by Harper, Lou
Bran shook his head. "Last time I asked her to help with reversing the curse, she point blank refused."
"Yeah, but—" The trill of Bran's phone cut off Denton's objections.
Bran looked at the screen and his brows shot up. "It's mother." He lifted the phone to his ear. "Hi mom. What are you doing up at this hour? …You were? … Actually, I do, but— … Okay, see you in a minute." He hang up and turned to Denton. "Mother had a dream telling her I needed help. She'll be Skyping in a second." Bran stood and headed to his study.
"Wow, she's good." Denton said with awe as he followed Bran, with Murry in his arms.
Chapter Five
They spent the next week in a mad whirl of planning and preparations. Layla turned out to be more than willing to help, considering the situation, although not without making a few snide remarks about Peter. Denton started to really like her. She and Bran Skyped each other daily, sometimes for hours. Partial spells were tested, improved, or rejected. Layla had some unexpected ideas based on some things she'd picked up from new acquaintances. Mal appeared twice with supplies.
As a person with limited knowledge of witchcraft, Denton could only do so much to help. Aside from memorizing an incantation, his main role was making sure Bran ate, and it meant ordering out a lot—something Denton was an expert at. Still, he got so caught up in the rush, he nearly forgot his personal apprehension about the outcome.
On Monday, seven days after last seeing the Old Crone, Denton arrived home carrying the most delicious Madras Lamb Korma from way across town and ran into the Fedex guy at the gate of their building. Being familiar with Denton already, the delivery man had him sign for the express package right there.
Going upstairs, Denton put the food in the kitchen and carried the other box to the living room. "From Layla," he said and gave it to Bran, who immediately ripped it open.
"Good. The ink." Bran lifted a medium size clay jar out of copious amounts of padding.
"So tomorrow night then?" Denton asked.
Bran nodded. "It's new moon."
"Good for witchcraft?"
"Yes, with the added benefit of maximum darkness." Bran opened the lid and sniffed the contents. "Maybe I should do this alone," he said without looking at Denton.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Denton sputtered. "The whole ritual is designed for two people." He glared at Bran, willing Bran to meet his eyes.
Bran screwed the lid back on and carefully placed the jar on the table. "I could make changes…"
"No, you couldn't. There's no time, and even if there were, I'm tied to the portal—I must be there."
Finally Bran looked up. "I know, but it's dangerous. Mother and I cobbled three very different spells together to form one. There's no guarantee it'll work."
Denton recognized the lines around Bran's eyes—Bran was worried. "What if something went wrong?" Denton asked.
"We could get sucked into the other side."
"Oh." This possibility hadn't occurred to Denton, but now seemed like a valid risk. "What's it like over there?"
"I don't know. It's a subject my father refuses to discuss with me. All I know is, in the hundreds of books I've read on witchcraft and demonology I've never once come across a single account of someone coming back."
"But you've read of them getting going over?"
"Sudden death and disappearances are common when dealing with demons, and almost all the books warn about the dangers."
The gravity of the situation finally sunk in for Denton. It changed nothing. "I'll keep that in mind. But you know I wouldn't let you go alone no matter what. Besides, I'm looking forward to commandeering my army again. It's high time we did a drill." He hoped to lighten Bran's mood.
Bran remained somber. "We shouldn't have involved Joy, at least."
"You're wrong. Joy only seems like a feather-brain. She's sharp as a tack, and reliable. You know, it's okay to rely on other people. We could probably get by without her, but it'll be much easier with her help. Anyway, we can't turn her away now—she's too psyched up." This whole endeavor was mostly Bran's show, but on this point Denton put his feet down. Secretly he hoped including Joy in their ventures would encourage Bran to be more open and sociable. Although, he wasn't sure now if it was worth the bother with Peter coming back. No, he refused to dwell on how things might turn out afterwards. He had a job at hand.
"Fine," Bran relented.
A movement caught the corner of Denton's eye. He turned his eyes toward the balcony and saw a huge raven flying through the open door. It landed on the back of the couch in a flutter of black, and resolved itself into the shape of Murry, the cat. Denton was suitably impressed. "Wicked. You're one cool cat, Murry."
"Meorrw," Murry agreed.
"Where have you been?" Denton asked, although he had no chance of deciphering the answer.
"I sent him to the Lily Pool for reconnaissance," Bran explained.
"And?"
"Meow." Murry stretched and lay down where he was. His legs and tail hang down to the side.
"Everything as it should be. Under the circumstances," Bran translated.
Denton knew he'd have to take Bran's word for it. "All right. Who's hungry?"
"Meoww!"
***
The next night Joy arrived plenty early to do her part in the proceedings. Bran and Denton stripped to the waist and it was up to her to cover their exposed skin with an elaborate system of symbols. Accuracy was crucial. She used her own brush and the ink sent by Layla. Bran insisted on Joy wearing latex gloves.
"My mother brewed the ink—who knows what's in it," Bran reasoned.
Joy shot him a doubtful look. "And I'm putting it on your skin."
Denton cut in before the other two could get into a debate. "It's different."
Joy shrugged. "It's your skin. Where do I start?"
Bran handed her a stack of papers and began to explain what needed to be done. He'd printed out a bunch of diagrams to show what went were, and enlarged copies of the individual symbols. Joy listened intently, then went to work. The ink stung a little and it took Joy the better part of two hours to decorate both Bran and Denton, but she didn't mess up a single one. For a normally chatty person, she barely said three words the whole time.
Her performance clearly impressed Bran. "You did an excellent job," he said.
Of course, she immediately had to shatter his good opinions. She grinned. "I know! Now drop your pants so I can paint the rest of you."
Denton saw Bran blanch. "It won't be necessary," he said quickly.
Joy winked at him. "I was kidding. It would be weird to see you guys in the buff. I mean, more than this. Now, kilts on the other hand… showing off those sexy calf muscles… rawr."
Catching the accusation in Bran's eyes, Denton spread his hands. "I didn't put her up to it, I swear."
Bran's gaze remained hard and serious. "You two need to stop messing around. We have work to do."
"Yes, boss!" Denton and Joy replied in unison.
Bran shook his head and went back to rechecking the contents of his bag for the umpteenth time.
They waited another twenty minutes for the last of the ink to dry completely, then Denton and Bran pulled on T-shirts, grabbed the tools of their trade, and had Joy drive them to Lincoln Park.
They arrived half an hour before midnight. To avoid unwanted attention, instead of taking the car into to the park proper, they stopped at the side of Lakeview Ave. From there they crossed on foot a strip of grass, the road inside the park, and stole onto another grassy area right north of the Conservatory and its doomed greenhouse. Conveniently, all the street lamps and security lights along their route were dead. Denton thought it a curious coincidence till he heard the flap of wings and spotted a large bird landing on a lamppost above them. Murry.
The fence surrounding the Lily Pool area was tall, but didn't seem hard to climb. But first they stopped behind a tall brush and Denton turned to Joy. "Okay, remember what we agreed. Do n
ot, under any circumstances, come after us. Bran and I left our phones in the car. We can't have any distractions, but you must alert us in an emergency. You have your whistle?" She held it up, and he went on. "The biggest emergency is if someone's following us inside. You should try to stop them first, if you think you can do it safely."
She tapped her pocket. "I have a taser and I know how to use it."
"I was thinking more like distracting police in case they get nosy. Please don't taser cops."
She probably rolled her eyes, but it was too dark to see. "Of course, stupid."
"Good. Murry, watch out for Joy," Denton whispered up and into the darkness. A loud caw! came as a reply.
"Quiet, you two," Bran said through clenched teeth. "Let's go."
Bran climbed over the fence first. Denton passed the bag over and climbed after him. Twigs clawed at their faces as they fought their way through the shrubbery, but they didn't want to risk discovery by using their flashlights yet. Fortunately, they found the path quickly enough and by then their eyes had become used to the darkness. The frogs were gathering at the edge of the water as Denton and Bran approached. Bran hurried off to the stone circle.
"Follow me," Denton whispered to his army and headed after Bran, with the frogs close on his heels.
The circle was actually two half circles with gaps between, but Bran and Layla had incorporated this in the designs. Bran held a small flashlight in one hand and white chalk in the other. Soon the stone benches were covered in symbols—not unlike those on their bodies. Onto the lone stone in the middle of the circle he drew a triple spiral—for earth, water, and air, he'd explained during preparations—and placed a frameless silver mirror on top.
When Bran was done, Denton ordered the frogs to get on top of the stone benches. They obeyed one by one—they even spread out evenly, as he told them. Dozens of wet, hardly blinking eyes stared at Denton in anticipation.
"I feel guilty. They're so…devoted," Denton whispered. He touched one froggie on its head with the tip of his finger. He wasn't sure but he thought it was Hermoine.
"They are frogs, they'll be fine," Bran whispered back. "I need to find the portal now." He pulled the crystal pendant from his pocket, and dangled it over the closest frog. The crystal glimmered in green. Bran walked around slowly. The crystal twirled around faster and faster, twisting its chain as it passed over the largest and wartiest critter in the crowd. Bran picked it up and held it close to his eyes. "Rana catesbeiana, just as I thought."
It was gibberish to Denton. "Huh?"
"American Bullfrog." Bran lifted the frog and put it on top of the silver mirror. "We can start now." The bullfrog seemed to swell with pride—although Denton might have been projecting. It was a portly fellow to begin with.
They slipped their shirts off and tossed them onto the path outside of the circle, next where Bran had left his bag. Bran and Denton stepped up to opposite sides of the central stone. They stretched their arms toward each other till their hands touched, and locked their fingers together. Gazing deeply into Denton's eyes, Bran started to intone in Spanish.
Denton chanted along. Bran had told him what the words meant, but it didn't really matter. The rising and falling waves of sounds soothed his mind. They weren't the only ones chanting either. First one frog made a tentative croaking sound but the others joined in one after the other, and soon a chorus of frogs sang with Bran and Denton. The symbols on Bran's skin began to shimmer like silver in moonlight, and Denton noticed the same on his own arm. He kept his gaze locked with Bran's but from the corner of his eyes he noticed a glow emanating from the frogs. Denton kept chanting and gradually all the diversions fell away.
As Bran's grip tightened Denton took a deep breath and drew white light into himself and kept on till it brimmed over. He felt the heat surround him and white blocked out his vision. He glimpsed swiftly moving shapes, blurry and unrecognizable. Something rumbled, then a deafening crack made Denton jerk. As his sight cleared he saw Bran still holding his hand, and looking down, the bullfrog glowing bright. "It's still here. It shouldn't be," he blurted out.
"I know," Bran replied. "I don't know what to do." A hint of panic tinted his voice.
"Kiss him?"
"I don't think—" Bran pressed his lips together and tugged Denton's hand. He lowered himself to a kneeling position facing the frog, and Denton went with him. Their linked hands lay on the stone, inches from the frog. Bran opened his lips. "Peter, I don't know if you can hear this, but I'll say it anyway. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Well, a little, because you hurt me, but not like this. I hope you can forgive me." He pulled their hands together. The moment they touched the frog, tendrils of electricity zinged across their naked skin and made their hair stand on end. Above the sky thundered and a second later lightning lit up the sky. It struck somewhere close, probably just out over the lake.
Bran and Denton jumped up and let go of each other as the frog erupted in bright white flash and vanished in a burst of broken glass. The chorus of frogs cut out at the same instance. Blinded again, Denton could hear more than see the little bodies hopping around them. At least till the next lightning illuminated the scene of dozens of frogs making their way back to the pond.
Denton heard a sharp cry of a raven above and the whoosh of wings.
"It's done. We need to go," Bran barked. He took three quick steps and snatched up their shirts. He threw one to Denton, and pulled on the other one.
"What about Peter?" Denton asked. He'd fully expected Bran's old lover to materialize.
"I don't know. It'll be sorted out, but we must leave now. Come on!" He flung his bag over his shoulder.
Denton shrugged on his shirt. "Careful, don't step on the little guys," he said as the hurried down the path.
As they made their way past the pond and through the bushes to the fence lightning and thunder kept going off overhead. For brief flashes everything was bright as day, but after the night seemed even darker. Somehow they managed to scramble across the fence.
Joy was waiting right on the other side. "Oh my God! Finally!" She squeaked. "I was getting worried. First there were strange lights then the storm coming in. So weird—there were no clouds when we came. I was afraid you'd get struck by lightning." She huffed the words as the three of them raced toward her car.
Denton glanced back over his shoulder and saw a flash of bright light inside the lily pool, but not lightning. It had no corresponding thunderclap either.
Heavy drops of rain started to beat down on the roof the second they jumped inside Joy's Fiat. Denton squeezed to the back, and Bran and Joy took the front seats. "You were gone for a long time. Oh, this is exciting—my heart's beating like mad." She pressed her hand to her chest.
"It didn't seem so long," Denton said. He felt tired, but nothing like after banishing the sarveel. And it was a good kind of tired.
"It was, trust me," she said, more calm now. "How did it go? Did you do whatever highly mysterious and secret hocus-pocus you were planning?" She pushed the key into the ignition.
Denton clicked his seatbelt on. "Yes. All hocus-pocus was satisfactorily concluded."
"Oh, good. I need a drink. Come on guys, I'm buying."
Denton glanced at Bran, who'd been very quiet. "I don't think—"
"I have a better idea." Bran gave Joy a rare and genuine smile. "Why don't you come up and have drinks with us? I make mean margaritas."
"You do? Why didn't I know about this?" Denton asked, wondering at Bran's sudden sociability.
"It hasn't come up." Bran turned back to Joy. "What do you say? We could talk business without being overheard by random drunks."
Joy's face split into an ear-to-ear grin and she thumped Bran's shoulder. "It's a deal, Mr Witch."
Epilogue
The TV was on, although Denton wasn't exactly watching it. He let it blather on while he went about his business, so he'd know if there was fresh news about Peter Lattimer. The story had broken days ago with the discovery o
f the nude and unconscious body of a man inside the Lincoln Park Conservatory. It went from a local news flash to a national one when the man woke up in the hospital and identified himself as someone who'd disappeared fourteen years ago. The police were skeptical at first, but soon they confirmed Peter Lattimer's identity.
To complicate things, Peter couldn't account for his whereabouts since his disappearance, or how he ended up naked in a greenhouse. TV pundits had been busy promoting their various amnesia theories, even marching out their experts in support. Fringe elements latched onto the case as proof of alien abductions. Their theories were bolstered by the fact that Peter didn't seem to have aged a single day in the past decade and a half. Denton had no clue how and why Peter had managed to re-materialize roughly a hundred yards away from the site of their ritual, but neither did he care.
Bran had been curiously mum on the subject, yet he'd followed the news closely and this morning had gone out while Denton had been still sleeping. He hadn't left a note either.
Denton tried to vocalize frustration to the only audience he had. "If Bran wanted to see Peter, why didn't he just say so?" he asked Murry. "I'd understand, no reason to sneak out without a word." He stared in annoyance at the mess of books, notepads, and magazines on top of the coffee table and realized the clutter was all his doing. He started sorting them out and kept talking to the cat. "I mean, even the Old Crone knew about the importance of communication. It's a sad state of affairs when you get relationship advice from a madwoman with a cheese addiction. Especially when she's right." He looked to Murry, but the cat was expressing his disinterest by licking his private parts.
"A lot of help you are," Denton grumbled and leaned down to pick up a dropped pencil. "Hey, how did you get there?" he asked spotting a striped sock under the couch. It was his, of course. But where was its pair? One stray sock led to another and soon he was remaking the bed, doing the laundry, and standing on a chair to reach the books on the top shelf with a duster. It was one way of dealing with his nervous energy, although he would've preferred sex.
