The Witch's Familiars

by G. A. Rael

  She searched the apartment in cautious amazement. "Are you still here?"

  There was no reply other than the cat's meow as he leaped out of her arms and burrowed under the sheet he had emerged from. A moment later, it rose under the shape of a man and Hermes reappeared before her, keeping his back turned as he refastened the sheet around his waist.

  Jordan didn't know whether to clap or to run. "That was incredible. How did you do that?"

  When the magician turned around, he was wearing a wide grin. "Oh, that's just one of my parlor tricks. You should see me when I really put on a show."

  "That was the cat I saved," she said in disbelief. "I can't believe he's alright, there wasn't even a scratch on him.”

  "You should have more faith in yourself," Hermes said with a sly drawl. "You're already very adept at healing and herbs and you could be that good with a lot of things if you tried."

  She tilted her head at the cryptic comment. "Where is he, anyway?" she asked, looking around the room.

  "You're looking at him," Hermes replied, clearing his throat. "I mean, 'meow.'"

  Jordan frowned. "I don't understand."

  He chuckled. "I'm the cat, Jordan. It's the only form I can take in this world except on the full moon. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, but I thought you'd be more receptive to my other form, what with all your hang-ups about magic and men."

  Her head began to spin as his words sank in. "You expect me to believe you're some kind of shapeshifter?"

  "Some kind," he said in a bemused tone. "And why not? You're a witch, aren’t you?“

  "That's different. I just work with things that come from the earth, I use power that's already there," she protested. "And I'm not a witch. I dabbled in the occult for a while, but I quit."

  Hermes "tsked" in disapproval. "You don't just quit being a witch. You either are or you aren't. It's in your blood, as much as your father hates to admit it. More importantly, it's in your mind. We both know you can do a hell of a lot more than mix some plant clippings together and put them in jars."

  She shook her head. "No, not anymore. I opened a door back then, but I'm done with all that now."

  "The only door you opened was the one that led to the power that already existed within you," he insisted. "You might be done with the 'occult,' as you put it, but it's far from done with you."

  "Look, I don't know who you are or what you think you know about me, but you need to leave," Jordan said, stalking across the room to open the door. She’d had enough of preachers for one lifetime, but she wasn’t any more interested in becoming the pawn of someone who played for the other team.

  "You know exactly who I am, Alyssa. I'm the answer to your prayers."

  "Stop calling me that."

  The doorknob slipped from Jordan’s grasp and the door slammed shut. Hermes was smirking when she spun around.

  His stage routine was impressive, but it was getting old fast.

  "Jordan, then. You can change your name, but you can't change the past," he said pointedly. "Not on your own, but I can help. I can give you the thing you desire most."

  “You don’t know anything about me, and you have no idea what I desire,” she said, crossing her arms. "Even if you did, you couldn't give it to me. No one can."

  The man’s green eyes traveled over Jordan’s curves. “I can venture a guess…”

  “Unless you want to end up neutered, I suggest you keep your eyes on mine,” Jordan warned.

  He chuckled. “Strictly business, then. You may think that what you want is beyond reach, and you've repressed your gifts for so long that it would take time, but it is possible. How many nights have you laid awake wishing you could undo everything that happened that night?"

  “What night?” Jordan demanded.

  Hermes gave her a knowing look. “The night your mother and brother went down in flames along with the rest of your father’s congregants.”

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “If my father sent you —“

  Disgust flashed in the magician’s eyes. “I would never lower myself to being a faith healer’s roadie. Your father and I do go way back, but I assure you, our relationship is as fraught with unpleasantness as yours and his.”

  Jordan very much doubted that, but the sincerity in the man’s voice gave her pause. “If you know about that night, then you know my role in it. Not a day goes by without me wishing I could change it, but…”

  "But what?" he challenged. "Put enough intent behind any prayer and you just might get an answer. Is that really so hard to believe?"

  Jordan blinked. “So you are an angel?”

  Something tugged gently at the corner of his lips. "As I said, what I am isn't important. What is important is that what I am enables me to give you what you want."

  "Why?" she asked, leaning against the door. "I'm not saying I believe you, but pretend for a moment that I did. What would you get in return for helping little old me?"

  Hermes grinned. "Smart girl. Everything comes at a cost. You see, I'm a spirit with certain limitations on the mortal plane. I'm limited to walking the earth in a much weaker vessel, which you're already familiar with, except on the full moon. I can only take this form during the rest of the lunar cycle if I'm bound through contract to a witch, such as yourself."

  "Contract?" she asked warily.

  "Just a simple little agreement so everyone knows what's expected of them. As much for your benefit as mine, I assure you. Once the contract is signed, I'll become your familiar spirit. I can amplify your power and teach you things in a matter of days that would take even the wisest sage a lifetime to master. Together we'd be damn near unstoppable."

  "Something tells me you get more out of this than the simple satisfaction of educating a mind," said Jordan.

  "You'd be surprised what motivates a spiritual being," Hermes retorted. "Anyway, we can discuss the exact terms of the contract later. What's important now is that you understand the possibilities of what can happen when you work with someone who wants to help you embrace your gifts rather than repress them."

  Jordan looked away. "I told you, I'm not interested in using my 'gifts' anymore."

  "The fact that you've lived in seven different towns over the last two years says otherwise," he mused. "You're a bleeding heart. The moment some old lady comes to you with a sob story, you're back to your old ways and slinging miracle cures. And what do they do to reward your compassion? They use you, if they don't run you out of town with pitchforks."

  "You're right, nothing good ever comes from using my powers," said Jordan. “That’s all the more reason to stay away from creeps like you who want to use them.”

  “Creep?” Hermes clutched his chest dramatically. Once he realized she wasn’t amused, he continued, "It's not your powers that are the issue. It’s your execution and your lack of guidance, which I’m more than happy to provide in exchange for legs that aren’t covered in fur.”

  Jordan sighed. "Even if I believed you, what you're talking about just isn't possible.” Her chest tightened as she thought back to the night she fought so hard to suppress. The screams… the smell of burning flesh… “Even a witch can’t raise the dead.”

  “A witch, no.” Hermes crossed the room without taking his eyes off of Jordan. He planted one hand on the door behind her and lifted her chin with his slender fingers. They were cool to the touch now. “It would take something much greater than that. United, our power would know no bounds."

  It was all Jordan could do to hold contact with that unnatural gaze. She wanted to throw him out on his tight, presumptuous ass, but there was something about the man that was hypnotic. Maybe this was how a serpent felt when it was being charmed, only she wasn’t sure which one of them was the snake. “Don't you think maybe there are some boundaries that shouldn’t be broken?”

  Hermes’ easy smile unsettled her more than anything. "I can't say I've subscribed to that philosophy for a very long time." After what seemed like forever, he pulled away. Jor
dan struggled to hide her sigh of relief as he stepped away from her and walked towards the window. Showing weakness around him seemed as perilous as infatuation. The lock turned slowly and the window lifted on its own.

  "I'll give you some time to think it over," he said, glancing back at her. "You have until the autumn equinox to give me an answer. Make sure it's one you can live with, because I'm not big on second chances."

  "Wait," she called.

  "Yes?" He blinked slowly at her. He really was a cat, even in his human form.

  "Why me? There must be other witches you could ask.”

  "Of course there are. I've worked with many special humans over years, the last one more than seventy years ago."

  "What happened to her?"

  "Him," he corrected. "Let's just say there's a war going on in the spiritual realm and war always has its casualties."

  Jordan’s eyes widened. "Why did you wait so long to find someone else?"

  "I guess I'm just a finicky cat after all." He winked and propped his foot on the windowsill, letting the sheet fall to the floor. "Goodnight, little witch."

  Before Jordan could protest the nickname, the magician was gone and the white cat perched on the window for an instant to lick its paw before taking off down the fire escape. Jordan stared for a long while, struggling to convince herself that it had all just been a bizarre hallucination.

  A hallucination that Mrs. Herrin had seen sneaking in through her window.

  Maybe it was time to move again after all.

  Four

  By the time Friday came, Jordan had completely forgotten her invitation to Cindy Danbridge's party--at least until she ran into Tina at the market. As the woman went on about how she was sure her brother-in-law was going to make another comment about her oil-drizzled asparagus being too dry like he had at the last party, Jordan frantically wracked her brain for something to bring. If she hurried, she would have just enough time to get back home, change into something respectable and make it to the party.

  If Tina had heard about the debacle at the diner, she didn't bring it up. Jordan had noticed a few stares from the other customers but tried to tell herself she was just being paranoid. Maybe the voracity of small-town gossips really was just a stereotype.

  Excusing herself from Tina, Jordan picked up the ingredients for a quick tiramisu and rushed home. At least the promise of social anxiety was distracting her from the unreal events that had transpired a few nights earlier. In fact, her bewilderment was beginning to fade into seething anger over the fact that she had nearly ruined her fresh start to save a cat who wasn't really even a cat and most certainly didn't need saving.

  Before Jordan made it out of the town square, a hand grabbed her from behind. She spun around, afraid it was the vet or the cat-man. Instead, it was a young girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen.

  "You're the new girl, aren't you? The one who sells magic potions."

  Here we go, thought Jordan. The girl probably wanted a love potion to use on the highschool quarterback. “I don't sell anything but plants. Everything else is just a rumor.”

  "But you healed that white cat," the girl said in a steely tone. "I've seen it around town. The vet said it was all chewed up by a coyote and now it's fine. Not even scarred.”

  "It's just a coincidence," Jordan insisted. “It was a different cat. Really, I didn't do anything."

  "Stop lying! I know all the cats around here.”

  A few passing townsfolk cast them strange glances. The girl looked down and rubbed her arm. "I'm sorry," she said in a lowered tone. "I didn't mean to get upset, it's just that I could really use a healing potion."

  Jordan felt a pang of regret and touched the girl's arm. "It's alright. Look, I'm sorry about whatever is going on with you, but if you're sick, you should go see a doctor. Magic isn't real and even if it was--"

  "It's not me," the girl replied quickly. "It's my grandfather. He's only sixty-six, but the doctor says he's developing early Alzheimer's and there's nothing we can do except put it off a little while. He's starting to forget things. Just little things for now, but it seems like it gets worse every day."

  "I'm so sorry," Jordan began, taking a deep breath. "I really am, but there's nothing I can do."

  "That's not true," the girl said, planting the toe of her shoe in the concrete. "I've heard of people like you. I know there's fake shit, but there have to be real witches too. Cures doctors won't try because they can't test them in a lab. My grandfather is dying, nothing's gonna make it worse." Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "Please, he's all I have left."

  The emotion in the girl's voice wore away at Jordan's resolve. Maybe if she had done nothing about the cat it would have been another story, but she had already broken the rules once.

  Jordan glanced around and pulled the girl behind a building, worried they were beginning to attract attention. "Look, I'm not a doctor and I can't give you any kind of cure."

  The girl's crestfallen expression gave way to tears.

  "But," Jordan continued, "sometimes I… make things. They're just little tinctures for my plants and stuff like that, and they’re good in my morning tea. Sometimes I leave them on my balcony on the top floor of the little white house just outside of town. In fact, if I were to forget and leave one out on the porch railing tonight and someone took it while I was gone, I probably wouldn't even notice as long as they never told anyone about it. I mean anyone, do you understand?"

  The girl nodded, wide-eyed.

  "Alright," Jordan said, shifting her grocery bag to her other hand. "I have to get going, uh… What did you say your name was?”

  "Jenna," the girl replied eagerly. "Thank you so much."

  "I didn't do anything," Jordan said with a stern look, turning to walk back down the path. Her heart was heavy the entire walk home as she wondered if she’d just dug her own grave.

  With an hour to spare before the party, Jordan whipped up a tiramisu to bring the hostess and stuck it in the refrigerator to cool before beginning her preparations on the tincture. It was a surprisingly simple mixture and an easy one to charge with energy. Healing was more of a science than an art, but once the basics were mastered, it was easy to produce consistent results. The concoction wouldn't keep the disease at bay forever, but it would slow its progression enough to give Jenna's grandfather the years of lucidity he had expected when entering his retirement years.

  Jordan hesitated a moment before carefully placing the tincture in a little box on the balcony. She watered her beloved plants, giving the leaves of her favorite holly an affectionate caress before returning inside to shower and change for the evening. She wanted to make a good first impression on the mayor and the other guests to counteract whatever they may have heard about the incident at the diner. She settled on a dark green dress that hugged her curves in all the right places and a pair of tall leather boots paired with dark tights. A bit of product made her wavy hair manageable. It was hardly a revealing outfit, but a lifetime of religious conditioning made it hard to ignore the voices of condemnation screaming in her head whenever she put on anything less than a turtleneck.

  She warred with herself over whether she should wear her glasses before she finally close to leave them on, reasoning that thick frames were still more sophisticated than tripping over things the entire night. Besides, they made her look a little closer to her actual age. After grabbing her clutch on the nightstand, she locked the apartment up to prevent any more unwanted visitors. Only when she was sure her apartment was secure did she drive into town.

  The mayor's house wasn't quite a mansion, but it was close. The circular drive was lined with tastefully manicured shrubbery and azaleas adorned the walk that led to the large wooden door of the crisp white New England colonial. Jordan raised her hand to knock just as Cindy opened the door.

  "There she is! Welcome, dear, come in. Oh, how sweet, you brought a dish!" She took the dessert from Jordan's hands and kicked the door shut with her heel.


  "Thanks for having me," Jordan said, relieved that she wasn't being turned away after her in-town humiliation. Surely Cindy had heard the gossip by then. Jordan handed her purse and jacket to an attendant Cindy had beaten to the door.

  "Of course! It's a full house, so you'll get to meet everyone who's anyone in Cold Creek if you haven't already. I'll introduce you to some folks, starting with my husband," Cindy said, coming to a stop in front of a solemn-looking man in a crisp gray suit. Jordan felt instantly underdressed and she berated herself mentally for not wearing something more formal as she took the mayor’s outstretched hand.

  "This is my Henry,” Cindy said, her face glowing with pride. “Henry, this is Jordan. She's the newcomer I was telling you about."

  "Nice to meet you, Jordan," he said in a baritone voice. Henry Danbridge was the kind of man who looked as if he had been forced into a suit when he would’ve much preferred to be wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. His gray beard and salt-and-pepper hair contrasted sharply with his keen golden-brown eyes.

  "It's nice to meet you too, Mayor Danbridge," Jordan said, trying not to wither under the man's pleasant yet intimidating gaze.

  "Call me Henry.” It was an order, not an offer.

  "Jordan is a Southern girl," Cindy said, giving the younger woman's shoulders a squeeze. "They're all so formal."

  "I think you'll find Cold Creek to be a laid-back town," said Henry, clutching a glass of wine. "What brings you to us, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "Not at all," said Jordan. "I have a flexible job and I've always liked small towns."

  Henry considered her answer for a moment and Jordan could tell he wasn't satisfied, but he took a sip of his drink and nodded. "Well, Cold Creek is definitely small. Enjoy your stay, Jordan. I'm sure my wife will show you around and find you a mate if she doesn't already have one lined up."