Marissa

The bells jangled warmly as we entered. I fanned my face and shoved my hands in my pockets. Though the day was hardly begun, already the heat was crushing, hanging over the city in waves of classic Toronto smog.

“What are you buying?” I asked Molly, and she shrugged. I shrugged back at her and went to take a seat.

“Surprise me,” I shouted back to her as I settled into a chair by the window, soaking up the cool air conditioning pumping through the vents, unaffected by the stifling heat, and the smells of rich coffee. Molly returned a few minutes later after fighting her way through the lunch rush hour crowd and pushed something across the table towards me.

“What is it?” I asked, and sniffed it hesitantly.

“It’s a surprise,” she said, mocking me, and taking a sip of her drink. I wrapped my fingers around my cup, the feeling the coolness seep into my fingers. I obeyed and took a sip.

“It’s like coffee, caramel... and coldÉ and...delicious,” I said, after hesitantly taking a sip.

“You’re such a freak sometimes, you know that?” Molly smiled and I nodded.

“Yes, I know that.”

“So how do you think you did on that chem test?” she asked, making typical school-based small talk. I made the ‘iffy’ motion with my hand.

“I think I bombed it, on my own personal standards, but I suppose I passed anyways,” I said, and took another drink of my mysterious coffee-substance. Whatever it was, it was good.

“Of course you bombed it on your standards,” Molly scoffed, “I bombed it on my standards. I’ll be lucky if I got a forty.” She frowned. No matter how hard Molly tried in school, and she really did, her marks never seemed to be able to pull to high above the fifties.

“I’m sure you did fine,” I said in the usual comforting format. She snorted.

“Whatever. Got any plans for this weekend?” she asked, and stirred her drink idly with the stir stick.

“Maybe. Aren’t you going to go to Donnie’s on Sunday?” I asked. I hoped she would. I didn’t want to go alone.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

After we finished our drinks we left the shop in a whirl of coffee and dead, humid air, stepping back onto the gum-spattered sidewalks. We hadn’t even passed five different buildings yet when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, a tell tale sign that something wasn’t quite right. I shivered, and ignored it. But even after a few steps I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. By now, Molly knew to trust my intuition. It was usually right, and hardly ever a good sign. My nerves jangled as we kept walking. No matter how much we tried to ignore it, it was generally impossible, and usually only made things worse tenfold.

“Molly...” I muttered, and did my best to kept walking, and looking normal. She didn’t say anything but only put her hand on my back and pushed me forwards more. I looked at her and she stared back at me. I pleaded my case with my eyes. She shook her head once.

“Molly really- Hey, watch it!” I shouted, and turned around. I didn’t see who had bumped into my until I looked down. On the sidewalk was a man, clutching his throat and gasping. He knocked on his chest a few times, and I stood in shock, watching as his face turned more and more red. His breath came rasping, in and out a few times, then stopped.

“Marissa for God’s sake do something!” Molly hissed, grasping my upper arm with enough force that I was sure it would be bruised later on.

“What the hell do I do?” I snapped back at her, wrenching out of her grip and kneeling down.

“Sir, sir, can you hear me?” I asked, knowing how stupid I sounded. Panic grasped at my brain and I could only imagine what the man was feeling. He nodded though, and pointed at his throat stupidly.

“Molly find someone with a cell phone and call an ambulance,” I shouted over the noise of the crowd that was rapidly forming. People gasped and mingled, nearly forming a solid wall around me and the unknown man. Molly fought to get closer and I reached out, grabbing at her hot, sweaty hands. The crowd heaved and our hands broke apart. I elbowed a young kid on a skateboard out of the way and grabbed her hand pulling her through.

“Is there something stuck in your throat?” I asked, frowning and wondering why, out of all the people who could possibly be walking down the street, there was not a single doctor or nurse. He shook his head again, making a hoarse rasping sound.

“You can’t breathe... Is it asthma? Allergies?” I rubbed my temples, and he held up a finger. One, he was telling me.

“It’s asthma, you think. Okay... oh, shit,” I said. I shook my head and stood up.

“Molly watch him for a minute, and whatever you do, don’t let him get mobbed.” I elbowed my way through the crowd and ran up to the nearest hot dog vendor, which in downtown Toronto was only about twenty feet away.

“Do you have a cloth, preferably cold and wet?” I asked, waving my hands frantically to indicate I needed one fast.

“Uh, sure,” he said, and passed me a rag, dunking it in a bucket of ice water.

“Thanks!” I yelled over my shoulder as I fought my way back to the man. He was in no better condition when I returned, and no paramedics were here yet. I knelt at his side and looked down into his frantic, piercing blue eyes that were wide and blood shot. I guessed the man was in his late fifties or early sixties, and I was surprised what he was having wasn’t a heart attack.

“Everything will be okay, er, sir,” I muttered, more to convince myself than anything, and I placed the cool cloth across his forehead, breathing deeply. I concentrated on taking slow, deliberate breaths, and I looked up at Molly for a moment before I closed my eyes. She nodded briefly, and already I was weaving together the basics of the chant in my head. I would do a healing spell. Something that would relax him, relax his airways. Carefully, I slipped my hand near the side of his face and breathed out again, my breath laboured in the dense heat. I began to chant to myself in my head, drawing on the power and focusing on relaxing and seeing my goal. I imagined the white, healing light flowing to the tips of my fingers and into him, underneath his tanned, aging skin and through his blood stream until it got to his lungs and his throat. His muscles relaxed, his throat opening again. I forced the energy through my again, and began the second part of the chant, whispering it very quietly and moving my mouth as little as I possible could. I hoped to death no one would notice anything.

As I began the last part of my spell, I felt a strange, foreboding feeling come over me, and with it the overwhelming urge to break the connection. It’s nothing I thought, but then it worsened. I felt nauseated, sick. The uneasiness crept through my veins like a syrupy poison, and I noticed the man staring at me intently, griping my wrist where I touched his temple ever so lightly. I had the vague sensation of time slowly passing, and eyes, many, many eyes pressing into me. My cheeks burned, but I kept chanting even though my brain felt like swampy mush.

Who are you... I visibly jumped as I heard the voice in my head, whispered at first, then louder a second time. Who are you... What are you doing to me? The voice sounded scared, angry even. I realized then it was the man’s voice, in my head.

I’m... helping you. Don’t worry... I thought. It was ludicrous. I was going crazy. He couldn’t actually hear me. But then, it felt as though he could. I could feel his presence within me, as though suddenly my soul was too big for my body to contain. It was a subtle pressure, a slight change in my energy that made my skin crawl.

“Miss?”

I snapped back, my energy flowing out of me in a sharp whoosh. I gasped and withdrew my hand, wrapping my arms around my stomach, and doubling over.

“We’re going to have to ask you to step aside. Sir, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” I was surprised to hear the man’s voice, precise, and very British, though slightly hoarse. Had I fixed him? Saved him, even? I took Molly’s hand, and she pulled me out of the crowd and hurried me down the street into a more secluded place.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Did you notice the man dying in my arms by any chance?” She rolled her eyes at me and I struggled to get my breathing back to normal. I felt completely drained, and I sunk down against the brick wall, slumping onto the pavement.

“Whatever. Are you sure you’re okay? You looked like you just ran a marathon and a half,” she said, sitting down next to me, and looking genuinely concerned.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon and a half. What happened to me?” I asked, rubbing my temples where I now had a throbbing headache. I could still hear his voice in my head, clear as a bell and I recognized the undertone in his voice now- terror.

“My guess is the connection was broken wrong, and he absorbed all your energy, rather than a gentle withdrawal like we’re taught, you follow?” I nodded and leaned over more, resting my head on her knee. The first thing I was going to do when I got home was shower, and overdose on painkillers.

“It’ll feel better eventually. You did a good job, Marissa,” Molly said.

Edward

The sun shone as a bright from between clouds that looked like light, frothy bits of cotton candy strewn across the sky. Beneath the sunny, late-morning sky a man walked down the crowded streets of Toronto, all but towered over by office buildings, apartments and skyscrapers. He was distracted, pale eyebrows furrowed over bright blue eyes as he scanned the crowd around him.

It’s in the bag... He thought, as he smoothly manoeuvred his way through the crowd, his stride long and elegant. Peoples heads turned as they passed, staring at the fifty-something year old man; the face that graced the cover of countless magazines. Edward James- big shot in the world of law, know world wide for the way his team effortlessly pulled cases in their favour.

My team is the best. He felt around in his silk jacket pocket for the lottery ticket his intended on cashing. Not that he needed the money, or anything of that sort. James was a multi-millionaire, and had an army of people who bent over backwards on a daily basis to please him. But he bought the tickets anyways, just to see if he could win. He walked up to the nearest stand on the road to cash hit ticket, glancing sideways at a few of the magazines boredly while the young woman scanned his ticket.

“Thirty-nine million... Quite a bit, no?” he asked, and the woman looked up.

“A lot of people would kill for that kind of money, myself included,” she said with a smile. Clearly, this woman had not heard of Edward James, which almost surprised him. James’s brows rose a fraction of a centimetre towards his hairline, and his thin lips smiled, a smile that effortlessly reached his twinkling blue eyes.

“I believe quite a few people have,” he pointed out, as he took his ticket. Another loss, another ten dollars wasted. He shrugged and crumpled his ticket, lobbing it perfectly into the trash can placed conveniently beside the ticket stand. James looked up at the woman. “Thank you,” he said, and smiled again, turned away as she began helping a man who had a bag filled with miniature bingo-scratch cards. As the crowd pressed around him, something caught his eye. He fought his way towards the stand once more, looking down at the magazines on his left.

White block letters across the front of the Financial Post glared up at him in the sunlight, and he breathed in sharply, looking around. He snatched the magazine from the stand, holding it close to his face, hoping something was deceiving him.

“E.J.I LOSES BARNES-SAMPSON CASE”.

“No...” he whispered, throwing the magazine to the ground and striding away. “Damnit!” he swore. How come I didn’t hear about this?! What useless piece of shit have I hired that neglected to inform me? James raged at himself. He reached for the cell phone in his other pocket and flipped it open, beginning to dial a number he struggled to remember, a number he shouldn’t have to know if his employees were doing their jobs. His pager beeped quietly in his pocket, interrupting him.

“The nerve!” he cried aloud. Before he could see the fluorescent blue numbers, James was falling to the ground, his knees buckling and his vision blackening. Edward gasped, clutching at his throat. He could feel, almost as in slow motion, as the muscles in his throat began to contract. The blood rushed through his veins and his pulse raced. His eyes were bulging, his vision cloudy and dark, and his veins feeling as though they’d explode, but yet he managed to realize there were two young girls- teenagers, coming towards him. The smaller of the two, a girl with chin length, dark red hair knelt by him, her warm fingers grasping his own. Her friend stood by, panic-stricken, screaming instructions Edward couldn’t hear. He felt as though cotton was stuffed deep within his ears. He looked up into her face as best he could and pointed desperately at his throat. She blinked a few times, guessing different things that could be wrong with him and shouting them at her friend. Finally he saw her mouth the right word and nodded frantically, ignoring the sensation that the skyscrapers around him were about to slide off the world. The girl nodded and spoke quickly with her friend for a moment then disappeared into the crowd with a quick squeeze of his hand.

Edward’s vision slowly faded away until he was left laying on the ground wit his eyes closed and his face pressed into the rough, gum-spotted sidewalk. He fought the overwhelming need to gasp for breath and after a few moments his breathing stopped and the fluttering of his eyelids ceased.

The girl returned, fighting through the crowd. She knelt at his side and pressed a cool wet cloth against his forehead. He felt these sensations dimly as though there was a bag over his body that he was feeling everything through.

Suddenly, the sensations returned to his body, clearer and sharper than he had ever felt them. He felt a straining, painful feeling in his throat, the cool, rough surface of the sidewalk beneath his face, the loud din of the on-looking crowd around him, and a sensation he had never felt before. It was a feeling he didn’t have words for. It was as though suddenly there were too many thoughts for his mind to handle, and there was a distinct humming sound that his body seemed to be producing. The girl’s eyes were closed, her full lips moving in quick, small movements.

Who are you? his brain shouted. The girl jumped and he looked up. Her eyes were open, staring into his with increasing curiosity.

Fear began to overtake him, gripping at his body. He fought to let go of it, but it was seeping into his veins like a drug.

Who are youÉ what are you doing to me? He screamed, trying to move his body, but he was bound by an invisible force. His eyes bulged as he looked up at the girl.

I’mÉhelping you. Don’t worry. He hadn’t meant to speak to her, and he certainly had not expected a response. Shock and horror infiltrated his brain, and then there was nothing else. He sat up suddenly, blinking, and felt the white noise sound stop.

Hello?

No response. The man breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up, and both girls were gone.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” he said, and stood up, brushing himself off. He felt the stares of the crowd pressing into him from all sides and did his best to ignore them, putting on a grateful face. He shook hands with both of the paramedics, then turn and strode away, his anger from a few minutes ago slowly returning, with increasing ferocity.

Marissa

I climbed into the back of the cab Molly hailed with her piecing whistle. I closed my eyes, still feeling a little dizzy and weak. I could almost feel Molly’s concerned eyes pressing into me. Before she could say anything I flapped my hand at her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, and opened my eyes, which I immediately regretted. My stomach lurched and I leaned my head against the cool glass and tried to hold my breath until we got to Molly’s house. She insisted I waited until she came around to my side and pulled me out herself. Molly curled her arm around my waist and practically dragged me into her kitchen.

“You sit, I’m making you an herbal tea,” she said, and pushed my shoulders down into one of her swiveling red vinyl chairs. I nodded and groaned letting my head sink into my hands.

This kitchen is too bright... I thought dimly while the kettle boiled and Molly rummaged around her kitchen, looking for various herbs. She muttered to herself and I closed my eyes.

This has never happened before. Will this happen again? Big, scary magic? I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be a part of magic if this was what happened to me. I couldn’t help but feel like I did something wrong.

Molly’s kettle began to whistle, the horrid, high sharp and piercing noise. I resisted the urge to stuff my fingers in my ears, yet I longed for the warm tea I knew would sooth me completely. Molly had a reputation among our coven for making amazing teas, and I had only had the fortune, or misfortune, to have tried one.

She set the tea down and poured herself a glass of iced tea. As I watched the shimmering condensation form on the pitcher and listened to the refreshing sound of the ice cubes jangling against the glass, I realized just how hot it was. I knew better than to question drinking Molly’s tea, so I swept my hair into a short, spiky pony and glanced at Molly apprehensively.

“Don’t even,” she said, and sat down on the chair opposite me, her bare legs squeaking on the vinyl. I smiled sheepishly and wrapped my hands around the warm mug and took a sip.

I nearly spit. It was disgusting, bitter beyond belief. Molly stared at me incredulously and mockingly sipped her iced tea.

“It’s gross!” I exclaimed, taking another sip that made me cringe. I had to admit though, I could already feel the weakness leaving my muscles, a gentle, tingling energy returning to my body.

“What did you expect? Starbucks?” she said. I pulled a sour face.

“But your reputation! You have a reputation for making amazing tea!” I exclaimed, drinking again.

“Yeah, I do. I make great tea. No one ever said they tasted great,” she said with a smile. “It’s like witch’s Buckley’s. Of course it tastes like shit.” I laughed and drained the last of the small cup, making the face of a good girl who knows to take her medicine.

“Never trust the gossips,” she scolded, getting up with a squeak to pour herself- and me- I saw with relief, another glass of iced tea. I drank mine quickly, feeling a now a hundred percent better as the cool liquid refreshed me; fighting away some of the crushing heat.

The funny thing is, people don’t know Canada for its heat. People hear the name “Canada” and they think igloos, freezing winters, maple syrup, and free health care. But the truth was, summer in busy Toronto was intense. Temperatures that sometimes soared to over forty degrees Celsius combined with smog, crowds and dead, windless air made Toronto summer something difficult to bear. Some days, the air is so heavy and humid it feels as thought it must be swallowed. Walking outside was a fight with the heat, where more often that not a big, damp, heavy fist punched you in the face, then dances triumphantly while you wiped the sweat from your face.

And now, Molly and Iwere smack dab in the middle of that, in a small, bright sixties-inspired kitchen, sweltering in the heat.

“So about Donnie’s place last Sunday,” Molly said, blowing air out of her cheeks. My reaction was the same.

“Wow...” I muttered. I pointed up, then down, then at us, then spread my arms in the gesture for ‘large’, summing up the entire night. She nodded.

“I’ve never felt so connected with everything before. Is it like that often?” I asked.

Molly smiled a small smile- like a secret.

“Sometimes. What we experienced last week... It’s not something that happens too often. When it does though,”-

-“It’s amazing,” I said. Feeling the energy from the herbal tea singing through me now was amazing, but it was still like, a tenth of what had happened at Donnie’s last Sunday. I sighed, conflicted. Magic could be great and wonderful, like it was with the coven at Donnie’s, but then... It could be like it was today. Big, scary. I had saved a man’s life, but still he was terrified of me. I didn’t understand.

“You’re still thinking of that man, aren’t you?” Molly asked. I nodded and brushed my loose bangs out of my face.

“Yeah. I feel really bad about it.”
“Why?” Molly asked, perplexed. “You saved a man’s life, Marissa, you should be happy.”

“I am, truly, but I can’t get the look on his face out of my head. He was terrified of me, Molly. It was if I was killing him, not saving him,” I said, getting quieter at the end. I hadn’t told Molly about the part where I could hear a stranger’s voice in my head, and he could hear mine. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized he probably did think I was trying to kill him. An innocent man, the business type- and probably the sort who didn’t believe in anything beyond what he could see and touch- hearing voices? If I put myself in his place, I’d have felt the same way.

“Oh well. At least you know what you did was right, regardless of whatever the man though. You saved his life. And besides, you’ll probably never see him again in your life, so what does it matter?” she asked. I shrugged and took a big gulp of the iced tea, hoping to get rid of the taste that I feared was imprinted into my taste buds.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” I said, and set the glass down, then leaned against the wall, the paint cool against my skin. I lifted my hair up higher and pressed my neck against the wall.

“Do you want me to pick you up from your house tomorrow on our way to Donnie’s?” Molly asked. I shook my head.

“Cassandra is coming to get me on her way there. She needs to pass by my house anyways to stop at the little shop and pick up a few things,” I said, referring to the small pagan shop on the corner that sold a few books, but mostly candles and incense of all sorts.

“Do we have everything for the circle? I mean, does she need money for anything?” Molly asked after a moment. I shrugged.

“I don’t think so. Nothing, expensive anyhow. Probably just a few candles from the last time, you know?” I said. Molly crossed and uncrossed her long legs, the material of the chair squeaking against her skin.

“Alright. I’m going for a cold shower, though. This is disgusting,” Molly said, as she stood up and put their glasses in the sink. “You’re okay to walk home now?” she asked. I nodded and stood up aswell. I rocked from foot to foot, testing my weight.

“Sure am,” I said, and headed for the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Molly said, sweeping her long blond hair off of her shoulders. I nodded again. As I reached for the door handle, Molly called out.

“Wait,” she said, and I stopped. I raised my eyebrow.

“It’s just that I forgot to tell you, Kass wants us there for six instead of seven. Mentioned something about a big announcement?” she said, turning the sentence into a question. I shrugged.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” I said as I stepped onto the front porch.

I spent the evening sitting at home in my room, cross legged on my bed. Sitting precariously on my folded legs was probably the biggest book I had ever seen. In short, it was a book of spells.

In reality, it was so much more than that. The first image that comes to mind when someone says ‘book of spells’ is a large gnarled book with thick, yellowed pages, crinkled with age, and heavy leather covers, complete with brass fasteners. Bring it forward three hundred years and you would have our coven’s version. Our book was basically a scrapbook, the pages were made of thin cardboard, and plastered on each side with print-outs, drawings, hand scribbled notes, and recipes. The outside of the book was paper-mached with crepe-paper and leaves, looking like something straight out of a lame craft sale- but it was treasured, really.

This book had been passed from coven member to coven member as each joined, to be read, studied, and added to at will. At least half of the book was filled, but the end half blank, clean pages, ready to be written in, or pasted on. Since the book fell into my hands, I can’t say I’ve really written anything substantial, or interesting in the least form.

Cassandra assured me this was fine, and encouraged me to write anyway, leaving me to fill a few pages with a small initiation ritual I had done alone, and a few hastily scribbled journals, detailing personal struggles and my first experiences with the coven a few months ago.

I flipped the page, searching for the one that Kass told me would be marked with an orange post-it note- my homework. I stared down at the page before me, written in bold, smooth letters at the top of the page ‘stones’. I groaned and flicked on a desk lamp, and flexed my fingers, getting ready to dig in.

The next time I looked at the clock it read two forty-five. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, staring at the clock from sideways. Two forty-five? That couldn’t be right, I assured myself. I glanced out the window and saw only darkness, a few stars winking in the night, the street lamp peering into my window and casting me in its urban yellow glow.

“Why...” I groaned as I shoved the book, gently, off of me, letting it flop onto a pillow on the floor. I slumped back onto my pillows and stared at the ceiling. I was amazed to find that even at this time of night the ceiling looked the same. How fascinating. I closed my eyes again, willing myself into sleep. When that didn’t work, I tried a relaxation technique we did at almost every circle. When that didn’t work, I resigned myself to staring at the ceiling until my vision blurred and I slipped slowly into monotonous limbo, and finally, into sleep.

I woke the next morning to banging on my door, quiet and polite at first, then rising to a banging that could have been mistaken for the construction workers wrecking havoc down the street.

“Alright,” I grumbled, and rolled over again, pressing the pillow harder against my ears. My stomach rumbled indignantly, and a pang of headache answer. I would have to fix that later.

“Marissa!” the bodiless voice that was my mother shrieked from outside the door, rising in pitch to near hysteria.

“It’s still morning,” I groaned as I squeezed my eyes shut. If I tried hard enough, I could will myself back into sleep. No such luck.

The door flew open and smashed into the wall behind it, which shuddered in protest.

“Who got killed?” I asked as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. A head of dark brown hair, cut neatly between the shoulders and chin came into view, framing a face that was drawn with impatience.

“Nobody. You’re doing groceries. Up,” she said, and turned away, her slippered feet dragging on the carpet. I muttered complaints to myself as I looked around my room, trying to take various objects into focus. Lamp. Alarm clock. Binder on the floor with a mess of papers around it. I squinted and looked towards my closet, that’s contents were still a blur.

With a soft thud, I fell back onto my pillows, relishing the warmth of my down blanket around me.

Less than five minutes later (and I watched, wondering how many more minutes I could sneak away lying in bed) there was banging at the door again, which in reality sounded more like kicking.

“Marissa, up, now,” the voice said. I rolled over and cracked one eye open, recognizing the voice as not my mother Diane’s, but my sisters.

“What now?” I murmured as she sauntered into the room. From the corner of my eye I could see her silhouette distorted. Suddenly, a sent met my nostrils, fresh and inticing. I bolted into a sitting possition.

“Good morning. I hear you over-stayed your welcome,” Kylie said, waving a plate of food in front of my face. I swayed, nose following the food like a dancing cobra.

“My method of persuasion are shockingly more effective than mom’s,” she said, plunking down on the edge of my bed. I reached for a piece of bread, toasted and buttered to perfection. It was in my hands for only a moment before she yanked it away, waving it in my face tauntingly. I felt like a scolded puppy who just pissed on mommy’s new white rug.

“Come downstairs with me, eat, and I’ll acompany you grocery shopping,” she said. I laughed and made another dive for the plate, this time my fingers nearly closing around a slice of bacon.

“Nice try. Mom is making you come with me, so you’re coming up here to try and get me moving faster so she shuts up.”

“Moot point,” she said, waving her hand airily. “I brought you food,” she said. I nodded grimly and stood up. I ushered her out of my room and dressed quickly, pulling my hands through my hair with a tad of styling wax and ruffling it to stop it from laying flat on my head. The layers fell uneven around my face- just the way I liked them.

Five minutes later I was in the driver’s seat of our little blue sedan, reaching over to the passenger seat with my mouth. Kylie placed the appropriate amount of toast there, and I chewed greedily, making a precise left turn.

“You never told me I couldn’t eat in the kitchen,” I complained between bites as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I shoved the last two cold pieces of bacon into my mouth.

“I made you food, and again you’re complaining?” Kylie asked, raising her eyebrows above dark hazel eyes.

“Get out,” I grumbled, and slammed the door.

A wave of stunning heat melted into my skin as I stepped out of the car. I fanned by face, sweating in even my small white tank-top and nearly ran for the cool air-conditioned bliss of the grocery store.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

To maximize efficiency and minimize time wasted searching for the perfect tomato, we split up. I sent Kylie to the aisles with a simple list of items to retrieve. I headed to the produce section, which required a slightly more delicate hand. The deal? Last one to the cash buys lunch.

“You’re on,” Kylie said, as I shook her hand, explaining my plan to her. I dove for the produce section, putting a few tomatoes in a bag and selecting the perfect head of lettuce in what I thought was record time. I skidded around the corner, shoving various things into my basket until it was heavy enough I couldn’t carry it anymore. I dashed for the cash with a bundle of carrots in my teeth and grinned as Kylie was forced to come up behind me, seconds later with a towering collection of cans and boxes.

“That’s so not fair, you had to get less,” Kylie complained.

“Is so fair,” I shot back, loading things onto the rubber conveyor belt.

“How is that, Marissa?” she said, throwing a glare at me as she pushed her stuff on after.

“Because I actually had to pick things. You can’t get a bruised or rotting box of crackers,” I said, pointing a carrot at her before shoving it on.

“I just got paid!” she complained, lifting her long, hippy-style hair off of her shoulders. I shrugged.

“We’ll go to the fancy restaurant down the street, then,” I said with a grin.

Ten minutes, and a heated arguement later, we were pulling out of McDonald’s. I swore at Kylie through a mouthful of heavily salted fries as she gloated her victory. She chowed through half of her Big Mac in one bite and I shuddered, picking away at my chicken fingers. What can I say. A free meal is a free meal.

After we got home we unpacked the groceries I ate a quick meal of steamed broccoli- my idea of counteracting McDonald’s, and hurried out the door before my mother could say anything else. Kass honked her horn as I stepped out the front door, her black SUV throwing off heat waves in hot day.

“Kass, hey,” I said, swinging into the passenger seat of the car.

“Hey,” she said, staring into the fold down mirror and picking at her hair with a disheartened look on her face. I glanced at her short hair, streaked, textured tufts of aqua, sky blue and deep violet.

“New hair?” I asked with a grin.

“I got bored of the green, didn’t you?” she said with a small smile as well pulled off of my street into the still clogged rush-hour streets. I raised my eyebrows at her.

“Bored, no, blinded, that’s a bigger possibility,” I said. She laughed and picked at her nose ring.

“So what’s this big announcement?” I asked. She gave me a sly grin.

“Tsk tsk, Marissa. You have to wait until tonight like everyone else,” she said. A white van impatiently turned its nose into our lane, trying to wedge itself between Kass’s black SUV and the car in front of us.

“Oh come on,” Kass said. “Come on!” she slammed on the horn, throwing her hands in the air impatiently where the man could see in his rearview mirror.

“I wish we could just enchant the cars and fly them off of the streets. Like in Harry Potter,” I said, grumbling as we spent another three minutes in complete standstill. Kass turned to look at me slowly.

“You know we can’t do that. It’s against the-”

“It’s against the rules. I know,” I said. “I was only kidding.”

She nodded. “I know. But those kind of thoughts lead to an outbreak of The Craft,” she said. I laughed.

“You mean power hungry fiends turning on their friends in their quest for omniscence?”

“Yeah, that, exactly,” she said, as the traffic began to move to a slow crawl.

It took us at least another twenty minutes to get to Donnie's house, which was really only about a twenty minute walk from my house in the first place. I grumbled to Kass as we rang the doorbell that I would have been there faster if we walked.

“You didn’t seriously just ring the doorbell?” Donnie said as she opened the door, her albino pink eyes smiling.

“I did,” I said with a raised eyebrow. I looked over at Kass who was giving me much the same look.

“Samantha, are you friends here?” a voice called from in the kitchen as Donnie ushered us inside. Since I joined the group, this was the first time we’d been to Donnie’s.

“Who’s Samantha?” I asked, grateful for the cool air of a ceiling fan. Donnie laughed.

“Me,” she said. I raised my eyebrow and waved to the crowd as we came into the living area. I blushed.

“I thought- Donnie... No?” I said, confused.

“My name is Samantha O’Donnell. Donnie just stuck over the years. Only my mum still calls me Samantha. Even Dad adapted to the change,” she said with a grin.

“Kass, hail!” Daniel said with a grin, saluting the vibrant group leader. I call us a group, because officially, we weren’t really a “coven” persay. Since I joined, Devon and Elizabeth, the most unlikely couple on the planet had joined, turning our loosely gathered group into somewhat of an official gathering. Ever Sunday since we agreed to meet at someone’s house, promptly at seven for a chat, a circle, and of course, food.

Every religious gathering had food.

“Hello Marissa,” Elizabeth said, waving to her from where she sat on the floor leaning against Devon’s legs. He clumsily braided her long, light brown hair, a foolish grin on his face.

“Hey Liz, Devon,” I said, and flopped down on the floor beside Elizabeth. The large chair in the corner was occupied by Daniel, who reclined comfortably with a lazy tomcat grin on his face. Kass sauntered over. He patted his knees and she sat down on him, kissing him on the cheek. He ruffled her hair playfully. On the couch was Devon- resident clown, who was sweet, really, in a boyish sort of way. He had curly dark brown hair, which fell in dreadlock fashion into his eyes. Donnie reclaimed her place, sinking into the plush leather couch between Devon and Molly.

Donnie’s mother came into the room, holding a metal tray of snacks and a jug of juice in the other hand.

“Are your friends all settled in Sam?” she asked, setting the snacks down on the living room coffee table with the smile of a perfect hostess on her face. We mumbled our collective appreciation and thanks.

“Yeah, mom. Thanks,” Donnie said, and her mother left, throwing Kass an odd look as she left. Kass didn’t notice, unfazed by the stares of strangers. Kass’s appearance was a wild one. She wasn’t ugly, or really excessive with her style, but her hair made a loud statement of its own, without the added nose, eyebrow, and double ear piercings. She was a sweet girl though, and an awesome leader, really.

“Alright Kass, spill your secret,” Elizabeth said from beside me, brushing Devon’s hands away impatiently. She sat up straighter, her eyes large in apprehension as she waiting for Kass’s news. Instantly there was tension in the room, all eyes turning to Cassandra where she sat perched on Daniel’s knees.

Edward

He sat alone in his home, candles lit on his dining room table- a grand table, where he ate his supper. The table was muchly too large for him, overpowering his small stature. Without people around him to receive his influence, Edward was only a man and nothing else. Soft jazz music played from an expensive vintage record player, the static filling the background noise. Edward sipped his wine- a fine merlot, and cut a perfect slice of the steak the cook prepared for him- medium rare, leaning more towards the rare side. The way he liked it.

But something wasn’t quite as fulfilling as he would have liked. Tension nagged at the back of his mind. He paused, the crystal wine glass half way to his rosebud lips and set it down again. Edward scratched the back of his head, then pushed his hair back. He sighed and pushed his plate towards the centre of the table and stood up. Edward walked away from the table, leaving his chair untucked and strolled into the living room- the first of four different sitting areas, each equipped for a different mood. This was filled with dark leather, black lampshades with tassels, and rich, deep cherry hardwood floors.

“James, sorry, sir,” the cook said, bumping into his shoulder as he moved through the door way.

“Maggie, sorry,” he said, distracted. She paused and wiped her hands on her apron, then looked back at him. Her pale round face was sploched with colour.

“How was your meal, sir?” she asked. Edward leaned into the kitchen again, eyes lingering for a moment at the mostly uneaten steak on the elegantly set table.

“Very good, thank you. I’m, I think I’m coming down with something. Wrap it up so I may eat it later?” he said. She nodded, and apologized again. Edward stepped out of the way and bowed her through the door, rubbing the back of his neck as she passed with a shy smile.

“If I might ask, sir, are you quite alright?” she asked, pausing again. Edward faltered, then nodded. It was none of her worry.

“Yes, yes, fine. I’ll be quite alright. A glass of water though, maybe, in the study upstairs?” he asked. Again she nodded.

“Right away,” she said.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Edward said, and began the long ascent upstairs to his favourite study on the third floor. A headache nagged at him, tension building in his neck and shoulders.

The telephone rang from his study just as he approached, stopping him in his tracks. He hesitated, face darkening before he decided to hurry to retrieve the call on the last ring, just before the answering machine picked up.

“James? How about tomorrow I treat you to breakfast. We need to talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“Let’s discuss that tomorrow, not over the phone. It’ll be a proper chat between gentlemen, you and I. What do you say?”

Cadence

“Cat,” a gruff male voice called. I turned, blowing out a long, slow stream of smoke.

“Listening,” I said. He stepped into the yellow light of the street lamp, his face shadowed by a hood.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. He shrugged his hood off, and a familiar face was illuminated by the light, harsh shadows and angles forming the planes of his face.

“Ian,” I said, and politely inclined my head. I took the last, long drag off of my cigarette and tossed it to the ground, snubbing it wistfully with the toe of my boot.

“Still dressing like a faggot,” he said.

“Still acting like one,” I retorted and accepted his hug. His hand banged me on the shoulder blade twice. I smiled.

“What brings you around here?” he asked. I shrugged.

“Moved back in with parents,” I said. Ian raised an eyebrow. “Not like me, I know. Brampton sucked. I got fired, and my parents decided to move back to the good old childhood home,” I said. I fished around in my pocket for my lighter and flicked it a few times, mostly out of boredom.

“That sucks, man,” Ian said. “Crash with me anytime?” I shrugged again and nodded. The night air was cool, and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms.

“Come in?” I asked, waving my hand in the direction of my house. He shook his head.

“Nah, man. I have to get back to my girl. She’s waiting at my apartment,” he said, a small twinkle in his eyes. His girl, right. Tonight, maybe. I nodded though, and returned a smile that I thought might show congratulations to a guy about to get laid.

“I’ll see you around, then?” I said, and walked up the stairs to the door.

“See you around,” he said, and disappeared around the corner. I shook my head and stepped inside.

“Cat, you reek,” my sister Brittany said. I trudged up the stairs past her, ignoring her comment.

“Ditch the habit!” she shouted after me. I closed my door with a definite loud sound and sank down onto my bed. I reached between my matress and the box spring, hand searching for the smooth leather cover of a book. Just as my fingers closed around it there was a scream and a bang from downstairs.

I jerked my hand away, and banged the back against my nightstand. I swore, and sat bolt upright, staring at the back of my door.