Hecata’s Horoscope

You know, it's not fun. Forget about finding peace and enjoying angels' company. The company I have now is mainly stupid insects, mice, and one grumpy mole.

The weather here is shit. Mostly dump. Always cold. I'm chilled to the bone. Not that this is hard to achieve now, given that bones are basically all I have. Bones and a patch of skin here and there.  Frankly, I wouldn't mind some fire. Hellfire would do, but there's no more truth in the tales about hellfire than in the tales about angels.

So, here I am, minding my own business, listening to the old mole grunting when the most pleasant sound of a young woman’s voice comes out of nowhere above my headstone, "For devil's sake! Where is it?! I freaking need it!". Well, I mean, the voice got that – spark, you know? Enough to make a guy think of things. So, it’s pleasant, yes. I didn't promise anything about the words it said.

I had friends. We shared fun and grief, adventures and failures, and buried friends lost to the accidents and the routine of daily life. At the funerals, we used to say a lot of nice words. We said we'd remember them forever. I also did. Afterwards, we rarely found time to come to their graves. Me too. Now, those who are still up there do not visit me.

So, I am glad to hear her voice, no matter what filth it is uttering. It sounds like a Christmas bell or an angel’s song – oh, darn it, no! I lost my flesh, but I still didn’t get rid of stupid cliches! Her voice is nice, ok? That’s it.

Then I feel the ground around me crumbling, moving. And then… A heat so strong that my dump bones get hot in seconds. Wow, nice! Thank God – if you do exist, old chap, unlike angels and devils – for once my wish has come true! The next second, the heat gets outright searing, and I suddenly remember that thing about being careful what you wish for. I swear, I am about seconds away from turning into fumes and evaporating when it all comes to a stop – and I open my eyes.

The ugly thing that looks at me is hardly a person.  Just my luck - for once a sentient creature by my grave – and it has to be – that. Meanwhile “that” continues digging and, inevitably, stumbles upon me.

“Hecata’s Horoscope!” it spits out in this charming, lovely voice. “What are you doing here?”

One – these weird words, Hecata’s Horoscope, ring a bell in my head. Yes, I know. Technically, I don’t have a proper head, but the bell rings. Where and when did I hear these weird words?

Two - she’s not just ugly, she’s stupid. What does she mean, what are you doing here? What does a corpse do at a graveyard?

“Ha! You look a tad too fresh for a corpse. Don’t mess with me.”

Hold on a sec. How come she knows what I am thinking? Have I just said it out loud? How?!

The old bat jabs me with her staff so hard that I almost jump.

“Hey, easy! It hurts!” I rub my hurting shoulder… And then…

I have a shoulder. It can feel pain. I have a hand to rub it. I have a voice to chastise. I bring my hands up.  Dirty with mud, thin and twisted, but I can see them. Not just bones. Proper hands, fingers, nails and all. Covered with skin.  And mud. I pat myself on the chest, stomach, thighs… I have it all. I have a body! My head goes spinning. I take a deep breath, and oxygen fills my lungs like boiling lava – and it does it to me: I faint.

Do you have any idea what a bliss it is to faint after an eternity of being dead? Well, most likely you won’t ever have a chance to try, so just take my word for it: it’s cosmic.

My cosmic bliss, however, is interrupted quite unceremoniously. “Hey, wake up, you!” an angelic voice sing-songs and then a calloused hand of the witch slaps me on both cheeks. Bugger!

“Ok, ok, I’m back,” I grunt. “What do you want here?”

“Where’s the vial?”

“What vial?”

“Seriously? The elixir!”

Oops. She’s nuts.

“Ah,” I try. “Elixir. Of course.”

“Of course,” she mimics. “So, where is it?”

“No, I don’t know,” I say in a slightly shaking voice. “It was nice meeting you and all, but I really must run now. Have a nice… er… morning, I suppose.” I make a step from the ex-my grave, but the witch catches me with the handle of her staff.

“Oh, no, love,” she hisses and sniffs the air. “I suppose you’re not going anywhere. You stay here and tell me why the hell you stink like a freaking worm’s snack and what the hell you did with my Borrowed Life elixir!”

Bugger, I need to buy myself some time. “Did you drop it here?”

“None of your bizwax!”

Oh. My. God. Oh, my freaking God, if you are out there! “None of your bixwax, Hecata’s Horoscope”… The words ring in my newly restored head, and things start to come together.

I don’t feel stale graveyard air on my face anymore. Instead, a whiff of a light breeze brings the smell of seaweed and salty water. I remember my much younger self years ago, at the beach café in a small city in Italy. I was sitting there waiting for my wife-to-be, back then a girlfriend. Suddenly, a goddess, or a nymph, no less, came out of nowhere... For some unfathomable reason, she came straight up to my table. “I’m Lilach,” she said. “Come.”

Her dark eyes smiled when she kissed me. Her long, curly hair felt on my skin like a touch of an angel. Or a devil. Back then, I was sure both existed.  I thought I could die with her or for her; she just had to say.

 We loved each other, dozed off, woke up, ate fruits... A few times, I thought I was seeing a glow around her. Like a pulsing rainbow.

That morning, I woke up well-rested and happy.  She was frowning at a piece of paper in her hand.

 “Hecata’s Horoscope!” She cursed under her breath.

She headed to the door, and from the pain in my chest, I knew she was leaving.

“Lilach! Wait, what is it?” I whispered. I wanted to yell, but my voice left me.

She turned to me. “Oh. You’re awake.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you!”

She shrugged, “Sure.”

We walked out to a small alley. I felt chills dancing on my spine. “Lilach, why did we have to go?  What is it?”

She smiled playfully, but her eyes were bitter. “None of your bizwax, love.” She pulled me into a hug and kissed me. The kiss was hot, searing.

The next thing I knew was my wife-to-be hugging me, crying, and murmuring, “Gosh, Edward, where have you been? Thank goodness you’re alive!”

I honestly didn’t know where I had been. I honestly believed the doctors who diagnosed me with an “atypical amnesia”. I believed it to my grave. And in my grave. And up about five minutes after my grave. Until I heard this voice and these very words again. Only one woman, one person could say that.

“Lilach?” I whisper.

“What the hex?!”

“Lilach.”

The ugly creature… No, Lilach! Ok, the ugly version of Lilach freezes for a second. The air turns into a red glow around her head. And then she throws herself on me. “You! You aren’t dead?!”

As much as I’m out of practice in using my body… You know, gyms down there in the afterlife are shitty… So, as much as I am clumsy, I manage to move away and avoid the hug.

You know, it’s fantastic how quickly a man can master his body with the right motivation. I should start a new yoga school or something.

“Er, I’m happy to see you, too…”

Her face darkens. “You bastard!”

Oops. I’d better run if I don’t want her to end my newly regained life.

And I run. Never mind my shaky legs, I run for my life.

I’m racing between the headstones towards the fence, about to jump over it when her staff finally gets me. She pins me to the ground.

I close my eyes, ready to die again. Well, on the plus side, I might make it into the Guinness Book. I’m pretty sure it’s the shortest proper resurrection known. Shame there is nobody around to report it.

And then, her staff is off my back, and I hear her laughing.

“Get up, you little show-off. First of, I am around. And, theoretically, I could report you to the Guinness guys if you asked nicely. Yes, you do babble it out, you funny moron. And second, I need you to help me.  And if you do, I may leave you be.”

I nod hastily. She tilts her head and gives me a thorough look, exactly as she did back in Italy when I was drifting into a happy sleep. This familiar look on this unrecognisable face gives me shivers. I’m sure from the bitter curve of her grin, she senses that.

She pushes me back towards my grave.

“Look for the vial. It must have spilt right above your stupid lucky head when I dropped it, but it must be here.”

So, we look. I sift through every bit of dirt in my fingers. We keep digging. And digging. And digging.

And finally! My fingers close on something smooth and round. The vial.

“Lilach,” I call quietly.

“You found it!”

“I did.”

The way her ugly face lights up is poignant. The energy of my Lilach on the face of… I stop myself, remembering she reads my thoughts. But I can’t stop questioning if she ever was mine.

“Give it to me,” she holds her hand out, palm up. Then mutters, “Men and your possessiveness. I was. For three days. Happy?”

“Not quite.”

“Greedy.”

“No, it’s not that. Can’t you read me?”

She meets my gaze and, suddenly, she goes loose, like a balloon with only half the air left. She whispers, “I can,” and falls silent.

“I have questions, Lilach. What made you leave? Why did you erase my memory? What does this elixir do?”

She keeps looking at me. Silent. Pliant. Not ugly anymore. Just an old woman, worn out from fighting demons I can’t even fathom to imagine.

I stretch my hand with the vial towards her but don’t let go.

“Lilach. Tell me this thing will bring you back.”

She doesn’t make any attempt to snatch the vial from me.

“Lilach!”

“It could.”

Her answer shoots me straight to cloud nine, but halfway there her next words cut me down. “But I won’t do it.”

I crush to the ground. Figuratively speaking. Or literally. My knees buckle.

“Lilach, why?!”

She smiles softly and says in a small voice, “None of your bizwax, love.”

It’s my turn to rage.

“None of my business?! You freaking dragged me out of my grave where I was enjoying…”

“You weren’t.”

“Where I was enjoying eternal rest…”

“And this grumpy old mole.”

“His company was entertaining!”

“Very.”

“Don’t you dare! I was resting in darn peace, whatever this means! You brought me back, you gave me this body! What dumpster did you dig it out of?! You returned my stolen-for-a-lifetime, thank you very much, memory of…” I forced the rest of the thought down into my subconscious – she bloody reads my mind!  “You almost killed me again looking for this elixir, and now it’s not my business?!”

“Nope.”

“Look here! I will smash this thing to bits on my headstone, and then you can jab every shard into my heart, but you will never, ever get it if I don’t get my answers.” I clutch the bloody vial for dear life. She’d have to gnaw my hand off before I let it go.

“Think that again,” she demands.

“You’ll have to gnaw…”

“Not that, Edward. Look at me.”

We stand facing each other, deep in the open grave. An ugly witch and a revived corpse, both covered with dirt and wrinkles. Two creatures who can scare St Paul himself into hiccups. We’re truly a couple of the century.

“Think that again.”

And suddenly, I know what she means. The thought slips into my mind seamlessly, and there is no way I can hold it.

“Memory of the love of my life,” and with that my hand loosens. She takes the vial from me.

We sit on the edge of my grave, talking. Sorcery has been running in her family for generations. None of the gifted was ever happy in love. Their spouses could not stand magic. They went mad, became drug addicts and alcoholics, committed suicide…  Even knowing that, the gifted could not keep celibacy. They had to produce an heir to pass the gift to them. To make things worse, they could only have an heir with someone who loved them and whom they loved back.

When she saw me in Italy, she knew I was her man.

“Lilach, stop here for a second. Are you telling me we have a child?! Whom I never saw?!”

“No, love, we don’t”

We were perfect together, and she was sure, in nine months, I’d get to hold our baby in my arms. Before this relationship would’ve killed me one way or another. But her cycle went awry. She wasn’t pregnant. She thought she got me wrong. She thought I never loved her.

“What was in the note?”

“Mum.”

Her mom wasn’t a witch, her father was. By the age of forty, she started drinking. By the age of fifty, she was an alcoholic. The note said she got into a road accident and only had hours.

“So, you went to say goodbye?”

“No, love. I went to save her.”

Lilach had a vial of borrowed life elixir. Three drops were enough to heal any condition or injury for good. Five drops resurrected the dead. It was concocted by Lilach’s granddad. The trick to keep it fresh was to add the last, crucial element right before using it. Blood.

“How much blood?”

“Just a drop.”

“Well, I suppose, it’s not a big deal.”

“No. Apart from the person giving their blood also gives half of his life. And they must choose to do it.”

“Borrowed life,” I whisper.

“There you are. You’re less of a moron than I thought.”

“You’re unfathomable”

We sit in silence.

“Sweetheart, stop it. You can’t love this,” she points at herself and smiles bitterly. Blasted mind-reader.

“So, you gave your blood to your mom.”

“Yup.”

“And she didn’t die.”

“Nope.”

“And she stopped drinking.”

She hums. “You were doing so well, love. Don’t disappoint me.”

“She didn’t?!”

“Nope.”

The old bitch borrowed Lilach’s life to drown it in whisky?!

“Language! Whatever she did with her life–“

“Your life!”

“Okay, our life. Whatever she did with it she’s still my mom.”

“And still a bitch”

“Well. Yup.”

Some more silence.

“So, you got old early.”

“In a year.”

“Why didn’t you come back?! Stupid, stupid girl! I would–“

“Hush, love. You wouldn’t. I ran out of the elixir.”

“No, you didn’t! You brought it right here tonight! By the way, why did you bring it here?!”

She chuckles, “You should have more trust in me. I brewed a new one. It just took all these years for it to mature.”

“Why come here? Were you looking for me?”

She chuckles again. “I didn’t even know you were here. No. It’s a witch hour. It is one hour a year when you can take life from the dead. If they haven’t fulfilled their destiny. The elixir boils near those graves. You just need to scrape a pinch of dust from their headstone, big enough before the witch hour ends. Add it to the elixir – and you have all the years they didn’t live and all the vitality they haven’t used. The elixir boiled over your grave.”

“I died eighty-two!”

“Hm. Doesn’t end up. And doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Why? Even if the time’s up, you can come back in a year!”

“Look here.” She shows me the vial. “There is only one drop left. I have no idea what one drop would do, but it is not enough. I need three, and it takes sixty years to mature. I simply don’t have time to brew the new one.”

“Bugger.”

“Understatement of a century”

“Write to Guinness guys.”

She hums. We dangle our legs.

“So, the elixir boiled over my headstone.”

“And slipped out of my hand.”

Something tingles in my head. “I died eighty-two. It couldn’t have been years I didn’t live. It means I haven’t fulfilled my destiny.”

We look at each other. She says, “Think that again!”

We scrape my headstone like two crazy cats. We add the dust to the elixir. She pours it into my mouth, and we kiss. Nothing happens.

Well, then. It was a nice try. I need just a tiny second to will my disappointment away, so I close my eyes.

When I open them, I see the curls. Long, silk curls go down onto her shoulders. Her dark eyes widen, she laughs.

I had one more year. Enough to see my son born and hold him next to my chest. She is still young. God knows how this thing works. Looks like a witch can run on the elixir longer. She comes to speak with me twice a year. The day we first met and the day she resurrected me. The rest of the time I enjoy the mole’s grandson’s company.

The new portion of the elixir is almost ready. Hecata’s Horoscope, I can wait another twenty years, can’t I?