MONDAY 2:15PM
Jerry stood at the entrance to the Whitmore Building, one of the older buildings on campus: stone façade, high ceilings, and hallways lined with radiators.
He rechecked the info on his phone. Professor Harding’s office was room 228, and her office hours ran for another forty-five minutes. The photo in her bio showed a smiling woman with intelligent brown eyes and white hair. Jerry guessed she was in her late sixties or seventies.
Jerry pushed open the double doors. He located the stairway, climbed the steps two at a time, and entered the second-floor hall. He followed the ever-increasing room numbers to the far end of the hallway. The door to room 228 was open. Taped to the door was a cartoon of a witch scowling at her smartphone. The caption read: Oh, it’s in flying broom mode.
He knocked on the doorframe and poked his head inside. Professor Harding, glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck, sat behind an overflowing desk. Plants filled the windowsills, and the walls were lined with packed bookshelves.
“Professor Harding? Are you available?”
The woman gave him a grandmotherly smile. “Of course, young man. That’s what office hours are for.” She squinted at Jerry. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”
“My name is Jerry Williams.”
“Come in, Mr. Williams, and take a seat.”
Jerry slipped off his backpack and maneuvered himself across the cramped office to the sole chair.
“Which of my classes are you in?”
“Actually, I’m not in your class.”
Professor Harding sighed. “This time is specifically set aside for my students.”
“I appreciate that, but this is really important. If one of your students comes by, I’ll be happy to leave.”
“Fair enough. Now why are you here?”
Jerry grabbed a pen and his notebook from his backpack, flipping to a page where he had prepared some questions. “I’m a reporter for—er here on campus. And I’m writing a story about some deaths that happened at Van Buren back in 1984.”
Professor Harding shifted in her seat. “I was here in 1984. And I vaguely remember a death or two on campus. But I don’t remember any details. Why would you think I’d have any information about this? You’re probably better off asking the campus police or checking old issues of The Chronicle.”
Was she pretending not to know? Wysocki said what happened to Peggy was covered up, and he said it was time to tell the truth. Maybe Professor Harding didn’t feel the same way. Or was it so long ago that she truly forgot?
“Paul Wysocki gave me your name.” Jerry watched the professor’s face for any hint of reaction. “He was a reporter for The Stuyvesant Whig.”
Her tone turned icy. “Your reporter friend is mistaken. I don’t know any Mr. Wysocki or anything more about 1984 than I’ve already told you. I think you should go, Mr. Williams.”
“But I just—”
“As I stated, my office hours exist for my students to come for guidance and assistance, not to answer random questions from strangers about topics that I have no knowledge of. Good day.” She slipped her glasses on, turned to her monitor, and typed.
Jerry was certain from her reaction that the professor knew something. “Professor Harding, I understand you have good reasons for not wanting to talk about 1984.” He took a deep breath. “But I think the four deaths on campus this week are related to whatever happened back then. And it’s not over. If I don’t figure out what’s going on and how to stop it, more people will die.”
The professor stopped typing and stared over her glasses at Jerry. “What do you mean, the deaths are related?”
“The students who died this week are all tied to bad luck: spilled salt, opening an umbrella indoor, and such. The deaths in 1984 were all on Friday the 13th. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen this Friday. Not only does the administration not believe me, they’re actively suppressing the news.”
Professor Harding rested her elbows on her desk and tented her fingers. She whispered, “It’s happening again.” She opened a drawer, retrieved a plastic Do Not Disturb door hanger, and gave it to Jerry. “Put this on the knob and close the door.”
Jerry did as instructed, returned to his seat, and pulled closer to her desk.
“Mr. Williams, tell me all you’ve learned. Start from the beginning.”
Jerry recounted the circumstances of the deaths of Cassie, Noah, Vince, and Muller, the football player from Fillmore. He relayed his suspension from The Chronicle, the publication in The Underground, and the confrontation with the chancellor.
“You’ve been quite busy. What’s this Underground you speak of?”
“It’s a web-only alternative school newspaper.” Jerry gave her the URL.
Professor Harding typed the address into her browser and hit enter. She squinted at the screen. “That’s odd. It appears to be redirecting to The Chronicle.”
“Sounds like the chancellor and the administration are working overtime to suppress the story.” Jerry continued to fill in Professor Harding about the research from the library that led him to interview Wysocki at the retirement home.
“What did Paul tell you?”
“Not much. His memory isn’t that great. He implied Peggy didn’t drown. Or at least not accidentally. Also, something happened with players on the football team. A cover-up that he was a part of. What can you tell me?”
Professor Harding pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a bottle of Blue Grass Bourbon and two tumblers. She filled the glasses with the brown liquid and offered one to Jerry.
He held up this hand. “No thanks.”
Professor Harding shrugged and downed Jerry’s drink. “Peggy was brutally raped by three Van Buren football players. The athletic director and the head football coach, with the help of a few wealthy boosters, covered it up.”
“That’s the cover-up Wysocki was talking about?”
“Partly. Van Buren is the county’s number one employer. Stuyvesant’s entire economy is dependent upon us. Easy enough to persuade the Sheriff’s Department not to investigate.”
Jerry scribbled away.
“When no one would listen to Peggy, when she couldn’t get justice anywhere else, she came to me.”
“If the college and the sheriff wouldn’t do anything, what could you do?”
“I showed her how to fight back. That was a mistake. But I was young and foolish, burning with rage at the way institutions that should have protected her ended up betraying her.” Professor Harding stared at the empty glass. “From before the dawn of history, women who have been wronged by men have been challenged with how to fight back. Lacking the physical strength or political power, they developed...other methods.”
“What kind of methods?”
Professor Harding stood, searched one of the crowded bookshelves, retrieved a blue volume, and handed it to Jerry.
Curse Tablets and Binding Spells: Women’s Magic from the Ancient World. Above the title was a drawing of what Jerry supposed to be a griffin. He turned the book over in his hands. He couldn’t place it, but the book seemed familiar.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Magic isn’t real.”
“Mr. Williams, you’re the one who told me bad luck caused these deaths. What you call bad luck is one way that magic manifests itself in our world.”
Jerry leaned forward, confusion on his face. “I always thought I’d find a logical explanation of how bad luck could be responsible for everything that’s happening.”
“Magic is what’s responsible. This book is the logical explanation. It opened a door for Peggy. She stepped through and gained the power to fight back. The result was three dead football players.”
“They’re dead? Wysocki told me they got away with it.”
“They most certainly did not. Maybe Paul doesn’t remember clearly. You did say he was having memory issues.”
“How did it happen? How did she do this?”
“December 1983. The three players, and no one else, died in a car accident. The roads were icy. Alcohol was involved. There wasn’t much for the sheriff to investigate. After that, I thought it was over. Then a student who worked part-time for the Athletic Department died. Hit by a bus.”
Jerry nodded. “Franklin Hearst.”
“Three months later, a construction worker at the new football stadium was killed. People who had no connection to what happened to Peggy were dying. I confronted her that week. She had changed. The hurt and fearful girl I knew had become angry, spiteful, contemptuous. The power corrupted her soul. I tried to talk to her, help her. But she would have none of it. She threatened me.”
“How does Wysocki fit in?”
“I guess he was much like you with a reporter’s instinct. He wouldn’t stop digging. I don’t remember how he figured it out. He barged in while we were deciding how to take action against Peggy, so we asked him to join in.”
“We?”
“My coven.”
“You’re an actual witch?” Jerry’s head spun. “This is a lot to take in. Then what happened?”
“We stopped Peggy.”
“You killed her?”
Professor Harding grabbed the other glass and downed the shot. She looked at her window, at the leaves changing for the fall.
Jerry sensed she wouldn’t answer. “You and Wysocki and the coven stopped Peggy, then what?”
“The deaths ceased. I guess the good guys won.” She laughed bitterly. “My actions haunted me for a long time, but over the years, the guilt faded. At times, I’d go semesters without thinking about her.”
“Why is this happening now? Is Peggy, or her spirit, somehow back?”
“No, her soul has gone to the Realm Beyond Ours. I know of no way for it to return. Even if she were back, I would sense it. It’s someone else. Someone new.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Tell me more about the recent victims.”
“Two were football players: Vince and Fuller.” Jerry raised his voice as the pattern became clear. “Cassie was a cheerleader. She performed on the sidelines at games. And there’s Noah. On the day he died, he wrote a story on the groundbreaking for the new football stadium. All the deaths are football related. It’s got to be someone with another grudge against the team.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? It seems pretty obvious.”
“It’s possible, even likely, that whoever has tapped into the power isn’t in complete control yet. I would expect that with a neophyte with no guidance. The power may act out its previous pattern, targeting those connected to the institution that wronged Peggy. But given time, it will grow so strong that everyone, whether connected to the football team or not, will be at risk.”
“Will this protect me?” Jerry held up his key chain with the rabbit’s foot.
Harding smiled. “It may for the moment if you’re not a specific target. But in time, all the good luck charms in the world won’t protect any of us.”
“How do we find out who’s behind this?”
“In the spring, I had a student. She was quite enthusiastic about learning the potential of magic, specifically manifesting luck. With most of my class, it’s a struggle to keep them awake. She asked me for guidance, wanted to tap into the power. But I learned my lesson with Peggy. I lied. Said it was nonsense.”
“What was her name?”
The professor squinted at Jerry, like she was racking her brain. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” She typed on her keyboard, and the printer roared to life. She grabbed the sheet, put on her glasses, and looked it over. “This is a list of all the students who signed up for A Survey of Magic Systems this past spring. None of the names ring a bell. All I can remember is it was a young woman.”
“I know someone who might be able to help.” He folded the printout and shoved it in his backpack. “I’m also going to look for people who might have a grudge against the football team. When I do find who’s behind this, how do I stop her? Or him? Can the coven help?”
Professor Harding shook her head. “No. They’re all dead or retired to Florida. I was the kid of the group. There’s a new coven in the area, but these ladies are more focused on politics. Their interest lies in placing hexes on Supreme Court nominees and such. I’ll ask if they can assist, but I’m not hopeful.”
“What can we do?”
“Evacuate the university? At a minimum, anyone with even a tangential connection to the football team should leave. I suspect the magic is grounded to the campus, more than a couple of miles away, and its power will fade to nothing.”
“No way Dr. Thornton-Gaston will agree to that. She won’t do anything that could damage the college’s image.” Jerry frowned. “Getting back to how to stop this. How did you stop Peggy?”
Professor Harding let out a long sigh. “Witchcraft is transmitted along lines of force. The ancient practitioners didn’t know about electromagnetism. They only knew when magic worked and when it didn’t.”
“Like radio waves?”
“In some senses, yes. Water blocks most of the ways the power radiates, which is why in the olden days, suspected witches were often dunked. I asked Peggy to meet me at the gymnasium, and the coven ambushed her. It proved to be quite the supernatural struggle. One of the older members broke her leg. I suffered a concussion. But eventually, we forced Peggy into the pool, cutting her off from the power.”
“And what? She melted, sank?”
“We had to drown her. The life drained from her body. You can tell yourself it’s not murder. That she was a force, not a person. But it’s not an easy lie to swallow. But I kept lying. Lied to the school, Peggy’s parents, her brother Mark.”
“Is there another way?” The cold reality settled in Jerry’s mind. Stopping the threat meant taking another life. He wasn’t sure he could do that. “You said you tried to talk to Peggy. What if we convince whoever’s behind this round to stop?”
“I would always advocate for non-violent solutions, but that might not be possible. If the power has corrupted their soul, all the talking in the world won’t help.”
Jerry looked over his notes. “Peggy killed the football players in December, and your...confrontation with her was seven months later. Whatever’s going on now has been happening for a short time. Maybe it’s not too late to settle this with words.”
“One can only hope.”
Jerry and the professor exchanged contact information and promised to keep each other informed of any fresh developments.
He stood. “Wish me luck.”
“I would, but I’m afraid that won’t be enough.”