“Terra wants me to clear my mind so I can retrieve some childhood memories.”
Mrs. Twiggs sat in the opposing chair. “Like hypnosis?” she asked, pouring the tea.
Abigail shrugged.
“What type of childhood memories?” Mrs. Twiggs asked, handing her a cup with a ladyfinger dangling off the saucer. Pixel lifted his paw and reached for the delicate cookie.
“Nothing I really want to talk about,” Abigail said.
“Oh, dear, I see.” Mrs. Twiggs thought for a moment. “Sometimes it’s better to face your demons. Bring them out into the light.”
I jerked my head back and stared at Mrs. Twiggs. There was more to her than I had yet realized. She understood that some shadow was blocking Abigail’s memories. Whether it was a Freudian self-defense mechanism or something much more malignant, I wanted to draw back the curtain. “What do you need me to do, Terra?” Abigail asked.
“Close your eyes and clear your mind.” I watched the moving pictures in Abigail’s head, events from this evening, the Chinese restaurant, and the pumpkin fest. She avoided thinking about the scarecrow. I could hear her heartbeat and breathing slow. I sang softly to her. Elizabeth had taught me the ancient art of transfixation, the ability to direct one’s thoughts down the pathways of your mind and to carry others with you. Elizabeth would come to me in my dreams by this means and we would converse in secret. This was the first time I ever tried this ability with anyone save Elizabeth. Elizabeth told me it began with the succession of high-pitched sounds. Pixel yowled softly before turning over and falling back to sleep. Like a safecracker clicking the tumblers slowly waiting to hear the catch of each gear, I listened for the right notes to open Abigail’s stored memories. These notes drew the listener in until two minds became one. I sang those notes softly to Abigail who followed me down the path until we were standing face to face not as cat to human but as my true self, 17-year-old Terra Rowan, the young witch of Salem. Abigail smiled widely and hugged me. “Terra, this is you. This is who you are.”
“Yes, Abigail. This is me.”
Abigail glanced around us. We were floating in a white mist. “Where are we? What’s happening?”
“This is what Elizabeth called clarity, the birthplace of all your thoughts.” As I spoke, the white mist turned pale gray.
“What’s happening, Terra?”
“You’re scared, Abigail. You don’t want to see the truth.” Lightning struck in the distance and the pale gray mist turned ashy black.
“Terra, I can’t do this.”
I took both her hands in mine. “Just follow me. Just follow me, Abigail.” As my words came out, I could feel her hands slipping from my grasp. She began floating away.
“Terra,” she screamed. Her voice echoing as she distanced away from me. I could not hold her. The hurricane was coming. She was gone. Her eyes flew open.
Mrs. Twiggs grabbed her hand. “Darling, you’re sweaty and breathing heavy. What’s going on?”
Abigail caught her breath. She shook her head, stood up and stretched. “Nothing. I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”
Me Familiar
We arrived home as the sun rose over the mountain. Mist covered the ground. We were weary. Pixel was draped over Abigail’s shoulder. In the foggy distance, I could make out the pale blue eyes of our tracker. The bacon was gone from our porch. He had left a present, a bundle of mountain ash sticks, rowan--he knew my name.
Soon, we sat on the porch, Abigail sipping her tea as I wrestled with Pixel. As hard as I fought my cat tendencies, they still managed to overtake me. Abigail watched intensely. “If you’re a witch, why can’t you use your powers to change yourself back?” Abigail asked me.
“It doesn’t work like that, Abigail,” I said, flipping Pixel onto his back. “The spell that turned me was cast from another witch, a very powerful witch, Elizabeth Oakhaven, the leader of our coven. And only she can break the spell,” I said.
“Why hasn’t she done that?”
“Elizabeth was killed during the Salem witch trials. All of my coven were tried and convicted and put to death.” I shuddered recalling the moment when Elizabeth’s neck snapped on the gallows.
“That’s why she turned you into a cat? To save you from the trials?”
I stared at her.
“I see,” Abigail said.
“Someone betrayed us. They told our secret. They took my sisters’ lives, my life and my future.”
Pixel flew back and forth across the porch, emitting loud noises. “Tracker, Tracker.” I had to hold back my instinct to chase him. “Pixel, quiet. I smell him, too. It’s OK.” Pixel settled down.
“Terra, something Mrs. Twiggs said at the Biltmore Society meeting has bothered me,” Abigail said in a musing tone. “She said that Asheville was the crossroads to the world. The same word that the voices in my head have been saying since I turned 13.”
I jumped onto Abigail’s lap to reveal the next part of the puzzle. “Lionel thought Asheville was his crossroad and I, too, was drawn here by some magic.”
“Why am I here, Terra? Why did I meet you? Why am I the only one who can understand you?”
“I don’t know. Only a witch or a turned Wiccan would be able to understand me in my current state.”
“I don’t feel like a witch.”
“What do you think witches feel like?” I asked sarcastically.
“You know--I twitch my nose but nothing happens, I blink my eyes—same nothing. When I was sweeping the cabin, I didn’t feel an urge to climb on top of the broom.”
I laughed. “Abigail, it’s not that easy. I have not met a witch in 300 years. There is something special about you but I would know if you were a witch.”
“How does Lionel play a part in all of this?” Abigail asked, settling back onto the porch step.
“That eludes me for now. There are different planes of magic in this world and others. Even mortals have unlocked magic without realizing it. Elizabeth told me of some humans who are called watchers. What we would call the human version of a familiar.”
“Like Pixel.” Pixel lifted his head. “Me Terra familiar.”
I thought for a moment, tilted my head and realized he was right. “Pixel, I haven’t quite thought of it that way but you might just be,” I said to him.
“Me familiar, me familiar,” Pixel chanted, prancing around the deck like he was royalty. His tail straight up in the air with his head turning left to right.
“Elizabeth’s familiar was a wolf. I never wanded so I was never given a familiar.” My thoughts returned to Lionel. Human watchers knowingly or not protect white witches. I believe Lionel was such a watcher. He didn’t know I was a witch but something inside him—maybe magic or kindness or the angels he sang of--made him keep watch over me and the other street folk.”
“The voices are getting stronger in my head,” Abigail said.
Abigail reached into the cooler that Mrs. Twiggs had packed for us full of vegetables from her garden, cheese and a mason jar of Mrs. Twiggs’ moonshine. Tea wasn’t the only refreshment served to the ladies at the Biltmore Society meetings. Abigail took a sip and shuddered. Pixel stood on Abigail’s lap to give it a sniff. His little sandpaper tongue slurped up a taste. “Me like, me like.” He stuck his head down and gulped it down before Abigail could pull it away from him. “Me like,” Pixel said, walking wobbly down the stairs of the porch, collapsing at the bottom, rolling back and forth on his back. “Pixel, sleepy.”
Abigail stepped off the porch, picked Pixel up and carried him sideways into the cabin. Pixel purred loudly and then he bit her arm. They settled onto the cot and both fell asleep. I watched them for a few moments before leaving and then I went back down into town to visit Reverend Stillwater’s church.