downtown district. We stepped into a corner of the waiting room outside the ICU and joined my mom, sis, and grandma as they drew comfort from Meredith and Sadee, who had just arrived a moment before us (probably a blessing, since it would’ve been tough to explain how we beat her getting there).

  “How is he?” I asked, leading my uncle and grandfather to where they sat. Mom’s eyes were red from crying, and I feared the worst until I saw calmer expressions on Alisia’s and Grandma’s faces.

  “It was a sniper,” said Mom between sobs. “They almost got him…. We need to leave here, and do it right away!”

  I moved everyone out of my way and took my mother in my arms. I held her tight and told her over and over that we would be all right, and we would do whatever is necessary to get to someplace safer. I could feel Grandma, Grandpa, Manuel, and Alisia hovering around us. A soft tap on my right shoulder drew my attention. Alisia motioned for me to step aside with her, and I reluctantly released my mother. My grandparents took my place, while Manuel looked on, seemingly unsure how best to respond.

  “It was a wand shot,” said Alisia, quietly, once we were out of earshot of the others. “It happened outside of Harrison’s banjo shop.”

  “Dad was going to meet him for lunch today, I remember,” I said, trying to picture where the Matei coward had hidden, perhaps behind the steeple atop the massive Baptist church across the street. “It could’ve happened to any of us.”

  “Someone is going to die soon if things don’t change… and it might well be a Matei,” she said, sounding just as distraught by the potential death of a hated enemy as the demise of a beloved family member. As if sensing my confusion she eyed me compassionately. “Another death—regardless of where it comes from will only deepen the feud. All you have to do is look at the history books to know what happens when tit for tat is allowed to go unabated, Bas. We could easily end up wiping each other from the face of the earth, along with many innocent people who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Hatfields and McCoys in Kentucky… Catholics and Protestants in Ireland… Christians and Muslims in Beirut, and throughout the volatile Middle East…. I could go on and on with examples to prove her point. I suddenly realized who from our side could draw first blood, and felt a cold chill cross my spine.

  “Where’s Adrian?” I asked, thinking of his warning to the Mateis in the Southern Comfort
Inn’s parking lot just a couple of weeks ago.

  “He’s with Dad,” said Alisia. “Grandma says he ‘enamored’ himself into the good graces of the doctors examining Dad. There wouldn’t be any fragments to remove, like a bullet or something. And, guns rarely have an effect on our kind, as you know…. Grandma thinks that Adrian just wants to make sure the surgeon in attendance doesn’t send any reports that can come back to haunt us, like what happened in Chicago when Grandpa was hit in the arm by an errant warning wand shot in the winter confrontation of 1982. Remember the visit we got from the FBI a few weeks later?”

  “Yeah… that was pretty weird,” I admitted. “Dad thought the doctors sent a tissue sample to some testing facility in Atlanta, Georgia…. Damn, I had forgotten about it.”

  “Adrian didn’t. Grandma says he told her things are even worse in Europe, where Interpol has tracked down the whereabouts of every Matei and Radu witch and warlock, and they are all catalogued in some huge database that has more information from our long history that goes far beyond the legends Grandpa remembers.”

  “Well…. Oh shit, here comes Dad and Adrian.”

  I pointed to the reception desk, marveling at the extent of Adrian’s bewitching influence. No one seemed alarmed or even concerned when my uncle discarded the white lab coat he had taken from some physician and placed it on the counter next to the switchboard. All the while, the admin/receptionist and nurses seemed unconcerned, smiling lovingly at the ruggedly handsome older sibling of my dazed Dad, who obviously was still feeling the effect of a wand spark that came dangerously close to his heart. A hollow-point bullet to the chest might bring discomfort similar to indigestion for us, but a wand shot to the heart could explode the organ. Just like any other creature on this planet, if the heart dies, so does its owner.

  Mom ran up to Dad and hugged him tightly, while Adrian kept everyone moving to the exit. He paused at the receptionist’s station, pretending to close out whatever paperwork I felt certain he had already destroyed. The charade was effective for its intent, as Sadee and Meredith followed everyone else out the door without an ounce of obvious suspicion. A covert masterpiece that surely Ian Fleming would admire, I now had a new hero to go along with Julien Mays.

  A new antihero.

  “Come along kids,” said Adrian, grinning knowingly at both Alisia and me, but especially at me, no doubt aware of my unfiltered and unhidden thoughts. After all, there was no attempt this time to distract his probing with raccoons and moles to hide a certain Matei beauty. Those thoughts were safely buried. My mind was simply a sponge at the moment, taking everything in that was going on around me. “Looks like we’ve got some work to do.”

  Confident, with skills and awareness I could scarcely understand, Uncle Adrian was also one very dangerous warlock to mess with. The predatory glint behind his smiling eyes said so.

  When the moment of retaliation came, the Mateis wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  For the next two days we sequestered ourselves inside our antebellum abode, where Adrian and Manuel used a variety of spells to fortify the place like a medieval fortress. During that time no one other than the Deans, Mays, and Crawfords were allowed inside, and their very short visits happened only when we were all prepared with our ‘happy faces’. Harris was allowed to finish the initial repairs to the floor upstairs Monday night, and then Grandpa gave him a week’s pay in advance to work on the barn project. From Monday evening through Wednesday a lively debate raged on, where everything from full-scale warfare to fleeing Denmark by broomstick was proposed and vigorously discussed.

  Adrian and Manuel pushed hard to go to war, largely because they have the knowledge and prowess to take out nearly all of the Matei clan gathered in Denmark. But, Grandpa wisely advised against it. The extended families for both sides were watching what happened here from afar…. Yeah, I wasn’t aware of that fact either until Wednesday night, other than I’ve feared the Elders’ displeasure in regard to code violations. But, admittedly, I always thought of their involvement to be along the lines of the IRS, and how the tax people will eventually catch up with violators of the US tax code. Apparently, it is more like the other government agencies’ clandestine operations, or the mafia, where in our case metaphysical eavesdropping and other psychic tools are employed on a frequent, and even daily basis.

  That wasn’t Grandpa’s only beef, though. If things got out of hand, there would be untold bloodshed—for semi immortals and mortals alike. Denmark could be irreparably hurt, and the aforementioned government agencies—such as the FBI, CIA, or the newly empowered Department of Homeland Security—could be all the way up our asses for a very long time—likely for as long as we remained in the United States.

  “We have to be smart… smarter than the Mateis,” he advised. “I’m right about this, my sons. We will have very few opportunities to strike an effective blow and still maintain our independent status with our brothers and sisters overseas. It is imperative that we don’t screw this up!”

  This came on Wednesday night, after he had patiently listened to my father—who was nearly fully recovered from his injury—and mother go toe to toe against my uncles, volleying proposals and counter-proposals that grew more heated by the hour. Grandma abstained, casting occasional glances toward Grandpa, as if waiting on his analysis of the situation, or his approval to share hers. This was, after all, one of those rare times when our patriarch truly ruled the roost.

  In the end, Adrian and Manuel reluctantly agreed to forego violence… for now. But since, like the rest of us, they had taken an immediate liking to the house and its unique spiritual feeling that everyone seemed to notice, they inquired about keeping it, should the rest of us decide to leave.

  “The house’s welcome to ‘one and all’ makes me believe that Corina and the girls would enjoy living here,” said Manuel. “I’m sure it would be the same for Carmen and Lucian, too, would it not, Adrian?”

  “If Father and Gabriel would agree to sell it to us, why not?” Adrian agreed. “And, of course, if Mother and Silvia agreed as well…. It would take a place like this to get our wives and children to leave the ancestral castle in Romania, as surely you agree, my brother.”

  “Yes… this is true,” said Manuel, allowing his gaze to roam across the twelve-foot ceilings in the kitchen, where we were presently gathered. “It might take them a moment to get used to a smaller dwelling, but it certainly would feel like a real ‘home’ much more than our drafty twelfth century fortress in the foothills of the Făgăraș Mountains.”

  “Don’t make any plans just yet,” said Grandpa, wearing a pained expression. “Leaving might be best, but until a decision to move elsewhere becomes the crystal clear answer for us, we will act as though we are staying put. So, there will be no more talk of selling this place to anybody until that happens. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father… we will honor your stubborn wishes,” said Adrian, to which Manuel nodded with a grimace. “But I pray that you’ll be diligent and not wait too long to act.”

  “When have I ever?” asked Grandpa, testily.

  “I’m sorry… my bad,” said Adrian, sounding funny using American slang as he bowed out of a potential confrontation with his old man before it picked up steam. “I’ll await your direction.”

  I smiled at Adrian’s tact and moxie, hoping one day I might learn to maneuver as smoothly as he did. But I had my own questions, too.

  “May I voice a concern?” I asked.

  Up until then, Alisia and I had mostly held our tongues, following traditional protocol for such discussions treated much more seriously than casual conversations.

  “Go ahead, Sebastian,” said Grandpa.

  “What happens if we move to Austin, and the Mateis follow us, and then we move to Las Vegas or Los Angeles, and they follow us again… and again and again. Would we ever be any better off than if we stood our ground where we are right now?”

  No response from anyone… just sullen
stares from everyone but Manuel and Adrian, who eyed me admiringly. So I continued.

  “Would the Elders and brothers and sisters you mentioned, Grandpa, have any preference for how we handle this situation?”

  “We’ve touched on similar questions the past two days, Sebastian, but I must say this is a nice clean way to address the crux of the matter,” said Grandpa, allowing a slight smile to pull on the corners of his lips. “No, we would not be better off, other than postponing the inevitable. As for the Elders and those who are watching from Europe? Their only concerns are for the fallout from an escalated war, since as I mentioned earlier, Interpol and others are already interested in our families’ extensive operations.”

  “In other words, there isn’t a good reason to flee yet,” said Dad, drawing an immediate snicker from Manuel.

  “And there would never be one if you let Adrian and me exterminate the bitches!” added Manuel.

  That brought a round of laughter from almost everyone younger than three hundred—namely those of us who embraced the modern culture of the late twentieth and twenty-first century youth.

  “All the more reason to heed Georghe’s warnings and advice,” said Grandma, finally finding an opportunity to add her two cents. “I think we now have reached a consensus that says to remain here, for better or worse, since all of us have personal reasons with merit. Although, I would prefer that we avoid violence unless absolutely necessary.”

  “As long as they shoot first—and you know they will,” said Adrian. “But for better or worse, we have reached an understanding. Thank you, Sebastian.”

  Our two-day ‘survival’ conference thankfully came to an end soon after Adrian’s pronouncement. Not that we let down our guard—far from it. But the focus had changed from ‘eager flight’ to standing our ground. As Grandma and he said, for better or worse, and with life and death for members from both families hanging in the balance, we had made our choice. Victory or defeat—and the hoped-for final resolution of our ancient feud—was now completely in the hands of fate.