M Sellars - Miranda

“So?”

“So I hadn’t even mentioned it.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied. I could almost see him nodding. “So what you’re really talkin’ about is spooky, dead person, Witch shit.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, so then ya’ wanna tell me what’s goin’ on? You’re soundin’ a bit ramped up.”

I let out a quiet but heavy sigh. “I’d like to say just me being paranoid, but we know how that usually turns out.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Usually you ain’t paranoid, they really are out ta’ get ya’. So, really, fill me in. What’s the story?”

“I haven’t really figured it all out yet, but I have a sneaking suspicion the FBI is keeping me in the dark about something,” I said.

“Mushroom treatment, eh… No big surprise there,” Ben grunted. “What’s Constance think?”

“Same thing as me, unfortunately.”

I could imagine him shaking his head as he breathed, “Fuckin’ wunnerful… Goddamn Feebs.”

“You date one.”

“She’s an exception.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there.”

My friend sighed heavily and then adopted a curious tone. “So, lemme ask ya’ somethin’. Why are ya’ puttin’ yourself through all this shit? Why don’t ya’ just do some hocus-pocus on this Miranda bitch and be done with ‘er?”

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s the deal? Your Witch-fu not good enough?”

“That’s one way of saying it,” I replied. “Hoodoo is some very intense stuff, Ben. It has no moral restrictions, and it’s like the guerrilla warfare of magick.”

“Yeah, so? I thought the stuff you do was pretty serious too.”

“It is, but hoodoo is seriously down and dirty. It can…” I stopped mid-sentence and took a mental step back. Rather than giving him a detailed lesson in magick, what I really needed was a mundane analogy that would get the point across. “Look at it this way,” I said after a short pause. “The particular magick I’m dealing with here is like two-part epoxy. You need both parts to make it work. Same basic principle applies. For me, or even an expert practitioner of Vodoun and hoodoo for that matter, in order to stop what Miranda has set in motion, both parts of the magickal working are necessary. That necklace you’re holding onto for me is only half of it. Without the other, the situation is at best a stalemate.”

“You ain’t actin’ like it’s at its best,” he observed.

“That’s because it’s not.”

“Great,” he grunted. “So what happens if ya’ can’t find the other half?”

“I’d rather not think about that.”

“Yeah… I ‘magine not.”

I swallowed hard and slowly let out a breath. “Yeah… So, listen, I still really need to call Felicity and check in with her. Just do me a favor. Don’t let that necklace out of your sight, okay? And don’t go anywhere near Felicity with it.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “I kinda got that part already.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“I’ll put it on your tab. Hey…you do me a favor too. Have Constance call me when you’re done screwin’ around with ‘er phone, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. Later.” I stabbed the end button even as the last word was coming out of my mouth and then began dialing a new number.

A moment later my wife’s near panicked voice issued from the earpiece. “Constance? What’s wrong? Is Rowan okay?”

“It’s me,” I told her.

“Rowan? Sorry… The caller ID came up with Constance’s cell number.”

I explained. “My phone’s still in a personal effects locker, so I’m using hers.”

“Row… Is everything okay?” The concern that was initially apparent in her voice had dropped considerably, but a thread of tension was still palpable.

“Yeah…I’m okay…” I told her. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice a bit hesitant. “Why?”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine… Rowan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing… I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“Breugadair.”

I met the Gaelic insult head on. “I hate to tell you this honey, but you might want to look in a mirror. I can tell you’re lying too.”

“That would be breugag.”

“You say potato…”

“One is masculine, the other feminine…”

“I’m sure it is, but I didn’t call you for a lesson in Irish Gaelic, and I hate to tell you this, but you aren’t any better at changing the subject than I am. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You first.”

“Good Gods, Felicity, I’m fine…”

“If you were really fine you wouldn’t be calling then. Not yet,” she chastised, then stated as much as asked, “You’ve been in to see her already, haven’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Who was she?”

“Miranda. But that’s pretty much who I expected.”

“Aye… So…what happened?”

I stifled a snort. “Just what she wanted, I’m afraid. She pushed all the right buttons and set me off.”

“Are you really okay then?”

“Yeah…” I half whispered. “Yeah… At the moment I think she bruised my ego mostly. But, she’s not going down without a fight, and that has me worried.”

“So…you didn’t find out anything?”

“Other than the fact that Miranda is still in control, no, not really.”

“Annalise?” she asked, a different sound of concern threading through her words.

“No…” I replied, shaking my head out of reflex. “Not even a glimmer. But Miranda is definitely dangling her out there in front of me like some kind of carrot.”

“How do you mean?”

“When today’s interview ended, she told me to come back tomorrow and she might let me speak to her.”

“Do you think she really will?”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “Why would she? Besides, other than the corporeal body itself, I honestly don’t know if Annalise even exists anymore. If she does, she might not even be lucid at this point.”

There was no reply, but I could hear Felicity breathing softly on the other end of the line. And based on some of our past conversations, I had a fairly good notion what she might be thinking.

Finally, I said, “Remember, honey, Annalise tried to kill you.”

“Aye, that’s true…but she’s still blood.”

“Blood you didn’t even know existed until less than a year ago, and that discovery didn’t come under the best of circumstances I might add.”

“I know. But…” She allowed her voice to trail off before saying, “I suppose you’re right then. I’m damned either way. One of them wants to consume me, the other wants to kill me.”

“Not going to happen,” I soothed. “Either one. I won’t let it.” I paused briefly and then said, “Okay…your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you the truth, now you owe me the same. What’s wrong?”

“I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that then,” she replied.

“I know you did. But I didn’t.”

She tried to object. “It’s nothing important.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a big deal for you to tell me, right?”

I heard her take a deep breath in resignation. After a suggestive pause she said, “I’m having…feelings… urges.”

Her admission sent a fresh chill tap dancing along my spine. I knew all too well the kind of urges she meant, and the hollow feeling now expanding through the pit of my stomach told me I knew why.

“These aren’t just your normal…you know…” I left the rest of the hopeful question hanging.

“You mean my normal desires to tie you up and play the dominatrix?” she answered, unabashed as always. “I thought so at first…but…no… That isn’t exactly how they feel. These are…” She hesitated before finally saying, “These aren’t just urges to play. They’re…much darker.”