The Elder Witches Page 4

  Chapter 4

  I drove home from work early. Maeve and Gwendolyn said it was to give me a rest. I think they were trying to figure out if I was crazy for telling them a vampire came to my apartment.

  A furry shape hit me in the legs when I opened the door to my apartment knocking me back a step. Rutger ran circles around me. It’s nice to know I can rely on some things. We ate and went for a long walk. Back at the apartment, I was mulling over everything once again when a knock on the door rousted me from my thoughts. I picked up my pistol, if this was that Reynolds guy again, he was going to answer a few questions before I called the cops. I peered through the peephole in the door and saw a shock of blond hair.

  I put the gun out of sight.

  My neighbor Shelly from across the hall stood in the doorway.

  “I saw you home early for a change and wanted to see if you’d come out with me,” she said, adding quickly “There’s a new club and none of my other friends could make it on a weeknight.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but clubs aren’t really my scene,” I said. Truthfully, I didn’t have a scene.

  “Come on, you need to get out. A few drinks, maybe some dancing, you’ll have fun,” she said.

  I could use the distraction. I had been doing nothing but working and working out for months.

  “Okay, I’ll go—”

  “You will? Great!”, she said darting back to her apartment, leaving behind a puff of perfume that was a bit too strong.

  “You’ll have good time, I promise,” she called over her shoulder.

  An hour later we stood in line at The Edge, a new club downtown. A bouncer the approximate size of the Hulk waved people through. When we made it to the front of the line, he gave me an appraising look up and down, grunted and said with a thick accent, “You lucky you with cute girl. Next time wear something less… you.”

  I followed a giggling Shelly inside. The music pounded, people writhed on the dance floor, others stood here and there talking.

  After few drinks, Shelly pulled me out on the dance floor, even though I couldn’t dance well enough to do her any justice. She danced her way around the floor with impressive energy. After I danced more than I had in years, I sat at the bar away from the dance floor watching as multiple men tried to become her next dance partner.

  Commotion near the front door caught my attention. In an almost visible wave, people turned to see the two figures who made their way past the dance floor. Men and a few women stopped what they were doing. Two women, one in blue, one in green, walked across the room with a casual grace. Neither wore the typical society girl high heels. I could see the same pair of scuffed black leather boots that I saw earlier on Gwendolyn, and black combat boots on Maeve. Something about them in the dimly lit room radiated, like they cast their own inner glow.

  They headed straight for me, ignoring every other man, some of which elbowed closer in an attempt to preen for the ladies. A man tried to spin Maeve around, no doubt thinking it was a clever move. She dodged his hand, side stepping and pushing him back with one motion, never breaking stride. A bouncer dragged him from the dance floor toward the door seconds later.

  They both stopped in front of me. Dozens of people stared, no doubt wondering how I could have been the lucky guy. I could see Shelly on the dance floor, her and her latest partner had both stopped dancing and were watching.

  “Do you mind if we join you?” Gwendolyn asked.

  Maeve was already sitting down, not waiting for my answer.

  I gestured to the seat.

  “I thought you went out even less than me,” I said.

  “We needed to talk to you,” Gwendolyn said. “I hope you don’t mind that we intruded on your date.”

  “Shelly and I aren’t on a date,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?” Maeve asked.

  Shelly still stood watching long after the rest of the gawkers had gone back to their own activities.

  “Maybe we should find a booth away from the peanut gallery,” Maeve said nodding toward a couple of college students sitting at the bar openly staring at them.

  “Good idea. Do you want a drink?”

  I left our drink orders with the bartender then headed to a booth in the corner. The booth was a good location to talk being farthest away from the dance music and tactically it was a good choice as nobody could walk up behind us. Not that I was worried about security here, or was even on duty for that matter.

  I looked the ladies over. They both had perfect skin. You hear that a lot, and it usually just means ‘pretty’. There wasn’t a single blemish on either of their faces. They stood out that much more in contrast to so many women in the club. They always struck me as pretty, maybe not supermodel gorgeous, but better than average. I looked at Gwendolyn’s hands, I couldn’t see a single scar, callous or blemish marring the perfectly white skin of her hands, which was odd as much work as she did outside.

  “Some of what we have to tell you might seem fantastical. All I ask is that you give us a chance to explain everything—” Gwendolyn said.

  “What are you thinking right now?” Maeve asked.

  I hesitated, “Well, that usually somebody has a mole, a freckle, a scar, even just a red mark from something past. But I don’t see anything on you. On either of you.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Gwendolyn asked.

  Having a near photographic memory, I flipped through the images in my head of past meetings we had until I found what I was looking for. She had cut her hand while I helped her outside not long ago. There should be a healing cut on her index finger of her left hand. I looked at it closer. There was nothing, no sign of anything there. I saw her bleed, and even asked if she needed a band-aid that day.

  The waitress chose that time to bring our drinks over. “I love your hair,” she said to Maeve.

  I studied the waitress’ face; I could see a mole under her nose, her eyes were a bit bloodshot and she had gray circles under her eyes that her makeup couldn’t quite hide. She wore a low cut top, which probably generated more than a few tips. Freckles dotted her ample chest.

  “Thanks,” Maeve said, “Yours is cute too.”

  The waitress beamed at the compliment, putting a hand to her hair subconsciously as she headed back to the bar.

  I looked back at Gwendolyn. I thought maybe the poor lighting was the reason, but the waitress changed my mind.

  “Good genes?” I said.

  “Exactly!” Gwendolyn said, “Good genes.”

  “What if we told you people in our… family, don’t have skin issues, pimples, zits, moles, melanoma. We also don’t have many other health issues that most people have,” Maeve said.

  “I’d say you should bottle it. The pharmaceutical companies would pay a mint for it.”

  Neither woman spoke, letting the dust settle on what I’d just said.

  Maeve tapped her temple with a slender finger.

  Gwendolyn stopped smiling. “Yes, they would do almost anything for those secrets. And they would not be concerned with the morality of how they got what they wanted.”

  “I see,” I said. “Why are you telling me any of this?” I asked

  “That gets a little more complicated,” Gwendolyn said.

  Maeve snorted before Gwendolyn gave her a reproachful look.

  “What makes you think I won’t just sell you out?” I said. “How well do you really know me?”

  “You won’t,” Maeve said. “Lets just say I know you as well as you know yourself.”

  “I might be more jaded than you think.” I thought back to the horrible things that had happened to my sister in recent years.

  Maeve’s cocky look softened some. Glancing at Gwendolyn she gave a slight nod.

  “We trust you,” Gwendolyn said. “We need to show you something.”

  “Here?” Maeve said, raising her eyebrows.

  Gwen looked around at the rambunctious club goers, most with drinks in their hands and a few drin
ks already in them.

  “Do you sense anything?”

  Maeve slowly swiveled her head taking in her surroundings. Most of the booths had jackets on the seats and drinks on the tables, but the booths themselves were empty. Their occupants having taken to the dance floor.

  “At the bar. He’s a — were, but there’s something odd about him.”

  “What’s a where?” I asked, feeling like the start of an Abbott and Costello bit.

  Gwen looked over her shoulder at the man sitting at the end of the bar. He held a beer as he took in the activity of the club. His gaze lingered when he got to us. But almost every man’s gaze stopped on a pretty women.

  “Well, no matter,” Gwendolyn said. She held out her hands. Without a word the women held hands and held out their free hand for me.

  I took hold of their hands, not really knowing why. My hand tingled slightly. Immediately the noise level dropped so much that we didn’t need to raise our voices or lean in to talk. The smell of stale beer and sweat also faded, I could smell the cedar and lavender coming from the girls.

  “That’s her actually,” Maeve said “I prefer cinnamon.”

  The corner of Gwendolyn’s mouth raised in amusement as she sighed. “Gordon, before we go any further we need to show you about us.”

  “Show me?” I said repressing my juvenile humor.

  “Telling would not have the same effect,” she said not getting my joke.

  “Just watch, Junior,” Maeve said.

  Her grip tightened slightly as she concentrated. A small ball of fire appeared six inches over the center of the table. It was about the size of a racquetball, and hovered in mid air.

  I looked around to see if anybody else was watching this.

  “Don’t worry, nobody will see us while we are in our circle,” Gwendolyn said.

  “How can nobody see us? Hell, how are you doing that with the fire? So, we’re invisible?” I said.

  “Others can see us but what we do will not concern them in the slightest. For those that are actively watching, like we suspect our friend at the bar is, we will just look ordinary. I don’t know how else to explain it,” Gwendolyn said.

  Gwendolyn returned her attention to the fireball still hovering above the table. With seemingly little effort a bluish light swirled around the fireball. When it stopped, what looked like a bowl of ice sat on the table underneath the fireball.

  I watched fascinated, feeling giddy at what they were doing. Some part of my subconscious was panicked at how this was happening, how they were doing that. The voice faded away even though I knew what I was seeing was nothing any normal human could do.

  The fire started to melt the ice bowl into a puddle. “So, I guess fire trumps ice,” I said.

  Maeve grimaced.

  Gwen waved her hand, the fireball stopped flickering, turned blue and fell into the bowl as a round jagged ice cube.

  “Different but equal. All elements have power,” Gwendolyn said. My strong suit is water, Maeve’s is fire.

  “What Reynolds said about you being witches is true.”

  “Yes, and what he said about the government agency isn’t surprising. We knew it would happen eventually,” Gwendolyn said.

  I almost forgot what they said about me. “How do I fit into this? I’m not a witch,” I said.

  A shadow fell on the table. “Yes, tell him how he fits in,” said a voice at full volume, not muted as the rest of the room was in our circle.

  Marianna stood next to the table, looking at us, then at the frozen fireball on the table. She frowned and gave her best schoolmarm look, which was pretty darn good.

  “As old as you are, and you do this here, in public,” Marianna said. “Why not invite the were at the bar that’s been trying to see through your veil for the past five minutes.”

  “I saw him,” Maeve said. “He can’t see through the veil, you know that.”

  “But he knows you have a veil now. Who is he and why is he watching you?”

  “I don’t know,” Maeve said, “something isn’t right about him. Maybe he’s not a wolf.”

  I sat listening to the women nonchalantly talk about werewolves. I felt a calmness come over me even as my mind raced with the impossibility of all of this.

  Marianna didn’t look happy with the women. Whether it was for being here or showing me their powers or another reason, I didn’t know, but me staying quiet right now seemed like the best course of action.

  Marianna turned to me. “Do you really think he’s the one?” Marianna asked. “He doesn’t look like much.”

  “We both had the dream,” Gwendolyn said as if that explained everything.

  “Does he know how dangerous the ceremony is?” Marianna asked. “Even if he survives he’ll be hunted by any enemies we have.” She flicked a look toward the bar, at the man who had become more obvious about watching us since Gwendolyn put up a veil to mask what we were doing.

  “We haven’t told him yet,” Gwendolyn said.

  “What ceremony and what danger am I in?” I said unable to keep my mouth closed any longer. At the thought of unforeseen danger, I subtly changed positions so my pistol in the back of my waistband was more accessible.

  “You’re part of a prophecy from almost a thousand years ago. If for some reason they’re wrong and you’re not the one, you’ll be killed during the ceremony,” Marianna said. “Which has happened before.”

  “We’ve never both had the dream before,” Gwendolyn said, “You’re the one. You have to be.”

  Caught off guard, I didn’t know what to say. I could believe in all the supernatural world that was supposed to be folklore and stories, but I knew what I was. “I’m just some guy, a nobody. I grew up in the country, then moved to the city with my sister. There’s no way I could be part all this,” I said.

  “Why not?” Gwendolyn asked.

  “I grew up poor, then my parents died when I was young. We became white trash poor. If I was part of a prophecy, I would stay the hell away from it because I’m bad luck,” I said.

  “Your parents had magic. I’ve researched your history. Your father wasn’t even aware of it. Your mother had a very small amount. We’re not sure about your sister,” Maeve said.

  Stunned, I let go of their hands. The sound came rushing back to my ears like a door was opened.

  “I won’t say anything about you being, you know…” I said as I stood up to leave, trying to sound discrete now that the circle was broken. I had to get some air, my head was spinning.

  Gwendolyn stood up and walked with me. “Think about what we said but whatever happens, it’s your choice,” she said.

  As we walked past the guy at the bar who went back to sipping his beer. His eyes traveled the room non-stop, his clothes looked more functional than stylish. Combined with his close cropped hair, and the bulge under his jacket that was no doubt a gun, he screamed ex-military. Gwendolyn brushed his arm with her hand as she went past. His face visibly relaxed and he took a big drink from his now warm beer. I could hear him order another beer and a whiskey before we got out of earshot.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  She just smiled. “We can talk more about a great many things when you’re ready,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  I headed for the door, my head full of thoughts about witches, and my parents.

  “There you are,” a voice said behind me, “I thought you left with those women.”

  I had been so fixated on the witches that I almost forgot about Shelly.