Page 218 of Lost in the Dark

Tara

Tara sat up, gasping. Her head swam, and the room spun. She felt bruised and achy as if she had been kicked down a flight of stairs, and she struggled to suck in a lungful of air.

It was just a bad dream. Just a terrible, horrible dream. Her apartment had caught fire from that fucking candle, that part she remembered. There had been a giant bird, and it had pecked out her eyes, pushing her into an ink-black sea where she had bobbed like a cork until she’d been scooped up by a huge hand, bone white with black, lacquered claws. She remembered screaming as she was put under glass, beating her fists against the dome, and Holt being there as well, but she couldn’t quite slot the jumbled puzzle pieces together in any semblance of order.

It was just a dream. All a dream except for that last part.

She had been frozen in place as she struggled to wake, conscious but unable to react. She hadknownshe was in her bed, knew she was safe in her apartment, that it was not on fire, and all she needed to do was open her eyes ... but she was unable to do so. She was unable to blink, unable to cry out, unable to move her arms or legs. And worse still—there had been someone in the room with her, she could tell. A heavy presence weighing her down, she could hear it breathing hard; heard it groan in agony as if it were in excruciating pain. She’d struggled against whatever froze her, fought to open her lids, beating back against the cloudiness of her mind until she had sat up. The room was empty.It was just a dream.

She let out a shuddering breath, willing the room to stop spinning, wincing at the stinging ache in her chest. She felt as if she had been running with a stitch in her side, gasping at the tenderness of her skin as she prodded herself carefully.Did you fall out of bed and not realize it?It felt as though she would have a bruise and every expansion of her lungs as she inhaled poked at it. As she gathered her bearings, Tara realized that wasn’t the only thing amiss.

Her period must’ve started, she realized with a groan. There was moisture smearing her inner thighs, and she could feel the uncomfortable yet familiar thickness of it between her legs. Launching herself from the mattress to her feet in one movement, she attempted to minimize the damage, staggering in unexpected pain as she did so, feeling a pull through her pelvic floor straight up to her navel as if she had been fucked senseless.Cramps. It’s probably just cramps, because why the fuck not? How else could this week get any worse?

When she turned, though, the bright red stain she expected to find on her sheets was nothing but a giant spot of moisture, embarrassingly large.Did you pee the fucking bed?!Slipping a cautious hand between her legs, she startled at her findings. She was slick with arousal, as wet as if she’d had an orgasm, far wetter than she’d ever been before.It’s almost like someone came inside you.She snorted at the thought, closing her eyes. That would be typical, she thought. Couldn’t get lucky enough for her ritual to work, and now she was only getting lucky in her dreams.

That would’ve been a much better ending to this day, she thought, staggering down the hall, retrieving a glass of water from her dripping kitchen faucet. At the very least, she could’ve ended this entire disappointing embarrassment of an evening with some good sex, but not eventhathad been forthcoming.Stupid Holt. Stupid candle, stupid ritual. Tara shook away the thoughts, gulping down the water and pushing aside her aggravation. It was over and done, and she’d only had a bad dream. Deciding she was too exhausted to strip her bedding, she shook out the comforter and burritoed herself within it, wincing at the tenderness on her chest as she did so.

Don’t think about Holt, don’t think about the stupid ritual. It’s done. Tomorrow, you can focus on what to do next, but for now, you need to sleep.Tomorrow was a new day, she thought, forcing her eyes closed and settling into her pillow. A new day and she could put all of this ugliness behind her.

Tara

The first time she had walked through the doors of the Cat & Crow earlier that year, tucked between two larger businesses on a busy street not far from her apartment, Tara knew she had found her spiritual home, a place where she could be recognized for what she truly was—awitch.

She felt her chakras open, her chi center itself, her third eye flutter to life, and magical essence flowing through her as she stepped over the threshold, taking in the dusty old tomes and creepy bric-a-brac lining the shelves. It was all waiting to go home with her and imbue her apartment with just the right amount of the macabre. The door had swung shut behind her, and she’d nearly gagged on the overpowering incense smoking from a decorative cauldron, forcing her to admit that the sensation of her chakras opening may have been the gust of wind from the street, blowing up her skirt.

Still, once she’d gotten her bearings, there had been no denying the woman behind the register was the genuine article. Tall and willowy, her eyes heavily lined in black and her hair done up in a crown of braids with thick dreadlocks hanging over her shoulders, she was a perfect specimen of witchiness. Arabeth, Mistress of Crows, was what she called herself, in a smoky voice, heavy with what could only be magical power, and Tara had nearly swooned from the excitement of it all.

She’d gone home that day with a claw-footed brass bowl, “perfect for making offerings on your altar,” the shop witch had explained, along with several curiosity items for the shelf beside the television, her first step in legitimizing her existence. Having the right aesthetic was ninety percent of the craft; she was sure of it. It wasn’t enough to simply buy out the highly coveted Halloween stock from the big box craft store each year—even though she did that too. No, she needed to haveauthenticartifacts and spooky objets d’art to be taken seriously as a practitioner of the craft.

She’d lost track of how much money she’d spent in the crowded little shop since then. Incense holders and geode clusters for her shelves, crystal points for harnessing various energies, and dried bundles of herbs to be burnt for purification. Pretty things that made her feel connected to something bigger than herself, at least for a little while. The hollow feeling in her chest always returned, though, sending her back up the block and around the corner, seeking out the temporary fullness the curious ephemera provided, which it always reliably did.

The day she’d purchased the candle had started horribly, as Mondays were wont to do.

A traffic jam had her arriving at school late, setting back her appointments with recalcitrant students and earning the further ire of the Vice Principal, who already seemed to dislike her. It was forecasting season, the most miserable time of year in the junior high guidance office, and Tara felt as though she were drowning in a sea of forms that needed teacher signatures for approval before she could submit the rosters. She had too many students from homes where the parents seemed to care little, too many teachers who were quick to sign whatever was placed before them with almost no regard for the student’s aptitude, and sorting out the mess would eat up the rest of the school year.

Arabeth had not been present that Monday as she’d trudged over the shop’s threshold, seeking retail therapy and feeling the weight of the world shackled around her ankle. The sight of the gimlet-eyed man behind the shop’s counter—the only other employee she’d ever encountered, apart from the sleek black cat who moved through the rows, acting as if it were keeping an eye on the inventory whenever she was in shopping—had been the cherry on top of her Shit Sundae Monday. The shop witch was nowhere in sight, and Tara felt her shoulders slump.Worst. Day. Ever.

The man-made her inexplicably nervous. Fair-skinned with thick, jet-black hair and a sneering attitude, she might have found him handsome if he hadn’t been so spiky in demeanor. He’d come out of the backroom the day of her very first visit, putting out the incense in a huff and propping open the front door, sucking the acrid smell out to the street. She’d been grateful, sucking in a lungful of the fresh air as the witch glared at the man, but every other encounter she’d had with him left her feeling discomfited.

There was something about him that made her breath stutter and the back of her neck prickle, something that activated a tiny emergency button in her brain, accompanied by a voice screaming at her toget away!She had always pushed the creepy sensation aside.It’s probably something in his cologne, some fragrance note you’re allergic to.It was a logical explanation, one she clung to, despite the man not smelling like anything in particular. He’d been there for many of her subsequent visits as well, always scrutinizing her purchases and eyeing her warily, watching her interactions with the Mistress of Crows with a wrinkled nose and disdainful expression.

Tara didn’t know if it was her mood or the sense of futility that had begun to envelop her each day, but nothing she examined on the crowded shelves had caught her interest as she’d plodded through the shop. She’d just replaced a headless doll upon the shelf she was bent before when the voice of the dark-haired man made her jump.

“Finding what you’re seeking?”

He had popped up out of nowhere to appear before her at the top of the aisle, making her swallow hard, casting her eyes around in vain for someone—anyone!—else to rescue her.Not even the goddamned cat is around today.There was something odd in his question, and as always, the hairs on the back of her neck raised at his sudden proximity.

“I-I don’t know what I’m looking for ... just, um, just browsing, I guess.”Why are you stammering? You didn’t do anything wrong.You’re allowed to just browse!

He’d hummed, straightening items on the shelves as he neared.

“You know, therearegroups with whom you can study. The craft is more than pretty trinkets and eyeliner, despite what my co-worker might have led you to believe. There’s a very talented witch, a gifted herbalist, in the next town over. I believe she’s gathering a coven of beginners. I can give you her card.”

Her fascination with witchcraft had first started, as all bad ideas usually do, in high school, leading her down a road of garish eye makeup and monochromatic clothing for more than a decade. Undergrad winged eyeliner and coffin-shaped purses had graduated to Stevie Nicks-style shawls in grad school, and she’d already attempted to embrace the lifestyle, but drum circles and picnics in the park, potlucks in someone’s basement with half a dozen children running amok held little appeal. She had no interest in driving to the next town to beat on drums and discuss the miraculous uses of hemp oil with the other wannabe witches there.

“I was never very good at chemistry,” she’d said lightly, ignoring his eyes. “But I’d like tobuya magic potion to make life easier. I’m fairly certain you don’t sell that, though.”

“Of course I do,” he shot back, lip curling to reveal overly-sharp canines she’d not noticed before. “But who’s going to brew it?You? With no skill or training?” He let out a sardonic chuckle, utterly devoid of humor. “Ah, but I understand. Pre-made, ready-to-pour. Concentrated, just add water.That’swhat you want. Cheap. Disposable. On sale to anyone willing to pay. Forgive me if I take offense to the commodification of my craft by people like you.”

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