by Corey Edward
“Wait!” Mr. Broomsetter yelled. “Get back here. Now!”
I got up and ran out after her as he called my name and ordered me to stop. I could hear a couple of students laugh and another call me a freak. But I didn’t care what they thought. Molly was in trouble, and helping troubled people was in my blood.
She had already made it a few doors down by the time I emerged from the room. I could catch up to her if I hurried, but she was fast for a girl in boots. Too fast.
“Molly!” I cried. “Stop!”
She didn’t. Instead, she sped up, her boots hitting the floor faster. Her purse was flying through the air behind her, bobbing up and down as if it were alive as she sprinted full-speed-ahead down the hall. Was it alive? Or was it just enchanted to behave like it was?
“Slow down,” I yelled once she rounded a corner. “I just want to help!”
“Nobody can help me,” she called back. She ran into the girl’s bathroom and then she was gone.
It was the one place no self-respecting teenage boy would ever be seen entering, and that made it a perfect hiding spot. Did I follow her inside, or did I make a retreat? On the one hand, I wanted to find out if she was okay and what she knew about the mysterious grin. On the other, I didn’t want to violate her right to privacy if she didn’t want to be chased that badly. Some people aren’t ready to be helped. Maybe she was one of them.
I’d just turned around to head back to class when I heard a scream coming from within the bathroom. No, more than a scream: a blood-curdling shriek.
It took me two seconds to change my mind. I couldn’t retreat. Not when she was in danger. I ran right in just in time to see her sticking halfway out of the mirror, legs in the air, being dragged in by her own reflection.
Great Merlin, this was bad. I only knew of one species of Darkon that operated through mirrors, and that was a Mimik. They lived in reflective surfaces, waiting for the perfect victim to come along. Then, they ripped the victim’s soul out of their body and paraded around in their skin, creating all sorts of havoc. Often, they were planted in mirrors and bodies of water by Darkcrafters or other, more powerful Darkon to target a specific person. But who would place a Darkon in the ladies’ restroom at Dunwich High, and why did they want to target Molly?
I ran over and grabbed onto her legs, struggling to pull her backward. But it was no use. The fake-Molly in the mirror was way stronger than me. There was only one solution I could think of to defeat a Mimik: shatter its home and render it useless.
“Begone Mimik, leave this mirror,” I said. “Return to the Nether Realm in defeat… er!”
Shit, not a rhyme, not a rhyme, why was I so bad at this? The Mimik pulled Molly in further, lifting my own shoes off the ground. What rhymes with mirror… what rhymes with mirror...
Terror? No.
Nearer? Okay. But how could I fashion that into a rhyme? “Go back to the Nether Realm and don’t come nearer?” No, that didn’t make sense. But if it was gone, the mirror would be...
Clearer.
“Accursed Mimik, leave this mirror,” I said. “Shatter now and make it clearer!”
The mirror exploded and the Mimik let go of Molly, its otherworldly wail of pain resonating throughout the restroom. Molly flew backward and we tumbled into an open stall, just barely avoiding a nasty plunge into the toilet. Shards of glass rained down upon us, each one containing a different facet of the black, featureless being. But the being soon faded from the glass. With its temporary home destroyed, the Mimik would return to the Nether Realm until it was conjured forth again.
Which was hopefully never.
Henry: 2. Nether Realm: 0.
“S-s-sorry,” Molly stammered, scrambling up to her feet and gasping for air. I rose after her, careful to avoid the glass that now covered the bathroom floor. We shuffled out into the empty hallway, where I waited patiently for her to calm down. “I’m so sorry. Great Merlin, what a mess...”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just breathe. I’m more worried about you than the mess. You all right?”
“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. “Yeah, I think so. Would’ve been way worse if not for you.”
“Glad I could help. Do you know what it is that attacked you?”
She nodded. “It was a Darkon. The question is… how do you know?”
I decided at this point that I was just best to be up front with her. No more hiding; no more secrets. Everything needed to be laid out onto the table.
“I know what Darkon are because I’m a wizard,” I said. “I’ve seen them before. More times than I care to admit.”
She didn’t look too shocked. “I thought I felt something from you on the first day. We Spellcrafters can sense the Mana in each other’s veins, you know. That’s why I told you I went to Miskatonic Academy. I wanted to see what you’d say.”
“I was too scared to mention anything at the time. I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“I guess that’s fair. We burn when we’re too open about who we are.” Her breathing was finally starting to slow. “Are there any other Spellcrafters in this school?”
“Nope. I’m the only one that I know of.”
“Wow. That must really suck.”
“You have no idea how much.” And then, because I didn’t know what else to say: “You have a flying purse.”
“You mean this goofy little girl?” She waved her hand and the bag did a quick backflip into the air, somehow without losing any of its contents. “Yeah. She’s like my… Familiar.”
There was a hint of sadness when she said this last word. I made a mental note of it, but didn’t want to pry.
“I have a Familiar, too. His name’s Rusty.”
“Rusty?”
“Yeah. He’s a pug.”
“Really?” That one got a smile out of her. “I love pugs. I mean, I love all dogs, but pugs are the cutest.”
“He can be cute when he wants or needs to be. He’s especially adorable when he wants pancakes.”
She laughed. “I’d like to meet him one day.”
“I’d like for you to meet him, too.”
She fell quiet for a second, as if she were debating on telling me something. But then she seemed to think better of it and shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“So you’re a Candle,” she said, seemingly out of the blue. “Any relation to a man named James Candle, by any chance?”
“He’s my dad. How do you know about him?”
“Every Spellcrafter in the city knows about Candle Paranormal Investigations. I’m sorry to hear about his passing. What happened to him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve been looking into his last case, trying to discover what led to his death. I’m afraid that whatever’s coming after him might also be coming for me.”
“Have you had any luck so far?”
I shook my head. “All I’ve figured out is that it had to do with a Grimoire that was going to be displayed at a museum exhibit.”
“Wait. You’re not talking about the Boston Museum of Ancient History, are you?”
“Yes. How did you — ”
“The High Enchanter of my Coven works there. He’s always talking about this exhibit he’s working on — something crazy about revealing the existence of Spellcrafters to humans.”
“Is his name Alexander Carter, by any chance?”
“Yep. He just took over a few months ago after our last High Enchanter passed away. I don’t know him very well, but he’s been in our Coven for as long as I can remember.”
“I just talked to him yesterday. Well, I was in disguise, but… I don’t know. He seemed a bit off to me. Do you get the same impression?”
“I’m not a fan and neither are my parents. But we just have to grin and bear it for now. Do you belong to a Coven?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I’m a lone wolf like my dad. He always hated Covens. Said they were too much like a religion for him to join i
n on the fun.”
“Well, my Coven is gathering Thursday at midnight to celebrate the coming of the full moon. I don’t know if you share your dad’s attitude about Covens, but you’re welcome to tag along.”
I stopped to consider this. She had a good point: it would be beneficial for me to get to know more about this Alexander Carter. The investigation was centered around his museum, after all, and I might be able to learn some information that might aid in my research.
Being a member of a Coven was the closest thing our race had to join a church. All (good) Covens, after all, were branches of the larger tree whose leaders were the Council of Magi. Since my father hated the Council, he also naturally hated their Covens.
But I wasn’t my father. Not by a long shot. He knew it and I knew it, too. And I wanted to get to know more people like me. What was so bad about that? And what was wrong with getting more in touch with my mystical side?
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
“I would invite Frankie and Enisa, but the Council forbids letting humans attend Coven gatherings and I don’t even know if they know you’re a wizard.”
“They know everything about me. Good, bad, and magic.”
“Aren’t you… worried about what might happen to you if the Council found out?”
“They’re really the only humans who know. And my dad’s clients eventually find out, too, but he always wiped their memories of what happened before he left them.”
“I heard the Council only lets you tell five humans. Just five. Any more and they banish you to the Outer Realm with all the other race traitors.”
“At least it sounds like a fun place to be.”
She laughed. “How’d you come out of the broom closet to your friends?”
By now, we were about ten minutes away from the end of first period, but this conversation was way more fascinating than the Industrial Revolution.
“It wasn’t really a coming out,” I admitted. “More like an… accident. It happened during my thirteenth birthday. I was standing in front of my cake, all ready to blow out the candles, when Frankie tripped over his own two feet and knocked it onto the ground. The entire cake was smashed, and I— needless to say— was upset. So upset that I cast a spell to put it back together again, right in front of them, without even thinking.”
“And your friends?”
“It took a while, but then they realized what happened. I showed them some more magic — I made Rusty float in front of them — and they thought it was the coolest thing ever. They had tons of questions, sure, but none of them were offensive. I’m lucky to have them.”
“You are. I’ve heard nothing but horror stories about Spellcrafters coming out of the broom closet to humans.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s a cruel world out there for us Spellcrafters. Most humans either use us to help them fall in love or as firewood. Have you ever had any Spellcrafter friends before?”
“Nope. You’re the first.” I smiled, and she did, too. “It’s nice to talk to someone who actually understands what it’s like to be magic.”
“And it’s nice to talk to someone who understands what it’s like to be human. I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by Spellcrafters. Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to live without magic. How do they do it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I really don’t know.”
As the bell rang, I did my best to ignore my father’s voice in the back of my head while he screamed at me from beyond the grave.
Ten
A Bitter Rift
Lunch with Frankie and Enisa was way more relaxed now that we all knew Molly was a witch. That didn’t mean it wasn't awkward, however. Frankie spent most of the lunch hour asking her questions about Miskatonic Academy and how similar it was to Hogwarts, while Enisa was more curious about the inner workings of Molly’s Coven itself. They wanted to know if they could come and were so disappointed when Molly said no that it felt like a betrayal.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t love to have you guys along,” she’d said. “It’s strictly forbidden to bring humans to a Coven gathering. Too risky for them to be around all that magic.”
“What about Rusty?” asked Frankie. “Is he coming along? He’s not a wizard. He's a pug.”
“He’s my Familiar,” I corrected him. “So yes, he’s invited. Unless you want to put on a fursuit and pretend to be Molly’s Familiar, you don’t fall under that category.”
And that disturbing mental image quashed all arguments to the contrary.
When Thursday evening finally arrived, I debated about what to tell my grandparents about where I was going. As always, I wanted to be honest with them, but there was still too much they didn’t understand about my magic for me to be completely open about it. Though they’d gotten over most of the “magic equals evil” stuff pretty early on in my parents’ relationship, there were still some hard feelings about the whole thing after my mom died. I knew they partly blamed Dad and maybe they had a right to — she was, after all, murdered by a Darkon — but they also blamed magic itself. I decided it was best to sneak out of the house again, just like I had last night.
We met at the Brew since it was open late for all insomniacs in need of fuel. My grandparents were in bed by ten as usual, but I cast a somnolence spell to ensure they'd sleep undisturbed through the night.
Molly was already outside waiting when I walked up, dressed in blue from her head to her shoes. All Coven members wore blue robes to their gatherings to imitate the color Merlin wore when he was alive. I didn’t own any blue robes, so I’d just gone with a blue hoodie for the occasion. Rusty was so excited to see Molly that I almost thought he'd mistaken her for a rawhide bone: his tail instantly wagged from the second he caught sight of her. I was relieved to see this. The only thing more powerful than a wizard’s intuition was a dog’s, and if he got good vibes from Molly, that was all the confirmation I needed that I could trust her.
“Is this the famous Rusty I heard about earlier?” she asked, bending over to grab his face in her hands.
“Rusty? Yes. Famous? Not yet. But he is my sidekick, so it’s only a matter of time.”
“The Coven’s going to love him.” She gave him a fierce rub-down and he leaned into it, resting his head against her legs. “I’m already obsessed and we literally just met.”
“I’m sure they will,” I said. “It’s me, I’m not so sure about.”
“Oh, they’ll love you, too.” She got to her feet and I saw that she was covered in tufts of light Rusty fur from her knees on down. With a snap of her fingers, the fur was gone. “Why do you think otherwise?”
“Because I’m James Candle’s son. And as his son, I know what an asshole he could be.”
“I never met him, but I hear he did have a certain… reputation.”
“For being a jerk.”
“And for ridding this city of evil. Nobody is ever totally good or totally bad. Not even him.” She held out her hands, so her palms were facing the sky. “Hold on.”
“Are we casting a spell?”
“We’re going to teleport to the Coven’s meeting place.”
“You know how to teleport?”
I’d personally attempted teleportation magic in the past, but never had any luck. My dad became so frustrated at trying to teach me that he literally threw a book at my head — and that was the last time I ever asked him to show me how to do so. It was advanced stuff and hard for even experienced Spellcrafters to master.
“I may not know much about battle magic, but I do know a lot about teleportation. It takes a lot of practice— a lot- — but I’ve gotten a hold of it. All you need to do is draw a teleportation Sigil somewhere you’d like to return to in the future, picture that Sigil in your head, and then say the magic words: traiciendam curaret novus.”
You know that sensation when you’re at the top of a roller coaster and then you suddenly go plunging down? Imagine that, only in reverse, and y
ou’ll be pretty close to what it actually feels like to teleport. I’ve only done it a handful of times with my father and it was always disorienting.
But most disorienting of all was going from one place to the next in a matter of seconds. We had gone from an empty street corner to an even emptier forest. Rusty was sitting at my feet and carved into a nearby tree was a Sigil of teleportation, presumably drawn by Molly.
Everything in the woods was still, the leaves exploding with shades of red, orange, and yellow. The full moon was glowing overhead and stars were twinkling in the sky, something that I never saw all the way in Boston. We were alone, just the three of us, which was something else I hadn’t been expecting. I was expecting, you know… other Spellcrafters.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“We’re in the woods far west of Boston,” she said. “See that old church over there?”
I turned around to see what she was pointing at just over my shoulder. Peeking through the trees about a stone’s throw away was a white clapboard chapel. The structure itself was intact, as was the steeple and bell, but its siding was delayed in spots and covered with leaves and ivy. It was abandoned and looked to have been for at least a hundred years, if not more. Who knew something so old could exist not even a half-hour outside of a place like Boston?
“There’s nobody here,” I said. “Are we early, or are we late?”
“We’re right on time. There’s been a glamour placed over it,” she said. “Watch.”
She moved closer to the church and raised both of her arms high into the air, as if trying to push open a giant door. The air surrounding the church rippled and then, the glamour fell and the forest came alive.
There had to be about forty or so Spellcrafters gathered there for the Coven meeting. They were of all ages, young and old, wearing blue cloaks with hoods down. The air was thick with Mana and cackled from the sheer energy of the Coven and their collective magic. Paper lanterns — hundreds of them — floated above our heads, glowing with orange light that warmed my bones even in the darkness of the forest. Wooden tables were scattered about the clearing and had been adorned with an opulent potluck feast, and I couldn’t help but feel as if I had stumbled into a dinner party at Buckingham Palace.
