by K. G. McAbee
But there was also the part of me that wanted to deny spellcraft even existed. I didn't want to know the elements and the universe could make things, or break them. Like it was doing to me now. I had been torn into a million jagged pieces, when all I had wanted was to be considered normal like everyone else. So the jeers about curses and broomsticks could be placed on someone else's head.
Could they? Or was I too different?
I concentrated on Tommy being alone. Going to college far away from Manning. With friends. Being happy. Without me.
It wasn't the pain that kept breaking my concentration. Or even the horrible images I kept projecting into the fires.
The problem was I didn't believe in them. I couldn't convince myself we weren't meant to be together. The happier memories kept overshadowing the dark ones.
The memories of how thrilled seeing him this afternoon made me. The shock lighting up his sad eyes when we walked down to the pond and he saw the beauty of it. The curious look of tenderness he would throw in my direction when he thought I wasn't looking. Even the sound of his voice played in my ears like a chorus against the rushing of the surrounding energies. Finally, the kiss that seemed to seal us together.
The old wood of my makeshift altar felt cool against my cheek as I pressed my face against it. I was exhausted.
"It's better for him this way, Great Mother. If it weren't for my interference, he never would have been drawn to me. He wouldn't have even known I existed. Give me the strength to let him go. I reverse the magic I cast. As it was, so now must it be."
The images began to fade as I tried to draw them back. But my energies were spent. I had worked them into a frenzy with the strength of my emotions before and so I stopped trying to make them come to me.
The candles lowered their flames to sling velvet shadows around me. They had responded to the shift in emotion here with perfection.
A dream best forgotten surfaced before my eyes against the darkness. The one filled with fire and screams. I could see it all so clearly now. My mind was too weak to protest.
The funeral pyre around my feet was a small mound of branches lit by a stranger's hand. The stake was nothing more than a large beam of rough timber used to support a barn or a house. I didn't care which. The splinters from it pricked the skin around my bare arms and wrists each time I moved against the rope holding me in place.
The silver cord was still there, tight around my ribcage and reflecting small shards of light into my eyes. The people were shouting obscene things, but I ignored them. I was warm, and my body was too tired to fight against them any longer. I was ready. More willing than ever to go to my peace.
Tommy's voice came then, carried over the fire, calling me by the nickname only my family used. I looked up, away from the flames. The panic on his face was something I'd never seen before and hoped I would never see again. Blood trickled down into my palms as I rubbed my skin raw against the wood and rope in the attempt to keep him away from his own death. My pain was of little matter to me now.
My own voice screeched above the roaring of the flames. Funny. I'd never realized how loud fire could be.
"Damn it, Tommy! Let it burn! Don't let them get you too!"
Then he was there, scrambling up to meet me. Those hands of his wrapping around me as his lips found mine to connect us. The cord binding us together recoiled until it was nothing more than a single unit to hold us, one against the other.
I had to let him go. It wasn't fair to him if I stole him away from the life he was supposed to lead. My tears slowed while the heaviness in my eyes allowed sleep to take over.
The darkness descended.
As it hovered over me, I let him go.
***
Nothing had ever been as beautiful as the field where I found myself. Nothing of the earth, at least. The soft green grasses tickled my feet with each step as the flowers lining my path parted with the simple brush of my hand. It was peaceful here. Quiet. I was sure somehow, I had died during the night.
The field flowed into the banks of a river. I walked to the place where a woman waited and stopped only when I had reached her side. When she turned and smiled, it took my breath away.
The woman was older than I was, but younger than Ivy and Evie. Her pale blonde hair was pulled away from bright blue eyes that glistened in the moonlight reflected from the water. The skin on her exposed arms shimmered when they reached for me. I went into them as if I belonged there.
Welcome, child.
The voice from my head. I recognized it as soon as the silver bells tolled, and with it, the Goddess. My arms released Her as I bowed before her.
"Great Mother..." I whispered.
The goddess I had been taught to worship chuckled as She ran her fingers through my hair. She sat down on the grasses next to me.
Sit here with me, Anya.
My motions were awkward and unsteady next to her fluid grace. Her beauty left me breathless, so I was sure my notion of dying had not been accurate. The grasses beneath us became like small living things when I looked downward. I wasn't worthy of this.
Why is that, Annie?
I looked up to her in puzzlement. The question was a loaded one. To answer would have taken forever. Forever is exactly what She had, but I did not.
"Forgive me..." I muttered, casting my eyes away from Her loveliness.
Why do you question your abilities so?
My mouth opened but nothing came out of it. In the real world, I could have given her a million reasons. Here, there were none. This was a place created by magic, so my denials of it were futile. She waited until I found some way to respond, some way to answer, useless though it was.
"Because...magic is of the mind. It's in the mind, Great Mother. You can't touch it. Can't see it." I shrugged as the grass moved against my fingers. "You can only feel it and hope for the best."
Ah...I see.
The glorious creature smiled despite my doubts.
But if you don't believe, then why do you continue to come to me?
Again, I was silenced. I felt like a child who had been caught doing something she shouldn't. So I stared at the waters of the river beside us instead of meeting Her eyes.
It doesn't matter, child. You are mine, as I am yours.
Her arms opened up and She pulled my head down to rest against Her shoulder. There was too much peace here to cry, but I wanted to. It was too much, too easy to be forgiven.
We sat in silence for a while before She spoke again.
Things are changing fast for you, Annie. I want you to listen.
I nodded. This was something I already knew, something I had known for some time, but had not wanted to admit. But I still wasn't sure if I wanted to hear it.
You will come to believe. Your spell tonight has triggered events now far out of your control. Your mother is right to want to keep you, but her heart is not where it should be. Be wary of their plans, child, your mother and her twin. Don't be convinced when they say they know what is right for you.
She laid Her head against mine for an instant before standing. I wanted nothing more than to be held by Her again. She began to walk away, then turned and smiled at me.
I can't keep this from you, Anya. Your spell tonight did not work. I cannot grant your wish to set him free. Tommy Hopkins has been bound to you since both your souls were created. There is nothing you, or he, can do to change that. Bound forever and forever shall ye be. Things are changing for him too, child. Too fast for either of you to really understand. But you will forgive him. You'll see.
Those words were the last She left me with as Her stately form glistened and blended into the moonscape. I was alone in the beautiful place of my dreams with nothing more than the echoes of her voice to comfort me.
Chapter Ten
Tommy
Clay had moved into and taken over my Dad's office about five minutes after he and Kinsey arrived. At first it had bothered me, a lot, but after all, Dad had never used the enormous room,
or seen it even, at least as far as I knew. So I tried to forget about it, not let it get to me. One good thing about traveling around a lot; I don't allow myself to get too attached to things I can't take with me. Houses are places to live, that's all.
I paused in the doorway.
"Come in, Tommy!" Clay's deep voice boomed out at me from across the room. He was lounging in a massive chair behind the long desk.
He'd made some changes, even though he hadn't been around much due to those mysterious 'emergencies' he kept getting called out on. The floor-to-ceiling shelves behind the big mahogany desk, empty when I'd first seen the room, were now stuffed and cluttered and overflowing with files and metal boxes and computer disks and books, lots of books, some of them new but some of them looking pretty old. To the right of the door where I stood were rows of tall filing cabinets, back to back, all shiny black but dinged up like they'd been moved around a lot. The room reeked of Clay's cigars and I could smell an underlying hint of whiskey and some other odor I couldn't identify.
There was no one in the room but Clay, or at least so I thought. But when I entered and walked to stand behind the chair he pointed out to me, opposite the desk, Kinsey came out from between a row of the cabinets. My cousin had a grey folder in his hand, fat with papers, the WFG Ltd. logo on it in a darker grey surrounded with thin lines of gold and black.
"Kinsey." I nodded. "Haven't seen you lately."
He looked at me without saying a word or even acknowledging that I'd spoken, and I wondered how we could be related. Clay had the usual Hopkins coloring, blonde hair, blue eyes, just like Dad, me and the girls, but Kinsey was dark, hair, skin and eyes. Especially his eyes; they were so brown they looked black, which made the white surrounding them look almost fluorescent. He had a long narrow face and a high, narrow forehead and his hair was buzzed so short I could see his scalp.
"How are you, cousin?" he said finally, with a tone that states, as clear as can be, 'not that I care'.
"Fine. Considering."
I took the seat opposite Clay and looked at him.
He looked rough. His face was redder and his eyes were more bloodshot, and I couldn't see even a hint of Dad in him now, much less Grand. I'd never met my grandfather—he'd died right around the time my dad got married—but I wondered if he'd been like Clay.
"We've got a lot of things to discuss, Tommy," Clay said as he leaned back in his expensive chair. Even though it was almost new, I could see burns crisscrossing the sleek leather armrests. "Your father was woefully lax in his job."
"My father was an excellent director of WFG," I snapped, trying to hold down my anger.
"Oh, yes, the company grew and made money on his watch, that's for sure." Clay waved his hand, the one holding an unlit cigar, around like 'growth' and 'making money' were incidentals instead of the reason a business, any business, existed. "WFG has been around for centuries, did you know that?"
"WFG Ltd. was started by the son of a man called Matthew Hopkins—the son's name was Matthew too—in 1666, in London," I said. "I've read the histories. I did a report on the company for a school project in ninth grade."
From behind me, I could hear Kin snicker. "Ninth grade," he murmured, as if it was some sort of esoteric sect he didn't understand or believe in. ''Really."
"Ah, yes indeed, the history of the company. I've got an idea. Why don't you tell me what you discovered in your research, Tommy?" Clay dropped his cigar in an overflowing ashtray and leaned back.
"Okay," I said, wondering where this was going. "It's not a pretty story, but I'm sure plenty of businesses and companies have had just as murky beginnings. Hopkins—the first Matthew Hopkins, the father of the guy who started WFG—was some sort of minor official, maybe a lawyer or something in the town government, in Colchester; that's in the southwest of England, right on the coast. He got the money that allowed his oldest son to start WFG when there was an outbreak of witchcraft in the area. Of course, Hopkins Senior reported the outbreak himself, so you can't help but wonder a little if it was all a set up. Anyway, Hopkins, assisted by an associate named John Stearne, created a position for himself called Witchfinder General. Kind of flashy, but I'm sure he impressed the locals while he hunted down harmless old ladies and brought them in for questioning. Naturally, everyone he arrested was found guilty—"
"Naturally," Clay said.
"—since he tortured all of them to make sure they confessed. I think there were eighteen or twenty hanged, and some more died in prison, from the effects of the torture probably. Matthew took everything they owned, plus his salary, which was plenty. The whole deal only lasted a few months. Funny thing was, though, one of the so-called witches cursed him and he died in pain just a couple of years later."
Clay cocked his head sideways. It was not a good look for his double chin.
"Cursed him, and so he died? Sounds like you're a believer, Tommy."
"In witchcraft? You've got to be kidding me!" I smiled at the thought, but the smile felt kind of uneasy on my face. Suddenly, I remembered Jordan and his crew teasing Anya, calling her witch.
No. No way. In this century?
"No, there aren't any witches; never were," I continued, "but Hopkins sure made out like a bandit. Still, seems like he learned his lesson. He left all his money to his son Matthew, with orders to 'seek out and recompense those I have so sorrowfully wronged' so he maybe wasn't such a bad guy after all. Then the second Matthew took the money with him to London and started up a business doing all sorts of things, buying and selling and trading, a business that became WFG Ltd. about two hundred years later. The records state he actually followed up on some of the families of the women his dad had murdered, so he must have been a pretty decent guy himself. WFG is still going strong; still helping people; still making tons of money; end of story."
I wiped my hands together like I was brushing them clean.
"It's an interesting way to start a company, I guess."
"What does WFG do now, Tommy?" Clay asked in a questioning tone, as if he had no idea and really wanted to know.
I sighed. I didn't enjoy being patronized, I wasn't enjoying this little game, but he was my uncle and Grand's son, so I owed him at least a little respect.
"One of the most important projects is the clinics. WFG builds clinics and hospitals in all corners of the globe," I began, sounding even to myself like one of our promotional brochures.
"Yes, we do. But how does WFG pay for those clinics and hospitals, Tommy?"
The guy was really getting on my nerves, but I played along. "WFG is constantly researching, looking for the newest and best sources of clean, sustainable, renewable power. We help revive towns that have lost their main industries, just like this town, Manning. We're one of the largest multi-national businesses on the planet, with yearly revenues in the trillions of dollars. And we're still a family-owned business in this era of takeovers and mergers, and we've got the quaint and charming saying 'there's always a Matthew Hopkins in charge of WFG' which is why one of my names is Matthew."
"And we hunt witches," Kinsey said behind me.
"Sure. Ha. Ha. Just like the original Matt, right?"
"No, not just like him," Clay said, and he actually looked serious. "We've gone a little more high tech than looking for the devil's mark or throwing them into holy water to see if they float. Witches. Let me define that term a little for you, Tommy. And no; I'm not kidding," he said when I opened my mouth to speak. "Not kidding in the least. However, I am shocked your father never told you any of this."
"My father was sane, unlike some of his relatives I could mention," I said through gritted teeth. "Apparently, you guys are both about a sandwich short of a picnic."
Clay just grinned. "Now, Tommy, don't be insulting. Your grandmother taught you better manners than that, I'm sure. Witches do exist, and WFG has been seeking them out for over two hundred and fifty years now. You could say, in fact, WFG's money and power are based on witchcraft."
Behind me, Kinsey
laughed, a nasty little sound that creeped me out.
"Uh huh," I said. "Have you guys had your meds checked lately? I think the dosage might be off a little."
"Let me clarify a few things, Tommy," Clay said in a tone like he was trying to explain nuclear physics to a puppy. "WFG does all the things you've said, yes. We help out a lot of people. But the most important thing we do? WFG finds witches. We take them into protective custody so we can siphon off their amazingly dangerous abilities—and they do have them, Tommy, don't you doubt it—to create that 'clean, renewable, sustainable' energy you spoke of so movingly. We tap into a vast power source and use it; we study them and we take the information they've tried so long to keep hidden so we can share it with the whole world, instead of having it in the hands of a miserly few. WFG does a lot of good on this old planet, Tommy. I know you agree with that. Jobs, medicines, energy that won't destroy us with its by-products. We're a good, strong, ethical company, Tommy. And you're going to be running the company soon, very soon."
"No way," I said. "My dad told me I could go to Oxford and study history."
"Of course you can," Clay said in a smooth, oily voice, like he was offering a kid some candy to soothe him right before the kidnapping. "You'll need a degree, it looks good for the director to have some letters after his name, and history works as well as anything else. We've got our own scientists and researchers to do the dirty work, after all."
Kinsey stepped from behind me finally—and man, was I glad—and tossed the fat folder he'd been holding in my lap.
"It's time for you to get your hands dirty, Tommy," he said. "Our instruments have been telling us for some time there are witches in Manning. That's why Spenser moved you all here, of course. And these are strong ones; really strong. It took us quite a while, but we've finally managed to track them down. We're going after them in just over forty-eight hours, and you're going with us."
"Guys, guys, I get it, okay?" I opened the folder and began to idly leaf through it, just so I wouldn't upset them.
