Son of the Witch — Part One

Image by Ann_Milovidova from Pixabay 

Nothing will ever be less than it is now, Jeremy thought, feeling the cold glide of the egg sliding behind his ear. Grave dirt was clotted in the blood of his split knuckles, but at least he was quick enough to roll away from the kick he saw coming for his kidneys. 

I will never be less popular, he thought, pushing himself to his feet and nearly tipping over an old headstone that barely came up to his ankles.

“Get back here you coward-ass son of a whore!” Denny screamed, charging for him. Yes, Denny, like America’s favorite casual diner with all-day breakfast. Jeremy was really beginning to question just what in the hell these Indiana parents thought they were doing. 

I’ll never be less respected, Jeremy reminded himself as he hopped over the headstone that had tripped him. 

I’ll never be less safe. He scrambled a few feet to a fresh-dug plot, lush with at least $250 worth of flowers. A wreath as big as his chest obscured most of the engraving on the marble. It wasn’t much but grabbing it and swinging it full force knocked Denny’s hand to the side just in time to save Jeremy from getting a second black eye.

“Hey!” a man’s voice boomed, angry authority evident in the tone.

Denny turned to look, a response ingrained in him by years of football coaches and father figures with switches probably. 

Jeremy didn’t turn to look, just booked it as fast as he could towards the tan and navy blue Oldsmobile parked by the road. His long legs did him one better than all Denny’s decade of practicing tackles. He was twenty feet away before the asshole even moved.

“Denny Owens, don’t you turn away from me, boy!” the groundskeeper screamed. Mr. Rothschild was a good groundskeeper and not a bad guy, from what Jeremy could tell. They met a couple of times before when Jeremy came visiting. Mr. Rothschild didn’t take any less care of his mother’s grave than any of the others. “You think I don’t know that’s you? I’ve known your father since we were both shitting our nappies. You pay attention when I speak.”

Jeremy didn’t think Mr. Rothschild would come after him now that he had Denny to deal with, but Jeremy wasn’t taking any chances. He planted one palm on the hood of the Oldsmobile and flung himself over the hood, Dukes of Hazard style. 

Holy shit, that actually worked, Jeremy thought, impressed with himself for the first time that week. Half a dozen terrified heartbeats later, was in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him, keys already in hand. 

The Oldsmobile always started slowly, with a kick and grumble like an old drunk being told he couldn’t sleep at the bar. Still, Jeremy got it into drive and was already peeling away from the cemetery, tires squealing, before the lump of fabric in his passenger seat began to move. 

Misty yawned, emerging from her hibernation beneath Jeremy’s pea coat as elegantly as the Loch Ness monster. If the Loch Ness monster only wore designer brands. Shoving the now-unwanted pea coat into the footwell only took her a moment, but it was a moment that Jeremy used to run through exactly what he was going to say. Unfortunately, while his heart was doing a great job of pumping blood to all his fight-or-flight responses, it wasn’t exactly enticing his critical thinking. His mind was blank.

He could feel her eyes on him. The second she caught sight of the new-forming bruises and mess of egg, he felt it with a deep nauseating twist of dread.

“How does this keep happening?” Misty said, going from half-asleep to entirely outraged in the span of time it took Jeremy to open his mouth. Her perfectly red lips curled away from her teeth. Professionally arched eyebrows drew in and down, becoming angry slashes over her eyes.

“You know how they feel about mom here,” Jeremy said.

Misty rolled her eyes but bent to dig through the crap littering the floor of the Oldsmobile until she came up with some clean-ish takeout napkins. “Well, you’re not mom,” she said like that was the final word on the subject. “And if they treated mom like this when she was growing up then they got what they deserved.”

Jeremy shifted his eyes over to his sister, then slid them quickly back to the road as she began scrubbing at the egg on the back of his head with the wad of napkins.

“I mean, she did curse the whole town, Mist. Like old school Salem-style seven generations of misery cursed the whole town. It was kind of a big deal.”

“Yeah, cursed them with bad soil and tough luck. Puh-lease. They could have paid some little charm-chanting Wiccan to bless them with four-leaf clovers or something. Who even farms anymore? Just get a job at a bank or something for Christ’s sakes. What’s done is done.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how the town sees it. Besides, the average charm-chanter would have had to ward every single house individually and bless each person, and probably give them a token to tie it all down, too. It wouldn’t stick against a curse that powerful otherwise. That work would take like a year and a half, easy.” 

“Well, it’s been seven so the town can go fuck a duck for all I care,” Misty said casually. “They’re a bunch of broke-ass hicks with a weird superiority complex. I didn’t even want to come here.” She punctuated the statement by throwing the eggy wad of napkins in the back seat as hard as she could. “Why did they even have eggs in a cemetery?” 

“To desecrate mom’s grave,” Jeremy said, trying not to feel the sharp bite of anger in his heart as he spoke.

Strong emotions were dangerous for witches. Or, rather, they were dangerous for the people dumb enough to get close to them. There had been a split second in the graveyard where Jeremy had nearly killed Denny. Jeremy had managed to wrestle his power back under control by the skin of his teeth. The varsity idiot would never know how close he had come to death.

There was a beat of silence as Misty digested Jeremy’s words. 

“I know you said no hexing but…” her voice was a lower register than it ought to have been. 

Witches, Jeremy thought, strong emotions. Trapped in a getaway car going 45 in a 30. Through a school zone. Fuck.

“We aren’t hexing anyone,” Jeremy said firmly. “Grandma was dead serious about cutting us out of the will unless we spend our summers here. It’s eggs now but if we escalate things it’ll end with them tying us to a stake.”

“Well,” Misty said, flipping her long platinum blond hair over her shoulder. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Birds shit on those tombstones all day. And it’s not like mom is actually buried there, anyway. All they can do is desecrate the decoy. I’d love to see one of those idiots even step foot in a witches’ cemetery.” 

Jeremy was not stupid enough to listen to what she was saying or the casual tone she was saying it in. He risked looking away from the road just long enough to catch a glimpse of her eyes squinting with feline satisfaction. 

“The family grimoire is in Grandma’s will,” he reminded her. “Priceless artifact of our family’s magic. Power beyond anything we could dream of achieving in our lifetimes without it.”

“Yes,” Misty said, “and at least five hundred thousand dollars each. Enough to set us back up in Vermont without asking Dad for anything. Maybe open up a little herbalist and alchemy shop. I could do divinations in the back for extra coin.” Misty’s eyes got that far-away longing look that she always wore when thinking about money, cute witch-boys, or Color Pop cosmetics. 

“Pretty sure Grandma isn’t planning to die for at least another decade, kid,” Jeremy said. He felt a little uneasy about the whole conversation, even thought he had been the one to bring up the will. He didn’t like feeling that they were vultures already picking over her bones while she was still kicking. She might not have been the warmest woman, but she was family and she took good care of them every time they stayed with her.

Misty glared at him, her eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch. 

“Don’t call me kid when we’re the same age, asshole. Don’t ever forget that I’m three minutes and thirty-three seconds older than you little brother.”

Jeremy let that go, largely because an idea was suddenly barreling through his mind like a mac truck. “Misty. Misty, oh my God.”

“Don’t tell me you’re running out of gas,” Misty said. “We’re like two blocks from Grandma’s.” 

“Misty I just had the biggest idea of my life.” 

“Okay, just hold up a second,” she said, grabbing her purse and rooting around inside of it. “Let me see if I can find my magnifying glass.” 

“Misty,” Jeremy said, still breathless with the clarity of this revelation. “What if we break the curse?” 

The tires screeched as Jeremy pulled sharply off the road onto the long gravel driveway that led to their grandmother’s house. 

“Break the curse,” Misty said slowly. “You want to make life easier for these people? Are you out of your goddamned mind? You’ve been hit on the head too many times today. I’m making you a poultice and some clarity tea the second we’re inside. Don’t even think of whining about the smell.”

“No, Misty, listen, this is perfect!” Jeremy’s hands flew off the wheel before the car was fully stopped, gesticulating wildly as he tried to get his sister to see how brilliant this plan was.

“Who taught you how to drive?” Misty screamed, as if they hadn’t learned together. Her eyes were wide, hands twitching toward the wheel like she only just barely stopped herself from reaching out to grab it. “Christ on a cracker! I’m gonna die in this backwater and it’s gonna be your fault.”

Jeremy put the car in park.

“We’re fine. Listen, if we break the curse two things will happen: the townspeople won’t have a reason to hate us anymore, and the entire witching community will realize how badass we are. Think about what great word of mouth the apothecary will get!”

“Herbalist and alchemy shop,” Misty corrected instantly. “You’re the one who said mom’s curse was some old school Salem shit. How are we even supposed to break that on our own with no grimoire? What about the magical backlash or releasing all that energy? Do you really think all these hicks are gonna roll out the welcome mat even if we do somehow manage it? Grow up, Jeremy.”

She was already halfway out of her seat by the time Jeremy said, “They’ll fear us.”

Misty paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “They’ll know we’re at least as strong as she was. There’s two of us and there was only one of her. I know they won’t ever love us, I’m not stupid, but if we can undo the curse, maybe they’ll just leave us alone for the rest of the summer.”

She sat back in her seat heavily and closed the door. 

For a minute there was silence. All Jeremy could do was grip the wheel. If Misty didn’t agree there was no way in hell he could do it alone. 

“Fine,” she said. “If we can come up with a half decent plan between the two of us, we’ll give it a shot, at least. If it doesn’t work we hex them.”

“Agreed!” Jeremy said, too happy to even really think about the gamble he was taking on that deal. If the curse had been easy or safe to break it would have been done by now. 

Nothing will ever be less than it is now, he reminded himself. There’s nowhere to go but up.