Bewitched

  Bewitched

  The Thaumaturgy Book 1

  Mark Jay Harris

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Bewitched (Thaumaturgy, #1)

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1 | The Funeral

  CHAPTER 2 | What Goes Up Must Come Down

  CHAPTER 3 | A Basketball Jones

  CHAPTER 4 | There’s a New Girl in Town

  CHAPTER 5 | That Old Black Magic

  CHAPTER 6 | Bewitched, Bewildered, and Bemused

  CHAPTER 7 | Cat Scratch Fever

  CHAPTER 8 | The Ostendo Sum

  CHAPTER 9 | Turf War

  CHAPTER 10 | Cards on the Table

  CHAPTER 11 | Double Agent

  CHAPTER 12 | Near Death

  CHAPTER 13 | Cat and Mouse

  CHAPTER 14 | Down the Rabbit Hole

  CHAPTER 15 | The Grimoire of Moloch

  CHAPTER 16 | Sister’s Keeper

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Enjoyed This Book?

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Bewitched: The Thaumaturgy Book 1

  Copyright © 2013 by Mark Jay Harris

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13 (print): 978-1-939590-00-8

  ISBN-13 (ebook): 978-0-9856562-9-4

  Inkspell Publishing

  5764 Woodbine Av.

  Pinckney, MI 48169

  Edited By Kelly Hashway.

  Cover art By Najla Qamber

  Cover Stock (Male Model) by Raven Cornelissen, ravensms@hotmail.com

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900871

  DEDICATION

  To PIM. You always have been, and you always will be. Love HBL.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Funeral

  Darren stared beneath the suspended casket into the black hole, watching small bits of dark, wet earth crumble from the edge and slip into the void. A hollow numbness started in his head, enveloping him, squeezing out the reality of the folding chairs and freezing rain, and turning his dead brother, Ethan, into a complete stranger. The entire event might as well have been on television for all the connection Darren felt with what was taking place around him.

  Crissy smiled. His six year-old sister’s almond eyes, a product of her Down’s syndrome, sparkled up at him, happy despite the rain that dripped from the rim of her black hat. It must be nice to be Crissy, blissfully unaware that their brother Ethan was lying in the casket. To her this was just another social gathering, a time when people came together and were nice to her. Life had to be easier when you didn’t totally grasp everything going on around you.

  A cold blast of air shot down Darren’s shirt, bringing him back to his dreary surroundings. His tall frame shook involuntarily from the sudden chill. Before it completely passed, a blinding bolt of lightning flashed out of the dark sky, striking the ground behind the assembled mourners.

  “Whoa!” Darren jumped up from his seat and stared where the lightning had hit, expecting to see the people in the back screaming, running for cover, while those closest to him jumped to their feet, terrified.

  But nothing like that happened.

  No one had moved. No loud crack of thunder shook the ground. In fact it was almost unnaturally quiet. Bishop Barlow droned on as if nothing had happened—except for a slight pause and a curious glance at Darren.

  Matt and Amy Stevens, Darren’s parents, looked up at him, as if he had grown an extra hand from the center of his forehead. Darren sat back down, confused and a bit shaken.

  What had just happened?

  Crissy reached up, grabbing his hand and giving him a wry smile as if she understood.

  There had been a bright flash of light. Even if it hadn’t been lightning, it had been impossible to miss. How could he have been the only one to have seen it? He looked back where the lightning had struck—or hadn’t struck. Nothing appeared amiss; there was no scorched earth; nothing was out of place; just people huddled together, shoulders hunched against the rain, straining to hear what was being said up front.

  But something was different, or at least he was pretty sure it was. Those two strange men in the back–they hadn’t been there a moment ago. They weren’t part of the original group of mourners.

  Under normal circumstances, two men in suits wouldn’t look out of place hanging out at a funeral. And they wouldn’t have even drawn Darren’s notice except for the weird way the sunlight played upon them, making them look a bit ghostly against the dark afternoon sky. But the closer he examined them, the more out of place they appeared.

  Unlike everyone else who was hunched in a defensive posture to ward off the unexpected rain, these two stood erect, calmly surveying their surroundings, seemingly unbothered by the unpleasant weather. It seemed as if the rain was somehow missing them. It rained all around them, but didn’t hit them. Darren might be wrong, but it caused a small knot of fear to tighten in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he might be looking at ghosts—and, ghosts or not, he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

  The taller of the two had elaborately styled blonde hair, flamboyantly swept to one side like the singer from his mom’s “Wham” CD. The man smiled like he wasn’t attending a sad event, but was here to greet a bunch of old friends. Completely opposite of the first man, the second was so obese he gave the impression of being nearly as wide as he was tall. He had a cruel face with a crooked mouth and a bald head with short tufts of hair above his ears. No rain dripped down the sides of his bulging cheeks or across the front of his glasses.

  The utter strangeness of these two men freaked Darren out.

  Finally looking away, Darren scanned the rest of the crowd. No one else seemed to notice this peculiarity about the men. No one else seemed to notice the men at all. He was suddenly reminded of the eerie stories his grandfather, Atavus, told him and Crissy: creepy stories of witches and warlocks and the freakish powers they had over nature and the world. This time the shiver that shook him came from inside.

  Darren studied his little sister in her matching hat and jacket, shivering in the cool, wet air. The last time either of them had seen Ethan was right before he’d left for Perú. It was the middle of July when Ethan and his two closest friends, Jeff Tabor and Tabitha “Tabs” Winchester got on the airplane at Salt Lake International. The three of them were traveling with Utah State University’s Anthropology department for a five-week Ethnographic Field School in a small fishing village on the sea-coast called Huanchaco. A week before Ethan was supposed to return to the United States, Mom had received a phone call. It was from the University, a Mr. Jacobsen. It started off with, “There was an accident,” and ended with, “I’m so sorry.” It had taken a month to recover Ethan’s body and ship it back to the States.

  Everyone rose for the conclusion of the service, the dedication of the gravesite. Following this, they would lower Ethan’s casket into the ground. Darren glanced back to catch a glimpse of the two ghostly dry men, but there was no sign of them. While everyone else’s heads were
bowed in prayer, Darren searched across the rolling lawn that led to the curbside where strings of dark cars were parked. The men were nowhere. Maybe he’d imagined them—unless they really had been ghosts. It was a cemetery after all. He shook these thoughts away. The anxiety of Ethan’s death must have been messing with his head.

  After the dedicatory prayer, those who braved the weather came by to express their final sympathies to the family. From somewhere, umbrellas shielded Darren and his family as they shook hands and listened to people share obscure memories of Ethan. They meant well, but Darren was ready for the day to be over. Crissy sat and grinned at each person who shook her hand. There was no impatience on her part, nor any sadness at the loss of her brother.

  The casket had been lowered into place, and finally, the family was making its way down to the cars. Darren shivered again. Another blast of cold air slipped between his neck and collar. He was almost to the curb when the second flash of lightning struck near the burial site. He whipped around to see what it had hit. But there was no damage, no fire. Nor was there anyone else reacting to it.

  Like the first flash, the same two men appeared to be where the lightning had hit. Darren watched as each drew a leg from around the staffs they had been carrying; apparently they had been straddling them moments before the sudden pulse of light. They drew the poles upright, looking like hikers as they approached the hole where Ethan’s casket lay. They peered down into the cavity of earth, intent on ensuring the casket was safely underground. A ray of sunshine hit them in the same curious way that made it difficult to see them, giving them a translucent quality.

  Who the freak were these guys? How did they know Ethan?

  Darren was about to ask his father, but his parents were ushered back toward the hearse before he got a chance. He and Crissy were hurried into a dark sedan and driven back to the church.

  A luncheon had been prepared for after the service. Darren’s family, his parents and sister, along with aunts and uncles and grandparents from his mother’s side, were all in attendance, along with some close neighbors and friends. Several of Ethan’s basketball teammates had shown up from the university and expressed their condolences. Noticeably missing from the gathering, however, were Jeff and Tabs. They had been in Peru with Ethan and also perished in the cave-in that had taken Ethan.

  The strange men from the graveside—thank heavens—did not put in an appearance.

  At last, five o’clock arrived, and the awful day finally wound down, freeing Darren and his immediate family to go home.

  Since Ethan’s death, Darren’s parents had transformed into strangers. They had stopped talking–-except for simple answers to questions. His parents had been the type people were drawn to. Making others feel comfortable and welcome came to them naturally. Darren’s father, Matt, who could always be found in the kitchen cooking or outside barbecuing while blasting music, retired alone to the family room to watch the news. His mother, Amy, a part-time nurse, who patiently listened to others’ complaints only to lift them with her naturally positive personality, went straight to their bedroom. Darren was sure she was going through the photo album again.

  Crissy had wandered down the hall toward Atavus’s room. She and their grandfather got on extremely well. Just like Ethan had. Darren loved his ailing grandfather but didn’t share the same connection with him his brother and sister did.

  Darren’s bedroom was upstairs, across the hall from Ethan’s. He didn’t fight the impulse but went straight into his brother’s room and sat down on the bed. Everything was exactly the same–as if his brother’s passing hadn’t connected emotionally with the objects in his room. They waited patiently in expectation of Ethan’s return, unaware they should somehow be different.

  On the bedside table next to the clock radio was a photograph of Ethan rappelling off Corona Arch in Moab, Utah. Someone from the ground had taken the picture, capturing Ethan in a dare-devil position. He was suspended about forty feet beneath the giant red arch with a one hundred-foot drop beneath him. It was a spectacular shot.

  But then, Ethan had been spectacular. He excelled at everything he did—basketball foremost—but he was also an excellent student and musician. Before graduating from Sky View High School, Ethan had taken a shop class and built his own headboard. He’d used a beautiful cherry wood, which he’d sanded and lacquered to a glossy finish. Considering his brother’s accomplishments, Darren couldn’t help but feel inadequate. There was nothing Ethan couldn’t do.

  The headboard was five feet tall with three levels of shelves as well as an outlet and light sockets. The back was made up of reflective mirror squares, which were now full of Darren’s shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. He looked at himself and contemplated his too large nose. Thanks, Atavus, he thought. He needed a haircut; it kept falling in his eyes, forcing him to continually brush it out of the way. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, but being tall helped. He had reached the same height as Ethan, six-foot two.

  Continuing his perusal of the headboard, Darren gazed at the upper shelves with sliding glass doors, behind which sat most of Ethan’s trophies and awards. The majority of them were for basketball, but there was one for an art contest, and two for musical competitions. Ethan had played saxophone and guitar. As Darren considered these awards, a dour melancholy washed over him at the way they stood in proud defiance, like everything else in his room, declaring the achievements of a person whom they refused to recognize no longer existed.

  He ran his hand along the side panel of the headboard, drawn to it because there was a small flaw there. Granted, he was being nit-picky; it was almost impossible to detect. He touched the corner where the joints met with the faintest indication of a raised line. Every other corner of this masterpiece was perfect, with the exception of this one edge. Not like Ethan to have missed it.

  As he felt along the seam, Darren’s knuckle brushed against the upper part of the shelving, catching on a small notch that wasn’t visible at eye-level. He probed at the two hidden notches and depressed the first one. The side board that contained the flaw slid smoothly down into the panel beneath it, revealing a secret compartment.

  At first, this revelation surprised Darren. A secret compartment, how cool was that? But then, it was just like Ethan to have included something like this. Curiously, Darren groped about inside the small opening and pulled out the objects his brother had hidden.

  The first was a flat, round stone with a chain connected to it. Atavus had given it to Ethan at the beginning of summer. Darren couldn’t recall the strange name of the amulet, but it was supposed to do something mysterious. Though roughly the size and shape of a compass, it was heavy, made of what Darren assumed was a smooth, gray marble. There was no glass to cover the spindles; they simply sat exposed on the surface. And instead of having a single needle pointing north, this contraption had seven little arms of different lengths and colors pointing at weird symbols etched into the outer edge.

  The little arms appeared to be made of sharp strips of metal that rotated around the center peg. The outer circumference of the object was a shiny black strip that looked and felt like glass. Whatever it was Atavus had given Ethan, it certainly was intriguing.

  The other item was a sheaf of papers. They didn’t feel like normal paper. They were thicker and had the pliability of paper currency. Instead of being white like a page from a notebook, they were an oatmeal color. Each page was filled with Ethan’s handwriting. Darren read the first page:

  June 15

  Atavus insisted I use this parchment and keep a journal of my activities. It feels like thick paper to me, but I’m beginning to believe just about everything Atavus says these days. Including what he said about this paper being “charmed.” I guess we’ll find out.

  Today was our first day out. Jeff, Tabs, and I spent the afternoon driving to the more remote areas of the valley. The Utor Uti didn’t react at all. I’m beginning to think Atavus was wrong in his suspicions. He received a letter from someone,
he wouldn’t tell me who, that insists this is the right place to look; and he put a great deal of urgency into our finding it. Between his walker and his oxygen tank, he’s in no shape to go looking for it himself. And he seems to be getting worse all the time. As for this, “lapiseus calx,” which Atavus also refers to as a “slicer stone,” (something about “slicing” into other dimensions) it seems like it could be just about anywhere. The friend who needs the stone believes it could make all the difference in the great battle. Atavus is a bit mystical about what “all the difference” means, but he’s always mystical. (If dad knew what we were up to, he’d think I’d lost it—and probably disown me! He thinks his father’s gone round the bend.)

  Tabs is supposed to guide us and give us insights. So far, she’s told us there could be as many as three of them and they would be found “where shadows walk and stones are dust.” So far this new sense of hers hasn’t told us where that is. So much for Atavus’s description of Tab’s ability: “She will shine a mysterious light on you and keep you on the right path, forewarning you of dangers.”

  Which reminds me, Atavus still hasn’t told me how to destroy them. He said it would come to me when I needed to know. He only gives me bits and pieces. I’m trying to get what I can from that old scrapbook of his.

  Well, g’nite.

  I forgot to mention Rachel... new girl at school—met her after a game one night. She’s devastatingly cute and seems to like me. More later.

  Darren set the papers aside. Atavus had really worked his magic on Ethan. It was unbelievable to think his older brother had been caught up in all this nonsense. Vain attempts to find imaginary objects? Incredible! And he got Jeff and Tabs to go along with him. How had Atavus done it? Certainly Ethan was too smart to fall for the old man’s fantasies. Wasn’t he? The thought of Ethan buying into his grandfather’s bedtime stories as if they were all real was more than Darren wanted to consider at the moment.

  He scooped up the pages and the compass—obviously it was the Utor Uti mentioned in the journal—and headed across the hall to his own room. He wanted to read the rest of the journal pages later, but he didn’t want his parents finding them. It would further upset them to discover Ethan had gotten caught up in Atavus’s mumbo-jumbo world of make-believe. Darren lifted his mattress and placed the pages well underneath.