8. Take Two

Chapter 8

Take Two

E ight more days until Christmas. Please work this time.

Alice lit one last incense stick, placing it in one of the many wooden holders around the arcane symbol she drew on the hardwood floor. She wafted her hand over the rising smoke to spread the cleansing vapor cloud throughout the space. The smells in her living room assaulted her senses. A mixture of incense she purchased from Madame Sophia all vied for control of her sense of smell.

She breathed in deeply the mixed cocktail of odors. Alice couldn't take any chances this time. She needed to purify her space, ensuring any ill intent from the spirit realm didn't manifest itself in the material world. The mixture from Madame Sophia had to do the trick.

She glanced over at Max, seated and waiting patiently for Alice to do something. Her hairy tail brushed across the floor like a feather duster, scattering any pieces of debris. The young golden retriever's body shook with anticipation as, from what Alice could infer, she waited for instructions on how to play this new game. Alice recognized her expression. Max was waiting for the signal to play a game of wrestling on the floor. Hugo had played it often.

"Not today, Max," Alice said, raising her hand.

Max laid down, and her tail stopped wagging. She let out a low groan of disapproval.

Alice chuckled. "This will work, Max. I know it will. In a few moments, our Hugo will be home again."

Alice positioned herself at the base of the circle, away from the tip pointing north. With a snap of her fingers, the room darkened. Lamps turned off. Candles scattered throughout the room dimmed. Their eerie glow cast a dance of shadows across the walls. Their melted wax bubbled as it dripped down their sticks of black, purple, red, white, and green. The dim light wasn't necessary, but it provided a much-needed ambiance to the occasion.

Alice flipped through the pages of The Book of the Dead. She found yet another spell to conjure spirits, this time channeling them through an object—Hugo's hockey stick. Alice's fingers traced the arcane words across the stained pages as she recited them under her breath. The book shook and trembled. Alice reeled back on her heels.

"Okay," Alice said. "The shaking is kind of new."

The book reverberated in her hands, pulsating back and forth. It stopped and then continued. Slight vibrations. As if it were signaling out to someone . . . or something.

Alice glanced over at Max, who still waited patiently by Alice's side.

"This . . . this is a good thing. Yeah. A good thing. It's probably working as I'm preparing the spell. Calling to Hugo. Yeah. Summoning Hugo," Alice said.

Max waved her tail back and forth across the hardwood floor.

Alice's heart thrummed in her chest. A tingle went up her spine. Her fingers tapped against the back of the book as she finished reading over the last bits of the spell.

"Okay, Max," Alice said as she placed the book next to the circle. "Here we go."

She tucked her knees in underneath her and sat back on her heels. Alice sat upright, straightening her chest. She gave a tug to her curved, pointed witch's hat. Her lucky hat. Clearly, it was the missing ingredient from her last attempt at manifestation, and she wouldn't be without it this time. She rubbed her knees and bounced a little on her heels.

Her eyes focused on the circle. She breathed deeply, never averting her gaze. Her mind cleared. She only thought of Hugo.

Hugo .

His icy blue eyes. His coifed hair. She remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on him. Flying on Galahad. Peering over the fence as he chased Max around his backyard. The seriousness in her voice as she offered to get her blood ritual tools to seal their sacred oath to never ask each other how they were doing. She would have done it, and she was still slightly disappointed they settled on a spit swear.

Alice smiled. She only wanted good thoughts entering her mind as she focused on her ritual work.

Alice glanced at Max. "This will work. I'm sure of it."

Max moaned, her head resting on her front paws.

Alice took one last breath and held it. She placed Hugo's hockey stick in the center of the star and circle drawing sprawled out on her floor. She leaned forward, both hands grasping the graphite shaft. She started her ritual, calling forth the words of the dark arcane language.

The candlelight flickered. Their ghostly shadows danced across the wall and surfaces of her bookcases. A breeze moved through the room low against the floor. The incense smoke wafted in serpentine movements as it was whipped around by the ghostly presence moving throughout the room.

Max let out a whimper, no doubt frightened from the commotion in the living room.

Alice never wavered. She held tightly to the hockey stick. She recited the words to summon her fiancé back from the dead. Her unwavering emerald green eyes remained fixed on the black and gray hockey stick.

Hugo completely consumed her mind, leaving no space for other thoughts. Images played like scenes from a movie. She focused on one scene—Hugo's wet hair when he came over to apologize after the night she introduced him to broomstick flying. He never needed to apologize for wanting to wait, but the gesture and the way his wet hair clung to his head made him irresistible and so sexy. She desired him right there in her entryway.

The songs from his WORK MY MAGIC ON ALICE playlist rotated in her mind. Pieces of "I Put a Spell on You" morphed into "Wicked Game," along with pieces of "Love Song" and "Witchcraft." Vivid images came to her mind of the two of them sloshing and slow dancing through the grape musk as they crushed the grapes between their feet.

She recreated the playlist on her phone, listening to the songs over and over. Four simple songs, but they meant so much more. Alice knew he was the one right then and there, standing in the vat of grapes. Dancing to a playlist like a pair of teenagers making out to a mix tape. No one cared for her like Hugo. No one.

The breeze picked up and swirled around the summoning circle. Max stood up and leaped onto the red Victorian couch. Her moans were muffled behind what Alice thought was one of her pillows. Alice never relented her gaze. Her mindful intention focused on Hugo's hockey stick. Her mind's recreation of him nearly complete.

"I call forth the spirit of Hugo Dodds," she yelled out.

The breeze intensified. A few candles blew out and knocked over onto the hardwood floor from the mantle. The incense swirled around, caught up in the vortex forming around the circle.

"I call forth the spirt of Hugo Dodds to return to the material realm," Alice yelled out once more.

Her witch's hat blew off and flew down her back.

"I call forth Hugo Dodds to enter the material realm once again," she shouted. "I call him forth now!"

The wind dissipated, swirling the ghastly white smoke around. Despite the strong breeze, the incense still burned and provided the needed protection. The room was quiet.

Alice scanned the living room. There was no sign of Hugo or anything else. Nothing appeared inside the summoning circle. No body. No wraith. No spirit. No Hugo. She was alone.

Alice gulped. Her chin trembled and shook. She turned an ear, listening for any signs of Hugo manifesting elsewhere in the house. Maybe he appeared upstairs.

There were no footsteps. No commotion. No shouting for joy as he came running down the steps.

"Hugo!" Alice shouted. "Hugo, are you here?"

Silence.

Alice leaned back on her heels. She waited . . . waited for any sign he was home.

There was only silence.

"Hugo, this isn't funny," she yelled.

No response.

Alice sprung to her feet. She left the living room and went for the basement door, flinging it open. The stairwell was dark. She rumbled down the steps. The wood planks creaked with every forceful and purposeful step. When she reached the bottom, she yanked on the pull chain to illuminate the basement.

She was only greeted with the empty grape boxes. No signs of life. The basement was empty.

Alice held her breath, hoping, waiting for something to happen. "Hugo?" Alice said once more.

Still no response.

She ran back up the steps, turned down the hallway and upstairs toward her bedroom. Her legs burned with every step. To Alice, if there were ten steps, then there were a hundred, each one more laborious than the last as she raced to the top of the steps.

She breathed deeply to catch her breath as she flung open the bedroom door. "Hugo," Alice shouted. "Are you here?"

"Did it work?" Alice's reflection answered.

Alice snarled and slammed the bedroom door shut.

"I'll take it as a no," Alice's reflection's muffled voice said from within the bedroom.

Alice charged back down the winding staircase and into the living room. "Hugo! Are you here?" she cried out.

There was no response.

"Hugo, this isn't funny."

The house was silent.

"Hugo?"

The ritual had failed.

Alice stormed over to the circle and snatched up Hugo's hockey stick. She let out a barbaric yawp and threw it against her shelves. It cracked in half as it crashed into the corner of the wooden bookcase and tumbled to the floor.

Max buried her head deep under the pillows of the couch.

Alice covered her mouth, and a deluge of tears flowed down her face. She collapsed to her knees in a thud, hunching over. Her forehead pressed against the cold hard floor. "What did I do?" she cried. "I broke it. Why did I do that?"

Alice let out a bawling howl.

"I'm sorry," Alice said through her tears. "I didn't mean to."

She crawled over to the broken stick. The shaft split in two, still held on by a faint piece of the carbon fiber coating. Alice crossed her legs and sat on the floor, cradling the stick.

She placed the two broken pieces together, holding their bond tight. Raising the stick to her mouth, she breathed over them. Alice then recited an arcane language to call forth her magick. With a few words, the shaft was as good as new, except for a small line where the two pieces fused together.

"A perfectly broken stick," Alice muttered.

The images of her and Hugo walking through the woods flooded her mind. The day she bent down to pick up the broken stick and placed it in her bag. She would later use the same stick in the ingredient for making The Lovers' Kiss potion with Hugo.

Alice laughed, wiping away her tears. She longed to make another batch of The Lovers' Kiss with him. Her fingers tapped against the rubber like coating of the hockey stick. She would give anything to have him here to share this moment with her. Their second perfectly broken stick.

Alice stood, still clutching the black and gray hockey stick. She moved over to the red velvet, Victorian couch. Holding onto the couch arm, she eased down into the very spot where The Lovers' Kiss had revived her. Alice glanced at Max. Her face was buried behind one of Alice's many pillows. She scratched the golden retriever's back. Max's head popped up from the sanctity of her pillow cavern.

"It's okay, Max," Alice said as she ran her fingernails through the thick fur of Max's backside. "We'll try again. At least we didn't summon a wraith this time. That's progress, right?"

Max smiled, and the tip of her tail wiggled.

"Next time. We'll find Hugo next time."

After a moment, Alice rose to her feet and placed the hockey stick on the coffee table. With a snap of her fingers, her curved witch's hat flew across the room and into her awaiting hand. She pulled it over her head and secured it into place.

"Max, I need a drink . . . and a hug."

Alice took a deep breath and proceeded toward the basement door.