by Corey Edward
We had our answer when we pulled into the driveway of the blue-shingled home with an immaculate yard and a perfectly maintained exterior. It was the sort of pristine slice of suburbia that you’d expect to see a newlywed couple with a young baby living in, not a family of witches and wizards. But then again, stereotypes were made to be broken- and I, of all people, knew that Spellcrafters weren’t all that different from humans.
“This is nothing like what I pictured in my head,” said Frankie.
“What were you expecting?” I asked. “Bubbling cauldrons and eye of newt on the front porch?”
“Well, no, but at least a voodoo doll or two.”
“Don’t be so stereotypical,” Enisa scolded. “You’ve been friends with Henry for years and he isn’t exactly Lord Voldemort.”
I texted Molly to let her know we were there and the garage door opened. Molly hopped out of the garage and made her way over to us with her purse floating through the air behind her.
“Hey, guys,” she said, all smiles. “C’mon in.”
We followed her through a side door in the garage, stepping into a gray-toned kitchen with marble countertops and low-hanging lights. The door automatically shut behind us and the garage door also went down by itself, too, causing Rusty to jump. Technology or magic? The lines between the two were sometimes blurry.
The first thing on the agenda was planning out Operation Candy Corn. Molly said she had a dry erase board in her room, so we followed her there, marching up the steps like a parade of penguins behind their leader.
Her room was a match for her style and personality. Pictures of punk and metal bands populated the violet walls, and in the center of the plush carpeting was a puffy black canopy bed. She had a desk in the corner of the room, upon which was a polished, reflective crystal ball. Also taped to the walls were drawings of protection Sigils. I thought of the Grinner, but didn’t want to bring it up unless she did. Things had been quiet for her over the past week. While I didn’t exactly think the Grinner had forgotten about Molly’s devil’s bargain, I still didn’t want to tempt fate by bringing it up again.
“Your room is so cute,” Enisa exclaimed. “Perfect for a punk-goth princess like you.”
“Thanks,” Molly said. “That’s the effect I was going for.”
“Dude, you even like Pestilence,” said Frankie, pointing out a poster above her dresser. “They’re, like, my favorite band.”
“Mine, too,” I said. “We saw them in concert a few years ago.”
“Were they as amazing as I’ve always dreamed they’d be?” asked Molly.
“You bet,” said Frankie.
She opened up her closet door and dragged out a miniature whiteboard, setting it up in the corner. We gathered around and sat on the floor as she uncapped a black Expo marker and wrote OPERATION CANDY CORN at the top.
“Okay,” she said. “So, first things first. What’s the main goal of Operation Candy Corn?”
“To show the snobby-ass bullies of Dunwich High who’s really in charge,” Frankie said.
“To fight Islamophobia,” said Enisa.
“To stop Enisa’s parents from making her change schools,” I said.
Rusty barked.
Molly wrote all of our answers down below the word GOALS:
BULLIES
ISLAMOPHOBIA
SCHOOLS.
BARK.
“So the main idea is that we want to stop bullies from picking on Enisa and other people,” she said. “But how do we do that?”
“Magic,” I said. “And it’s got to be at the Halloween dance. Everyone goes, even the outcasts, so everyone will see it. We need to send them a clear message that the way they treat Enisa is unacceptable.”
“We spike the punch with a potion and turn them all into worms,” said Frankie.
“Uh, no,” said Enisa. “Then we’d get kids who aren’t the Fisher twins or the Girlicane. It has to involve just them and it has to teach them a lesson about empathy.”
“Boooooringgg,” said Frankie. “Why not just, I don’t know, cover their bodies in sticky fire ants and call it a night?”
“Frankie!”
“I’m not using my magic to hurt a human,” I said. “It’s Halloween. There’s got to be a way we can give them a scare without resorting to violence.”
“I have an idea. Purse, get me The Art of Illusion,” Molly said. The purse flew over to a small bookcase beside her bed and came back with a weighty blue book. “This is one of the textbooks I studied when I went to Miskatonik Academy. It’s about illusionary magic. The kind of magic that harms none, but confounds and tricks. For one of our tests, we had to fool the entire classroom into believing they were somewhere they weren’t, like on a roller coaster or in a haunted forest.”
“Go on,” I said.
“So, maybe we can take something from this and use it to fool them into thinking they’re somewhere or something they aren’t.”
“Ooh, yeah,” said Frankie. “Like at the dentist getting a root canal with no novocain or some shit.”
“No,” said Enisa. “It has to be deeper. We have to send them a message- specifically, Sophie Crane, since she’s usually the one trying to make me feel like dirt.”
“Sophie,” Molly said, writing the evil name on the board and underlining it. “Any ideas how we can do that?”
“I have one,” I said. “Every year at the Halloween dance, there’s a costume contest. The student body votes on the top four people who have the best costumes — two girls, two guys — and then, the winners are crowned Halloween King and Queen. Last year, Sophie Crane was the Halloween Queen. The year before that, Sophie’s older sister Bella won, and she also won the prior year as well. I have a sinking suspicion that this year will end up exactly the same. Unless-”
“We make Enisa the winner,” Molly finished.
“What?” Enisa almost screamed. “Me, Halloween Queen? No. No way. I-I couldn’t possibly — ”
“Yes, you could,” said Molly. “You’re the smartest, prettiest, strongest girl I know. I think people would be thrilled to see you take it all home.”
“Hell yeah,” Frankie exclaimed, pumping his fist. “Enisa, the Halloween Queen! Bow down!”
“I love it,” I said, grinning at the thought. “But we have to convince Enisa.”
“I just don’t know.” She frowned. “I… I really don’t think people will even believe anyone liked me enough to vote for me, aside from you guys.”
“You might be surprised, Enisa. Maybe they’re just waiting for you to step up and change things on your own.”
She sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it for all the outcasts of Dunwich High. But you know this means I’m going to have to come up with a killer costume.”
“We’re on it,” I said.
“And I know you said no violence, but… Can we at least make it so they think they lost and they’re also covered in fire ants?” asked Frankie.
“Forget about the stupid fire ants already,” Enisa said. “Your ideas are all sick and twisted.”
“And your ideas are all boring. Mine are fun. I win.”
“All righty, then,” said Molly, ignoring Frankie’s remarks. “Henry and I will handle Crafting the spell to rig the votes.”
“And if they get violent?” asked Enisa. “What then?”
“We run or fight back,” I said. “But I don’t think they will. They may be too afraid.”
We spent the next hour or so working out the kinks of the plan and hashing out all of the important details. Though Frankie’s suggestions were as outlandish and wild as could be expected, everyone else contributed to Operation Candy Corn in some meaningful way, shape, or form. We even came up with a group costume idea to seal the deal: YA tropes, based on the books Enisa and I loved reading. Molly ordered some pizza and we pigged out, laughing as we imagined how Halloween night was going to go.
We were having a blast until the stench of rot filled the room.
Molly froze m
id-bite and put her slice of pizza back down onto her plate.
She looked at me and I looked at her.
We both knew what was coming.
“Dude,” Frankie shouted. “The board. It’s moving.”
“What?” said Enisa. “What are you-”
We turned our heads to see that Frankie was right.
The black writing from the marker was bleeding together, coalescing.
Forming the shape of a twisted grin.
Molly shrieked and fell onto her bed as the grin lifted itself off the board. The rest of us rose to our feet as a black sphere materialized around the grin, accompanied by two glowing, cat-yellow eyes and a hooked nose.
The Grinner smiled wide as it faced Molly, its mouth so overstuffed with hundreds of teeth that they just barely fit. Maggots and worms crawled in and out of its sickening grin, some of them falling onto the carpet and squirming around.
“It’s time for you to uphold your end of the bargain, witch,” said the Grinner, black ooze dripping from the bottom of its smile. “Your soul is mine.”
“Like hell it is,” I said, stepping between them. Enisa and Frankie joined me, standing in front of her. “You’ll have to go through us first.”
“Ah,” said the Grinner. “Go through a Candle wizard? My pleasure.”
“I see you’ve heard of me. You’re about to find out why.” I grabbed Frankie and Enisa’s hands and clutched them hard. “Repulsive Grinner, mouth full of teeth. Return to the Nether Realm and suffer def — ”
A thick flurry of teeth left its mouth and flew at my face, forcing their way down my throat. The razor-sharp pain as they wound into my esophagus knocked me onto my knees, breaking my grip on my friends’ hands. I choked and clutched at my neck, unable to expel them no matter how much I coughed and gagged. Rusty rushed to my side, barking, frantic.
A Spellcrafter’s power was in their voice, and mine had just been stolen from me.
I heard a thud and a shattering noise as Enisa flung a lamp at the Darkon but failed to make any damage. More teeth — an entire army of them — left its mouth and filled the room like a swarm of buzzing locusts, attacking my friends like dive-bombing planes. Black spots danced around the edges of my vision as I gasped for oxygen. If I didn’t clear the intruders out of my throat, I was going to pass out.
Frankie charged toward the Darkon and shoved it backward, pushing it so that it fell against Molly’s dresser. He tore the Shades out of his pants and shoved the blade right into the Grinner’s eye, causing it to roar in pain.
“Stupid boy,” it snarled. “I’ll eat your soul like a three-course dinner!”
“Jokes on you,” Frankie said. “I don’t have a soul.”
The teeth focused their attention on him, assaulting him the way bees might fly at a bear attacking a hive. He grabbed The Art of Illusion and swung it at them, but their serrated edges sliced his flesh like daggers.
I looked up at Molly, who was clutching her purse on the bed and staring at the Grinner in wide-eyed fear. The Darkon focused all of its attention on her now that I was out of the way.
“Your beautiful soul will sparkle in my collection,” said the beast, opening its mouth wide until it was almost bigger than its own face. “I cannot wait to claim it for my own.”
The purse that used to be Saru rose from the bed, hovering between the Darkon and Molly. It floated there for a second and then dove straight into the beast’s open mouth.
“No!” Molly shrieked, but it was too late.
The Grinner’s mouth clamped shut. Its eyes went wide and it fell backward, knocking over a dresser. Then, its mouth flew open as a few of its frontmost teeth shattered, releasing a flurry of golden energy into the air as they disintegrated.
All around the room, teeth started to break.
POP!
POP!
POP!
They went, one after the other.
The atmosphere soon hung thick with the dusty energy of trapped souls being set free, each one weakening the Darkon just a little bit more. I let out a gasp of air as my throat cleared and I started to cough, relieved as my lungs drew air.
The Grinner wasn’t so lucky. It was shrinking like a popped balloon, deflating more with each tooth. Finally, it fell down flat on the ground. Down there, it was no longer threatening. In fact, it looked like nothing more than a flat piece of plastic.
“Kill the bastard,” Enisa said. “Do it.”
“No need to tell me twice,” I said. I stepped forward and raised my hands, ready to finish what I tried to do in the first place.
“Grinner, Grinner, chicken dinner,” I said. “Your teeth are gone and you’re no winner. I banish thee to the Nether Realm, where the flames may burn you hot as Hell!”
A black hole opened beneath the Grinner’s flattened body. It looked like it wanted to do something to us before it left; to curse us to certain doom, perhaps, or maybe to drag us right to the Nether Realm along with it.
“This I do prophecise, Candle wizard,” it gasped. “Thou shall not survive to see the new moon rise. By the end of tomorrow, you will meet your death.”
Its laughter echoed around the room as it vanished into the void.
Molly collapsed onto the ground, holding her head in her hands. I hurried to her and grabbed her as she cried, letting her tears fall into my shoulder, mourning the loss of her beloved Familiar.
“I’m so, so sorry, Molly,” I said. “There aren’t any words.”
“It’s like I lost her all over again,” Molly said. “Like she’s dying in my arms for the second time. Only now, I don’t have a body to bury.”
“You don’t need a body to bury a loved one,” said Enisa. “You just need your memories.”
“I’m not sure I even have those.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “Deep down inside. Saru will always be with you no matter what or where you go.”
Then, a black disturbance appeared in the air in front of us, churning and wheeling around in the atmosphere. It reminded me far too much of the void the Grinner had just sunk into for me to be comfortable with its presence, so I stood up and readied a spell in my head.
“What the — ” I began.
But then the void opened up and spit out a flash of purple, which flew out and slammed into Molly’s chest so hard it knocked her backward onto the ground. She shrieked not out of fear or anger, but happiness. Pressing itself against her chest with all the love it could muster was Saru, the purse, returned from the Nether Realm victorious.
“Saru!” Molly said. “It’s you. Oh, I thought you were gone for good, but you’re back, you’re back, and it’s really you...”
“A Familiar never abandons its master,” I said, smiling. “I think you two are going to make a great team.”
“Just like you and Rusty,” said Frankie.
Even as a purse, Saru’s love for Molly was visible. It reminded me of my own love for Rusty, who I picked up and held close as we watched the pair of reunited best friends celebrate.
But our work was just beginning. We had only one day to prepare for Operation Candy Corn, if we truly wanted it to be a success.
Just one day, and I’d discover what my father meant when he told me that it wasn’t over yet.
Was it ever?
Sixteen
This Rising Darkness
I awoke Halloween morning to a hooded figure standing over my bed and almost screamed.
“Holy shit,” I shouted, rousing Rusty from his sleep and sending him into a frenzy of barking. “Wh-what are you doing here? Why are you in my room?”
“Good morning, Henry Candle,” said the figure, face black beneath the folds of their hood. “I am a messenger from the Council of Magi. I come bearing an invitation.”
He held out a white envelope, which I accepted from him with bleary eyes. It wasn’t even eight in the morning yet — and on a Saturday! This should be illegal.
“Tell the Council of Magi to text the invite next time, like n
ormal people,” I said. “Or at least shoot me an email.”
“Your father told the Council he would ‘rip their fingers out of their sockets and sprinkle them onto his cereal’ if they ever texted him again,” replied the messenger. “So, they don’t do that anymore.”
“Yep, that sounds like him.”
“I look forward to seeing you later. Magic walk with you, Henry Candle, and a happy Samhain.”
The messenger vanished in a puff of white smoke, leaving me in my bedhead-having peace. I opened the seal on the envelope and pulled out a fancy white filigree invitation. Truly the Council spared no expense when it came to fancy parchment — or fancy handwriting:
DEAR MR. CANDLE,
You have been cordially summoned to testify as a witness to the crimes of Alexander Carter this morning, October 31st, at 10:00 A.M. The Council of Magi will be officiating and your attendance is expected. Please slide this invitation beneath a closet door in order to form a portal that will bring you to the Palace of Mana.
Magic Walk With You,
Lord Zephriam XII
Master Mage
I buried my head in my pillow and groaned. Today was going to be busy enough for me already. I had to make my Big Decision, get my costume ready for the Halloween dance, and Operation Candy Corn. I didn’t need to worry about testifying in front of the most powerful (and haughty) gaggle of Spellcrafters in the known Cosmos on top of all that.
I showered, changed, and found myself standing at my closet door in a black sweater-hoodie and gray jeans, wondering what the hell I was doing.
The Council of Magi had no power over me. I mean, they technically did — they were, after all, in charge of every Spellcrafter on Earth- but they couldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Dad had proven that time and again.
But maybe I didn’t want to be my dad. I wanted to be my own person, with my own identity and my own plans for how a paranormal investigation agency should be run. Maybe that’s why I should’ve gone: I needed to make it clear that they couldn’t control me any more than they could my father.
