Alondra, p.7
Alondra, page 7
Jane slides along the floor. She reaches for me, and I withstand the pounding noise for a moment, but her fingers slip from my grasp. Then she’s violently flipped on her stomach by an invisible force. Jane desperately reaches her hand out for me, again, by the threshold, but I can’t reach it in time. She’s suddenly jettisoned out the door as if from a plane.
Alondra returns to the circle, raising her arms, with her back turned to Jane. Surrounding her are the swirling lights of her witches. But Jane hasn’t rejoined them. She’s kneeling and weeping as the rest of the witches continue to twirl in brilliant lights around the fire.
The machinery noise is intolerable. The sound mixed with the rotating colors makes me feel sick.
Venite. Venite. Owl-Jay.
“Liam!”
Alondra turns her head and stares right at me with those white eyes. I black out for a moment in pain. Maybelle screams hysterically from the other room. Then I hear Jane crying. I open my eyes and meet the gaze of the eerie pearly whites of whoever or whatever has possessed Allie. All around me I hear the words spinning over and over, “Exite, exite, exite.”
7
THE GOOD WITCH
In a dark corner in the ugly three-story building we call the Taylor Library lies a secret enclave known only to me and a select few nerds matriculating through Hawthorne U. You have to make your way through a maze of bookshelves until you arrive at the sunken-down pit. There you’ll find three recliners and a couch by a very small window in a dark corner. It’s perfectly private even during this time of year, when students actually start studying.
I’m sitting alone in one of the brown leather recliners, with dim lights overhead, studying my textbook. That’s when I notice small pieces of white paper floating down like snow onto my page. Then comes more. I look up and my girlfriend is standing over me, holding two books under her arm and letting torn paper spill over my book. Her long black hair is fixed in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a black button-down with a checkered skirt and black leggings. She’s makeup-less. Even her lips are red. The getup would almost be preppy, if it weren’t so black.
I shouldn’t be that surprised to find her. See, she’s one of the nerds who knows about my secret spot. And she’s got a big irritating grimace.
I glower at her. I’m really pissed. She pouts.
Then I look back down at my book and ignore her. She grunts.
“Found you.”
I lift an eyebrow. I sigh, shake my head, and turn to the next page.
She walks over to the recliner across from me and tries to slide it over. This is really funny because the chair must weigh, like, a thousand pounds. She sighs and gives up. Then she comes back over and sits on the couch beside me, but a bit too far—which I like—and heaves a big sigh.
“Sorry, Liam,” she says. “Didn’t mean to disturb your studying.”
“I’m not mad about that.”
“Oh… good.” Then she irritatingly puts one of her books to the side on the couch and opens the other one. She scoots back, pulls out a highlighter from her purse, and starts studying, as if we planned to study here together all along.
I look at her, but she doesn’t look up from her book. She just says, “Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“Studying,” she says with a shrug, staring at her textbook.
I get up.
She grunts again, thinking I’m leaving, I suppose.
“I’m mad that you two didn’t say a damn word about what happened last night the whole drive home,” I confess, falling back in my chair. “When I awoke in the morning, dazed like last time, Jane was back to being your best friend and yapping with you about clothes and the newest fucking movie that just hit theaters. Why? You never explained anything. It was like Hilltop Bluff. I woke up to you telling Alice that the ghost was gone and all was well.”
“It was.”
“Jane fell into my arms terrified as if needing protection,” I say, shaking my head. “Protection from you.”
“Maybe you dreamed that?” Alondra quips. She laughs at my expression. I don’t. She seems like she’s in a really good mood, which actually upsets me more. “Oh, come on, Lee, Jane and I have had our differences. We fight and we make up. We made up. It happens all the time. Now it’s over. I heard her argument and I agreed. I won’t do that to her again.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Well…” She stops because, right then, a student with glasses and a backpack walks down the steps. She puts down a Styrofoam cup on an adjacent table, takes off her bag, pulls out a bunch of books, and sits on a recliner across from us.
Alondra shakes her head and leans over the arm of the couch, saying quietly, “Why don’t we go to my house and I’ll tell you?”
“Not this time. I think I’d rather not go to your house again.”
“How ’bout your place?”
We’ve never done that before. She never comes to my dorm room at night. It’s like it’s not good enough for her. That’s fine. I love her house but, boy, she must be really desperate to hash things out to do that.
She looks at my book. “Whatcha reading?”
“Something you’d be familiar with.”
“Tell me?”
“Abnormal psychology.”
She scowls. That makes me finally laugh.
“I knew I could get you to smile,” she says. “Friends? You seemed really quiet in the car.”
“Why were your eyes white last night?”
She glances at the other girl in the room. I don’t relent. I repeat, in a forced whisper, “Why were your eyes white, Allie? That freaked the shit out of me. And Maybelle and Alice. I think they were more afraid of you than the ghosts.”
“That was the plan,” Alondra says under her breath sternly.
“What do you mean? What plan?”
“Not here,” Alondra says, shaking her head and looking over at the other student. Right then, the girl looks up from her book. She sighs, gets up, piles her books in her bag, and leaves. Either she thought we were too loud or too private.
“Coast is clear,” I say with a gesture for her to continue. “Now tell me.”
Alondra walks over and kneels by my chair. Then she takes my hand and whispers, “Jane’s mad because I used the upside-down pentacle.”
“The what?”
“Remember the pentagram? A pentacle is essentially a pentagram, but with the five points encircled. We used the backwards pentacle. See, demons are a very powerful kind of magic. I used Escoba’s old grimoire to call on ancient satanic demons to scare the shit out of Maybelle and her poltergeist. And it worked. It scared her. It scared her ghost. And it scared you too, right? Only…” Alondra bites her lip. “It scared Jane. Jane was the focal point. I should have used Capper, but Jane has more experience. I trusted her more. I was right to. ’Cause it worked. You didn’t see any ghosts during our ceremony, right? But the transfer to her…it messed with her head.” She looks back up to me and forces a smile. Then she runs her fingers along my bangs. I snatch her hand and push it away. “Just like it messed with yours, babe.”
“I wasn’t right in my head?”
“Some of what you saw didn’t happen.”
“The fight between you and her?”
“That happened.”
I fold my arms and lean back in my chair. Then I look down into her eyes, pissed. “Did you slip me—”
“No, ah-ight,” she snaps, standing up. “We’ve covered this already. I don’t give things to people without their permission.”
“Then what?”
She looks around the room again. It’s still just her and me, but in front of me are library shelves. It’s quite possible students are among those rows. I know Allie’s thinking that ’cause she’s looking there too.
“Why were your eyes white, Allie? Answer me. Was that a hallucination? The dusty desk, the teacup, all that was nothing compared to you. The way you looked scared the shit out of me. Did you stand by the door with white eyes, or was that not real?”
“Magic can change your eyes. Just as death does. I’m goth, Liam. The color of your eyes whitens when you die.”
That makes me close my eyes and shake my head. I think I want to shake off that thought. “So you were, like… dead?”
“No, I’m a witch. I’m always dead. And very much alive.”
She returns to the couch and gathers her books. Then she tucks them under her arm and heads for the steps.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“I found you and told you what happened. Mission accomplished.”
This is so Alondra. She said what she came to say, and now she’s over it. I either accept it or I don’t. Just like our first meeting at her house. After she told me she was a witch and pleaded her case, she was over it then too. So, just like then, there’s no point in her conceited, omnipotent self spending another second discussing it with me.
“So that’s it?” I ask, real pissed. “You tell me your side and then go? Mission accomplished.”
“I’m going back home to fix a few more things between Jane and me.” She halts at the steps and furrows her brow at me. Then she sighs, shakes her head, and takes a knee by me again. “Lee, I owe you a night of heavy nerddom, alone, after taking up your whole weekend, ah-ight? I’m just glad I thought to stake out your favorite hiding place to find you.”
“So everything’s not better with Jane?”
“We’re fine.”
“And us? How about our fight? Everything’s better? According to you, apparently, it is.”
“Yeah, we’re not fighting,” she says with a chuckle. “Or maybe we are? You tell me.” She leans forward puckering her lips to kiss mine. But I turn from her. She pecks my cheek. “Don’t be mad, Lee. I’ll make it up to you next weekend.”
“You’re a bad witch.”
“I’m a good witch, babe.” Then she blows me a kiss as she makes her way back up the steps. “I’ll see you in our psycho killer study group tomorrow.”
8
HER BOYFRIEND
Well, she promised she’d make it up to me. So I’ve been excited all week about our plans to go to the mall in Atlanta for the craft show. It’s Thanksgiving break, which at Hawthorne U is two weeks. Thankfully, we drive her Audi because it is snowy outside. My old eight-cylinder car is not very snow-friendly.
When we enter the sliding glass doors of the mall, Alondra’s rushed by a girl in a large fake-fur coat and short blond hair. Jane. It’s the exact same coat Alondra’s wearing. Not only am I surprised at seeing Jane; I’m surprised by a toddler in a thick white coat holding her hand.
“Hi, Lee,” Jane says excitedly and gives me a hug. “You guys,” Jane says with a big grin, “meet my niece Madison.”
Madison waves her small hand. Alondra giggles. Then Alondra gets down on her knees and puts her hand out to the little girl. “Hi, Maddie.”
“Hi,” Madison squeaks. But she backs away from her hand.
“Madison,” Jane corrects Alondra.
“Maddie sounds better,” Alondra says with a shrug. Then Alondra turns to me. “Surprise!” Alondra has a stupid guilty expression. She turns back to Jane, whispering, but loud enough for me to hear, “I told him it was a craft show. Like an art show. I didn’t want to scare him about your niece.”
“No problem,” I say with a chuckle.
“You don’t mind the little tyke?” Alondra asks.
“Finger paint?” Madison asks.
“In a moment, dear,” Jane says, touching her nose. “I hope they have finger paint. I really do. I know you love that.”
“She’s adorable, Jane,” I say.
“Oh, thanks, Lee. Don’t you just love her?” Jane asks. “The show’s somewhere around here.” Jane squints and looks all around her. “I think it’s near pictures with Santa.”
“Santa?” I ask. “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”
Jane shrugs.
I’m really struck by the Christmas decorations. In Hawthorne, everyone ignores Christmas. Not in Atlanta. Even though it’s Thanksgiving break, there are Christmas lights and signs advertising Christmas sales in every shop window. And with a cold spell unusually early this year, everyone, including me, is wearing gloves and a long coat.
We pass the “Picture with Santa” spot. There’s a line of kids, but there are no kids’ crafts there. Alondra, forward as always, asks one of the elves, and we’re told it’s at the opposite side of the mall.
“So, do you know what you want for Christmas, Maddie?” I ask as we walk by the mall windows. Jane is carrying Madison in her arms.
“Don’t know,” Madison says. “Doll?” she asks looking at me.
“It’s up to you,” I say with a laugh.
I catch Alondra whispering something in Jane’s ear.
“What?” Madison asks me.
“Did your mommy and daddy hint at anything?”
“No.”
“But you’re excited, aren’t you, Madison?” Jane asks.
“Yep.” And the girl claps adorably.
The craft show is impressive. There are like twenty tables of stuff to do and ten kids surrounding each table. Madison seems more interested in charging at other kids and breaking their artwork than actually doing any “art” herself. But she loves it.
Jane’s right about her loving finger painting. Madison goes crazy messing up her fingers and face with the stuff. After half an hour, I’m exhausted. And, thankfully, Madison looks petered out too. We head back.
We pass a Victoria’s Secret on our way out, and Alondra flashes me a sly smile. Then she whispers in Jane’s ear again.
“I’ve got to change Madison, guys,” Jane says. “And it’s getting late. I’m gonna take her home to Mom and Dad. I’ll meet you two back in Hawthorne. Okay?”
“Be careful on the drive home,” I say.
“Bye, Maddie,” Alondra says.
“Bye, bye,” Madison says. Then she looks at me. “Bye, bye.”
Alondra and I watch Jane and her niece make their way down an escalator and through double glass doors. Then Alondra hooks her arm in mine and tugs me into Victoria’s Secret. “Come on. I need your help in buying something for you.”
“For me?”
“I owe you. God, you were so nice to Madison. You’re so nice, it kills me.”
Inside she walks over to a table and sifts through some burgundy and black undies. “So what do you want to see me in?”
“What do you mean?” I ask with a smirk.
“What do you want me to try on for you?” she asks, blinking stupidly over the panty table.
“It’s not like you can try it on in the store here, Allie.”
She raises a finger, “Ah, but I can when we get home.”
“So… you’re like my girlfriend now?”
She furrows her brow. “What’s a girlfriend?”
I fold my arms. She’s smiling as she runs her fingers through more panties. She throws her hair back and asks, “Tell me…how many boyfriends and girlfriends get married?”
“Not many.”
“Um-hmm. And how many that get married stay married?”
“Not many.”
“But how many boyfriends and girlfriends fuck?”
I look around the store, and that makes her laugh hard. She shakes her head.
“And let’s look at the word, shall we, Lee?” she asks, still laughing. “Not that one. The word boy-friend. Well, you’re a boy and you’re my friend, aren’t you?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t even nod. I’ve learned over the last couple of weeks that she does this Socratic method shit on occasion when trying to be cute and playful. I’m tired and not in the mood.
“And I love you, Lee. Sure. I love it when I make your face red. I love it when I get you all nervous when I hug you and peck your cheek. And…you love me, right?” After I don’t answer for a while, she says, “So…” with a shrug, picking up saffron panties, “What is a boyfriend and a girlfriend? Who cares? Unless it has something to do with us fucking.” She makes sure to say the word fucking really loud.
“Don’t be a bitch,” I say in a whisper.
“What?” Alondra asks. “Don’t be a witch? What does that mean?” She’s squinting and appears to be stopping herself from bursting out laughing.
She moves to lace bras. She picks up one that’s navy blue.
“Can I help you, miss?” asks an older saleswoman wearing thin glasses and a long navy-blue blouse. She folds her arms and smiles at Allie.
“Oh, you sure can,” Alondra says. She grabs a black bra and presses it against her boobs. “Do you think this will look good on me?”
“That’s a floral lace. Yes, it’s very nice. Yes.”
“Or I could go with red?” she asks and grabs a cherry-red one and puts it against her chest. Then she does the same with a dark one. “Or black?”
“You seem to like black makeup,” the saleswoman says. That’s for sure. “I think the black one fits you.” Yep.
“What do you think, Lee,” Alondra asks smugly. “You like black. It’s really important that you like it on me.”
“I think he’ll like the black one a lot,” the saleswoman says with a laugh.
“Yeah, I think my boyfriend will like black too.”
We returned home to Hawthorne at night. The whole drive was awful as I slowly drove—I mean, really slowly—down the icy highways and then up the secluded forested hills of Hawthorne. We meant to get back early for safety, but there was an accident on the road. It’s almost nine o’clock. And though no one is home at Alondra’s house, all the yellow outside lights are on. One is shining on her red carriage.
We’ve been quiet for the last hour. I suppose I was concentrating on the road. But now, it seems a bit uncomfortable.
“What’s the red carriage in the front of your house about?” I ask, parking behind it.
“Don’t you just love it?” she asks with a yawn. “It’s decoration.”
“Expensive decoration.”
