“Thank you for coming Mr. and Mrs. Salazar,” Mackenzie said with a soft smile.
The owners of her local bodega both nodded before Mrs. Salazar took her hand and started to cry again. She whimpered something in Spanish before pulling Mackenzie into a strong hug. Mackenzie patted her back and urger her to let go. The older woman resisted and hugged her tighter.
Mr. Salazar calmly patted Mackenzie’s shoulder, “You come in, free frank. One a day,” he said holding up a finger for emphasis. “Maybe two if you bring Vacío,” his pet name for Martin. “Fair weather, Mackenzie,” he said as he pulled his wife away, lovingly kissing her temple.
As they walked away, she asked what he had said, and his explanation caused her to swat at him with her purse. She hurried back and took Mackenzie’s hands again.
“Free. All day.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Salazar. It means a lot,” Mackenzie replied giving her a hug again.
She waved them off at the door and they walked to their beat-up old car their sons kept going by some mechanical magic Mackenzie had no idea about. A part of her wondered if it was magic. Maybe one of the Salazar boys was a machine witch or something.
“They’re not,” A voice spoke behind her causing her to squeak and turn to see Mistress Melody, “The boys are just that good. They keep my veterinary ambulance purring like a kitten.” She snorted and covered her mouth to release a few trills of laughter, “I see you haven’t made your decision.”
“You said by Monday at sunset,” Mackenzie thought, her hand going to her pocketbook hanging off of her arm, where the key and her memento for Fredrick both sat.
“That’s the deadline, they will accept early entries,” Melody said as she sipped some of the wine from the service.
“They?” Mackenzie asked.
“Macaroon will explain when you make your choice for, and only then. It’s a bit involved and complicated,” Melody used as an excuse, “How was it? I stepped out when the Father began his sermon. Never been overly fond of Catholics.”
“They try to burn you at the stake?” Mackenzie muttered.
Melody grinned, “No, I was enjoying being a Jewish spinster during the Black Death. Unfortunately, I had to let that name die before Clement got around to seeing wanton murder as bad,” she chuckled again. “I’ll be heading out before the next service. A few of the expected visitors requested I not be here.”
“Bad blood between covens?” Mackenzie pressed.
“There’s always bad blood between covens,” Melody mused, taking another sip, “More like old flames, old partners. People who would want to discuss business. Plus, if I was there it would change into a peacocking contest. Especially when some of the European monsters arrive.” She scoffed. “I suggest you leave before the sun sets, Mackenzie. Those visitors will give you a fright.”
“How bad can they be?” she asked as Melody left for her car. She made an overdramatic swoon and put her wrist to her forehead. “Does this woman live off of drama?” Mackenzie thought watching her.
“Oh, that monster bit wasn’t hyperbole. You met our young prodigy Kenneth, right? Well, he’s only half of some of what you’ll be experiencing,” she said, her grin causing her face to seemingly distend.
Mackenzie swallowed as she watched Melody drain the last of her wine and slip into her car. Bandit, who had been sitting by their van lopped to it and hopped in the driver’s seat. His body warped and twisted until he took on the appearance of an older white man in a chauffeur’s uniform. He nodded his cap to her and drove off.
“Sounds interesting!” Mackenzie yelled after her car. She clenched her fists and headed toward the van to retrieve Macaroon from his carrier. “Real interesting,” she said under her breath.
<><><>
As the time for the second service drew close Teritha and Charlotte left, taking the De Ville. They argued softly until they got to the car and both women let out a cheerful cackle as they zoomed off. Mackenzie made note the direction they were headed was to her mother’s favorite salon.
“Two of a kind, aren’t they, Mack?” Paul asked resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, daddy,” she answered doing the same to him. They stayed like that for a few seconds, watching the passing traffic.
“Paulie!” Joe called. The older man was wheeled by them, he shook their hands again, “Phil did a damn good job, and we were happy to help. Our insurance is gonna cover a whole lot to fix the place, and some of the costs I think will be eaten up in that.”
“Giuseppe, come on. No. Dad’s life insurance,” Paul began before the older man waved him away.
“Fuck all that! I got grandkids too, and I know college ain’t ever been a question with you, but Mack here,” he took her hand and squeezed, “You got some good chops kid. Go for Harvard or one of them fancy European schools. And that’s gonna cost money even your old man don’t have, eh?” he wiggled his broken arm to try and elbow Paul. “Freddie was a friend for a long time, I wouldn’t even have my license wasn’t for his help after the Big Fire,” a blaze that ripped through their neighborhood sometime after 1950.
Paul took off his glasses and took Joe’s hand, “When your arm is fixed, I’ll come to the poker game. Beer and everything on me,”
“Fuck I’ll take that over a cleanup fee any day, Paul,” Anthony chimed in from behind his father’s wheelchair.
“Exactly. You two take care. Phil will handle everything from here. Truth is,” Joe said leaning toward them conspiratorially. “I fucking hate animals. Macaroon excepted,” he said motioning to the cat. Laughing he ordered Anthony to get them home and the two left.
“Good people,” Paul said softly, “Mack, I’m gonna go inside and double check everything is good with Phil. You and Macaroon can stay here for a few, yeah? You’ll keep her safe, buddy?”
Macaroon meowed as Paul scratched his head, moving around his ear to his chin. Mackenzie gave a nod to her father, and he entered. The two of them alone stared at the calm sky.
“He’s not leaving because of the animals, is he?” Mackenzie asked.
“How’d you know?” Macaroon asked licking his paw.
“That’s how Mr. Fiore talks to the people from Hadron’s Glen about the ‘let me tell you a secret about this business,’” she said making sarcastic quotes in the air. “Is he a witch?”
“No,” Macaroon said, “None of the Fiore family is. They do work closely with witches, though. Their shop is heavily warded and protected to keep Urshan from eating the witch corpses they process,” he explained.
“I guess Powell and Sons didn’t sign the right paperwork,” Mackenzie said with a snort.
“They did,” Macaroon responded in a low growl, “That strip mall you passed is built on warded ground. Ground the Powell and Sons funeral home should have been built on. If they hadn’t moved, Wednesday night wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh,” she said looking at him, “I know your opinion, but-”
“You saw the people honoring Freddie’s memory,” Macaroon interrupted. “The people coming after three will be the ones you’ll be dealing with if you make,” Macaroon licked his chops, “your choice.”
They already know my answer
Mackenzie thought about that for a second, “Let’s go inside. I’d rather be next to daddy when they show up.”
Turning on her heel she went to the door and opened it for him. Macaroon was reminded how Freddie always stood within arm’s length of Paul when a supernatural visitor called. Protective of the family, to a fault.
“Good idea,” Macaroon said as he went in, his head hanging.
As Mackenzie was about to let the door close, there was a ring from the church clock tower down fourth street, not two blocks from their location. She listened to it until the final bong sounded.
A large black hand was placed on the door above her head. A man, easily over six feet tall had appeared next to her. He was wearing a crisp mourner’s suit with clean shiny shoes. His face had scarification marks that lined up with his brilliant brown eyes.
“Excuse me,” he had a heavy South African accent, “Is this where the service for Frederick Nichols is to be held?”
“Yes, please step inside, mister?” she said, trying to keep her voice even. Where had he come from? How did she not hear him?
He smiled, “Kamogelo Mahlangu. And you must be Mackenzie Nichols.”
“Yes, sir. Allow me to show you to the hall,” she said as she stepped inside, out from under his arm.
He nodded and followed. He removed the trilby he was wearing and held it to his chest with a deep bow. She locked eyes with the massive brown fruit bat located on his back left shoulder.
“This is Peanut,” he said pointing from his bow. He rose. “Animal friendly service, yes?”
“Yes. Macaroon is with my father,” she said as she led him to the service room.
Macaroon was sitting, bored looking, next to Paul’s feet. As he saw them approach his eyes widened and his tail began to tick tock back and forth. Mackenzie passed him and stood next to her father on the opposite side of Macaroon.
“Hello, sir. You’re the first. Pretty punctual!” Paul said, some bit of social fatigue slipping into his voice.
Kamogelo smiled and shook his hand,” Yes. I prefer to be punctual. It helps me catch planes,” he said with a laugh as if he told a joke. “I am Kamogelo Mahlangu. Your father worked with the founders of my organization for conservation projects.” He presented a card.
The name and logo Mackenzie remembered seeing on letterhead in Frederick’s study. He always seemed amused while reading the letters.
“You came a long way for the funeral, Mr. Mahlangu,” Paul said copying his pronunciation.
“Kamo, please. And not nearly as long as you may think.” he said as he stepped to the edge of the room.
He looked at the nearly imperceptible crease in the carpet made by the double doors. His eyes scanned it and Mackenzie felt something from him as he looked around the room before settling on the portrait of Frederick. With confidence he stepped into the service room and Mackenzie saw him visibly relax.
The fruit bat on his back scurried to sit more on his shoulder. It opened its mouth and flicked its tongue at the air as Kamo approached the table.
He extended the middle and ring fingers on his left hand. Removing his hat, he set it on the table and tapped the lid of the urn. When it did not respond he bowed his head and brought his hands together in prayer. The bat, Peanut, did the same.
When he finished, he extracted a piece of bark from his coat pocket and set it gingerly in the empty tray on the urn’s left side. It was marked, ‘second service only.’
Mackenzie’s face twisted into rage, and she made to step to him. Macaroon saw her and swiftly moved in front of her feet, mewling. He rubbed his body against her legs.
“I think Rooney needs some water or food, Mack. Get his bowl and everything from the car,” Paul said handing her the keys.
“Sure, daddy,” Mackenzie said through gritted teeth. Macaroon trotted with her, and she glared at him as soon as they were out of earshot, “He said-”
“I know what he said,” Macaroon spat, “Why do you think this service is after all of Freddie’s friends and family are gone? Why do you think he waited until after the hour bell? Witches don’t stay friends for long. It could be because of the coven,” they exited and went to the De Ville, “Because of some random ritual. Maybe he saw his future and Freddie was a part of it. No one coming now will be a friend or family.”
“Are we in danger?” she asked as he reached for her pocketbook.
Macaroon hissed and spat, “Do NOT use that key!”
They stopped at the sidewalk. The two locked eyes until Macaroon shook his head and moved. They reached the car and Mackenzie opened it to grab the bowls.
“Sorry, Mackenzie. Right now, you’re human, a normal human. But you are also the granddaughter of a once powerful and feared witch. The protection Freddie gave everything for isn’t complete, but it is there. As far as any of them are concerned, they are hostile combatants entering a ceasefire. In enemy territory.”
“I don’t see why-” Mackenzie froze as she felt someone watching her. She pulled herself out of the car and stared at the parking lot. It had been empty when they left but now two or more dozen different cars were sitting there, most of them idling.
Inside she could see men and women of various races. She could feel the weight of them all together. She heard the door to the funeral home open and the soft steps of Kamo’s shoes on the sidewalk.
Two of the cars right outside the door suddenly opened and she watched as hulking bruiser looking men hopped out. They looked like normal, if not well trained, humans. But she looked closer, and sharp nails, fangs, and pointed ears, or other animal like touches stood out. They became more pronounced as they faced him down.
“Stay calm,” Macaroon said as he moved to stand in front of Mackenzie.
The bodyguards snarled as he moved past them. He nodded to the people in the back of the cars and crossed the parking lot. He made a slight skip and Mackenzie watched him disappear into the asphalt.
She took a breath as the bodyguards turned toward each other and resumed their glowering. Someone walked past the De Ville and made a ‘Tsk’ noise with their mouth. Mackenzie saw a wizened older Romani woman wearing the most stereotypical fortune teller outfit she had ever seen. She moved briskly in a hurried scuttle.
She walked using a gnarled tree branch staff, a jackdaw sitting on the bulbous head, “If you want to fight, I’d rather you form a barrier and get it over with. I only have seven hours in this city, and I’d like to see my family before night falls and the freaks come out!”
The first car door opened, and a young woman barely more than Mackenzie’s age stepped out. Her dress was sleek and sexy and looked more at home at some award show than a funeral. She glared at the older woman and spat.
“Fine, Macho, let’s get this over with,” she hissed. Her bodyguard broke eye contact with the other and changed into a big-headed great Dane. She reached into the car and pulled a squat toad from a box that had been sitting next to her. She stroked its back and headed inside.
The Romani elder sighed and shook her head,
One by one the cars emptied. The chauffeurs and bodyguards becoming full sized and sturdy looking cats and dogs. Mackenzie also saw some witches with three or four familiars hovering around them. Within moments the funeral home was filled with dozens of quiet, obedient animals.
Mackenzie hurriedly grabbed the can of fancy feats and water bottle for Macaroon and headed inside. The morticians and assistants were standing and waving people inside, showing some deference, but also surprise at the turnout. A makeshift queue formed by Paul, shaking his hand, offering words of condolences before moving into the service room.
The old Romani woman stopped at the room’s entrance and sneered. She handed Paul a tiny ampule of green liquid and scuttled away, shaking her head. Paul tried to call after her, but Mackenzie moved to show her out.
She stopped at the door and looked Mackenzie up and down, “You don’t seem like Frederick’s family.”
“I can assure you I am as much as my daddy,” Mackenzie said curtly.
“No. I didn’t mean,” she licked her lips and waved her hand over her face, “where’s your mother from, girl?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“The Iberia Parish,” she was lying. Charlotte came from the Saint Mary Parish.
“I see,” the woman said narrowing her eyes.
Taking a quick and steadying breath Mackenzie returned to the service room and set up Macaroon’s bowls next to the left most chair at the front. She opened the can and dropped the food into the dish as she watched the witches, one by one, do the same small gesture to the urn.
“What are they doing?” she whispered to Macaroon.
“Testing it for traps. And if it’s his real body,” Macaroon answered, “Even his ashes would be an excellent ingredient for a fetch. Or the beginnings of a new familiar.”
“Familiar?” Mackenzie asked, disgusted.
Macaroon looked at her as he took a drink of water, “How do you think I talk and can use magic?” he asked.
“Honestly I didn’t have a chance to think about it yet.”
Her mind wandered as she watched the procession. Some of them sneered when they tested the urn, insulted by the mundanity of it. Some showed relief like Kamo when he entered the room. Some still had the slightest hint of melancholy.
It was entrancing to watch.
One by one the witches did their test, left their offering, and vacated. Some with speed. Mackenzie lost track of time as she watched them, not even aware of the sun setting.
“Now here comes to freak parade,” Macaroon muttered.
The last witch had been gone for a few minutes before they heard the door open. Immediately Mackenzie felt something sick, and creeping enter. She heard the soft growls of something predatory and ancient as a man equally as big as any one of the bodyguards rounded the corner.
He approached Paul and gave his hand a brief shake before dipping his head down to enter the room. He wore a thick black jacket with a turtleneck sweater that was so tall it covered the lower half of his face. He stomped to the urn and produced a bag of tobacco leaves.
He pulled down the turtleneck and Mackenzie’s face fell. In place of cheeks, she saw broken and torn flesh. He dribbled saliva and blood as he took one of the leaves and chewed on it, slowly and methodically. His teeth were serrated jumbled things that fit together so well it looked like a cracked mirror more than jaws.
He turned, saw Mackenzie, and nodded his head before pulling the fabric back up. She dared not look after him until his heavy footfalls were followed by the door’s entry bell ringing.
“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she said, whispering as softly as she could.
“A monster. Urshan blood and flesh creates a curse if ingested. The curse warps the human body to become a vessel for a twisted copy of the original soul. Vampires, werewolves, zombies. They all descend from some poor bastard who got some Urshan in their mouth,” Macaroon explained, “Most monsters today, however, come from a ripe curse being transmitted by a greater monster to a normal human.”
Mackenzie took off her glasses and started to clean them, her hands shaking, “Most?”
“You heard Mistress Malady,” he said, “New Urshan spawn every day. Not all of them are strong or smart enough to kill or capture a human they hunt.”
“So. How. Are we. Monsters and witches, do they-”
“No more questions, Mackenzie. Just watch,” Macaroon said finally as he began to eat.
The rest of the service was barren save for a sharply dressed German man and an equally sharply dressed Japanese woman arriving just before the service ended. Mackenzie overheard they were from the Mostif Corporation, a shipping business that had lobbied for the expansion of the city’s docks. They had moved their headquarters to the city almost twenty years ago, their offices dominating the center of the city.
“If you get scared, that’s fine, but be polite,” Macaroon said to her as they moved past Paul towards the table.
“Good evening,” the man said with a heavy accent. “Garner Schwartzwald, vice president of training and acquisitions,” he handed her his card. “This is my second, Kikyo Tsuchiba,” he said as she handed Mackenzie her card as well.
She put her hands to her legs and performed a formal bow, “My condolences for your grandfather’s death,” she said with a less noticeable accent.
“Thank you, Mr. Schwartzwald, Ms. Tuschiba,” she said taking them.
She looked at the cards and marveled at their quality. Despite being smaller than her palm the edges were beveled, and the material felt heavy and firm. When she looked up her breath froze in her chest.
Garner’s face was wreathed in shadow and all she could see were his bright yellow eyes and a massive rictus grin of fangs. His shadow seemed unnaturally long with vaguely humanoid shapes crawling and writhing in it. his hands were behind his back, and they appeared hairy and clawed.
Tsuchiba was worse. The tight bun she had her hair in dripped spiders and smokey silk. Thick appendages wriggled under her prim skirt and well-cut jacket. Mackenzie saw glistening black jellies on her neck that swiveled like eyes. Her face had two appendages by the mouth rubbing and slithering over each other as she and Garner spoke in their native languages.
When they finished, and deposited a plain apple on the offering tray, they returned to appear to be human. Garner gave her a smile and a wave and Tsuchiba gave another bow. They shook Paul’s hand and left. When the door opened Mackenzie was aware she had both been holding her breath and there was no sounds coming from outside.
No bugs. Not even the light coo of sleepy pigeons.
“Hey Mack!” Paul suddenly called causing Mackenzie to cry out. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Let’s gather up the perishables people left. Phil said he’d take care of the flowers and the rest. That Mostif guy also brought a Black Forest cake, ever had one?”
“No, daddy. I don’t think I have,” she said, her mind a million miles away.
Paul, seeing his daughter’s face, softened his own, “Go ahead and take Rooney to the car, Mackenzie. I’ll handle getting our stuff.”
“What? Oh, alright, daddy,” she said as she stood and gave him a light hug. He returned it much stronger and gave Macaroon a soft scratch on his chin. Mackenzie bent down and motioned for Macaroon to come to her, he jumped to her arm and then shimmied up her chest to sit on her shoulders.
Mackenzie left the funeral home and opened the car. She set Macaroon inside his carrier and sat in the back seat next to it. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her knees up to her chest.
He tried to say something, but Macaroon saw the look on Mackenzie’s face. Anything he could think of to say was lost. The gears were turning in her head. She was thinking about everything she saw and all the things she had learned since the fight with Silver Tongue.
“That ward of papa’s,” Mackenzie began, “How strong is it?”
“Perfect,” Macaroon answered, “Once complete it will protect your family from anything. Barring the course of your natural lives, or accidents.”
“Like a water main rupturing?” Mackenzie asked thinking about Joe Fiore.
“Well, yeah,” Macaroon gave.
“So, it’s not perfect,” she replied softly.
“Within reason, Mackenzie,” Macaroon tried.
Her face grew distant, and Mackenzie looked out the window at the rising moon. She had not told him or Melody about the voices knowing her answer before she even really understood the choice. Macaroon knew the answer as well. He had seen the face on Frederick many times over the last eighty years.
Mackenzie Nichols’ choice had indeed been made.
<><><>
Monday evening Mackenzie looked at her closet door. She had been staring at it since she woke up. Every time she left her room for food, or to check for deliveries, she would come back, sit at her desk or on her bed, and stare at the door.
In her hand the entire time, was the key.
She rolled it in her palm. Spun it on her desk. Flipped and caught it in her hand. She played and toyed with it. Never looking away from her closet door.
The hours whittled away slowly. One by one by one until it reached six. She looked to her clock sparingly. In forty-five minutes, the sun would set. She expected the key would disappear or burst into flame or turn into a rat or something. She didn’t know how her memories would change. She expected Macaroon would just do the same gun trick Jerry had done to Martin.
She pulled her legs up to her chest and held the key in both hands.
Her mind recalled the oppressive feelings the witches gave off. Not just power, or confidence. They exuded poise, charisma, they had an air of wisdom and age to them. Each one seemed like they could rule the world with just a word.
They also all seemed paranoid.
There was malice and greed. Their smiles were fake, and their frowns were barely representative of the anger or hatred they probably felt for Frederick. She wondered if any of them were witches from the Pennsylvania coven. She hadn’t seen anyone who resembled the people at the coven’s headquarters.
She thought of Silver Tongue. He was able to rip walls off of a building like it was part of a cake. He had been fast. He could spit knives. He had been weak.
Mackenzie squeezed her legs remembering that part.
Silver Tongue was weak and stupid. Barely a newborn. And he would have surely killed her. Killed Martin. Eaten Frederick’s body and done who knows what.
Nsotrodos.
She thought of that phrase. Just a glimpse he wanted. Was it a place? A person? Maybe the Urshan had a god. Maybe it was like Nirvana or Valhalla. Did getting to there or them require power? How much?
She looked at her right palm and remembered how it felt. The backlash first. It was like a hand reached into her body and twisted her organs. She felt her muscles spasm and the blood rush up her throat. She still tasted it a few days after no matter how much she brushed.
But the power.
Mackenzie Nichols had thrown a brick like a cannon shell. It had torn Silver Tongue damn near in half. If she had aimed better, she would have killed him in one go. If she had known more, about spellcasting about fetches, about magic, she wouldn’t have gotten hit.
Good potential, but he’s a bit hasty. Just got his second star not three days ago.
Kenneth wasn’t much older than her, it appeared. For all she knew he was over three hundred years old. But what Macaroon said, and his general aura made Mackenzie think he wasn’t that old. He got his second star. Two or more Urshan had been killed without Kenneth being wounded. What did he know that Mackenzie didn’t? Had his Urshan been weaker? Slower? What if they were smarter, older than Silver Tongue?
Mackenzie stood and walked to the closet door.
She grabbed the edge of the key’s teeth and flipped it in her hand catching it by the pentagonal star at its end. She swallowed and placed the head of the key against her closet, right below the knob.
The wood bent and creaked, slowly forming a cartoonish keyhole. The key slid in with no issue. When she felt it catch, she turned it left, then right and heard a click from inside.
At her bedroom door Macaroon sat. His tail tick-tocking back and forth. He raised a paw to call to her, but Mackenzie opened the door and walked through without looking at him.
The door closed behind her and the key was pushed out. It fell to the floor and twisted itself into a strip of red wood. Macaroon approached it and picked it up in his teeth. He set it down on her desk and looked at the closet. The magic that made the door open was fading, but he could still, just barely, hear Mackenzie’s steps up the path to them.
He hung his head and let his tail drop, “I’m sorry, Freddie.”
<><><>
Mackenzie walked for hours. Step by step she walked through a hallway made of black stone. Or metal? It was hard to tell. The floor was the same red of the key and led her deeper in the expanse. She only knew there were walls because she mis-stepped some time back and caught herself on it.
She placed her right hand against the wall as she walked.
The material was smooth and somehow soft and hard at the same time. She couldn’t press her fingers into it, but it still felt soft. She looked ahead and saw that there were stairs curving up and to the left.
Her sense of time long lost Mackenzie reached the stairs sometime a day or more later and peered up the spiraling staircase. She could only see more stairs. So, she climbed up. As she climbed, she thought more about the Urshan and the Witches, the monsters, and the people.
Her mind came back to her father and mother. To Mee-maw and Papa. She thought of her uncle Dallas and the drunk driver that paralyzed him. She thought of Bethany and Martin and Clarice.
She pictured them in her mind, gathered and smiling. She remembered Martin’s face when he saw the dead animals. His scream as they raced toward the Urshan. She bet his eyes were closed. Hers weren’t.
There had always been a difference to her. Not something morbid or psychopathic as some of the hens at school clucked. Something just different.
She felt her right hand grow warm as a light caught her attention. She put a hand over her eyes as she climbed up into an empty space. The red material of the floor spread out into a five-pointed star. It was geometrically perfect and segmented to reach a point she was now coming out of.
A light turned on over the leg of the stair in front of her. It rose up a straight red pillar to a gaudy throne. Lounging in it with his legs spread was a man wearing a leather butcher’s smock. He had baggy pants and thick military boots. His hands were smoldering and cracked like cooling lava. He wore a gas mask over his face and his bald head was on fire.
The next leg was illuminated. The throne was a simple white chair with a woman sitting primly in it. She wore a nun’s habit and form fitting dress that exposed her shapely legs. What Mackenzie thought were flats appeared to be goat hooves. Her eyes were closed, her lashes long and blonde colored. One eye opened showing a black expanse filled with stars.
The third leg was illuminated. The chair was that of a stool, basic and functional. The man sitting it appeared to be wearing a massive mask that swallowed his head. It was blank and smooth on top. The covering at his mouth and neck appeared to be the monstrous mouth of a shark or aquatic predator. He wore no shirt, but his chest was covered in bandoleers of keys and locks and pouches. His hands were gloved and had seven fingers.
The next light came on. A man sat on a comfortable looking, high backed leather chair. He wore a mangled surgeon’s smock and sandals. His body was crisscrossed with stiches, including at his mouth. Large blue eyes bore into her as he played with a needle and string. She saw that different parts of his body had different skin tones.
The last light turned on. Mackenzie saw a woman sitting on the pillar with no chair. A burst of flame come from under her and changed to a wooden stool then a metal stick she balanced on. She appeared normal, wearing plain blue jean overalls with bare feet and dirty hands. She grinned wide at Mackenzie. Her eyes squinted and Mackenzie watched as an eye opened in her forehead and at each of her temples. All five blinked before focusing on her.
“I do!” Mackenzie said to him, “I want to be a witch!”
As one they asked,
She looked from each of them. Their eyes were beautiful colors. Ornate or alien. They saw through her. She felt naked in front of them, but refused to act on her embarrassment or shame.
“I want to protect my family. I want to protect my friends,” she said. “And I want to know my grandfather. I want the power.”
The gas mask clicked his tongue,
“I will do anything to protect my family,” Mackenzie said resolutely.
the shark mask said,
“I thought you knew almost everything?” Mackenzie threw back at him. He laughed and clapped his hands over his head. The keys jangled. “What does it matter?”
The nun sighed,
She glowered at him. Mackenzie clenched her fists; they shook for a second before she lifted her right hand and looked at her palm. Slowly she smiled.
“I’ve wanted to do something like that to a lot of people. It felt good to do it to a monster trying to hurt my family,” she said honestly.
Mackenzie cried out as her hand was suddenly pulled by an invisible force. She was raised higher and higher. Finally stopping at the same level as the five she hung by her wrist as a hand larger than the star platform descended. In its grip was a feather quill. The nails were red, and the flash was a pristine marbled black. Slowly the quill descended until its fine needle tip hovered above her palm.
The quill descended and drew a circle. Mackenzie screamed as it dug into her flesh.
The quill scratched a chunk from her palm.
Another chunk and Mackenzie hollered as blood sprayed across her glasses.
The quill dug deeper and removed another chunk.
The final chunk was carved, and Mackenzie was dropped. She cried out as she hit the floor. Rolling in pain she grabbed her wrist and stared at the bloody mess of her palm. Through the pain, and the missing flesh, and the exposed bone, she could clearly see the mark from her battle against Silver Tongue.
Mackenzie rolled to her back and panted as she felt a weight on her chest. She looked up and saw the great hand was attached to an arm. She followed it into the darkness of the room and could just barely make out a shoulder and some of a titanic being’s chest.
The thing leaned down and Mackenzie saw its face. A gaunt and boney rock version of her own. She opened her mouth to scream.
The simulacrum of herself raised its hand and flipped the quill, clenching it in its titanic fist. The tip changed to that of a five-pointed star and was slammed down into her chest, skewering her, and shattering the platform. One by one the Sorcerers lights turned off until only the gas masked man was left.
He grinned,
The thing shook its hand and Mackenzie fell off of the quill. She tumbled into darkness. She passed the ruins of the platform and past the sundered staircase she had climbed up. She tried to scream, but her chest was crushed, and her lungs were flattened. Her throat was mangled. She was but a corpse.
Just like Frederick.
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Mackenzie clattered to the floor. Air filled her lungs and she screamed. The sound shook the house. Footsteps roared around the halls and her door was thrown open by Charlotte, holding a revolver.
“Mackenzie! Baby!” Paul pushed past his wife and fell to his knees by Mackenzie. “What’s wrong?”
Charlotte ran to the window and threw it open. She used a flashlight in her free hand and traced the side yard with both the gun and the light.
“What? Daddy?!” Mackenzie asked as she rolled away from him and looked around the room. “Where is it?” she asked as she stood, frantically searching.
“What? Where is what Mack?!” Charlotte asked, spinning so her back was to the wall and she held her gun up.
Mackenzie panted and scanned the room. She saw her father. Her mother. Her mothers gun? When the fuck did she get that?! She saw Teritha standing outside the door, holding what looked like a switch blade low. Macaroon was on her bed, hiding something under his body. She patted her body, including her chest.
“Mack there’s blood on your glasses, what happened?” Paul asked standing and putting a hand on her shoulder.
Mackenzie looked at him and took the glasses off. She stared at them as if it was the first time she had seen them. Splattered across her right lens and arm, was blood. The blood was fresh. She looked back to him, her eyes wide. She felt her palm grow warm.
“A spider. A big fat spider crawled onto my glasses. I was asleep and it woke me up. I swatted at it,” she calmly lowered her hand and dug her thumb nail into her palm until blood began to lap. “I must have scratched my hand with my glasses.”
Paul and the other women sighed. Teritha cackled and waved her knife at Charlotte, before slowly closing it and shuffling back to her room. Charlotte slid to the ground and slowly opened the revolver, dumping the bullets from the drum into her hand.
“Shit, Mack,” Paul said shaking his head, “You sounded like you were being murdered.”
“Yeah, sorry, daddy. Mama. Mee-maw!” she called. “I’m gonna clean this. Sorry again,” she moved past him and ran to the bathroom. She closed the rood behind her and pressed her body against it.
“Holy shit, Charlotte. What is that?” Paul asked as the two went back to their room.
“It’s call protection, Paul. You said I couldn’t keep a shotgun in the house,” Charlotte grunted back.
“You could have told me, god damn,” she heard her father say before the door closed.
Mackenzie stood and went to the sink. She turned the cold tap on and ran her right had under it. The blood had gathered in her palm, covering it. She slowly rubbed it away until she plainly saw the brand. Her breathing steadied and then slowed. She touched her chest at the her collarbone.
She felt soreness and a warmth there like her palm. She grabbed the neck of her shirt and pulled it down. Craved cleanly into her flesh, so much it appeared like a normal tattoo, was a single five-pointed star shape.
She sat on the toilet and ran her hands over her hair.
“Okay. I’m a witch. What now?”
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