A year ago last May, Darren had had a near miss while driving in Salt Lake City. It had been raining lightly, but steadily, that day. He’d been traveling too fast along Seventh East, and while approaching a traffic light, the car in front of him stopped; the light was red. Darren hit his brakes hard, hoping to skid to a stop right behind the car. However, the slick surface, combined with the velocity at which he’d been traveling, caused him to hydroplane. His speed increased. He was in the far left lane, and oncoming traffic to his left meant he couldn’t switch lanes in that direction. To his right, a car was pacing him at the same speed. His mind, making all the computations faster than light told him it would be better to bash into the car at his right than to run head-on at sixty miles-an-hour into the car stopped in front of him. Letting off the brake and pulling hard on the wheel, he swerved into the right lane at the exact time the car he expected to crash into moved to the lane to its right. They moved together like they were connected by an invisible cable in a single orchestrated movement.
Darren had slowed down, but not enough to stop. Miraculously, the light turned green as he sailed through it at thirty-five miles an hour. He never found out if the man on his right had simply changed lanes at that precise moment because he’d wanted to, or because he’d seen Darren’s situation and realized Darren needed the room. All assumptions aside, his heart had raced like a small animal in flight for its life, and adrenaline had pumped through his system so heavily, his hands shook. He’d had to pull over and calm down before he could continue.
Now, driving to Andrea’s, the same sensation flooded through Darren. His hands shook, and he couldn’t breathe regularly. He was tired of seeing things that couldn’t happen. His grandfather and Samantha had turned his ordinary life upside down.
And why had the voice called Samantha, Sahwin? What was with the other name? And that whole demon scene, that had been the scariest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. The tingling down his back had never stopped as he’d watched events unfold on the other side of the window. It had been like having Benjamin Franklin’s key attached directly to his spine during a thunderstorm; especially when the old lady had finished her potion and lit that stone on fire—or whatever it was she had done that made that 3D movie appear above the kitchen island.
But the demon, oh…It wasn’t just the impossibility of what he’d seen; it was the sheer malevolence of that horrible being. That thing, that whole experience, was evil. The warlock that called forth the demon was sinister and exuded some sort of frightening evil as well. The disgusting, misshapen demon presence was so wholly wrong and malignant. If fear gave birth to death, that demon would have been the result.
Part of him wondered if Samantha and the old lady were evil just for watching the unnatural scene. He was certain he had been tainted from witnessing it through the window. Even now a cold icy ball writhed in his stomach, launching liquid nitrogen up into his chest, causing him to shake with what he was beginning to believe might be shock. There would be no escaping nightmares; that face would run through his mind again and again followed by fear right on its heels.
At some point, he’d arrived at Andrea’s house and parked, but he hadn’t realized he should get out of his car. He remained behind the wheel, replaying the unbelievable scene. He’d been telling himself for the last several days that what he’d been seeing around Samantha couldn’t be true—they weren’t rational events; they were not ordinary things that happened in real life. He wanted to continue thinking this way, refusing to admit any of this was real. But, that was no longer possible. He’d tried waking up, but he couldn’t because he was already awake. He’d crossed some line now, and there was no going back. This was reality, and he had to deal with it.
It was clear to him how a person’s brain rejected the unbelievable for something silly or ridiculous or even horrific, believing they experienced a stroke or something equally horrible simply because the realities of life were things that could be dealt with by experience or tradition or common sense, but the unbelievable left you powerless, vulnerable, and really scared.
Tap, tap, tap.
Darren jumped and glanced out the passenger-side window where Andrea was rapping a knuckle against the glass. He smiled weakly, though it must have been hard to see in the dark car. He opened the door and climbed out.
“You’ve been out here for a while. Are you okay?” Andrea said from across the top of the Dodge.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind.” What was he going to tell Andrea? Part of him wanted to open up and spill the whole thing from beginning to end. Then there was the part that told him she’d think he’d lost his mind and would never believe it. And there was a third, rather persuasive part of his mind, warning him that if he told Andrea everything, he would be putting her in danger, very real danger. Now that demons had entered the picture, it was a whole new ballgame, where the balls were flaming and the refs wore dark cloaks and carried sickles.
“The state game must have you freaked out, you poor thing.” Andrea crossed to his side of the car and slipped her arms around his neck. Soon they were kissing.
Just the act of giving in to this simple pleasure, enjoying her lips, the smell of her hair, and the feel of her body was a tonic of sorts. While they kissed, he was able to let go of everything. No thoughts about witches or demons; no thoughts whatsoever beyond the immediate moment and the sensations that accompanied it.
“Better?” she asked gently.
“Yeah,” he replied breathily, “a lot better.”
“Good!” She jumped away from him and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go inside. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”
She took him through the front door and into her kitchen. Her parents weren’t home. They never were; apparently, they traveled quite a bit. But there in the kitchen, lying across the table, were the life-sized cardboard cutouts of him and the other basketball players stacked on top of each other.
Andrea took one of the life-sized cutouts off the top of the pile and laid it aside. The one underneath was him. She stood it up on the floor, pulling out the cardboard support flap in the back. It was an image of him looking off in one direction while firing a perfect pass to another player.
“That’s pretty good!” he said, surprised he could switch gears to something like this so readily. “How did you do it?”
“After we got permission from Julander,” she started.
“Julander gave you permission?”
“Yeah, go figure. Anyway, we were able to get the negatives from the yearbook department. We sent them to a printing company in Brigham City where they make these kinds of things for different companies and their promotional departments. The real trick was getting it done so quickly. Now, all we have to do is come up with funny comments for the cardboard thought bubbles that will advertise the State Tournament.”
She drifted over to a side table where a small white mouse ran on an exercise wheel. “Come here, sweetie.” The small white rodent climbed happily onto her hand. Andrea stroked its soft head; its pink eyes stared with interest at Darren while it twitched its whiskers.
“Hello, Lili.” Darren greeted the little mouse by gently tickling it under the chin. Turning back to the life-sized posters he said, “Andrea, this is really terrific. These are going to be a big hit!”
“Thank you.” She set Lili down on the table and took Darren’s hand. “Of course, Shelley and Lindsey helped, too. But I accept your gratitude, gallant sir.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. “Where are your folks this time?”
“They’re still in Germany,” she said offhandedly. “Let’s go to the deck.”
Indicating the mouse, he asked, “What about Lili?”
“She’ll be fine. She likes to run about. I’ll find her later.”
Andrea led him through the family room to a glass door that opened onto a deck that spanned across the back of the house from the family room to her parents’ bedroom at the far end. In the cold moonlight, they sat down at some wrought-iron furniture and gazed off at the mountains in the distance.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
“Yeah, but freezing.” He pulled his jacket tightly together.
“Darren, we never talk about what our plans are after high-school. What do you think you’re going to do?”
“Well…” He was taken aback by the question and hated to admit he wasn’t too certain. “I’ve always thought I’d see if I could get an athletic scholarship to Utah State and play for the Aggies just like Ethan did. Then, if things go well, hopefully get on an NBA team. I know that’s probably a big pipe dream, but that’s what I’d like to have happen. And this State Tournament won’t hurt any.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand across the table.
“But,” he went on, “if that doesn’t turn out like I’m hoping, I guess I’ll go to USU, pursue a Communications degree, and go into Marketing or Public Relations.”
“And work for an NBA team in their P.R. department?”
He shrugged. “Well, you know I’d be good at it, and it would make a good living. And it’s something I know all about.”
“And, what about us?” she asked demurely. “After high school, do I fit in there at all?”
“Ah,” he stammered. These were awfully big questions for her to be asking. And in light of the things he’d been going through lately, they seemed absurdly out of place, like asking a man whose house is on fire if he’d seen the big game last night.
In truth, life beyond high school was sort of an ethereal nondescript that held only basketball and probably college. Marriage and family were there too, but not clearly defined. He’d just assumed, in a rather vague way, if he and Andrea continued to date, they’d probably get married, sure. But as for planning it or working out the details, he simply hadn’t given it that much thought.
And then there was Samantha. She’d come along and messed with his head even further. What was he thinking about Samantha for? He barely knew her. But of course that was nothing compared to the fact that SHE WAS A WITCH! A witch that conjured up evil demons and half burnt sorcerers. She was probably working some strange spell on him right now by screwing with his thoughts. But it didn’t seem like magic. It felt genuine as if something real was going on between them, something that wasn’t just coming from his imagination but had substance in his real life. She’d shown some sort of interest in him, and she wasn’t hiding the fact that she was a witch very well. And was she Samantha or Sahwin?
What the heck had Andrea asked him? When he looked up, she was leaning against the railing, gazing at the moon. What had happened? He must have been staring off into space. What an idiot.
He got up and walked over to her. She could have been a small nighttime fairy in the moonlight, her loose gown wafting in the cold breeze. He wanted to hold her and protect her and tell her everything would be fine, but his blunder a couple of seconds ago had ruined any hope of that.
“Andrea, I’m sorry. Don’t read too much into that. I wasn’t ready for the question.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I was stupid to ask.” There was the threat of tears in her voice.
“No, no you weren’t. Really, it was more the timing of the question than it was the question itself. Sometimes I feel too young to think about things like marriage and being an adult and all that. It doesn’t mean I don’t see you in my life beyond high school.”
She turned to face him, and he put his arms around her waist. “It’s kind of like what we’re doing now. I thought we’d continue to go out and let the future take care of itself. It’s not like I was thinking as soon as high school was over I’d stop seeing you. In all honesty, I simply haven’t thought that far in advance. But, I think in the back of my mind, I assumed it would be you and me… until we either got married or whatever.”
She beamed up at him, her tears shimmering in the chilly lunar light. “It was stupid to ask,” she insisted, “but your answer was better than I should have expected.” She hugged him tight, and it felt good. He found it wonderfully normal to be dealing with a problem in a relationship. He could work it out in his mind and heart and be honest and say something that made a difference. There was a sort of awkward control to it all. This was real life; this was what people should grapple with on a regular basis, not the forces of good and evil that could rock the planet. Give him this anytime, and leave the magic and demons for someone else.
***
By the time Darren arrived home, it was a little after eleven. He was certain he’d be in trouble, but dutifully opened his parent’s bedroom door and reported in. His mother mumbled something to him about the time but rolled over and went back to sleep. That should be sufficient; if she asked the next day, he’d be able to truthfully tell her he’d come in and told her he was home. If she asked the time, he’d vaguely hedge the issue.
As he approached his bedroom, he was startled by a small, ghostly image guarding the way. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be his sister, Crissy in her nightgown. But it was a measure of how stressful the day had been that her small sleepy form had frightened him.
“Crissy, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I’m supposed to tell you to talk to Grandpa,” she said. Having delivered her message, she padded off down the hall to her room. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her small white form as it retreated from him.
Tired as he was, he headed back downstairs to his grandfather’s room. He couldn’t believe his little sister had stayed up so late to pass that message on to him. Atavus should have written a note and had her leave it on his door or pillow. Once he’d arrived at his grandfather’s bedroom, he knocked softly and slipped inside.
The gleam of his grandfather’s medical equipment was all that lit the room and caused the objects it glinted off to glow with a ghostly green hue. Darren’s first response was to shuffle back out the way he’d come, but he heard his grandfather stir and realized he’d woken him up.
“Darren,” Atavus’s wispy voice asked in the darkness. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, sorry to disturb you. You feel okay?”
“I haven’t felt okay for months.” He followed this with a wheezy little laugh. “Don’t worry yourself.”
They both listened for the other to say something. At last, Darren asked, “Did you want to talk to me?”
“There’s so much I need to explain to you still, but I’m quite tired right now.”
“Oh, sorry. Crissy told me to come talk to you; I thought there was something you needed to tell me.”
“Really? Your sister told you I needed to talk to you?”
“Yeah. She was outside my bedroom door waiting for me and told me to come talk to you.”
“Hmm,” Atavus considered. “That’s interesting.”
“You don’t have anything to say?”
After a moment Atavus said, “There is something that’s been concerning me since you saw that witch at school. You said she was young, correct?”
“Yes,” Darren replied.
“And has she appeared to you anymore?”
“Well, not like she did in the gym. She’s now going to my school.”
Atavus fumbled about and sat up in bed. “She’s now posing as a student at your school?” He moved something around, and Darren could hear him breathing hard through his oxygen mask. “Turn on the light, boy.”
Darren groped for the switch, and the room filled with light so bright they both squinted.
“Have you had any interactions with her? Is she in one of your classes?”
“Yeah,” Darren replied. “She sits in front of me during English and joins me and my friends for lunch.”
“Oh, dear! How could you associate with it?” Atavus began coughing again. He brought the mask to his face and inhaled deeply.
“She’s just a girl. She seems nice.”
“She seems nice. She seems nice,” Atavus mocked. “They are dangerous! You have to destroy her!”
“Are you kidding me? You expect me to just go up to her at school and kill her?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes!”
“Atavus, did you ever destroy a witch who hadn’t first come after you? Have you actually come up behind a witch, who’s done nothing to you, and just killed her?”
Atavus was quiet for a moment. “No, but I wouldn’t hesitate to. Darren, witches do the bidding of Satan. They are devils! If you can kill a witch before it works its spells on you, so much the better!” Atavus broke into some strenuous coughing. When it subsided, he went on. “Have you drunk anything she has given you?”
“What?”
“Has she offered you anything that you’ve eaten or drunk?”
Darren thought it over. “No, nothing.”
“How about smells, odors of any kind, do you remember anything strange?”
“No, Atavus, nothing at all.”
“Could have caused you to forget it,” the old man mumbled. “Physical contact, has she touched you or have you touched her?”
“No,” Darren said. “I haven’t…” He trailed off. He’d touched her hair in class. Mike had made fun of him for it. “Wait, I did touch her. Her hair was on my desk and I… touched it.”
“Touched it,” Atavus considered. “Did you smell it?”
“I don’t, wait, I can’t remember. I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” The old man grunted. “We’d better check.”
“Check what?” Darren asked.
“Get that bag out of the closet again. I need something.”
Remembering its location this time, Darren quickly retrieved it and put it on his grandfather’s bed.
“Search through it again. There is another box, below the one you got me the other day, that is much like the first one. Give it to me.”
Darren did as his grandfather had instructed him and placed the box on the bed. It was like the last one, very old with rusty hinges and a small padlock keeping it from being opened. Atavus worked the dials until the lock opened with a click.
There was not a book inside this box. It was lined with ivory-colored linen, yellowed with age, and in the box were three containers. The first was a pretty white porcelain bottle, trimmed with blue lines and small images of animals. It was topped with a porcelain stopper ringed in cork. The second container was of cleverly cut crystal and contained a dark liquid that seemed to be moving behind the glass with periodic sparkles that flickered as it sloshed about. The last container was in a leather pouch knotted at the end. Underneath the three containers were two stones and a silver amulet with a rose-colored diamond in the center, and next to it was something wrapped in an oilcloth.
As Darren examined these oddities, Atavus inhaled deeply on his oxygen. “To begin with, we need to discover if you have been bewitched.”
“If I’ve been bewitched?” This startled Darren. He hadn’t expected anything like this. Nothing had happened to him…yet. How could he be bewitched?
“A smell, a touch, there are ways for them to do it. But, if you have been bewitched, you wouldn’t know it, and you probably wouldn’t remember when it happened. Being bewitched is a little like being a puppet; the witch controls you as long as you are under its influence.”
“You think Samantha has bewitched me?”
“Her name is Samantha?” His grandfather stopped what he was doing and gaped at him.
“Yeah, why?”
“There’s something about the name. Perhaps I’m wrong. It sounds like it should mean something, but I don’t recall.” He turned his attention back to the vials on his lap. He pulled out the long narrow object that was wrapped in the oilcloth. Its handle was ivory with inlaid gold and silver trim. He pulled away the cloth and revealed a long thick blade made of blacken iron.
“What’s that?” Darren asked anxiously.
“It’s called a Secespita. It’s an ancient Roman sacrificial knife. Roman priests would eviscerate their victims with this.” He waved it around, admiring its workmanship. “This is different from any other in that it has been enchanted by a warlock named Stybyx. Over the years, I’ve collected things, as you can tell. In Italy, most Roman artifacts are gone; they’ve been looted and destroyed. In North Africa, Libya, Cyrene to be exact, they have unearthed numerous Greek and Roman ruins which are wonderfully preserved. The Temple of Zeus, built by the Greeks around 600 BC, was unearthed there. It is the largest Greek pantheon outside of Athens. Among the ruins at this site were unearthed six of these Secespitas. Stybyx, I guess you would call him a Roman Warlock, enchanted six of these knives so they not only killed his victims, but would reveal things about them. This knife was enchanted with the spell of Ostendo Sum. It’s a spell that revealed any enchantment another was under. It was important because, to the warlock, if he were to kill one enchanted by another witch or warlock, it broke their law of ownership. A bewitched person is the property of the witch or warlock who put them under the spell.”
Darren stood transfixed as Atavus continued. “Davis and I uncovered this during our travels in Europe. An old witch, by the name of Cholomeah, had left her coven hundreds of years before and had been living as a wise woman in her town. She had come into possession of Stybyx’s knives and other enchanted objects—some others that are in this box, but that is for another time. Now, we’re going to use the Ostendo Sum to see if you are under any enchantment, love addiction, slavery charm, or whatever else they might use against a mortal.”
“I hate to say this, Atavus, but that’s a knife.” Darren swallowed hard. “And knives are used to kill people.”
“Don’t worry boy, and give me your palm.”
Darren was suddenly seized by the powerful conviction that Atavus wasn’t going to check him for some spell, but rather that he had in mind to plunge the dagger into his heart. He backed away, suddenly filled with dread. Atavus no longer looked like a sick old man, bedridden and helpless. His skin had changed to a saggy green and gray hide. He transformed into something appalling. The dark circles under his eyes were no longer the effects of age and fatigue, but the malevolent features of a demon. It was no longer Atavus Darren saw, but the demon which had appeared to the evil warlock over Samantha’s kitchen island.
“What’s the matter boy?” Atavus asked.
“I’ve got to go.” Darren turned toward the door, only, once again, the sight of his little sister in her nightgown stopped him. She gazed up at him and shook her head in a knowing manner.
He now faced two of them, two demons. Both their eyes glowed with a dark light that sent a chill of fear through him so strong he could barely move. He stumbled back into the bedroom because the little girl demon prevented him from escaping by way of the door. The creature in the bed wasn’t going anywhere, but the small one pursued him toward the far wall. He thrashed in fear before falling to the ground. Quickly he scuttled across the ground to the far corner of the room and, panic stricken, found there was nowhere else to go. The little demon walked toward him, her small glowing eyes looking like the portals to hell. He threw his arm across his face and released a long high-pitched wail. He begged for her to spare him. She touched his arm. He had expected his flesh to leap into flame and burn off the bone, but instead it was a pleasant warm feeling that passed from his arm through the rest of his body. Little speckles of blackness filled his vision. A sudden, complete darkness swallowed him.
When Darren came back to his senses he was still sprawled out in the back corner of the room. Everything was out of focus at first. His sister was lying next to him, curled under his arm, asleep. Atavus was out of bed, wobbly but on his feet, gazing down at him with concern and alarm.
Darren shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He brought his hand to his head and saw the mean streak of blood across his palm. Suddenly, a sharp pain throbbed from the wound, and his head cleared.
He sat up quickly and backed away from Atavus.
“It’s alright Darren. It’s all over.”
“What’s all over? What happened?”
Atavas had several things in his hands as he shuffled back to the side of the bed and, with great effort, climbed in. He arranged his covers, set his oxygen mask nearby, and replaced the metal railing that kept him from rolling out of bed. Sitting up, he fiddled with the contents of the box. “You were under a bewitchment.” He showed Darren the Secespitas blade. A green smear of blood ran down the blade.
“What’s that?” Darren hefted Crissy to the foot of Atavus’s bed and gently lay her down.
“That’s your blood. You might have noticed it’s not the right color. That’s how this blade indicates an enchantment. When it hit the blade, it fizzed and bubbled and turned this infected-looking color. The color indicates what kind of a bewitchment you were under. I don’t know what this vile color means. But no matter, I treated the wound with this.” He held up the leather pouch Darren had seen in the box earlier. “Spira, another of Stybyx’s magical paraphernalia. A little of this in the cut, and it severed the enchantment you were under. You’re no longer bewitched. Do you feel any different?”
“I… I don’t think so,” Darren stammered.
“Well, perhaps in time something will occur to you. In the meantime, you have to stay away from that witch. Don’t get too close. Don’t let her touch you. Don’t smell her or eat or drink anything she gives you. I’ll have to train you soon, before it’s too late. You’re going to have to kill her.”
Darren’s blood ran chill. Kill her? Witch or not, he didn’t think he could kill her. Even after she and her aunt had watched that horrible scene with the demon in it, they didn’t seem to merit being killed. But then what if she had bewitched him so he had feelings for her, so that he liked her? She could have done that so he wouldn’t kill her. But if that was the case, it wasn’t due to the bewitchment because he still felt the same. He still liked her, had some sort of feelings for her. Either the enchantment wasn’t broken by what Atavus had done, or his confused feelings for her where real.
“What are you thinking about?” Atavus sank back into his pillow. His exertions had worn him out.
“Nothing, I was just wondering.” He glimpsed the sleeping form of his sister curled up on Atavus’s bed. “Why did Crissy come back in here, and what did she do to me? It’s kind of a blur.”
Weakly, Atavus said, “You got very agitated. You went kind of mad on me and refused to submit to the Ostendo Sum. I thought you were going to run from the room, but suddenly Crissy was there with her arm stretched out to you. You ran from her like she was the devil. She got to you and touched you, and you passed out. Then, the little stinker told me I could do what I needed to do. I managed to climb out of this bed and complete the Ostendo Sum. In the meantime, Crissy cuddled up with you and just fell asleep.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yes, it is,” Atavus agreed. “It was very peculiar.”
Darren picked his sleeping sister up off the bed. “I know you’re tired, Atavus, but what am I going to do tomorrow at school? I can’t avoid her; she’s in my first period.”
“As long as she doesn’t know you’re a Pessum Ire, you should be safe. Just don’t touch her and don’t sniff anything. Don’t eat or drink…” His voice trailed off as he drifted away in sleep.
Darren carried Crissy back to her bed, then trudged up the stairs to his own room. So much had happened today; his mind whirled from one thought to another. He was certain he’d never get to sleep, as image after image took turns performing on the stage inside his mind. But after a couple encores, fatigue came out for a curtain call, and at last, the audience was sent home and the hot lights in the theater in his head went out.