True Witch

“I’d rather not think about it.”

  I’d met Evan’s parents before, but only in passing. The three of us were sitting on one of the fountains down Houston Boulevard one sunny afternoon when his parents walked by. They would have blanked us if Evan hadn’t gotten up to meet them. They were nice, but I’ve never been around people who enjoyed talking as much as they did.

  Or try to turn me into a Christian as much as they did.

  I swear, they tried to ‘save’ me twice during that single conversation. The Gods only know how they treat Evan in the privacy of their own company, but he’s never complained of any overly abusive behavior. He lets it roll off his back, much in the same way that I let Aaron’s insults roll off mine. We click like that.

  When we finished our tour of the living room I led Damien up the creaky stairs to the first floor. The once clear, circular window on the landing had been almost completely claimed by moss and a dark, damp circle was radiating out of it. When the hell were Evan’s parents here last? I wondered. The overgrowth wasn’t so bad the last time we were up here.

  We continued up the stairs which led to a long corridor flanked by closed doors.

  “This is my room,” I said as we walked along the first one, “And this will be your room… across from mine.”

  What are you doing, Amber? I thought. But I shook the thought away and pushed open the door. The door creaked open and revealed a small, relatively plain looking room. White walls, a dresser, and a single bed supported by black iron bars made up the entirety of the bedroom’s furnishings. A crucifix loomed over the bed’s headboard as a stark reminder of the family’s religious inclinations.

  “It’s cozy,” Damien said. He dropped his backpack on the bed and moved toward the window. I followed. From our vantage we had a clear view of the orchard at the back of the house. I couldn’t make out any apples, oranges, or tomatoes in the field; in fact, the orchard looked old and withered, choked by the faint evening mist starting to crawl along the dirt.

  “Is it always this glum out there?” Damien asked.

  “Not always,” I said, “I’m pretty surprised, actually. We’re usually blessed with bright greens, even at this time of year. Maybe Mabon won’t be as vibrant this time.”

  “Maybe,” Damien said. He moved away from the window and bobbed his head as he scanned the room. “This is great, though. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “It’s no problem. I wanted you to come,” I said. “I was kinda worried you’d have plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “Yeah, with your girlfriend or whatever?”

  Damien smiled. “She’s visiting family in Portland this weekend so I wouldn’t have been able to see her anyway. And she’s usually too busy to call while she’s there, so…”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief and headed for the door, not wanting to give away anything… not that there was anything to give away. Was there?

  “Alright, well, I’m going to get settled,” I said as I stood by the door, “Do you need anything?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Cool. Bathroom’s down the hall.”

  I closed the door as I left and damn near rushed into the safety of my room, breaking past the door just as my cheeks started to flush bright red and hot. Damien was mine this weekend. I’d have to be on my best behavior to not risk scaring him away, but I was probably going to do that anyway—weirdo that I was.

  I just had to hope that, deep down inside, he was as weird as I was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I spent a while decorating my room, as was my custom every time we came up to the house. The room was bare, so I tended to bring my own little trinkets and gewgaws to make the room feel a little more me. So as my smart phone played my favorite “Cardigans” song, Erase and Rewind, I went about the business of ensuring the room became well-adjusted to my presence.

  Candles, naturally, I positioned on every possible counter to provide the dim lighting I enjoyed at night. I covered the dresser in a silken, purple fabric with silver embossed pentacles on either end of it. In the center of the altar I placed my own leather-bound book of Shadows and carefully arranged a number of semi-precious stones around it.

  Each stone had a special property and use.

  The deep black Hematite stone would ground the room and clarify my thoughts, where Quartz Crystals—one at each of the four corners of the room—would attract, amplify, and send energy into the room. I added Amber, to bridge my conscious self to the divine, and finished the dresser-altar with a Moonstone, which was said to balance the yin and yang and enhance one’s inner femininity.

  I was meticulous with my choice of crystals, just like whoever owned the bracelet I wore around my wrist.

  By the time I’d finished with the stones I’d lost myself in the music, swaying my hips and lip-syncing the words like a true professional. I caught myself in a mirror and seductively wrapped my hands around my waist to the rhythm of the music, messing up my hair and reveling at the sight of myself.

  Not that I was vain or anything.

  It was the stones; honest!

  But as luck would have it the bedroom door swung open and my heart jumped into my throat. Eliza stood there, grinning wickedly as I spun around and gaped. “Imagine if I’d been someone else,” she said.

  “Someone else would’ve probably knocked,” I said, brushing my hair back into place with my fingertips. “What is it?”

  “Aren’t you gonna help me with dinner? Or should I let your fans enjoy an encore?”

  “Yeah, alright. I’ll be down in a sec.”

  “So there is gonna be an encore? Can I watch?”

  “No!”

  “But you’re so sexy!”

  “Just go downstairs, will you?”

  Eliza left the room and I took a moment to change into something clean; a long, black, sleeveless dress to show off my arms, a black lacy choker, and my signature Doctor Martens would do. I then hooked my hair up into a loose tail, blinked into the mirror a few times to make sure there wasn’t any gunk on my eyes, and made my way downstairs.

  Evan arrived later in the evening to sizzling frying pans and two giggling women. He gave Eliza a kiss on the forehead, dropped off the last of the supplies we needed—the soda, which we women weren’t crazy about carrying—and headed into the dining room. From the kitchen I spied Evan and Damien in conversation sharing a beer; their first real chat. We thought it best to leave them to it and make them clean up later.

  Suckers!

  “He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?” Eliza asked.

  “I guess,” I said, mashing the avocados into a creamy mush.

  “You guess? Are you feeling alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  My cheeks went red, and without my copper hair to protect them Eliza saw. “Maybe.”

  “I knew it! I totally knew it. I rock at this.”

  “Oh hush, you don’t know anything.”

  “He’s definitely cute, though. And I can tell he’s the kind of guy who isn’t too rough around the edges but just rugged enough for that element of thrill to be ever present.”

  “You get that from just looking at him?”

  “I have a knack for these things.”

  I glanced at Damien again and caught myself smiling. I erased the smile on my face before Eliza could zero in on it.

  “Have you talked to him yet?” she asked.

  “About?” I said.

  “You know, expressed interest in something more than just a platonic relationship?”

  “He has a girlfriend. I told you this, didn’t I?”

  “You did, but that doesn’t matter. You really like him, and I haven’t seen you this interested in a guy since you broke up with Kyle. This is big news for me, like the royal wedding or the Superbowl.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Just ignore the fact that he’s in a relationship and attack him with everything I’ve got? I actu
ally like talking to him, Eliza. I don’t want to scare him away.”

  “Listen to me—hey, stop looking at him and look at me.”

  I peeled my wandering eyes from Damien and focused them on Eliza. “Yes?” I asked.

  “Just go and flirt with him,” she said, “Enjoy yourself. It’s just us out here. On Monday it’ll be back to regular life. School. The bookstore. Girlfriends. If ever you have a chance to win him over to team Amber now’s your shot.”

  I nodded, although I wasn’t entirely sure about her plan. He had a girlfriend, so where was this headed? And I wasn’t the kind of person to randomly flirt with someone, introvert that I was. Ironic, huh? Considering my situation with Aaron? Casual sex wasn’t the same as casual flirting in my books. Besides, I was using Aaron, and I didn’t want to use Damien.

  Still, I couldn’t deny the butterflies I got from this walking mystery of a man. Exploring those feelings for a couple of days couldn’t hurt anyone could it?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Eliza and I set down plates around Damien and Evan. First we brought out some salsa, grated cheese, the soda, cups and cutlery. Then came the tortilla wraps, chips, sweetcorn, coleslaw and the home made guacamole. We finished the set up with a steaming hot plate brimming with lean chicken fillets smothered in a spicy fajita mix.

  “Damn,” Evan said, “That’s a lot of food.”

  “There are four of us this time,” Eliza said, taking her seat.

  The girls sat on one side of the table and the boys on the other, with Damien directly across from me. I went for a tortilla wrap and so did Damien. He smiled and let me go first. My cheeks started to burn. I was beginning to notice that this cheek warming thing was happening an awful lot and I wasn’t used to it. It had to stop.

  “Looks delicious,” Damien said.

  “I made the guacamole myself,” I said, proudly stuffing a tortilla wrap with a healthy serving of chicken, sweetcorn, cheese, and a spread of guacamole. The wrap was warm and so big it nearly broke apart in my hands, but the mixture of flavor exploded into my mouth eliciting a delighted groan. I wasn’t shy about eating or eating healthy servings for that matter. But then I noticed the color change in Damien’s face and remembered I had just involuntarily groaned with delight.

  Was that a good color change or a bad one?

  I didn’t have time to think about it. My phone lit up in full view of the rest of the table. The display read Aaron, but I was lucky it didn’t also vibrate, even though anyone could’ve seen the name if their eyes went to it even for a split second. I put the wrap on the plate and grabbed my phone, discreetly pressing the red button to hang up. Not now, oh Gods, not now. My heart was stammering and a trickle of salsa was crawling down my chin unattended.

  “Everything okay?” Eliza asked.

  Shit. She saw! “Yeah, fine,” I said. “How’s the wrap?”

  Eliza narrowed her eyes and dabbed my chin with a napkin. “Pretty good. Maybe a little too good.”

  Damien and Evan chuckled and I could have died, but I didn’t. I persevered, smiled, and chuckled with them. “Sorry,” I said, “This girl’s cooking is just too good. How are you liking yours, Damien?”

  Damien replied, but a text message came through my phone as I held it my hand and swallowed my attention. “Are you home tonight?” it read, and it was from Aaron. What to do? What to do? Do I reply? Do I ignore it? Aaron wasn’t the kind to easily get worked up, certainly not at the prospect of my not replying to one of his texts, but my own anxiety screamed for me to reply, to explain, to say something; anything.

  I put the phone on the table, face down. My mind was made.

  “Okay, so you don’t actually own the bookshop?” Damien said, starting a conversation out of the blue—or maybe he was continuing a conversation he had started while I wasn’t listening.

  “No… no,” I said, struggling to recover. “The owner—James—is a rare book collector. He comes in a few times a year. Keeps in touch with us via phone and emails mostly.”

  “That’s a lot of trust. Why isn’t he around?”

  “He spends most of his time hopping around Europe from place to place, looking for old tomes and stuff. He’s like a modern day Indiana Jones. I heard he’s been to old ruins and caves in Cairo and Istanbul.”

  “Last I heard he’s in Finland,” Eliza put in, “A package came for us today with a letter from him, actually.”

  “Package? What package?”

  “You’ve seen it.”

  “You mean that book you had in your hands was from James? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I was going to do it here, of course. But after dinner. We don’t want to get sauce on it.”

  I tilted my phone slightly to check out the screen. Another message from Aaron had come through, but I couldn’t make out what it said. From the corner of my eye I spied Damien… searching. I gave him a smile and a nod, deciding finally to ignore my phone and ground myself in the moment. Aaron be damned; for all the good it did me.

  It wasn’t long before the four of us were stuffed and all that remained from our meal were a few bowls of half eaten coleslaw and salsa. The guacamole proved to be a big hit, thanks to yours truly, but we had forgotten to buy a dessert so apologies were given. No one much minded, though. Phew.

  So while Damien and Evan went to clear up and Eliza disappeared to her bedroom to retrieve the package James sent to us—an hour after Aaron’s initial message—I finally picked up my phone:

  Aaron:

  -“Where are you?”

  -“I’m having the worst day.”

  -“C’mon, don’t do this to me tonight. I need to see you.”

  -“Alright, if you won’t give me your attention I’m sure I’ll find some other girl who will.”

  I wanted to throw my phone against the wall. What a fucking asshole! This was exactly the kind of thing Kyle used to pull when we were going out. The guilt trips he’d put me through whenever I chose to stay home instead of going drinking with his friends were brutal. He’d never let me live it down. And now I was getting the same thing from Aaron?

  He was going to get it if I ever saw him again.

  I drew in slow, steady breaths and shut off my phone for good. A bead of sweat travelled down my forehead. I caught it with a napkin and exhaled. When Eliza returned even she noticed the rising warmth in the room.

  “Spicy food really turns up the heat doesn’t it?” she asked, sitting down with the same book I’d seen her carrying at the bookshop. “Here,” she said, “James FedEx’ed it all the way from Finland.”

  I took the book in delicate hands so as not to scuff the cover any further and brushed a little dust off the jacket. No markings on the front or on the spine, though plenty of wear and tear. On the first page someone had written “A Book of Shadows” in neat, black calligraphy, likely out of a feather quill or at least a fountain pen. Now where had I seen something like that before?

  I glanced across the room into the kitchen, where Damien was.

  “Whose is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Eliza said, “Neither does James. But he knows we’re Wiccans and we’d have more use for it than he does. He said he bought it, but I don’t believe that.”

  Damien came into the dining room. “Could I see it?” he asked.

  I handed him the book and he flipped through it, landing on some pages but not others, reading some text, and moving on. Back and forth he went like some kind of speed-reader or someone who wasn’t truly very interested in reading the actual contents of the book and only wanted to act the part.

  Every Wiccan Witch owned a Book of Shadows. The idea was that the books would get passed down through generations to other Witches in the bloodline so familial traditions could continue even as time went on. So this book didn’t outright seem special to me in any way, but if James had sent it all the way from Finland directly to us, it had to be for a reason.

  Damien passed the book back to Eliza, who settled the har
dcover on a surface well away from our probably still dirty table.

  “It looks authentic,” Damien said to Eliza, “Have you read any of it?”

  “I skimmed a few of the pages. Some of it didn’t make sense,” she said.

  “Maybe we should all have a look at it together?” I said. Eliza poked my thigh with two fingers under the table, “Or I could give Damien a tour of the grounds?” I continued, taking her hint.

  “A tour?” Damien asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, the grounds are spooky at night but the river’s beautiful. It isn’t far from here either.”

  Damien nodded and butterflies fluttered around in my stomach, each struggling to climb higher than the last. Screw Aaron. If he was going to put the guilt trip on me then I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted up at this cabin, starting with a romantic stroll through a dark, misty forest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Damien and I took a stroll, hands in pockets, around the house until the stubby pines turned into real trees. The air had this natural freshness to it out here and the forest was dark and alive with sound, but the thin mist had called its friends and together they were all snaking through bushes toward a goal only it understood.

  “Beautiful out here, isn’t it?” I asked. We were crunching on leaves and twigs as we went.

  “It sure is something,” Damien said, “San Francisco was too big. Golden Gate Park was the closest natural place I could go to from my house, otherwise it was a drive and a commitment.”

  “You must miss it though, right?” I asked.

  “I do sometimes, but not much.”

  “What about your family? Are they in San Francisco?”

  Damien shook his head. “My folks live in Astoria.”

  “Astoria?”

  “Oregon.”

  “Oh.” The conversation seemed a little one sided. Damien’s distracted eyes betrayed his cool demeanor. I got the impression that, now that we were alone, he had something he wanted to say. So I prodded.

  “Is something up, Damien?” I asked.