Bitch Witch (6 page)

She swallowed and forced her eyes to the tattoo. She had to admit it was interesting. The horse raced down the length of his arm, with its rear legs and tail sweeping over his shoulder and neck. But the great bulk of tattoos came from the rest of the poem, which covered the front and back of his torso. The moon broke through clouds on his back, just above the old North Church. The famous lanterns, one if by land and two if by sea, covered his pecs. Sails from the British man-of-war, the Somerset, were visible on his abs. Most of the ship disappeared enticingly into his jeans, obviously sailing across his pelvis, buttocks and thighs.

“Nice.”

“My mother said the same thing. But I don’t think she meant it.” He took the stick out of his mouth and Sarah pointed to the trash can, not daring to touch anything that had come into contact with his mouth. Paul opened and closed the cabinet door hiding the can. “I’d show you the whole thing, but it would cost you more than a Popsicle and an insurance card.”

“Dinner and a movie?”

“More.” The way he said it did something to Sarah, and it had nothing to do with sex. He looked into her eyes when he said it, and she had a sudden image of him tugging her onto a horse with one hand, the other holding reins and a lantern.
One if by land, two if by sea.

Sarah moved immediately to the kitchen counter and dug out her wallet, removing the insurance card. Sliding it across the stone counter, she pointed at it. “There you go. Sorry I gave you the wrong thing. I’ll need my registration back.” It’d be better if he didn’t have anything more of hers than he had to.

Paul pulled his shirt on and dug in his pants pocket, exchanging the registration for the insurance card. Sarah caught her reflection in the refrigerator. She’d forgotten about waking up with her hair sticking every which way. She’d forgotten she had cried on the couch the past four hours. She’d even forgotten about the blisters in her mouth. Raising her hand to her lips, she realized they were swollen and she looked like shit.

Be glad! It’s bad enough he’s here under the power of a spell. Do you want him completely tempted?

The truth was she didn’t want any of the spell parts, but she definitely wanted Paul to be tempted of his own free will.

He was watching her curiously as he buttoned up his shirt in the suddenly awkward silence. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

“Not really.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I’m in town for a few days, until the car is fixed.”

We could screw. In every single room in this house, including the ones I don’t dare go into alone.
For once maybe it could be better than casting. “You could leave now.”

The brown eyes widened, and he glanced around as though looking for something. His eyes returned to examine her ring finger, her arms and finally her face. At last he said, “Sure thing. Goodnight, Sarah Elizabeth Archer.”

Sarah felt his words knit them closer, binding her.

“Goodbye, Paul Revere Longfellow. Sorry about your car.” She followed him to the front door and locked it behind him.

S
ome holidays Sarah still went to work. Since cutting herself off from the witch world, she no longer had family or friends. On Labor Day and the first perfect sunny Monday in September, she had other work to do. She ignored the open door into Aunt Lily’s amazing closet and dressed instead in shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

Something brushed against her face as she opened the door to the attic. “Fuck you,” she told it, wiping powdery dust off her cheek, almost certain it was a wisp of the dark matter that hung inside the attic, awaiting usage by a witch.

Sarah flipped on the light switch and several bare bulbs lit. The space still seemed too dark. It looked and smelled like ancient trees, dead ones with tall trunks and skeletal branches, clustering together in dark forests and allowing no sunlight to reach the bare ground below. A place where dark matter liked to float.

Taking a deep breath of courage Sarah marched up the stairs, brushing aside dusty cobwebs. “That’s normal,” she said out loud. “No one has ever cleaned this mess.” Two hundred and fifty years of junk cluttered the huge space, including trunks, armoires, bookcases, luggage plastered with old-fashioned travel stickers, and racks and racks of dingy looking old bottles.

Sarah knew exactly what she needed. Aunt Lily had two favorite spell books. One was full of spells to make one more physically attractive. Those spells lifted sagging skin, smoothed wrinkles, made noses smaller, and hundreds of other tweaks. Every morning Sarah tried on Aunt Lily’s clothes with Sarah Archer’s body, she thought about that book.

The other book Aunt Lily once kept close had a pink leather cover. It wasn’t a book about casting love spells. Love spells were like following a diet or fixing your hair. Simple, but unless a witch had experience and the cooperation of the universe, things didn’t always turn out as planned. The book Sarah needed contained the basics of undoing love spells. She hoped it wouldn’t say
Good Luck with That
and
LOL
a hundred thousand times inside the covers.

Possibly in Aunt Lily’s handwriting.

The problem was having to search through boxes and trunks until she found what she needed. The book hadn’t been with Aunt Lily’s things after she died. Aunt Lily had long ago given up on breaking love spells. She’d stopped caring who she hurt.

“I’ll just walk around and look at everything, but not touch anything until I think it over,” said Sarah out loud, hoping to dissipate the cobwebby feeling drifting across her heart. Immediately she ditched her own plan by opening the lid of a Tiffany-blue box labeled
Dior
. Inside, folds of pale blue silk shone like new in the light of the bare attic bulbs.

“And I’m right!” Sarah lifted out a sheath dress, pleased by the color. Pale blue repelled spells. It dangled from Sarah’s fingertips in one perfectly smooth waterfall of fabric without a single wrinkle. She held it against her and sighed.
Too long.
Aunt Lily had been tall compared to Sarah’s short dumpiness.

Unable to resist, Sarah yanked her t-shirt off and slipped the dress on. Oddly enough the outline of her shorts didn’t show through. The dress hugged her in what looked like an hourglass shape, but longer and leaner than Sarah had ever looked. She wished for a mirror in the house. It was one item that couldn’t be found from attic to basement—who knew what would show up in a mirror when a witch looked in. Sarah spun in a circle, smoothing the dress. She couldn’t even feel her shorts beneath the fabric. Impressed by how fit her hips looked, she peered over her shoulder and tried to check out her butt.

“Oh! Dumb! It’s got a spell. Shit!” Sarah yanked at the hem to take it off. Although it looked loose, the dress felt skin tight and her fingers had trouble finding the edge. “No! Crap!” Biting her lip, she found it felt fuller than usual. She quickly ran her fingertips over her face and hair. Even without a mirror she knew she looked great head to toe, completely unlike herself. She dropped her hands and looked down at perfectly manicured nails. “Aunt Lily, you cheater!”

Raising her arms over her head and leaning forward she managed to wriggle out of it. Sarah tossed the dress back into the box and peeked inside a matching box beneath it. A suit. For several seconds she imagined Paul in that suit and her in that dress, but shook her head at herself. “Nope. Nothing but the stupid book!”

She pulled her t-shirt back on and moved down a narrow aisle to gaze at bookcases. None were what she needed. Feeling brave, Sarah opened the door to a narrow apothecary cupboard only to discover bottles of wine, and battled the temptation to nab a couple of them. A cupboard with narrow drawers stood open, overflowing with buttons, thread, and what looked like some of the Royal Jewels. Sarah kept walking.

She stopped at a trunk with leather straps and polished silver buckles and peeked inside. Photographs. Shutting it, she sat on it a moment before kneeling in front and opening it again. There were old albums, but mostly random photographs in a deep pile. Most were of Archer women, but no one Sarah recognized. Some had been taken on a familiar Greek island long ago, and some were of people riding in glamorous old-fashioned open cars, or standing in groups smiling at the camera. Everyone looked perfect, well-groomed, wealthy, and desperate to hold onto it. Sarah could tell by looking at them that every one of them had spent most of their lives using dark matter. Dark witches were the ultimate narcissists, because perfection required a lot of time spent thinking about oneself.

Slamming the lid, Sarah stood and rubbed her knees.
How long did I look at those?
She wondered if the love spell was breaking her concentration or if her sudden ADD came from fear of what she’d find.

Sarah spun in a slow circle and eyed the room. They’d died three years ago. Aunt Lily hadn’t worried about breaking a spell since Sarah had been about ten years old. The oldest stuff in the attic sat along the rafters. Things were carried up and discarded almost in rings, leaving a telltale timeline like the inside of a tree. The newest stuff Sarah had carted up herself only three years ago, and it sat nearest the stairwell in neatly stacked Rubbermaid containers, looking very out of place. Sarah moved closer to those stacks. The trunks near her things looked newer, less like old steamer trunks and more like Amish-made chests built to rest against the foot of a bed. A black one covered in painted red roses caught Sarah’s eye. It matched the quilt still on Aunt Lily’s bed.

For a brief moment Sarah stood in front of it and told herself not to be a pussy. She lifted the lid. Right on top sat the pink leather book. “Bee-am!”

Delighted, Sarah dug her fingers around its sides, catching a piece of sheer white silk beneath it. She lifted both up. The book wasn’t heavy, but big and bulky like a coffee table book, with silver symbols embossed onto the cover, and what looked like a limp penis outlined on the spine. Sarah grinned as she untangled the filmy cloth from her hand and moved to drop it back into the trunk. For the briefest moment she glanced down.

A mirror lay in the bottom of the trunk, but Sarah didn’t see her reflection looking back at her. She saw Aunt Lily and her mother, like the last time she had seen them. Once beautiful Lily ravaged by time and the dark side, as though she were an ancient corpse, with Mother beside her, her dark hair floating in water, her face bloated and blue.

“No,” whispered Sarah.

The mirror zoomed in on their faces as though it were a camera lens looking for a better angle. Fear shivered along Sarah’s spine. Both women opened their eyes at the same moment and looked directly into Sarah’s. Her bowels almost liquefied.
No.
Frozen to the spot, Sarah could do nothing but stare back. Madness gleamed out of their eyes, like it had in small doses at times in life.
They see me.
Sarah clutched the book to her chest, willing herself to slam the lid of the trunk down or
move
. Terror stopped her from doing either. A black tongue slithered from between her mother’s lips to wet them.

“Sarah.” Her voice sounded like a croak. “We did it for you.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Lily in her raspy deep voice. “For you.” She smiled a pirate’s leer.

Sarah manned up and reached out a hand for the lid at the exact moment a mottled arm shot out of the mirror. It looked and felt absolutely real; an icy cold hand grabbed her wrist and jagged nails tore at her skin. Someone shrieked an impossibly loud and long sound of abject terror.

Sarah fought to tug her arm loose, trying to logic it out.
It’s not real!

Promises that it wasn’t real repeated through her mind and her ears rang as the ungodly wailing echoed off the rafters. She tried to back away, but the hand held firm, digging nails deeper into her flesh and pulling her closer until her sneakers banged roughly against the trunk and she almost toppled inside.

Stubbornly clutching the spell book to her side, Sarah pressed her backside down in an attempt to sit, but the hand held on and the trunk tipped toward her as though it would fall onto its side and yank her inside that way too. Lights sparkled in front of her eyes.
I’m going to pass out!
Still the hellish banshee scream bellowed in her ears until they itched and her eardrums vibrated dangerously.