by Corey Edward
She vanished, and the darkness went along with her. Soon, there was only light… and a pug barking trouble into my ear.
I woke with a start to the stench of sulfur and decay. I scrambled to my feet as soon as I heard the low moaning and saw the green bare feet with long, untrimmed nails.
The Darkon charging for me with its arms outstretched was one of the ugliest I’ve ever seen. And that was saying something since Darkon weren’t exactly known for winning beauty pageants. The Asphyxiator looked like an emaciated man with puke-green skin and two slits where its face should’ve been, and its body was nude except for a loincloth.
I didn’t have much time to notice more than that. It wrapped its bony fingers around my shoulders and shoved me backward, knocking over a pile of boxes as it pinned me against the wall. Its breath alone was almost enough to knock me out, but then it suctioned the air right out of my lungs. I knew I had to act before I wasn’t able.
“Darkon foul, Darkon fair,” I gasped, choking out the words. “Leave me alone, steal not my air.”
See, Dad?
My rhyming under pressure really was getting better.
The Asphyxiator ceased its suctioning and fell backward, moaning and sputtering, its air source cut off. My spell may have temporarily halted its assault, but it would soon recover. I looked around the attic to see a wooden two-by-four lying on the ground, inches away from my feet. I picked it up and swung at the Darkon just as it raised its arms and charged for me again.
The blow snapped the monster’s neck out of place and it stumbled, almost knocking into the podium that held the Grimoire. I raised the board again and thwacked it right on top of its bald head, sending it crashing to the ground. Rusty dove out of the way right before it could fall onto him, skittering to the opposite side of the room.
“Sorry, Rusty,” I said. Then, I raised my finger at the Darkon and started my banishment spell: “Evil Asphyxiator, drinker of souls. Return to the darkness from which you were born!”
But nothing happened.
Because- of course- it didn’t rhyme.
God damn it, why was it so hard to make things rhyme?
The Asphyxiator rose and shuffled forth again.
But this time, it wasn’t seeking me.
It was seeking Rusty.
It grabbed my pug and picked him up, holding him tightly in its revolting hands. The sight filled me with red-hot panic and fury. I let that rage be my muse. I let it carry me into a spell.
“Put down my dog, you Asphixiator hog,” I shouted. “To the Nether Realm you go, I end your show!”
A stream of yellow light flew at the creature and lit up the attic in a flash. The Asphixator turned and looked at me when the light hit its body, dropping Rusty onto the ground as it stared in shock. When the light vanished, the Darkon was gone and Rusty was running into my arms, seeking a hug.
Good riddance to bad company.
I couldn’t wait to leave the attic. But before I could, I had a promise to keep. I put Rusty down, held out my hands and searched for Agatha, feeling her tragic energy as it filled the attic.
“I hereby free you from this house, Agatha Sparrow, good witch of Salem,” I said. “Leave the Earthly Realm in peace and depart on your journey to the Spirit Realm on a trail of light. So mote it be.”
So mote it was. The sadness and heavy feeling of the attic lifted, inch by inch, until it was no more. After hundreds of years, Agatha Sparrow was finally at rest.
But I wouldn’t be so lucky. I had created enough of a fuss for one day. I needed to get out before Carter realized where I-
“HENRY!” shrieked Enisa. “HE’S HERE, HENRY, HE’S — ”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit shit.
No time to dilly-dally. No time to procrastinate. I hurried to the Grimoire and snatched it off the podium before I lost my nerve. Shockwaves of tainted, evil Mana curled up my fingers and hooked into my soul, which I did my best to ignore. I was a wizard of light and love; darkness had no place inside of me.
I had no time to let it have one.
I rushed down the steps with Rusty, breaking into a run as I hit the first floor and made a mad dash for the door.
I threw it open to see Alexander Carter standing there, all four of my friends frozen like statues next to him, features locked in various stages of shock and fear. He was wearing a suit, but his hair was askance and his top buttons were undone.
“Narlothotep,” I breathed.
That’s who was really behind Carter’s blue eyes. An ancient Pharaoh who had lorded over Egypt millennia ago and who craved power so much he willingly slumbered for thousands of years awaiting his second chance at it. The sheer hatred that I felt emanating out of his gaze trumped every Darkon I’d ever faced. This was malice, pure and dark and vile.
“Don’t you even move, Candle wizard,” he said. “One step and your human friends lose their heads.”
Rusty whimpered. I looked at Frankie, willing him to come alive and bury his Shades in Carter’s back, but there was nothing animated in his eyes. He was still as stone.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I believe you know exactly what I want,” he said.
“World domination? Cupcakes? Sorry, buddy, but I really don’t.”
“My Grimoire, Henry. I want my Grimoire. Give it to me, and I will free your friends.”
“Sorry. I learned my lesson about trusting sketchy museum curators.”
He scoffed. “Why do you rise against me? We are not enemies. In my kingdom, humans would be required to obey you by edict of law. We could improve life for Spellcrafters throughout the world. Indeed, one day, we may even defeat death! Does this not excite you? Do you not yearn for immortality?”
“Right now, I’m kind of yearning to punch your face in.”
“Hmph. I should expect nothing less from a half-breed race traitor who prefers the company of humans over his own. You’re not a wizard. You’re a coward.”
“And you’re an ancient dead guy with anger issues, but who’s keeping score?”
“You will bow down to me and beg my forgiveness before this day is over, boy. Give me the Grimoire willingly and I might let you survive.”
He was trying to psych me out, but I refused to let it work. I had suspected those were attempts of his in the first place. They were no surprise.
“Free my friends right now,” I said, anger overtaking me, “or I’ll set your evil little novella on fire. And then you’ll burn, too. Am I right?”
“You first,” he snapped, holding out his hand. “Inferrio!”
The blast of white-hot fire slammed against my chest and knocked me backwards, throwing me into the house. The supernatural flame scorched my jacket and passed through my soul, sending a searing wave of pain across my entire body. I landed onto the ground and curled up into a ball, moaning as the fire burned within me, unceasing and unrelenting.
“Weak little wizard,” said Narlothotep. “Your father was ten times the Spellcrafter you are, and he was easily dispatched.”
My body hurt.
My soul ached.
But still, I persisted.
I crawled to my feet, careful not to let the Grimoire out of my hands. If he got it, it was all over. I’d have to destroy it with fire before he had a chance to —
He waved his hand and I was thrown up against the wall as if pinned by a heavy force. My back throbbed in agony, the likes of which I’d never felt before. I tried to resist — tried to conjure up some Mana — but the force of his darkness held me back-
Then something stirred in the house around me. Something stronger than Narlothotep’s magic. A mighty roar of fire sprang to life in the living room hearth and both I and Narlothotep turned to look at it in confusion.
What was going on?
“You have saved me from this ghastly man, Henry Candle,” came the familiar voice of Agatha. “For that, allow me to return the favor.”
He was lifted high into the air
and thrown backward out of the house. The front door slammed behind him. I fell to the ground, coughing and in pain, but otherwise unharmed.
“You rotten bitch,” Narlothotep roared through the door. “I’ll send you straight to the Nether Realm!”
“You’re not sending anybody anywhere,” I said.
He pounded loudly, first with his fists and then with the force of magic. A few times, the old wooden door looked like it might give, but it remained standing strong. For now, at least, we were safe.
“I can’t hold him for long. Do it, Henry!” Agatha’s cried. “Toss the accursed book into the fire!”
That was the best idea I’d heard all week. I sprinted into the living room and tried to chuck it right into the crackling flames, only to discover that the book had stuck to my flesh. Not good- not good at all.
I tried tossing it again, and once again, it stuck as if it had been glued to skin. I latched onto the book with my free hand and tried to pry it free, but nothing. The door was ready to splinter in half, shuddering from Narlothotep’s blasts of fire magic.
I’d have to Craft a spell to get the Grimoire out of my hands. I conjured up Mana- a whole lot of it- and even mixed some of Rusty’s in there, too, just for added power.
“Evil Grimoire, get not the best of me,” I said. “Leave my hand; the flames are your destiny!”
The spell finished as the door caved in and clattered to the ground. Narlothotep raised a hand and fired a sharp, bladelike projectile straight at my back. I dove out of the way as the Grimoire separated itself from my hand and pitched itself into the fire.
The flames turned green and exploded outward, bathing much of the living room in sun-hot fury. A thousand screams of agony filled the house as the Grimoire burned, its Darkon flesh melting like plastic, its vile spells and wicked incantations vanishing from this Earth for good.
Narlothotep shrieked and dropped to his knees in agony and defeat. He threw his head back and out of Carter’s mouth came a burst of black smoke, the kind that represented an equally blackened soul. It soon dissipated into the air, turning into nothing. I stood by and watched the whole thing burn, not looking away until I was sure all that remained of the book was ash.
The fire extinguished itself and Agatha’s presence left the room. Hopefully, she’d moved on to brighter, better things that didn’t involve malevolent pharaohs or their nasty spellbooks. She really deserved a break, poor girl.
A disoriented Carter opened his eyes, looked around the room and scratched his head. I didn’t know whether I should approach him with pity or with anger. How could he have let this go so far? Did he condone Narlothotep’s actions? Or worse: had he participated in them?
My friends came running into the room, the spell that had frozen them broken with Narlothotep’s defeat.
“What happened?” asked Enisa. “Is Narlothotep here? Did you beat him?”
“I think so,” I said. “Agatha helped me. I threw the Grimoire into the fire and his soul burned. I think… I think he’s gone.”
“For good?” asked Frankie.” No jump scares hiding in the shadows?”
I didn’t have an answer to that one. If I had truly destroyed his only Phylactery, then he should truly be gone… right? No surprises; no zombie hordes; no Lich rising.
Could it really be over?
The door opened again. In charged two blue-robed agents of the Council of Magi, faces hidden beneath their hoods. I recognized the one as having given me the message from the Council itself. The other I didn’t know.
“Who the hell are these weirdos?” asked Frankie, hand going to his Shades.
“Sheath your sword, human. We are Silencers from the Council of Magi,” said one of the figures. “Where is Alexander Carter?”
“Right here,” groaned the curator. He lifted himself up to his feet. “Who are-”
One of the agents grabbed Carter and slammed him up against a wall. He took a pair of silver handcuffs out of his back pocket and slapped them around the curator’s wrist. Though Carter tried to squirm out of the agent’s grip, the agent was much too strong for him.
“What the hell is going on?” Carter demanded. “Why am I being detained?”
“You’re under arrest for four counts of supernatural homicide, one count of permitting a foreign entity to inhabit your person, and one count of threatening to expose the existence of Spellcrafters to humankind,” replied the agent.
“What?” he said. “Those aren’t even real crimes!”
“Yeah, and magic isn’t a real thing. But we both know it is.”
“You can’t do this. I have rights, you know!”
“You do. I’ll read them to you in the cell at the Council’s headquarters.
“And don’t even try to teleport or magic your way out of those cuffs,” said the other agent. “They’re Mana-proof.”
A flash lit up the room and then, all three of them vanished, leaving us alone in the empty Wytch-House. It added a sort of finality, in my mind, to the entire drama. Justice would be served either way.
“Good riddance to old trash,” said Frankie.
“Do you guys think Carter deserves to go to jail?” Enisa asked. “It sounds like he was tricked.”
“Hell yeah, he does,” said Frankie. “He’s the dumbass who opened the coffin and made buddies with someone named Narlothotep. That’s Darwin Awards levels of stupidity.”
“But he was just trying to fight for tolerance. Isn’t that a worthy cause?”
“Sure. But also he almost got us all killed, so… maybe re-examine your tactics a bit there, buddy.”
I could see both of their points and wasn’t entirely sure how I felt. Was Carter really manipulated, or was he guilty all along? And more importantly, had Boston’s long nightmare finally come to an end, or were we just in the middle of a temporary reprieve?
“Ready to go?” I asked my friends. “We all deserve a break after the last few days of Hell we’ve had.”
“Agreed. Dinner and a movie?” asked Enisa. “It’d be nice to get back to normal.”
“When were we ever normal?” asked Frankie.
“Never,” I said. “But sometimes, the weirdest people make the closest friends.”
And then our troupe of Darkon-hunting weirdos made our way back to the car, ready for whatever the rest of the day had in store.
I found a note waiting for me in the drivers’ seat when I got back. I saw what it said, crinkled it up, and put it into my pocket. I didn’t want my friends to notice.
I didn’t want them to know our celebration may have been premature.
For written there in my father’s handwriting was the most ominous message I’d read in days:
THIS AIN’T OVER YET, KID.
Fifteen
A Grin, Darkly
FRANKIE KATO changed the conversation title to THE FRANKIACS at 1:55 P.M., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 30th.
FRANKIE: Yo
FRANKIE: Where all my Frankiacs at?
FRANKIE: C’mon, peeps. It’s almost Halloween! Where’s your festive spirit?
FRANKIE: Get it? Spirit?
ENISA: “Frankiacs’?” Bad puns? Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Are you high?
FRANKIE: I wish
MOLLY: We’re in class. Where are YOU?
FRANKIE: The bathroom. Algebra gets my bowels moving more than a shot of espresso.
HENRY: GROSS! Frankie. We really didn’t need to know all of that.
FRANKIE: It’s all coming out nice and smooth
ENISA: Stop it OMG, you weirdo
FRANKIE: I’m joking. Actually, I’ve been constipated since Wednesday. So I was thinking.
FRANKIE: Since the Halloween dance is tomorrow, maybe we can chill tonight and plan out Operation Candy Corn?
HENRY: I’m down. Can there be actual candy corn? Please?
ENISA: No, but we may bring some actual good candy.
HENRY: Haters. Bring candy corn, or I’ll turn you all into frogs.
MOLLY: And
I’ll turn you into a frog in revenge, so either way, you won’t get any candy corn.
MOLLY: We can meet at my house, BTW. My parents are going out later so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.
HENRY: Sounds good to me!
ENISA: Seconded!
FRANKIE: Thirded
MOLLY: Sweet. See you all at six? I’ll send Henry the address.
HENRY: sure thing.
FRANKIE KATO changed the conversation title to OPERATION CANDY CORN at 2:12 P.M., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 30th.
~&~
This it ain’t over yet, kid.
That’s what my father’s latest message said, and I still had no idea what it could mean almost a week after reading it.
I ran it by my friends and they, too, were clueless. Carter was in prison, the Grimoire was destroyed, and Real Witchcraft had finally been canceled after the death of that security guard. Everything was quiet.
It felt like it was over…
But was a feeling good enough? Was there something I had missed or forgotten? Maybe “it” was the change that was coming when I decided to officially take over Candle Paranormal Investigations. I was a day away from the Big Choice, the one I’d be preparing for my entire life, and I still wasn’t sure if I had made the right one.
For my father, being a Candle wizard meant sacrificing everything you were to become everything you weren’t. It meant living a life in complete devotion to protecting others without regard to your friends, your family, or your dreams. The thought of becoming a new James Candle clawed at the back of my throat like a Darkon.
Could I really be a Candle and still be Henry, too?
Whichever route I chose, everything would be different come November. One chapter of my life would close and another would begin anew.
I just hoped the story I wrote when I got there would be a good one.
~&~
Enisa, Frankie, and I arrived at Molly’s house at six o’clock that evening. The drive was full of speculation about the type of place that might be home to a family of Spellcrafters. Would it be old and Victorian, like my grandparents’ house? Or would it be more of a lair, with gray bricks and ominous spires and stained glass windows? Frankie said he thought it would be alive, but Enisa said it would be normal or even boring like the rest of the houses in Dunwich.
