by Rose Caraway
Families passed in laughing groups. Lovers strolled by holding hands. Nobody offered her a second glance. Twice she caught herself glancing beside her to find only an absence within her shadow. Envy taunted with evil whispers, snickered how she’d die old and alone.
Muscles stiffened down her back. Steady pressure built in her bladder. The itch to stretch her legs persisted until she yielded, though there was the possibility of missing a potential customer. She slid her divining bowl beneath the table and cloaked it with a spell. She spun her sign to display the message, WILL RETURN IN 15 MINUTES.
Adora relieved herself, then wandered the market stalls to observe what others were selling, and to gather some goods on her shopping list. She was about to ask the price on a bushel of toadflax when a deep voice gained volume above the market chatter. Curious faces walked toward the crowd gathering in the center square.
“My miraculous Ionic Psyclonic Field Intensifier will not only soothe any aches, but I daresay many of my satisfied customers have reported that this amazing device also abolished the pox, diminished goiters and even mended a broken heart or two.”
Adora waded past patrons for a closer view. A slender salesman wearing a stovepipe hat danced about a wooden stage folded out from a large-spoked wagon topped with billowing steam stacks. Electric lanterns flickered behind panes of colored glass. An automated calliope warbled in the rear. Long curls of waxed mustache jiggled over his smile as his narcotic gaze fixated on her location.
Warmth swept up Adora’s neck; her nipples perked beneath her robes. She glanced at others around her, and when she looked back at the stage she found his eyes still glued upon her.
“Some have even described it as witchcraft in a box.” A gold tooth gleamed in his grin while he raised a hand in a theatric gesture. “But I wouldn’t let that discourage the God-fearing citizens of Barton Hill. What I have here is based on precision engineering, modern scientific advances and nothing more.”
“Shenanigans!” An old lady booed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Optimism twinkled in the salesman’s eyes. “Step up here, and I’ll prove to you that my device does indeed work as I have stated.”
The old woman looked around, making certain she was the one being spoken to. She pointed a rickety finger at herself, and he rewarded her with a brief nod.
Men gathered around the woman to escort her toward the stage. Years of coal dust exposure had yellowed her spectacles. Her shoulders hunched over a broad crutch, which she leaned against during every hobble.
“What ails you, madame?” The man wound a lever on the side of a smooth copper cube measuring six inches square.
“A mule kick shattered my hip when I was forty-two, and I’ve been damn near disabled ever since.”
“Mending bones?” The salesman laughed at the crowd. “A simple task for my miraculous Ionic Psyclonic Field Intensifier! Now, I need you to concentrate on your hip. Imagine the shards of bone, rearranging them as if you were assembling a puzzle.”
Skepticism twisted her wrinkles. Reluctantly she pointed her eyes toward her hip.
“Focus my dear!” The salesman tapped the lone, smooth button centered on the lid. Vibrations from the cube trembled his hand. “This device will generate an electromagnetic field which will empower your body to heal itself.”
Nonsense, Adora thought. A simple potion would heal her hip in due time. She examined every move the salesman made, anticipating the precise moment when he reached for the trick up his sleeve, or when the wig fell off the woman to reveal she was an actress in disguise. Her third sight peered into the aether amassed between their bodies, half-expecting nothing whatsoever.
Brilliant fractured rays of light swirling with rainbows radiated in every direction from the center of the cube.
She inspected the herd around her, reading only earthen-colored auras about them. Her sight reached farther out into the market, and made certain she was the only magical being around capable of viewing the unexplained scene unfolding across the astral plane. Her eyes darted back to the stage.
Silver tendrils stretched from the cube and wrapped themselves around the old lady’s hips. A pain-stricken yelp bellowed from her. She stumbled backward, teetered against the edge of the stage. The crowd gawked silently, some patrons secretly wishing for her demise.
Vibrations ceased from the cube. Its colorful auras faded into filthy air. Slowly the old woman straitened her posture. She raised her leg while fighting not to grimace. Her scuffed boot twisted in circles; she wiggled her foot around.
“My God,” the old woman gasped, sobbing immediately. “I can feel my toes.” Her sobs evolved into high-pitched laughter. She danced about the stage and threw her cane out into the crowd. “I can walk again! I can’t believe it.”
The crowd erupted with cheering applause.
“How much is it?” somebody yelled.
“For you and everybody else here at the moment, I am offering this miracle of modern science for the unheard-of low price of only five shillings.”
“That’s less than a week’s rent,” somebody mumbled who stood beside Adora.
“I’ll take one!” A hand flew up gripping exact coinage.
“Me too!” Other voices sang out in the crowd causing the salesman’s smile to widen. He dashed about exchanging hard-earned currency for paper-wrapped enigmas.
Adora hadn’t thought twice about buying anything frivolous in her life. Most of her wares she crafted by hand, her groceries never cost more than a few pence. Standing amidst the frenzied crowd she was overcome with the sudden urge to purchase a cube for herself. She reached for her coin purse and frowned at its light weight. Only a mere two shillings and a few pence jingled inside.
She returned to her table, exchanged many smiles, but nobody ever approached to learn their fortune. She held out until the last person waddled by with arms full of goods, and dusk’s blood-red splotches stretched through murky gray. Slowly she gathered her belongings into her knapsack, hoping perhaps somebody would run up for a last-minute reading. She cinched her bag closed, waiting another bit longer.
Adora went out of her way to stroll through the market center on her path toward the exit. The crowds were gone; a group of young market hands swept their refuse into piles. The steam-driven wagon sat just where it had been before, its steam stacks cold, lights turned off, its stage folded away. She searched for a glimpse of the owner without getting too close.
“Can I help you, miss?” The salesman’s bold voice spoke over her shoulder.
She jerked, screaming a bit from the startle. She turned and stared up at the man, whose hat and jacket were removed. Starch crisped the collar and seams of his white shirt. His presence all alone onstage had helped him appear tall, but standing this close she observed his height easily stretched near two meters. His slicked black hair was parted down the center, his waistcoat buttoned tightly over his broad chest.
Adora focused to read his aura and met resistance. He knows what you’re here for, her intuition whispered.
“I’m very intrigued by that device of yours,” she said smiling. “I witnessed your demonstration earlier, and still can’t quite believe my eyes.”
“Why yes, my Ionic Psyclonic Field Intensifier. I must admit it’s quite a marvel of precision engineering.” He flashed a grin that soon faded. “My apologies, madame. I’m Doctor Edward Vincent Ingram Longfellow, at your service.”
“Adora,” she said, her cheeks flushing.
“So, I can see by your expression that you have your doubts about my device.”
“Anybody can act like a cripple one moment,” she hesitated, not wanting to start a fight, then decided to continue anyway. “And walk perfectly fine another moment, especially when piles of shillings are on the line.”
He chuckled, twirling the tip of his mustache with one hand. His teeth were perfectly aligned and a brilliant white. “I assure you it was no trick, only a feat enabled by modern technology.”
“Well, I’d like to get my hands on one of those boxes of yours. Maybe I’ll take it apart so I can learn how it really works.”
“You’re not the first person with that idea, but I would advise you against such action.”
“Why is that?”
“The cases are assembled in a specially pressurized room by one of the finest watchmakers in Switzerland. Any tampering with the seal may throw its delicate parts out of alignment, thus distorting the field it creates. The results of such a careless action could turn disastrous.”
“You’re selling them to common folk for less than a pound. Surely something so sophisticated should carry a higher price?”
“That was merely a special one-time offer. The price has returned to its original five pounds. Surely a woman as well off as you could afford my regular price?”
“I don’t have that much money on me.” She bowed her head, ashamed of her dingy shoes. “I’m just very curious as to how it functions.”
“It’s quite simple, my dear.” He wrapped a long arm over her shoulders. His other hand traced his talking points in the air. “There is a precisely tuned crystal secured inside, and through a series of my own patent-pending mechanisms, the device generates a field which intensifies the natural healing properties of the human body.”
“Well, it all seems like flimflam to me. No offense, sir.”
“My dear, Buddhist monks have used the power of meditation to perform healings for thousands of years.” He nodded with a wink. “All I’ve developed is a mechanical process for harnessing that power and making it available to the masses.”
“I see.” Adora bit her lip. She knew all too well engaging in debate about magic versus science would only end with her temper lost. She’d already assembled the words to hex his hair away. Rather than utter them she pulled herself away. “Good day to you, sir.”
“Wait.” His firm hand grabbed her shoulder. “How much money do you have?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“Possibly we can strike a deal then.” His eyes gleamed over a wicked grin. His arm slithered around her shoulders as he whispered in her ear. “If you were to oblige a lonely traveler with a small favor, then in exchange I would provide you with one of my devices, completely free of charge, of course.”
She should have walked away, but she’d approached the wagon already knowing full well in the back of her mind the extent that she would sacrifice to get her hands on one of his cubes.
“Of course.” She forced a smile. Magic glimmered in her eyes. “Do you have someplace a little more discreet where we can conduct our transaction?”
“Why, yes I do.”
The doctor led her through a door in the back of the wagon. After passing beneath calliope pipes they entered a small room with a humble bed and dresser built into the wall. Trinkets and photos from his world travels were tacked about in no certain order. Old vapors of smoke and sweat fouled the air.
“It’s not much, but it’s home for now,” he said.
“This will do.” Adora raised the hem of her robe and kneeled on the floor.
A bulge grew below her hands as she unfastened his trousers. His eager cock bobbed out, silently pleading for her affections. She stroked the shaft with one hand, fondled his balls with the other. She could care less if it was the biggest prick she’d ever seen, but the actress in her moaned with admiration. Her tongue swirled a slick coat of spit over her lips prior to sliding the doctor’s cock into her mouth.
Memories of her dead lover rushed back to her. When last they made love they’d lain upon a blanket beneath a harvest moon, their bare flesh glowing beneath its light. Delight coursed through her from every caress, his mouth bedeviling her body inside and out, leaving her weak and trembling, but still longing for more. She could still picture the full moon reflecting in his eyes when she screamed his name through the night. Her thighs clutched his body against hers until climax stole their final breaths, then they lay in each other’s arms until dawn warmed the horizon. She thought she had loved him before, but that moment was when she actually knew it. That was the night before he sailed off to wage battle in the Crimean War. Weeks passed without any word before an admiral had knocked on her door to notify her of Alexandre’s death, and he presented her with a letter discovered in her lover’s breast pocket. A bullet had blown through the center; shades of dried blood smeared the ink. Most of the words were easily read. The missing ones she penned with spilt tears.
Surely her lover would disapprove of what she was doing with this man, but there was no time to save up for the purchase, and she refused to resort to petty thievery. She would have to use her body to get what she wanted, just as when she needed safe passage from bloodthirsty bandits. After maturing into adulthood she finally realized the true potential of her talents. Then the industrial revolution swept magic’s grasp away from the world. Nobody bought protective amulets anymore because they would rather holster repeating pistols. Perhaps if she were to combine her powers with a mechanical device like the doctor’s cube, then her abilities would strengthen to a whole new level.
The doctor moaned. His frantic hands bore down on her shoulders. Warmth flooded her mouth, dribbled a bit down her chin. She swallowed every salty spurt and moaned as if she’d actually enjoyed herself.
“Oh my, that was most incredible.” He wiped his cock off with a handkerchief before tucking it away. “Take any of those boxes stacked over there. You’ve certainly earned it.”
Betrayal coated her tongue, its sour juices clotting into a brick deep within her stomach. Her guts buckled, then knotted from anguish, the urge to vomit spunk all over his shining boots seemed all but unavoidable. She gulped spite and bile down her throat, her volition feasting on the brew. Her cheeks cramped from forcing a smile while she walked over to claim her cube.
“Thank you very much, Doctor.”
Cold air drew the black clouds close to the Earth that night, making for perilous navigation by airships dotting the horizon. Two collided without warning over the city center. Their fuselages erupted in flame and rained wreckage through crowded streets. Victims’ screams carried over hills in the countryside where a flock of sheep scattered.
Adora looked back at the flaming skyline, the magnitude of the inferno muted by dense fog rolling in from the bay. She hurried along the cobblestone path toward the Necropolis. A pair of long hairpins made quick work of the lock on the wrought-iron gates towering over the entrance. Just inside the night watchman snored with a bottle of rum cradled in his arms.
An outstretched oil lantern guided her through swirling fog. Most of the tombstones she knew by name, having conjured their souls for wealthy mourners.
Adora struggled with the heavy gate securing the entrance to the Malveaux family crypt. Hinges squealed. Rust from last winter’s rains crumbled free. She made sure to lock the gate behind her, then hung a thick tarp over the bars to muffle her incantations.
Her previous attempts to conjure Alexandre’s spirit were on the battlefield where his body was recovered, and in the dark forest where magic still thrived. Now she stood upon the granite where she’d previously wept, wondering why she hadn’t before attempted her spells where the bones of her lover lay resting.
The witch emptied out the contents of her knapsack and readied the tomb for her ritual. She fashioned a circle of pink salt large enough for her to lie in, and placed six pillar candles around the edge in precisely spaced increments. Inside of the circle she used chalk wrapped with red ribbon to draw a pentacle aligned with the Northern Star. She smoldered wormwood incense in a silver chalice scored with ancient runes. Gradually its smoky wisps filled the space with haze.
A clock need not chime the midnight hour approaching. Adora cast her eyes upward, and through the veil of aether she envisioned celestial bodies spinning past. She turned toward the moon, and smiled at the old man’s face sketched from craters. She dropped her robe and stepped naked into the center of the circle.
“Guardians
of the Spirit Realm,” she recited calmly while winding the lever on the cube. She’d briefly studied its functions, daring not to open it as the doctor had warned against, and etched symbols across its surface that were meant to magically alter the focus of its mechanical effects. She pressed the button in the lid, felt it catch a cog, then trigger a spring. Small vibrations trembled gemstones in her rings.
“When the witching hour rings true, bring my lover Alexandre back to me. Other souls may hear my call, but they are not welcome in this place.” Her eyes fell shut, her volume escalated. Memories of Alexandre’s features appeared in the void behind her eyelids. Warm, brown eyes. Smooth cheeks. Tender lips kissing every intimate surface of her flesh. Ears she once whispered past and screamed his name when she came.
“Only the one named Alexandre Malveaux, who has known my body more intimately than any other, may enter this sacred space.” Warmth spread over her fingers. She cracked one eye to check her progress.
Tentacles of silver mist reached out from the cube. They read over names chiseled upon crypts, probed through cracks where only maggots had crawled before.
Adora squeezed her eyelids shut, focusing all good will on her one true love. Vibrations migrated through her arms, steadily chattered her teeth. “Hear my pleas, great Charon, ferryman of the dead. Row your boat across the Styx, and transport the soul of my lover to the shores of life so that we may embrace once again.”
Granite creaked. Spirits whispered around her, their slow words muffled through the protected circle. Frost hung in the air, condensing her breath, puckering her nipples. Ice crystals shimmered across the floor, but dared not traverse the circle.
“Missing you does not even begin to adequately describe the hollow cavity left beneath my breast.” Adora’s words filled with weeping. “I was with child when you died, and the trauma of your loss purged our child from my womb. I have conjured so many souls for mere shillings a name without even breaking a sweat, yet the one I hold truest to my heart continues to elude my greatest efforts. No longer shall I walk alone! No longer shall I cry myself to sleep at night.”
