The Witch's Familiars

by G. A. Rael

  "Wait," said Hank, grabbing her arm.

  Jordan frowned as some of the water sloshed out of the bowl. "She has to drink it. How do you think Stu Herbert was healed?"

  He hesitated a moment before stepping back. "If this does anything to her --"

  "I would never do that," she snapped. It wasn't Susan's fault that denial had turned her husband into a monster.

  "Jordan," Darren pleaded, "it's not too late to stop this. It's not too late to get help, for both of you." The pity in his voice stung more than his disgust. "She can't even swallow on her own, she's been in a coma for over a decade."

  "What did I tell you about opening your mouth?" Hank snarled, landing a punch square on Darren's jaw. At the moment of impact, one of the fluorescent light panels overhead shorted out.

  "Please,” Jordan cried. "I'm almost done."

  Hank looked up at the ceiling, then back at Jordan. Darren's head hung down in disorientation from the recent blow. "Hurry," snapped Hank.

  Jordan turned back to Susan and dipped the bowl to allow a small amount of liquid to pass over the sleeping woman's lips. She held her hand over the woman's throat and murmured another incantation to help her swallow.

  Susan gulped the liquid down and the silence that fell over the room was punctuated only by Darren's gasp of disbelief.

  "She's awake," Hank said, his voice softened with hope.

  "Not yet," Jordan warned. "It's just a simple spell to stimulate the reflexes." She tilted the bowl and made Susan swallow a more generous mouthful of the arcane concoction. Soon, the contents of the entire bowl were gone. Jordan set it aside and placed her hand on the woman's forehead. She thought Susan's cheeks looked a bit less sallow, but she couldn't be sure if it was just a trick of the light or not.

  She started chanting with greater certainty. The lights began to flicker again and, to Jordan's amazement as well as her audience's, the heart monitor's laconic rhythm began to pick up.

  “My God, it's working,” Hank whispered in awe.

  Jordan felt the connection form, energy passing from her body down her arm and through Susan's skin. It took more concentration than ever to maintain the nascent bond, nurturing it from an ember to a small flame. The discarded bowl began to tremble on the nightstand and the edges of the clean white blanket covering Susan's body began to lift as if someone was peeling them back.

  "Holy shit," Darren breathed.

  Hank laughed in a mixture of joy and disbelief.

  As the connection intensified, Jordan felt the power she had once had to force out being siphoned through her fingertips like a whirlpool and picking up speed. A red droplet of blood fell onto the pristine blanket, but it wasn't until Darren called it to her attention that she realized it was coming from her nose.

  “Whatever she’s doing, it’s too much,” Darren growled. “You have to let her stop.”

  "It's working," Hank replied. "She'll be fine."

  Darren was silent but Jordan could feel his watchful eyes on her. Before long, the blood wasn't just coming from her nose. She felt a thick tear leak out of one eye, then the other. What had begun as a dull ache in her temples had turned into sharp throbbing behind her eyes. With every beat of her heart, a complex network of blood vessels overlaid her vision.

  "Stop!" Darren cried, thrashing so hard against his restraints that the legs of his chair scraped the floor. "It's killing her, can't you see that?"

  Jordan let out a desperate gasp but kept her hand firmly pressed against Susan's forehead, in part because the energy transfer had created a seal she knew she had no hope of breaking.

  "You think I give a fuck?" challenged Hank. "You have no idea who this bitch really is or what she's done."

  "Whatever she's done, she doesn't deserve to lose her life because you can't accept the fact that your wife is dead!"

  Hank was silent for a long moment and Jordan was filled with terror that a gunshot was going to be the next sound she heard. Instead, she heard the rustling of paper. She couldn't turn away from Susan, but Hank had obviously given Darren something to read.

  “In 2003, a tent service held by the Rockport Tabernacle of God burned to the ground with four hundred and four people trapped inside, including Marla and Ezekiel Hurlow," Hank said, taking on the calm, authoritative tone that had probably been his default before he had become the very thing he once hunted. "The sole survivors? Reverend Byron Hurlow and his thirteen-year-old daughter, Alyssa. Ten years later, little Alyssa wins a generous settlement against dear old daddy and the Southwestern Tabernacle Association based on allegations of religious abuse, kidnapping and child endangerment."

  Darren was silent for a long moment before he said, "She told me about the fire. She was a victim. Are you that sick, Hank? Is your mind really so twisted you can't recognize that?"

  "The funny thing about that case," Hank continued, "is that the fire marshal was damn near clueless about what started the fire. Not a faulty wire in the place. It all happened so fast that no one was able to escape, except for your girlfriend and the good minister. Now, the newspapers say Byron Hurlow held his own daughter hostage in an attic for ten years, but I'm more inclined to believe he was protecting the world from the thing that killed his wife and boy."

  Jordan let out a choked sob as tears mingled with the blood leaking from her eyes. Her knees gave way but her hand remained stuck to Susan's forehead like it was magnetized.

  "Please, Hank," Darren begged through gritted teeth. "I don't know how any of this is possible, but I don’t care. Please let her stop. She doesn't have it in her."

  "Oh, she does," he said coldly. "It might kill her, but if it brings Susan back and gives those people that bitch burnt to a crisp their justice, so be it."

  "You're a monster," Darren snarled.

  "Oh, I know." Jordan didn't need to see Hank to hear the smirk in his tone. "But so is she."

  Jordan collapsed as her focus failed her. The lights stopped flickering and she was only vaguely aware of her name being called in the distance as she collapsed on the floor. She stared up at the ceiling, her vision tunneled but clearer than it had been a moment ago. A moth was caught behind the screen of the fluorescent light hanging above and the way it twitched as it was slowly cooked in the heat was a strangely familiar sight.

  She had seen something similar before, somewhere far away. Maybe it was a dream or simply something she had tried to forget.

  Twenty-Four

  "Alyssa," Byron said warily, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You're hurting him now. It's time to stop."

  "I can't, daddy," the small girl drawled. Sweat beaded on her forehead and leaked down the sweetheart neckline of her hand-sewn floral dress. "My hand is stuck."

  The dentist who was kneeling on the altar in front of her began to convulse. Those gathered in the crowded tent waiting for their turn were starting to grow agitated. Women who had been fanning themselves with programs from the service had started to murmur anxiously amongst themselves. Even Ezekiel was looking at Alyssa with concern from the side of the stage, his crisp gray suit jacket opened to provide some semblance of relief from the heat.

  "Remember what daddy told you," her father said tensely. "The Lord can see your heart. If you're not focused on him, it won't work."

  "But I am focused," she said, grimacing as she tried to pry her hand away. "He won't let go. I can see all his thoughts, it hurts."

  Byron laughed nervously, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with the crisp white monogramed cloth that was always tucked into his breast pocket when it wasn't in use. "That's just the devil's stronghold, sweetheart. Lawrence, she can't do it all. Whatever it is, you've gotta give it over to the good Lord now. He can deliver you, but you've got to reach out and take the lifesaver."

  Lawrence gritted his jaw and let out a gasp of distress as a group of women with long hair and even longer skirts surrounded him, placing their hands on his back, head and shoulders. Their lips fluttered with whispered prayers. Some were
intelligible, but others were murmured in tongues that purportedly belonged to the angels.

  That was one part of the services that Alyssa would never understand. The murmurs of the women certainly shared similarities in terms of cadence and syllabaries, but they didn't sound anything like the way angels talked. Certainly not the one watching her from the back of the room. His brilliant golden hair was pulled back at the base of his neck and his crisp black suit was conservative enough, but he still didn't fit in with his surroundings.

  It was a good thing none of the others could see him, she thought. They wouldn't like the things the angel had to say at all. In fact, Alyssa doubted they would even believe he was an angel since he spoke in perfect English.

  The angel gave her a slow nod for reasons she couldn't begin to fathom. A moment later, she crumpled to the ground and so did the dentist.

  Ezekiel had already come up onto the stage and he caught her before their father could. Cool water sloshed against Alyssa's lips and the girl eagerly drank from the bottle he held to her mouth. When she opened her eyes, the angel had vanished as he liked to do. Safe in her brother's arms, Alyssa succumbed to the six hours she had spent under the glaring lights of the stage and slept for the first time in days.

  "Jordan?" Darren's voice broke through the memory as she was shaken back into the land of the living. When she opened her eyes, Darren was untied and leaning over her, his eyes full of relief as he said, "You're awake."

  "Susan?" she asked hoarsely. The vacant look on his face was all the answer she needed. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I tried, but I'm not strong enough."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

  Jordan couldn't see Hank and she didn't have the strength to lift her head to look for him. She smiled tiredly. "You didn't believe in my tinctures. Would you really have believed me about any of this?"

  Darren hesitated. "Probably not," he admitted, looking up. The way his eyes widened in fear gave her only a moment's warning before a large hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Soon, Hank had Jordan pinned to his chest with his gun pressed into her temple.

  "What the hell did you do?" he snarled.

  "I told you it wouldn't work," Jordan said hoarsely. Giving her energy to Susan had taken whatever fight was left in her. "I did everything I could."

  "You're lying," he growled. "You're still alive, and you can try again."

  "No," Darren snarled, taking a step forward.

  "One more step and I'll shoot," Hank warned.

  "Please," Jordan begged, “just let him go and I will. I'll try again and again until it brings her back or kills me, just let him go."

  “No!” Darren bellowed. “This is over.”

  "It's okay, Darren," she said tiredly. Just like that day under the tent and the bright lights, exhaustion and heat from an unknown source was weighing her down. She had been running, hiding for so long that death didn't hold the same dread it once had, especially if it meant dying in the place of the man she loved. "Hank is right about one thing. I did kill all those people and I deserve to die. It was foolish of me to think I could keep running forever."

  "You were a child!" Darren snapped, his brows furrowing in that familiar indignant scowl she had come to love. "Even if you somehow started the fire, you weren't to blame and you sure as hell don't deserve to die!"

  "He's right," Hank said in a dangerously calm tone. Jordan tensed as she felt the gun leave her head and aim at Darren. "Maybe I should let you live, at least long enough to know what it feels like to lose the one you love. Maybe then you'll understand."

  "No!” she cried. Before the word had fully escaped her lips, the shot rang out and a red blotch appeared on Darren's coat, just over his heart. He looked down in disbelief, then back at Jordan for an instant before the light faded from his eyes completely and he crumpled to the floor.

  Jordan stared in shock. She had prepared herself for death, but not for the sickle to swing in Darren's direction.

  Hank's vice grip uncoiled from around her chest. He staggered back and from the look on his face, she could tell even he hadn't foreseen his own actions, at least not fully. The look of shock lasted for only an instant, but it was enough.

  Jordan rushed to Darren's side, struggling to pull his shoulders off the ground, but he was dead weight. The spot of blood had turned into a blackening sun on the crisp white backdrop of his coat. "No," she breathed, her hand trembling as it caressed his cheek. His skin was warm for now, but the life force within him was already gone. Its absence was glaring, leaving Jordan apathetic as to whether their captor turned the gun on her next or not. The longer she stared at Darren's lifeless face, the more her apathy turned to hope that he would.

  The sound of sneakers on the linoleum floor dashed that hope, and when she finally managed to look away from Darren's body, Hank was gone.

  Left alone with nothing but the sound of Susan's heart monitor to mark the passage of time, Jordan collapsed in sobs, clutching Darren to her chest.

  "You just can't help anyone these days without it backfiring," said a familiar voice. Jordan turned sharply to see Hermes sitting in the chair Darren had recently occupied, one long leg draped casually over the other. "Throw a dog a bone and the next thing you know the whole pack wants a cut. In the old days, they'd burn you at the stake when you couldn't deliver. Now they shoot you. The lyrics change, but it’s the same old song.”

  "You," she hissed. "You did this."

  The demon laughed. “I’ll take credit for enclosing this area so no one would hear the commotion, but alas, you got yourself into this one, dollface. Granted, I provided the setting and pushed you towards the actors, but you played the role of the bleeding-heart witch just flawlessly on your own. Brava, darling. Your finest performance yet, I'd say."

  "You're with him, aren't you?" she asked through gritted teeth.

  "Your father or the angel who's got a hand up his ass?" Hermes asked. "Not that it matters. I'm an independent contractor. I work for myself and myself alone."

  "What do you want with me?" she demanded.

  "As I told you before, I want to help you," he said, standing. "Now that your needs are more immediate, maybe you'll be in the mood to make a deal."

  "What are you talking about?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Forgive me, but I can only go through this routine so many times before it gets old. Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a tablet similar to the one Darren used. "I'll bring back your lover, and in return, you'll be my bitch for all eternity. I'm feeling generous, so I'll even throw in your mother and brother for free. Call it the equinox special."

  Jordan let Darren slip from her arms and stood to examine the device. It read like a standard legal contract as she scrolled down the screen and skimmed it. She looked back up at him in disbelief. "You want me to sign away my soul on a tablet?"

  "You might have grown up under a rock, but that doesn't mean the rest of us haven't changed with the times," he said, offering her a stylus. "Rest assured, it's official and binding."

  Jordan took the implement with great hesitation. "You'll really bring them back? All of them?"

  "Just the three you love," he said curtly. "Sorry to be blunt, but the paperwork would be a nightmare if I brought back everyone you've killed. Your boy toy and fundie family will be enough of a project, but I can guarantee their resurrections. In fact, you'll be the one to do it."

  "I don't understand."

  He sighed. "You're a witch. We don't have a whole lot of time to work through all the emotional baggage keeping you from accepting that key fact since your boyfriend isn't getting any less dead, so just trust me, okay?"

  “What are you going to do with my soul?” Jordan demanded. She didn’t particularly care on her own behalf. She’d always figured she was damned anyway, and there wasn’t much the demon could do to make things worse. It was the fear that he would use her power to hurt more people the way the angel had that gave he
r pause.

  “That’s such a long way in the future,” he said dismissively. “Really no point in worrying about it. My immediate plans are far more interesting.”

  “And those are?”

  “When you were born, your father received a vision. He wasn’t the only one,” Hermes said, his eyes narrowing like a cat’s. “You’re not just any witch, my darling. You’re the witch, and whoever gets to your pretty little soul first controls the end game.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, struggling to keep her thoughts straight knowing that every moment that passed, Darren’s soul slipped further away.

  “You’re the Whore of Babylon. Or, at least, you could be with the right training and a serious makeover,” he answered.

  Jordan glared at him. “I’m glad you find this all so funny.”

  “Oh, it’s a laugh! But I’m not joking,” he said flatly. “You are the Whore of Babylon, and under my tutelage, you’ll be worthy of the name. Right now, you’re nothing more than a second-rate witch who’s about five minutes away from adding another name to the body count courtesy of her own ineptitude.”

  Jordan looked down at Darren’s pale face and swallowed hard. “If I do this… if everything you say is true, you’re going to use me to hurt people.”

  “Actually my plans are far more interesting than chaos and destruction, but does it really matter?” he purred. “You’re going to say yes anyway.”

  Jordan clenched her jaw. He was right. He was probably insane and if he wasn’t and she agreed to accept his help, she was even crazier, but he was right. Her decision was already made if there was so much as a chance at bringing Darren back and saving Ezekiel. Even if both of them would hate her for it.

  "Good girl. Now, the thing about witches is that you're natural conduits for energy. My brethren and I have been barred from doing more than a few sleight of hand tricks in the physical realm, but the loophole is that we can work through witches as long as we get their permission," he explained. "Following me so far, Pollyanna?"