Student Bodies

by Sean Cummings

  A few moments later, one of the oak doors opened and light spilled out onto the stairway. A tiny woman of no more than five feet tall stood in the doorway and her eyes narrowed sharply the moment she laid eyes on Mom.

  “The Shadowcull’s wife returns,” she said in a scratchy voice. She was dressed in a simple floral pattern dress made of what looked like a heavy material. Her thin gray hair was pinned up into a bun similar to the style my mother usually wore and her penetrating eyes sat behind a thick pair of glasses. She leaned heavily on a twisted wooden cane and gazed down at us suspiciously.

  Mom gave her a slight bow and said, “Greetings, Blessed Maven. I’m sorry to disturb you so late at night, but I wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t a damned good reason for it.”

  The old woman’s gaze shifted over to me and I felt the powerful touch of her magic. She scanned my magical signature and my spirit tingled as she gazed at my Shadowcull’s band. And that’s when Betty the dog decided to walk right in front of me, distracting the old woman.

  “The girl is not a threat, Mother Maven,” she rumbled. “And neither is the girl’s mother. A shadow is descending upon this hallowed place. Kindly invite us inside because we must move quickly.”

  “That’s Blessed Maven,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice. Betty raised her hackles and growled softly.

  “You are a Maven only to those of your kind, old woman, but not to me. You know what I am and you’d be wise to mind your place because you are in the presence of one who has seen the passage of time written on every stone that makes up the walls of your temple.”

  Holy shit. Go Betty.

  The tiny woman made a grunting sound. After a few seconds she nodded once and then whispered a word of magic. Instantly, I felt the magical wards protecting the old church drop back and the gate opened with a loud creak, so we climbed the staircase and walked into the old building. As soon as I’d stepped inside, the familiar scent of drying herbs and fragrant oils filled the air. And the magical energy emanating from the place felt very old; it tickled my senses and reminded me that I was standing in the front hall of a sacred place. For the briefest of moments, I felt unworthy to set foot on the polished oak floors; as if my presence would somehow taint the rich history of the building. Beeswax candles lit the corridor, splashing yellow-orange light onto heavily plastered walls that were covered with a variety of Samhain wreaths that pulsed with supernatural power. Tapestries showing images of ancient rites were draped between the wreaths, the names of each act carefully woven into the fabric in the Theban alphabet. And each tapestry gave off a sense of great magical energy – these were the sentinels that protected the building.

  The Maven led us through a large archway and into an enormous room with a twenty-five-foot high ceiling. The walls were decorated with a mural of Cerridwen; the Celtic Goddess of Transformation. The tendrils of her hair stretched out across the wall and morphed into a prairie scene of flat land and waist-high wheat. A black sky speckled with stars went up the walls to cover the entire ceiling, and in the middle was a massive blue-gray full moon.

  In the middle of the room stood five large sandstone blocks, each the size of a dishwasher. Upon each block a different pagan image had been carved; an Elm tree, a chalice, a bell, a wreath and finally, a spell book. The blocks were covered with candles and arranged in a circle, connected to each other by a line of white sand about four inches thick. We stepped into the ring and took a seat on the smooth oak floor. The old Maven hobbled over to the sandstone block with the image of the Elm Tree and stood behind it. She then lit the five candles atop her sandstone dais with a whispered spell.

  “Blessed be to the Goddess of the Night,” the old woman called out.

  “Blessed be,” my mother replied.

  The Maven stepped to the side of the sandstone block and flashed a scowl at my mother.

  “Your return was foretold by me, if you’ll recall,” she said, never breaking the angry expression on her face. “You were once my adept, you’d been groomed to one day take my place and now tonight you return to me alongside a child who wears the weapon of the Shadowcull.”

  Whoa. The Maven was once my mother’s teacher. This was going to be good.

  Mom stood up and her magic hummed, sending a ripple of energy across the polished floor. “She wears the weapon of her father!” Mom snapped. “And I am no longer your adept. My daughter has proven herself against the darkest of magic. She saved me from an immortal sorceress and the spirit of the Witchfinder General.”

  The old woman’s gaze flashed over to me and a crooked smile appeared on her face. “The spirits told me of the girl’s encounter with the ghost of Matthew Hopkins. Tell me, Adept, how does it feel to wield so much power?”

  I could feel her eyes boring into me, but I wasn’t about to show even the tiniest sign of weakness. I might have been sitting inside the sacred circle of the Wheatland Coven’s temple, but I was determined to remain calm and respectful in spite of the clear bitterness the old woman still held for my mother.

  “It is a source of wonder and fear, Blessed Maven,” I said being careful to sound as respectful as humanly possible. “It’s also a duty that I am privileged to carry out. My father died protecting innocent people from the darkness; if I am one tenth as brave as he was then I will have honored his memory.”

  “Bravery won’t save you from the Left Hand Path, Adept. Your father was brave and a fat lot of good it did, he was careless with his gift – as careless as an Adept that seeks out a Broker at the eleventh hour.”

  Betty emitted a low growl. “Enough, Mother Maven. We are here to warn you of impending danger to everyone in this coven.”

  The Maven leaned over the sandstone block and shifted her gaze to Betty. “There is always impending danger for a coven of witches,” she said firmly. “We protect one another through the strength of our collective spirits. Why should we fear on this day when we do not fear the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year?”

  “What is coming has to do with choices that were made in this place many years ago,” Mom said sharply. “You’ve been the Maven here since I was my daughter’s age. You once dispatched a Shadowcull to destroy a black mage named Adriel, do you remember?”

  I watched as the old woman’s grip on her cane tightened. I felt a surge in her magical signature and what I could have sworn was a trace of malice.

  She blinked a few times as she stared at my mother. Her eyes had a faraway look in them as she grunted and said, “I remember. She killed three children in this city. It was in the middle of winter – three bodies found frozen in the snow at three different playgrounds in the city, each bearing her mark. The police were baffled and the newspapers were baying like a pack of wild dogs. Yes, this coven sent a Shadowcull to destroy Adriel, and he failed. As I recall, he was very lucky to escape with his life.”

  Mom didn’t even flinch. Instead she stood motionless, but I could have sworn that I heard her teeth grinding together. “Stephen wasn’t much older than Julie at the time. He was inexperienced and barely in control of his abilities. This coven sent him to kill Adriel without any backup plan, and she has returned, Blessed Maven. The boy who died at the weekend was covered with Soul Worms and my daughter tried to save him. The day before, another boy tried to kill himself by jumping in front of an oncoming train. Again, infected with Soul Worms, only this time, Julie did manage to save his life.”

  “And what proof do you have that Adriel has returned?” she asked.

  “We have none other than the word of Stephen Richardson’s spirit,” Mom replied. “But my daughter believes she encountered Adriel’s adherent last night at the home of the boy who survived the first attack. The Winter Solstice is tomorrow night and there is a dance at my daughter’s school. We believe that Adriel has a blood coven and she intends to infect all the students at that dance with Carrion Phage. Adriel knows that only a coven of white witches can save those students – that’s when she will make her move; whe
n the Wheatland coven is too busy to notice. She’ll attack when each witch’s spirit has been weakened from trying to save those kids. Blessed Maven, Adriel has returned in a bid to achieve immortality. She’ll destroy this coven and the children at my daughter’s school are pawns in a terrible plot. That is why we’re here: to warn you and to ask that you muster all the white witches together, because my daughter and I cannot stop her by ourselves. We need your help; those kids need your help.”

  I watched closely as the old woman stepped over the white sand circle. She hobbled up to my mother and then she poked the end of her cane in Mom’s chest.

  And amazingly, Mom didn’t even flinch.

  “I should never have let you go all those years ago,” the Maven said bitterly. “I should never have let you begin a romantic involvement with Stephen Richardson. You were always wilful and you fought me tooth and nail on every decision that I made. Now you come to me at this late hour to warn of a cataclysm and you expect me to simply drop everything and muster this sacred coven.”

  Mom maintained a calm demeanour and looked down at the end of the Maven’s cane. She exhaled slowly and then gazed into the old woman’s eyes. “I expect the witches of this coven to be prepared for whatever Adriel throws at them. I take no joy at coming here tonight; you and I have our differences and I’m ready to set mine aside for the greater good. We have to make preparations.”

  So that’s where I got my rebellious streak from. Gauging from the anger in the Maven’s voice, she once had to deal with the same kinds of frustrations that my mother has when dealing with me. And for a brief moment, it was like looking into my future. Mom was rebellious enough to leave the coven. She’d chosen love over duty – an impossible choice at the best of times. She’d severed her relationship with her teacher, the one person who’d connected with my mother on a spiritual level. Their relationship had been destroyed as a result and I shuddered as I considered whether I was looking at an image of my relationship with Mom one day.

  Maybe I was rebellious and wilful. But don’t all teenagers go through the same thing? It’s not like I disagreed with Mom on every decision that she made, but she’d been pushing me to end my relationship with Marcus. She worried about how my life would change should something terrible happen to him. Maybe she was right, but what about my happiness? Didn’t I have a right to be happy? Could I find happiness now that I’d taken my father’s place?

  The questions kept on coming and I gave my head a shake because at the heart of the matter was this: lives were at stake. My happiness would have to take a back seat whether I liked it or not.

  The Maven retreated to her sandstone dais. She placed both hands on her cane and her eyes panned over the three of us. Betty relaxed again and lowered her hackles and I studied the old woman’s face for a clue about what her decision would be.

  And it was a decision that I didn’t see coming.

  “Shadowcull, step forward,” she said in voice full of resolve. I took one step ahead and Mom placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me.

  “This is a seminal moment in your life, Julie,” she whispered. “Walk up to the dais and kneel before the Blessed Maven, because what’s about to happen is a sacred act.”

  I turned my head toward Mom and I could see a flash of pride on her face. Her eyes began to well up with tears, glinting in the light of the chamber. She squeezed my shoulder firmly and said, “Go now.”

  My stomach fluttered nervously as I approached the old woman. Her spirit flared up with magical energy and my body suddenly became bathed in unnatural light as I dropped to one knee and looked up at the Maven.

  The deep furrow of wrinkles around her eyes stretched down her hollow cheeks and around her thin lips. Amid those wrinkles was a pair of eyes that burned with an intensity that belied the frail, feeble look of the old woman. She stretched out her arm and placed a withered, twisted hand that was covered with liver spots on my head. She whispered in the ancient tongue of our kind and then her magic flowed through me as her hand gently brushed the side of my face until it stopped underneath my chin.

  “Look upon me, Shadowcull,” the Maven as she gently lifted my chin. “If Adriel has indeed returned and if this conspiracy is true, then she will need a massive quantity of malicious energy to fuel her dark spell. I command you to seek out the source of malice that fuels the black mage. You must remember to be wary of the enemy’s presence for she will guard her wellspring of power at all costs.”

  The Maven’s hand dropped limply to her side. She exhaled slowly as the unnatural light emanating from her body diminished until it was gone; so I stood up and gazed down at my Shadowcull’s band. I’d been tasked with bringing the source of malice to the Maven. I spun around on my heels to see my mother avoiding my gaze and the look on her face told me everything I needed to know – at some point in the next twenty-four hours, I was fairly certain that I’d be in the throes of a duel with a powerful black mage. And if my father was unable to defeat Adriel, then I would have to find a way.

  Even if it killed me.

  CHAPTER 17

  We raced home as quickly as my mother’s car would carry us. It was nearly 11 o’clock and in the last few hours I’d discovered a plot to kill a bunch of students from my high school and probably every single white witch in the city. I’d learned that my mother had been apprentice to the Maven of the Wheatland Coven and there was bad blood between them over Mom’s decision to leave – all in the name of loving my father. And I was to do battle with a black mage who was hundreds of years old, a mage that my father had been unable to defeat.

  Things were spinning out of control and I chuckled to myself as Mom pulled her car into the driveway. Outside the snow was falling slowly, the night sky filled with fat, puffy snowflakes that landed gently on the sidewalk leading up to the front door of my house.

  Mom shut the engine off and reached into her purse. She pulled out a box that was wrapped in white paper along with a thin ribbon tied into a bow. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “I’d meant to give you this earlier, but it’s been kind of insane since we had our little blow-up.”

  I arched my eyebrows and took the small box, giving it a tiny shake beside my ear. “What is it?” I asked, completely surprised by her gesture.

  “Open it up,” she replied.

  And so I did. I tore off the ribbon and ripped open the wrapping paper. It was a white box and inside was a new smartphone.

  “Oh my God, thanks Mom,” I said as I ripped open the end of the cardboard box and pulled out the Styrofoam packaging. “It would have taken me forever to save up enough to get a new one… I’m sorry about what happened.”

  She nodded and said, “I’m sorry too. Luckily, my spell didn’t destroy the sim card. Once you turn it on, I’m sure you’ll have messages from Marcus waiting for you.”

  I pressed the tiny button and the shining white phone came to life. The screen lit up, bathing the interior of the car in white light and within seconds the screen was filled with familiar apps.

  Mom was right – there were messages waiting for me from Marcus. And also from Twyla Standingready.

  Betty poked her head in between the front seats. “A lovely device – are we going to spend the rest of the evening inside this car? Because I need to go.”

  “Sorry, Betty,” Mom muttered as she opened the door and stepped out into the cold. I climbed out the passenger side and opened the back door for Betty. The giant dog jumped out and tore around the side of the house leaving a cloud of kicked-up snow in her wake. Mom lowered the sentinel spells protecting the house with a wave of her hand. I resisted the urge to reply to the messages from Marcus and Twyla out of respect for my mother’s gesture as I followed her up the steps and back into the house. After our encounter with the Maven, I was finally starting to understand why Mom had been such a harsh teacher all my life and why she and I butted heads more times than I care to remember. I was my mother’s daughter and she had a lifetime of regret over choices that she’
d made and people that were hurt in the process.

  Maybe I needed to grow up a bit and cut her some slack.

  I hung up my coat as Mom locked the door. I could hear Betty scratching at the back door so I padded into the kitchen and let her in. The Great Dane tromped into the kitchen and promptly gave its massive body a series of shakes sending flecks of snow flying off in all directions. Mom took a seat at the kitchen table and slumped over, resting her head on her forearms. She let out a loud sigh and said, “I’m tired, Julie. I’m also embarrassed because you’ve learned that even your mother has a past.”

  I sat down next to her and draped an arm over her shoulder as Betty padded over and nestled her large head against my ribs.

  “I will protect your daughter when the time comes,” Betty rumbled. “My powers are diminished because it is winter, but I can still pack a punch if need be. In the meantime, Julie needs to prepare for action and you must ready things for what is coming.”

  Mom rested her chin on her forearms and stared blankly at nothing in particular. “It looks like we’ll all be fighting for our lives come tomorrow night.”

  I gave my mother an uneasy look. “I’ve been charged with finding the source of malice and all I’m running on a hunch, Mom. Do you remember when we were at McDonald’s and you asked me about that boy, about Willard Schubert?”

  “Yes, what about him?”