James Swain - Dark Magic

A bright light appeared in the water. It was perfectly round, and looked like a portal to another universe. The little boys stopped thrashing, as did his mother. Peter could not help himself, and stared at the strange object.

A dark line appeared in the center of the light. It was followed by another dark line and then another. An inverted triangle appeared before his eyes as if drawn by an invisible hand. The triangle was balanced atop a large V with a line running across the top. It was a magical sigil. Sigils were as old as time itself. Made of complex symbols and geometric figures, they were used by occultists to communicate with the spirit world. The sigil being formed in the water was the Seal of Satan, and meant that one of Satan’s sons was present.

Peter felt a tug on his body. A powerful force coming from the light was dragging him toward the sigil like an invisible current. He swam backwards, not wanting to be captured by it. The light’s power was greater on the children. They drifted toward it, no longer filled with panic or fear. Three of the boys entered the light, and became one with it. Then, it was his father’s turn. His father hesitated and turned to glance at his mother. Peter sensed that he didn’t want to go without her. Without warning, his father vanished as well.

Peter continued to fight the sigil. As he did, his mother floated past. As the light began to swallow her up, she looked over her shoulder at him, her pale blue eyes beseeching him to join her. Come with me, they seemed to say.

Did she know what was on the other side? He didn’t think so. But he did. He knew one of the Devil’s sons was awaiting him if he joined her.

“No,” he said, the bubbles escaping his mouth.

His mother gave him a sad look. Then, she was gone as well.

His world changed again. He was back inside the Spirit Cabinet, banging the tambourine against his palm. The afterimage of the sigil burned brightly in the darkness. He had to get away from it, and he placed the tambourine onto the floor, and stepped out of the cabinet.

He began to shiver. His bones had grown cold, just as they did when evil was present. He hadn’t understood the significance, until now. The cold came from the pond’s icy water, and had been passed down to him from his parents, along with so many other things.

He climbed the stairs and slipped back into bed. Liza had not moved. Outside, it was still raining, the gusting wind pushing at the window. Milly had called his parents wonderful people, and she was right, for they’d battled evil since they were young, and had not given in. They had set an example for him, one which needed to follow for the rest of his life.

Pulling the covers up beneath his chin, he shut his eyes, but could not fall asleep.

Peter awoke the next morning to the sight of more promising weather streaming through his bedroom window. Liza’s spot in the bed was empty, and he could hear her downstairs in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. Had his old life returned? He could only hope so, and hopped out of bed.

His blinking cell phone sat on the night table. He found a text message from Holly saying that her aunt was doing better, and would be released from the hospital soon, if her condition continued to improve. The news brought a smile to his face, and he put on his bathrobe, convinced the worst was over.

He bounded down the stairs. In the kitchen, Liza was scrambling eggs at the stove while scrolling through her own cell phone. She was dressed in baggy sweats and a Yankees baseball cap, clothes that would have looked drab on someone else. He affectionately wrapped his arms around her waist, and she craned her neck to kiss him.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

No, he hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to go there. This was a new day, and a new start, and he said, “Like a lumberjack. What’s on the menu?”

“Why don’t you sit down, and let me surprise you?” she said.

He took a chair at the kitchen table, and pored through the paper. Wolfe’s demise was front-page news, and he was relieved to see the article did not mention him or the other members of the Friday night psychics, but simply said that Wolfe had fallen to his death on the Upper West Side, and the police were relieved that a crazed killer was now off the streets. He guessed Garrison had a hand in this, and made a mental note to thank him the next time they spoke.

Liza placed two plates on the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toasted bagels left over from the other day. He dug in, and noticed that she was still playing with her cell phone.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“A relationship counselor,” his girlfriend replied.

“For us?”

“Yes. Here’s one. ‘Dr. Ruth Berman, licensed New York therapist. Stop fighting, understand more. Connect deeply, love deeply.’ This one sounds promising. ‘Need help in improving your relationship? I’ll show you how to be true to yourself, yet remain close to your partner in a passionate, caring relationship. Call today.’ That sounds like us to a T.”

Peter placed his fork onto his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Liza was serious. He cleared his throat, causing her to look up.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to talk out our problems first.”

“Are you afraid of seeing someone? Be truthful.”

“Yes, I am.”

She reached across the table, and placed her hand on top of his. “I really want us to see a professional. You’re different. I have to learn to deal with that.”

“I’m not that different,” he said defensively.

“Oh, Peter, please.”

His cheeks burned, and he glanced down at his unfinished plate of food. “All right. I’m a lot different. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out ourselves. We need to try.” He looked up, and saw her studying him. An uneasy silence filled the kitchen.

“Why are you so afraid of this?” she asked.

“I don’t want to betray my friends.”

“Therapists are sworn to secrecy. Something tells me that’s not the reason.”

Peter struggled with a reply. Liza was right. There was another reason, and it had to do with the dark side of his personality that he kept buried within him. That was something he didn’t want to discuss with a therapist, or anyone else.

His cell phone began to vibrate. Liza frowned at the interruption. He pulled it from the pocket of his robe and glanced at the face. Garrison calling. He decided the FBI agent could wait, and placed the phone onto the table. It began to move around by itself, then went still.

“Guess it’s not important,” she said.

“Actually, it’s probably very important,” he replied. “You’re just more important.”

“Who is it?”

“Garrison.”

“The FBI agent? Don’t you think you should take it?”

He leaned forward on his elbows. “I can call him back. How about this? Let’s talk before we go see someone, and set some ground rules.”

“What kind of ground rules?”

“I don’t want to talk about my parents except in general terms.”

“Why not? Your parents are a part of this conversation.”

There were places he didn’t want to go right now, and his parents’ history was one of them. How was he supposed to explain who they were without pushing Liza away from him?

“I have my reasons. Please respect them. That’s all I want. Everything else is fair game.”

“Is there something about your parents you haven’t told me?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Her frown grew. “More secrets, huh?”

“I only found out about it recently. I’m still not comfortable with it yet.”