Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  “Yes, ma’am,” Charlie chuckled. “I have a feeling walking away from some creepy-ass spirit or wind conjuring or whatever will be the easiest part of this whole situation.”

  “You do need to make sure that you only walk though, Charlie. Running away could attract attention to that ‘whatever’ thing that you’re trying to get away from. And if I’m not within twenty yards of you at that moment, I cannot guarantee your safety.” Charlie’s laughter faded pretty quickly. He swallowed loudly and nodded.

  “All right. Understood. I hear you loud and clear. Keep cool, no matter what.” He nodded again, rubbing his hands together loudly. “So...I just go back and pretend like everything’s cool. If anything weird happens, I call you and get the hell outta dodge without attracting unwanted attention. I can do that.” He paused a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth. “If I start making regular calls to you, Constable will see it on the phone records.”

  “I already thought about that,” I said, nearly interrupting Charlie. “Use this number and if he asks, tell him you’ve been consulting an herbalist for your arthritic pain.” I handed him a slip of paper with the number to my backup phone line that only got used for cases like this. Actually, it was a phone my aunt gave me so she could call me whenever she wanted. Needless to say, I’d never actually used the phone.

  “Yeah okay, that could work. Wait, how did you know about my arthritis?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Charlie, but I can smell it on you,” I giggled lightly.

  “You can smell it?” Charlie sniffed the inside of his jacket collar, glancing at me judgmentally. I laughed harder.

  “I’m a witch, Charlie. Born and raised. We’re taught to recognize ailments by the time we’re old enough to walk. The best I can describe it is, arthritis smells a lot like pepper and citrus.”

  “So you’re telling me I’m an old black man that smells like pepper, citrus, and English Leather?” We both burst out laughing. Moments like this made it all worthwhile for me. Finding simple humor in an otherwise dire situation gave me a reason to keep going, to keep fighting.

  “You’re going to be okay, Charlie. I promise you that.” I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glanced at my hand, surprise showing on his face. I had never been a physical person. I’d even told him early on that if he touched me without my consent, I’d break every finger on his hand. I admit that probably wasn’t the best way to start off a new business relationship, even if it did create the desired effect.

  “I better get going. If I’m not back at the office to pick up Constable on the dime, he’ll be suspicious. We can’t afford that, especially right now.” Charlie patted my hand that still rested on his shoulder, mustering up a tired smile. “We’ll keep in touch. I’m going to put your number in my phone and dispose of this piece of paper. And I’ll check in with you once a day, just to be safe.”

  “That’s a solid plan,” I said, nodding and smiling back. I walked him into the house and let him out the front door. I stood on my front steps until he drove out of sight and hugged myself as the sun began to set.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around why this Eryx looked like E. They didn’t just look alike; they were identical in every way. Even the way Eryx looked at me and the way he carried himself reflected E. Like a mirror image.

  “That’s it!” I yelled suddenly, my voice echoing down my street. Every dog on my block started barking. I shrugged at myself, rushing inside to my computer. It had taken me a long time to learn how to run that stupid thing, and I still wasn’t much good at it. Nonetheless, it beat having a basement full of books on witchcraft and pagan lore and gave me a chance to stay a bit more inconspicuous.

  I poked at the keys, slowly inputting the search information into the web search engine. The first result to pop up immediately caught my interest.

  The Mirrored Reflection

  Pagan lore has many different beliefs when it comes to the power behind a mirror. History depicts one belief as a prison for lost souls. Another suggests that every seven years, a soul trapped within a mirror will die and be reborn in the world reflected. Not within the mirror, but without.

  I could’ve kept reading, but I didn’t need to. It didn’t matter if the lore held any validity. It didn’t matter if it turned out to only be a fragment of truth. It didn’t matter because I knew there had to be some element of truth in that lore. Eryx had to be a reborn reflection of my E.

  I shut the computer down and headed for bed, determined to have a dreamscape conversation with him. I needed answers. Not some whispered, mostly incoherent notion of what this could all mean. I needed answers straight from his mouth.

  I hadn’t realized just how tired the day had made me. Not until I laid my head down and found myself instantly in that void where Yurik kept them all. I pictured how pleased he was with himself, imprisoning countless souls there, in that space between existence and nothingness. I could still hear his voice as he told me all of his plans. He told me why he kept them all, tethered helplessly to him. They were the source of his power. They were the reason he never aged and why he was nearly invincible.

  “Draya.” I spun around, coming face to face with the man I’d grown to care for more than I’d ever uttered out loud. I felt the smile creep up at the corners of my mouth until I grinned unabashedly at him.

  “There you are!” I slid my arms around his waist, still amazed by how solid he felt even though I could nearly see through him.

  “You need to leave the city. Get as far away as you can.”

  “You know I won’t do that,” I replied, my smile faltering. “It’s because of this new partner, isn’t it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he? Why does he look like you? I mean, he looks exactly like you, E. Not a close copy. Not a potential twin. Exactly. Down to that little freckle you have in the corner of your right eye.” I stepped back, pointing at the small beauty mark I secretly adored.

  “You were close enough to him to see that?” E asked, true terror in his voice.

  “Okay, listen.” I crossed my arms, instantly frustrated. “If you ever intend to get out of here, I have to continue down this path, no matter how much you dislike it. In doing so, I will have to put myself in some questionable, potentially dangerous positions. I have to act as casual as I can. I cannot come across as suspicious under any condition. So no matter how much you might disapprove, I have to do this. For you, for me, for every other lost soul in here, for everyone who has suffered and will continue to suffer at the hand of that madman so long as I continue to fail.”

  E stood there silent for a long time. He just stared at me, clenching and unclenching his beautifully-defined jaw. Finally, after a pause that felt eternal, he nodded slightly. He hated it, but he understood it.

  “You cannot trust him.”

  “Oh, really? You don’t say? Why is that exactly?” My sarcasm did not amuse him as much as it did me.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Okay, then say more. Tell me who he is.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  “Why does he look like you?”

  “Draya, you know I can’t say.”

  “Ugh!” I growled my frustration loudly, stomping my foot like a child. “Okay. Okay.” I began to pace around, scrunching the hair on the top of my head as I racked my brain for potential questions he could answer. “Okay, how about this? He looks like you. He sounds like you. Heck, he even moves like you. Is he somehow...a version of you?”

  “Yes...and no.”

  “Yes and no? What kind of answer is that? That tells me nothing!” I threw my hands in the air dramatically, but E simply crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in disapproval. “Fine, okay. Um… ooh! He said his name is Eryx. Is it possible that your name is also Eryx?”

  “Yes.” E responded softly, but the air around us suddenly crackled with a living electricity, sparks of color flying all around us. I flinched in surprise, taking a single step toward E.r />
  “Yes? Your name is Eryx?!” I asked cautiously, watching our surroundings closely.

  “Yes.” E said again. His voice came so softly, yet it sounded like he yelled with the corresponding reaction around us, the air crackling so loudly it made my ears ring.

  “Is your full name Eryx Katz?” I asked in a rushed voice, my adrenaline spiking with the new revelation and connecting reaction.

  “No.”

  “No?” I frowned in thought. “No, because you have a middle name as well.” I said more than asked. E nodded slowly, a hint of a smile finally gracing his lips.

  “There is power in a name…” I whispered to myself as a million thoughts flew through my mind. “There is power in a name,” I said again, a strong realization hitting me. I started bouncing on the balls of my feet, the excitement getting to me. “Oh, my God, E! There is power in a name!”

  “Now you’re getting somewhere, Inanis Viatorem.” He smiled wide at me, hope glittering brightly in his eyes.

  “Okay, one more question. I can feel I’m about to wake, but I need to know.” I stepped close to E, eliminating any space between us. I needed to feel him, touch him the only way I could. I needed to memorize the feeling so that I could carry it back with me once I woke up. I also needed to ask the next question as quietly as possible. “Since you cannot tell me…” I leaned in, my lips grazing his ear, and whispered the rest. “...Can he?”

  “Yes.”

  To be continued…

  ***

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  About the Author

  Raquel Anne is a pen name for author Rachel A Olson. Rachel started out as a single mother in her writing career. When her son started learning to read, she chose to branch out into other pen names to help separate her less child friendly writing. Hence, the birth of Raquel Anne, the romantic side of Rachel A Olson.

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  Check out Blind Date today! Releasing May 1, 2021

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  Books published under Rachel A Olson

  Twice the Chill: Two SHORT Horror Stories (always free!)

  Anzel Spectrus: Discovering Yesteryear

  Teenage Nobody: Poetic Ramblings

  The Seventh Layer

  Love During Death

  THE BEST WITCH IN TOWN

  Stephanie Barr

  About The Best Witch in Town

  Sylvia West may look like the perfect witch,

  but it takes more than looks and a few pilfered spellbooks.

  The real question is does she have the soul of a witch?

  The Best Witch In Town

  Everyone knew Sylvia West was the best witch in town. Possibly in the whole county.

  She lived in the same sort of apartment as everyone else in this old Eastern town, a short hi-rise some five stories up with shops along the first floor and a narrow door and hallway leading up to the ancient apartments from another century.

  Sylvia lived in the corner building at the intersection of High and Park. On the Park side was a shop that had started as a drugstore and had gone through many different incarnations before settling on a coffee shop/diner. On the High side were three tiny shops, one selling used books, one selling used jewelry and knick-knacks, and one that was Sylvia's Witchery.

  In Sylvia's Witchery you could find silver jewelry, draping dresses, books, herbs, crystals, and other tools for the magically inclined. The smell of incense and teas filled the room, to the music of the old clock and the little fountain that poured out incense smoke as if it were boiling. The store was small and crowded with items but saved from claustrophobia with the stained-glass edging on the front windows and the old chandelier—once converted from gas—above with prisms that reflected rainbows on every possible surface. If you had no need for herbs or an old tome, you could stop and get a cuppa and gossip with the tiny woman who took care of the storefront. Aunt May was always good for the latest and juiciest tidbits.

  If f you went through the beaded curtain, you could find Sylvia plying her trade with her tarot cards and crystal sphere and get your fortune read for just $15 or a séance for $45. Spells by special request only.

  There were four cats that wandered the store, all black but distinctly different, and a black, fuzzy mutt which the whole neighborhood thought must be part mastiff since it was waist tall at the shoulder. Well, next to everyone but Aunt May, the ancient woman at the till and the owner of the dog, which stood nearly as tall as she did when not on her high stool. Everyone called her Aunt May and no one in town would own to remembering her as anything but an old woman or could recall her last name.

  If no one was quite sure where they had first met Aunt May, she knew everyone, calling them by name—even if they didn't remember ever coming into the shop previously—and often disconcerting them with embarrassing stories from their childhood. Aunt May was a tiny shriveled relic of a woman, thick-waisted and perpetually bent. Her teeth had long ago disappeared. Her nut-brown skin was weathered and seamed as if someone had formed her face as a juicy apple then left it out to dry in the harsh sun. Her eyes—black as the onyx gems that rattled among the silver chains and crystals she wore—were sharp and liquid as if always ready to tear with sympathy but they were clear and bright. Yet it was laughter she indulged in most often, with a loud cackle that could carry to the end of the block. She dressed in black and purple, often with some bright accessory to throw the look off kilter. Her coarse silver hair was worn in a messy bun with a different hair dainty in it every day.

  Sylvia was everything Aunt May wasn't. She was young and mysterious, stunningly beautiful and always garbed in soft flattering colors that made the most of her slanted green eyes and glimmering blonde hair. The only gold in the shop was in the many chains she wore about her person, bracelets, belts, rings, necklaces and a diadem that disappeared into her golden tresses. Her voice was a dulcet masterpiece especially in contrast to the loud and often ribald voice of Aunt May.

  Those who frequented the shop—and the shop had quite the brisk trade—wondered at the relationship. It was useless to try to find so much as a drop of the classy Sylvia in the wizened May with her sharp and bawdy tongue. Most decided she must be some ancient relative that Sylvia employed out of kindness. There was no point in asking Aunt May for she just cackled when questioned, her black eyes twinkling merrily, and offered up even more of the questioner's embarrassing secrets. And Sylvia herself never complained about the uncouth biddy that manned her shop, only offering a long-suffering smile.

  Aunt May was trying to retrieve a dropped necklace behind the glass display case for a customer when the clock struck six.

  May spared the customer a glance, a respectable-looking woman drinking her tea as if it were ambrosia. "Be a dear, Adele, and switch the sign at the door, will you?"

  Adele did as she was bid and changed the sign from "Open" to "Closed" while a black cat with curiously curling hair hopped up on the display case, the necklace dangling from between his teeth. "Thank you, Mabon," May said, grasping it in her knotted hands and stretching it out on a black velvet cloth. The cat rubbed against her arm with a soft purr and then leapt away.

  As Adele returned, May added, "See, isn't it beautiful? Amethyst is well suited for healing and emotional cleansing and the rose quartz for love and finding contentment. I think, if you're hoping to start a family, this is an excellent choice. And so cunningly fashioned."

  "It really is beautiful. Why silver not gold?"

  "Silver is always best for magic," May said with a wink. "And it looks so pretty."

  "Alright," the woman said. "A hundred twenty did you say? And you take credit cards?"
>
  "Only cash, I'm afraid. But I can let it go for a hundred if that would help."

  The woman fished in her purse, pulling out crumpled twenties and tens. "That would help. I've only got a hundred and five here." She straightened the bills, counted them another time, and handed them toward May who had already placed the necklace in a little box and that box inside a velvet bag. "You wouldn't want to throw in a few ounces of that tea you served, would you?"

  "The tea I brew is free as a friendly gesture. But taking it home will cost you at least thirty."

  "Oh dear, another time then," she said, reaching for the rest of her cup and then pausing as a dainty short-haired cat nosed the abandoned cup.

  "Ostara, stay out of her tea. It's not for you." May said. The cat sat back on her haunches as if she had never been interested and licked her paw.

  The beads rattled as Sylvia came into the shop, "May, do something—oh, you have someone with you. Excuse me."

  "I was just leaving. You have a lovely shop here," Adele said, drinking the last of her tea with a wistful glance at the pot. Something stopped her from asking for a refill and she left without another word.

  Sylvia locked the door behind her. Aunt May jumped off her high stool and straightened up the tumbled books on a small table, hobbling a little with her large dog providing support as she shined up a stand of metal wands.