“Thanks, but—”
“Is your beau safe? Yes, I saw him in my visions.” Nerissa licked her lips. “Quite the looker.”
“No, he isn’t safe.”
“Are you permitted to cast any more Left Hand spells?”
Helen stared at her lap. “No. No I am not.”
“So you have your answers. Go.” Nerissa made a shooing motion at the door.
“I don’t think I have answers, actually. What am I supposed to do?”
A wistful expression from Nerissa. She stroked her braid. “Congratulations, you have just about mastered the craft of color magic, and the clear crystals are prepared to work in your service and do your bidding for the remainder of your days. I’m proud of you, coven daughter.”
Helen managed a confused laugh. “I haven’t done jack.”
Nerissa shrugged. “Not while you sit here stalling.”
“Message received.” Helen scooped up her stuff. She had one more shot, and she’d take it. Sure, she might fail, but nothing beat a fail like a try. And while she was at it, she would try to convince Brian to give her one more chance.
Scratch try. Do or do not. Time to nix that “try” crap once and for all.
“Good girl. Before you go, know this. These morons will use every trick in the book, literally. They are messing with the sixth circle when they know not its caprice. But their hubris shall mold your advantage. None can harness the power of Sister Folly, and their appeal to chaos will spell their undoing. Especially when you counter with your Right Hand power. Show up and face them from a place of authenticity. Bring your purest self.”
“Thank you. And speaking of, what’s up with all of that? Folly and the sixth circle and all of the stuff they were saying about chaos born?”
Nerissa’s eyes hardened. Helen shuddered. The mage in front of her had seen some shit.
“Never you mind, spirit born. And you must make me one final promise. Never, ever touch the energies of the sixth circle again. You are never to etch one or to utter the name of Folly or to evoke the chaos born. Never, ever.”
Helen swallowed a dose of guilt along with the excess saliva in her mouth. “That why all of this happened to me and Brian in the first place, isn’t it? Because I brought this Fo—you know who and her chaos into the mix without realizing it.”
“Yes. I wish I could have told you more to warn you, but I didn’t realize the extent of the Left Hand’s fickleness and greed, how it operates even in the shadow realm of hexes. Your complete and total ineptitude with the Left Hand path wreaked havoc. In all of my days, I have never seen a witch more incompetent with the ways of the Left. But fortunately for you, though the elemental sister in question is quick to unleash her wrath, her impulsivity makes her weak and beatable with the proper tools. But we must never speak of this ever again. This talk ends here and now. Do I make myself clear?”
Complete and total ineptitude. Ouch, but fair enough. “Yes.”
“That’s ‘yes, Mother Spirit’ to you. While the elements are all of our cosmic sisters, those of us who master them are the coven mothers. We act as mentors to the next generation. To our daughters.”
Helen stood up straighter, an invisible rope on the crown of her head pulling her confidence and self-esteem skyward. For the first time ever, the word mother sounded loving and right, like a big hug. “Yes, Mother Spirit.”
“Good luck, child.”
“I’ll need luck?”
“All witches need luck. It’s a force deserving of our reverence as much as any other. Twice as much for us spirit born.”
“Gotcha. Gotcha Mother Spirit, I mean.” Reunited with her full set of stones, Helen expedited her plan the second she landed on Nerissa’s front stoop and the lock clicked behind her.
Clutching one of the clear crystals, she put herself into the trance state and pictured Brian’s home, the bed where they’d made love. “Hold on tight, just for a little longer. I’m on my way, Brian.”
The ride service car pulled up on the Los Angeles curb and idled behind a chain of vehicles depositing concert-goers in front of the venue. Sure she could have teleported from Brian’s mansion to the arena, but Helen bet an Uber would work out better than floating through the astral plane in search of the precise location and optimal entrance of a massive downtown LA performance center. Drivers had GPS, and traffic had been bearable.
Hey, sometimes luck and technology worked like magic.
“Thanks.” Helen jumped out.
Throngs of people milled about, taking selfies and gathering into a line lengthening from an origin point at the doors. Cigarette smoke and perfume layered in with food and exhaust smells thickened balmy night breezes.
Guitar-heavy, recorded Fyre music blasted from a tent, mixing with ambient chatter from a crowd of fans. Electric blue lighting poured from the stadium interior, casting moving bodies in an upbeat glow apropos to the anticipatory pump of a sold-out event.
Pixelated images of the four band members standing below the band name, the day’s date, and energy drink ads cycled across the front of a gigantic screen near the building’s roof.
She held her hand to her forehead like a visor and scanned for her contact.
No ticket, no problem. Provided a certain rocker chick showed up at the rendezvous point. Yes, Helen could have called Brian, but she lacked the valuable commodity of time, and time would have been crucial to explain and apologize and otherwise have a meaningful phone conversation.
A young woman in a cheetah-print tube dress as tight as paint slipped through the crowd, turning heads as she sashayed in Helen’s direction. The liquid nymph wore thigh-high black boots fit for a dominatrix, and purple streaks highlighted platinum hair sailing over bare shoulders.
Awesome. Stacy delivered on her promise. She said a silent prayer of thanks that Stacy’s issues with Thom hadn’t ruined the super fan’s hobby of following Fyre around the country.
Helen stuck
