James Swain - Dark Magic

“Hey!” Garrison shouted, looking straight up.

“I’ll explain everything later,” Peter shouted back.

“Get your ass down here, right now!”

“I can’t do that.”

“I’m going to throw you in jail.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

“To the roof,” Garrison said to his team.

The FBI agents hit the front door hard. They’d be on the roof soon. Peter turned around, and looked for an escape route besides the stairwell. He spotted an old-fashioned fire escape on the other side of the building, and hurried toward it. The roof was flat, and ran the length of the building. Many older buildings in the city were designed this way, and had once housed entire tent communities of people too poor to afford apartments, with residents traveling on catwalks from building to building without ever touching the ground below. Peter could feel their presence as he ran; this rooftop had been their home, and for many of their ghosts, still was.

He reached the fire escape. It was rusted with age, and hadn’t been used in forever. He hoped it was strong enough to support him. As he took to the first step, Garrison and his team burst onto the roof, red-faced and puffing hard.

“I command you to stop!” Garrison shouted.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”

“I’ve had enough of your crap,” Garrison declared.

The FBI agents rushed toward him. Peter started down the creaky stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a man dressed in rags and wearing a broken top hat, sitting on the ledge. The man looked like a hobo, yet managed to have a dignified air about him. He was also transparent; half of him was there, and half of him wasn’t.

It had been a while since Peter had seen a ghost. Back when he was a boy, they’d popped up fairly often, and he’d grown used to the late-night conversations with ghosts in his bedroom. As he’d grown older, their appearance had become less frequent. Now, if he saw a ghost every week, it was a lot. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Ghosts filled the earth, and resided in old houses and buildings they’d once called home. They continued to occupy these dwellings long after they died, and could not be driven out. Trying to remove a ghost from a house was a serious mistake, and could lead to all sorts of problems. The ghost sitting on the ledge had an impish look.

“I could use a little help,” Peter said.

“I see that,” the ghost said. “What did you do?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Most good stories are. Maybe someday you’ll come back, and share it with me.”

“You have a deal.”

The ghost jumped off the ledge, and positioned himself in a crouch. As the FBI agents ran past, he stuck his leg out, and sent them flying through space. Later, the agents would say that they’d slipped, which was what everyone said who got tripped by a ghost.

“I owe you,” Peter called.

The ghost flashed a crooked grin. He looked vaguely familiar, and Peter realized he’d seen his face in a book, and that he’d been someone important in his time. As Peter ran down the fire escape to the street, he promised himself to one day look up the building’s history, and find out who the ghost was. It was nice to know who your friends were, even the dead ones.

“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?”