“I don’t know, Damien. How is this possible? You just came into my life and all of a sudden I’m a Witch?”
“You’ve been a Witch all along, you just didn’t know it. I’m here to help you.”
“Did… someone send you?”
“No,” Damien said, helping me to my feet. “I could sense you. You carry your powers with you. The world changes around you just because of what you are.”
I thought about the books moving around in the bookstore and started to question whether a ghost was to blame at all or if Damien was right, and I was causing all that… somehow. That maybe the disappearing and moving around of books was just a side-effect of my being a Witch.
“Tell me this is all real,” I said, glancing up at Damien from my lowered head. “And I’ll believe you.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Amber. This is real.”
My lips curled into a wicked smile. Then I’m a True Witch.
“Are you busy this weekend?” I asked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Damien didn’t have plans, which was lucky considering I’d asked him point blank to come and spend his entire weekend at the cabin with the rest of us. He’d already thought to celebrate Mabon on his own, so why not celebrate the holiday among new friends? I headed to the bookshop after my encounter with Damien to relay the news to Eliza; although I wondered how in the hell I would be able to contain my excitement. Damien told me to keep quiet about the Witch thing, for all of our sakes, and I wasn’t about to go against his advice.
It seemed pretty sound.
“So he’s coming?” Eliza asked.
“Yeah,” I said, stuffing fresh candles I had just bought into my backpack. “I spoke to him today. We’ve been so busy I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to him about it.”
“Or you were avoiding him?”
“Oh, I was not.” I said.
Eliza grinned. “You know what happens at cabins, right?”
“Stupid people screw and get killed by marauding men with hooks for hands?”
“It’s a cabin in the middle of the woods, no one around for miles, and it’s not like you’re in a relationship.”
“That’s not happening. And I swear, you guys better keep the sex down this time. I’ve gotten used to being the third wheel but we have company.”
“What do you think Wiccans do out in nature on holidays? I swear, sometimes I don’t think you know your own people.”
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but this is the Autumn Equinox. It’s about harvests and giving thanks, not about fucking your boyfriend.”
“I have a lot to be thankful for,” said Eliza, gently rubbing her belly.
I smiled and sighed. “I want to impress him, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
Eliza grabbed the keys to the bookshop, closed the register, and swung her backpack over her shoulder. She held a book in her hand I didn’t recognize; it was old, brown, and a little dusty.
“I’ll bite,” I said, when she didn’t mention it. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” she asked.
“The book.”
“Oh this?” Eliza’s playful tone emerged. I was in for it. “I’ll tell you what this is when you admit that you’re in to Damien.”
I froze at the front door and shot Eliza a look. “Who said I was in to Damien?” I asked, with added quotations.
“It’s written all over your lovely pale face. I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out, sweetheart.”
I laughed. “You’re so far from the truth, you don’t even know.”
“Didn’t you yourself say you wanted to impress him with our ritual this weekend? Show him what a hot little witch you are?”
“Yeah, impress him, not fuck him!”
A sly smirk swept across Eliza’s lips but she didn’t press the subject. “Alright, c’mon you. Let’s get out of here.”
We left the shop and made a stop at Eliza’s place. All the while, waiting in the car, fumbling around blindly on Instagram, a steady knot began to tighten deep within me. This week had been a strange one to say the least and to top it all off my last encounter with Damien left me wanting. Whether I wanted more of him or more of what he offered remained a mystery, but those fifteen minutes I spent in Eliza’s car were the longest of my life. What if Eliza was right about me and Damien?
What if I really did like him? I felt so infantile but I couldn’t help it. Damien was everything I had wanted in a guy. Patient, understanding, and open-minded. Guys like those came one in a million, and one of them had come right for me as if the Gods themselves had sent him.
And who was I to deny the Gods?
Damien lived in a student apartment downtown, in the Raven Crest district. This part of town was the hub of all things government, authoritative, and tourist. From hotels, to parks, to city hall, Raven Crest was the literal beating heart of the city. A train station sat comfortably at the center of this heart of commercialism, acting as the artery delivering the lifeblood to the town. I didn’t normally have to come here on a daily basis, but Briar Park was a short walk away, so it made sense that the university had its student housing here.
We only had to circle the block once. I thought maybe I’d written the address down wrongly, but we caught him on the second pass standing just outside Mama Lulu’s bakery wearing a black hoody and a backpack slung over his shoulder. He smiled as the car slowed to a halt and then slid into the back seat.
“I thought we got the wrong address,” I said, smiling into the rearview. “Hope you weren’t waiting long?”
“No,” Damien said, “Actually I was in the bakery getting something for us.”
“For us?” Eliza asked, her eyes joining mine in the rearview. “What’ve you got for us, Damien?”
“You’ll have to wait before I let you get your hands it,” Damien said, suggestively.
“Eliza, um, could you drive?” I asked.
She grinned, but the car pulled onto the road and started on its journey out of town. Streetlights gave way to trees fairly quickly. I turned on the audio, cranked some Nirvana, and we were underway. I didn’t even have to ask him if he would like a little grunge. He had the look.
“So, have you ever celebrated Mabon with a Coven?” I asked.
“No,” Damien said, “It wasn’t a big celebration for us down in San Francisco.”
“I get that. It’s a harvest festival.”
“Yeah, it isn’t that widely celebrated anymore,” Eliza put in.
“That’s a shame,” I said, “I think it’s such a beautiful time of year. When greens move aside to allow browns and yellows to show their colors, the last chance to bring in a good harvest; a time where we give thanks for the things we’ve got.”
“And a chance for a road trip,” Eliza added.
“We basically love to take road trips,” I said, “You’ll learn that about us.”
“That’s cool. I never used to get out of San Francisco very much. This is pretty fun.”
“Right? A Coven of Witches out in nature. What could be more primal?”
I wanted to bring up our encounter at the river, but I had to pinch myself to stop the words from leaving my lips. I couldn’t talk about it in front of Eliza, and keeping this from her stung like a betrayal. Every once in a while I’d take a glance at the side mirror and catch Damien’s face in the reflection.
Sometimes I caught him looking back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Despite Damien’s presence looming over my shoulder the entire ride, the drive up was as peaceful as ever. Raven’s Glen lived on the upper side of California and didn’t seem to share the same climate as the rest of the State. Temperature fell as we ventured further into the woods, skirting the Nevada and California State lines. Faint beams of sunlight courageously broke through low-hanging clouds to only barely make it through the trees, and the air filling the car was so fresh you could taste the wet leaves.
Ah
, nature.
The Carlson family vacation home stuck out from the surrounding forest with its tall white walls, brown roof, and pastoral design. Evan had explained a while back that some fifty or sixty years ago a family friend built the house by hand using only the pines from the surrounding forest. When he died, Evan’s parents bought it out and decided to use it as a vacation home.
The entire area had a kind of rural feel a Coven of Witches would truly enjoy. Ironic considering Evan’s family held strong Christian values and damn near shunned their son when they discovered his belief system had changed. He may as well have come out as gay; the way Evan tells it, their response would probably have been the same.
I never questioned how, then, Evan managed to snag the keys to the place, but I suspected pleading, forgery, or possibly a little bit of both. Most likely forgery, though.
We arrived just before dark. The building was a little on the grey side, but it stood tall and proud amidst the pine stumps that never seemed to have grown back; like a lumberjack happy with his work. Untamed green vines crawled up the walls, strangling windowpanes and pipes, as flying bugs of all shapes and sizes fluttered about. But despite the greenery outside, a breath of stale air came rushing out to greet us when I opened the door.
Walking into the quiet, dusty house for the first time since my last visit felt like something out of a horror movie. There wasn’t any fear, but the house was dark and gloomy, smelt oddly of old man’s cologne, and didn’t seem to have known sunlight in some time. Someone should crack a window, I thought as I stepped through the door and made my way toward the kitchen.
“You need any help with that?” Damien asked.
“No, I’m fine thanks,” I lied. Carrying a paper bag filled with cans, fruits, and tortilla wraps—all which seemed to like moving about—wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but I wasn’t about to look ungraceful. “What do you think of the place?” I asked.
“I love it; never been in a house quite like this one before.”
“It’s got a homely kind of feel. I could see myself living in a place like this.”
“Really? I don’t think I could.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Cellphone coverage, internet, coffee? Wouldn’t you miss all that?”
“I don’t think I would. It’s like, I—”
Just as I was about to argue Damien’s point a can slipped out of a hole in the bag and the remaining contents followed. Cans and fruits spilled out and scattered like rats hurrying to get as far away from me as possible as quickly as they could.
“Awh, c’mon!” I said, dropping the ruined bag and placing my hands on my hips, defeated.
Damien cocked an eyebrow and glanced at my red face. The smirk on his lips disarmed me in an instant.
“What?” I asked.
“I asked if you wanted help.”
I smiled, turned my face away and laughed at myself. “Yeah, you did. Smartass.”
Smartass or no, like a true gentleman, Damien helped me pick up the mess. What a clumsy idiot! There I was trying to impress him and not two minutes into the house I make an ass out of myself. Luckily Damien didn’t much seem to care about my blunder. In fact, I got the impression he enjoyed helping me with the groceries.
It was nice to know that gallantry wasn’t dead in some people.
Damien and I unpacked in the spacious, yet totally unused kitchen. The walls were cream going on brown, the stoves looked fifty years old, and the butane tank would need changing before we could get any hot water.
“How often do Evan’s parents use this place?” asked Damien.
“Not very,” I said, leaning against a kitchen counter with a bottle of water to my lips, “Maybe three, four times a year? They spend a week here when they come, then leave.”
“Looks like it,” Damien said, running his fingers over a dusty counter.
“Yeah, I don’t think they cook much here either.”
“Don’t… cook? So how do they eat?”
“I don’t know. Osmosis? But this kitchen doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned or used in years.”
“Listen, about the ri—” Damien was about to say, but Eliza swept into the kitchen and Damien shut up. My heart skipped into my throat at the close call, beating hard and fast.
“Hey, you two,” Eliza said, grabbing a bottle of water from the table.
“Hey,” I replied, “We should’ve closed up earlier. I’d have loved a few more hours here.”
“We should’ve planted crops in advance too but that’s okay,” said Eliza, “We’ll just keep to the rule of not using electronics tomorrow.”
“We didn’t plant crops?” I asked.
“Nope. We’ve all been busy. Evan with work, you with class, me with the bookstore. No biggie.”
A little piece of me deflated, but I couldn’t blame anyone. Coming up to plant crops had slipped my mind too so I’d have been a hypocrite to get all worked up about it. I truly enjoyed harvesting the crops last year when we came up for Mabon, even took a gardening course to make sure I was doing things properly. Damn.
“How do you like the place, Damien?” Eliza asked.
“I was just telling Amber how amazing the house is. I’ve never been in a place like this before.”
“Well you’re in for a treat,” she said, sipping the bottle of water, “Because it’s haunted.”
Oh here we go, I thought.
“Haunted?” Damien asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Legend has it there was a little boy that used to live here,” Eliza said, wearing her best scary story face. It was convincing, too. She did this thing with her eyes where she widened and narrowed them at the same time. Made her look deranged! “He was six,” she continued, “And his name was Jimmy.
“Eliza, cut it out,” I said.
“Excuse me? I’m telling a story here—hush. Anyway, Jimmy liked to play out in the back yard, with the crops and the trees. His parents would let him wander around in the orchard and play with his toys, dig in the dirt, and pick ripe fruits. From the kitchen his parents would hear the conversations he’d have with his toys and the trees, the stories he’d come up with, kid’s things—you know? So one day, while Jimmy was telling stories, his mom heard two voices in the backyard; a deep, raspy voice to accompany her son’s. When she went to check on him, Jimmy was gone.”
Damien glanced at me, then back at Eliza. “Did they ever find him?” he asked.
“Nope. But if you listen hard enough, you can still hear Jimmy talking outside sometimes.”
“You’re making this up,” I said, “And Damien isn’t that gullible.”
“I swear I’m not!” Eliza said, raising her hand to her heart.
“Then why have I never heard this story before?”
“Because, silly.” Eliza flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiled, threw me some crazy eyes, and said “You never asked.”
Eliza left me wondering whether what she’d just said was true or a farce she’d cooked up to creep us out, but you know, this was Eliza’s modus operandi. She liked playing games and making it look like she was being serious.
“But... Damien didn’t ask either!” I said as she walked out, but she didn’t reply. When I turned to face Damien I caught him glancing out of the kitchen window. Oh Gods. “You don’t really believe her, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Damien turned to me and smiled. “I do like a good ghost story, though,” he said in a smoky voice. I took a deep breath and smiled. I didn’t understand why he suddenly dropped his voice an octave or so just then, but I didn’t much care. The tingles that followed weren’t to be questioned.
“Let’s go find your room,” I said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I offered Damien a tour of the ground floor before heading upstairs. In the tall living room, white sheets fluttered like ghosts in the slight breeze coming in through the still open front door. Shafts of fading light poked holes through the shutters and made rectangular l
ines on the floor, catching dust motes as they swirled around in the air and causing them to almost twinkle. Webs from productive spiders adorned the corners, the fittings, and anywhere else that they could spin two pieces of silken trappings together from.
Damien approached the huge fireplace at the far wall and squatted next to it.
“It’s gonna need more wood,” I said.
“Do you have any?” he asked.
“Downstairs. If not we can go out into the woods and get some.”
He stood, turned to me, and smiled. “There’s something I’ve never done before.”
“What, use a fireplace? Come on. Don’t tell me they don’t have any in San Fran.”
“I’m sure they do, I just haven’t seen one for years. Not since I was a kid.”
“It’s easy,” I said, “I’ll teach you when Evan gets here.”
Damien stood, spun around slowly on the spot, and stopped. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing toward a dark, adjoining room.
A faint green light—sunlight fighting through trees and weeds—gave away the shape of a closed bay window in the stuffy little box of a room. In a few moments Damien opened the windows and flooded the room with light. Two arm chairs stared at each other, sitting on carpeted floors. A round, brown table stood between them. On it, a huge black book with a gold crucifix embossed on the cover stared up at the ceiling.
“You weren’t kidding about a prayer room,” said Damien.
The thought of going in there made my skin prickle. “We tend to just ignore it,” I said. “Evan’s parents are full on Christians. If they knew what we did here…”
Damien stepped out of the tiny, uncomfortable room. “How do they not know what goes on here?”
“We clean up really well. Never leave anything lying around. We’re the ones who put the sheets on the furniture we use before we leave. We even gave the house a new coat of paint once. It’s like our way of paying rent and keeping Evan’s parents happy and blissfully unaware.”
“And if they ever found out?”