by E. M. Moore
I should’ve been the one that was pissed off. Normal people didn’t roll their eyes in the back of their heads and laser beam weird symbols at others.
I put on a polite smile anyway. “Hey guys.”
“Hi,” Courtney said, the chipper voice of hers mounting. “What are you up to?”
“I came to ask you a question actually. If you don’t mind.”
Courtney nodded at the boy and he walked away. It must be nice to have people do whatever you wanted them to with just a nod. If that worked, I would nod my mother a new freaking attitude. Or nod me a reason to not be scared of all this symbol crap anymore.
“What can I help you with? Did you enjoy the meeting so much you’re dying to come to another one?”
Her face screamed nice at me, making me want to vomit. I snickered. “Are you really that hard up for more witches?”
Courtney shrugged. “A few of us are graduating this year and moving on to college. It’s hard to have a coven if there are only a few.”
I didn’t join in her lament. If she would’ve asked me, I would tell her this town could deal with a few less witches. The only thing I wanted from her was the meaning behind the damn symbol. “Listen, Courtney, I was hoping you could help me out with something.”
The young witch lifted her eyebrows. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure if I told you the other day. I’ve been kind of looking into my dad’s death while I’m here.”
“Your dad? Why?”
“Well, just because my mom’s pretty much an epic failure at everything and I never knew any details. I’m just curious, you know?"
“David Perkins, right?”
My heart slammed once in my chest. “Yeah. So you’ve heard the story?”
Courtney’s short choppy hair ruffled in the wind. The undersides of her hair stood, the white of her scalp gleaming in the sunlight, making her dark hair seem black. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to start poking around, Sarah.”
“Huh?”
She stood up straight, chin lifting. “I just mean, wouldn’t you rather remember him as he was, not how he died?”
So sick of people acting as if it was stupid to want to learn more about my dad, I squelched my original instinct to slap her. “I don’t remember anything about him.”
Like a seesaw, Courtney’s whole body lifted from her tense, rigid frame. “Okay… So what do you want from me then?”
My throat constricted. I cleared it even though I knew it would still sound tight when it came out. I also knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere by being nasty. “There’s this symbol I keep seeing around. It’s really weird, makes me feel funny…scared even.”
She turned her back and rearranged the sale items at her family’s booth. “You already asked me about this symbol, didn’t you?"
“Yes. But I think you lied to me before…when I asked you about it.”
She twisted back around and drew the shape in the air with her finger. “The sharp lines with the circle around it, right?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t lie to you before. It’s just that the relic is none of your business.”
I stepped back, opening my mouth to speak. No words flowed.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Courtney insisted. “That symbol is sacred to the Wiccan religion. It’s often used for us by people who do not understand us.” She fanned through a deck of tarot cards arranged on the table and turned back to me.
This was interesting. Every time I asked her about the symbol, she got twitchy. “Why do you get nervous when I ask you—?”
“I don’t know, Sarah. Why do you?” Courtney shook her head and stepped away, maneuvering the crystals and Bohemian jewelry around the little table. "Are you a Jesus freak or something? Do you keep bringing up this symbol because you’re trying to tell me that being a Wiccan is bad? That I’m going to hell? Because you have no idea what you're talking about.”
I laughed. “Whoa. Calm down, Courtney. I have no idea what you’re talking about. No, I am far from being a Jesus freak. The closest I’ve ever been to one is when they stand on the corner by my coffee shop and yell at me that I’m a sinner and I’m going to hell once judgment day comes.”
Courtney stared until I stopped laughing. I couldn’t help it. The image of me taunting somebody over religion was hysterical.
“So you really don’t know what the symbol means?”
“No. I just keep seeing it everywhere.”
Courtney slid her eyes from me. “Just because we’re Pagans, doesn’t mean we worship the devil.”
After a few seconds, I said, “Okay…you want to elaborate on that a little for me?”
“Historically, the symbol you keep mentioning was a symbol for the devil, but as Paganism evolved, now, it means changes. The changes we see in everything all around us.”
“Changes?”
“Uh huh.” Courtney nodded. “Changes. That’s it."
The symbol meant changes? A stupid, inconsequential word. It wasn’t the mark of the coven. It wasn’t the mark of some witch that wanted to get me. It wasn’t……anything. “So why does Marlene wear it around her neck and why was that symbol found on my dad’s body…and why did I wake up this morning at Drake’s house with that symbol painted on me if all it means is changes?”
After a confused look from Courtney, I told her the whole story. When I finished, she fanned the Tarot deck again. “What does Drake say?”
I sighed. “Not much. He thinks I’m being stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re being stupid, I just think it’s hard for you to step back and examine things for what they really are. We’re just a small town, Sarah. No one’s trying to get one over on you. Or hurt you even. Maybe someone played a joke on you last night. Marlene’s pretty ticked you’re spending so much time with Drake. Maybe you should ask her.”
Marlene did make sense. She wore the symbol around her neck. She could’ve drawn it on me when I somehow passed out in the woods. It would actually be kind of perfect. Hadn’t she said Rose gave her the necklace as a symbol of her and Drake's relationship, of how they were meant to be together?
“You think so?” I asked, still hesitant. For some reason, even though the puzzle pieces had started to come together, it still wasn’t clicking for me.
“Yeah.”
A voice interrupted us. “Well, I don’t.”
I whirled toward the sound of the intruding voice. Jennie stood, hands on hips, eyes practically pulsing in her head.
“It’s not a joke, Sarah.”
Courtney pulled out the Priestess voice. “Jennie, leave it alone.”
She stood up straight, squaring her shoulders. “No.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I think you need to hear what I have to say,” Jennie said. “And I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re exactly right.”
I flicked back and forth between the two girls. They stared each other down. Neither flinched. “Fine,” Courtney receded, turning a glare at me. “Just remember what I told you at the meeting.” The high priestess’ eyes burned into mine, as if she could send me a message telepathically.
I didn’t need magic. I remembered when Courtney said Jennie was new and maybe a little crazy.
I nodded and walked away with the palm reader. “So, spill. What do you know about all this? And please, spare me the wrist grabbing this time.”
“I am sorry about that. I was trying to get you away from them.”
“From who?”
“Who do you think? The Witches of Eastwick over there. They are half a rung from being on top of crazy world.”
“Wait. Aren’t you one of them?” I dodged a bolting toddler, racing between us with a black balloon trailing behind on a red string.
“Yes, but I’m not like them.”
“How so?”
“For starters, I don’t dabble in the occult.”
I snapped my head around to stare at Jennie. “The
occult?”
“Yeah, freaky shit. Like real freaky shit.”
“Like…?”
“Like it doesn’t matter right now what they do!” Jennie’s voice rose. "All that matters is that everybody’s kept safe.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Okay, I heard your entire conversation with Priestess Courtney.” Her voice mocked the head witch’s title, dousing it in acid. "That symbol doesn’t mean change.”
Jennie and I skirted behind a camping trailer before I pulled her to a stop. I needed answers. And now. “What does it mean then?”
“It means exactly what Courtney said it means, but not historically. I have this Paganism book and looked it up myself, after I saw it used several times during the coven meetings. That symbol is the symbol for Satan. The devil. All the more reason for you to believe they’re practicing dark magic.”
“Dark magic?”
“Yes. Can’t you keep up? The occult, Sarah. Dark magic. Nasty spells.”
“Sorry, this—”
She waved her hands in front of me. “Shh. We don’t have time. Where is the journal?” I stared at her and she frowned like she had to deal with a second grader who hadn't even learned to tie her shoes yet. “Your father’s journal. Where is it?”
“Oh, um, Rose has it. It’s in the library, I think. Why?”
“I think your dad knew something. That’s why he was killed. And you’re next.”
***
“This is crazy, right? I mean really crazy.” I stepped on the gas harder. The SUV roared underneath us until kicking into the next higher gear. “Why would you think they’re into dark magic?”
“I moved here three months ago. For three months I’ve been watching this coven, participating in the meetings and doing research.”
“Research?”
“Yeah.” Jennie flattened herself against the back of the seat as I maneuvered around a wide curve. “Research. I’m pretty new to Wicca, but I know a little and I know for certain what they do is crazy. Everything I heard Courtney spout off to you about nature and blah, blah, blah is nothing like what happens in regular meetings.”
“What do they do?”
She gave me a sideways glance and raised one eyebrow. “I’ve seen animal sacrifices.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What?”
“As an offering to the gods. Mostly Hekate. And trust me, Hekate is one bad bitch.”
I rubbed my temple. “What do they want?”
“I don’t know. I’m new, remember? I participate in everything, help channel my energy with theirs, but I don’t really have an insider’s voice. You know what I mean?”
“They keep you out of everything?”
Jennie nodded, her hand tightened around the oh-shit-we’re-gonna-flip grip.
“Then, why do you stay? Why do you even participate?”
“I told you. Research. I thought I would’ve figured it out by now. I thought I could help them by seeing what they’re doing and then telling somebody so they would make them stop.”
“Who? The witch police?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Jennie said, throwing up her arms before she grabbed back on to the safe handle.
“But you haven’t found anything that bad?”
“No. Like I said, I’m a newbie. A Wiccan Virgin, practically. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking out for.”
“Do you think it’s possible that you’re just freaking because maybe you don’t understand what’s going on at the meetings? That maybe this is all just some innocent miscommunication?”
“Maybe. I’ve tried to convince myself of that. Then I met you…and Drake.”
“The palm reading?” I glanced at her sideways, trying to mask the doubt bubbling up inside me.
“I know I shouldn’t have come at you like that.” She shook her head. “It’s the energy around Drake. It’s…disturbing.”
Out the window, I caught glimpses here and there of houses, barns, trees. Real, tangible things. Drake was real. He wasn’t disturbing. He was...adorable? He wore his feelings all over his face. Energy or no energy, I wouldn’t believe he was anything but sincere. And a good kisser. And he made my stomach do flip flops. Okay, he was pretty much amazing.
What sucked was this magic crap. How could you believe in something you couldn’t see?
“I know you don’t want to believe, but take a look at this.” Jennie dug through her bag and brought out a book, black and red imagery coated a five-pointed star. A pentagram. "Page thirty-two.”
The witch flipped through the pages and held it out to me. I took it and propped the book up on the steering wheel, my gaze traveling back and forth between the road and the page. The lightning symbol took up the upper left half. I continued to scan. Some words were set in bold lettering and I picked them out right away. Satan. Devil. Occult. Black Magic. Talisman.
I threw the book back and pound the steering wheel. “Why was that on me?”
I looked to Jennie, who stared back blankly. We nodded together. This wasn’t innocent. Far from innocent. We both felt it. A dead gut feeling.
When I switched my attention back to the road, I slammed on the brakes. The turn for Rose’s place came up fast.
“Damn. Is that how they drive where you’re from?” Jennie asked. “I didn’t think we were going to make it.”
“Well, when somebody tells you you’re going to die, you kind of get the need for urgency.” A smirk crept across both our lips before jumping out of the SUV and jogging toward the huge Victorian. “I think I should mention. Rose doesn’t want me in the library. And she’s already caught me in there twice."
Jennie raised her eyebrows. “Lovely.”
As soon as I entered the house, I took off for the library door and yanked at the handle. Relief flooded over me as it turned easily. She must not have noticed Drake had picked the lock before. I ran in and quickly described the journal to Jennie. “It’s leather bound, with lettering on the front that says—”
“Um, problem here.”
I turned. Jennie stood just before the entryway.
“What? Come on. My lease on life is running out here.” I started to scan the bookcases.
“Sarah.” Jennie’s calm warning stilled the air like the eye of a tornado. I slowly turned, expecting Rose hovering somewhere nearby with a scowl and an eviction notice.
“What?”
“I can’t come in.”
“What do you mean you can’t come in?”
“Watch.” Jennie backed up a few steps and then stepped toward the open doorway, her palm outstretched. She stopped abruptly, facing me like she’d run into a wall.
“Funny. You can mime. Are you done making jokes now?”
“I’m not trying to be funny. It’s a spell. Somebody put a spell on this room and made it so I can’t get in.”
“That’s crazy. People can’t do things like that, Jennie. It’s not possible.”
Jennie banged her fist on an invisible door, each time her fist didn’t go any further, and each time, her skin smooshed out like she hit something solid and hard.
I lightly walked over as if I stepped on broken glass shards, one second away from being cut. “Do you think I can get out? Do you think I’m trapped in here?”
Jennie shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
I reached for the door like I would reach for an electric fence. I expected at any time to be stopped or stung or to keel over. When I got to the spot under where Jennie’s palm rested, I stuck my finger out and it sliced right through. Jennie’s palm still lay flat, her skin white now with the pressure as she pushed against the invisible force. “Impossible.”
I barged through, pushing Jennie out of the way and then we both stood on the outside looking in. “I do not want to get stuck in there.”
“Too bad. I can’t come in, which means you have to look for your dad’s journal on your own. I think it might hold the answer."
“What if I get s
tuck in there and Rose comes home and finds me?”
“Who do you think put the spell on the room, Sarah?”
I shook my head. “No way. She’s just an old lady. Besides, Courtney is the high priestess. She put the spell on the room.”
“I know little Miss Courtney isn’t working by herself. She always talks about someone she calls Mother.”
“Maybe she’s talking about her actual mother.”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “Doubt it. That woman is a flake.”
“Well, it’s not Rose. Both Courtney and Drake say she isn’t a witch.”
“Oh, and where are those two right now?”
I shrugged.
“Exactly. I’m the one with you right now and I say she is. Well, she could be. And this is a powerful spell. One that lets someone with no magical talent in and one that keeps out people like me, people with magical talent.”
I was glad Jennie helped, but I felt like I had a little sister who always had to be right. Who knew exactly everything and loved reminding you of it. Inside, I scoffed at the thought of Rose casting spells and leaning over black cauldrons. The only thing she knew how to do was make Drake’s favorite cookies. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Go inside and search for the journal.” She pointed to the first bookcase. “If you can’t find it we’ll…figure something else out.”
I stepped tentatively up to the doorway. I broke free again. This was crazy. Jennie was right about that. Whatever the spell was let me in, but not her.
I picked up the pace and went straight for the first wood shelf and rummaged through it, looking for Dad’s name on the covers. “It’s so hard. All these journals are exactly alike."
“Get me one.”
I tossed her the journal I just pulled from the shelf. Jennie’s fingers silently crashed against the wall and she yanked them back in pain.
“Sor-ry,” I called out, still immersed in the hundreds of leather-bound journals.
Jennie tried to shake the pain from her hand and then bent over. She was able to grab a corner of the book and pull it across the shield.
