by Alex Gordon
Another page, this one filled with printing. An old-fashioned serif font, the straight line of the text marred by the occasional misaligned letter:
And the Lady departed as the King ordered, and with her, her followers. And they went out into the world and battled the demons that sought to invade the world of Men. Across the seas they traveled, to every corner . . .
Lauren moved from the text to the page margins, which Matthew Mullin had filled with more artwork. Very different, these drawings. Studies of a young woman, a refined beauty of the lace-and-cameos variety, fine features set in an oval face. Black, waist-length hair. A narrow, dancer’s body clad in seventies garb, handkerchief skirts, and peasant blouses.
Mullin had filled every available space with her, page after page, captured her twirling on tiptoe, standing at the edge of a stream, or in one arresting scene, lying on her back amid a mass of wildflowers, arms thrown wide, eyes fixed on the artist and bright with invitation. Emma. The name in pencil beneath the image, barely visible, as if it had been written, then erased.
Lauren felt her face heat. No letter, no poem, however explicit, could have said more. Love, lust, rapture, and longing, inscribed in every line and shading of face, every curve of lip and body. What happened to them? Had they married? Had heat faded to embers, or cooled completely? Or had something driven them apart, some personal disaster they couldn’t overcome?
She turned the page—
—and stared at the X-centered circles that filled these margins, twins to her wire circlet, inscribed in pen with such force that the nib had furrowed the paper. Fear the outsider, the text read. Fear the one who tells you what you want to hear.
Lauren riffled the pages back and forth, in search of more symbols. The images of Emma flitted past, herky-jerk as an old movie. Lines of printed letters rippled.
Then some pages flipped all at once, like in a magazine jammed with reply cards. Lauren leafed back and found the cause, a yellowed strip of paper wedged between two pages like a bookmark. A newspaper clipping, folded thin and tight and yellowed with age.
She extracted it, unfolded it. It was a photo of a young man dressed in shorts and a sleeveless jersey, all slim, muscled legs and elbows as he dribbled a basketball down the court. Matthew J. Mullin, 17, the caption read, star point guard for the Gideon Rangers—
Lauren studied the young man’s face, half hidden under a mop of ringlets. Sharper cheekbones, firmer jawline. But the familiar stare, that steady fix, deep-set eyes locked on his task.
“Hello, Dad.” Her voice shook. “I didn’t know you played ball.”
Lauren left the house eventually. Drove in a daze until she arrived at the parking garage of the building that housed the attorney’s office, realizing when she arrived that at some point she had donned her father’s jacket and tucked the book back into the inside pocket. She dug out the book and stuck it in her handbag, stashed the jacket in the trunk. Rode the elevator to the office and listened to the receptionist’s expression of sympathy as she handed off the receipts, the image of her father’s teenage face playing through her head over and over . . .
She left her car in the garage and stepped out into the downtown holiday bustle, the damp chill, the package-laden and harried crowd. It was a short walk to Katie’s store, just enough time to settle down. She caught glimpses of her reflection in the display windows, coat collar askew, eyes a little too wide. Stopped to make adjustments, and felt the tingle along her spine as she sensed someone watching her. She turned, and spotted a figure across the street. A man, face shadowed despite the sunlight, standing tall, arms at his sides¸ radiating tension like the heat from a summer road.
Parking-Lot Man? Lauren watched him in the window. Then a large truck blocked her view—by the time it rumbled past, the man had vanished. She scanned the crowd for straight shoulders, a head held high, as she started back up the street. Quickened her step as she turned the corner and spotted the familiar blue awning a few doors down, the name KATE’S printed along the edges in black block letters. She looked back over her shoulder as she entered the store, in time to see a shadow shift in a doorway on the other side of the street.
The inside of Kate’s proved to be a cinnamon-scented press of shoppers hunting through racks and shelves of high-end sportswear and clerks dashing back and forth. Lauren spotted her friend conferring with a customer, and fidgeted in her line of sight until she caught her eye. “I wondered if you wanted to get some lunch.”
Katie maneuvered toward her, Christmas-bright in tomato-red shirt and trousers, horn-rims perched atop her head. “I can’t, hon. It’s a little crazy just now.” She studied Lauren for a moment, brow furrowing. Then she leaned close. “My office.”
“WHERE DID YOU find this?” Katie paged through the book, eyebrows arching when she came to the drawings of Emma.
“His jacket. The old leather one that he used to wear all the time.” Lauren sat in the chair across the desk from Katie, and slipped the newspaper clipping into her handbag. She had removed it before giving the book to her friend. As much as she felt the need to confide, she couldn’t bring herself to admit that particular detail.
“So what are you worried about?” Katie shrugged. “It’s just an old book.”
“It’s a weird old book. All about witches wandering the world, gathering followers.”
“So it’s a weird old book.” Katie flipped to a page of text, then pulled down her glasses. “‘With bell, condemn them. With closing of the book, sever them. With candle, burn them.’” She chewed her lower lip. “Okay, that is weird.” She closed the book, then examined the cover. “Maybe your dad found it in something he worked on. An old dresser he picked up in a junk shop.”
Lauren felt a flicker of relief. Commonsense Katie. It failed to explain everything, but it was a start and it made the everyday sort of sense that she longed to hear. “But why would he keep it?”
Katie eyed her over the top of her glasses. Then she opened the book and flipped through it until she came to the first page of Emma drawings. “The other artwork is really good, but these are something else.” She turned them to face Lauren, waggled her eyebrows, then cocked her head. “Okay. What are you not telling me?”
Lauren took the book from her, and flipped to the page with the symbol-filled margins. “I found something that looked like these symbols in the desk he built for me. He’d made it out of a twist tie.” She dug into her trouser pocket and pulled out the wire circlet. Stared at it for a moment and tried to recall when she had put it in her pocket in the first place, then set it on the desk.
Katie glanced at the thing, then rose and walked around her desk to the door. “I know exactly who you need to talk to.” She opened the door and beckoned to one of the clerks, a slight blonde in a brown knit dress. “Dilys Martin, I’m not sure if you’ve ever met my friend Lauren Reardon.” She waved the woman into the office. “Dilys is my resource for all matters alternative spiritual.” She pointed to the circlet. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
At a distance, Dilys had appeared younger than Lauren, athletically trim, her short hair spiked with gel and tipped in purple. Her age revealed itself in the harsh office lighting, in the lines around her eyes and her veined hands. She bent over the circlet, elbow on the desk, chin resting on her fist. Poked it with her finger. “Where did you get this?” She looked over at Lauren, a diamond-flecked nose ring flashing each time she moved her head.
“My dad put one in a desk he built for me.” Lauren showed the woman the symbols in the book. “It looks like these.”
Dilys nodded, then turned and rummaged through one of the many sample boxes that lay stacked against the wall. “I’ve never seen anything exactly like that.” She pulled out a bracelet and handed it to Lauren. “This is close, but no cookie.”
Lauren fingered the smooth glass beads, formed of concentric rings colored white, blue, and black. “They look like eyes.”
Dilys nodded. “That’s exactly what th
ey are. Nazar boncuğu. Eye beads.” She took back the bracelet and draped it over her hand. “You would wear them as protection against the evil eye. The charm acts as a mirror, reflecting the evil back on whoever is trying to curse you.” She tapped the circlet with a manicured finger. “This may be something like that. I’m only saying that because it’s round and the X in the middle makes it look like an eye.” She crossed her index fingers one over the other to form an X and held out her hands as though trying to stop something from coming near. Then she crossed her middle finger over her index finger in the classic “cross your fingers” gesture. “It seems the most likely explanation, but if you want, I can take a picture and ask around.”
“I would appreciate that.” Lauren waited as the woman handed the bracelet to Katie, then pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped. “What about leaves? Are there leaves that protect, too?”
“Quite a few.”
“Do any of them stink like a litter box?”
Dilys smiled. “Elder, maybe.” She opened up an app on her phone. “Did they look like this?” She drew a short branch with five oblong leaves, one at the top and two on either side.
Lauren shook her head. “I couldn’t tell. They were all dried out. They crumbled as soon as I touched them.” She thought about her leaves, tossed out with the previous evening’s garbage. “So they were for protection?”
“Told you she’s my expert.” Katie toyed with the bracelet, wrapping it around her wrist, fidgeting with the clasp. “If you find any more interesting things your dad made, bring them here for identification.”
“Did I know your father?” Dilys turned to Lauren. “Did he practice?”
Lauren shrugged. “What do you mean by practice?”
“Dilys is a witch, hon,” Katie said, her voice just above a whisper. “She means practice witchcraft.”
Lauren imagined her father standing over a cauldron, muttering curses. “Like broomsticks and black cats?”
Dilys sniffed. “Have you ever known any witches?”
Katie put her hand over her eyes, and watched Lauren through her fingers. “When we were in school, we seemed to get a new one every year in our apartment complex. I remember a Gawain, and a Freya, and an Alastair.” She met Dilys’s irritated look with one of wide-eyed innocence.
“I’m sure they wore black the year round and worshiped Satan. So many of them do.” Dilys sighed. “We do suffer more than our share of poseurs.”
Lauren took the bracelet from Katie. “The minister who officiated at Dad’s funeral was Unitarian, but that was because he didn’t belong anywhere. At least, not that I knew of.” She massaged the glass-smooth beads until their resemblance to tiny eyeballs started to turn her stomach. “Would he have to have been a witch, to use these things?” She handed it back to Dilys.
“No, not at all.” Dilys rubbed the beads with a more gentle hand. “But anyone can buy these. You said your father fashioned his from wire. When you go to the trouble of making things yourself, that implies some background, some core belief.” She looked at Lauren, and the color rose in her face. “I’m sorry—have I said something wrong?”
Katie shook her head slowly. “No, Dil. I think that sound you hear is the clatter of some pieces falling into place.” She leaned toward Lauren. “You okay? You look a little shaky.”
“I’m fine.” Lauren fielded her friend’s worried look. “Just something else to think about.”
A bell sounded as the front door opened, and Dilys turned her attention to the well-dressed couple that entered the shop. “As much as I would love to continue this conversation, boss, don’t you think I should get back to work?”
“By all means.” Katie waved Dilys away, then waited until she moved out of earshot. “Hon, I’m sorry, but I should get back out there. Are you sure you’re okay?” She stood and pushed her chair against the desk.
“I’m fine.” Lauren glanced at the wall clock, and gathered up the book and the circlet. “Anyway, I need to go, too.”
“You should come to dinner tonight.” Katie linked her arm around Lauren’s waist. “It’ll be late, and it’ll be takeout. But it will get you out of the house and force me to think about something besides this place for a few hours.”
“Sure.” Lauren checked across the street before opening the door. No strangers lurking in doorways. No shaded figures with excellent posture. “That sounds good.”
“See you around eight.” Katie hugged her, then released her into the lunchtime throng.
Lauren pulled on her coat, let herself be swept along by the pedestrian wave. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that breakfast had consisted of coffee. Lunch. Someplace quiet, where she could sit and gather her thoughts.
“Lauren!”
She turned to find Dilys hurrying after her.
“I didn’t want you to leave before I had the chance to talk to you again.” Dilys stopped short. “And to apologize. I think I may have upset you.”
“It wasn’t just you. This entire day has been one surprise after another.” Lauren rubbed the back of her neck, tried to erase the faint tingling, the sense that whoever had been watching her had returned. “Why didn’t my father tell me?”
“Sometimes family members don’t take it well when you leave the more accepted paths. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t approve.” Dilys’s eyes clouded as some memory surfaced. She stared at nothing for a moment, then shook herself back to the present. “I also wanted to ask—and I don’t want to impose—but I would love the chance to look at the desk your father built.” She took out her phone. “If we could exchange contact info, then you could call me whenever you’re ready.”
Lauren hesitated. Her university experiences with those who called themselves witches had not been good. They had all seemed to radiate menace, a sense that they enjoyed upsetting and causing pain. But Dilys seemed as far removed from them as a rose was from a patch of weeds—Lauren took out her phone, saved the woman’s number, and gave Dilys hers. “What do you think the desk is, some kind of charm?”
“A ward. Your father was trying to protect you from something.” Dilys took Lauren’s arm and steered her to the shelter of a jewelry-store doorway. “Judging from how tense you are and the way you keep looking around, it isn’t working anymore. Wards often do lose power after the person who set them dies.”
Lauren hunched against the cold brick of the store entry, and watched the street. Saw no sign of Parking-Lot Man, or anything else unusual, and relaxed a little. “My dad asked for his jacket so many times after he went into the hospital. That’s where I found the book, in the jacket. I wouldn’t let him wear it the day I took him in because I didn’t think it was warm enough. I told him I’d bring it to him, but I never did.” Of course, he likely wanted the jacket to keep her from finding the clipping, but the book must have worried him as well. “After that, he would ask for it every so often, but he was already slipping in and out—”
“Don’t blame yourself for that. You didn’t know. Katie mentioned how sick he was. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to strengthen his wards—he would only have weakened himself further.” Dilys stepped closer, and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to push. But I wish you would think hard about things that are happening now, and be honest with yourself. What you’re feeling right now, what you’re learning about your father. Is it really unexpected?”
Lauren met the woman’s steady gaze. “Yes.”
After a beat, Dilys nodded. “Could I see that book again? I didn’t have a chance to examine it before.”
Lauren dug it out of her handbag, and handed it to her. “Katie thinks he may have found it in an old piece of furniture he was refinishing.”
“Uh-huh.” Dilys opened the book and studied the cover. Passed her hand over the first few pages, then closed it. “Do something for me?” She held it out to Lauren. “Hold it.”
“I’ve been holding it since I found it.”
Dilys shook her head. “Don’t fear it, or try to
figure out what your father was thinking. Just hold it.”
Lauren took a deep breath, bit back the sharp excuse me—I have to go that fizzed on the end of her tongue, and took back the book. Concentrated on the worn cover.
After a few moments, she felt her mind drift. A lovely quiet, the first peace she had known in weeks.
Then she caught a hint of a vague smell that touched sense memory, then overwhelmed her, rendered the blare of street noise a muffled whisper. She held the book to her nose, and inhaled the soft green scent of freshly cut wood. Looked to Dilys to find her smiling with the satisfied air of a teacher who had gotten through to a problem student.
Then she clasped Lauren’s hand. Started to speak, then stopped, and studied Lauren through narrowed eyes. “Sometimes those who love us try to keep us from the thing we need the most.”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m not a witch.”
“Of course you’re not.” Dilys shook her head. Then her look grew pointed. “This won’t be an easy time for you. Be careful. And please, call me if you need to talk.” A weak smile. Another hand squeeze. Then she released Lauren and headed back to the shop.
Lauren felt something in her hand. Looked down, and found the eye bracelet nestled in her palm. She called after Dilys, but the woman had already reentered Kate’s.
Protection. A scrap of dialogue from an ancient horror movie bubbled to her memory’s surface, a line from an old Scottish prayer. From ghoulies and ghosties, and long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night.
Lauren started to tuck the bracelet into her handbag. Then she paused, and looped it around her wrist instead, fumbling with the clasp until it shut with a click sharp as the snap of bone.
Lauren pulled into her garage, got out of her car, scrabbled for her house key with hands gone clumsy with agitation. I am not a witch. The words had tumbled in her head like clothes in a dryer all during the drive home, a declaration that she would have thought ridiculous only an hour before.
