Witch House by Dana Donovan Page B

position of the moon and three red, forming a triangle in
the middle of the table with jasmine incense burning in the center
of those. Along the windowsills and across the doorway, Lilith laid
down a heavy bead of brick dust. When asked by Ursula what it was
for, she replied, “It’s to ward off evil spirits and make our ghost
feel safer in trying to reconstitute.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Sure, and it also works on vampires, zombies
and Bush Republicans.”
    “Really?”
    Lilith shrugged. “Nah, probably not on the
last ones, but if it makes our ghost feel any more comfortable, I’m
all for it.”
    All during the preparations, the lights
overhead flickered without prompting and occasionally something in
the room fell and broke on the floor: a glass ashtray, a framed
picture, small knick-knacks from the mirrored hutch. During it all,
the girls never broke concentration, and soon they were sitting at
the table opposite one another, heads bowed, arms stretched in
reach with hands clasped. Lilith winked at Ursula from across the
table, her pupils glimmering in the candlelight. “You ready?” she
asked.
    Ursula gathered her deepest breath and
surrendered it through puckered cheeks. “As ever I may.”
    “Okay then. Do you want to start?”
    “Aye.” She took another, though shallow,
breath and began, “ Hear ye, ol` spirit, heed my call, pass thy
image through these walls. What flame doth break shall let me see,
be it shadows, or be it thee .”
    Lilith echoed, “ Be it shadows, or be it
thee ,” and they both choired, “ Be it shadows, or be it thee.
Be it shadows, or be it thee ….”
    They ran this mantra in a steady flow until
their voices sounded as one. Already they could feel the room
growing colder, even as the candles burned stronger, their flames
snaking in cattails high above the table, licking the light fixture
and brushing the ceiling in whispers of pencil-thin smoke trails.
The windows, having fogged over rapidly, soon iced up completely,
with temperatures plummeting to something below freezing.
    “It’s happening,” said Lilith. “The portal is
opening.”
    Ursula squeezed Lilith’s hands tighter. “I am
cold like the wind,” she said. “Thou art sure what door doth open
doth so easily shut?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not real practiced at
this. Give him another call. He seems to like your voice.”
    “Aye, `tis not my voice I fear he wants, but
my body heat and thine.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Give him another shout.”
    “As thou wish. Hear ye, ol` spirit, heed
my call, pass thy image through these walls. What flame doth break
shall let me see, be it shadows, or be it thee .”
    Again, they joined, “ Be it shadows, or be
it thee. Be it shadows, or be ….”
    In the middle of their fifth refrain, the
candle flames fell to mere winks of flickering light upon their
wicks. A soft push of warm air rushed up from beneath the table,
lifting the girls’ hair in swirls and filling the room to a
tempered pitch. The windows began dripping with melted ice. A low
creeping moan bled from the walls and floor as if the house were
relaxing after tensing up briefly. Smoke from the incense began
gathering amid the triangle of red candles. It hung low in milky
trails, collecting and condensing into rolling swirls, resembling a
face reflected in rippled pool water.
    “There!” said Lilith. “You see it? It’s
trying to reconstitute.”
    Ursula leaned back in her chair, startled,
though her handhold with Lilith maintained. “Indeed, `tis the
spirit, I know, for his face doeth stare me down to my bones.”
    “Let it come, Urs. Talk to him.”
    “And say to him what?”
    “Ask him his name.”
    She leaned in some and addressed the vaporous
apparition. “Good den, my Lord. To us, pray tell, what be thy
name?”
    The spectral image gathered in tighter
swirls, as shade and shadow lent it definition. Still, it did not
attempt to communicate. Lilith whispered across the table, “Try
again.”
    Ursula