Bewitched

by Mark Jay Harris

  The Utor Uti was another matter. It was pretty cool, but still it was nothing more than a crazy object his grandfather had constructed in order to add credence to his world of witches and hobgoblins. Regardless of where Atavus had gotten the thing, Darren was returning it to him. He didn’t want a reminder that his older brother had fallen prey to delusions shortly before his death.

  He had just started down the stairs when he heard the front door open. Curious, he ran the rest of the way down to see who Crissy had let in the house.

  Bursting into the living room, the Utor Uti still in his hands, he saw the back of his little sister leading a tall stranger with long black hair down the hall to his grandfather’s room. The man wore a dark cloak and boots. Who had his little sister let in?

  Darren hurried around the corner toward Atavus’s room, but Crissy was on her way back, alone.

  “Who was that?” Darren asked.

  “Grandpa’s friend.” Crissy smiled.

  “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Crissy's eyes grew wide. “He’s really tall. But he’s not scawy.” She shook her head.

  Darren grunted and slid past her. He covered the hallway quietly and sidled up beside the open door to listen, catching the conversation the two men were having.

  “I’m only saying your timing could be better,” Atavus was complaining. “We just had a funeral.”

  “I know.” The stranger’s voice was low. “I watched from a distance. This illness kept you from being there?”

  Darren didn’t hear a reply but could picture his grandfather nodding.

  “A couple of our friends were there; kept to themselves.”

  Atavus began coughing at this news. “Nothing happened?”

  “No, they only seemed to be interested in seeing that the body got buried.”

  “Where are they from?” Atavus wheezed. “I haven’t seen their kind for decades.”

  “There’s a coven in the north. They supposedly unraveled a mystery about the Grimoire I mentioned to you in my last letter.”

  “Ah, that’s why you’re really here, that old spell book. Everyone else has accepted it as a myth. Of course look who I’m talking to; you’ve been chasing it for almost a century.”

  “Quiet old man!” the stranger growled. “Is your brain as addled as your lungs? There are many dangerous people seeking that book. The Grimoire has spells witches haven’t used in millennia. If they got their hands on it...” He let his comment trail off.

  “I suppose this Northern Coven found the location of the Grimoire?” Darren could hear the sneer in his grandfather’s voice.

  “There was a prophecy that no one could decipher, but lately I’ve been receiving word that its meaning has been made clear. I have no idea what they’re doing here in Cache Valley, but the fact that the boy was a Pessum Ire explains why they were lurking about at the burial. I wouldn’t be surprised if...” His comment died off, as if he’d thought better of what he was about to say.

  “You wouldn’t be surprised if what?” Atavus pressed.

  “If those warlocks knew about Ethan, they might be responsible for what happened to him.”

  It was quiet in the room. Darren’s mind was spinning. Who was the stranger, and how was it he shared Atavus’s delusions? What was going on? Was the whole world tumbling down the rabbit hole?

  “They would have had to follow him to South America,” Atavus replied quietly.

  “Travel is not a problem for them.”

  “No, but all this presupposes they knew he was a Pessum Ire, and if they did, they must know about me. Ethan never used the fire—that I’m aware of; there would be no reason to suspect him. Unless...”

  “Who knows about you?” The stranger’s voice was sharp.

  “No one. I’ve told stories to my grandchildren; that’s all. Of course Ethan knew for the better part of the last year that he was a Pessum Ire.”

  “And the other boy? Darren? Has he shown any signs of being a Pessum Ire?”

  “He’s a good kid, but a skeptic. He listens to my stories patiently, but he doesn’t believe a word of them.”

  “Still, somehow those warlocks know about you. However, given your condition, they don’t seem to be very concerned about you.”

  “No.” Atavus sighed. “I don’t pose much of threat to them these days. One good blast and I’d be dead.”

  “Well, you’d take them all down with you.” Darren could hear the other man’s voice lighten up as he spoke these words, words that were designed to be comforting despite their ominous implications.

  “I can’t stay much longer, Atavus. I need to know if Ethan found the Lapiseus Calx before he died.”

  “No,” Atavus said, then broke off into some serious coughing. At length it came to an end. “I had him search, but even with the Utor Uti they uncovered nothing. I don’t know why you believe it’s here. Tell me more about your plans for the slicer stone.”

  “No plans exactly. I came upon some old writings; they had nothing to do with my search for Moloch’s Grimoire. These few lines talked about non-witches entering the Appensus.”

  “That’s the dimension you’re interested in?” Atavus gasped.

  “Only as a precaution. I don’t really want to go there, but, if it gave us an advantage...”

  “We don’t understand enough about that place to even know what’s possible there.”

  “I’ll send you the translation. There was something in it that I think will make you understand why I believe it is still urgent we get the stone.

  “Hmm.”

  Darren heard the two clasp hands, or arms. Either way, it made him think of warriors bidding the other farewell before battle.

  “Atavus, I’ll try to return before that powder completely finishes you off. And stop feeling guilty about what happened, Grandpa.”

  “You haven’t called me that in a while.” Atavus tried to laugh but ended up coughing at the stranger’s use of the word.

  “I’d stay, but I have a lead on a prophecy stone. It should shed light on another mystery.”

  “The Pessum Ire Detective,” Atavus said, and both men chuckled.

  “I’ll write you in the regular fashion soon with more explanations, and I will be back, Atavus.”

  The room was quiet again. Darren wondered if it was because Atavus doubted the man would keep his promise. Then it occurred to him that the man would be stepping out of the room at any second, so he darted back down the hall toward the living room.

  He plopped down on the couch next to Crissy. A mere moment later, the man strode from the hallway, looking like a dark knight without armor. His sharp jaw line was shadowed by a scruff of beard, giving him both a gallant and dangerous air. Despite his imposing presence and the somber colors of his wardrobe, he wouldn’t have appeared so mystical, but he also wore that strange cloak. Who wore cloaks? Darren didn’t see a sword, but it wouldn’t have been out of place.

  Without pausing, he approached the two children and sized them up carefully. He had penetrating blue eyes that struck Darren, for they were both placid like still water and cold like frost.

  “Take care of your grandfather,” the stranger growled directly to Darren. “And listen to him!” It wasn’t some idle statement, but a command. The stranger hesitated as if he were going to say more, but nodded to himself instead.

  Turning his attention on Crissy, he bent over and examined her closely. He didn’t say anything, and she wasn’t frightened by his proximity or size. He stood up straight and shook his head. “Huh,” he mused. “Maybe, you never know.”

  Without another word he left the house.

  Darren glanced at Crissy who smiled back and said, “I like him.”

  ***

  Back in his room that night, Darren tried to make sense of the odd things that had taken place. Strangers whom the rain didn’t soak, Ethan’s secret compartment in his headboard, Utor Uti’s and Lapiseus Calx, and tall dark, intimidating strangers. Then there was that p
lace the slicer stone was supposed to open, what was it? Appensus And more talk about witches and warlocks. It was all nonsense and crazy-talk. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.

  And that was what he did.

  Over the next eighteen months, his home life never again took on the upbeat rhythm it had before Ethan’s death. Both his parents lurked about like shadows. They took care of business. They took care of Crissy, Atavus, and Darren. But they were perfunctory about life, going through the motions with their souls as absent as Ethan’s.

  Atavus’s condition worsened. He now slept a good deal of the time, and his skin grew tighter around his bones. Darren, however, grew closer to him; Atavus was the only one he could talk to. He was the only one interested in Darren’s ball games and girlfriend and the other events that took place in his life during the next year and half.

  Darren was now a senior in high school and captain of the basketball team. Though he didn’t have the support he wanted from his parents, he still felt he was making progress in filling the immense shoes left behind by his brother.

  The less he dwelled on the strange events on the day of Ethan’s funeral, the less he believed they’d ever happened. In the end, all he really remembered was that it was the day Ethan had been buried, changing Darren’s life forever.

  But those events were just the beginning of the changes that would soon engulf Darren’s life.

  CHAPTER 2

  What Goes Up Must Come Down

  “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

  Instead of answering immediately Darren hurled the basketball to Tony, who dropped his pool cue in order to catch it.

  “Here,” T.J. said from the opposite side of the pool table. Tony tossed the ball to him. Without warning, T.J. bulleted the ball past Darren to the leather couch where Seth, the pony-tailed giant, reached out with one hand and caught the ball, which stuck to his palm like a magnet against a sheet of steel. Shelley, Seth’s beautiful, half-Japanese girlfriend, sat undisturbed by his side.

  Darren grinned and nodded in approval as Tony and T.J. laughed appreciatively at Seth’s one-handed catch.

  “He said he’d be here at seven. It’s only a few minutes past.” Darren opened his palms toward Seth, who threw him the ball.

  “Why do we always wait for Mike?” Andrea, a short, perky brunette with elfin features stood before him with her head cocked to one side. She was an irritated little cheerleader, but she was cute.

  “He’s part of the team,” Darren explained. He slipped an arm out around her waist and kissed her on the top of the head. “And besides, we’d wait for you.”

  Andrea appeared skeptical, but let the subject drop. Instead she gravitated over to Lindsey and Sandy, who were spinning the handles of Tony’s foosball table.

  Darren glanced quickly at the now darkened windows of Tony’s game room. He could have sworn there’d been movement out there, a shadow ducking out of sight. But he’d been seeing a lot of that sort of thing lately, or thought he had. He wasn’t one to be paranoid, but recently he had this feeling someone was watching him. Of course, that was crazy.

  The exterior door from the patio burst open. Mike bounded into the game room, striking a pose from his taekwondo class. “Hi-yah!”

  Tall, with chestnut colored skin, Mike was quite the sight. He was still wearing his white robe and black belt with three stripes, indicating his third-degree black belt status. As everyone’s attention turned on him, he leapt into the air, coming down on his hands and rolling across the floor before jumping back to his feet.

  “Miss me?” He leaned toward Darren, and they waggled fingers at each other, a gesture they’d been using since they were six-years old.

  The others applauded; Mike’s entrances were always entertaining. Darren glanced over at Andrea who had wandered back toward him and sat down on the arm of the leather sofa. Instead of clapping, she gave Mike a tolerant smile and shook her head. She considered Mike a goof-off, too foolish for her tastes, which bothered Darren. His girlfriend and best friend tolerated each other, but only for Darren’s sake.

  Darren had met Andrea during a pep rally, shortly after Ethan’s death. She had approached him and asked what position he played. Later he found out she knew very little about basketball. When he’d said, “I play point guard, like John Stockton,” it had meant nothing to her. She had just wanted to talk to him. As it turned out, that was okay with him. He had been instantly enchanted by her—particularly her liquid brown eyes.

  Lindsey, her ginger colored hair flying behind her, hurried from around the foosball table and struck a pose in front of Mike. “Hi-yah!”

  Mike smiled. “You sure?”

  “Come on, scaredy-cat! Afraid of a little girl?” Lindsey jumped around, holding her hands held in front of her in the typical karate chop position. She swung at him, and he blocked without really thinking.

  They leaped about in a fake fight, Lindsey lunging and Mike parrying her moves with unmistakable fluidity. T.J and Tony stopped their pool game to watch the sparring.

  “Go for the eyes,” Tony urged.

  Lindsey threw a straight-fingered chop at Mike’s face. He grabbed her wrist and turned her about like a dancer performing a spin. She quickly recovered and bounced back at him, saying, “Hah,” with each strike. “Hah! Hah!”

  “What’s gotten into this girl tonight?” Mike grinned. “I’m gonna end up hurting her.”

  “Come on. I’ll bite your legs off,” she challenged, borrowing the line from Monte Python.

  “Oh, girl, you’re in over your head.” Nevertheless, his smile suggested a competitive invitation.

  “Sweep her up,” Darren suggested.

  “That move? You sure?” Mike continued blocking her blows, though he’d turned his attention toward Darren.

  “She’ll love it.”

  “Okay.” He turned to Lindsey. “Remember, this was Darren’s idea.”

  Mike jumped toward her, swept her legs out from under her with a spin, and using his own momentum, rolled beneath her so she landed on his chest, breaking her fall. It was a weird move, but never failed to please.

  Lindsey giggled and Mike laughed. He rolled from beneath her and jumped to his feet. He reached down to help her up. “Come on. I’ll play you at Wii.”

  “I thought we were going to do karaoke when Mike got here.” T.J. banged his cue stick on the ground.

  “No,” Darren said. “We were going to use the Wii to work some plays for the game tomorrow.”

  “Boring!” groaned the four cheerleaders in unison.

  “But tomorrow’s game will determine whether we’re in the state championship.” Darren turned to his friends for support.

  Andrea stood up, grabbed his arm, and gazed into his eyes. “Everyone knows you’re going to win the game tomorrow. You need a break from it tonight.”

  Mike took center stage. “We don’t need to run those plays, Dare. And I know what we should do instead. Yesterday coach had me return some equipment to his office, and I saw something I’d never seen before.”

  “A chest hair?” Tony quipped.

  “Humility?” T.J. followed.

  “Very funny,” Mike griped.

  “Actually, it was pretty funny,” Darren chuckled.

  Mike turned to his best friend and shook his head. “Et tu, Brute?” His face fell into an exaggerated expression of betrayal, and he dropped to his knees. “Maybe I should stop the story there. I’m sure there are some friends somewhere who’d like to follow up on my discovery.”

  “No, tell us,” Sandy said, jumping up.

  “Yes, please,” Lindsey blurted. She raised her arms into the karate forms she’d been using moments ago. “Don’t make me break these out on you again!”

  “All right, all right, I’ll tell you.” Mike jumped back to his feet. Scanning his male friends he added, “But only because you sent the girls out to kick my butt.” Then slowly he articulated, “Coach has a chair on wheels that rolls around on a rug.
Well, the rug was out of place, and so I saw that under his desk is a trapdoor.”

  “Oh, yeah,” T.J. said. “There are several of them in different classrooms. When they built the school, they ran all the pipes and ductwork for heating and cooling underneath. It’s just a crawl space.”

  “Au contraire,” Mike corrected, pointing a long finger in his direction. “You can stand down there.”

  “You went down there?” Darren asked incredulously. “You’re a felon.”

  “I’m a felon? A felon? I’m freakin’ Marco Polo is what I am.”

  “What did you find?” Andrea asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

  “Well,” he shrugged, looking sheepish, “pipes and ductwork.”

  His friends laughed. Tony tossed a pool-cue chalk at his head.

  “So, you want us to break into the school to see a bunch of pipes?” Seth’s deep voice resonating from the couch surprised them all. They had a tendency to forget he was there, even though he was the biggest one of them.

  “If it’s dirty, I’m not going.” Shelley grabbed Seth’s arm for emphasis.

  “Oh, I see.” Mike pointed at her teasingly. “You’re okay breaking into the school as long as you don’t get dirty?”

  “There’s got to be more to this,” Darren insisted. “You don’t want us to break into the school and climb into a hole to see pipes.”

  “Indeed I do not, compadre. Before I went down into the hole, I noticed there was a flashlight on a cabinet to the side of coach’s desk. I grabbed it, dropped down into the hole, and started poking around. One of the basketballs fell inside with me and rolled away into the darkness. I tried to find it among all those grimy pipes and stuff. But I realized it was really dirty down there, and I’ve got my face to worry about.” He smiled and went on. “Finally I found the ball, but before heading back, I decided to look around a bit. I went a little deeper into this tunnel, but missed one of those dirty little pipes and hooked my foot beneath one and down I went.” His hands made a sliding motion to indicate his descent. “Well, of course I threw my arms out in front of me to break my fall. I kept hold of the flashlight, but dropped the basketball. I started looking for it. And this is where it got kind of weird. It would be better to show you, really.”