I held my breath and looked at the woman standing on the sidewalk to the left of me, still as a statue.
It was definitely her...but how?
My shaky finger pressed the button for the power window, but I mistakenly pressed the button for the passenger-side window. I turned my head toward the passenger-side window as the unexpected sound had startled me again. And like something out of a Japanese horror movie—it was that freaky...nothing gets freakier than Japanese horror flicks—the woman in black was there, again, standing on the sidewalk opposite the other sidewalk she had just stood on a second ago.
“I...I don’t need any help,” I stammered.
“It kind of looks like you do,” she said, with the most surprisingly normal voice for the teleporting freak I pegged her to be.
I stomped on the pedal one more time. Nothing, not even a rev of the engine this time around. My car’s engine was as dead as the splattered possum down the road.
What had I done to deserve such a confusing and panic-inducing set of events?
“What do you want from me?” I yelled at her through my window.
She didn’t say a word, but stepped forward, away from the sidewalk and onto the lawn strip in front of the curb.
“You stalk me, you got me, and now you won’t speak to me?” I barked with fear and frustration.
“Of course,” said the normal female voice.
“Of course what?”
“Of course I wish to speak to you.”
“Well, I don’t know you. I’m all talked out for the night,” I said. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”
“Don’t you want to know how I made that man bark like a dog and then wet himself?”
My mind was going a hundred miles an hour. How would she be able to do that? And, was she the one who was making my car malfunction?
“Don’t hurt me. You’re not here to hurt me are you?” I asked.
“I would never dream of hurting you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Can I at least have your name?”
“My name is Paris,” she said, with a calmness that lessened the nerves a bit.
Paris, was a lovely name. Definitely not a name I’d associate with murderers. A street walker? Perhaps. After all Beach Blvd was just one block away, but I didn’t look like your typical John. And if this was her way of getting business, it was only a matter of time before she’d soon be dead or in a jail cell.
“Is that okay if open the door?” I figured, sooner or later, I was going to have to get out and talk to this woman, or flee into one of the homes or backyards.
Frankly, fleeing was the only thing on my mind, but I had to play it cool first.
Paris shuffled back onto the sidewalk and I opened the driver’s door. I stepped out and walked around the front of my car toward Paris. I stepped onto the curb. I grew two inches, but she was still a couple of inches taller than me. Definitely a precise 5’8”.
We both dressed similarly, but she liked her dresses long and satiny, I liked mine at the knees, but with mixed fabric. Few could pull off the shiny satin look—I wasn’t one of them. Our makeup was exactly the same, but her hair reminded me of my days before I went corporate. Pitch black, not a natural highlight in sight.
“Look, Paris,” I said. “You’re definitely freaking me out right now. Who are you? What do you want? My mind is playing tricks on me. Did you lace my funnel cake at Knott’s or something?” I continued to look Paris in the eye sheepishly, and continued, “What’s going on? Please tell me I’m not losing my mind and that you’re not just some crazy demon terrorizing me.”
“I’m quite the opposite, sweetie. I want to help you,” Paris said.
“What makes you think I need any help?” I asked.
Paris smiled at me and said, “You’re a prime candidate for help. You turn guys crazy, and then you run out on them.”
“I know. What the hell was that back there? That guy peed his pants and didn’t have a care in the world.”
“I was surprised you ran off. He was defeated, and you didn’t trust your senses. You had no reason to skid out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, you could’ve crashed into a poor unsuspecting driver.”
“Senses? My senses were to run. I ran off because that insane man wasn’t my problem. I hope he doesn’t hurt himself, but he still isn’t my problem.”
Paris winked at me and said, “That guy was a pig and he got what he deserved. It was actually really funny to watch. He’ll be fine...that’s if you’re sincerely worried about him?”
“What do you think happened to him?” I asked. “Was he on drugs?”
Paris smiled and then an even a stranger event occurred before my eyes—stranger than the happening where she had teleported all over orange county, following me, like some mystical pinball. A small ring of stardust-like material appeared to surround Paris as she briefly gazed up toward the sky, and then pulled her eyes to the ground as if she were paying reverence to some kind of invisible all-knowing force. A neat little illusion for sure.
She then locked eyes with mine, and with soft intensity said, “No drugs. I mean, he was drunk. Inebriated for sure. But what if I tell you he was under a spell?”
“A spell? Like magic?” I asked, with a giggle. “What kind of magic are we talking about here? Like a magician? Like that Criss Angel dude?”
“What do you think?” Paris asked.
I nodded my head, reaffirming my suspicion that Paris was some traveling illusionist who decided to waste her talents on me in the middle of the night, in some random Orange County suburb. “You should really think about taking your act to Vegas, you know. I don’t even carry cash, so it’ll be difficult for me to give you a tip right now. Do you take PayPal?”
Paris shook her head.
I paused, narrowed my eyes and asked, “So wait, all of this isn’t some sort of trick?”
Paris crossed her arms, smiled, and shook her head.
“Uh...are you saying this is real?”
Paris shook her head enthusiastically.
“Witchcraft Magic?”
“If that is what you wish to call it, sure,” Paris confirmed. “Witchcraft.”
“You’re saying you’re a witch?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m a witch.” Paris looked at me like she was waiting for an insane reaction.
I might have felt insane inside, but I still managed to remain calm. “Okay, I think I know about this Wiccan stuff because I had an identity crisis in high school, and tried it after failing at becoming a vampire and zombie first—didn’t have the guts to test the whole coming back from the dead part. But no matter how much I tried to conjure a demon to do my homework, or will a dead plant back to life, nothing seemed to ever work for me. Yeah, I’ve never seen weird stuff happen until tonight, but I still think it could be sleight of hand.”
“Sleight of hand?” Paris asked. “Are you still suggesting things were done in foolery?”
“Were they?” I asked. “You have to admit, it’s a logical question for a logical world.”
“Why would I want to trick you?” Paris looked at me indignantly.
“I know that sounds insane, but you calling yourself a witch is even more insane. How did you get that man to act like that?” I asked.
“It’s called the Creep Spell. It’s a spell where a guy says and does the opposite of what he wants to do and has no control over stopping it until the spell rubs off.”
“How long does it take for the spell to rub off?”
“When I say it does.”
“Is he still under the spell?”
“I released him from it, once you were far enough away and I knew he wasn’t able to know what direction you went in.”
“But, he’ll never figure it out? Will he? He’ll just think he went insane for three minutes?”
“That is correct.”
What was I saying? I was implying that what this crazy woman was telling
me was true. However, if she were crazy, she would’ve kidnapped me and put me in her windowless van by now. But that hadn’t happened, and the feeling of danger had lessened before I even knew it. In fact, she seemed quite normal. Friendly. It was her soft, trusting face.
“Let’s say that lout back at the liquor store was an immortal or a warlock, he might have had a clue what happened to him. But no man of mystical means would allow himself to be so piss drunk as to be taken over by a spell.”
“Immortals? Warlocks? Seriously? Did you bring the 10-sided die? Cause I didn’t.”
“Let me ask you a question. Before you ran into me in the market, did you have a funny feeling about tonight?”
With healthy skepticism—okay, truthfully, the doubt had been diminished by now—I replied, “I did have a feeling about tonight. I mean I have lots of feelings, but I thought it had more to do with my date with Robert. Look, I’m not that much of a Doubting Thomas, alright? I’ve always believed that this earth gives off a kind of power. I guess you can call to that power magic.”
I took a seat on the curb and shook my head. Paris just seemed so cool, calm, and controlled as I ridiculed and doubted everything she had thrown my way. Either she was really a witch, or someone who was so delusional she truly believed in her own bullshit. “Are you telling me that warlocks are real? Immortals, you said?”
“Yes, there are immortals around us,” Paris said, smiling, gesturing air quotes. “They still can die, but they must be killed a certain way.”
“Are you implying vampires and werewolves...wooden stakes, silver bullets and all that jazz?” I asked, lightheartedly.
“Let’s take things one step at a time and not overwhelm ourselves too fast,” Paris said.
This was a lot of information to digest. I’m still not sure if I’m being absolutely messed with. I looked at Paris and I had some questions that needed honest answers. “You seriously did a spell to make that guy act like that? Are you two working together?” I asked bluntly. I was just going to say it. If this is some sick con, I needed to know right away. “Did you know that guy back there and plan on doing this?”
“Wow, you really don’t trust people, do you?” Paris said.
“Well, if you trust people too much you always end up getting screwed in the end. It’s one of life’s simplest and most important lessons,” I said. I then paused, looked around the neighborhood, and realized how desolate it felt. A car had not passed us by or through the intersection since my Mazda decided to suddenly stop. “Paris, you seem nice and all, but I really need to go home,”
“How do you explain seeing me at two different street corners?”
“I don’t know...I’m getting scared,” I said. I then began to scratch my head. It usually would itch whenever I’d get overwhelmed with nerves. “Fine, I’ll continue to listen to you...answer your questions if it means me getting home sooner. Tell me Paris, how?”
“Magic,” she said.
I sighed and then let out a chuckle that easily could’ve awoken a nearby slumbering resident, but again the neighborhood remained eerily quiet; not even a leaf blowing in the wind.
Paris gave me a sincere, almost loving look. “There’s nothing to be scared of. You can trust me. I know it’s hard to trust someone you just met. But I’ll ask you one thing: What is your heart telling you to do?”
“I don’t know if I want to trust you. I don’t know if I want to continue knowing you,” I said. “I’m trying to stay calm here, but this is getting weirder and weirder with everything your saying.”
I’d always had a sensitive, empathic side. It was very easy for me to tell by their body language if someone was hurting inside or had recently experienced loss. My last statement seemed to have bothered Paris a lot for whatever reason, as she recoiled slightly and her caring smile flattened. How am I supposed to act?
“Sweetie,” Paris said. “I’m a witch of the highest caliber and it wasn’t a coincidence that I met you tonight. Destiny told me to meet you. I want to reach out my hand to you and offer you a glimpse of my world.”
“What exactly is your world?” I asked.
“It’s beautiful. Unlike what you read in books or see in movies. That’s all fiction. Most witches are some of the most beautiful souls and women you will ever meet. I want you to open your mind, body and soul to a world that will uplift you, and give you the kind of power you always knew you had in you.”
“What is a witch of the highest caliber called?” I asked.
“Most High Witch.”
“Creative...,” I said, sarcasm oozing out of every one of my follicles, and I had some hearty follicles too. It took two waxing sessions to make sure my arm didn’t look like Robin Williams’ before my date with Robert.
I continued, “And how did such a name originate?”
“It’s the name our coven chose.”
“Your coven? So there’s more than one coven. With multiple identities?”
“Sweetie, every witch has her own identity and her own agenda. We’re not soldiers. We’re witches.” Paris looked at me and smiled. “Honey, look at you. You’re practically trying to dress like me. But I could tell there’s more wanting to come out. You’ve compromised against your own will. I know you’ve subconsciously wanted to have this encounter for a long time.” Paris looked at me almost like a loving sister.
“Look, Paris,” I said. “I have never wanted to be a witch. Or, at least, I never seriously thought it could happen. I wear black mainly because it’s slimming, not because I want to fly on a broomstick.”
“You know, there is no one quicker on a broomstick than me. Or as cute-looking on one for that matter.”
“Flying broomsticks are real?” I asked. “Let me guess you own a cauldron too, and you’re not cooking menudo in it either, right?”
“Magic is real. It’s all around us. It oozes out of our very nature. We’re all hurting. We’re all celebrating. And magic allows us to have some control, so there is less hurting and more celebrating.”
“I haven’t thought about it like that,” I said.
“Plus, you can make jerks look stupid, and what is greater fun than that?” Paris said, laughing. “Let’s get off the street and go somewhere where we can talk. Would you like to get out of here and grab a cup of coffee?”
I looked at Paris and I wasn’t sure. I really just wanted to go home. But she had gained my trust, in a way some television pitchman gained my trust in convincing me to spout my credit card number to some stranger on the phone. And she seemed real genuinely eager to do this, to really help me. Why? Hell if I knew.
It had been a long time since I’d done anything like this, you know, follow some stranger who had promised me the world, or at least some form of personal improvement. Kind of like Anthony Robbins, except in a female form, and teleporting around town all while promising me magic and the secrets to a magical realm. Much better than risking scorched and melting skin on the soles of my feet by walking on hot coals, right? I felt scared, intrigued, and a little adventurous.
“I know Norm’s is open,” Paris continued.
“Okay,” I said. “Norm’s it is” I was now fascinated. If anything, this would be a night to remember. I mean, how could anyone possibly pass up steak and eggs, with a side of hash at one in the morning?
Chapter Seven