by Juliet Dark
When I closed the book and looked up, I could see in each student’s eyes a fire burning—a home fire, a burning desire to be home.
“The last bus leaves at five,” I said, casually glancing down at my wristwatch. “Travel safely.”
They gathered their books and left in a rush. I saw Ruby talking to Flonia and guessed that Ruby was inviting Flonia to go home with her. Nicky was with them, and I hoped that she would go home with Ruby, too, far away from Fairwick. I doubted that even a homesickness spell would send Nicky running back to the moldering pile her mother and grandmother lived in. She would be safer in New Jersey with Ruby.
I closed my book and rushed upstairs to my office, where I swiveled my desk chair around to face the window that looked over the quad. I raised the sash and leaned my elbows on the sill to watch my students, their brightly hued jackets and sweaters like so many autumn leaves blown by the wind across the darkening campus.
Go home. I willed the spell to spread from student to student. Go home.
My words were picked up by a gust across the quad, spinning fallen leaves into red and gold cyclones to carry a few hundred Dorothys back home to Kansas. The wind I summoned smelled like hot cocoa and fresh-baked apple pie, like fires burning in hearths and the sweater your mother wore on cold mornings to fetch the newspaper. It soughed through the trees with the creak of your front door opening and the whisper of slippered feet coming to greet you. It chased the dark clouds out of the west, releasing a crack of sunlight on the horizon that lit up the tops of crimson trees and the brick walls of west-facing buildings with the golden glow of your mother’s face when she saw you.
What a surprise! She would say. I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.
I was out of socks, you would say.
Or, The cafeteria food sucks.
Or, Everybody else was going home.
Everybody was going home. I could feel the spell spreading across campus, infecting everyone, even the instructors, with the desire to go home. And, like all magic, it rebounded on me thricefold, so that I, too, wanted to go home.
But where was home?
The empty house on Elm Street? My friend Annie’s house in Brooklyn, where I knew she and her partner, Maxine, would welcome me to their annual Halloween party? Or Faerie, where my demon lover maybe was or wasn’t waiting for me?
I sat at the window until the last light faded from the western sky and the air turned cold.
“Good move,” a voice said from behind me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I swiveled my chair around. I hadn’t turned on any lights in my office, so the figure in the doorway was silhouetted against the bright hall lights. It was a figure of a man, but the shadow it cast against the wall was of an enormous beast whose wings bristled with a thousand razor-edged barbs. As he stepped though the door, I heard their sharp edges scraping against the wood.
“You can’t stop them from going,” I said, steeling my voice to hide my fear.
“Why would I want to?” Duncan asked, lifting his shoulders in what would have been a harmless shrug if not for the shadow wings, which flexed out with a series of cracks that sounded like a dozen pistols firing. A nephilim equivalent of cracking his knuckles, I supposed. “Without them, you won’t be able to become the hallow door.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, with more bravado than I felt. I didn’t like that he knew about the hallow door.
His face was suddenly inches from mine, his wings spread out above us, their barbs making a sound on the ceiling like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“You know, now that I think of it, no. I’m not sure. You have grown more powerful than I thought possible. I was hoping that you would eventually see reason and leave your little fairy friends behind to come over to our side. You would make a delightful companion.”
He touched my chin with one steel-tipped claw. I’d seen what those claws did to Bill’s throat. I searched my mind for a spell that would protect me, but my head was a jumble of confused images. The homesickness spell had weakened me, I thought, but then even that idea twisted in on itself. Home is what makes you sick. No, that wasn’t right. Good thing you don’t have a home. The voice seared through my brain with the precision of a scalpel dissecting a frog. I could feel it neatly probing the tender tissue, scraping at all my hopes and fears.
You’ve sent them all home, Callie, but you don’t have a home to go to. Do you think your incubus boyfriend is waiting for you in Faerie? Before killing him, I took a little trip through his soul, and you know what? It was empty. No soul. Nothing but lust. That’s what you coupled with. A rutting bull.
Images of a horned creature—half man, half bull—flitted through my head. In each of my memories of making love with Liam and Bill, I now saw the hideous bullheaded monster pumping away at me.
Is that what you’re going to Faerie to find, Callie? All your high-minded talk of freeing your friends and finding some mythical trinket to kill me is no better than the fairy tales you tell your students. They’re all lies. You want to go to Faerie so you can fuck your incubus boyfriend for all eternity. But you know why no one wants to stay in Faerie? Because after a while there, the glamour falls away and you see how things really are.
An image of Faerie appeared in my mind: the flower-studded meadows sloping down to a crystal-blue lake, a sky of melting purple and rose, my friends—Liz and Diana; Casper and his partner, Oliver; the beautiful Fairy Queen, Fiona, and her king, Fionn. But as I looked at them, they began to change. Sores erupted on their faces, their skin fell from their bones, horns sprang from their foreheads, crooked fangs protruded from their gaping, drooling mouths. They lurched toward me like zombies in a horror movie.
I turned to run from them and ran straight into William Duffy. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand to me. I took his hand and we ran down the sloping meadows into the Greenwood, his strong grip giving wings to my feet. If I tripped over a root, he righted me. When I grew tired, he gave me strength. I risked a look over my shoulder and saw that we had left the monsters far behind. We slowed to a walk, William still holding my hand. We had come to the glade and the ruins of the hallow door. William led me into the green circle, to the bed of emerald moss where we had made love. He stopped and turned around …
Revealing a monster’s face of decayed flesh and bone.
“What did you expect, Cailleach,” he said, through rotting lips. “You kept me waiting hundreds of years.”
I shrieked …
… and heard myself screaming in my office. Duncan had pushed me against the window frame, the sill pressing against the small of my back.
That’s what awaits you on the other side of the hallow door. Wouldn’t it be better to just end it right now, right here? All you have to do is let go.
His claws tapped my hands, which were gripping the window frame. I didn’t remember putting them there. Duncan’s breath was hot in my face. I could feel the cool air on my back, beckoning me … home. All I had to do was let go …
“Let her go.”
I thought the voice was inside my head. It was angrier than the other voices in my head but just as urgent.
“Let—her—go!” it said again, each word sharp as a pistol shot. Frank’s voice. It shattered into the mental space Duncan had carved into my brain. I could feel him recoiling, drawing out of my head. His claws, though, were still digging into my hands.
“I said—”
Duncan retracted his claws so quickly, I nearly fell through the open window. He whirled away from me, his wings slapping my face. I leaned away as far as I could, but the barbs still scraped across my face, drawing blood. The pain felt almost good, though, now that he was out of my head. I braced myself against the window and planted my feet against his back—and pushed.
Unprepared for a rear assault, Duncan stumbled. Frank lunged forward and swung something into his face. I heard a dull thud and the crunch of bone. Blue sparks flew into the air. I looked up from the crumpled win
gs and cringing form of the nephilim to Frank … only it couldn’t be Frank. This man was a good six inches taller and glowed. He held a long, bright object that emitted the blue sparks. Where had Frank gotten a sword? And since when did Frank wear mailed armor? As my eyes adjusted to the glow, I saw that the armor was only an illusion and the object in his hand wasn’t a sword at all.
“A baseball bat?” Duncan roared. “You think you can take me down with a baseball bat?”
“Not just any baseball bat,” Frank replied smugly. “Bucky Dent’s bat. The one he used to hit the three-run home run that beat the Red Sox in ’78. Imbued with the faith and devotion of baseball fans everywhere. You touch McFay again and you will feel the wrath of Bucky ‘Fucking’ Dent!”
Duncan snickered and spread his wings over Frank. I heard a scream—and then smelled something burning. Something that smelled like feathers.
Duncan retracted his wings, their tips singed. Frank was still standing, holding the bat, but his face was pale as death. Duncan drew himself up and folded his wings close to his body, then swept past Frank. In the doorway, he turned to look back at me.
“By the time I’m done, you’ll wish you’d gone home with your students,” he said. “And, remember, after you’re gone, they’ll come back. But you won’t be here to protect them.”
As soon as Duncan left, Frank dropped the bat. Bands of raw red flesh striped his hand.
“Jesus, Frank,” I cried, running to him. “What happened to your hand?”
“When I heard you scream, I ensorcelled the bat before I could protect my hand.”
Ensorcelled? I wondered, staring at his hand’s burned flesh. “Well, that was stupid!”
“You’re welcome, McFay. Next time I hear you screaming bloody murder, I’ll …”
Whatever inane activity he was going to suggest would have to be left to my imagination, as Frank’s eyes rolled back in his head and his whole body went limp. I grabbed him in time to break his fall, but I was also weak from the encounter with Duncan. We both ended up on the floor in an ungainly heap, which was how Soheila found us.
“Oh,” she said, standing in the doorway, looking embarrassed. “I thought I heard a ruckus.”
“You did,” I said, untangling my legs from Frank’s. “Duncan Laird attacked me, and Frank came to my rescue with an ensorcelled baseball bat. He burned his hand.”
I turned over Frank’s hand to show her and he instantly came to consciousness, screaming in pain at my touch.
“I’ve got rose water and aloe in my office. I’ll be right back.”
Soheila was gone in a gust of clove-scented air. Three minutes later a miniature tornado blew into my office, whirling every paper on my desk into the air and knocking a dozen books off the shelves. The tornado landed by Frank’s side and resolved into Soheila, dark hair tossing like a stormy sea, a glass perfume bottle in her hand.
“Hold this,” she told me, handing me the bottle. “I’m going to take the heat away first.” She gently slid one hand under Frank’s injured one, leaned over it, her shapely rose-red lips parted, and blew. Frank stiffened for a moment as the air touched his burned skin, and then he relaxed. His eyes fluttered closed and the lines of pain melted away from his face. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Soheila held out her free hand for the bottle, and I opened it. The air was suddenly filled with the delicious warmth of a rose garden on a sultry summer afternoon. I handed the bottle to Soheila, and she poured a few drops of the oil onto Frank’s hand. Instead of rubbing it in, she gently blew again, spreading the oil across his palm. She repeated the process three times. Each time, Frank sighed and his burns faded from red to pink, then shiny white.
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked.
“The burns will heal, but …” She dipped her finger in the oil and touched it to Frank’s forehead above and between his eyebrows. A shudder passed through her body. “That monster touched his mind. Healing him will take time.” She turned to me, her usually rich olive skin faded to the color of old parchment, her graceful hands trembling. “It’s just, I’m afraid …”
“Afraid of what?” I asked, thinking of all the terrors we’d faced in the last few months together. Up until now, Soheila had been fearless in the face of it all. What could make her tremble?
“I’m afraid that if I get this close to him, I might not be able to keep from falling in love with him.”
I nearly laughed, but I restrained myself and told her in all seriousness, “Soheila, honey, that boat’s already sailed. Of course you love Frank—and he loves you. I know you’re afraid you’ll hurt Frank, but he’s a big boy—and a powerful wizard—who can take care of himself. It’s time you gave it a chance. Take it from me, you might not get a second one.”
Luckily, I’d brought my car to campus, so I was able to drive them both to Soheila’s house. I’d never been there before and was surprised to find that she lived in a modest 1960s ranch, tastefully but sparely decorated in bleached-wood Scandinavian furniture and muted earth tones. Its only real extravagance was plush wall-to-wall carpeting the color of desert sand. The overall effect was restful—like the Sahara in the moonlight. When I helped Soheila carry Frank to her guest room, I resisted the urge to lie down on the carpet and go to sleep.
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
“I think so,” Soheila replied, running her hand over Frank’s brow. He murmured under her touch but remained unconscious. “The nephilim barely touched his brain. In time I should be able to heal him.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said, getting up from the bed.
Soheila looked up. “But what about you, Callie? The nephilim touched you, too. I can help—”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Frank stopped him before Duncan could do any real damage.” The hideously ruined face of William Duffy leered up at me inside my head. I flinched, but Soheila had already looked away, back to Frank.
“What an idiot,” Soheila said fondly. “Imagine taking on a nephilim with a baseball bat!”
“Imagine,” I said, trying very hard not to think of anything at all.
“But where are you going?” Soheila asked when I was halfway to the door.
“To find another witch for our circle.”
I had only forty-eight hours to find a replacement witch. I’d start with the witches I knew. I got in my car and called Moondance on my cellphone. When I told her what had happened, she was silent for so long that I thought I might have lost the connection, but then she said, in a hushed voice that sounded not at all like the robust woman I knew, “He was able to get into Delmarco’s mind?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but Frank was distracted. He was trying to save me.”
“Still, Delmarco is one of the most powerful wizards I know. If Laird was able to get through his defenses, there’s not much hope for any of us.”
“Which is why I need to become the hallow door on Sunday night,” I reminded her. “So I can find the angel stone and get rid of these creeps. But we’ll need another witch. Is there anyone else in town?”
“No,” Moondance replied curtly.
“I don’t understand. I thought Fairwick was a refuge for witches. Why are there so few?”
“There was an incident back in the fifties that cleared out a lot of witches. That was before my time, so I’m not sure what happened. Ann would know …” Her voice trailed off wistfully.
“Do you think there’s any chance Ann could be persuaded to rejoin the circle?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried calling her. The last time, she answered the phone but didn’t say anything. She might listen to you, though.”
“Why me?”
“I think she feels bad about what happened to Bill … Anyway, it’s worth a shot.”
Moondance gave me Ann’s number. Then I recalled seeing Ann and her daughter coming out of their house on Mulberry Street, just a couple of blocks away from my house. I decided to drive there instead of calling. I drove slowly do
wn the street, hoping I’d recognize Ann’s house, but at night all the houses on Mulberry looked rather alike—quaint 1930s bungalows with low overhanging porches that seemed to close the houses off from the lane. I recalled that the path to Ann’s house had been lined with flowers, but then it had been summer … I stopped in front of a house whose path was lined with jack-o’-lanterns. A dozen cardboard gravestones sprang up from the lawn, along with a gruesome rubber hand. An entire family of imaginatively carved pumpkins squatted on the porch steps. This couldn’t be it, I thought. Not only was the taste far too garish for Ann, it wasn’t likely she would decorate for Halloween while in league with the nephilim.
Still … the house looked just like the one I remembered from this summer. I parked the car and walked up the path. About halfway up, one of the jack-o’-lantern tops opened and a screeching black cat popped out. I jumped and let out a high-pitched squeak. From inside the house came the faint titter of giggles.
Regaining my composure when I ascertained that the cat was an animatronic creation of wire and fake fur, I continued up the path. On the porch steps, a goblin erupted from a pumpkin and a diaphanous ghost flew out of the shadows. I yelped obligingly and brushed past spider-laden cobwebs and dripping green ectoplasm to ring the doorbell. Deep moans and chain rattling ensued. The door was swung open by a witch in green face paint.
“You’re early!” she screamed gleefully. “Halloween’s not for two more nights.”
I easily recognized Ann’s daughter, Jessica, from her eager smile and the epicanthic fold in her almond-shaped eyes.
“Early? Clearly I’m too late! I was looking for Jessica Chase and her mother, but I suppose you’ve already turned them into frogs and eaten them!”
Jessica collapsed into giggles. “Silly, I’m Jessica!”
“No! Are you sure? The Jessica I know works at the newspaper and saves lost cats. She’s not a witch.” But her mother is, I thought. I wondered how much Jessica knew about her mother’s vocation.
