LAST WEEK: Job, a youthful but accomplished witch, has come to the foster home of Inglenook to meet with 16-year old Renna Porter. Their purpose is a mystery even to the three dads of the foster home, but Job’s quiet tension indicates sudden change incoming.
Read the first installment here. See all installments here.
After a few moments, a muffled “Yeah” came through the door to them. Kyle reached for the doorknob. “Then can we en—”
The rest of his sentence was curtailed by Narin, who skittered forward and pushed the door open enough to slip through, and vanished inside. After a flurry of fumbling noises within the room, Renna’s voice returned. “God’s sake, Narin, chill for a bit. Y’can come in.”
Kyle pushed the door open the rest of the way, and then stood aside in a gesture to admit Job in first. They felt apprehensive about entering a private room, even when previously invited; Job had always been quite sensitive to matters of propriety and proper decorum. But Job also saw that the unwritten rules of this house were quite different from what they were used to, and figured it would be best to just follow along. So they stepped inside, over the threshold and right into a pile of clothes that was waterfalling off the bed in front of them.
The narrow room formed an L-shape with large windows looking out onto different areas of the yard. A single-file footpath had been cleared between the excessive amounts of stuff packed into the space. Much of this stuff appeared to be art projects in various stages of completion or dissolution—some rested in piles upon the floor, where they slowly became buried treasures, while others clung to the walls with nails and tape. The light that streamed through the windows had to make its way through the colorful forest of translucent baubles hung from the sashes: little windchimes, strands of sea glass and translucent plastic ornaments painted the pale walls in many splotches of skittering color. Although it was crowded and chaotic, everything seemed to have its precarious place. The objects that lived in here, whether out in the open or buried and forgotten, contributed to the feeling of comfort and sanctuary. It was a well-built nest, Job thought, particularly suiting someone of Mab’s lineage.
And then there was the nest-builder herself. Renna was perched in the papasan chair that resided in the corner of the L-bend, her legs curled ‘round and tucked underneath a baggy sweatshirt. She had just finished a deep yawn that stretched out her freckles, and was now picking at pieces of paper in her dark, feathery hair. When Job’s snowy eyes first met hers, Job felt a curious soul gently poking through their gaze. This girl’s connection to Mab was undeniable now: it had been more than a decade since Job had met similar eyes that simmered with patient, charming ponderance.
Kyle squeezed into the room behind them. “Jesus, I can’t believe how much stuff is still in here. Job, this is Renna, obviously. Renna, this is Job— they’re the one I told you would be coming, remember? Just, uh, here to talk right now, I guess. Lemme grab Narin and we’ll be outta your hair. Which could use a brush, by the way.”
Kyle was looking around for the child who had vanished into the wilderness of the room. In the moment of quiet, Job heard movement coming from a loft that was hidden away around the corner, which neither they nor Kyle could see from their vantage point near the door.
Renna kipped up and, with a spritely leap, grabbed the edge of the loft and pulled her chin up. “Narin, I took all your treasure out of the bed up there. Your stash was becoming bigger than Blackbeard’s.”
“Not true, y’know!” came a muffled reply. “Still some left up here!” A set of shiny measuring spoons flew into the adults’ view and landed on the papasan.
Kyle groaned. “That’s where they were. I bet he’s still got the grater up there, too.”
Renna sighed. “Alright Narin, I’m comin’ up to get you. Get ready.” Narin squealed in anticipation as Renna dropped to the ground for but a moment, and then made another leap for the wall nearby. She found climbing holds on a couple of surprisingly steadfast art projects mounted there, and then dove from sight into the loft.
“‘Scuse me a bit.” Kyle shuffled past Job to retrieve the measuring spoons. They had to twist awkwardly to get around each other.
In that small moment, Job’s eyes were drawn to a notebook that lay open upon the topmost layer of clutter on the desk. The artwork must have been done fairly recently, as the pencils that were nestled in the crease between the pages matched the colors of the picture. There was a small yellow bird, circling around in a vast expanse of black. The black had been made as black as could be by grinding the pencil into the paper, so that one might even feel the darkness just by touching the layers of wax. The blackness was roughly triangular, making it seem like an opening into an abyss. Beyond the boundary of the darkness, a field of red lines crosshatched all over the remaining white of the pages. They were long, and jagged, and despite the chaos from which they were made, they all seemed to flow inward, being drawn towards the void. It all felt very ominous. It made one worried for the tiny little bird in the middle of it all, flying around as if it was lost … Or dying.
Job was so entranced with the picture that they nearly fell onto the bed as Kyle pushed past, carrying Narin over one shoulder. “I’ll let you two alone now, sorry for the trouble,” he said, while Narin grinned and waved from his vantage point.
The door was shut, and then Job and Renna were alone together, in the silent room filled with spiraling glass-light.
CHAPTER TWO, STILL
Renna’s Room, Revisited
Renna had returned to her post in the papasan chair. She was observing the visitor in her room, who was currently trying to perch on the edge of her bed. A person of contrasts, she noted. Complementary ones—their curly platinum locks standing out against their dark skin—and conflicting ones—the effort they were currently putting into appearing poised, even as the heavy sag and thick blankets tried to pull them in like a sinkhole.
Renna had also observed them observing her journal shortly before Kyle and Narin’s exit. It had been a spontaneous project late the night before, the fleeting image of a dream she had awoken from put to paper. Renna had many dreams, almost every night, and she was not in the habit of recording them, but this one had felt slightly different. She had no ideas as to what it might mean, if anything at all, but a feeling had kept nagging at her, telling her to record it in some way, before it vanished back into her subconscious. The memories of the dream had begun to fade as soon as she put pencil to paper, almost as if it were transferring thought to form. By the time she was finished, she could barely recognize what she drew as what she had dreamt.
She felt like sharing none of this with the stranger in her room, however. Surely they had a Reason for coming to see her, with lots of Relevant Information and perhaps even some Responsibilities. She didn’t know, but she guessed. She didn’t know, so she was nervous. She wanted them to speak first and get on with it.
And so they did. Job stood up, abandoning their precarious bedside post, and gave Renna their full attention. “I apologize for calling so early in the day, Miss Porter. And for the … mysterious nature of my visit. But I would like to make it all clear now.”
“Sure. As long as you just call me Renna.”
“Ah. Yes. Sorry.” Job ahem-ed a bit. “Renna. I’m afraid I must begin this conversation on a somewhat strange and … inconceivable topic.”
Renna had no idea where Job was going with this, but her interest was piqued. “Well, conceive away, I guess.”
Job nodded, and then delivered the line they had spent so long preparing. “If someone told you that certain misfortunes were of supernatural, and not coincidental origin … Would you be inclined to believe them?”
“Sure.”
Renna had been expecting a more complex question than that, and it seemed Job had been expecting a more complex answer.
“Oh. I see. Well, that’s … convenient then.”
“You expected me to say no, didn’t you?” Renna smirked.
“I tried not to expect anything. But that caught me a bit off-guard, I will admit.” Job gave a small hint of a smile.
Renna’s gaze turned to the sea glass lace of her window. “Ever since I can remember, stuff’s happened to me that felt like more than coincidence. Especially when other people didn’t sound convinced when they tried to tell me it was.”
“Smoke and birds, was it…” said Job in a quiet voice.
Renna nodded. “To name just a few times. It never really scared me, for some reason, but I could tell it scared everyone else, and then I became scared too. I don’t have any control over it …”
“That is no fault of yours, I can assure you.”
Renna met Job’s snowy eyes, seeing for the first time a caring, if cautious, soul within them.
“To go back to the misfortunes I spoke of, yours are not products of unhappy coincidence. You were born with unusual higher energies, which remain within you to this day, and give rise to those strange phenomena when said energies occasionally spiral out of control.”
“It sounds like you’re saying I’m some sort of, like, supernatural being or summat. An extra-terrestrial? Oh, what about a cryptid?”
“Nothing of that sort, unless you have more secrets that I don’t know about.”
“Yeah, so, about that.” Renna folded her arms and increased the intensity of her stare. “Who told you about all this? Why do you supposedly know so much about my ‘supernatural freakishness’?”
“Most of our folk use the term ‘Hexing’ to describe that ‘freakishness.’ And I know because I knew the person whom you inherited it from—your paternal grandmother, Mab. Beloved in our communities as a witch with few equals in either wisdom or power. And I was her apprentice, for a few years at least.”
“Whoa, wait, what? That’s … that’s a lot to take in at once.”
Job nodded. “So it is. Like I said, I wish to make it all clear, as much as I can.”
“So my grandma was a … witch, as you call it, and you were her apprentice, meaning you’re also a witch, and there’s, like, a whole bunch of you in a community?” Renna poked at her fingers as she spoke, visualizing the list of incredible things that had just been revealed.
“Correct. More than a bunch, I would say. There are witches, or more generally, practitioners of magic arts, living all over the country, and the world. They’re as diverse as any group of humans, but we naturally settle into small societies to share knowledge and take care of each other.”
“Alright. That makes sense, I guess. So my, uh, Hexing, as it were, is that some kind of magic then?”
Job gave a light shrug. “It’s not so clear-cut. It has more to do with the energies that we witches tap into to create our magic. Without going into too much theory, people who have a strong affinity for such energies sometimes become a vessel for them, within their own bodies and spirits; Mab was one such person. She had the necessary skill to keep that power in check at all times, so she did not manifest any Hexings outside of her control. However, it seems that the qualities that draw excessive energies to us can be passed on hereditarily. They remained dormant in your father, as far as we know, and then manifested in you, who have no experience with controlling said energies.”
Renna sank back in her chair, her gaze dropping into her cupped hands upon her lap. She had trouble recalling a happy occasion that wasn’t soured by one of her “mishaps.” That one summer campfire with strange patterns glowing in the ash; that time a car cut them off at a traffic light and swerved into the breakdown lane shortly afterwards, all four of its tires expelling air. There were times when she wished she knew why it happened, so maybe she could fix it. But now it just sounded like a curse, bred into her genes, and in her ignorance she had no hope of stopping it. Unless …
“You can learn to control it, just as your grandmother did,” Job finished her thought for her. “Even with some basic training and energy work, you will be much more prepared to deal with this heavy birthright.”
Renna perked up at this. “That sounds good! So you’ll stay here and teach me then?”
“I can teach you, but it will have to be after we go to the Rectory.”
“The Rectory? Are we going somewhere else?”
“I’m afraid so. This is the main reason I have come to visit you today.”
Renna tried to push back a growing uneasiness. “There’s even more? I feel like I’ve had enough big revelations for one day …”
“I understand it’s a burden, but I have to ask you to be patient, for the moment. You see … Renna, perhaps you don’t remember much of your life before you came here, to Inglenook. And you’re likely better off for it.”
Renna nodded. “I know there was a fire, and I lost my family in it. And I’m alive, somehow. Another homer here told me once that all the bad luck I experience was balanced out by the good luck of surviving that one time. I guess it made sense to me, back then … But does this have to do with my Hexing?”
“The fire was not your fault in any way, I assure you. That night, the blaze was started by a … being not of our world. A horrible monster, more than a human could ever be.”
Renna squinted at Job while trying to parse out the vague description. “Like … a demon?”
“That’s a good name for it. Not any pauper’s demon either. This creature is … old. The words that damned it are likely in a language long forgotten.”
“Huh … okay … so, not only are magic and witches a thing, but also demons. Great.”
“You still with me?”
Renna motioned for them to continue.
“That terrible night twelve years ago, once the demon had carried out its attack on your family, it left to continue its evil with your grandmother. I was residing with her at the time, and I still remember the night clearly. She sent me to safety before it came, preparing to confront it on her own. As I said before, she was an incredibly talented witch, but … there are few humans that can stand against that kind of unholy strength. Mab did what she could and what had to be done: she lured the demon into a trap and took it out of this world, along with herself. It was the most likely way to stop the creature’s rampage.”
“So … My grandma died, along with this crazy demon.”
Job had to avert their gaze, and they tried to look past the sea-glass out into the sunny yard beyond.
“If only that had been the end of it …”
Renna leaned forward. “You have to be kidding me. Is it not dead?”
“For years, the Rectory’s network of witches and allied covens have been watchful for any signs of the monster’s resurgence. There were some unsettling omens, here and there, but we can’t go searching every shadow. A couple months ago, we were able to confirm that the presence we were monitoring was indeed the same as twelve years before— It’s regained enough of its strength to be a deadly force once again.”
“Okay.” Renna was feeling a lot of things right now, but she couldn’t tell whether fear or anger had the edge. “So what does that mean now? Why are you here telling me this instead of, like, out there with all your witch buddies trying to take it down?”
“It seems to be biding its time— it may have rematerialized, but it’s still weak, and it doesn’t like feeling so vulnerable. We’ve decided to use this precious time to secure you instead. Once it’s ready … it will be the one doing the seeking.”
“That’s ominous.” Renna wanted to say more— she could put two and two together easily enough, but by this point fear had brutally silenced anger and was now dragging its icy fingertips across her skin. She gripped at her arms, willing warmth back into them.
“But why me?” Renna couldn’t keep the question in any longer. “Why the hell is this demon thing after me, in particular?”
Job shook their head slowly. “The reasoning of those creatures is beyond human comprehension. I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you. We just know it’s after your family, or your bloodline, and as of right now, it doesn’t consider its evil deeds finished.”
Renna tried to reply, but the words caught in her throat and died on her tongue; they felt clammy and tasted sour. She just tried to focus on her breathing.
Job continued, their words carefully measured. “That’s the situation as it currently stands. We don’t know how much time we have left until the demon regains its full power. We want you to be in a safe place at that time. We’ve prepared the Rectory to be that safe place, and it was my task to come here today— to ask you to return there with me.”
“But this is my home.”
“Yes. And we don’t want it to end up like your last one.”
Renna stared at her lap and said nothing more. Job was just part of the background now, as her consciousness retreated within the edges of the papasan chair. There was just her, in her baggy, slept-in sweatshirt, and the few straggling snippets of paper that found their way out of her hair and down onto her stomach. She tried to brush them away, but they clung on as if they desperately wanted to stay, so she let them.
The late-morning light continued to bounce through the sea glass lace on the windows, chasing stray shadows around the room. But once their owner had gone, the glittering ornaments would no longer have anything to protect. There was some sudden shuffling, and Renna’s trance was broken to see Job failing to make a quiet retreat amidst the clutter. They appeared to have been staring at Renna’s drawing on the desk again. They regained their composure in an instant, and gave her their last instructions.
“I know it’s too short, but we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Prepare however you can.”
Hear the author read this week’s installment in the video below:
MetaStellar fiction editor Geordie Morse works primarily as a personal language coach, developing curricula and working with clients remotely. His first book, Renna's Crossing, is out now. His various other projects are cataloged on his site Arnamantle.