Righting the Wrong

The farmer’s market was far from small, but it was nowhere near large enough to conceal a private conversation. Allona shook her head. This was ridiculous.

Why was this the meeting spot?

“To mock you,” Morrissey, her companion rat, whispered from his spot nestled against her neck. He was hidden in the high collar of her shirt, which had them both sweltering in the scorching sun, but he’d insisted on coming along. He couldn’t help directly if trouble started, but he could run into the nearby meadow and get reinforcements.

Yes, Allona agreed. It was just the sort of behavior she expected from a sorcerer.

“Are you sure about this?” Morrissey asked.

She wasn’t, but it was the only way to move forward. No one would expect her to seek out a sorcerer for her dark task. Allona hoped that by the time anyone of importance suspected her goal, it’d be too late for them to intervene. Better yet, if the Goddess was with her, they wouldn’t discover what she’d done until she was out of the state.

“The sorcerer could turn you in.”

That was true, but why would he? The Forgathering hated sorcerers and sorceresses. If he drew their attention, they would arrest him on some charge, whether real or fabricated. He had as much to lose as she did.

“They’re a horrible bunch. Who can say why they do what they do?”

Morrissey was wrong. Everyone knew what fueled those creatures. It was power. That was all they lived for. Sorcerers and sorceresses had no morals. They knew nothing of loyalty or respect. No one was above crushing to get what they wanted.

“Think how he could use you,” Morrissey warned.

Allona rolled her eyes. She was aware of the risk she took today. Her mother may still treat her like she was a level one witch who’d never handled fresh blood for a ritual, but she was far from the timid child she’d been. Morrissey knew that.

Morrissey let out a small, irritated squeak. “I worry. Am I not allowed to?”

I’ll be fine, Allona responded. I know what I’m doing.

Well, that wasn’t entirely the truth. She was going against everything she’d been taught, especially the Threefold Law. Not only was entertaining a vile purveyor of perverse magic welcoming negative energy to come her way, but so was her reason for talking to the sorcerer. The Goddess may never forgive her, may even sever ties with her, but Allona didn’t care.

She had to right this wrong, no matter what the sacrifice was.

“There,” Morrissey said, pointing at the Amish baked goods table with his tail. “That has to be him.”

A lanky man dressed in a pretentious, three-piece purple velvet suit stood before the Amish woman overlooking the table. No one else was dressed nearly as ridiculously as him, nor did anyone have as saturated of an aura as he did. It pulsated a pretty opal color surrounded by a thick gray outline. No normal human would have an aura like that.

Allona gave a subtle nod before she walked over to the Amish woman’s table. As they neared people, Morrissey curled into a tighter ball. The last thing they needed was to start a panic. Again.

“You’re late,” the sorcerer said, not looking away from the Amish woman’s offerings. He ran a finger over a loaf of bread wrapped in decorated parchment. “You swear these are all homemade?” he demanded from the Amish woman.

His body language was casual, but his tone was not. There was an edge to his words, like a wolf preparing to pounce. It wasn’t anger, but barely concealed anticipation. He wanted any excuse to berate and yell.

“Of course, they must be,” Allona said, smiling at the Amish woman. “Nothing at the store ever looks this delicious.”

“Everything was baked fresh yesterday,” the Amish woman said, her nervousness highlighting her accent.

The sorcerer flicked his hawkish gaze to Allona before she laser-focused on the Amish woman once more. “By your own hands?”

“M-my sisters helped. They always do.”

“That’s so sweet,” Allona said, amplifying her cheeriness to an obnoxious level. The Amish woman looked seconds away from crying, and she didn’t deserve that humiliation. “I love when families help with these things. That sort of love seeps right into the food, and it nourishes the soul.”

The Amish woman nodded. A small, grateful smile pulled at her lips, but her worried eyes never left the sorcerer.

The sorcerer frowned. “Fuck, it’s just a loaf of bread.” He grimaced at the food. “It’s certainly not worth the price tag, added ‘love’ or not.”

“I could—”

The sorcerer turned away and started toward the next table. “Don’t lag behind, or I’ll lose interest,” he called over his shoulder.

“That’s a bad man,” the Amish woman whispered.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Morrissey added.

Allona ignored him. “Can you save me three loaves?” she asked the Amish woman. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes to come pick them up.”

The Amish woman never stopped staring at the sorcerer. “Just twenty minutes?”

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to keep it short.”

“I’ll save them for you.”

Allona thanked the Amish woman and hurried after the sorcerer. He’d moved on to another table. This vendor sold trinkets made from old silverware. The sorcerer’s top lip was curled into a snobbish snarl as he examined the vendor’s wares.

“It’s pathetic what these lesser beings consider art worthy of selling.”

“Art is subjective,” Allona said before she could stop herself. What if the sorcerer didn’t like being challenged? Could her one comment chase him off?

The sorcerer chuckled. “That’s just what the untalented tell themselves.”

The man behind the table glared at the sorcerer and appeared moments away from smacking him in the head with his cane. His face had turned a vibrant red. He opened his mouth, but Allona led the sorcerer away before any words were exchanged between him and the vendor.

They lapped the area, not speaking. The sorcerer took his time examining other tables, though he didn’t linger at any of them. He made no more comments toward the vendors, but they all eyed him like he’d personally insulted him. Humans weren’t usually so perceptive, but the sorcerer’s aura was almost its own entity now.

“You’re very obvious,” Allona said after ten minutes of this.

The sorcerer rolled his green eyes, which were so vivid they looked straight from a cartoon. Allona wondered if he enhanced their color for effect or if all sorcerers and sorceresses had strange-colored eyes. Were they born like that? Did it happen once they joined a cabal and became a devotee of that specific god? Was the eye color an indicator of the god they worshipped?

In that moment, it struck Allona how little witches knew about sorcerers and sorceresses. Was it because the Goddess advised them to avoid those who used magic for their perverted gain? Was it because there weren’t many sorcerers and sorceresses, so they weren’t considered a threat?

“Or pride,” Morrissey chimed in.

The sorcerer glared at her. “I thought I told you to come alone.”

Both Allona and Morrissey froze. Unlike witches, sorcerers and sorceresses didn’t gravitate toward one of the six affinities (earth, water, fire, air, animal, and spirit). They didn’t draw their power from an affinity but from the god they served. He didn’t have the animal affinity (Morrissey would have sensed it), so he couldn’t have heard Morrissey. And he couldn’t have performed a spell without Allona having sensed magic work.

“I’m alone,” Allona said.

The sorcerer gestured to her collar. “I’m no fool.”

Morrissey poked his nose out just enough to be seen. “Can I bite him?”

“A rat?” The sorcerer’s face twisted with disgust. “That’s the best you can do for a thrall.”

“Yeah, I’m going to bite him.”

Allona put her hand to Morrissey’s side to calm him. Enough, she told him.

To the sorcerer, she said, “He’s a companion. Witches don’t have thralls.”

The sorcerer smirked. “Shows how much you know.”

Before Allona could ask him to elaborate, the sorcerer pointed to a section of tables and chairs that had been set up away from the vendors. A handful of people were scattered around, talking or eating the ready-to-eat items available. Outside of the meadow, it was the best place for them to have a semi-private conversation.

“Shall we?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for Allona to answer before heading in that direction.

With a sigh, she followed him.

At a free table, the sorcerer sat. He completely ignored Allona as he preened. He looked no different as he finished, and Allona was sure he’d only done it to bother her. Everything about him existed to always annoy someone.

“Oh, stop fidgeting,” the sorcerer finally said after long minutes of silence. “No one is spying on us.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not—are we going to discuss the reason I arranged for this meeting? Or is this all, and I can go?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “Go. Stay. That decision is on you.”

“Are you going to speak with me?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Morrissey shifted. “Just a little nibble. I won’t even draw blood. I’ll just get the message across.”

Allona reached under her collar and petted him under his chin. Maybe, she said. We’ll see how the conversation goes.

Morrissey settled with a huff. Allona scratched his head before returning her full attention to the sorcerer, who’d been studying her the whole time.

“You must smell like rat piss all the time,” he said.

“And if I do?”

The sorcerer shuddered. “You witches are truly a lower class, aren’t you? No better than the humans’ trailer trash.”

Morrissey bristled. “How dare he—”

It’s fine, Allona said.

“It’s rude to have a conversation where someone is excluded,” the sorcerer chided.

“Would you share yours with me if the roles were reversed?”

The sorcerer snorted. “Of course not.”

Allona rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s just get to business.”

“You witches certainly have no sense of humor.”

Allona didn’t rise to the bait. She gave him a blank stare until he muttered under his breath and readjusted in his seat.

“Fine. Why have you arranged this meeting?”

“Can you bring back the dead?”

She hadn’t meant to word it like that, nor just blurt it out. It was like someone else had spoken through her. Had it been the Goddess? Was She in favor of this request? Did She understand the wrong that Allona was trying to right?

“As in necromancy? Aren’t you witches above that?”

Allona shook her head. “No, not necromancy. I just want them back, alive.”

“Violate Death’s order?”

“Yes.”

“Take a soul that a goddess has called home?”

“Well, no…”

The sorcerer cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not a witch you wish to get back to the living plane?”

“No.”

“It is a lover, though?”

“W-why would you assume that?”

“No one would go to this length for a simple friend.”

There was a pause.

“We were engaged,” Allona admitted. “We were supposed to be married this December.”

“What was the lucky Other? A vampire? Werewolf? Goblin?”

“A human.”

Genuine surprise crossed the sorcerer’s face. “Oh, surely you witches haven’t gotten so desperate that you’d sully your bloodlines with that filth.”

The calm Allona had clung to fled her. “Emmy isn’t filth! She’s sweet and wonderful, and she didn’t deserve to die. Not so young, and not the way she did.”

Much too late, Emmy had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Somehow, Allona had missed it. Between planning the wedding, training to be a priestess, and dealing with her overbearing mother, she’d ignored the telltale signs. Emmy had never been one to pay much attention to her health, especially when she was stressed. And she was an ER nurse, so she was always stressed.

Though the cancer was aggressive and nearing stage four, Allona hadn’t been worried. Magic had healed worse for lesser people. If anyone deserved divine intervention, it was someone who put their mental and physical health on the line every day. Emmy was a hero and had done more to better the world in her twenty-seven years than most people did in a lifetime.

But none of Allona’s spells had worked. At first, she’d thought it was her fear of losing Emmy that ruined her spell work, but she hadn’t been trying to stop death, not really. She would have accepted Emmy’s passing if the cancer was too far along to be healed, even with magic, or if Emmy was too tired to fight. Or if Emmy hadn’t wanted to live.

None of that had been what happened. Allona’s mother had sabotaged every spell, charm, and talisman. She’d even gone as far as to make Emmy’s treatments less effective. Because of her mother’s actions, Emmy’s survival rate had gone from forty percent to a measly five percent.

She’d died two weeks ago, four months after getting the diagnosis. At the funeral, Allona’s mother had chastised her daughter for wasting so much energy and money on someone who was ever only going to be a phase. For added measure, her mother had tried setting her up with several single male witches in attendance.

Morrissey licked Allona’s cheek. “Are you okay?”

Allona stroked his fur, wrestling back the aloofness she’d arrived at the farmer’s market with. I’m fine, she answered.

“Can you do what I’m asking?” Allona asked when her anger had fully cooled, and she was back in control of her emotions.

“Of course I can. Death isn’t as final as humans hope it is.”

“I want her back, whole and healthy. She needs to be a hundred percent herself.”

The sorcerer waved away her words. “I know what you’re demanding.”

“Good.”

“Do you know what happens for you afterward?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is illegal. The Forgathering will find out. You’ll be hunted by the Reapers. The only way you’ll successfully hide is by never doing magic again.” His nostrils flared. “Is one human worth a life like that?”

Without hesitation, Allona answered, “Yes.”

“You witches are a strange lot.”

“If he insults you one more time, I’m going to—”

“How would you like to be paid?” Allona asked over Morrissey. “I have a few thousand on me, and I can go to the nearest—”

“I don’t want your money.”

“What?” Morrissey asked.

Allona ignored him. “You don’t want payment?”

The sorcerer laughed. “Yes, I do! I don’t do charity.”

“Then what do you want in exchange?”

The sorcerer pointed at Allona.

“Me?”

“No, you idiot.” He pointed more to the side of Allona. The left side. “That.”

“Th—”

Morrissey.

“Anything else,” Allona pleaded. “My family is rich in more ways than just money. They have artifacts, ancient angelic scrolls. I think I even saw a demonic—”

“No. I want the rat.”

“Please!”

“The rat for your human. Take it or leave it.”

He was serious. This wasn’t him fooling around or trying to get under her skin. The sorcerer would only go through with this if he got Morrissey in return.

Her companion for her fiancée.

Either way, Allona lost. Each option left her heartbroken and never quite satisfied. For as long as she lived, she’d never be complete. She would wake up every day hating herself.

But there was only one path where the hate would be easier to face.

Allona grabbed Morrissey. He fought, but he wasn’t strong enough. He squeaked loud enough to draw attention, but no one dared to glance their way.

“Allona, don’t! You can’t—he’ll h—”

Allona blew softly into Morrissey’s face. His black eyes lost their hyper intelligence, and he no longer spoke to her. His heart’s frantic pace slowed, and his pointed nose twitched with all the surrounding scents he was getting. Morrissey’s argument was long forgotten.

He was nothing more than a pet rat. Larger and a prettier brown than most, but he was no longer the best friend of a witch. If her spell had worked as well as she hoped, he’d never remember what he’d been to her.

She held Morrissey out to the sorcerer. “Here.”

“What did you do to it?”

“You never said what state you wanted him in. So here he is.”

The sorcerer looked between Morrissey and Allona. He did this several times before a cruel, appreciative smile split his lips.

“Hmm. Maybe not all of you witches are as pathetically righteous as you present yourselves to be.”

Allona was done with his stupid voice and face. “Do we have a deal?”

“Oh, yes, we have a deal.”

The sorcerer took Morrissey. He didn’t hold him right, and the rat squirmed, but Allona didn’t say anything. Morrissey wasn’t hers anymore. The sorcerer would figure it out, or he wouldn’t. If the Goddess was kind, she wouldn’t let Morrissey suffer.

“You have two weeks,” Allona told the sorcerer. She stood up. “Meet me back here.”

Then she left.