“I’ll try,” Helen said.
“Brilliant. Do that.” He took off, moving in a proud, long-legged stride, and ducked around the front of a bus.
A series of sharp pains needled a spot beneath Helen’s shoulder, discomfort akin to when she got a tattoo on her foot. The sensation radiated to her clavicle in a succession of pricks.
Helen pulled her shirt forward and looked down at the affected area. Brian’s signature, rendered in tidy cursive, bled through the cloth and on to her skin. But the ink wasn’t black. It was as red as the blood from a cut.
Before her stunned eyes, his autograph faded to pale pink, then vanished.
“Sacrificium.” Following the familiar murmur, a cramp clenched her lower belly. She doubled over and gripped her midsection. Spasms gave way to peculiar energy, swirling like a whirlpool in her abdomen. The puff of vapor she’d seen after leaving Nerissa’s reemerged in her mind’s eye.
Several rhythmic surges rushed from Helen’s toes to her scalp. An arch of smoke shot out in front of her face and twisted serpentine curves in the air. It tore a line between the two buses, retracing Brian’s steps.
Pieces drifted together. Hands trembling, she got out her phone and checked the selfie. Her insides shriveled and froze. A tentacle the color and consistency of fog crawled out of her navel area and into the pocket where Brian placed the crystal. Like the autograph, the foggy curl faded away.
Shit. Fuck. A grim darkness swirled to the surface, an epiphany of sorts. She’d messed up the intention. It needed to be mental, not verbal, and given to the crystal as an order. The day’s intensity must’ve caused details to slip her mind.
How would she figure out what was happening and how to stop it? No clue. But she always kept a few life hacks and some moxie stashed up her sleeve.
She clawed in her bag, excavated the second clear crystal, and stared at the twinkling rock until a kaleidoscope of multicolored glimmers filled her headspace. Hi, crystal, this is Helen. I’m your new witch, nice to meet you. Please keep Brian safe and protected from any bad vibes and fog tentacle demons. Be a beacon of positivity. Cancel out bad mojo with good. Thank you.
Step two: connect with Brian after the show, get the possessed crystal away from him, and give him the new talisman. Next, she’d have to figure out how to exorcize the curse.
Nobody saved her, but she could save someone who needed help. Somehow. Jesus Christ, she’d made a big mistake by failing to set the first intention. A deadly mistake?
Your fault, devil child. Helen’s birth mother screeched in her head, the same old hysterical, unstable banshee. She managed to silence the tirade. Her father’s suicide had not been her little six-year-old self’s fault. She could fix this. Brian must not suffer because of her. She was no devil. She was a good person. For real.
A text blooped on Helen’s phone.
Lisa: Hey. I’m at the animal barns. Petting a goat, LOL.
Her friend’s cute message was an obvious olive branch, so she’d better act positive.
H: Yay! Be right there.
L: Looking forward to the good news. Sorry I was a bitch earlier.
Was the news still good? Complicated at best, because by bungling a supernatural directive, she’d put an innocent person in danger and unleashed a demon.
Shaking her head, Helen walked in the direction of the livestock. How would she reverse the damage caused by her reckless actions?
Three
Brian pulled the strap of his Stratocaster, sliding his lucky guitar to rest against his back.
Grumbling, he shoved a hand in the pocket of his trousers and felt around for the hundredth time. The smooth plastic of his guitar pick grazed his skin, but no stone. He checked his other three pockets, fingers brushing the muscles of his thighs and backside through cloth. No holes through which the charm could have slipped.
Where had Helen’s crystal gone? He hadn’t taken his pants down or off since meeting her, not even unzipping them to take a slash. How on earth could it have disappeared?
Shifting on his feet at the side of the stage, he retraced his steps. The crew hustled about, tuning guitars and tweaking knobs on towering stacks of amplifiers as they completed last-minute prep. The wardrobe woman passed, wheels of her cart squeaking.
Among an assortment of clothing hung the leather jacket he’d changed in favor of his performance uniform, a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone.
A gust of hope lifted his spirit, and he followed the cart.
“Excuse me, love, I need to have a gander at that jacket,” Brian said.
He jogged over and rifled through the pockets, coming up empty handed with a sigh. What in bloody hell? How had he managed to lose the good luck token given to him by the first woman in ages with whom he’d cared to spend time? Brian never lost or misplaced things, let alone important keepsakes. Stellar organization preserved his sanity, especially on tour.
Stupid, stupid. Must’ve been fatigue setting in as the tour reached its final leg, leaving him knackered and prone to making mistakes.
“What are you missing, Brian?” The blond designer looked on with concern while he cursed his uncharacteristic bout of absent-mindedness.
“A crystal. Clear. About the size of a quarter. I swore I had it in my pocket.” He dove in his jeans again, scooped out the guitar pick, and strummed a few tense chords.
“Huh.” She wrinkled her forehead.
“Huh what? Have you seen it?”
“I ran into Joe earlier, and he was acting odd. He was staring at an object in his hand. I thought it was a piece of glass, but I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to talk to him any more than I had to. He’s a sketchy guy, man. Gives the whole crew the creeps.”
The wardrobe lady spoke the truth about Fyre’s new manager. Brian would tolerate the unpleasant fellow long
