“It’s all right,” I said. “Just…just sprinkle the powder around the edges of the floor and especially on the threshold. And—” I was thinking fast. “Write down—take off your shoes and socks and write out—Do you have an SDA body marker?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Great. If you can’t find it, don’t worry. A regular pen will do. But use the marker if you can. Write down the Formula for a safe journey and a safe arrival on the bottoms of your feet. Then light the powder—”
“Should I put my shoes back on?”
“Yes, of course. Light the powder on the threshold and at the same time ask the Devoted Ones for help, and then jump over the powder. Have you got that?”
“Yeah,” Paul said.
“Okay. Leave the phone off the hook so I can hear. And when you leave give me a shout so I can hang up my phone.”
It took Paul at least five minutes, during which I could hardly breathe I was so scared I’d hear him scream or something. Finally I heard the hiss of flash powder and then, from a distance, “Okay, Ellen.”
Softly, I prayed, “Bless your feet, and bless your hands, and bless your eyes and mouth. Earth move you in safety and joy across Her shiny face. Go, Paul.”
I went downstairs, acting calm so my folks wouldn’t find out anything and panic. I figured the last thing we needed was my folks getting hysterical. They’d call the police or something, or just start screaming and no one would do anything.
I got a piece of sanctified chalk and some of my own flash powder and matches from my altar and stuck them in my skirt pocket. Then I went to the kitchen for a glass of milk and cookies. Wholesome. A kid getting a snack. I strolled outside and as soon as I was out of sight of my folks I got to work. I walked three times around the house, flicking drops of milk from the glass onto the ground as I prayed to the Hidden Mother for blessings and protection on the house and all our family. Next I crushed the cookies and scattered the crumbs along the flagstones and the driveway and out to the road, calling for Devoted Ones to flock to Paul’s aid and lead him safely out of danger to my house. In the street I drew a box for the house and then two stick figures for Paul. One showed him inside the house, holding hands with a smaller stick figure (me). The other showed him outside with a circle around him, protection against a pair of bat-like wings above his head. Lisa. Then I drew dots from the Paul out in the danger place to the one safe in the house. While I made two little piles of flash powder, one on each Paul, I called once more on the Benign Ones to help him, thanking them in advance. “Devoted Ones, we thank you for your devotion. We know that nothing we have done deserves your precious intervention.” I fired up the flash piles, waited ten seconds, then dashed back inside.
Upstairs in my room I took all my stuffed totem animals and lined them up on the windowsill. “Take care of him,” I begged them. “Please guard him now. Please.” I didn’t move from that window until I saw Paul step out of the taxi. Then I threw myself downstairs and out the door.
Maybe I should have stayed at the window until he actually got to the house. I don’t know. Maybe if he’d made it all the way under his own power he would have stayed safe, with the strength later to fight back. Because maybe something was taking care of him, feeding him, and when I ran out to get him, I drove it away. Or maybe I weakened my own safety enactment by leaving the house. I don’t know. When I saw him—he was limping, with his face screwed up, as if he’d twisted his ankle—I filled up with joy and fear at the same time, and just couldn’t wait. If I did something wrong, if I made it worse, I hope Paul forgives me.
We told my folks Paul had hurt himself running and needed to sit down in my room while I brought him some tea. When I got Paul alone, and brought up the tea, I opened a fresh can of blessing powder, sprinkled some on his face and then his bad ankle (he fell running for the train), and finally around the edge of the room. And then I had him tell me everything. It was pretty scary. A couple of times, like when he got to the flowers in the hospital, I had to stop him, holding up my hand like a traffic cop until I could catch my breath. When he finished, I hugged him, with my head on his shoulder so he wouldn’t see me cry.
I knew I couldn’t do that for long. We had to take care of him. We had to get him some real protection. As well as sprinkling some more blessing powder, we touched our amulets together, stuffed our pockets with prayers written on sanctified paper and put Nora and Toby, my two most powerful stuffed totem animals, in their SDA sanctified travelling cases to take with us. Then I called the taxi company and asked them to send Billy right away.
As we headed downstairs, the phone rang. We were almost out the door when my mother called from the living room, “Paul? It’s for you. It’s a woman.” You’d think she’d find it confusing that someone would call Paul at her house. But no, her voice sounded like wasn’t it wonderful that she could help two such marvellous people get together. Paul started to walk towards her. I stared at him for a moment before I realized what was happening. When I grabbed his arm he almost shook me loose. I held on, though, and hollered to my mother, “We’ve got to leave, Mom. Tell her she missed him.”
“Won’t that be rude?” my mother said. “She sounds so sweet.” But I already had Paul out the door, where, thank the powers, Billy was already pulling into the driveway.
That has got to be the scariest trip I have ever taken, worse even than my high school wilderness initiation. Everyone looked like a Malignant one—the driver cutting us off on the Expressway, the traffic cop halting our lane, the boy roaring past on his motorcycle, even the bag lady sleeping on the sidewalk outside the Nassau headquarters of the SDA.
We told the secretary we needed to speak to an investigator. “Urgently,” I said. She sent us to a woman about twenty-five, with large amazed eyes. She wore a red blouse and a cotton jumper and had her hair pulled back with a velvet band. While Paul was talking—he got pretty worked up, waving his arms and trying not to cry, he was so scared—the woman, Julie her name tag said, wrote everything down, constantly telling Paul it was all right, he was safe now. “Your SDA” would protect him.
After she finished taking down his story she went for her superior, a man about forty or fifty, very businesslike, but still basically friendly. Until he asked Paul where he’d met the Ferocious One. “I told you,” Paul said, “at work.”
“Fine,” the man said, “but where exactly is that?” He smiled at Julie who looked embarrassed that she hadn’t gotten such a basic detail. Paul told him the address. He froze. His pen stopped in mid-air, his head in mid-nod. Finally he looked up at Paul and said, “And you say she worked in an office?”
“She ran a temp agency,” Paul said.
The man’s mouth twitched. “Just a moment,” he told Paul, and walked off. Looking a little confused, and embarrassed, Julie told Paul again that everything would be fine. About a minute passed and then Julie’s boss called her from a doorway. He said, “Ms Stoner,” instead of Julie. When she left the room he closed the door behind her.
About five minutes later the man came back alone. He said, “Now then, Mr—” He looked at his clipboard. “Mr Cabot. Why do you think this woman, this Lisa, is a Malignant One?”
“Think?” Paul said.
I stepped forward. “Excuse me,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Please, young lady,” he told me. “I’m trying to check your—” His voice went up in a question.
“Cousin,” I said.
“Cousin, fine. Your cousin’s story.”
“You can check it a lot easier if you tell us your name,” I said.