Tara stood on the lawn outside Stephanie O’Leary’s house seething. The woman that she considered her mentor and friend—her former priestess—had just called her incompetent.

Incompetent?! Because I’m taking some bold risks, I’m incompetent? It was all she could do not to turn around and scream at the house.

She had laid out her plan to Stephanie, describing how Brent was playing into her hands, and how the boldest accomplishment of her life was just about to take place. She had come to Pittston filled with the giddy anticipation of hearing her mentor praise her audacity.

So much for that idea.

Tara stood staring at her car on the street, thinking about driving off, wheels squealing, like any number of male jerks that she knew would have done. But what would that prove, that she was a jerk in a woman’s body? No. After being able to remain composed inside the house during her beat down, she wasn’t going to lose it now; now that she could breathe again.

As she continued to stand implanted in the grass like a lawn gnome, she tried to think of where she could go to vent. Well, she could just drive around the corner and have a good rant inside the relative privacy of her car.

Not one word of credit for what I’m going to accomplish. Just derisive commentary on how I am putting myself at risk, and exposing her to risk by staying in her house while attempting it. I’m not a freaking amateur! I’ve been practicing my craft for eight-and-a-half years!

The rage wasn’t letting go and she still wasn’t moving. She just stood there, chin nearly at her chest, eyes peering upward toward her car, arms straight down at her sides, hands balled into fists. If looks could evaporate a car…

Get control. Let it go. She knew the ‘letting go’ part probably wouldn’t happen any time soon. She could, however, create the illusion of control for as long as it took to get out of visual range of the house.

Gradually she started unclenching her jaw and she began to let the blood flow to her finger tips again. She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. She blinked. She raised her head. She blinked again.

Okay, steady, girl. You’ve proven yourself time and again. You’ll prove yourself this time, too. She unlocked her knees and began to walk to her car. A thought crossed her mind: Maybe Marta could use a shopping partner before the trip. For right now, I’d prefer her company over that of the witch behind me. She smirked at her usage of the double entendre.

Tara got into her car, started it, and pulled away from the curb. After driving a couple of miles, she found a pay phone in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. Grabbing a quarter from her ash tray and her little address book from her purse, she got out of her car to make the call.

3:31 P.M.

WITH A QUIZZICAL look, and no small amount of curiosity, Marta answered the phone on the third ring after seeing the caller ID: Pay Phone

“Hello?”

“Hi, Marta. Busy?”

Tara. What does she want? “Oh, hi, Tara. Well …”

“`Cause I could use a friend right about now.”

Marta breathed a quiet sigh and said, “What’s wrong, Tara? Are you okay?”

“I’m just frustrated and feeling kind of alone right now. Would you like to go out and do something?”

Against Marta’s better judgment she acquiesced. “Sure. Have something in mind?”

“Did you finish putting together all your camping gear?”

Marta laughed, “Gear? I own a sleeping bag, a pair of boots that might pass for doing some hiking, and several new pairs of wool and nylon socks.”

This time Tara laughed. “Sounds like you got the important stuff. How about we go out and buy a few things that will make it feel like we haven’t left all of civilization behind?”

“Okay, you’ve grabbed my attention,” she said with a genuine grin. “Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m just out and about. I could be at your place in a half hour if that’s not too soon.”

“Nope. Come on over. Ready to take down the directions?”

4:07 P.M.

THE KNOCK ON the front door of her parents’ home brought Marta down the stairs from her bedroom. This ought to be interesting, she thought. Reaching the door, she swung it open, and there stood Tara, purse in hand and bright smile on her face. She’s definitely beautiful. I can see why Brent is taken by her.

“Hi, Marta!” came an enthusiastic greeting.

“Hi, Tara. Good to see you. Ready for a romp at the mall?”

“Mall?” She giggled. “You and I aren’t going to the mall. We’re going to the Army/Navy Store and to Burke’s Sporting Goods.”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t wear my pink pumps,” said Marta with a smirk.

Tara giggled. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well, okay, let’s get going. I’ve never been shopping for Armies and Navies before.”

5:15 P.M.

BRENT STOOD AT the entrance to his family’s garage and waved as George drove away. It had been a great ride; a combination of mental, spiritual, and physical workouts. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for my mentor.

He walked inside where he encountered his mom preparing dinner.

“Brent, you’re a sweaty mess,” she said with a shake of her head. “That coach of yours has been wearing you out for what…” She did a quick mental calculation in her head. “… six years, now?”

Brent laughed, “Yeah, but today I think I wore him out. What’s for dinner?”

“Lasagna. Now go take a shower. You stink,” she chortled.

With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Brent went upstairs to his room to grab a fresh set of clothes.

Walking to the bathroom he called downstairs, “Any reason why I should be home this evening?”

“To spend time with your mom,” came the reply. “Why? What is it you want to do?”

“Thinking about doing something with Marta.”

“You two are destined for marriage. I don’t care what you say.”

Brent sighed. Wish she’d drop that idea already.

He walked into the bathroom and ran the water. Lukewarm. He still needed to cool down. As he stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes he thought about his mom’s words. It wouldn’t be a stretch for people who knew them to think that Marta and he would be boyfriend and girlfriend, but life had put them on different paths … at least emotionally.

When they had met it wasn’t love at first sight. In fact, though he found Marta to be attractive, with her long, dark hair, Latin complexion, and her just-barely-noticeable Guatemalan accent, there was just no draw toward her. He couldn’t explain it. In spite of that, though, the subject had come up about two years prior.

“Have you ever thought about me asking you out on a date?” he’d asked her one evening while studying at her home.

The question caught her off guard. “A date date?”

“Yes, Marta Liliana Rosales Rivas, a date date.”

“Enough with my name already!” she said in mock annoyance. “I must admit, though, you are getting good at rolling those R’s.”

“Sorry,” he said with a smirk. “It’s just too much fun to say. So?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Brent! Goodness! I have thought about you asking me out.”

Now Brent was caught off guard. “Uhh … I didn’t know that.”

She laughed. “That’s because I never mentioned it and you never asked. And why, after more than a year of knowing me, are you only asking now? That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Brent put a perplexed look on his face and looked up at her from his book at the opposite side of the kitchen table. “I don’t know.” He squinted in concentration before continuing. “You’re a pretty girl. You’re intelligent. You’re fun to hang with. It just seems weird that I’ve never asked you out or put one of my irresistible moves on you,” he said with a sly grin.

She laughed again. “Irresistible, huh?”

“Oh yeah, if I had wanted to, I could have made you putty in my hands.”

At this, Marta sat up straight in her chair, crossed her arms, raised her eyebrows and said, “So … you didn’t want to. Is that what you’re saying?”

In an instant Brent felt a chill travel down his spine and knew that he’d totally lost control of the conversation. He wasted no time in trying to toss aside his hole-digging shovel and start trying to climb out of a crater that had only taken him six seconds to dig.

“That’s not what I meant! I just meant that if I…” Good grief, yeah … Go ahead, stupid, and finish that sentence, too! “I mean … Listen, I.” He gave up. “I don’t know what I meant.”

Marta attempted to maintain an I-dare-you-to-keep-going-down-that-path look, but once the smile began to crack across her lips she could no longer hold it. “Brent, I’m teasing.”

“Thank God,” he said as he drew his hand dramatically across is brow to feign the removal of sweat.

“And getting back to the subject at hand, I have wondered why you never asked me out. In fact, I had just assumed that you didn’t think me attractive.”

“Oh yeah, I’m the lone blind guy on campus.”

“Well, it does make a girl wonder.”

“Okay … this isn’t exactly the first time that I’ve wondered about this. I’ve just never known how to approach it. Part of me wonders why I don’t get all hormonal around you like most guys. You’re definitely great to look at.”

Brent paused to watch her reaction. She had kept eye contact, but he was sure he’d seen a little color rise through her Latino complexion.

“Thank you,” she’d said with a quick blink of her eyes.

“Trust me, my pleasure,” he said with a big grin. “I’ve even wondered what it would feel like to steal a kiss from you.”

“It would feel like a right hook to the jaw!” she retorted.

They both laughed.

Brent stood up from his chair and walked around to Marta’s side of the table, extending his hand to her. She took it, and he guided her up and away from her seat. Brent remembered his heart beating hard at that moment. He figured that it was a moment of great curiosity for both of them, so he boldly moved forward.

He had maneuvered her directly in front of him, pulled her close, put his left hand on her waist and brought his right hand up into her thick hair behind her head and drew her face toward his. She didn’t resist.

He kissed her.

He intended it to be a drawn-out encounter that they would both enjoy, but as if on cue, both of them suddenly burst out into laughter.

Yep, that had answered it. Friends forever.

5:21 P.M.

“OLIVE GREEN. YOU know, they’re saying it’s the new pink,” kidded Tara as she pulled two different types of boots off of the shelves. She handed one pair to Marta who sat on a bench in the footwear area of the Army/Navy store. Sitting down next to her, Tara took off her tennis shoes and began trying on the pair she selected for herself.

“Oh yeah. Quite the fashion statement. And they’re called ‘jump boots’ why?”

“Well, according to my father, they were designed for paratroopers in the military to give better support in the ankle area.”

“Gotcha.” Marta slipped off her shoes and put a foot into one of the boots. “They aren’t as uncomfortable as I thought combat boots would be.”

“Yeah, good thing for the military, huh? Imagine having to wear them days at a time.”

“So, things aren’t too good with you and your father, huh?” asked Marta with some measure of hesitation. Then, “Never mind. None of my business.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have a father anymore.” Tara paused, as if considering the next thing to reveal. “He, uhh … dumped my mom and me when I was fourteen. Found a bimbo, got her pregnant, and left us hanging with no income. Somewhere out there I’ve got a half-brother or half-sister.”

“You’re kidding me. You don’t know?”

“Nope. Don’t care to, either.”

“Do you know where he is? Your father, I mean,” asked Marta.

Tara’s jaw clenched. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara said abruptly. Silence permeated the air for a few uncomfortable moments. “Let’s get these damn boots and get out of here.” She quickly took the boot off her foot and grabbed her other shoe. Standing up, she suddenly walked away.

Ouch. Didn’t see that coming.

Marta stood up with one foot still in a boot, judged that it fit pretty well, replaced her shoe and followed Tara to the checkout counter.

Tara was standing behind two teenage boys who were buying pocket knives when Marta approached.

“Tara, I apologize.”

Tara turned around, anger in her eyes. “Some topics are off limits. Okay?” Then she turned away from Marta.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Something else to pray about. No wonder she secretes venom periodically. If I’d gone through that… Her thought trailed off. She didn’t want to think about it. Absentmindedly, Marta raised a finger to her mouth and she began biting a nail.

8:10 P.M.

TARA WAS FURIOUS! Again she’d let her defenses down and again she’d gotten hurt. Not by a spirit this time, but by someone she was supposed to be putting the hurt on. She paced the guest room in which she was staying. How could she have exposed herself like that? She tried to steady herself.

Of course, the story that she had told Marta about her dad wasn’t true. But the discussion about her no longer having a father had touched way too close. She had been raised in a single-parent home after her mom had died when she was a baby.

Dad had done his best…

Had he?

Tara broke free from the path her mind had begun to descend. She needed to deal with Marta.

Okay … maybe somehow I can turn this into an advantage. Maybe play on her emotions some more. She started pacing, anger surfacing again. Regardless of the truth about her dad, she had given her—given them—real ammunition; an area of her life to target with prayer! I hate you, old man!

Tara’s emotions began to flair. She walked over to the lone closet in the room and pulled out a small duffel. From it she withdrew her felt pentagram, an amulet, her pentagram necklace, and her floor mat. She wouldn’t need her grimoire this time. She had this spell memorized. Time to exact some more discomfort on dear, precious Marta.

I don’t think those fingernails of hers are quite short enough yet.