by Ann M. Noser
“Master wants to see you now,” he growls. He drags me toward a raised stage in the front of the room. A tall man faces away from us on the stage, standing in front of what looks like an altar.
My feet stick to the floor. I glance down to find I’ve stepped in blood. I bite down hard on my lip to keep from crying out.
“Master, you wanted to see Dominic?” asks Shadow, with a bow.
“Oh, yes.” The Master turns and my stomach lurches again. Blood trickles from one side of his mouth. His lips peel open in a grimace filled with long, sharpened teeth.
I step back involuntarily.
“Welcome, my boy. You did well during your Initiation, or so I am told.” Master’s eyes are wide and black as an insect’s. “And, Shadow, my faithful servant, I understand you have important news for me.”
Shadow steps forward. “Yes, Master. As you requested, I’ve been searching the Chippewa River Valley for the strange power source you detected.”
“Yes. Please continue.”
Shadow’s eyes glow with excitement. “I found her at last. Her name is Emma Roberts.”
“How wonderful.” Master folds his hands together. His nails are long and black. “Show me.”
“As you command.” Shadow enters a circle of tall red candles. Each wick bursts into flame. The rest of the crowd hovers close, murmuring and watching.
Master descends from the stage, waves his hands, and Shadow disappears into a thick mist. As the haze disperses, an image appears of three college-aged women walking across a parking lot.
“Let’s sit over there,” a blonde, teenaged girl points toward a cluster of trees, a bag bouncing on her hip.
“It feels strange to be outside this late at night,” whispers a young woman with a ponytail, nervously tugging on her shirt.
“Do you think the campus cops will drive by and stop us?” a pretty girl in a short skirt asks.
“Why would they stop us?” the blonde responds. “It’s just a little love spell.”
The mist shifts to reveal the same three women sitting near a large rock illuminated by lit candles under a full moon.
A few crickets chirp, a lone frog bellows, then silence.
The blonde hands the pretty one a spell to read:
“Oh moon, upon me shine.
Steal his heart and make it mine.
Guide his eyes so he will see
The only one to love is me.
Seize his voice and make him say
That he will never go away… “
When the spell ends, the anxious girl turns around. She searches behind her, a puzzled expression on her face, then shakes her head and turns back to the others.
Master waves his arms, dispelling the vision. Shadow reappears and exits the Circle.
“Ahhh, my faithful servant.” Master places a long-fingered hand over his heart. “You have done well.”
“Then you agree it’s the quiet one you want?” Shadow hesitates. “I’m ashamed to admit that at first I assumed the witch working the spell must be the cause of the sudden power shift in the air. But when the nervous one turned around—I swear she sensed me watching her—then I knew that she was the one you wanted.”
“Yes. She is the one.” Master pauses. “She’s unaware and untrained, but ripe with power. I must have her.”
“I’ll go at once,” Shadow replies.
“No. The girl is not yet ready to serve me. She must be transformed. Follow her. Make the most of any opportunity. She should be easy enough to break once the time comes.”
“As you wish, Master.” Shadow nods.
“Be patient, my faithful son. All good things take time—or bad things, in this case.” Master chuckles, splaying his fingers together. “So much needs to be done. We must prepare the Inner Sanctum. Purify the workers.”
Shadow bows his head. “I am your servant.”
“Obsidian. I’ll need more of it. As much as you can find.” The Master gestures toward the wall over the altar. A vision of a beautiful Brazilian woman wearing a necklace of black stones appears for a moment in the empty air, then fades. “While you’re in Eau Claire observing young Emma, take a moment to relieve the beautiful Eva Garcia of her obsidian collection. She possesses a mirror which I would find quite useful.”
“Anything you ask, I will do.”
The two of them bow their heads together, as if in prayer. Master places a hand on each of Shadow’s shoulders.
I step back, away from the altar. I hate both of them. I hate myself. I hate this room, and everyone and everything in it. What am I doing here? What’s Master going to do with those girls? And that beautiful woman? Is he going to kill all of them, too? Or ask Shadow to do it instead? Or demand it of me? No way. I’m not killing anyone else. Not even a cat.
I want out.
The two men move apart. Shadow’s eyes have fogged over.
Master raises his thin, dark brows. “We must be patient.”
“She needs time… and training,” Shadow speaks slowly, as if in a trance.
“Yes…”
“The Book of Shadows must become hers,” Shadow murmurs. “She must be compelled to use it… she must become attached, let it control her… then I will take over her mind… and bring her here.”
“Exactly, my son. I have no need of her until she masters the Book. And to arrange all this we need a sacrifice. A young sacrifice.”
My skin prickles. What sacrifice?
Master’s gaze falls upon me. Then he extends his long arm, pointing my way.
My legs turn to melting ice. Does he mean me?
In a flash, Shadow stands in front of me. “This one has too many questions running through his head. I hear his uncertainty. He’s not one of us. He never will be. He hasn’t accepted his fate. He’s fighting it, but it’s a battle he will lose.”
“Then be done with it.” Master turns back to the steps, and ascends to his altar as if disinterested.
Shadow reaches for my neck.
I turn to run but I’m not fast enough. Ugly faces leer at every turn, blocking my escape.
Shadow’s foul breath burns my neck. “It hurts more when you resist.”
The edge of a knife flashes. Sharp pain shoots into my stomach. The fire inside melts into a cool pool of liquid.
My legs give way. I drop onto the floor, grabbing at my belly. Blood sticks to my fingers.
Disfigured faces rush at me, but I’m too weak to turn away.
There’s blood.
There’s pain.
Then I feel… nothing.
wake on the floor of my own apartment. The good news is that I’m me again. The bad news is that there’s another disgusting dead black crow on my chest. Wincing at the foul smell, I grab the nasty thing by a stiff wing and force open a window. Another dark moth flies in the apartment as I toss the crow outside.
In slow motion, it tumbles to the ground, as if sinking through liquid instead of air. Down below stands Phoebe, the oblivious target. I consider warning her, but don’t. A silly grin on my face, I watch the bird splatter on Phoebe’s shiny black hair a second before it explodes into a dark cloud of smoke. I back away from the window before she spots me.
Phoebe’s startled scream echoes through the parking lot. As her screech thins to nothing, the familiar noise of a spinning cup screeches in the bathroom.
“Oh, shut up!” I storm into the bathroom, grab the cup, and smash it on the floor. It breaks into a million pieces, each shard skittering across the black and white tiles.
There’s a snake in the mirror. I lean closer. No. Freaking. Way. The snake is me-or, at least, part of me. My left shoulder has been inked with a ginormous tattoo of a hissing green snake. I still have bruises all over my body. And the bite wound on my wrist hasn’t healed yet.
What next? I shudder, revisiting in my mind the dank sewers inhabited by Master and his minions, including Shadow.
The images Shadow revealed weren’t of strangers. Those three girls were my roomm
ate Chrissy, her sister Angie, and me performing a love spell to make Mike’s older brother Kevin fall in love with Chrissy forever.
My heart races. It’s hard to catch my breath. That vision was about me. Angie threw away the Book of Shadows because she kept having nightmares about Steve’s death. The King Cobras gave me Angie’s book―it had to be them. The Shadow said I’d need a reason to use the Book of Shadows. Mike’s death gave me enough reason. Master said I’d be easy to break. What if he was right?
My mind spins as fast as the broken shards on the floor.
Words written in blood appear across the mirror. You belong to the Master now. He will never let you go.
The words fade away, and a garish Smiley Face sneers at me from the mirror instead.
I grip the bathroom counter, my gut heaving. I poke the tattoo, still fresh and sore to the touch, inviting the pain.
It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. I have to get rid of the spirits possessing me.
I won’t let the King Cobras have me.
I’d kill myself before I became the Master’s slave.
I rush out of the bathroom. It’s time to take that exorcist priest up on his offer. I grab my purse and stuff it with the leftovers of my failed exorcism. After I ensure that Phoebe has retreated to her apartment, I sneak out the back and speed to church. Thankfully, my brakes work this time. When I arrive, a handful of white-haired ladies gossip on the front steps.
It looks like morning mass just ended. I rush up the front stone steps. This time, the doors stand open so I don’t have to fight them. Entering the gathering space, I cough on the incense-laden air. I press forward, searching for the exorcist. He’s stacking missals in the far corner.
“Father Joe?” I ask, my voice cracking on his name.
He turns around and his eyes widen. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” I glance around, waiting for a voice or an image to stop me, but all is quiet—for now.
“Does this mean you’re asking for my help?” He sets the missals aside.
I nod, silent, still unable to look him in the eyes.
Without warning, he places a small crucifix on the back of my neck. I spasm in pain, falling to the ground. My head snaps back, forcing me to look the priest straight in the eye. My vision glows red and I growl like a caged animal.
Father Joe raises his eyebrows a notch, but otherwise seems unperturbed. “I’m sorry about that, but I had to know what I’m-I mean, what you’re-dealing with. Did you know you were possessed?”
He reaches out a hand that I don’t take.
“Yes. I knew,” I spit out. “That’s why I’m here. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh, I think I did, not that I wanted to.” He offers his hand again, and this time I accept, but with hesitation. “Let’s sit for a moment.”
He leads me to a middle pew, where I collapse. He lets me catch my breath before he continues. “I can help you, but I’m afraid you’re going to feel a lot worse before you feel any better.”
I laugh, but the noise sounds miserable. “I’m not sure I can feel any worse than this.”
“I’m afraid you can, but you’ve made an important first step in seeking me out. I’ll help you through the rest. What’s your name?”
“Emma Roberts.”
“Now, Emma, in order to properly perform an exorcism on a… young woman, I need the assistance of another woman. If you’re better now, let’s go find the secretary. She’s been quite helpful in these types of situations.”
I struggle to a stand, but can’t trust my weak, wobbly legs. “Can I stay here while you get her? I’m so dizzy.” I grasp the pew.
Father Joe pauses. “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”
“Yes.” I take a jagged breath. “As long as you keep that crucifix off my neck, I’m good.”
“Okay.” He scans the church as if reluctant to leave my side. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He pats my tattooed shoulder in a fatherly fashion and hurries off. The pain which shoots through my arm is bad enough, but my rising panic is even worse. This time, the exorcism has to work―otherwise I’m out of ideas. As I wait for Father Joe to return, the gaggle of elderly women shuffle into the church. Instead of choosing other pews, one by one they file into mine.
I ignore them as they silently edge toward me. Why can’t they find another pew?
A moth lands on my hand. I brush it off.
The church fills with the stench of rotting meat.
I glance up and suppress a scream. Only one of the demonic old ladies still has a nose, and only half of one. Their white hair transforms into writhing green snakes. Melting eyeballs drip yellow pus onto colorful flowered blouses. Closer and closer they stalk toward me, evil words emitting from their gaping mouths.
“Slave of the Master, give in to your fears.”
I scramble over the backs of pews, my hands knocking missals and choir books to the floor. The pages hiss and crumple as the demons trample them with their feet.
They chase after me, clutching dead hairless kittens in their raised hands.
“Be the channel. Use the Book.”
Racing past the pews into the gathering space, I pick up speed and leave their cackling voices behind me. I burst out the front doors, into the glaring sunlight. I glance back at the church steps as the evil spirits transform. Flowered blouses flutter and reform as green flannel shirts. Black bandanas wrap around their snake-covered heads. All three forms melt into one.
I halt in the middle of the road as Shadow levels his steady gaze at me. His eyes shine solid black, like stone. He has no irises. Just black.
He holds out a bloodstained hand. “I sense your loneliness, Emma,” he says, his voice warm, slippery, and inviting. “The Master can raise from the dead whomever you want. You do not have to be alone.”
Jake. He’s trying to use my feelings about Jake to manipulate me.
“Never.” I choke out the word, my throat tightening down.
His black, soul-less eyes narrow. “Don’t be so sure. Master’s seen the future in the obsidian mirror, and you are by his side.”
“Why did he want obsidian?” I back away. “It’s supposed to ward off bad spirits.”
An evil chuckle rumbles in his veiny throat. “Don’t be a fool. Anything pure can be made foul, if one is brave enough to pay the price. Such is the case with you.”
My chest heaves, as the spirits inside me lurch against my ribs like insects trapped in a glass jar.
Shadow steps closer, a hand still outstretched. His black nails lengthen into claws. “Show me the Book.”
I sneak a hand in my bag and grasp a leftover bottle of holy water instead. My movements hidden by the bag, I unscrew the lid. With one swift move, I yank the bottle of the bag and fling the blessed water in Shadow’s face.
He howls in agony as I race for my car.
I gun the engine and peel out of the parking lot. I scream through the window at his malformed face, “Never! The Book is mine!”
Shadow recovers quickly, his words haunting me as I speed away, “You are mistaken. I gave you the Book, and I can take it away again.”
omething shakes my arm. “Wake up! Wake up!” a female voice urges.
Leave me alone. I’m so tired. Go away.
“Come on! Wake up!”
A sharp smack cracks across my cheek.
“Ouch! That hurts!” I sit up, brushing sand off my face, startled to find myself in the cool shade under the bridge on campus.
Phoebe kneels next to me, scowling. “Well, it’s no wonder.”
“No wonder what?” Ugh, my mouth is so dry and my eyes feel crusty. Wait a minute… How did I get here? Wasn’t I driving home? Where’s my car?
She narrows her dark eyes, perfectly lined in kohl. “No wonder your mom thinks you’re on drugs.”
I take a deep breath and beg the world to stop spinning.
“Well, are you?” she asks.
“No, of course not
.” I hallucinate enough on my own. I don’t need any outside help.
Phoebe shrugs. “You certainly act strange enough.”
I stand shakily and brush sand off my pants. “You’re one to talk.”
She crosses her arms. “What are all those crazy noises coming from your apartment?”
“I like alternative music.” I wonder if she knows I had something to do with that dead crow.
“It’s not music, and you know it.” Phoebe gestures for me to follow. “Come on, your parents are waiting.”
“What?” Oh no. Not today.
“They’re worried because you haven’t returned any of their calls.” Phoebe urges me forward. “They asked me tons of questions.”
Oh, great. “Like what?”
“Your mom wanted to know if I had seen anyone suspicious hanging around here.” Phoebe’s voice falls to a whisper. “Like drug-dealers.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That the only person I ever see you with is that cop.”
I groan. “His name is Walker.”
“Yeah, him.” Phoebe pushes onward. “And another thing. Why are you always wearing turtlenecks? It’s June, for crying out loud.”
Another wave of pain surges through my body. I fight against it, but it rages everywhere-in my swollen throat, under my ugly tattoo, and radiating from what feels very much like a sharp blade twisting in my gut.
Phoebe watches with suspicious eyes. I glare back. That girl needs to quit trying to figure me out.
“What’s wrong with you, Emma? You can barely walk.”
“I’ll be fine,” I lie, covering the abdominal pain with a hand. I’m so very far away from being fine.
Her gaze lands on my protective hand over my belly. “Maybe you have appendicitis. A friend of mine had that. She was in agony.”
“I don’t have appendicitis.” I continue my stilted walk to my parents, hoping that my pain tolerance will improve by the time we reach them.
When my mother spots me, she sprints the last ten yards in our direction. Her worry rolls over me in waves. Dad stands silently nearby, as if dazed.
Mom grasps both my upper arms in an excruciating stronghold and hugs me. I want to scream against the pain.
