Chapter 16 Fracturing
FRACTURING
Cesar
“Tom?” Elena spoke into her cell.
“What are you doing?” I glared at her. “I thought you were going to go get me herbs.”
Elena pulled the device away from her mouth and whispered to me, “This first, and I have a plan.” She then put her finger against her pursed lips as she returned my angry stare and put the phone back to her ear.
“Hi, yes, it’s Elena, Cesar’s friend.”
“Why are you calling Tom?” I demanded.
Again, the look.
“Yes, that’s me! Listen, I’m sorry to impose on you, but I think we need some help.
” Elena had taken matters into her own hands.
“It seems Cesar is bent on doing this resurrection, and as you know, the Hurtados have kidnapped Artur. Cesar was going to have Artur be the conduit for the magic to do the reanimation, but… well, now we’re in a bit of a pickle.
” Elena’s eyebrows shot up as she listened. “Sure, just a second.”
Elena clicked some buttons on her phone. “There, you’re on speaker now.”
“I’ve always hated that bitch,” Tom yelled from the mobile device.
“In this room, I would say that the feeling is currently mutual. Hi, Tom.”
“Cesar, do not go through with this ritual!” Now it was Tom’s turn to be demanding.
“I don’t have a choice. If we don’t get the Hurtados their Matriarch Oracle, they will hurt Artur, or worse.”
“You’ll have slush for brains,” Tom warned.
“Yeah. I know.” I went silent as I got lost in my own thoughts.
Logically, my brain knew this would be the outcome.
Perhaps today would be the last time I would have coherent thinking abilities.
Would I remember anything from my life? Tio Orlan did, but it had been his childhood memories and early adult escapades that came to him.
I didn’t want to regress. I had had a rich and full life.
Cruel—this disease. To spend a lifetime making memories, the one thing you cherish as you get older, only to have them ripped away from you.
In your golden years, your retirement, weren’t you supposed to reflect on all that has been and savour the moments that made you happy?
Cringe at the episodes where you could have done better?
Laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the antics you pulled off?
Remember the loves, the conquests, the tawdry bits? Relish the connections made and lost?
I wanted all of those.
I wasn’t going to get any of them.
For a moment, I stopped to wonder about the implications of not continuing down this path. The pull of self-preservation tugged at my innards. Fight or flight kicked in.
I could just leave. Mexico was a vast country. I didn’t have to stay here. I could go elsewhere.
And hide for the rest of my life? Then I would have to live with the guilt of leaving Artur in the hands of an entire clutch of vile, manipulative witches.
I shook my head. “I can’t abandon Artur. Not now.”
“No, I should think not,” Tom said. “He’s your other half. Your soul twin. I get it, Cesar. I do. It will spell disaster for you, but I understand. How can I help?”
“I’m taking you off speaker,” Elena said, then punched a few more buttons as I began to argue with her. “Tom, give me a second. I’m going outside for the rest of this conversation.”
Elena turned to me as she let her phone drop away from her mouth.
“You listen to me, and you listen good. I disagree with what you’ve done with Artur.
Honestly, binding yourself to another has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen another human do.
But what’s done is done. You no longer come as individuals; you’re a package deal.
I’m going to make arrangements with Tom, but the only thing—and I do mean this, Cesar—the only thing I want you to concentrate on is getting that witch upstairs on her feet.
“Do not, under any circumstances, channel any magic through yourself whatsoever. Do you hear me? I am going out to get your supplies. When I return, we’ll do this together.
“Tom is going to help us get the raggedy bitch down to the Malecón , and then we’re going to go get Artur.
“But this will be your last bone witch working. I want my friend around for many years. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hung my head. Nothing she said was wrong. In the end, I knew Elena cared deeply, and she was doing all this to spare me.
I nodded to her, indicating my acquiescence, and with that, she spun on her heels and began fervently talking with Tom.
I heard my front door close.
I hadn’t heard a single word of her conversation as I once again dove into my own thoughts. This time, they were strictly of Artur.
Here I was, in my late fifties, having finally found someone who, despite all the witchy vibes, spells, and traditions, was apparently meant to be mine, yet I had missed him for years. He had been right there, standing in front of me in the community, with a bad rep and all.
Artur wasn’t a new face. We all knew him.
His unluckiness had made him the subject of gossip.
Why hadn’t I looked closer or taken the time to get to know him?
Why now, when my world was imploding? Why would the gods grace me with a lover as kind and gentle as Artur, only to rip him away from me with the impending doom of my genetic legacy?
Life wasn’t fair.
No one had ever said it would be.
Pulling my robes together in one hand and grasping my coffee cup in the other, I walked upstairs to my workroom.
My eyes immediately went to the coffin lying on workhorses over in the corner, where Mistress Magdalena would be exposed to the best moonlight.
Tonight was the night. We would have to perform the ritual under the glow of the lunar mother.
Elena was gathering the herbs I would need. They would all get stuffed into the ribcage along with the memory anchor. We would have to wrap the torso in fine muslin to keep those items together.
Then we would light several deep purple candles, a couple of black tapers, and a single yellow candle placed on the forehead of the corpse.
As much as I hated this particular ingredient, blood from the caster was also needed. A single drop was enough, but the fact that my essence was used, that a part of me would be responsible for bringing her back—that had always given me the creeps.
And then there were the practical items. Restraints, handcuffs, and leg irons would be put in place before the ceremony to ensure the dead would stay put after being ripped through the veil and brought back to the land of the living.
Regardless of how badly someone wanted to return, the transition from one reality to another could lead to unfavourable results. It was always best to be prepared. Keeping the corpse in lockdown was essential until it was deemed safe.
I spent the time necessary in the workroom to ensure all the items we needed were placed near Mistress Magdalena, and while I waited for Elena to return, I was going to have to crack open the coffin lid and spend time with the bones.
I needed to feel them. Touch them, attune to their energy, their vibrations. Only then could I stitch them back together and bring the soul back to the body.
I used to find this part magical.
I loved seeing the memories and lives brought forth when I communed with the calcium and married my abilities to their marrow.
I learned from the natural world when I talked to the skeletons of the various critters I had used in charms and amulets. I understood animal behaviour in ways I never thought I would, just from holding their bones.
The dead have so much to tell us.
I glanced over to the coffin as a shiver ran down my spine.
I could see her. Desiccated. Foul with rot and decay.
Lying there, waiting for me, were the memories in her bones.
What horrors lurked within her frame? What atrocities had been carried out in the name of the Hurtados? I would find out soon enough.
But the ritual aspect of connecting with the body made me ponder.
The thing I was being robbed of was the one thing I needed to grasp in order to bring the dead to life.
I had to dig to find the memories, to bring them up to the surface. I needed to lure the soul from the afterlife back to this life and then remind them of who they used to be.
With my impending doom hovering over me like a ghostly shroud—floating in the corner, a constant reminder—how unfair was it that I burrowed into the bones of the dead to find their memories, while mine were being ripped away from me?
I walked over to the casket, laid my hand on the smooth ironwood box, and cursed the dead thing that lay within.
“How dare you take the last of me.”
Artur
Sitting on the damp, cold floor, my bottom ached as it numbed from holding the position for too long.
I was mad at myself for so many things.
I could have sought out a teacher instead of shaming myself. There had been opportunities to better my skills, but I’d lost myself in self-doubt.
Cesar had seen through all that.
If I had been kinder, more outgoing, and positive, perhaps the members of the magical community wouldn’t have shunned me. Maybe they would have taken pity on me instead and tried to help.
A little late for that now.
So many emotions, all of them negative, overwhelmed me to the point where I became frozen.
Luana had promised me death, but nothing quick. I would starve down here.
My mind wandered to my only source of comfort: Cesar. I had finally found someone, a man who had all the qualities I yearned for but had never been able to develop.
And what was more? He was as interested in me as I was in him. We had just begun to build the foundations of what could have been a lasting relationship when all this was ripped away from us.
Once again, life had kicked me in the nuts.
A reminder that I wasn’t worthy.
Then I realized that without me, Cesar didn’t have anyone to assist him with the resurrection tonight. Proceeding with the ritual—which I knew he couldn’t turn away from—would render him devoid of his own memories.
My head slumped forward.
I had lost.
Ruminating over all the different scenarios in my head went on for hours, though tracking time down here was impossible. Not a single window existed; it was perpetual night.
A tug on my tunic shook me out of my downward spiral delirium.
I glanced up.
An imp.
Great.
No one really knew where they came from.
The pits of hell, most likely. They had attached themselves to those who were magically inclined and had hidden with us in the shadows for thousands of years.
But with the Revelation, they too had come out into the light of day—so to speak.
Bright sunshine was not a favourable spot for them.
In the darkness of my prison, this imp seemed slightly different.
Typically, they were black, red, or even orange, but this one had highlights of yellow in its scales.
It still had the unruly patches of greasy hair on the top of its head and the tip of its tail, but the edges of this particular little beastie shone with a yellow tint.
It tugged on the fabric again.
“Go on, get lost.”
The little fucker was probably testing to see how near death I was. I’d heard that they’ll consume a corpse if the dead body is left unattended.
The thought made ice crawl beneath my skin.
Being eaten alive wasn’t on my bucket list.
Tug, tug, tug.
It was persistent. I kicked it away, but it scampered back.
This time, it crawled up into my lap and thrust its taloned hand at my face. Between its sharp nails, it held a note. It shoved it at me repeatedly until I took it from him. Once freed of the message, it climbed up onto my shoulder and perched there.
A slender, forked tongue slid out from its maw and licked the outside of my earlobe.
“Please don’t eat me,” I whispered, half scared to death that the tiny creature with very sharp talons and razor-sharp teeth might decide to claw its way through my throat.
He pointed at the note.
“Okay.”
I opened it.
We’re coming for you.