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Chapter Twenty
The Great
White Witch
In
the morning, Alice awakened to find the cats waiting patiently in the kitchen
for their next meal. The men were
still sound asleep when she tiptoed down the hall. Quickly, after months of preparing meals for Sam, Alice was
able to whip up a hearty breakfast for the men. Breakfast had been an important meal in Irma’s life, so she
resented the communal tray shared by all the cats. While Alice fixed the men a proper feast of scrambled eggs,
bacon and toast, Alice chopped the bacon strips up for the cats, slopping eggs
onto the other one side of their tray. “Oh
yummy,” Wanda observed sarcastically, “scrambled eggs and ground up especially
for us cats!” “I
like bacon and eggs too,” protested Irma, “but in my own plate.”
“And where’s the toast?” asked Drew, joining them at
the plate. “I like coffee with my food.”“Come on gang,” thought Sam, looking
dubiously at the food. “Alice is trying.
She even put a bowel of milk for us to lap up with our little tongues.”
“They’re
right, Sam,” Neva made a face. “We want our own dish and bowel!” “Yeah,
and regular food,” transmitted Wanda, “not this ground up shit!” Taken back by their
mutiny, Sam, as apparent leader, lodged their collective dissent.
“Alice,” his protest came out as a series of meows,
“you’re treating us like pets!
Your communal tray is unsanitary and unacceptable. We want our own separate meals!” Alice,
though saying nothing, wondered if he might be ill. “Oh Look Mortimer,” Blaze said through a mouthful of eggs,
“Sam’s trying to talk.”
“Is he
alright?” the priest looked down with concern.Hopping up on the table, his
feline motor rumbling loudly, Sam meowed plaintively at the woman who would be
his wife, rubbing his furry head on her chin as she tilted her head, then
hissing when she place him gently back on the floor.
“It’s useless,” he told his friends. “Without a
computer screen or other communication device, Alice is dense. She doesn’t have a clue!” “The woman’s
stupid!” spat Wanda. “She’s a scatter-brained twit!”“Don’t blame Alice,” Irma
sighed, looking down at the tray. “This is difficult for someone who hates
cats.”“Irma, sweet Irma,” Sam thought, still bristling at Alice’s response.
“Alice treated you with contempt when you were human--so did I, and yet you defend her
indifference. In our case,
indifference is worse.”“Indifference sucks!” echoed Drew.“Perhaps,” shrugged
Irma, looking up at table, “but Alice is fragile. Her situation grows impossible. Any moment, I fear she might break.” “Impossible?” Neva
joined the discussion. “Look at us, Irma.
We’re cats. Now that’s impossible,
and it hasn’t broken us!” “Alice,” Drew summed up her problem, “must put
away her fundamentalist Christian logic and get with the program. She must overcome her hatred of
cats.” Elijah’s sudden gesture of
affection toward Irma sharply contrasted Alice’s mood. “There’s my kitty,” he
murmured, grabbing her up into his arms. “Let’s give you a proper meal!”Drew,
Neva, and Wanda now took the cue.
Elijah realized that Irma wanted her own plate. Unfortunately, Irma noted with
irritation, he still treated her like a cat. For several moments, as she nibbled a strip of bacon and
munched on a fresh mound of eggs, he scratched her head and ran his fingers
down her bristling back. Thanks to
his spontaneous gesture, both the sorcerer and priest followed suit, providing
the remaining cats with their own plates.“They love cats,” she transmitted to
the others. “They might scratch our heads and tickle our bellies but they know
we’re humans underneath. . . Someday Alice will love us too.” “I hope your right,” Sam looked into
Irma’s blue eyes. As the humans wolfed down their breakfasts, Alice sat at the
table pecking at her food, glancing back and forth quizzically at Irma on the
table and the cats dining on the floor.
Irma, who had been finishing up the last of her eggs, looked down at Sam
that moment and gave him a wink.
Sam attempted this gesture but wound up blinking both eyes. The action, which seemed natural to her
friends, would have impressed the humans greatly had they all not drifted back
into their thoughts. Today, they
were all going to search for a super witch in order to undo another witches
spell. Even the hardened and
worldly priest found this difficult to digest.
******
To expedite their search, Mortimer suggested, as
they exited Sam’s apartment, that they take two cars, but the preacher
vigorously disagreed. He was, he
argued, the only one of the four who knew that part of town, so it was
senseless to break up the group.
Because his own vehicle was parked in front of Blaze O’Dare’s apartment,
Alice would be forced to use her own car.
Blaze’s station wagon would have to follow her tiny automobile through
the worst part of town. It was much
safer to stay in one vehicle, he convinced him. For this part of the enterprise, at least, it would also be
better if he drove. Skid Row had
been Elijah’s old stomping ground, he reminded the priest; his knowledge of it
would make it easier for them to find the witch. With this settled, Elijah, for a brief spell, was in the
driver seat, Blaze quite happy to turn over the steering wheel, while he and
the priest chatted in back. While
the preacher navigated the station wagon, Alice sat in the front seat alongside
of him, nervously biting her nails.
United in their misgivings now, Elijah and Alice remained silent as the
two men conversed.The sorcerer and priest agreed that Madelyn probably
retreated into Skid Row to practice her black art. Where else would a witch, who was penniless, go? To gather information, nearby Pershing
Square was an open forum for every sort of eccentric imaginable, so the team
began searching this location first.
Several informants admitted to seeing a strange-looking woman, whom they
thought was a witch. Not one
person, however, knew her whereabouts or even her name. Madelyn had evidently been secretive
about her profession. She had been
like a phantom, coming out in daylight just long enough to titillate their
imaginations before disappearing into the shadows at night. Madelyn’s sister
had suggested they begin at Pershing Square and search for her on the streets, but this included a vast area
of Los Angeles, inhabited by thousands of homeless people living on Skid
Row. The task, with these limited
coordinates, was staggering.
Finally, under the statue of a bygone general, they got their second
clue to Madelyn's whereabouts.
It had been a long morning.
An old lady, in a large
straw hat, sitting with all her earthly belongings beneath a large sycamore
tree was the sixteenth homeless person approached that day. The Spell Reversal Team had been
discussing the prospects of trying another sector of town. Perhaps, suggested Mortimer, they
should have started directly on Skid Row.
Everyone, even the sorcerer, dreaded this inevitability. The preacher reached out to steady
Alice as the young woman grew faint.
As they bent down to check if the seventeenth informant was awake, the
old woman raised her straw hat, exposing a wrinkled, sun-blotched face. A loud belch escaped her toothless
mouth. A crooked smile played on
her withered lips. When asked
promptly by the sorcerer if she had seen a strange looking woman who claimed to
be a witch, she gave that familiar cackle of old crones and pointed to the
street. The woman’s gnarled
finger, he noted with a shudder, was pointing due east: the direction of skid
row. “Lillian was right,” he looked around the group.
“Yep.
. . I remember ol’ Maddy,” she was
muttering, raising a paper sack up to her mouth. “. . . . You know, that woman
thinks she’s a witch. Offered to
teach me witchcraft, she did, but I didn’t believe her. No sir! Fact is she scared me.
I never wanna go back there again!” “Where?”
Blaze lurched forward excitedly. “Tell us where!”. “Lemme see,” the old woman looked up
quizzically, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “. . . . Lord that woman was ugly. I don’t like thinking about her. Gives me the creeps!” “Please
ma’am,” Mortimer leaned down and handed her a five dollar bill, “it’s important
that we find her soon!” “Say,”
she cackled again, “you don’t believe she’s a witch, do you? Ain’t no such thing as a witch!” “The directions ma’am,”
Blaze prodded, handing her another five. “Please clear your mind and tell us
where Madelyn Fontaine resides.” “Resides? Hah, there’s a pretty word!” she
cackled to herself. The
woman, who took a long swig from the bottle hidden in her paper sack, now
looked vacantly at the ground as if trying to gather her thoughts. “This
is not very encouraging,” Alice mumbled, looking around the park. “Doesn’t anyone
know where Madelyn is.” Elijah
frowned with disapproval at his friend. “Waitaminud,”
the woman’s voice slurred greatly now, “. . . . I ‘member. . . . Maddy iz
living in a ol’ abandon warehoush.” “But
where?” Blaze asked impatiently. “Can you pinpoint where it’s at.” “She
couldn’t pinpoint her shoes,” Alice grumbled under her breath.
Elijah, giving
Alice a pat, stepped forward now. “Madam,” he called out severely, “the Lord
loves you, I’m sure you’ve fallen on hard times, but we need to find this
woman. How far down that street? Do you know the address?”
The
old woman sat there in the dress and coat in which she walked had out of the
world, a picture of physical decay.
For a moment she attempted to draw from her wine-damaged brain the
location where Madelyn could be found, but then her head jerked up and she
looked passed the priest and sorcerer at Alice, who stood impatiently by
Elijah’s side. “Valerie,”
she called in a clear, unfaltering voice, “is that you?” “Let’s get out of here,” Alice shivered, as
the crone pointed her way. The
foursome began to retreat to the station wagon, as the woman rose up on her
shaky legs and called out the bygone name: “Valerie! Valerie!” “Please Miss Wagnall, where’s your Christian
charity?” whispered Elijah, squeezing her trembling hand. “Yes, he’s right, ” Mortimer
scolded, glancing back with disdain. “Where’s that’s faith you flaunt at Blaze
and I? You’re behaving deplorably
this morning, Miss Wagnall.
Where’s your faith.” “How
dare he, a heretic priest, lecture me,” Alice gave Elijah a wounded look. “I
shudder at the prospects ahead, not that poor wretch.” “Then why are you here?” the priest asked, a frown
breaking his stony face. “The
question is,” Alice shot back angrily, her hands on her hips, “‘why are you here?’ You, who claim to be a wizard
priest, must now consort with a witch!” At
that point, Mortimer and Elijah exchanged worried looks. The sorcerer looked back with scowl. For Alice Wagnall, the events since Sunday evening had take
their toll. “Well,
I think we have enough information,” Blaze said motioning them on. “All we have
to do now is look for an old warehouse on this street.” The priest looked at him
in disbelief. The old woman
appeared to be following them in a drunken stupor. Long ago she had lost a daughter, sister or friend named
Valerie and turned to drink. At
least this is what Elijah was thinking as he walked with the others toward the
car.
As they slid into the automobile, Elijah looked once
more across the lawn at the old woman beneath the sycamore tree, searching his
mind for a prayer. For a moment,
as stood there next to the station wagon, his elbows resting on its roof, he sensed dissension inside the car. Though it was quiet inside the vehicle,
he could almost hear their thoughts.
The sorcerer, who had his own personal agenda, was thinking get this
show on the road! Yet
everyone else, including himself, were torn by doubts. On the one hand, they wanted this
distasteful business of consorting with a witch to come to an end. On the other hand, they would do
practically anything to save the bewitched cats. The last thirty-six hours had been an incredible experience
for Elijah Gray. In spite of the
uncertainties, he remained excited.
A new, unexpected, purpose illuminated his life. “Lord,” he mumbled, “watch over this
woman, who’s name I don’t know. . . . Keep her physically safe but protect her
from the dark forces of skid row. . . .”As he prayed, the old woman raised her
straw hat suddenly, gave him a salute, and called out through cupped hands: “I
remember now. . . . Bracken Brother’s warehouse. . . . That’s where Madelyn
Fontaine is!”“God’s blessing and grace upon you,” Elijah shouted back, ducking
into the car. “I’ve heard of that place,” he said light-headedly. “I passed it,
myself, when I was on the street.
We’ve almost pinpointed the location of Madelyn Fontaine!” “At last,” the priest’s
gravelly voice chimed, “from a burnt out drunk, comes the truth!”
“The
Lord is with us,” Blaze replied dubiously. “He
maketh us walk in green pastures,” Alice added with a frown. Elijah Gray, who
had once been a burnt out drunk, himself, looked back thoughtfully at the
priest. As he pulled from the
curb, he glanced back with a smile at Blaze O’Dare too, patted Alice’s hand
and, feeling a rush of Christian love, offered them all a prayer.
“Lord,” his voice rose steadily, “guide our
footsteps and protect us from the unknown. We move as sleepwalkers on unhallowed ground. Remind us often that it’s your will,
not fate, magic or chance, running the world. Keep our spirits up but our pride low. Make us wise, help us to be brave, yet
remove the vanity of enterprise making this an adventure instead of a mission
to save our friends.”
******
Everyone,
including Blaze O’Dare, was stirred by his prayer. Nevertheless, the rebuke cast upon the sorcerer was clearly
understood. It was Blaze who
discovered Madelyn Fontaine, the witch.
Elijah gave him begrudging admiration for this. For good or evil, his ambition drove them on. Unlike the others, however, Blaze’s
motives were suspect, and his intentions seemed all too clear. The excitement was now obvious on his
bearded face. After meeting five
enchanted cats, they were going to meet a super witch. Today they would take another romp into
the occult--a leap into the unknown.
Looking out of the station wagon’s dirty windows,
the Spell Reversal Team, buoyed by Blaze’s enthusiasm, continued its
search. The preacher told them
exactly what to look for on the street.
The Bracken Brothers Warehouse was a distinct landmark on Skid Row. There was no mistaking its early
nineteenth masonry and facade. It
was over a hundred years old, yet you could still read its sign. It was Blaze, following Elijah’s
description, who recognized the architecture at once and the faded
lettering, Bracken
Brothers, Inc, on a brick wall.
Pointing his finger excitedly, he shouted “There it is, I found it--the Bracken Brother
sign!” The priest nodded grimly.
Elijah sighed. “Oh Lord,”
Alice groaned.Alice closed her eyes in prayer, while the priest fingered rosary
beads he had been carrying in his coat.
Though worn and fading, a second sign loomed unmistakably over a
dilapidated door. After finding
curb space on the sinister-looking street, Elijah parked the station wagon, his
face pale with fear. Blaze, of
course, was ecstatic, bouncing up and down like a toddler in his seat. They were about to enter Madelyn
Fontaine’s haunt. It was, in fact,
in his thinking, like finding the Holy Grail . Elijah, like Alice and the priest, was visibly
frightened. With wide unblinking
eyes, they tried preparing themselves for the unknown. The sorcerer seemed to be chanting a
mantra. The priest, as Alice,
prayed. This time, to maintain a
manly air, Elijah thought about the poor old drunk, wondering what would drive
a woman onto the street. Had it
really been the loss of Valerie?
Or had it simply been alcohol that transformed her life. Perhaps Valerie was still alive
somewhere and was looking for the old woman too. . . . Perhaps, his mind shifted
back to the present, Madelyn, the witch, was but an urban legend, and their
search for the warehouse was be leading them to a dead end.
The
foursome approached the dilapidated looking building. Its ancient sign was barely visible and its doorway was
boarded up as were the windows facing the street. Obviously the large delivery entrance was in the alley or in
back of the building, on another street, but the priest found the sidewalk
entry way breeched. The boards
across the front of the door had been pulled loose and were attached only to
the hinge side of the doorway. The
door, itself, had been broken open and was easily pulled open at the first tug. “Dear God,” mumbled Mortimer,
whistling under his breath, “every vagabond in town could be lying in wait!” “We need a flashlight,” Alice
said with a shiver. “Hold
fast at the entrance,” Blaze said, motioning to his car. “Let me get my
lantern. It'll light this place
up!” As they
lingered at the doorway, Elijah remarked that he had passed this spot several
times when he was on the street but had not dreamed of going in. Alice was visibly shaken as the priest
gave an exorcist prayer to chase free-floating demons from the scene. “Do you really think
that’s necessary?” she asked, as she watched him make the sign of the cross and
kiss the crucifix around his neck. “I
have it!” Blaze called, trotting up with the lamp. “This will shine away any
spooks!” “Here
let me hold it. I should proceed
first,” the priest insisted, taking the lantern firmly in his fist. “With me in
the forefront, you’lll be protected against free-floating spirits. It might be a good idea if Miss Wagnall
goes back to the car.” “Father
Hildebrand,” Blaze snapped irritably, “this is a witches haunt. Don't you think a sorcerer should be the
first to confront a practitioner in the occult?” “Ah hah,” Alice whispered to Elijah, “he admits it!” “You are
under a misconception sorcerer if you think that you’re protected from someone
like Madelyn Fontaine,” Mortimer looked back with disgust. “On the other hand,
if it's true that she could not profit by her magic, she might very well be
serving my god.” “Your god?” Blaze snorted. “How very
arrogant, Mister Hildebrand.” “It's
nonsense,” Elijah made a face, “a contradiction in terms. A witch or sorcerer can’t serve
God. Do you really believe,
Mortimer, that God will work with such a woman? Our only hope is through prayer!” “Then, my dear
preacher,” the priest called back, raising his light, “by all means pray!” “Blessed is the man that walketh
not in the counsel of the ungodly,” Elijah began mumbling under his breath.
“For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous, and the way of the ungodly
shall perish. . . .” Swinging
the lantern to and fro as he would an incense burner during Mass, Mortimer shouted
“Spirits depart! We come in the
name of the most high, Jesus, who is God, Lord of Lords, three-in-one, Christ
the Redeemer and Savior of mankind!” “Father,
shut up!” cried Blaze, yanking on his coat. “If anyone's in here, you're
certain to scare them away. They
don't care if you're a priest.
They might even waylay us if your the best defense we've got!” Across the concrete floor of a
warehouse that once housed produce for the city's early markets, the lamp
highlighted piles of trash, human excreta and rats, who skittered from the glow
into the shadows beyond. There
was, to their amazement, apparently no one else in the empty warehouse, at
least not until they had walked into the middle of the large room and were able
to detect light coming from a distant room. “What
is that?” Alice asked in a constricted voice. “What
is what?” the priest squinted into
the shadows. “All I see is darkness.
I don't understand why this warehouse is so empty. Obviously this place has been used as a
dwelling for street people for quite some time.” “There, I see it too,”
Blaze pointed, “over there in the corner--a light in that room!” “The Lord is my shepherd I shall
not want. . . . “ Elijah murmured, touching the wooden cross around his neck.
******
The
priest led them all to the far corner of the room. They could see an indistinct silhouette now in the glass
windows of an early twentieth century warehouse office. Miraculously, after all these years,
the glass was unbroken. Old Gothic
lettering on the glass, Dispatch Office, was still quite distinct,
but someone had also painted in crude black letters below the department
title: Madelyn
Fontaine’s Place - Keep Out! “My-my, how
prosaic,” Blaze giggled hysterically to himself. “Should we knock or something,”
Elijah reached hesitantly for the door. “I
shall call her name first,” the priest announced shakily, pulling out his
rosary beads and crossing himself with his free hand. “All of you stand
back. Sorcerer hold the lantern. Preacher, give me a special
prayer. I've never approached a
witch this way.” “And
what special prayer would that be?” the preacher frowned. “Madelyn
Fontaine! It is I, Father
Hildebrand, a Roman Catholic priest.
Please open your door!” Mortimer finally called.
The priest followed up his call with a faint knock
on her door. The door creaked open
finally, and a grotesque parody of a witch stuck her warty, misshapen head out
of the door, exposing toothless dark gums. Though smiling slyly, Madelyn’s first words were hostile:
“What do you want ? Can’t you
read? The sign says ‘Keep
Out!’ That means you!”
As they backed
away from the office, terror gripped the group. Madelyn’s mere presence had left an impact on them. Now they had been rebuked by a witch. She accused them of being trespassers,
yet cackled with glee as they regrouped on the warehouse floor. It seemed plain that she was making
sport of them as she crooked a gnarled finger, inviting them back to her a
small, evil smelling room. This
behavior, which seemed like trickery, gave them no comfort. Was this an example eccentric
behavior? What did Madelyn have up
her sleeve? The door creaked open
further and further, the face falling back into shadows as the outline of a
short, stocky, hunchbacked middle-aged woman stood silhouetted in the
light. Taking the lamp from the
sorcerer’s trembling hands, the priest led the way. Alice clung to the preacher’s coat tails as they walked
slowly back to the witch.
Considering her commitment in a mental hospital, Elijah wondered if
Madelyn had, in fact, been insane: a deranged hermit, perhaps psychotic, living
an urban legend on Skid Row.
Blaze, however, like Alice, was fully convinced Madelyn was a witch. This was not merely a haunt as he
thought earlier; it was her inner sanctum: the abode of a powerful witch.
No longer tongue-tied or dazed, the priest removed
the crucifix from his neck, wondering, himself, if they had not walked into a
trap. Holding up Christ’s effigy,
he tried unsuccessfully to pray, noting in the lamplight that she had one blind
eye. The crone had been right, he
thought with a shudder, Madelyn was horribly ugly. It was no wonder that her sister Lillian tried to cash in on
her face.
“Do
you worship Satan?” he found his voice at last. “If this be false, kiss the
cross held up to your lips!” “It’s
like looking at the Gorgon!” gasped the sorcerer.
Alice ejaculated with wide, unblinking eyes: “Thou
shalt not suffer a witch! There
shall not be found among you anyone that maketh his son or daughter a
witch. I shall cut off witchcraft
from thine hand….”As she quoted passages from the books of Exodus, Deuteronomy,
Micah, Samuel, and Acts, Elijah began quoting from the Psalms: “Preserve me, O
Lord: for in thee do I put my trust… Save me, God; for the waters are come in
unto my soul. . . ” Everyone in
the room shuddered as the woman bent further and further toward the crucifix,
certain that her mouth would be branded by the act. Blaze made a sign to ward off the evil eye, following this
blasphemy with a Catholic prayer: “Holy Mary blessed art thou among women. Blessed be the fruit of your womb
in Jesus Christ…”
The priest was so exited now, as her
lips made contact, he almost dropped the cross. “She did it!” he cried. “She kissed the crucifix! In spite of herself, she’s a child of
God.” “Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto,” he made he sign of the
cross. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.”
“Come
in, don’t be shy,” she croaked, her good eye looking squarely at the
priest. The other eye looked off,
as would a chameleon, at the sorcerer, now frozen statue-like in his tracks.
“No, no, it was the evil eye,” he mumbled, holding forked fingers up to the
witch. “It's a witches’ trick, I tell you. This may be a trap!”
“Get
a hold of yourself man!” the priest snapped, prodding him to enter ahead of him
into the room. (The truth was, of
course, he had thought the same thing, himself.) The
foursome filed slowly into her inner sanctum, their eyes wide with fear.
“I’ll wait out here,” Alice said, moving to the end
of the line.
“Don't
be afraid,” Elijah took her trembling hand. “This woman kissed the cross.” “How perfectly ducky,” she murmured
hysterically, “a witch kissing the cross of a heretic priest. That gives me no comfort Elijah. Blaze could be right. This
could be a trap!”
Madelyn Fontaine visitors reminded her of children
entering a haunted house. She
seemed to be enjoying this immensely as they crowded into the room. In spite of the priest’s actions, they
still had misgivings about Madelyn.
No one expected such an ugly witch. Everything they dreaded in this encounter had come
true. Not only did Madelyn have
the look and the sound of a bon a fide witch, there was an aura in her haunt
that spoke of spells and incantations and an evil smell that no detergent or
air freshener could wipe clean.
After only a few moments, however, as the shock wore off and they
studied the room, Madelyn’s visitors realized they had nothing to fearThe witch
now shut the door. Mortimer sat
the lamp down on a table near the entrance, backing away slowly with baited breath. The light, added to the candles
burning, highlighted objects that had been in the shadows in the filthy room,
causing them all to shudder with horror at the jars of bats’ wings, dried
toads, and general pharmacopoeia lining the walls. Tables sat cluttered with pots and more jars. A huge unfurled banner illustrated the
cosmos in astrological terms and there were also countless rows and piles of
occult paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling in baskets and lying on the
floor.
In
stark contrast to all this sorcery, there hung on a relatively barren wall near
the corner of the room a crucifix.
Below the cross, there was a Scriptural quotation from First
Corinthians, from the same chapter quoted to Buck Logan by Sam Burns:
For
now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known.
“Don’t
these things cancel out each other?” Blaze asked, marveling at the conflicts in
the room. “Highly
inappropriate,” Elijah grumbled under his breath. “The Lord can’t abide in this
room.” “The Lord and I are
allies,” Madelyn said, motioning for the frightened Alice to sit down in the
room's only chair. “Here my sweety, you look affright. Don't mind the mess. What's that old saying? You can't judge a book by its cover? He-he-he!” “I must tell you why we're here,” the priest said,
trying to focus on her one good eye. “This is difficult for me. . . . for all
us, in fact. But you may be our
only hope.” “Sweet Mother of Jesus!” he murmured to himself, as he tried not to
stair at her eye. “You
require a reversal, eh?” she replied with a cackle. “You want old Madelyn to
change some poor soul back into human form, eh? Now why would old Madelyn want to help you, eh? . . . .
He-he-he!” “There
isn't merely one person. There
might be as many as eleven people,” the priest sighed. “Many of them are
located in this woman's fiancé’s house.” “Eleven
people? Not one, not two or
three. Eleven you say?” the old
woman's toothless mouth dropped. “What kind of witch is this? Eleven people indeed!” “Yes,
eleven bewitched humans--my fiancé too!” Alice nodded in the background now. “Eleven young adults,” the priest pressed
forward bravely. “Can you help us Madelyn Fontaine?” “I can. I can
indeed. But I can't get a farthing
for it,” she complained, looking this way and that with both eyes, reminding
Blaze O'Dare once again of a chameleon lizard as she looked around the room. “What happened to you?” the sorcerer
asked bluntly, looking over the priest's shoulder at the witch. “You mean the eye?” she pointed, looking past
the priest. “Or the teeth; there ain't
none! He-he-he!” “No, not the eye. Nor the teeth.
The woman,” Blaze came forward
now. “You are a witch in league with the Christian God. That’s very strange.” “Aye, I wasn't always a witch,” she said,
studying him with her good eye. “Was once a nun, I was, and I never stopped
believing in God.” “Don't look at
me that way missy,” she smiled at Alice. “Promised God, I did, if he gave me
one more chance, I'd give it all up and return to the fold. But I can't seem to break with my past
completely. As you can see this
room is a mixture of two worlds that, believe me, don't mix. Like oil and water. And yet I discovered, to my surprise,
that there really is such a thing as white magic. It requires one strong ingredient that makes it more
powerful than black: God. This
means, of course, I can no longer profit from my magic as I once did, and I
can’t do it on my own. I asked God
to cure my arthritis and psoriasis, I did, but He wouldn’t heal me. I can’t use me magic for profit, self-healing
or even to feed my face!”
Madelyn’s
good eye roamed restlessly around the group. The room grew eerily quiet as she paused. In spite of her croaking voice, she had, with a faint English accent,
articulated clearly. She was not
insane. Although her appearance
had seemed repulsive, the group felt much better about Madelyn Fontaine. She was once a nun, who still worshiped
God. She could not, as Lillian
told them, profit by her art, which meant she used it unselfishly to help
people. . . and cats.
“. . . . Aye, I’m telling you, He’s a hard God!” she
continued with sigh. “What He will do
--and
nothing more--is give me back my soul.
I must, in a sense, as a bleeding penitent, earn my salvation. Each time I go against a powerful black
witch to undo her spell, I am risking my mortal life but insuring my
salvation. Frankly, I'm tired and
worn out by my work, but I'm not afraid to die--not anymore. You must realize, of course, that any
witch capable of turning that many people into cats is quite dangerous, even to
me.” “She's. . . . in a coma,” the
sorcerer replied hesitantly. “She can't be threat to anyone now!” “Whoa!” Madelyn hooted, stomping
her foot. “She's no threat. No
sireee. Now how in Creation do you
expect Madelyn to deal with a such witch?
She must be awake! Awake
you fools! What kind of sorcerer
are you that you don't know that?” “Not
a very good one I suppose,” he replied humbly, looking at the floor. “All I
want to do is help. That's why we
turned to you.” “Will,”
she gave him a sly smile, “you did right, you did. Madelyn's probably the only witch on earth who would attempt
such a feat.” “But you didn't turn to Madelyn first did you, eh?” she cackled
softly, looking back at the priest.
“Got yourselves an exorcist--a demon chaser . He ain't no help sonny. He needs'em awake, so he can talk to them. For him they must be aware of the
ordeal.” “I've had successes before,”
Mortimer said with slight indignation. “A priest is merely an intermediary
between God and man. I am a wizard
priest who reverses spells!” “Pshaw!”
Madelyn snarled. “How
can you do it differently if you still require God?” Blaze asked with a
frown. “Listen
sorcerer, Jehovah is the greatest magician of them all!” she wagged a gnarled
finger at him. “To harness him simply requires a different approach, requiring
prayer. I can pray up a storm when
I'm in the mood. The trouble is I
can no longer call on the Great Mother Lilith or her minions for help. That’s taboo. I’ve been forbidden to do that!” “Whose Lilith?” Alice whispered to the preacher. “Lilith is a legend,”
explained Elijah, “nothing more.” “Lilith
was once an angel who fell from grace,” Madelyn quickly corrected him. “Many of
my sources of power were once angels, who’re working there way back to
God. The forces of white magic are
that in-between never-never world of good and evil. What do you think pixies, fairies, and elves are? There is power in both worlds. I’m not suppose to play with both sides
any longer, and yet that’s exactly what I must do one last time.” “You’ll risk your
immortal soul?” asked Alice, her expression changing to awe. “Perhaps,” Madelyn shrugged. “I did
this one time long ago on a woman, who had a similar problem than your
witch. She too was unconscious and
dying. Priests can’t exorcise
unconscious patients, so one of the witch’s friends called on me. It took a whole mess of work to undo
that spell. Now, in addition to
everything else, I’m confronted with multiple spell reversals. Do you have any idea how complicated
this might turn out to be?” “Will
you be needing Lilith?” the priest looked at her dubiously. “Father Hildebrand I need certain
things. I shall know more what I
need when I enter her room. Do you
know how difficult it might be just to get into her hospital room? That will require magic in itself.” “There are too many contradictions here,”
Elijah grumbled stubbornly. “On the one hand you say that you work with both
magic and God and sometimes have to rely on both worlds. I don't believe you can have both
worlds Miss Fontaine. Faith in the
Holy Scriptures can’t work side by side with evil. There is no halfway zone were problems can be solved!” “Get
with the program preacher,” snarled the sorcerer. “You're much too
narrow-minded and too dogmatic about this. What have you learned after meeting a telepathic cat and a
card-carrying witch? Nothing is as
it seems. Life is not black and
white as you think the Bible says.
We live in mystery and chance.
Where did Adam’s sons get their wives if they were the only young people
on earth? How did Noah's offspring
not become a bunch of inbred mutants without a little outside blood. How
do you explain so many folks seeing little green men from other planets or
Leprechauns and elves? And what
about ghost sightings? Are they
not between two worlds--between good and evil and dark and light? God is another name for magic. God is the ultimate witch!” “Nonsense!”
The priest shook his head. “We know nothing about God except through the
Son. God is unknowable. Miracles, not magic, are the issue,
requiring the presence of the Holy Ghost.” “This
time, priest, you’re wrong,” the sorcerer said, folding his arms. “Madelyn just
told you that she needs both worlds.
I’d bargain with the devil to help those cats!” With this blasphemy uttered, Blaze lifted
the lamp, motioning with his head to the door. “Shall we depart!”
Alice
looked at Blaze as if he were Lucifer, himself, but Elijah was not
surprised. What amazed him now was
the fact that Madelyn would risk her soul to accomplish this feat. “Now
tell us,” said the priest, ignoring the preacher’s disdain, “exactly what you
need to accomplish the task.” “He-he-he,”
Madelyn cackled, “a task, you call it.
A task indeed! You’re
asking Madelyn to risk her life and immortal soul. I think there’s a far greater word for it than that!” “You
deserve some sort of payment,” replied the sorcerer. “I’m sure we can at least get you a room and
buy you a fine lunch,” the priest declared. Reaching
down and grabbing a valise that looked very much like a doctor’s black bag,
Madelyn explained as the group exited the dispatch office, “I can take no money
nor food, not so much as a Big Mack for my services. Why do you think I’ve been living on the street?”
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