Thistle Witch, page 17
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
In his left hand he held a scarlet book and was loudly reciting words from it in a foreign language. He held his right hand high above his head, as if he was about to bring it down like the blade of a guillotine. As he approached the dog and its prey, his words increased in volume.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anaïs noticed her promptuary flashing. It lay on the floor in front her. Its bright, blinking light filled the interior of the car. For the moment she ignored it and strained to hear what the Inquisitor was saying. She looked around the car for a way to get out. She was unhurt but pinned in her seat by the dashboard and collapsed front end of the vehicle. Its windscreen had shattered and shards of glass lay scattered over her and the librarian. They glinted in the winking light of the promptuary. The librarian lay next to her, slumped over the steering wheel. There was a long gash across her temple. She was alive but her breathing was shallow.
Anaïs fought to free herself. It was pointless; her arms were trapped between the seat and the dashboard. She wiggled her fingers and tried to force one arm down to the floor. The promptuary was tantalisingly close. Her fingertips clawed at the rubber mat on the floor, centimetres from the book. She willed it to come to her. It refused to cooperate.
‘Come to me!’ she cried.
With her command the promptuary obliged and began to creep across the floor towards her hand. It reached the edge of the rubber mat but this prevented the book from moving further. Exasperated, Anaïs huffed, ‘C’mon, you stupid thing. What’s your problem?’
There was no further response from the book except for its blinking. Frustrated, Anaïs gave up and sank back in her seat. She peered through the broken remains of the windscreen.
The ferocity of the storm outside had increased. A fierce wind sent the rain hurtling horizontally through the air. Then something landed in the middle of the street, obscuring her view of the three figures up against the wall.
Dressed entirely in black, it was wrapped tightly in a long coat which fanned out from its hips. It wore a wide-brimmed fedora. It, too, held a book in its hands. Like the promptuary it emitted bright light, only it was far brighter. The slender figure held the book open with both hands and pointed it directly at the figures against the wall. Anaïs watched as the dark figure stiffened and braced its body against the handbook.
There was a dull, muffled whump. Anaïs felt the pressure of an implosion suck in around her like a blanket. Everything in the street that wasn’t bolted down lift about a metre into the air. The Morris Minor did the same. Everything hovered and held its levitated position. Even the drops of rain stopped falling and froze in mid-air as gravity failed to have an impact on them.
A narrow beam of light streamed from book. It cut a horizontal line across the street, pierced the dog and reflected off the animal, hitting the Inquisitor. The beast took its attention off Prince and directed it towards the figure with the book. It snarled and howled, throwing its head back in what appeared to be anguish. Apart from its head the rest of its body was frozen to the spot. Anaïs watched its muscles flex but fail to provide movement. The Inquisitor also appeared to be pinned to the spot by the light. The only movement came from his eyeballs which rolled around in their sockets in fear.
Slowly, they were both completely enveloped in a vortex of light. It began to consume them. A low droning built until it was a high-pitched squeal. Anaïs writhed in her seat, wishing she could clamp her hands tightly around her ears. The sound pierced her eardrums.
The light around the Inquisitor and his dog grew brighter. Between them, at its core, a pure-white ball of intense luminosity formed. It crackled loudly, competing with the din of the high squeal. Its glow lit up the entire street. Prince tried to pull his head away from the source but was hampered by the wall behind him. He pressed his head against it, squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
First the hound, and then the Inquisitor, began to melt from view in the brilliant light. Their bodies became transparent. Their features faded until there was just a faint outline in the form of a silhouette. The light then swallowed them and they disappeared altogether.
The figure in the middle of the street fought frantically with the book. It strained against it and Anaïs watched it struggle to maintain its footing. With great effort and a loud cry it slammed the book shut. In an instant the light was extinguished. Everything that had hung in the air slammed back to the ground.
The impact of the Morris Minor hitting the ground took the wind out of Anaïs. The piercing squeal suddenly ceased, leaving a ringing in her ears. She sank back in her seat, gasping for breath. She closed her eyes, attempted to regulate her breathing and tried to clear her head. The painful ringing in her ears slowly abated. It was replaced with the sound of rain drops gently slapping the thin metal roof of the Morris Minor.
AN INTERVENTION
Prince released the tension in his corpse. He slid down the wall and slumped to the ground. He reached up and gingerly touched the features of his face to make sure everything was still in place. Leaning forward, he wiped the dog spittle from his cheek with the tail of his shirt. He still felt lingering pinpricks in his chest where the hound’s sharp claws had been. He flattened his back against the wall and looked down at his body.
Was that blood on his shirt?
There were definitely dark patches where the dog’s claws had pierced the material. He touched the spots with his fingers and winced. He massaged his chest and it eased the discomfort. Heat and pain were sensations he had long forgotten. Now they were palpable and real. He almost felt alive.
He looked around the street. Across the road and to his left the four-wheel-drive hissed steam from its cracked radiator. To his right the Morris Minor looked sad and totally defeated. It sagged on its collapsed front end. Neither vehicle was going anywhere. Prince watched as the tall figure in black moved towards the small car. He pulled up his legs and attempted to stand, but with every movement his chest burned. The pain was just too much. He slumped back against the wall.
He owed Anaïs some protection. It troubled him that he couldn’t move and again he strained to get up. His body failed to respond. He gave in, defeated. He was truly spent. Somehow the beast had drained him of energy. There was nothing he could do but wait.
For a moment he considered what had happened. The man and the dog had been after him all along. For some reason this mysterious entity had saved him, but to what end? Was it only so it could get to the little witch?
He shook the thoughts from his head and returned his focus to the street. He could just make out Anaïs through the shattered windscreen. Her face was lit up by a light coming from within the vehicle. Her eyes were fixed on the approaching figure. There was courage and tenacity in them. She wasn’t giving up without a fight.
‘Good, that’s my girl. Give ’em hell.’
Only, he could see she was helpless, pinned inside the little car. Just like him she couldn’t move. She couldn’t defend herself. They were both helpless. He sensed his strength returning and tried to stand again. It wasn’t enough to coax movement into his body. He grunted in frustration.
The figure stood calmly in front of the little car and opened its book again. It leafed through the pages, found what it was looking for and laid what appeared to be a piece of glistening, golden string along the spine. It closed the book and held it out in front of its body with both hands. With its thumb it pressed a large button in the form of a star on its front cover. Prince recognised the book; it was another promptuary.
A fresh beam of light shot from the book. Softer and less penetrating than the previous glow, it had a faint blue hue. It intensified and changed colour. A pencil-thin line of bright red ran through the centre of the beam, and, as it did, it spread to the outer edges. Blue became purple. The beam of light pierced its way across the street and, like its predecessor, completely engulfed its target. The Morris Minor changed colour. The metal bodywork itself became a light source and emitted an azure-blue glimmer before transforming into purple.
Anaïs struggled in her seat. The courage in her eyes had melted. A look of fear now twisted her visage.
He heard the sound of metal scraping on metal. It grated on his ears like a grinder. There was a popping and crunching noise and the front of the Morris Minor began to right itself. The bent grill and dented bumper-bar creaked back into shape. The bonnet lifted itself, the indentations in it sprung out and it returned to its smooth, pre-crash form. Prince watched in fascination as shards of glass spun up into the air and slotted themselves back into their original positions in the windscreen. They made a sound like an archer’s arrow finding its mark over and over again. The front wheels, which had slumped at a rank angle, pulled themselves into an upright position. The second headlight came back to life. Its beam shot across the street and blinded him.
He raised his arm to shield his eyes. Tentatively he peered out from under it and slowly his eyes became accustomed to the light. Though the righted windscreen Prince had a better view of Anaïs. She was now free to move. But she didn’t. Her hands were on the dashboard and she was frozen to the spot, her eyes locked on the concealed face of the figure. Strangely, she was calm. Any hint of fear in her eyes had dissipated.
Prince turned his attention back to the figure in the middle of the street. The stream of light from the book diffused and receded back into it. The figure adjusted its stance. Spreading its legs apart it locked its knees and lifted the book above its head with both hands. A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens and hit the book squarely in the centre of its cover. The figure laboured under the impact, sinking to its knees with the force from above. Instinctively, Prince clamped his eyes shut. There was an enormous crack. The ground rippled, a wave of vibrations running through both earth and air. Prince felt a trill of static electricity run through his entire body, and then silence prevailed. There was only the barest whisper of a breeze.
Prince let his head settle back against the wall behind him. If he could have breathed he would have expelled a sigh of relief through his lips. He opened his eyes and blinked. The street was lifeless. The mysterious figure in the middle of the road had vanished.
Movement to one side caught his attention. From around the corner of the only other vehicle in the street a woman slowly got to her feet. She used the car to support herself. Turning, she looked straight at him. The Morris Minor’s headlights lit up her face. He recognised it. It was the female version of the face he saw every time he looked at his own reflection.
DELIVERING THE MESSAGE
She looked exactly like the picture he’d had in his mind’s eye. She had his strong chin and his eyes. Her countenance bore a familiar determination. They were so very much alike. There was even a distinctive curl to her lip just like his.
Thoughts of his youth came flowing back. It felt almost like yesterday. That was when he was himself, the real him. That was when he enjoyed making music. That was when he had been so creative. Back then the world lay undiscovered before him. He was still free to shape it in his own way.
More memories came flooding back. He pondered where he had gone wrong. He had let them take him on the ride. He had gone along with all of it and given himself completely over to them. They had moulded him, contorted him into something he really wasn’t. He had given up all control and become what they wanted. He had sold his soul. He had surrendered the only part of him which was truly him.
He saw that innocent version of him in her. The untainted part was strong. They were the same age, now, the age when he had died. Perhaps she was even a bit older. She was certainly in much better physical shape than he had been. She had taken good care of herself. She hadn’t let the gatekeepers dictate her life. She still had it all in her own hands. She was cleverer than he had been. That part was from her mother. She had been smart as well. She had maintained her integrity. Somehow, with everything that had happened, she still had it. He had squandered his youth and so much more. It embarrassed him to think about what he had done to himself.
He closed his eyes. He thought back to when they had still been together. He saw himself sitting on the edge of her little bed. He was humming her to sleep. She held onto his index finger with her tiny hand. Her grip was vicelike. She squeezed so tightly it hurt. He marvelled that she already had such strength at her tender age. If he had left it up to her, she would never have let him go. He should have let her hold him, keep him there. He should have stayed. Had he done that he could be looking at her today through the eyes of a mortal.
It dawned on him that perhaps that had been his last lucid moment, sitting on the edge of a child’s bed. Such an innocent place. After that the blizzard had hit. The world around him had gradually become snowed in. All remaining clarity had been lost. What followed was the beginning of a systematic decline into the shadows. Even in life, he had become a shade. Not long after leaving her bedside he had effectively died. It saddened him. The pain in his chest was no longer just from the hound’s claws. It felt tight and heavy. He had chosen to follow the path of his own demise.
He recalled the moment in the back of the Morris Minor when he had been given the glimpse. He now knew what it had been. The ’68 Special. Then he’d had the fame and could have made proper use of it. He should have gone back to his roots and stayed there. That night he had done that, returned to his core, the real him, and they had loved him for it. In retrospect, it had been the highlight of his career. He had done what was truly his own thing. This trait, this characteristic, this remarkable piece of him, buried deep inside, was what had made him special. It was what made him unique.
Unfortunately, he had squandered the moment like so many others. It had been his last opportunity. The final, genuine chance to redeem himself. After that his world had clouded over. It struck him again that if he had stayed true to himself, he might still be walking the planet as one of the living. And that now, he could be looking at his daughter with living eyes. Yet, he didn’t dare open them for fear that she would no longer be there.
Was she still there?
‘Dad?’
She was very close. He could feel her breath on his face. It was soft, warm and comforting, not like the harsh, furnace breath of the dog. The sensation was fantastic. He bathed in it.
The words formed in his mouth without thinking. He felt her hair play across his face and whispered in her ear. ‘Buttonhead, I’m here darling.’
She caught her breath. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Yes.’
He opened his eyes and looked around. It took him a moment to realise where he was. He was standing. Anaïs held his right hand. She also held his daughter’s hand. The three of them stood in a tight circle in the middle of the road. Practically the same spot where the mysterious figure had stood. How did he get here? The question came and went in an instant. He let it go.
The rain was still falling, but bounced off an invisible field surrounding them. Unseen energy flowed from the witch’s hand along the full length of his arm. He felt it pulling on his tendons, yet the grip on own his hand was loose. The pull went further into his body. He felt it tugging at his chest; a white heat drawing a line deep into the centre of his being, encompassing his dormant heart. It was as if there was a hand firmly clasping it. The hand felt soft like a pillow, squeezing ever so gently. It felt as if the organ itself was detached from his body. It floated freely within the empty void of his soma. He felt incredibly vulnerable. He sensed that the force encompassing his heart could wrench it out at any moment. It was no longer his. He was nothing. He was not the one in control. Anaïs was. She was the conduit that joined them. This tiny waif held his existence in her hands. He gave himself over to her. If there was ever a moment when he had to utterly and completely trust the little witch, this was it.
‘Dad?’
His daughter snapped him out of his physical concerns.
‘What do you want, Dad? Why are you here?’ Inquisitively, she tilted her head to one side. ‘How are you here?’
He turned his full attention to her. She was of utmost importance now. She was the sole reason he was there. Nothing else mattered. Only his daughter. Only her.
He read her face. There were so many questions written on it. He had no answers. Pure emotion flooded him. He floated on it. His heart swelled and pushed against the force around it. He looked deep into her eyes. ‘I just wanted to tell you I love you.’
She smiled. There was no longer a need for answers and an inner peace came over her. ‘I love you too, Dad.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I know. I’ve always known, honey. I wanted to say how sorry I am.’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no need. You don’t have to do that.’
‘Yes I do.’ He bit his lip. ‘I should have stayed. I should have kept my eye on you. I got distracted with all the wrong things.’
Her face twitched. ‘It has been hard, Dad, but I’m ok.’
‘I can see that. I’m proud of you, Buttonhead. Don’t do what I did. Stay true to yourself.’
‘Thanks, Dad, I will.’ She choked on a tear. ‘I am. It took me a while to realise it. I’ve made a few mistakes myself.’
‘We all do,’ he said. ‘We have to. There’s no other way to learn. Mistakes are good. Don’t feel bad about them.’ He paused and inhaled. It felt as if real air was flowing through his lungs. He practically choked on it. He cleared his throat. ‘Just remember, there’s only one you.’ He studied her face. It was so beautiful. ‘Your dreams matter, honey. Don’t you ever give up on them.’
He paused. Coaxing his body to respond he commanded his hand to squeeze hers. He put pressure on Anaïs’s hand and watched as in turn her other hand squeezed his daughter’s. He looked her square in the face. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes widened and locked onto his.
