Chapter 16

Where the rippling waters go cast a stone, the truth you"ll know

– Wiccan Rede

"Let's see," Fennel placed a covered basket on the table, causing Nova to move her cup of tea to the side.

"What are you doing?" Nova's eyes were red from weeping, and her cheeks were blotchy from rubbing the tears away. She sniffed a little as she cradled her tea in the palms of her hands, not yet recovered from her fright, and her anger at me for not answering my bedroom door swifter.

"Well, my dear, sometimes a witch needs to make her own solutions," Callista told her as she placed a handful of little jars on the tabletop. I reached out and turned one. Cloves. "Drink?" She added four mismatched glasses to the table and sloshed a little of her homemade vermouth into them. "I think that we could all use a drink."

"This one?" Fennel selected the skin of a poppet from the basket and passed it to Callista, its head, attached only by a couple of stitches, lolling back like the hood of a cloak. It was a bare template; its seams open for stuffing and no identifying features marked. I recognized the handy work as my own, one of the practice poppets that I had made the year before that hadn't been used in the final spell, but that Fennel had dubbed too good to cast away.

"It will do," Callista took it and inspected it, before lifting her eyes to meet mine. "Waste not, want not, hmm Nyx?" She passed it back to Fennel who happily dug into the basket selecting fabric and threads for hair.

"I guess," I sipped the vermouth, the flavors of chamomile and juniper competing with the gentian and wormwood. My hand shook a little, the liquid running up the sides in waves, but the burn of the liquor chased the chill from my core. "This… the men…"

"Yes, Nyx?" Callista measured spoons of sage and thyme into a bowl as Fennel began to anoint cotton balls with clary sage oil and stuffed them into the head, arms, and legs of the poppet.

"They mean to hurt us," I said softly. "They are dangerous."

"Yes, they are. But what they put out, we send back, threefold," she handed Fennel a clear quartz crystal and Fennel stuffed it into the core of the doll, before adding the herbs that Callista had prepared. She pulled the loose seams tight, sealing the doll's torso, before taking up her needle and thread and stitching on the head. Very quickly her needle created eyes and an open O of a mouth. "A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong it is until it's under hot water."

"Little one," Fennel brought the doll which now had a head of messy brown wool hair. "I made you and now I give you life. I name you John Renwright. His body is your body, his breath your breath. His blood is your blood and his heart beats in your chest. His flesh is your flesh, his bone is your bone. His thoughts are your thoughts, what is his, is now your own. Your mouth is open, from it words will spill, gossip, slander, and ill will. Speak of what you've seen, and those whose misdeeds have been. Sage for your mind to clear so you can share all that you hear, and a dash of vermouth to encourage you to speak the truth," Fennel splashed a little from her glass into the poppet's mouth. "So mote it be."

"So mote it be," we echoed automatically.

"Well then," Callista began to tidy away the ingredients. "The sun is rising. You girls had better go and get dressed for the day. I have a phone call to make."

I was glad to be released as beneath the bathrobe I was as naked as the day I'd entered the world, and in the absence of underwear, was only too aware of what Ender and I had been doing before our interruption.

"Why was your door locked?" Nova whispered as we headed to the stairs.

I recalled the echo spell on her and pressed my fingers to my lips shaking my head. Her frown was the threat of a storm on the horizon, so I took her by the wrist and drew her down the hallway to my room, and over to my desk. In a notebook, I wrote: "Echo spell."

Her inhalation was sharp. "WTF?" She scrawled under my note.

"Aunts. Shh." I scribbled back. "Door was locked because… I wasn't alone."

She made a sound like a smothered squeal and snatched the pen from my fingers. "WHO."

"I can't say."

"WTFN??!!"

I raised my eyebrows at her. She raised hers back and jabbed the pen into the notepad.

"It's complicated," I wrote. "Very complicated."

"Cemetery. Now."

"I need to shower and get dressed," I told her out loud. "And so do you."

"Okay but right after," she threatened me with a glare before going to the door. "No secrets."

"Same goes for you," I pointed out.

"I get the bathroom first," she said as she closed the door behind her.

I used the time to straighten my room, eliminating any sign of my nighttime visitor from the bed, other than the marks tapped into the wall behind the bedpost. As I considered the selection of clothing from my closet, I heard the phone ring downstairs.

"Elenyx!" Callista hollered. "Phone!"

Shit. There was only one place that would call for me, I thought as I hurried through the hallway and down the stairs. I slid past Callista to the antique phone chair where the receiver sat upon the worn wood table waiting for me.

I put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Elenyx." Sure enough, it was the manager from the coffee shop. "Kristine has called in sick."

"Okay," I glanced at the clock, which kept good time despite insisting on ringing the hour fifteen minutes late. "What shift do you need covered?"

"The late one. I'm sorry. I know you don't like closing." The apology was half-hearted. He didn't care that I didn't like closing but hoped that in apologizing I wouldn't decline. "I wouldn't ask except the other girls aren't over eighteen and aren't allowed to close."

I sighed. I did not like riding my bike home in the dark up the hill. It was bad enough in the day when the cars had a clear view of the road. At night, a bike was all but invisible.

He sensed my hesitation. "Please. I'll add time and a half for the last two hours."

"Fine," I agreed grudgingly. "I'll do it."

"Thank you."

"Elenyx, the bathroom's free," Nova called down the stairs as I hung up.

Knowing I had to work the late shift made selecting clothing easy, and after my shower, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt before heading back down for breakfast. Fennel had made oatmeal, and Nova was complaining as she added preserved peaches on top.

"It's a mess," Callista announced coming in through the kitchen door. "It's going to take all four of us most of the day to clean it up. Nova, you're the best with a paintbrush. After breakfast, you can fetch the cans of paint from the basement and paint over that horrible graffiti."

Nova grimaced. "I hate the basement," she complained.

"I'll get the paint for you," I offered. "I have to work," I added to Callista. "The late shift. So, I'll be able to help until then…"

"I guessed as much from your clothing," Callista observed.

"Not the late shift," Fennel complained. "We don't like you riding up and down the hill in the dark, Nyx."

"I don't like it either," I agreed. "But what can I do? Only over eighteens can close and Kristine called in sick. She's probably fucking that married man of hers," I added under my breath. "So skeezy."

"We judge the man, and not the woman," Callista replied primly as she sat at the table with her bowl. "He is the one married."

"She knows though," I pointed out. "And does it anyway."

"Still, she is not the one breaking her marriage vows, nor hurting a wife and children."

"It's Kristine Sawyer," Nova was on my side. "She probably seduced him on purpose and gets off on hurting his family. She's an evil bitch."

"Nova," Fennel disapproved. "This is not a conversation for the breakfast table."

"So, let's talk about those guys from last night, and what we're going to do about them," Nova jabbed her porridge with her spoon.

"I called the police," Callista replied.

"Yes. But…" Nova looked up frowning. "What else?"

"What else do you want me to do, my dear?" Callista asked with a small, tight smile.

"We're witches," Nova pointed out. "Surely there's more that we could do than make poppets," she pointed to Fennel's handiwork.

"The craft should be used with restraint," Callista set her teacup down on the saucer. "And as a last resort. We will speak with the police, first."

"Then what's the poppet for?" Nova didn't give ground.

"To make sure that the right person talks," Fennel smoothed the poppet's hair. "That much we can do."

"I'll go get the paint," I said standing and taking my bowl to the sink. I took the pantry stairs down into the basement.

In horror movies, basements are frightening places of monstrous items, dense shadows, and red-eyed rats. We did have some truly monstrous things in a locked cupboard at the back, but the aunts were the only ones who could open it. I had seen inside only occasionally, a glimpse of things floating in jars that were organic and supernatural in nature, but never enough to study the details of them. They were dark art ingredients, and the aunts preferred not to dabble too deeply in the darker side of magic.

Other than that, our basement was tidy, organized, and dust and cobweb-free. A lazy cat slept on an old chair and glared at me as I inspected the shelves, but that was the scariest thing I found down there as I retrieved the paint supplies and carried them back up with me to the kitchen.

Fennel was doing the dishes and singing along with the radio as I passed.

Nova and Callista were out front inspecting the damage to the front of the house and when I joined them Callista handed me a pair of work-gloves and an old shirt to cover and protect my own clothes with.

"We should take photos," I told her as I prized open the paint can and stirred it with a stick to mix the paint, driving it through the death"s head skull that formed in the liquid with determination. "For the police."

"No need," she glanced over her shoulder at the crunch of gravel, and we all turned as a police car pulled up. The police sat in the car for a long moment, keeping us waiting on purpose, I was sure, resenting being called to the Vossen house. They got out slowly, hitching their belts before strolling over to us.

"What's the problem here, Callista?" Sargent Collins asked with a roll of his eyes to his partner, Constable Liams.

Callista arched her eyebrows. "Do you not notice anything odd about the house, Jacob?" She sighed heavily in irritation. "I was quite clear over the phone. Was the message not passed on?"

"You had some rowdy visitors last night," Jacob Collins postulated.

"No," Callista's voice was tight. "We were attacked last night by two carloads of men, who threw things, broke windows, spray painted the side of the house, and tried to set fire to our garden whilst yelling abuse and demanding entry."

"You have a lot of enemies. Pissed off the wrong husband," Constable Liams decided.

"That's hardly the point," Callista snapped. "I know who was behind this. Warren Jackson."

"Did you have anything to do with Warren's missing wife?" Jacob Collins' eyes noticed. "They have been missing for over a week now, and he says they you have something to do with their disappearance and that we should search your house. He's a concerned husband searching for his missing wife."

"He's an abuser searching for his victim," Callista corrected. "She is free to go wherever she wishes. If she's chosen not to notify him of her whereabouts, that is her choice."

"So, you do know something," the constable's eyes narrowed.

"Everyone knows that Warren is free with his fists, especially when the target is smaller than he is."

"You should be careful with your words, Callista Vossen," Jacob Collins' eyebrows raised. "Whilst you have no evidence that Warren was responsible or a party to the attack on your house, you just slandered him within our earshot."

"We are the victims here," Callista scolded. "Or did you miss seeing the graffiti, glass, and scorch marks? If you are so certain that it was not Warren, then find out who it was. The town is only so big, after all, and there are only so many men who weren't tucked up at home last night."

"You might start at the bar," I suggested sweetly.

"And what would you know about the bar?" Constable Liam's eyes ran over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

"My niece is eighteen. Legally able to enter a bar," Callista stepped subtly between us. "But that is never mind. I have reported before that Warren Jackson has threatened us, banging on my door and windows late at night, and he put his hands on my niece in her workplace leaving bruises on her wrist."

"That's not proof that he was here last night, or responsible for it. We have spoken to him, and he has told us that he came to your house searching for his missing wife and daughter, and only approached your niece at work because he was buying a coffee." Jacob Collins sighed heavily anyway. "Look we'll go around and have a word to him and tell him to keep away, but without proof, our hands are tied. We cannot arrest people without evidence and there is no evidence of just who was here last night."

"Go to the bar and talk to John," Callista pulled on her gloves. "Nyx is right. They would have all had a bit of liquid courage before heading up the hill to harass us."

"We will certainly do our due diligence," Sargent Collins was less than impressed by being told how to do his job. "We'll let you know if we have any news, but I very much doubt it." He and the constable returned to the car, and we watched them go.

"Fat lot of good that did," Nova muttered.

"We shall see," Callista was calm as she reviewed the damage to the house. "Well, my girls, to work with us!"

"So…?" Nova said when our work brought us together away from Callista's keen hearing.

"You start," I replied firmly.

"I met someone," she whispered. "He's… well, he's… He was using me," she was ashamed of it. "Some stupid dare. Some game that boys play, to prove who is the biggest arsehole… I thought… I thought he was the one, but he's not. And now he won't see me," she was angry, slapping the paint onto the wall so that I danced back to avoid the spray cast off.

"I'm sorry."

"So, what's your story?" She demanded.

"There are two… men," I said hesitantly. "Neither is… Well. Human."

She stopped painting and turned to stare at me slack-jawed before grinning and nudging me with her elbow. "Who would have thought you would be such a kinky slut," she remarked laughing ruefully. "So, one of them was there last night… Or…" Her eyes lit up. "Were both of them there? Where did they go?"

"I… uh," I was flustered with embarrassment. "Just one… In the bedroom last night," I corrected myself. "And… He just…. Goes away."

"Handy," she fixed her painting. "Unless it's at the wrong moment," she added with a smirk.

"Nova!" I cringed.

"True," she was smug.

"What's true?" Fennel wondered stepping out with a tray of cold iced tea.

Nova and I exchanged a side-eye. "Nothing," we said in sync.

We ate a late lunch on the porch watching the busy cabbage butterflies flitter amongst the plants, and as I leaned back on the cushions of the cane couch and listened to the chatter between the aunts and Nova, I thought of what Ender had said.

"Make sure that those who you value, know how important they are to you, and don't waste those precious moments on a demon who is playing a cruel game." Of course, a grim reaper would hold such a view, he probably had spirits bemoaning their regrets all the way to the underworld all day and night long, but that didn't make the words any less true.

"I love you," I said to them.

"Of course, you do," Nova mocked me. "What's not to love?"

Fennel looked up with a small smile. "We love you too, dear."

Callista's eyes were sharper. "What brings that on, Nyx?" She wondered.

I shrugged. "Nothing. I just… don't say it enough."

As the aunts and Nova settled into the afternoon on the porch, I headed inside to tidy up for work, and as the afternoon dimmed, I grabbed my bag and bike and wheeled it past them. "I'll see you late tonight, I guess!" I called up to them as I swung onto the bike.

If they replied, I had pedalled too far away to hear. As I reached the end of the driveway, I paused, one foot on the ground, looking for traffic either way. A dark, expensive, modern car was parked just up the hill, half hidden by trees where teenagers sometimes parked to smoke where they imagined they would not be noticed. There was a good lookout over the lighthouse and our house, and the ocean beyond, from that point.

I turned my bike down the hill and let the bike gather speed as gravity pulled me into the descent. I heard an engine start and steered to the side, although the road there was rough under my wheels. The car was coming fast, and I swore under my breath. Its passing would force me onto the part of the road where the little girl had died, and I had first encountered Ender. I had been avoiding riding over that spot ever since, partially out of respect, and partially out of some trauma-induced dread.

The car was directly behind me.

"Just go around quickly," I cursed it. The way was narrow, but it could get past with care, and I was as far over as I could go and going faster than was wise.

I was flying before I realized it and heard the crunch of my bike as the car passed over it just before I hit the tarmac. As the little girl had, I slid across the rough surface. There wasn't pain, just a sensation of cold, my body shocked past agony as bones broke and skin ripped. Tires squealed and the car pulled to a stop. My vision went white as my slide ended, and I saw the man as a silhouette, a black shape washed of detail, then the car started again, and it passed around me, as it should have done from the start.

"Help…" My voice was a rasp. I could feel the sun-warmed tarmac become wet with blood beneath my fingertips and palms, and my body burned with a cold fire as shock passed, and nerves registered their injuries. "Help me. I don't want to die."

"Elenyx." Ender knelt at my side, and his hand rested gently on my shoulder. "You are not alone. I am here."

"Help me," I pleaded.

"I am here," he repeated tenderly. "You are not alone."

There was no help to be had from him, I realized. I was dying and he would stay at my side waiting for me to die, and then escort me on… I didn't want to die. Not like this. Not at all. There was so much that I wanted to do, to achieve. So much that I would lose in dying. If Ender would not help, then…

"Mal," I whispered.

"No," Ender protested. "No, Nyx. Don't."

"Malachar Veridian."

There was a flash of fire at the corner of my vision, and the scent of sulphur. "What is… Holy fuck, Nyx," Malachar dropped to his knees on my other side. "Nyx…" He leaned over me. "You need to invoke me Nyx. Invoke me. Invite me to be your familiar."

"No, Nyx. It is your time," Ender's voice was tight and urgent, his usual reserve lost in the moment. "Be gone, Malachar," was uttered with authoritative command and anger.

"Fuck you," Mal retorted. "You have no power over me, Death, I answer to another. Nyx. Just say. I, Nyx, invoke you, Malachar Veridian, and I can save you."

"Nyx…" Ender"s tone turned pleading and sorrowful. "Don't do this."

"I don't want to die." I was bleeding out onto the road, my body a broken doll, bones puncturing organs, and the shockingly cold burn was now a growing pain. I was going to die on the road like the little girl. I would not die alone. One lover would watch me perish and then take my spirit to the underworld. The other… The other would save me. "I invoke you, Malachar… Mal…" I was fading.

"Good enough," Mal pushed back his sleeves.

"Damn you, Malachar," Ender's anger was fierce and frightening.

"Too late for that." Mal placed his hands on me, and suddenly I was burning.