The Accidental Witch (4 page)

I sat down on my little stone bench and sighed deeply. I had to wonder if anything I did made any difference. I had really believed I was reaching Kara. I had thought that she was doing better and I was some small part of that, but it had all been a lie. My entire life felt like a lie. It was one long, creeping lie. My marriage had been a lie. My career was a lie. That left me with nothing but an old house and three cemeteries.

The Black Magnolia had a story. It was a story that was told so many times, no one knew where it came from or if it was true. They said the old plantation owners had beaten their slaves. They had tortured them and locked them in the basement and let them die. After slavery was abolished, the remaining slaves had crept up the stairs in the dark of night and murdered their former masters in their sleep. They left them to choke on their own blood. The Ku Klux Klan found out about this and rounded up the slaves and hanged them from the old tree that loomed above me. The story was probably as much of a lie as my career, but at least it was a lie that lasted.

I stood up and began the long walk home. The smell of magnolias lingered in the air as I walked through the overgrown necropolises to find my way. By the time I got back, most of the crew had packed up for the night. A lonely painter was on the front porch painting the old columns. I smiled at him and he winked at me.

“Hey, lady,” he called to me. “What are you doing up here in this haunted house by yourself? Don’t you get scared?”

I looked at the little painter. I hadn’t seen him before. He was short and dark skinned. He spoke with an accent.

“Why? Do you think it’s haunted?” I asked.

“Everybody knows it is haunted,” he said. “That’s why no one buys it. It’s killed all of its owners.”

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip. Everyone in this town loves to gossip, but no one knows what they’re talking about. The last owner died of lung cancer.”

I straightened my hair and walked into my empty house and closed the door behind me. I looked up. There was light upstairs. They had finished the wiring. I looked down. The tile was finished. The house was coming together and that was enough to make me smile on the worst day. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer and sat down at the table. A book was open on the table. It was the spell book. I finished my beer.

I would have to remember to remind the crew not to touch my stuff. I grabbed a half-full bottle of scotch I had beneath the sink and poured myself another drink and then another and one more for good measure. I was out of beer and I knew I had to have at least four drinks to make it through the night. I sat down in front of the spell book. It was opened to a page that had been illuminated with gold hearts. The spell on the page was handwritten and illustrated. There was a picture of a white candle. The spell was labeled ‘A white candle love spell’. On any other day, I would have put the book away, but a desperate sorrow tugged at me and the four shots of scotch were beginning to soften my brain. “What the hell?” I thought the ritual would be therapeutic. I thought going through the motion would calm me down.

Conveniently, I had everything I needed for the spell. I went outside and picked a red rose from the many tangled bushes in the old garden. I gathered one of the small white candles I’d used for the bathroom when there had been no electricity. I found a picture of Dr. Becket from one of the hospital’s newsletters and a note he had written to me about one of our shared patients. I put all of the items together in the middle of the kitchen table. I put my picture by Dr. Becket’s and looked at my little altar. I looked at Dr. Becket’s picture. I didn’t even know his first name.

Finally, I took a thorn from one of the roses and wrote “All my love come to me” three times on the small candle. I lit the candle and watched it burn. Time passed, and as the candle burned, I felt better. I felt my anxiety burn away with the melted wax. I couldn’t control everyone. Kara and Wayne had endured more than many people could. Death was a grim specter that offered no solace. It wasn’t my fault. The candle flickered as the sun set. The candle smelled like magnolias. I breathed in the wonderful aroma and let it fill me. The moon rose over the horizon and the moonlight spilled in through the large kitchen window, bathing my altar in white light.

I rested my head on the table and I focused on the flickering light of the white candle. I looked at Dr. Becket’s picture. The last thing I needed was another man, but it would be nice just to be touched again. To feel skin against skin. To taste a man’s flesh. Let’s face it, it would be nice to get laid again. I hadn’t been with anyone since Blake. I’d spent six months with Blake while I was still married to John. The saddest thing about the affair was that John never even noticed. Blake had been everything John wasn’t. He was a carpenter. He smelled like wood and sweat. He never cared about appearances or money or image. He hadn’t wanted me to be anything I wasn’t. He’d wanted solace. I guess I had wanted that, too. He just wanted my body and I was more than happy to give it to him. I fell asleep dreaming of being touched.

The sun was just rising when I woke up. I looked at the candle. It flickered one last time and went out. I scooped up all the wax and the altar and put it in a pillowcase and placed it under my pillow. I felt better already.

C
HAPTER
2

T
HE
C
ANDLE
G
ARDEN

I felt strangely good that day. It was Sunday the 15
^th
and it was my last day of work before my day off. I showered and my hair stopped frizzing and fell into perfect ringlets around my face. I smiled. I put on soft eyeliner around my brown eyes and red lipstick that matched the red dress I was wearing. I even put on heels. There was a spring in my step as I got in the car. I forgot my usual animal crackers and ate a banana.

All the regulars had been discharged and the floor was uncommonly quiet. Jenna smiled up at me as I walked in.

“Hey, girl,” Jenna said happily. “You look good today. Have you been on a diet? I love that dress. Where’d you get it?”

“Chicago,” I said. “The shopping was better there.”

“You ain’t lying. I have to drive all the way to Huntsville to find anything worth wearing here.”

“I hear you,” I said. “How’s it going?” I asked.

“Quiet,” Jenna said. “We only have ten beds full.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” I said as I started going through the charts.

“Nope,” Jenna said. “Dr. Dadhiwala cleared house yesterday.”

Dr. Dadhiwala was Indian and she was a very good doctor. I hoped she was working with me every day.

Group was wonderful. It was cathartic. Almost everyone had a history of childhood abuse and the group wept together. They comforted each other and held each other’s hands. When a group is good enough, a therapist only has to get the ball rolling and the patients do all the work. After group, I did four individual sessions and was able to do another group before I was called over to the ER. That was nothing short of an absolute miracle.

I smiled as I walked towards the ER. I looked up. It was cloudy and uncommonly cool. My heels clicked on the floor tiles and almost everyone looked up at me as I walked down the hall. Diane was working. She had ghosts and jack-o-lanterns on her scrubs. She smiled from ear to ear when she saw me.

“Damn,” she said. “I guess you took my advice to heart.”

“What advice?” I asked.

“The advice I gave you at Finnegan’s. You look great!” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Thanks for that.”

“What has come over you?” Diane asked. “I thought you’d be a train wreck after what happened yesterday.”

“I was a train wreck,” I said.

“And?”

“And it went away,” I said as I reached behind me to grab a chart. I reached and stumbled. I tripped and I fell backwards into someone I hadn’t noticed was between me and the charts. Diane exploded with laughter and Dr. Becket caught me. I looked straight up into his brilliant blue eyes and he looked down and saw me for the first time in the year I had been working there.

“Shit,” I said without thinking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s okay,” he said as he placed me on my feet. “Are you all right?”

“Outside of the cruel embarrassment and wounded pride, I think I might survive,” I said as I straightened my dress.

Dr. Becket laughed. He was lovely when he laughed. His eyes scrunched up at the sides in the most delectable way.

“I’m Aaron,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new? Are you a new therapist?”

I laughed. “I’ve been here for almost a year,” I said. “I’m Phaedra.”

“Now there’s a name I wouldn’t forget,” he said. “Does it mean something?”

“She was a character in Greek mythology. She was the daughter of a famous witch.”

“Really?” he said.

“Unfortunately, she was cursed and ended up being baked into a cake and eaten.”

He laughed again and I melted into a girlish grin. I felt like I was fourteen again.

“Baked into a cake? That is unfortunate,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that your name is terrifying?”

“Only those who understand it,” I said.

“So, you’re from psychiatric?” he asked.

“I am the emissary from the land of the lost and broken,” I said.

He laughed again. “You aren’t like the other therapists.”

“In what way?” I asked.

“In almost every way possible,” he said. “Are you here to see bed 17?”

I looked at the chart in my hand. “Yes.”

“I just saw her. We are going to need to move her up to medical before you can take her. I’ve already had her transferred. Would you like to talk to her upstairs? You could save yourself the trip later?”

“That would be nice,” I said.

“I don’t know how to get to medical,” I lied. It was just a little lie.

“I can walk you,” he said.

So I followed Aaron out of the ER and towards the elevator and on to the medical floor. I leaned backwards as I left and gave Diane a wicked grin, and she grinned right back. The doors of the ER shut behind me and my heart beat in my ears.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Aaron asked. “Do you usually work nights?”

“No,” I said. “You’re usually busy.”

“You’ve seen me?” he asked.

“No one misses you,” I said honestly.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “Surely you’ve noticed that the ER nurses follow you around like puppy dogs when you’re in the ER.”

“No,” he said. “I’m a doctor. They have to do that.”

“Believe me, they don’t have to do that. They do that because they are all trying to creep into your bed,” I said.

Aaron’s jaw dropped a little and he smiled in that nervous way people smile when they are so uncomfortable, their heads are about to explode. I should have lied, I guess, but I never understood the point of the stupid games people play when they’re attracted to someone. It seemed so much easier to lay it all out on the table. Of course, this philosophy could account for my less than stellar dating history.

“What makes you say that?”

“I thought you knew,” I said.

“Honestly,” he said. “I suspected.”

“So I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” I said.

“No,” he answered.

“So why are you so shocked?” I asked.

“Would you like to go out to dinner?” he asked suddenly.

“Sure,” I answered.

I handed him my card. He took the card and put it in the pocket of his white coat. For a minute, he just looked at me. He looked at me as if he were trying to figure out if I were part of some elaborate practical joke and then he reached out and opened the door to the medical floor. I smiled brightly at him as I stepped away. I walked away from him, clutching my clipboard and smiling from ear to ear. Who says there’s no such thing as magic?

Bed 17 had become bed 231 and her name was Elisa. Elisa was a baby. She was just barely eighteen and she had a face so sweet, she might have been a child. She was lying in the bed with her lovely, golden hair spread out on her pillow. She was so slight, she hardly seemed to occupy space on the bed. Her head was turned away from me and her arms were bandaged to protect the enormous gashes that had required fifty stitches to close up. Just to be sure, she’d taken an entire bottle of alprazolam to seal the deal. She shouldn’t have survived, but sometimes humans are more resilient than they want to be.

I sat down in the chair next to Elisa. She didn’t acknowledge my presence or turn to face me.

“Hi,” I said with a pleasant smile. “I’m Phaedra. I’m the therapist here and I came up to talk to you and see what we can do to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” she whispered in a voice so faint, it almost vanished.

“Why can’t I help you?” I asked.

“Because I’m already dead,” she answered.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“The soul in me is dead,” she answered.

“Can you explain that to me?”

“They killed it.”

“Who killed it?” I pushed.

“All of them, my father, his friends, my f-uncles. They killed me and I’m just finishing the job,” she said.

“They raped you?” I asked.

“That and everything else,” she said. “I ran away. I tried to get away and my boyfriend said he’d help me. He said he’d take care of me, but he just left. I got no one. I got no place to go and no one who cares if I live or die.”

“You have someplace to go,” I said. “You can come stay with us, and I care if you live or die.”

“You only care ’cause someone pays you to,” she said.

“They don’t pay me enough to care,” I said. “Will you let me try to help you? You can come stay with us on psychiatric for a bit and we can talk and try to find you some place safe to go where no one can hurt you again.”

Elisa turned to face me. She was so beautiful, it was unreal. Tears poured down her angelic face.

“You really think you can help me?” she wept.

“I know I can,” I said with a confidence I never would have had before.