The Witch's Spark

by Melania Tolan

  The night carried on like this until I finally rolled over and turned on the lamp next to my bed. I pulled out the pad I’d used to take notes in class and flipped to the last marked page, the one I had filled with the same damn symbol instead of the notes on the actual assignment.

  Crap.

  I couldn’t afford to fail microbiology. My college funding through Grandma’s estate depended on my grades. But what was up with this symbol? Why couldn’t I get it out of my head? I looked at the replica I had drawn at the page's center and traced the lines and curves with my finger. The same tingling sensation I’d felt at the grave zinged through my fingertips, but less strongly.

  Where have I seen this before?

  It felt so familiar, yet so foreign. I needed to go back and look at that grave again, but in broad daylight. Something about the semi-darkness and seeing the ominous-looking man made me want to never step outside after sundown again—a strange feeling, since I enjoyed visiting the graveyard at night. That was the best time to go to avoid other people.

  “You’re crazy.” I snorted. Last night, I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and now I itched to get back.

  A glance at the bedside clock let me know it was only 3:30 in the morning. I picked up my cell phone and turned it on—I’d totally forgotten to do that when I got out of class the night before.

  Five voicemails beeped on my screen. The first two were from my mom.

  Shit. I hadn’t texted her after class.

  The third was Stella, my sister, bitching me out for making Mom worry. The last one was from Mindy.

  “You never miss taco night. Call me when you get home.”

  Then my phone notified me I had another voicemail from Mindy. I hit the play button.

  “Hey, I’m worried about you. I got this strange feeling tonight when you didn’t show up. Something happened. I can feel it. Sorry if I’m weirding you out. Please call me when you get home. Love you.”

  I put my phone down and rolled onto my back, staring at the steel beams and skylight between them.

  I love Mindy.

  I closed my eyes and recalled one of the best days of my life.

  I had met her the first day of my freshman year. I’d walked into Tukwila High School with Stella, who was a junior, holding my breath as my sister left me in the registrar’s office. I picked up my schedule, and the secretary escorted me to my assigned homeroom.

  The nice thing about freshman year was everyone was new. We were all in this new high school thing together. But I knew that would only last so long—Mom had scheduled my next heart surgery for the following month.

  A gorgeous girl with eyes that gleamed like emeralds and black, curly hair held back by a colorful bandana sat in the desk next to me. She wore a ruffled, flowing, red skirt, a white t-shirt, and a denim vest. Roman sandals, silver hoop earrings, a charmed necklace, and an assortment of silver bangles completed the cool look. She looked like she’d just stepped off the set of Pirates of the Caribbean.

  “Hi, I’m Mindy.” She held her hand out.

  “Everly.” I gave her hand a weak shake.

  I held no hope that anything would come of this interaction, but she sat with me during lunch, and we had all the same classes that year. She also lived two doors down. I’d met none of the neighbors because my mother led a private life—almost as if she was ashamed of having a sickly child. But now I had a friend, and we became practically inseparable.

  She visited me every day when I was in the hospital and even brought soup to my family during my long hospitalizations. I always felt stronger being around her. She believed in my independence and helped me get the job at the flower shop.

  Mindy also had this weird sixth sense about stuff. She always knew when I’d had a medical episode and would show up at the ER just as the ambulance arrived with me. She belonged there, though. Her knowledge of medicine and medicinal plants blew me away. I’ve told her many times she should become a doctor, but Mindy hated the classroom. She took online classes for herbology, but that’s it.

  I sighed and opened my eyes. I sent a quick text to my mom and sister letting them know I was okay. Then, since I couldn’t sleep, I went downstairs to the kitchen table to review my notes from earlier classes to prep for midterms next week.

  I didn’t remember closing my eyes or laying my head on the open text in front of me, but a distant, annoying buzzing eventually woke me. I recognized that sound all too well.

  Seven a.m.

  I stumbled up the stairs and hit the snooze button on my alarm clock before collapsing on the bed. Today would be a long day.

  After a ten-minute hot shower, I stared back at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Wet, red hair lay flat against my head like plastic wrap. No amount of hair product would give it any volume, so I pulled it back into a tight bun at the base of my skull. Why couldn’t I have been blessed with a flaming mane of curls like the gal from Brave?

  The permanent circles around my eyes seemed a little darker this morning… probably from the lack of sleep. My arms felt heavy and my knees weak. I sat down on the bathroom rug before I saw black dots.

  “What day is it?” I mumbled to myself as I leaned against the wall. Monday? No, it’s Wednesday.

  Which meant my next platelet infusion was tomorrow… if I could make it until then.

  I hated being weak and fragile. There were so many things I wanted to do but couldn’t. A minor injury could send me into the intensive care unit, thanks to a severe case of thrombocytopenia. I’d been diagnosed with the blood disorder a few months after my eighteenth birthday, but I’d spent most of my life in and out of the hospital for heart issues. A dozen surgeries later, most of those problems had been resolved, only for us to discover I had a shiny new one.

  Regardless of how I felt this morning, I still needed to get up and get to my appointment, then to work and school.

  Leaning heavily on the wall, I rose slowly to my feet. Once I felt strong enough, I shuffled out of the bathroom, peeking out through the devil’s ivy cascading down from the hanging basket above my head to look out the window.

  Mom’s maroon Ford Taurus sat parked outside my apartment building.

  What is she doing here so early?

  That’s when I smelled the egg and bacon breakfast sandwich that my mom had placed on the kitchen counter. I heard rustling from my loft bedroom and tiptoed over to the stairs. Mom’s head popped up over the railing.

  “Hi.” She beamed down at me.

  “What are you doing here?” I tried not to sound too annoyed but failed.

  “You need to text me more often, so I don’t worry about you. Come.” She waved. “I’ll help you get dressed.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, Mom.” I gripped the towel around my body with both hands.

  The clock on the microwave said seven-twenty-five. We had time. The appointment was up the road at Seattle Community Hospital, a ten-minute bus ride. My mother had just driven through probably an hour of traffic so she could take me five minutes up the road. I stomped up the metal stairs to make a point, but not too hard. Didn’t need to bruise the bottoms of my feet… That would only create more doctor’s appointments.

  She means well, I repeated to myself.

  Mom had made my bed while I was in the shower and laid out a clean pair of black pants and a white button-up shirt. On the floor at her feet lay my dirty laundry bag.

  “Mom, I can do my own laundry.”

  “No, I insist. I don’t want you going into that dirty basement and sticking your clothes in a washer where other people’s underwear have been.” She wrapped her hand around the top of the bag. “Now get dressed. We don’t want to be late. Can I help you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  I gritted my teeth and waited until Mom was at the bottom of the stairs before I let the towel wrapped around me drop to the floor. Not that I was ashamed of my body or had modesty issues. Mom had seen it all. She knew every surgery scar that decora
ted my body, as she was the one who’d nursed me back to health after every operation. I just wanted my privacy. It was the reason I’d moved into this place—Grandma’s old apartment.

  I quickly dressed and headed downstairs, then packed my notebook and chemistry text into my backpack and unplugged my cell phone from the charger. Mom handed me a brown paper bag.

  “What’s this?” I reluctantly took it from her.

  “Your lunch.” She walked into my kitchen and opened the fridge. “You haven’t even touched the soup I brought you.”

  I resisted the urge to throw the bagged lunch at her. “I will change the locks on my door.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Mom whirled to face me. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on you.” She wrapped a paper towel around the breakfast sandwich. “You better eat this on the way there.”

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  I hated arguing with her, it went nowhere. I stuffed the lunch bag into my backpack and took the wrapped sandwich from my mother as she ushered me out to her car.

  At the hematologist’s office, Dr. Hansen informed us that my blood cell counts had dropped too quickly between transfusions, and that I should go in biweekly to get my platelets restocked. This wasn’t the best news, but I could handle it. Seattle Community wasn’t too far from work, so I could make the appointments around my schedule. Mom booked the next appointment. I added it to the calendar on my phone.

  “Why do you have to work?” Mom asked later as we pulled up to the flower shop. “Didn’t my mom leave you enough money?”

  My jaw tightened. She’d come into my apartment while I was showering, gone through my closet, made my bed, packed me a lunch, and managed all my medical appointments, so why not throw finances in there too? If she brought up my love life next, I just might send my fist through the windshield of her car.

  I took a deep breath and turned to my mother. “Just because Grandma left me some money doesn’t mean I can sit on my ass, twiddling my thumbs. I need work experience if I’m going to get a job after college.”

  Mom’s eyes got teary. “Honey, don’t use that kind of language.” She shook her head. “You could come home. I would take care of you.”

  “Mom, I’m not a child anymore.”

  She reached out and touched my cheek. “I know, baby. Make sure you wear your gloves.”

  I pulled away. “I gotta go.”

  “I love you,” she called after me as I exited the car.

  “Love you too.” I shut the door a little too hard and walked into the flower shop.

  Mindy had already done all the opening tasks. The display racks were full of black buckets with single stem roses and other flowers for custom arrangements. The cooler had several floral pieces ready to go. Carol was in her office, and Mindy worked on an order at her bench.

  “Hi,” I said as I walked to the back where I hung my purse, coat, and backpack.

  “Hi, Everly,” Carol called out from her open office. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Okay?” I put on the green apron.

  “Can you put these houseplants that just came in on the empty shelves at the front window?” A hand stuck out of the open door pointing to the flat of potted plants on the industrial shelf. “Also, can you add ribbons to each one?”

  “I can.” At least my boss thinks I am a capable person.

  I walked to my bench to get my gloves—to protect my hands from cuts—and grabbed ribbon and wire.

  “Hi,” I said to Mindy again as I walked by her workstation.

  “Hi there, flaky one.” Mindy made a sour face.

  “I’m sorry about that. Something came up.” I groaned, the face of the man in black flashing before me.

  “Figured. How was the appointment?”

  “Meh.”

  She followed me to my workstation. “That bad?”

  “I have to receive platelets twice a month for the next three months to see if my blood cell count gets better. They’re switching my medication too.” I rolled my eyes. “It just never ends, does it?”

  Mindy’s face softened, and she wrapped her arms around me. “I’m sorry. I have some chocolate in my purse if you need some.”

  I rested my head on her shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

  “I know you will. You are the strongest person I know.”

  I snorted and pulled away. “You must not know many people.”

  “I know enough.” Mindy gave me a quick smooch on the cheek and went back to her bench.

  I made pink, blue, yellow, and red ribbon bows to put in each of the potted plants, then took two pots at a time to the front and arranged them on the shelves. My third trip up, I felt that prickly feeling on the back of my neck like someone was watching me. I glanced through the front window.

  Usual foot traffic passed down Fifteenth Avenue. Cars drove by in each direction at regular intervals. I noticed nothing unusual, until a delivery truck went by. Across the street where nobody had been a moment ago, now stood the man in the black trench coat, boots, and silver glasses. His dark hair pulled back in a the same ponytail.

  I froze, gripping the shelf with both hands. He was gone when a bus passed three seconds later. Had I really seen him, or just imagined he was there?

  Chapter 3

  I spent the rest of the day working and glancing out the window every other minute. Every time the front door beeped for a customer walking in, I jumped. Mindy asked me twice what was wrong.

  “Just lack of sleep and too much caffeine.” I gave her a forced smile.

  “You don’t drink caffeine.” Mindy eyed me suspiciously.

  I left at four that afternoon with every intention of going to school. I needed to spend time in the microbiology lab to review the slides we’d gone over last week. But instead of crossing the street to catch the bus to the Capitol Hill station, I hopped on the bus headed to Lake View Cemetery.

  I checked the street and the other passengers on the bus for any signs of the guy in the black trench coat, but he was nowhere to be seen. Three stops later, I got off the bus and walked across the road and through the gate.

  Coming back here probably wasn’t the best idea, but I had to see that tombstone again to make sure it wasn’t my imagination. Daylight usually helped clarify any uncertainties. I found the marker without difficulty. The flowers were still there and the symbol right above Eva’s name and date of death. But where was her date of birth?

  Very odd.

  I inched closer and pulled out my phone. The screen wouldn’t come on. I hit the power button, but my phone was good as dead. Dammit. I thought I’d charged it overnight. I always plugged in my phone when I got home.

  My mind bounced around, searching for an idea of how to document this symbol. Sketching it was my first thought, but art had never been my forte. I could trace, though. Bingo. I pulled out my notebook and found a clean piece of paper.

  Then I hesitated.

  Tracing would require touching the gravestone.

  Would it electrocute me again like it had the first time? I reached out slowly, bracing myself for the shock.

  My fingertip brushed the smooth surface, but nothing happened. I placed my entire hand on the stone. Still nothing. Phew.

  I tore out a sheet of paper and held it over the symbol. With a dull pencil from the bottom of my bag, I created a rubbing of the design. I held it up to the light of the sky when I finished. Satisfied with the results, I tucked everything back into my backpack and headed to the bus stop.

  Finally, on the train to school, I finished the peanut butter and jam sandwich my mom had packed me and tried not to feel like an eleven-year-old again. Though annoyed by her gesture, I felt equally grateful for the food because I didn’t have time to pick up anything else. The taste of salty peanuts and sweet strawberries swirled around in my mouth in the timeless marriage of flavors—so simple, yet so delicious and fulfilling. Mom had packed a grape juice pouch too, but I didn’t mind at the moment that I looked like a kid. I nibbled on the a
pple she’d thrown in the bag while I walked to the lab building.

  With a full belly, I knew I could handle anything.

  Jen had already claimed a bench with a microscope for us. I dropped my backpack on the floor next to hers and grabbed a box of slides to review. Just as I sat down, my phone rang inside my coat pocket, causing me to jump and nearly knock the tray of slides off the table. The handful of students in the lab gave me dirty looks.

  “Girl,” Jen hissed.

  “Sorry,” I said, as I dug inside my pocket trying to find the phone.

  “Ms. Greene, this is the second time this week I’ve asked you to put your phone away during class.” Mr. Perry walked into the lab just as I hit the ignore button on my sister’s call.

  “I thought my—”

  “No excuses.” Mr. Perry held his hand up. “If I have to ask you again, I will write you up.”

  I nodded and powered off my phone.

  Wait, a second. My phone was dead a half hour ago when I tried to use it in the cemetery. Why is it working now? I shook off the uneasy feeling creeping up again. It’s just stupid technology, I told myself. Probably need to upgrade soon… That phone is over two years old.

  I kept my head down so as not to meet anyone’s gaze and silently cursed my jackass professor.

  Why does he hate me so much?

  I opened my notebook and a box of color pencils and found a clean page before turning on the microscope. On each line, I wrote the names of the bacteria we would be tested on. Coccus, Bacillus, Vibrio, Coccobacillus, Spirillum, and Spirochete. I left enough space between each for a rough sketch of what I saw on the slide. My artistic skills fell short compared to people like Mindy, but I had to draw each organism if I wanted to remember the images for the exam. Thus far, I’d squeaked by with a C-plus in the class, but I needed to keep it up. I couldn’t afford to fail.

  With great care, I pulled out one slide out and slipped it under the objective lens. The first was the rod-shaped bacillus. I counted twenty in the sample. Jen and I took turns silently looking through the microscope. Back and forth I went between the eyepiece and my notebook where I illustrated the bacterium the best I could. Three pages later, I’d covered all the bacteria and stains in the tray. Jen wanted to review more, but I was done. My body felt like it would collapse at any moment.