Dark Magic

39

“Please reconsider,” Holly said.

“I’ve made up my mind,” her aunt said stubbornly.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t change it.”

“Are you lecturing me, my dear?”

“I most certainly am,” Holly said. “Talking to the police is a mistake. Word will spread about who we are, and the government will swoop down, and take us away. They’ll turn us into well-fed lab rats, like poor Nemo.”

“Is the alternative any better?”

“We can catch Wolfe, if we put our minds to it.”

They were in the kitchen in Milly’s apartment, standing at the counter. Most people assumed that witches spent their free time riding broomsticks and causing warts to sprout up on people’s noses, when in fact they liked to do normal things like everyone else. Milly’s passion was cooking, and Holly helped her aunt knead the bread dough lying in a pan. Not that either of them were hungry, but it helped them get their minds off Reggie’s death.

“So, tell me what’s wrong between you and Peter,” Milly said.

Holly worked the dough between her fingers. Her aunt had always been keen on her moods, and quick to offer advice, if she thought it might help. “Nothing,” she said quietly.

“Then why does your voice go up every time you mention his name?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Quite. It happens when people are in love. Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

Finding the words to describe her feelings was not easy, but Holly tried anyway. “I don’t understand what’s happening to Peter. One minute he’s a dark, snarling person who’s ordering me around like a slave, while the next he’s the same wonderful boy I’ve always known. He’s become two completely different individuals. I don’t know how to deal with him anymore.”

“Does his dark side frighten you?”

“Yes, and I don’t like it.”

“Nor should you,” her aunt said. “Peter is a wonderful young man, and we must keep him that way.”

“What do you mean? How can we influence who he is?”

“Simple. When his mood turns dark, you must continue to be kind to him. Do not become angry or upset. It will only make the situation worse.”

Holly stopped what she was doing. “You’ve seen this side to him before?”

“Back when he was a child, yes.”

“Is that how you treated him-by killing him with kindness?”

“That’s exactly what I did. Max as well.”

“Is there something wrong with Peter?”

“It’s an inherited trait.”

“His parents were like this?”

“Yes,” Milly said quietly. “Peter takes after them.”

“But I thought they were college professors, and very sweet.”

“They were sweet, most of the time,” Milly said. “But there was another side to them as well. I saw it once with his mother during a seance. I would liken it to watching Dr. Jekyll turn into Mr. Hyde. The transformation was frightening, to say the least.”

“Where did it come from?”

Milly started to reply, then thought better of it. She removed an open bottle of Chablis from the refrigerator, filled two small glasses, and handed one to her niece. “Its origin is not important. What matters is that it’s there, and you must be willing to deal with it.”

Holly let the glass kiss her lips. “Why should I?”

“You love Peter, don’t you?”

“Very much.”

“And you’re hoping that, one day, he’ll leave his girlfriend, and be with you instead. It’s entirely possible, considering that his girlfriend is not psychic, and will have a hard time dealing with Peter’s powers once she learns about them. Every psychic has their heart broken at least once in their life, and I’m guessing Peter will not be an exception.”

Holly sipped the wine. She didn’t want Peter’s heart to be broken, or have him end up with her just because someone normal wouldn’t have him. It wasn’t the scenario she envisioned for them at all. “Maybe he’ll just grow tired of her,” she said quietly.

“That’s entirely possible,” Milly said. “Whatever the case, you hope for the day when Peter will be yours. If that day comes, then you must be willing to deal with the dark side of his personality. That is the only choice you have, my dear. Don’t make the mistake of believing that you can change Peter to suit your needs. That notion is what destroys most relationships.”

Holly eyed her aunt coolly. “But why is it my only choice? Why can’t Peter accept this isn’t a good thing, and find a way to fix it? Men who have anger issues go to therapists and work out their problems. Why should Peter be any different?”

“Because he is different,” Milly said.

“So am I. So are you.”

“Not like Peter.”

“Are you saying that he’s special?”

“Yes. Henry and Claire Warren were not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill psychics, and neither is their son.”

“I still don’t like the way Peter’s acting,” Holly said, not backing down.

“It’s a fight you cannot win, my dear.”

Holly felt otherwise. She started to say so, when she heard the buzzer ring.

“That must be Peter,” she said, and hurried from the kitchen.

* * *

Holly stuck her eye to the peephole in her aunt’s front door.

“Hello, Max,” she said, opening the door.

The old magician put his arms gently around her upon entering. “I’m so sorry about poor Reggie. It must have been horrible to see him go.”

Holly stifled a tiny sob. Max lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, showed his hands empty, and made a beautiful red rose appear out of thin air.

“Thanks, Max,” she said.

She hung his overcoat in the hall closet. In the living room Max took his usual spot on the couch. He looked exhausted, and took several deep breaths. Holly sat beside him and took his hand. “You’re very warm. Are you feeling all right?”

“My heart has been racing all day,” Max replied. “To lose two of your soul mates is brutal. Have you talked to Peter? Is he going to join us? We have to talk Milly out of this.”

“Peter is on his way,” Holly said. “Aunt Milly and I were just talking about him. Have you noticed how he’s been acting lately? He’s like a man possessed.”

“We’re all on edge,” Max said defensively.

“That’s not what I mean. Peter’s changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it, Max. He’s turned brutal.”

“Not Peter.”

“Yes, Peter. I want someone to tell me what’s going on.”

Max wiggled his fingers. A shiny silver dollar appeared, which he adroitly rolled back and forth across his knuckles. He split the silver dollar into two half-dollars, showed both sides of his hands, and split the half-dollars into four quarters. A smile lit up his face.

“Like it?” he asked.

“It was wonderful.”

“Did I fool you?”

“Please stop avoiding the question.”

He fished the various coins out of his sleeves and returned them to his pockets. “There is nothing going on, Holly, other than Peter is discovering certain things about himself that he will need to come to grips with. Our job is to be there for him, and help guide him.”

“But-”

He shushed her with a finger. “You want to know why Peter’s acting this way? That is something for him to tell you one day, not me, or anyone else. Do you understand?”

She shook her head helplessly. “No, I don’t.”

“Peter is evolving. Part of his evolution will be in the choices that he makes, and how he deals with these special gifts that he’s discovering. The worst thing we can do is to interrupt this process, and make him question himself. Do you understand now?”

“No.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why I can’t be let in on the secret.”

Her aunt slipped into the living room, still wearing her apron. “Hello, Max. How are you holding up?” she asked.

“I’ve had better days. How about you, Milly?”

“If I could, I would make us all wake up from this horrible dream.”

“If only that were possible. Come join us. We were talking about Peter.”

Milly joined them on the couch, and sat to Holly’s right. An uncomfortable silence followed. Holly hated when grown-ups went mute.

“For the last time, what is wrong with Peter?” Holly asked.

“She’s like a dog with a bone,” Max said to Milly.

“You’re not being fair,” Holly said.

“Life isn’t fair,” her aunt reminded her.

“Peter scares me,” Holly said, raising her voice. “Is he some kind of demon? Should I be afraid of him? I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Another silence followed. Max cleared his throat.

“Would you like to tell her, or should I?” the old magician asked.

“Oh, why don’t you,” Milly replied.

Max faced Holly, and held her hands with both his own. “Since you asked, here it is. Peter is a warlock, and not just in name only. He’s a real one.”

An icy finger ran down Holly’s spine. In books and the movies, warlocks were depicted as humans who had attained magical or mystical powers which they used for the betterment of mankind. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Warlocks were evil people who had entered into pacts with the Devil, and were the worst form of deceivers. Other psychics viewed them as heretics, and Holly was having a hard time believing that Peter was one.

“But he can’t be,” she said.

“But he is,” her aunt corrected her.

“He can’t be. I would have seen it long ago.”

“Peter inherited it from his parents, who became warlocks as children,” her aunt replied. “It’s in his genes.”

Holly shook her head in disbelief. She was in love with Peter, and had been for as long as she could remember. How could she have possibly missed this?

“How long have you known?” she asked.

“I saw it when Peter was a boy,” Milly said. “He roughed up a bully at his school, and really hurt him. Max saw it as well. Didn’t you, Max?”

“Afraid so,” Max said. “There is a demon simmering just below the surface. I saw it several times when I was giving him magic lessons. I learned to give in, and never argue with him. Eventually, the demon would leave, and he’d go back to being his normal, fun-loving self. When he was searching for a stage name, I suggested Warlock because it sounded magical, but there was another reason as well.”

“Because he is one.” Holly rose and went to the window. The oak trees in Central Park were filled with her aunt’s beloved crows, lined up in a military-like formation.

“Will he stay like this?” she heard herself ask.

“Only if we let him,” her aunt replied.

“What do you mean? How do we play into this?”

“Every person, be they a witch or warlock or what-have-you, has a guiding force in their lives,” Milly explained. “The guiding force in Peter’s life is us. Our job is to surround Peter with positive influences. That was how we raised him, and it worked wonders. The same must hold true now. You cannot fight fire with fire.”

“So when he acts like a monster, I should be nice to him,” Holly said.

“Yes, my dear,” her aunt said.

“That’s going to be hard.”

“Try.”

The buzzer rang again, and Holly turned from the window. The burning sensation she felt when thinking about Peter had turned into a deep ache in her heart. Yet it did not diminish her love for him. If anything, her feelings for him were stronger than before.

“Would you like me to answer the door?” her aunt asked.

“No, I’ll get it,” Holly replied.

Holly stuck her eye to the peephole. In the hallway stood an older man wearing the camel-colored uniform that came with his security job. Clutched between his hands was a package with a UPS label. It was Ralph, who’d been working here since Holly was little.

“Who is it?” her aunt called from the living room.

“It’s Ralph. He’s delivering a package,” Holly replied.

“I wasn’t expecting anything. Were you?”

“No.”

“He usually calls up first,” her aunt said suspiciously.

“Maybe he forgot.”

Through the peephole, Ralph gave the buzzer another jab. He was a good-natured man and friendly, but now had a troubled look on his face. Holly decided to err on the side of caution, and opened the front door without unfastening the security chain. “Hi, Ralph? What have you got for us?” She peered through the cracked door.

“Special delivery,” Ralph said.

“Is something wrong? Who’s that standing behind you?”

Ralph’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he sunk to the floor still clutching the package. Behind him stood the man who’d attacked her and Reggie that morning. It was Wolfe, clutching a club in his hand.

“Aunt Milly, call 911,” Holly shouted.

Wolfe kicked the door before Holly could shut it. The chain broke, and the door hit her in the face. Seeing stars, she fell to the floor. Wolfe entered and slammed the door.

“Hello, bitch,” Wolfe said.

“It’s witch,” Holly whispered.

“I like bitch better. Stand up.”

“I can’t,” Holly replied, fighting to stay conscious.

Wolfe grabbed Holly by the hair, and jerked her head so he was looking in her face.

“You’re a difficult one, aren’t you?”

“Go to hell.”

Wolfe dragged Holly kicking and screaming into the living room like a caveman. Her aunt was waiting, and tried to hit Wolfe with an antique lamp. Wolfe lashed out, and sent her aunt sprawling to the floor. Max was next, and threw a clumsy punch at Wolfe’s head. The old magician also ended up on the floor.

Holly pushed herself into a kneeling position. Blood was pouring out of her mouth, and one of her bottom teeth felt loose. She looked up at Wolfe.

The assassin was smiling at her.

“Your turn,” he said.

Holly braced herself. She had accepted her own mortality long ago. It was part of being a witch. What she hadn’t accepted was that she might be brutally murdered in the prime of her life. That wasn’t fair, and she told herself she must fight back.

Through the living room window, she saw the crows dancing on the branches. They knew something was wrong, yet without Milly’s direction, would not react.

Help me, she told them.

Wolfe raised his club.