Chapter Seventeen

Dad’s friend dropped me off at school a little bit earlier than usual. Snow had already started falling in large, lethargic puffs of thick wetness. As we pulled in front of the school, the streets remained free of accumulation, but a light dusting covered the grassy areas.

First things first, I hurried toward Red’s Den of Iniquity and clanged down the metal stairs to the boiler room.

“Hey, Red.” Cemented in his usual chair, he pored over an issue of Penthouse. Startled, he closed the magazine and scrambled to hide it under his chair.

Once he saw a friendly face, it didn’t take him long to regain his composure of cool. “Texas-Style, where you been? Haven’t seen you in a while. Everything all right?” He withdrew the magazine and waved it in greeting.

“I dunno. Just…there’s been a lot of crap going on lately. Got a scare Saturday night.” Once again I retold the long saga of my ordeal with my mysterious pursuer.

“Man, that sucks. Wow, I can’t believe it.” He wagged his head, red curls bouncing in agreement. “They catch the guy?”

“No. Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”

“Sure. Anything for you, buddy.”

“Could you take a look at my car?” I hated pulling the favor card, didn’t like taking Red away from his regular duties, but I also knew he liked playing hero. Shameless, I know, but I’d gladly return the favor to him. If I could ever offer anything of value to him, of course.

“No problem.” He stood up and stretched his lanky body. “Let’s go.” Dressed in his usual coveralls, he was one of those super-humans who never needed a winter coat. “Hang on…is your window still busted out?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

Red bolted up the stairs while I trailed behind him. At a metal shelving unit jam-packed full of tools, he grabbed a large piece of cardboard stashed behind it. On the way out, he snatched his toolbox.

While students arrived in droves, we made our way through the school, out into the cold, and down the long curving sidewalk. We must’ve made quite the sight together. Both of us taller than a lot of the students, I imagined they wondered what the Tall and Gangly duo were up to, headed in the opposite direction. The snow fell heavier now; the wind whipping up, distributing it mainly along the curbs and sides of the building.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral, but I’m sure sorry about little Joshie,” he said. “He was a good kid.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “He was a really good friend.” I pulled my coat tighter around me as a sudden blast of north wind bit into my face and blew back my hair.

“You did him proud, though, with your speech on Friday. I heard Hastings was all pissy over it.” He smiled, nodding lazily at me, the snowfall not bothering him in the least.

“Crap! I forgot I got a detention for it. I’m supposed to serve it today. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. I’ve got something important to do.”

“Well, you’ll probably earn more if you skip it, Tex. Maybe your dad can call in for you or something.” A great idea and I wished I’d thought of it earlier. I’d better phone him later.

“Whoa.” Red let out a long whistle, a practiced one on dogging girls, no doubt. “They really did a number on your window.” There the Bucket sat, lonely and abandoned, the snow already blowing in through the broken window. I half expected to see it roped off as a crime scene.

“Yay, I’ve finally got air conditioning.”

“Pull the hood open,” Red ordered.

I opened the door and pulled the latch. While Red’s head vanished underneath the hood, I sat in the Bucket shivering, trying to stave off the cold. Snow blew in and settled on me, melting immediately from my body heat.

It didn’t take long before he waved a hand, his head still under the hood, and yelled, “Turn it over, Tex.” I turned the key in the ignition, and to my amazement, it fired right up.

Red came around to the open window, bent down, and said, “Your distributor cap was off. It either fell off…or someone took it off.”

“Huh.” Shocker.

“You really should lock your car,” he said. Regarding neglect toward automobiles, Red took it as a personal insult.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I did.” Or at least I thought I had.

“Well, old cars like these…they’re not too hard to get into with a clothes-hanger or a Slim-Jim. You might think about a car alarm.”

“Just thought nobody’d ever want to mess with my junker. No offense intended, Bucket.” I gave the car’s dashboard a reassuring pat, not wanting to piss her off again or whatever. “Anyway, thanks tons, Red. I owe you.”

“No prob.” He wiped his hands on a red, filthy rag. “Let’s get the cardboard in, so you don’t freeze to death.”

****

“Dude,” said Ian, “I’m back and ready to kick some scholastic ass!” His hand still hiked up in the air as if on an eternal quest for acknowledgement, he grinned like he’d just inherited millions. Out of morbid curiosity, some students snuck glances, but just as quickly turned away when either one of us challenged their stares.

“All right! Fist-bump, while O’s not here!”

Ian formed a fist with his good hand and met mine enthusiastically.

“So, how’d your dream date with yourself go last night?” He lowered his voice, enjoying the cloak and daggerness of it all.

I shook my head. “Total wash-out. I’m bringing in the big guns after school, though…this has gotta end.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Mr. Jensen walked into the room and torpedoed directly toward Ian. He smiled, an alien look for him, particularly over the last month or so. “Welcome back, Ian.” He smacked him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Hope you kept up your sociology homework.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Jensen.” Ian squirmed, trying to hide his pleasure. And, by God, I think he blushed. “There wasn’t a whole lot to do, so, yeah, here’s a big stinkin’ pile of sociology for you.” He reached into his backpack, fiddled about, and pulled out a batch of papers.

“Good deal,” said Mr. Jensen.

****

“How’d it go last night?” shouted Olivia from down the hallway.

“Olivia, shhhh. Don’t let the whole school know about it, okay?”

“Whatever. If you would’ve texted me last night like you were supposed to, then I wouldn’t be sharing with the world.”

“Sorry, but it was about one when I was done. I thought you’d be asleep.”

“The hell I was.” She stamped a foot down.

“Anyway, it didn’t work. It was pretty messed-up actually.”

“What did you do?” She eyed me suspiciously. “Were you being stupid again?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” The stark terror vividly new again, I recalled what I’d conjured up from the netherworld. “I’ll explain later.”

Olivia glowered, waiting for me to divulge more information.

“But it’s all cool now,” I added quickly. “I think I’ve a follow-up plan that’ll work, though, and I’m doing it after school. I’m going to ask Mickey for help.”

“So glad you’re coming to your senses. You should’ve done that in the first place.” I couldn’t have agreed with her more.

“Listen, Red fixed my car, but I was wondering if you’d be able to hook a ride with Ian after school and maybe hang out at his house until I give you the all-clear?”

“Gah! Stop making plans for me, Dad. I’m a big girl, dammit!”

“I know, but the end is in sight. Just do it for me this one last time, okay?” I placed my hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be over soon…trust me.”

“Yeah, seems to me I’ve heard those words before…with pretty shitty results.”

I said goodbye to Olivia and raced to the bathroom to secretly call Dad. School policy frowns upon phones, blah, blah, blah, but extenuating circumstances trumps policy.

“Hey, son, everything okay?” Fatigue and worry formed his voice.

“Yeah. Dad, I need a favor from you. It’s important.”

“Okay…” He knew when I asked for favors, he usually didn’t like the outcome.

“Can you call the school and let them know I can’t make my detention today? Tell them because of the snow or…whatever…”

“Why? I mean, frankly, I’d rather you didn’t tarry after school anyway, but…what are you up to?”

“I have to go see Mickey. I need her help with something. Dad, it’s important.”

“And you’ll be with Mickey? And then you’ll come home?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure how long it’ll take me, so for one last time…can you get a ride home?”

“Fine,” he said with a long, obvious sigh, “but be careful.”

“Always, Dad, always.”

“I recall hearing that from you before…and it didn’t really mean much, now, did it?”

Man. When it rains, it pours.

****

One hour before school let out, the snow decided to dump down heavily, a total freak storm for this time of year, but not unheard of in Kansas. In gym class, ants invaded my pants as I continuously glanced out the window. Outside, a blanket of snow covered the entire football field, possibly six inches deep. It looked like it wouldn’t let up any time soon, either. Already nervous and fidgety, the snow just made me more anxious about the job I had ahead of me.

As soon as the bell clanged, I ran into the locker room and threw my clothes on fast. I sped through the hallways, past the students who seemed excited about the first big snowfall of the year. One of the first students out the front door, my foot sank into the snow on the step. My tennis shoe came up wet but gave me good traction. I high-tailed it down through the parking lot, jumped into the Bucket, turned the ignition, and prayed it’d turn over. It did, and I carefully, but quickly, backed out and pulled into the street.

Visibility barely existed, no more than a foot’s worth. The rusty, bent wipers scraped across the windshield with a series of grunts, spreading the dirty slush, making matters worse. Just yesterday, the skies hovered in gray, the grass had turned yellow, and the remaining leaves wore a dark, vibrant orange skin. Today, everything dressed in their finest whites. The Fates decided to perform a purifying ritual on Clearwell, Kansas and wanted to flush the evil away.

If only.

Buoyed by the gray tape Red had affixed on both sides, the cardboard held steady on the passenger side. I wanted to speed up but knew I’d better keep it slow and steady, Dad’s boring motto. At the first stop sign, the Bucket decided it didn’t want to stop and slid to the side, nearly depositing me in the ditch. Revenge, no doubt, for having abandoned it for several days. Halfway through the intersection, just several inches from the ditch, the Bucket finally gave me a break and wobbled to a stop. Several cars blasted their horns, one driver’s middle finger raised in a fine salute, as I gave them a shaky wave in return. I took a deep breath and continued my perilous journey.

I topped out at about ten miles an hour. What should’ve taken fifteen minutes nearly tripled in time. Finally, I pulled in front of Mickey’s house and unclenched my alabaster white knuckles from the steering wheel. Panting heavily, the inside of the windshield fogged up in seconds. While the trip wracked every last nerve, I dreaded what lay ahead of me even more.

Carefully, I trudged up the snow-hidden sidewalk. Not taken by surprise this time, Mickey’s flowerbed still held strong, even in the storm. A last act of defiance by the flowers. They wouldn’t give up their lives without a battle, stubborn as Mickey, their caretaker.

I pounded on the door, wishing I had the foresight to bring gloves. The requisite scrambling of the chains and locks ensued. Finally, Mickey belted out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Tex, Mickey.” Large snowflakes melted upon my face while I shivered through the storm. “I really need your help this time!”

She opened the door and quickly ushered me in. “How many times I gotta tell you, kid? Call first.”

“Sorry, but it’s an emergency.” I stomped my soaking wet shoes onto her, yes, floral patterned, greeting rug. “I didn’t have time to call. I was in school all day.”

Unnatural light emitted from her TV, the only illumination in the house. A frozen image of some bland soap-stud, shaking and stuttering on freeze frame, flickered spasmodically. The resulting lights flashing strobes resembled a cheap rock concert.

“Let me turn off the VCR, then.” She grabbed a huge remote and pointed it at the television. And I had to wonder what a VCR was, but the answer had to wait.

“There. Now, what’s all the hullaballoo? My stories are waiting for me.” She rested one hand on her waist impatiently, while the other swung the large remote like a weapon.

“The killer’s after me. Everyone I know’s in danger.”

“Oh! Sit down, then.” Her attitude shifted from impatience to concern.

As I sank into her quicksand sofa trap, I explained everything as fast and succinctly as I could. Mickey gasped audibly when I told her about the killer chasing me. She shut her eyes, leaned back, and nodded on occasion, the only sign she hadn’t fallen asleep.

“And…there’s one final thing I gotta tell you,” I said. “Last night I conjured up the spirit of Bob Bellman, trying to find out who the killer is.” I grimaced and actually bent forward, proffering my head in a dope-slap sacrificial position.

She gasped again. “You actually conjured up a spirit? On the physical plane?” She appeared in awe, her mouth open, lower lip quivering. “Only third-level witches and coven leaders can achieve that. You must be more powerful than I thought.” She patted me on the back. I pulled up in surprise. Crack! Her hand caught me sharply on the back of the head. An even bigger, more painful, surprise.

“You idiot! Do you know how dangerous that is? And you did it by yourself? Stupid!” She smacked the back of my head again for emphasis. “Haven’t you been listening to a thing I’ve taught you?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to involve you anymore. I didn’t want you to be in danger, too.” I lifted my head and dared to look into her eyes.

“You don’t need to worry about my safety, kid. I can take care of myself.” I thought she surely meant protection spells. But from out of nowhere she suddenly brandished a large, shiny knife. “This pig-sticker will get any killer comes after me!” She continued to wave it in the dark room, admiring the sharp edges that glinted from the TV’s light show. Just as quickly, the knife vanished again. I wondered—but not too much—where she kept it. And if she had many of them placed strategically throughout the house.

“Anyway, it is impressive you conjured a spirit, you being a newbie and all. But it’s a dangerous game you’re playing at, kid.” She plucked her lip, lost in thought. “The spirit still may be lurking around somewhere….”

I doubted it as I remembered the twisting, imploding green miasma that had vanished with a tortured wail. Seemed pretty final to me. But I didn’t want to disagree with Mickey on anything, not now. “I know, I’m sorry, and I won’t do it again. I was stupid.”

Silence overcame us as the tick-tock of the grandfather clock against the wall reminded me of my urgency.

“Mickey? I really gotta hurry.”

“Okay,” she finally said, “what do you want to do?”

“I know I’ve got a lot to learn yet and I’m not ready for, well, tons of stuff, but I need to find out who the killer is. It needs to happen now. Before any more of my friends are attacked or killed.”

Mickey tapped her bony finger against her lips. “All right, then, I’ll be right back.” Like a jet at take-off, she flew upstairs, shooing her cats along the way. I heard thumps and bumps and nearly ran upstairs to see if she’d fallen when she came back carrying a box and a large silk bag on top of it.

“Scoot that crap off the coffee table,” she ordered. I obeyed, carefully grabbing the magazines and knickknacks off the table, and setting them gently onto the hardwood floor. “Oh for God’s sake, kid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a namby-pamby! Just sweep them onto the floor.” I looked at her questioningly but did as told.

She placed the silk bag onto the now empty table.

“What are we doing?”

Deep into her witchy zone, she pulled out a large, oval dark mirror from the bag and set it at the edge of the table. I leaned forward to get a better look.

“Don’t look into it,” she screamed. I fell back into the enveloping sofa with a whoomph. “We’re not going to do anything, kid. You’re going to do some mirror scrying.” She stood over me, glaring, until I understood the implications of what she said.

“I think you’re a more powerful witch already than I am, so you’re probably gonna have better luck at this.” She pulled two orange votive candles out of the box and placed them, one on each end of the table. She tossed a book of matches at me, which I, of course, didn’t catch. “C’mon, fumble-fingers, light those candles up.” I lit the candles as she scrambled away again.

She brought back a small bowl with several pieces of brown incense lying within and slammed it down in front of me. “Okay, now light the incense.” It took several attempts, but I finally succeeded in igniting the incense, and the acrid, perfume smell filled my nostrils and burned my eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to incense, too?” she asked as she noticed my squirming.

“I don’t know. Yeah…maybe, probably I am.”

She giggled hysterically. “Oh, Tex…you just slay me.” She shook her blue-haired head. “Okay, I’m going to walk you through this. But do not look directly into the mirror.”

Of course, once Mickey said this, I wanted nothing more than to sneak a glance at the forbidden mirror. Its surface appeared to be painted black with a smooth, acrylic finish. Grapevines or some such foliage adorned the golden-colored oval frame. Tin foil appeared to be stretched across the backside.

“Mickey, why didn’t we try this before? I mean, why didn’t we try a spell to find out who the killer was earlier?”

She stopped what she was doing and sat next to me with a sigh. “Because, first of all, I told you it only works sometimes.” Her fingers extended with each point. “Secondly, you have to be emotionally connected—in a strong way—to what you’re trying to find out. I didn’t think you were before, not with them bullies dying, but you are now. Thirdly, now that I see how powerful you are, I think you can pull this off.” She’d counted down to her pinkie finger. “Finally, with witchcraft like this, there’s always a chance of great danger. You never know what you’re going to get.” She stared at me, her lecture completed.

I nodded. “Okay…let’s do it.”

“Go grab a wooden chair from the kitchen. And carry it! Don’t drag it across my floor.” I hurried into the kitchen. Before I returned, Mickey had quickly scrawled a chalk circle, not unlike the one I had drawn the night before, on the floor.

“Carefully put the chair in the circle…and don’t break the circle.” Again operating in unbridled drill sergeant witch-mode, any semblance of an addle-brained blue-haired woman had flown the witch-coop.

I put the chair in the scraggily drawn circle with about an eight-inch clear circumference between the chair and the chalk line.

“Now, sit down, Tex.” I sat. “Shut your eyes and do some relaxing breathing exercises.”

“I don’t really know how to do that.” With my eyes shut, it unnerved me I wouldn’t see the inevitable coming head-slap.

“Oh, for God’s sake, kid, just relax. Breathe in, breathe out…keep doing it.” For nearly five minutes I breathed deeply, amazed at how loosened up I felt. From a seemingly far distance, Mickey quietly intoned, “You’re looking for your inner eye, Tex. This is the eye that’s in your mind. Look for it and ask it to help fill you with white light. You’ll understand once you see it.”

Mickey’s voice changed into a whisper, a guidepost from across an expansive ocean. Alone now, I swam in a sea of comforting darkness. My body tingled pleasantly, the warmth embracing me, far removed from the blizzard happening outside. The darkness diminished, replaced by a glowing, warm light, growing and expanding constantly. Thrumming in a pleasant rhythm. Now I saw myself as if in a dream. I walked through the blinding white light, no boundaries, walls, or ground underneath me. Simply there.

“Tex. Hi, my love,” said my mother. Bit by bit, she materialized in front of me, a light mist comprised of more shades of blue than I ever thought existed. I tried to speak, but as happens in dreams sometimes, I couldn’t.

“I’m so proud of you, Tex,” she said, smiling. Her entire body came into a light, shimmering focus. She wore the same outfit she wore on the day she’d told me the news her cancer had gone into remission. “What you’re doing is the right thing. It’s a dangerous, dark path you’ve chosen to go down, but you may be the only one that can end the cycle.”

She reached out and caressed my face, her fingers light as whispers. “I wish I could tell you everything will be all right…but I can’t see the future.” Her smile slid away. “Don’t go in alone, Tex. Bring someone you trust.”

I couldn’t see myself now, only her. But I felt love, as strong as faith. My entire being filled with calm resolve and love and protection from my mom. “Now, go do what you need—what you have—to do, Tex. My hero.” She vanished gently into a luminous swirl.

This time, unlike the last time I’d contacted Mom, hope and happiness filled me, something in short supply lately. I wanted to stay and bask in the inner eye if this indeed truly existed, but I knew I needed to move on and complete my task.

“Tex? Tex, have you found your inner eye?” asked Mickey from miles away. Her voice echoed in my head like a firecracker’s report in an empty field. “Tex, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” I found my voice on the physical plane. Semi-awareness fluttered back to me, but I managed to hold onto the dream-like stage as well.

“Good, now stay in touch with your inner eye and ask for assistance from the Great Mother of Earth.”

Eyes still closed, my head nodded slightly as if someone else drove the vehicle of my body. “Oh, Great Mother of Earth, I call upon you for help in answering my questions.” I didn’t know if the syntax, or intonation, were correct, but it felt right and flowed smoothly from my mouth.

An even-brighter light and warmth filled my mind and body, head to toe.

“Can you feel her, Tex?” Mickey’s voice sounded louder and closer now. “Is she there?”

“I think so.” I nodded again.

“Slowly open your eyes and gaze upon the mirror and be careful not to see your own reflection in it.”

I opened my eyes and looked down upon the mirror resting on the table, holding my head rigid so as not to see my reflection. The shiny black surface had been replaced by a whirling miasma of black clouds and an occasional beam of radiance, like the sunny aftermath of a spring thunderstorm.

“Visualize something, Tex. Think of a pink circle.”

I did so, and a pink circle materialized out of the wisps of black smoke. “Now, think of a fruit,” she said.

I thought of a red apple. The pink circle shrank, transforming into a strange, photo-negative appearance of a shiny red apple.

“Did you see these things, Tex?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now ask your question.”

I hesitated at first but realized I needed to. Half-awake, half-asleep, I stared at the red apple and realized I couldn’t turn back.

“Great Mother, who is the killer of my friend, Josh Berillo?” I gulped, suddenly more aware of my immediate surroundings.

The entire surface of the mirror lit up brightly before filling up with the black smoke again, spinning endlessly and recklessly as if fighting to escape the boundaries of the mirror’s frame. The apple rolled and tumbled then dissolved into a purée. The smoke pulled back, and the features of a face formed, one element at a time. Finally, the smoke rolled away, leaving a black and white, but extremely clear, photo-negative image of a face.

I let out a yelp of shock. My eyes snapped open. I jumped up, full awareness shooting back into my body like a syringe full of adrenalin. Helpless, I chanted, “No, no, please no,” over and over again as I held my head, trying to keep my brain from exploding. The image on the mirror expanded, shattered into jagged smoky shards, before reverting back into its original state of dull blackness.

I stumbled back, still crying out “No!” Bile rose in my throat. I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it.

Mickey jumped from the sofa and snapped on the lamp in the room. I stood, traumatized. Any sense of my inner eye had long vanished, to be replaced by cold, stark terror, disappointment, and nausea.

“Sit down, Tex,” Mickey ordered. She reached high and placed her arm around my shoulders. “Before you break something.”

I obeyed and fell back onto the sofa.

“Did you see him?” she asked. “Did you see who the killer is?”

“Yes…” I whispered. “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t see a damn thing. Do you know who it is?”

“Yeah, I know him.” I told her his identity, and she looked just as shocked as me. After several deep breaths, I stood up and said, “I’ve gotta go.”

“Now, hold on, Tex!” She scrambled to her feet, trying to keep up with me. “What do you think you’re going to do?” She rushed after me, her pink slippers slapping rudely at the floor.

“I’m going to go confront him…and end this.” Driven by a fierce sense of determination and anger, nothing could stop me.

“You can’t go off and do this by yourself!” I suddenly remembered what Mom had warned me to do. “Besides, there’s a goddamn blizzard outside!”

I looked out Mickey’s window and couldn’t even see the street through the flowing, whirling snowflakes.

“Mickey, I can’t tell anyone about this without telling them I’m a witch. Can’t you see that? And I’m not going to involve my friends.” She blinked at me, lower lip trembling. “And I’ve got to make sure first. I can’t call the cops until I’m absolutely sure.”

For once, Mickey lacked a snappy comeback, a head-slap, anything. Finally, she said, “Well, if you’re going to do a damn fool thing like this, wait here a minute.” She began to paddle off, then turned around. “I mean it, Tex. Just wait a damn minute, okay?” I nodded as she hustled off into the kitchen.

She reappeared brandishing a black Sharpie and what looked like an old-fashioned burlap potato sack. “Here.” She pointed the Sharpie at me like the sharpest knife in her arsenal. “Draw a big pentagram on this.”

I thought it crazy, but probably no less crazy than the things I’d witnessed in the past month. Struggling with it, I managed a primitive pentagram on the rough material. I went over the lines several times, thickening them to about a quarter-inch wide.

“Now, attach this to the front of your car,” she said. “And I have a spell here somewhere…” She grabbed what looked like a plastic recipe box from the side table by the sofa and flipped through it frantically. “Here.” She yanked out a note card. “Put that burlap in front of your car and before you leave, read this spell.”

I took the card and noticed it was mostly in Latin.

“That should at least keep you safe on your drive,” she said. “But, Tex, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you thirty minutes, and then I’m going to call the cops. You ain’t gonna’ tell me no different either.” Her finger wagged like an ecstatic dog’s tail in my face.

I knew her mind wouldn’t change, but thought I could haggle a bit. “Fine, but at least wait forty-five minutes. It took me thirty to get here in the snow.”

She looked at me, suspicion touching her eyes. “We’ll see.”

“Thanks again, Mickey,” I said, already one foot out the front door.

“You be careful,” she called from her door. “You just be careful!” Through the unrelenting snow, I turned and gave her a thumbs-up. And I swear I heard her say, “I don’t want to lose you, too,” in a quiet as snow voice.

I trudged down Mickey’s sidewalk—possibly eight inches of coverage now—and made it to the car. The wind tossed my hair, mad as hell. My ears numbed from the frigid temperature.

I punctured a hole in the burlap with my hood ornament and managed to tuck the other end into the grille. Even given the sharp winds, the bag seemed to be holding firm. I read the spell Mickey’d given me. A barely visible red glow bled out from the pentagram on the burlap bag. The snow in front began to melt away as if exposed to a heat source.

I yanked open the car door, and a sudden, violent gust of wind nearly took the door off its hinges. The wind played tug of war with me, but as the winner, I pulled the door shut. The engine turned over on the first try. Good girl, Bucket. I promise I won’t abandon you again.

Slowly, I inched into the street. Even though visibility was nearly nonexistent, the headlights proved the spell successful. In front of the car, snow tossed back up into the sky, the world’s greatest snowplow. Snow flew to the left and right, the spell clearing a path for me, even melting some as I chugged along. I peered in my rear-view mirror and saw the cleared path behind me quickly filling up again. Briefly, I wondered if I could get a job snow plowing this winter? That’s a big no to witchcraft for personal gain.

Obviously, the snow crews had been wholly unprepared for a November snowstorm. I didn’t spot a single plow and the side roads hadn’t been touched. Either that or the snow fell at such a wicked pace the city employees couldn’t keep up with it. But I carefully traveled on, the snow blowing out of my way, a quicker journey this time.

Not too late, four-forty, I hoped against hope I could still find him at school.

Foregoing the parking lot, I pulled into the circular school drive. I slid to a halt in front of the main side doors, locked my car, and kicked the snow aside as I walked through the entrance. Good, still open, and all lights burning brightly on the dark confrontation ahead of me.

Wet footprints trailed behind me as I walked up the stairs to the second floor. I approached the door. Light leaked out from beneath it. I braved myself, took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and opened them.

I knew what I had to do—what I must do—as I slowly pushed the door open to Mr. Jensen’s classroom.