Swedenborg 20

Frank woke with a start.

Another stupid nightmare, he thought.

He looked at the clock.

4:12

He didn’t have to get up for a couple of hours, but he knew he wouldn’t be able get back to sleep.

He sighed.

The dream lingered. Heads. A shelf with heads. And someone breathing. Behind him.

This was a new one. Uncle Bill. Tight places. Those were his normal nightmares. But heads.

And the night before, fire.

He rubbed his eyes.

He also knew that when he had strong dreams like this, they linked to something out there.

He remembered the time at a young teen he’d dreamed about a man under a tree, with blood all around. The man was writing. And a hunter’s body was found a few miles always forr his home the next day, dead after having been shot in an accident. A notebook with a final letter to his wife was found next to his body.

And there was the time in college he’d dreamed about a popular English professor’s party interrupted by a crying baby, and the following week the professor was fired after he was arrested for raping and impregnating a drunken student.

Heads. Fire.

The rumble of thunder outside.

He turned on the light. Might as well get some reading done.

He picked up the book he’d fallen asleep reading the night before. He read a page, then put it down.

None of it was registering.

He picked up the copy of Professor Staples’ book on the culture wars that he’d bought the day before and flipped through it.

“What truly concerns us, often what we truly value, is that which we think about when we are not trying to think. Such things are what lie within us, working at us, demanding our attention, even as we try to ignore them and focus on other things that we think, often erroneously, to be more important.”

He put the book down.

Great. Heads and fires are what are on my mind. Not that essay that’s due on Monday.

I wonder if I can use that as an excuse?

He picked up his text book again.

Time to focus on something I think is more important: Subsidiarity in Renaissance English polity.

He heard Jack in the kitchen.

Or maybe something even more important: Coffee.

He threw on some shorts and went into the kitchen. Jack was standing at the counter, eating some cereal, already dressed.

“These are the hours for only monsters and radio announcers,” Jack said.

“Or guys with papers due,” Frank said, pouring some coffee. “Early shift today?”

“Student announcer called in sick. Probably partied too much. I just have to do a couple of hours until the day crew wanders in.”

Frank sipped his coffee. “Tonight’s that Liza thing, right?”

“Maybe. I saw her yesterday. She’s got some wicca thing going on up in Watertown on Saturday. She was thinking of cancelling. Not enough time to deflower you maybe.”

“Watertown?”

 “Her head wizard is up there. The coven meets at his place. He called an emergency gathering of some sort.”

“Coven,” Frank chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear that stuff talked about except as part of a joke or a bad horror movie.”

Jack gulped his coffee.

“On air in about 30 minutes. Gotta hustle.”

He hurried out the door. Frank took his coffee, retrieved his text book and his new laptop, and sat on the couch to read and write.

Several cups and three hours later, he’d finished reading the section he needed for his report, and had even started a draft. He showered, dressed, and drove to the campus.

It was still raining. A light mist. Traffic was light. A summer Friday, with a lot of people probably taking three day weekends, he thought.

He got to the Student Life Center, bought another coffee – joking with the server that he was turning into an addict – and sat at a table to write while waiting for class.

“Hey,” a cheerful voice said.

He looked up. Joe.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

Joe had his own coffee – and a laptop.

“Working on your paper? How’s it coming”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I’m kind of nervous,” Joe said. “Writing for a world famous writer. I’m not much of a writer. Did you check out his books?”

It was too early for banter, Frank thought. But it looked like he had little choice.

“I got one. I haven’t had much time to read it.” He pointed to his laptop. “I’ve got this paper to write.”

Joe didn’t take the hint.

“I’ve got most of my notes done. I’ll write it tomorrow and Sunday. Hey, I’ve got some people coming over tomorrow night. They like the professor’s books. You’d be welcome.”

“I don’t know. The paper …”

“Yeah. But if you need a break.”

“What’s this about a party?

 Stas sat down.

“It’s not a party,” Joe said. “Not really. Just some people. You’d be welcome.”

“Fans of the professor?” Stas sneered. “Not my thing."

He looked at Frank. “I heard about this great bar with live music. I was thinking of going there tomorrow. You want to come?”

“I dunno. The paper.”

“”I’ll write mine Sunday night. I always just shoot them out.”

“Not me,” Joe said. “I have to think about them for a while, then they suddenly come. I get them all worked out in my head, then poof.”

“Anyway,” Stas said to Frank, “think about it.”

Frank shrugged. “Depends on the paper and how much reading Staples gives us this weekend.”

Turns out there was a lot of reading. Professor Staples noted as much, and said that’s one of the problems with a summer course: Little time to cover so much material.

So after class, Frank hustled out of the room to avoid getting caught by either Joe or Stas, found a secluded spot in the library, and began to read.

At five, he headed over to the radio station to meet up with Jack.

“Dinner’s on me,” Jack announced. “Payday.”

“What time are we supposed to meet up with Liza?”

“About 8. At the Retro.”

“Retro?”

“A coffee house. She’s as addicted to coffee as us.”

It was pouring again. In Jack’s car, they drove a few blocks to a working class neighborhood. He pulled into a small strip mall in front of a small restaurant called "D’Antonios."

“It’s a classy greasy spoon,” Jack explained. “They use real grease.”

They ran in. The hostess seated them in a front booth.

Their orders came quickly. Clams, onion rings and a diet cola for Frank. Fish fry, French fries and lemonade for Jack.

“I found this place when covering a story,” Jack said between mouthfuls. “One of the first beheading murders was just down the street.”

“How many have there been?”

“About 15. But some of them might be copycat.”

“Sick thing to copy.”

“It’s a sick town. I think we have the highest murder rate in the nation.”

“Any ideas why?”

“INS,” Jack said.

“Come on.”

“No, really. The rate started going up when INS started getting really active. Some of the paranoid types think it’s tapping evil or doing demonic experiments. Might be interesting things going on in there.”

Frank shook his head. “I’m still not interested in going in.”

“There’s time.”

Outside there was a crash. The peered through the window and the rain at the corner, where two cars had collided. They could see shadowy figures standing next to the cars. Then it two of the shadows ran at each other. More shadows joined them

“Another fight,” someone near them said.

A police car arrived after a few minutes. Then a second. Soon officers were involved in the melee. Then an ambulance arrived. Then a couple of media vans.

“Friday night in Carthage,” Jack said. “Glad we don’t usually cover regular crime at public radio.”

“Just beheadings.”

“Ah, but that has cachet. Overtones of the occult, maybe.”

“Maybe it’s not INS. Maybe it’s Liza and the witches.”

“There’s a lot of the occult stuff going on, too," Jack offered. "A couple of shops specializing in fairies, crystals, what not. Palm readers, psychics, lots of that.”

“You were always kind of skeptical about that stuff.”

“I still am. But even if I don’t believe, some people do. And they act on their beliefs.”

They finished their meals, glancing out the window occasionally at the accident. The news vans were finishing up, and leaving.

“Twenty-four hour news. It makes the news departments crazy for any kind of news, especially bad or sexy. People watch it, and think things are worse than they are.”

“So it’s not as bad here as people might think.”

“Well, there’s lots of violence and crime. But there’s lots of good news, too. It just doesn’t’ get covered.

“So why don’t you cover it?”

“What?” Jack chuckled. “And have to work?”

“Like this health clinic I came across. Doctors and nurses helping people for free.”

“Yeah, there’s stuff like that.”

“So cover it.”

“What’s the name of the place.”

"I don’t know. I’ll find out. Cute nurse, though.”

“Cute nurse?” Jack laughed. “Don’t let Liza hear that.”

“Could you drop that Liza and virgin stuff? She’s attractive and all, but I’m here to study. And that witchcraft stuff is weird.”

Jack looked like he was going to say something, but then thought better. Instead, he ordered coffee and some pie. Jack also had some coffee.”

 They finished before they were supposed to meet up with Liza, but drove to the coffee house anyway. The rain was letting up. The coffee shop was partway up the slope on the western part of Carthage Valley. Frank looked up the slope.

“Your place is up there, right?”

“Yeah. It’s in walking distance. Liza’s place is near here too. There's a woods in between, but there are paths.”

They went into the coffee house.

There were about a dozen people, and one musician setting up with guitar on the tiny stage at the back. Most of the people seemed to be friends of the musician. Two other people were sitting at separate tables with laptops open.

They ordered coffees and sat at a table near the front where they could see out the window.

“When the singer starts, it’ll be hard to talk,” Jack observed. “Some of them are pretty good. Some are into this new age folkie crap.”

“Come here often.”

“Yeah. Liza and I often meet here.”

“Why not your place?”

“Liza says there’s bad vibes in my place. The ghost of the writer haunts the place, or something. And her place …”

He made a face.

“What?” Frank asked.

“There’s something, I don’t know. Something off”

“Maybe there’s spell dust in the air.”

Jack shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

The musician began testing his microphone. It was loud.

“Music!” screeched a voice.

They looked up to see Liza.

“We didn't see you come in,” Jack said. 

 

“Magic,” she cackled, pulling up a chair next to Frank. “No, I was in the bathroom. I came out and saw you here. I’ve been watching you.”

She smiled broadly at Frank and wriggled her eyebrows. Then she relaxed.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been messing with you. Sometimes I get in moods.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, sometimes I go too far.” She turned to Jack and said loudly “Right?”

“It’s that performance artist background,” he said. Then he explained to Frank. “When she was in college she was part of a performance poetry group. Kind of a theater group, reciting and singing poetry.”

“I thought I was in love with the leader of the group,” she explained. "He turned out to be a bad poet, and bad musician, and an even worse boyfriend.”

 The musician at the back strummed a few times.

“I’ve heard this guy before,” Liza said. “He’s better than my old boyfriend.”

She went to the counter to get another cup of coffee, and then returned and sat.

“So, according to Jack, he got you into bed the night you met,” she said with laughter.

Frank felt his face getting warm.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said.

“Jack left it at that. No details. He said you’d have to be here. I’ve been waiting.”

“Okay,” Frank began. “It was at Kashong College. We were both students there. I was a freshman, a “townie.” I was from Bluff Hills, the college was on the outskirts of the town.

“ Jack was a sophomore, but he was my age. He’d graduated from high school a year early.

“Smart boy,” she cooed.

     “Anyway, I went to a bar. I was underage, but I had a full beard, and I didn’t get proofed.

     “The guys I was with were drinking flaming ouzo's. I wasn’t used to drinking in the first place, and they hit me. I don’t remember much. Somehow, I made it back to campus.”

            “I was walking back to my dorm,” Jack said. “I spotted him weaving across the quad. He bumped into a bush, apologized, he's always been a polite fellow, and promptly vomited.

    “I went over and asked if he needed help, and he passed out.

     "I didn’t know where his room was, and I didn’t want him to get caught, so I dragged him back to my room."

    “I woke up the next morning,” Frank picked up the story. "Sick as a dog. I looked over in the bed and saw a head lying next to me. I thought, oh God, what did I do? Then I realized it was the head of a man, and I nearly flipped.”

            “So I sat up,” Jack said, “winked, and asked him, `Do you still respect me?’”

            “Jack,” Liza said with an arched eyebrow, “did you take advantage of a drunken man?”

            “No. I was honorable.”

            “Well, then I’m disappointed with your story. No scandal.”

            “Would you have taken advantage,” Jack asked.

She looked at Frank and smiled. “Depending on the drunk. In your case, I’d have been tempted.”

“Frank wouldn’t.”

“No?”

“He’s even more honorable than I am. He once even dragged me into a fight to defend a drunk girl’s honor.”

“Oh?”

Yeah,” Frank said. “My suite mates were having a party. They got this girl drunk, and I heard a couple of them talking in the bathroom about trying to see if they could get some gang action going.”

“So he wandered into the room like he was coming to the party," Frank explained, "hustled her into his room, locked the door, and called security when they started banging at his door.”

“A good boy, and not afraid to get involved?" Liza observed. "Interesting.”

The musician mumbled an introduction, and began to play. An uptempo piece about traveling – “I’ve been here before, and I’ve been there before …”

“I always meant to ask you,” she said to Jack, “how you ended up at Kashong Clollege. No offense, but you could have gone anywhere with your grades and test scores and family, right?

“I could have.”

“Then why?

             “Dad was a Princeton grad. That’s were all the Plantir boys were expected to go. My older brothers did. Dad would have settled for Harvard or Yale for me, just as long as it was pre-law. He was an investment lawyer, and he figured that was good enough for his boys.

            “Well, I was a bit of a rebel”

         “Surprise, surprise.”

          “Yeah, they should have guessed when I wanted to take a guy to the prom. Try that on Long Island.  Anyway, I decided I would go to the most out of the way place I could find – sorry Frank. I opened a guide to colleges and discovered Kashong College. I decided to major in horticulture just to annoy him. When he demanded why I’d chosen that major, I told him . 'You have to know about manure to be a good lawyer.'

     “He didn’t appreciate that.

     “But then my hay fever acted up too much every time we even approached a farm, so I switched to communications, just to keep driving him nuts.”

       “And isn’t Kashong  where you are from?” She asked Frank.

       “Yeah, I was a townie. My dad and his brother had a woodworking shop. It always seemed on the verge of bankruptcy, so they figured it was good enough for me as the oldest son.

      “Dad pushed for Kashong College. He wanted me get a business degree to help run the business, maybe find a way to keep it out of its perpetual doldrums. I got some scholarships, including one for local students, so I went. But I crossed them up and majored in history.”

      “Another rebel,” Jack said. “Only, he took a girl to the prom.”

      “Glad to hear that,” she said. “No offense Jack.”

      “None taken.”

“Now that you’ve the sordid tale of our meeting,” Frank said, “what’s your story?”

“I have many stories,” she said.

“Most of them x-rated," Jack quipped.

“How did you get into witch – wiccanism?” Frank asked

“Fair enough. I was a teenage girl in a Polish Catholic family. My father was part of the old communist government, but he wasn’t a happy communist. He defected along with my mother, his second wife. She was 20 years younger. I‘m part of the second family – I have a 22 year old brother, and brothers in their 40s.”

“Anyway, we settled in Boston. He taught at Boston College. And that’s where I met my mentor.”

“Witches at a Catholic College?” Frank asked.

“There’s all sorts of heresies at Catholic College,” Jack observed.

“I was 12," Liz continued. "Hormones raging. That’s often when it starts, puberty. I was having all sorts of visions. Strange things were happening around me or to me. Things moved. Things disappeared.  I was hearing voices. I was seeing things. My parents took me to the priest, who listened and told me it was temptation, or a sign of psychiatric problems. So my parent took me to psychiatrists. They said it could be all sorts of things, like multiple personality disorder. Maybe I was abused as child. My dad didn’t like that one, because he was the man they would have accused. I knew there was nothing to that anyway. He had his flaws, but that wasn’t one of them.. I decided to stop talking about it.

"One day while walking home from school I noticed this woman staring at me. I thought maybe she was one of my visions at first, but she looked like a college student. Then I thought maybe she was one of those people parents always tell their kids to avoid.”

“The kind of people she now seeks out,” Jack said.

She playfully slapped him. “Let me tell my story.

“Finally, she approached me. I was ready to run, thinking she was a lesbian seducer or something, when she said `Liza.’ It should have really spooked me that she knew my name, like she’d been stalking me or something. But it stopped me. Then she said, `You can control the dreams.’

“`Whoa,’ I thought, how did she know about the dreams? She then said, ‘I used to have them, too. They’re my friends now.’”

“I’ve done a little of this, I’ve done a little of that. I’ve done all there is to do …, the musician went on in the background.

“So then I started meeting with her. She was a student at the college, so we’d go to her room. She taught me many of the basics and prepared me to move on,” Liza finished.

Frank looked skeptical. Liza smiled.

“Things started happening to you about the time you started puberty, right?” she said.

He was surprised, but tried not to show it. “Yeah." he said slowly. "I always did figure it was just hormone induced.”

“Such things don’t happen to just everyone. Jack, you didn’t have visions, or hear voices, or show unusual powers when you were a pimply adolescent, right?”

“Nah. I was too busy dreaming about the captain of the football team. That was confusing enough.”

“When I look at you two, I see different auras.”

“Auras? The energy fields around us? You can see them?”

“One of my skills. Yours is strong. It extends far from you. Jack’s is small …”

“Hey!” Jack interjected.

“… less intense, less colorful. He doesn’t have as much power in him.”

“You know, I am sitting right here,”

“Poor baby,” she said softly. “No insult intended. Your aura is absolutely fine. His is just of a different sort.”

“I’ve done more than a man should do …” the musician continued.

“There’s lots of power in you,” Liza said. “You try to control it, to contain it. But sometimes you feel like bursting.”

How in God’s name was she reading this, Frank wondered.

“Do you still have visions?”

“What makes yuou think I have visions?”

“Jack is a talkative boy.”

He looked at Jack, who shrugged.

 

“Trust you to keep confidences,” Frank said. He looked back at Liza. “I have bad dreams, that’s all”

“Some of those are visions. And you see things even when you’re awake, right? What do you see?”

“It’s not so much that I see things. I catch glimpses, or have feelings, like there’s people or things there that are not there.”

“I bet you’ve experienced that a lot since coming into Carthage.”

He had. Fleeting impressions of people out of the corners of his eyes. Things moving. Buildings. Even animals. He’d dismissed them all, ignoring them as he’d done for years. But there were so many of them here.

“Sometimes. But they’re just optical illusions.”

“They are real. They are there. Sometimes I see them, even though that’s not my particular gift. Like that fellow over next to the girl with the fake red hair.”

He looked around the room, and spotted the girl. He also glimpsed a man standing next to her, staring at her. And then the man was gone.

Frank involuntarily shuddered. He was not going to get caught up in this sort of thing again.

“Only a glimpse. Right? Then he was gone,” Liza said.

“Suggestion,” Frank offered.

“From me?” Liza said. “No. He was there. He still is, I’m sure. You can train yourself to keep seeing them.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“At your age, what, 25? The visions will never stop. With some people they do as soon as puberty is over. The switch goes off. Yours stayed on. When you’re an old man in the nursing home you’ll be talking to people no one else sees, and everyone will think you are senile. But they will be there. So you might as well know how to really control it, and to use them.”

“I thought you just wanted to seduce him,” Jack said. “Sounds like you’re trying to recruit him.”

She smiled at Frank and winked, “Sometimes they go together.”

“Doesn’t that dissipate power?” Frank said, trying to hide his discomfort. “The myth with athletes is that you should avoid sex before competing.”

“A myth,” she said. “Sex can be a wonderful way to rouse and concentrate power.”

“I am going home, yes I am going home …,” the musician went on.

“Why is it so many conversations with you turn to sex?” Jack said.

“I like sex. Don’t you?” She said that to Jack, but then looked at Frank.

The musician finished the song. There was a round of polite applause.

Frank was feeling confused. She was keeping him off balance. He didn’t like that.

“You mentioned there were lots of those whatever they are in Carthage,” he said. “Do you think there might be a link to all the violence.”

She smiled. “Absolutely. There’s lots of troubled souls drifting out there, whispering in people’s heads. That’s why seeing them is important. it can help you to control them.”

Control spirits? He had a sudden desire to get away from her.

“Let’s go back to my place,” she said.

Frank looked at Jack. Should he refuse?

“Okay,” Jack said. “Did you bring your car?”

“No,” Liza said. “I walked. It’s not raining now. Let’s walk. The air will be good for us.”

They rose. Frank hesitated, but then got up with them and followed them out the door.

There was no rain, but the air had a damp chill in it. He shuddered.

Frank walked behind Jack and Liza, who were busy talking. He was barely paying attention. He felt cold.

“Right?” Liza asked him as they turned a corner.

“Umm,” I wasn’t listening,” he said.

“We were talking about the INS,” Jack explained. “I said I’ve been trying to get you to go undercover.”

“I already said no.”

“I’m persistent,” Jack responded.

“Here we are,” Liza announced.

They were standing in front to a house that had two front doors. Two apartments, one up, one down, Frank guessed.

She opened the door to the downstairs apartment and they went in.

The entrance was a small foyer with a coat rack on the right wall. An entryway to the left led into the living room. It was a large room, obviously formerly two rooms with a wall knocked down. The front part, facing the street, had a two couches along the entry way wall flanking the entryway. Several chairs were scattered about the room, including several small tables. On the wall opposite the entryway was a fireplace. Above it were a mirror, and a knife and sword mounted on the wall.

To the right, there as a dining room table and a doorway leading into the kitchen. A second door to on the right wall led into what Frank guessed was the bedroom.

“More coffee,” Liza asked.

Frank and Jack both said yes and she disappeared into the kitchen. Frank approached the knife and sword to see if they were real.

“Those are athames," Jack said. “Kind of ceremonial knives and sword used in ceremonies. Never for killing.”

Both had black handles, and were in scabbards. The scabbards had symbols on them.

“The sword came to me first,” Liza said, walking back with three cups on a tray.

“It was an ancient sword form Poland. My parents thought it was just a family heirloom and kept it for decoration. But I researched and found out one of my great-great-grandfathers was a judge who condemned a wizard back in the Thirteenth Century and kept the wizard’s sword. They never knew why strange things kept happening to the family. The spirit of the wizard lived on in it."

“Do you use it?” Frank asked.

“For ceremonies? Hardly ever. It’s a powerful tool. I had the knife made of the same material to look like it. That’s my main athame.”

Frank took a cup and sat on the couch to the left of the entryway. Jack sat on the couch to the right of it, Liza swung an easy char around to face them and sat.

“What kind of ceremonies?”

“Ooo, in the woods, we dance around naked, chant and then have an orgy,” she said, smiling.

“She’s pulling your chain,” Jack said.

Liza got up and took the knife off the wall. She sat down, holding it.

“I have been known to dance naked,” Liza said, smiling at Frank.

“I’m sure it’s a lovely sight,” he said, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” she said, and sipped her coffee while staring at him.

“What kind of ceremonies do you use it for?” he blurted. “Animal sacrifices?”

“No, the athame is not supposed to be bloodied,” she said. "It’s used for a variekty of things. You cast a circle with it for ceremonies.”

Seeing Frank’s puzzlement, she explained, “A circle is used for protections and as a focus point. You create one about nine feet wide and stay inside it.

The athame is also used for mixing ingredients in potions, to charge an amulet or charm with power, to draw the lines of a pentagram,. Other things, too.”

“Are they sharp?”

“Mine are.”

“May I look at it?” he asked, pointing to the knife she held.

Ever so slightly, she pulled it toward her. “You can look, but not touch. An athame can absorb power from others. It would need to be blessed if anyone touched it.”

She got up and put it back on the wall.

Frank thoughtfully drank his coffee. His earlier feeling of unease was beginning to return, and it had nothing to do with Liza’s appearance.

Liza sat again.

“What kind of ceremonies do you do?” he asked.

“Not the kinds you see in movies," she said. "Not usually. A lot of them are prayers and ceremonies to build power. We usually try to help people with problems, make decisions, heal people, whatever we want.”

“But they do cast spells on others,” Jack interjected. “They even hurt people.”

“Hurt?” Frank asked.

“Tell him about the guy who was stalking you,” Jack said.

“Jack, honestly.”

“Is that true?”

She snorted in annoyance. “There was this guy, a graduate student, who wanted to date me. We went out a couple of times, but he was a jerk. I told him to get lost. He kept calling me and showing up where I was. He really got on my nerves. I warned him, but he wouldn’t stop.”

“So she cast a spell and broke his leg,” Jack said with a grunt.

“The coven did,” she said. “He’d been warned.”

“Your coven – that’s a group of wiccans, right?”

 She nodded. Frank went on.

“Your coven cast a spell and broke his leg?” Frank said with obvious doubt. As he said it, he felt something lightly touch his neck, like a stray hair or a draft. He brushed the spot.

“We met and I made the request. The coven prayed for it.”

“And at the same moment, he fell down some stairs and broke his leg,” Jack said.

“Come on,” Frank said.

“No, I knew the guy. He broke his leg in a couple of places and had to take time off from school. He transferred to another school.”

“And your coven did this right here in Carthage,” Frank said. He felt his neck tickle again. He rubbed the spot.

“In Watertown, actually,” Liza said. “That’s where we meet every weekend. I have to get  up early tomorrow for a special session.”

“And you believe the group has the power to do things like this? Couldn’t it have been a coincidence?”

“There are no coincidences. Everything is connected. Part of what we learn is how to see and interpret the connections.

“But with power like that, why don’t you guys just, I don’t know, get rid of the Hitlers in the world?”

“You have to be careful,” she said. “Any time you use power it can come back on you. If you harm others, it can come back at you many times over.”

 “I find that hard to believe.”

“Catholics believe bread and wine can become Jesus’ flesh and blood,” she said.

“I always thought that was kind of crazy myself,” Jack said.

            “I don’t fully understand it,” Frank said. “I’m not a very good Catholic.  All I know is that it seems right. And some of this seems, I don’t know, wrong. To hurt people?”

“Christians have done that for centuries,” Liza said. “Think of Salem.”

”I didn’t say they were right,” Frank said. “There’s lots I don’t like.”

The uncomfortable feeling he’d been having came back. He looked to his right. Nothing was there except the entrance. He looked back to Liza. She was smiling.

“He’s been watching you for a while.”

He felt his hairs on his neck stand.

“Who?”

“One of my familiars. He keeps an eye on me.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Jack said, looking around.

“Frank has been sensing one of my spirits.”

“Frank?”

Frank looked at Jack. “I sensed something, like someone was looking at me.”

“Suggestion?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at Liza. “He’s one of your familiars?”

“There are several here. I never see them, but they make their presence known. They watch over me. Some come and go. He’s one who never leaves. He’s obviously interested in you.”

At that moment, the room seemed to grow darker. He had a hard time seeing Liza. He blinked. She was staring at him, smiling. He looked at his coffee and wondered if she’d put something in it.

“Are you all right,” Jack asked.

“Yeah. My eyes acting up. Maybe I’ve been reading too much."

He looked back at Liza. She looked different, older, paler.

“What do you see?” She asked.

He blinked.

“What do you see?” She said again, a bit more firmly.

“I ..I don’t,” he started.

“It’s okay. Just tell me what you see.”

She was different. She was an old lady.

“You are … older.”

“I look older? How old.”

“Very old,”

His eyes went out of focus. He blinked several times.

He could see her. Dark haired, Dark skinned.

“You are seeing who I used to be,” she said, leering at him. “My previous faces.”

He wanted to say something, but his throat was tight. His whole body was clenched.

He felt angry.

“You are seeing my previous lives.”

He tried to speak again. All that came out was a low growl.

He reached up to touch his throat. His arm. His arm was thick, brown, with a leather band about his wrist.

He was holding a sword.

What in God’s name he thought.

He growled.

“Frank,” Jack said anxiously.

He turned to Jack and glared. “You are not part of this,” he said in a harsh, thick voice. “You are weak.”

He felt as if he towered over Jack. As if he could crush him.

He’s not worth it, he thought.

What?

“What of me?” a high, fierce voice said.

He turned to where Liza had been. Now, there was gnarled, black, hideous creature.

“I … will …” Frank snarled.

Suddenly he found himself in a dark place, like a cave. There were flashes of light in the distance. He cautiously approached the light holding his sword ready. He caught glimpses of the creature. He picked up his pace. He had to get to it. He knew he had to before …

The creature turned, laughed, and then hurried on. He swung his sword, just missing it,

The creature picked up its pace. It began to run. Suddenly, the creature was gone. Instead, a huge face, hideous and red eyed hissed at him.

“He is too strong,” he heard Liza’s voice. “You can’t handle him alone.”

“I can handle anything,” he rasped.

“Not this one. Not yet.”

He yelled. A loud, angry, hurt yell. He raised his arm to strike.

“No,” Liza’s voice said firmly.

The face began to fade. His eyes seemed out of focus. He felt dizzy, sick.

He was in the room. Liza was looking at him anxiously. He was breathing heavily.

“Are you all right,” Jack said in a worried voice.

He looked at Jack. He suddenly remembered what he’d said and thought, and tears filled his eyes. He looked away.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Liza said.    

She looked red faced.

“You were … in my head,” he said.

“I was. I was. That is new. I …”

She fell silent.

“I could have done it myself.”

“Done what?” Jack said. “And what happened to you two?”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“Your faces changed. You looked like some kind of ancient warrior,” he said to Frank. He turned to Liza, “And you looked old.”

Frank looked at his coffee. “You didn’t put something in this, did you?”

“It’s just coffee,” she said. Then she smiled. “The closest I’ve ever come to visions like that is with the coven. You do have a lot of power. It’s just not under control yet.”

“I don’t want to control it. Not that.”

He wanted to get out of there. But at the same moment he felt connected to her, like a part of her was still in him.

“You were in my head,” he said again.

“I was in your vision. That’s only happened to me once or twice before, and never that strong. What a rush.”

She smiled at him. She was flushed. Excited.

“Look at the time,” Jack blurted.

The clock on the dining room wall read 12.

“I have to be at the station at 4. I didn’t know that much time passed.”

He got up, a confused, frightened look on his face.

“Liza, we have to debrief about this later. Frank, you know how to get back to my place from here. I have to get some sleep. If I can.”

He hurried out the door.

Liza smiled at Frank. ”You’ve been deserted.”

Frank felt frozen on his couch. He wanted to go. He wanted to stay. He wanted her.

She approached him.

“Don’t be afraid.”

He stood, and they kissed. It was the most passionate, the most electric kiss he’d ever felt.

Oh, he wanted her. He felt like he was melting.

Suddenly he thought of the watcher. He broke the kiss.

“What?” she said with disappointment.

He looked around.

“It’s safe,” she said. “They know I am safe.”

He backed away from her. “No.” he blurted “I should go. You have to get to Watertown. I have a paper. I …”

Her face flashed with anger. She blinked, and then said slowly, “There’s time.”

She touched his face with hand. It was so warm. So soft. He felt himself melting again.

Why not? She wants you. You want her. What would be wrong?

He thought of others, watching.

He put his hand over hers.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He turned to the door.

She followed him, the disappointment plain on her face. “There’s time,” she said again.

He walked down the front steps. She stood in the doorway watching him.

He looked at her front window. There was a flash of a face leering at him.

“Good night,” he said and hurried away.

Then he realized they’d come in Jack’s car, and his own car was back at the campus. Too far to walk. He’d have to get back to Jack’s on foot. 

It began to rain. He hunched his shoulders and began to walk quickly.

He had the feeling he was being followed.

   

Pax et bonum