Two girls who believed in magic stood at the threshold to the witch’s shop. Gray skies that had earlier dampened their mood now seemed distant. The drizzling less obnoxious.

The witch was called Marian and many well acquainted with the occult believed her to be out of time and space. A wandering entity that was human yet housed a soul that surpassed the plane of searching and had long entered the plane of knowing.

The girls just thought she was weird.

“No turning back now,” Pattie said, signs of her depleting health stretching her face across sharp bone. Rachel glanced at her friend’s features. For the past year she had been trying for a model gig. She had been so adamant it all but consumed her entirety, sacrificing chunks of herself to just to get into a magazine, a local fashion show, there was even that commercial audition, and yet no calls. Barely any auditions. Just a folder of head shots and a lot of disappointment; each failure a denigrating reminder that no amount of magic or sex could get her noticed. Rachel wasn’t sure if her eating disorder was one final push for success, or if she was punishing her body for its inferior contours and curves.

“No,” Rachel said. “But, something feels kind of off now. Maybe we are doing the wrong thing.”

“Are you for real? This was your idea. You cannot be backing out now, girl.”

“I’m not. But, we are going straight to Dario’s after, right?”

Pattie huffed and crossed her arms. Something told her Rachel was about to back down and they could not afford that. So she lied.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Ok.”

“Ok, so let’s do this.”

Together they stepped forward, Pattie half a step ahead, Rachel falling behind as the weight of their plan hung over her like an empty noose. It had never been done before and if it had, there was no telling what had happened to anyone who had tried; what she had done to them. Just rumors, but that was enough. In the strange world of the occult and magic, everyone knew her name but no one really knew her.

Pattie opened the door to the shop and Rachel slipped in behind her. When the door clicked shut space and time closed behind them.

Two girls who believed in magic were going to steal from a witch.

*

Marian stood behind the counter, her one eye gazing down as she counted the till; her other eye hidden behind a black patch. The girls looked at each other. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“Hello,” Pattie said.

“What the hell?” Rachel whispered.

“She didn’t even look up, what kind of place is she running here?”

“Stop pushing our luck.”

“Good evening,” Marian said. Her eye remained tethered to the coins and paper money. “Feel free to look around.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. She kicked Pattie’s foot before heading towards the item she had seen the other day. The item Dario had promised to show them how to use if they shared.

For someone who practiced the occult, Rachel had thought a blood promise would have been customary for such a dangerous act. Not the act of stealing itself, but the risk of the girls not returning to him as promised. Leaving loose ends was not something Rachel had come to expect from an occultist. But when Marian’s antique shop had made its unexpected appearance in Seattle, Dario had sent them off with nothing more than a sly wink and a “Go get’m girls. Promise to return.”

It must have been a test, there was no other reason for his lackadaisical approach to something so pivotal to all their lives. Rachel had seen it in his eye; he wanted- needed- them to succeed just as much as they did.

Just as well. Wishes were scarce to come by.

The walk towards the back of the store was one to put jungle treks to shame. Marian’s Antiques was a warehouse turned shop congested with expensive silver spoons, tattered fedoras and peaked caps, countless books worn to the spine, armories, Bergere sets, and chandeliers. But amongst all the trinkets and baubles and furniture were macabre curses to which only knowledgeable curators of tenebrous magic would have bravely purchased. With such persons being few and far between, these mysterious items had seen nothing outside of Marian’s Antiques in ages and had collected layers of dust to such degree that most people passed them off as trash.

In all the chaos, Rachel’s eyes remained alert. She knew exactly what to look for and where. Dario had made it clear: “Back of the shop, behind a broken mirror, that’s where you’ll find a small, dusty purple leather pouch drawn shut with twine. No grand thing but what rests inside is equal if not more valuable to any book that has survived the burning of Alexander’s library.”

Rachel pushed her way past bulks of retro clothes, slammed her shin into a small stool, and knocked over a pail of parasols all the while cursing and flinching. Luckily, Pattie seemed to be doing her job just fine. Marian’s eye never once bothered to trace Rachel’s descent into the belly of the shop. At last, she managed to reach the back where her prize awaited theft.

Just as Dario had said, there hidden behind a broken mirror was the draw-string pouch dimly ornate under the warm orange glow of the shop’s industrial hanging light bulbs.

Inside the pouch were the wishing bones.

A strange vibration seemed to emanate from within the seemingly ordinary purse. Rachel’s own insides responded with a similar if not smaller vibration that left her ribs aching.

Hesitation caught her hand before she touched the pouch. This wasn’t right. Not the act of stealing, that she knew was inevitable. Dario had made it clear Marian never negotiated and the girls had not the money to prompt such negotiations anyway. Neither did Dario, for that matter. No, it wasn’t the price, it was the bones. What was their price?

That sinking, subterranean primal caution of something much bigger than herself brushed against her mind stalling her action. The tips of her fingers felt as if they could draw down lightning - how they buzzed. It’s the only way, she told herself. Nothing else has worked. Nothing else will work. We are out of time.

“The bones could grant your wish,” the lanky occultist had explained. “No strings attached. Not like the Others. And you don’t want a repeat haunting like last time, do you? This is the only way you and your friend get out.”

Rachel’s hand lifted again to take the bones. This was fine. She trusted Dario. Her and Pattie both needed this desperately. There was no turning back, not when she was right there in front of them. It would be OK. They would get out.

And as her consciousness tried and failed repeatedly to accept the shaky affirmations, her finger tips finally touched the dry leather pouch and when her hand squeezed tight and lifted the weight of the bones off the counter there was such a surge of relief that Rachel thought for sure she might collapse. Not her relief. It was the relief of the bones.

Quickly, Rachel tucked the pouch inside her jacket and made for the front of the store, not bothering to appear interested in anything else, the farce of their shopping excursion lost to the gravity of the bones.

She found Pattie standing in front of the checkout desk. She looked to be in conversation with Marian. Not wanting to rush out too abruptly, Rachel forced herself to mosey over to her friend clutching her jacket shut, the bones pressed against her chest.

Marian noticed her approach, her eye a deep brown, almost black revealing some amusement. The setting sun framed her body through the glass window behind her. In the dust of the antique shop, she looked like a dark angel.

“Did you want to keep looking?” Rachel quietly asked Pattie. “I’ve seen everything I wanted to see.”

“I’m good.” Pattie said. “Not much interesting here.”

She gave a quick nod to Marian, “Thanks for the conversation.”

“My pleasure,” Marian smiled. A chill pumped from Rachel’s heart.

Silently, she took Pattie’s hand and hurried her out. The door to the shop opened for them, revealing the downtrodden Seattle neighborhood that was sickeningly familiar to the girls. When the door shut, Rachel swore she heard Marian laugh.

*

Pattie knew what was coming. Her jaw set as molars ground against molars. She watched Rachel open her mouth and almost screamed at her to shut up.

“Alright, we got them,” Rachel said. “Let’s go to Dario. We can make the wish right now.” She smiled but Pattie shook her head.

“It’s getting dark, Rache. Do you really want to go all the way to Lake Washington now? You know how transportation is this late.”

“It’s not that bad. This is worth it, come on.”

“There’s no harm in waiting till tomorrow.”

“Pattie.”

“What? You want to go straight to Dario without even looking at them. You even sure they are in there?”

“I’m sure.”

“Yeah, then open it.”

“No, not here!”

“Baby.”

Rachel pouted and some small tug of nostalgic affection nearly forced an apology from Pattie.

“Why don’t we go to your place,” Pattie suggested.

“Fine,” Rachel gave in.

In the gray shroud of dusk, the gentrified East Park neighborhood was relapsing as it often did at night. Mothers in yoga pants guiding strollers gave way to the dwindling drug addicts and dealers. The homeless crept up from the bridge to soak up the starlight. Police vehicles rolled lazily down the roads. At the light rail station, two boys laughed and smoked cigarettes. Not far a young woman with a suitcase purchased a one way ticket to the airport. Across the street, a man leaned against a light pole and stared at her.

Pattie and Rachel walked through the liminal shift, aware of their surroundings but not nearly as concerned as Rachel’s father would have wanted them to be. They passed a drug deal without a second thought and when a homeless man called them over to "give him a little kiss" they ignored him. Not even his echo of "stuck-up bitches" could reward him with a middle finger from at least one of them.

Pattie could feel the bones in Rachel’s pocket despite her earlier taunt. An incessant need to be held gripped her as she hurried towards her friend’s house. Rachel kept pace and she figured she could feel it too. The sun set and twilight descended as the girls reached Rachel’s little neighborhood situated on one of the many hills of East Park. It was a nicer conglomeration of homes compared to most of the area; a bit out of place but by no means rich. Pattie’s mom thought it was, though. She called Rachel her daughter’s little rich bitch. Goddamn, Pattie hated that woman.

When they reached the front stoop, Rachel pulled out her keys.

“Hurry up,” Pattie said.

“I’m trying.”

Feeling that the time to be used was near, the bones sent out another surge of need. Rachel fumbled with the keys and Pattie swore. Then she noticed the car in the driveway.

“You’re dad is home,” she said, pushing past Rachel and opening the unlocked door.

“Oh,” Rachel ducked her head down, embarrassed.

Inside, the TV was on and there was no motion from the kitchen.

“Let’s go,” Pattie said. As she ran up the stairs towards Rachel’s room a voice came from the living room.

“Rache, is that you?”

“Jesus, who else would it be?” Pattie joked, but Rachel shook her head.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” she said.

“Come on.”

“Just go. It will only be a minute.”

A shuffle told Pattie the old pastor was rising from the couch to greet his daughter. She loathed to think she would once again have to face the same, pitiful look of concern he couldn’t help but wear in her presence. Rolling her eyes, she ducked upstairs before the lumbering hulk of depression could catch her. Distance couldn’t save her from overhearing part of the conversation that followed, though.

“She looks worse.”

“You know how stressed she is.”

“Baby, don’t you have other friends? I’m worried…”

“Dad.”

The voices faded into a muffled white noise as Pattie entered Rachel’s room. Frank Shaw had grown increasingly concerned over Pattie’s health to the point where he thought her lack of self care would influence his daughter.

Plopping down on the twin sized bed, Pattie reached over for one of Rachel’s stuffed toys, a penguin. A gift from her brother. Most of the toys were gifts, that was why she couldn’t bear to throw them out, not even after Pattie had shamed her about it on her first visitation almost four years ago. The room had been left coated in the same vanilla paint. Rachel had kept the same pastel green book shelf and never changed out her yellow bed frame- all projects completed with her mother. A mural of a meadow faded and worn dominated the wall where Rachel’s bed was pushed up against. Pattie had asked her about it once. Wanted to know if she was an artist but Rachel had deflected with tortured eyes, the kind Pattie recognized in the mirror too often.

A picture of her brother was on her nightstand. Pattie flipped it down. Even deceased, Christopher seemed to judge from the other side.

I’m doing what you could never could have done, Pattie thought. I’m getting her out.

Rachel stepped in from the hallway.

“Yeah, he’s drunk.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“No, I’m just done with it.”

“You and me,” Pattie slapped her thighs lightly and stood up making her way to the center of the room. Pointing to the multi-colored woven rug on the floor she said, “Let’s see em.”

“Just looking,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Pattie sat down. In unison the girls kicked off their shoes, shed their coats, and plopped down legs crossed. Then, slowly Rachel pulled out the pouch, tugged the twine loose and let the bones fall out onto the rug.

There were nine.

“Ew,” Rachel said, covering her nose.

“I mean, they are bones,” Pattie said. Her pride wouldn’t let her pinch her nose shut though the burning in her sinuses begged otherwise. The stench was without compare, unearthly in its vapor; some mixture of sweaty decay and bitter solitude amongst Marian’s treasure trove. Rachel gagged.

Pattie picked up the bone piece that had landed closest to her.

“Never seen any bone like this.”

Rachel waved her hand in front of her face. “It doesn’t really have a shape. Looks like it was broken off of something.”

“I don’t know,” Pattie weighed it in her palm. “None of the angles look shattered. Maybe it’s a full piece.”

Rachel thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s a tooth.”

Looking down at the rest, Pattie contemplated the statement. Teeth. It made sense and it didn’t. Each piece had numerous sharp corners that defied any geometry Pattie had been made aware of. From a glance it seemed the bones were made up of acute angles, but a shift of perspective made it seem as if some angles were two forced together. Each looked sharp enough to cut through skin, but the bone in Pattie’s hand was smooth.

She dropped it.

“This is weird.”

“Dario always says to expect the unexpected,” Rachel said.

“Fucking cliche cheat. Too lazy to get the bones himself.”

“You know he can’t go into Marian’s shop.”

”Whose fault is that? Not ours.”

“Do you think you could dig your head out of your ass for a second? If he could get the bones himself, where would that leave us?”

Pattie rolled her eyes but said nothing. An awkward moment passed before Pattie tried a more gentle approach.

“We could just do the ritual ourselves,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” Rachel started.

“We have the instructions.”

“But not the experience.”

Pattie shook her head, exasperation pulling at her patience. Determined to prove herself the rational one, she lazily rolled over to Rachels three foot bookshelf, handmade and painted by her mother. It had always looked childish to her but she knew Rachel would never repaint it let alone get rid of it.

The book she was looking for wasn’t on the shelves, it was hidden in the dark crevice between the wall and the bookcase. Reaching, Patting slipped her slim fingers into the blackness and pulled out the thick text.

She rolled back to Rachel and triumphantly held up the book they had read over a hundred times. Rachel stared at her. Julian Badger’s A Complete Compendium of Others and the Bizarre. A relic of the late nineteenth century. Dario had given it to Rachel on good faith that she could trust him. He had claimed it was the original.

Neither of the girls spoke as Pattie leafed through the worn pages to the bookmarked section labeled The Wishing Bones. The first few paragraphs depicted Badger’s first run in with the bones followed by what he learned. The final section, though heavily warned against by Badger himself, provided the reader with a full description of the ritual needed to make a wish on the bones. Pattie shoved this page into Rachel’s face.

“We can do this. We’ve done rituals like this before. Remember the genie spell?”

“Nothing happened,” Rachel said.

“Because we couldn’t hold the genie, not because our ritual didn’t work. This doesn’t require holding an entity against its will. No sigil prisons, no blood commands, just a few shapes to draw and a few words to say. We’ll be in New York before midnight. Come on.”

Rahel took the book from Pattie and read aloud, “Beware you curious patrons of occult arts, dwell not on wishes and desires for better a man to live in the shadow of Fate than to chase a wanting heart for there resides within these bones a darkness that no light can touch and an eternity wrought with pain…”

“Only if you don’t preform the ritual correctly,” Pattie countered. Rachel continued with another paragraph. Her voice dropped to an almost whisper.

“And, beware you, my interested readers, of the hunters and their hounds.”

“Oh my god, Rachel, we’ve been over this.”

“These stolid servants care not for the human persons. Indeed, they are counted as the few who are truly evil in that they seldom show mercy to earth’s denizens. Together with their ghastly, abhorrent hounds of monstrous anatomy, they stalk those who, either intentionally or unintentionally, come into the possession of the bones. And, since the bones do wish to be united with their original body (if one could call it that) they too seek the hunters. This relationship between the hunter and the bones does little to benefit those who intermittently take possession of the bones.”

It was Rachel’s turn to thrust the book in Pattie’s face. The section on the hunters ended with a quarter of the page still blank. Adjacent was a fully illustrated page done in black ink and a hurried hand. Pattie stared at it, too stubborn to turn her eyes. Those first nights of looking through the book with Rachel had scarred her dreams with fuzzy night terrors that had permanently damaged any resolve to walk through her dark apartment without looking behind her every few steps. This particular image of the hunter and its hound had left a deep wound in her dreams.

Suppressing her unease, Pattie gently lowered the book out of eye sight and stared into her friend’s eyes. Without speaking, she held up her arm and pushed her right sleeve down to reveal a braided leather band. Threaded into it was a wooden sphere carved with intricacy and intent. A protection sigil infused with the light of the full moon, soaked in both girl’s blood, and blessed by the Other they had been in regular contact with.

“I think we’re good,” Pattie said, lowering her arm.

And, that’s how it was. Rachel had already given in, putting off seeing Dario for the evening in favor for the next day. She would give now under Pattie’s Assurance that all would go in according to plan. Pattie was the compass and Rachel was the engine. They only moved when she revved into action, even when she needed a little jump start.

Except, Rachel didn’t give in this time.

“I’m not going to do the ritual with you,” she said. Pattie actually had to take a few concerning breaths.

“Why not?”

“Because this isn’t like anything we’ve tried before. We need an experienced guide. Trust me.”

“I trust you. I trust us. We’ve never needed anyone before. We don’t need anyone now.” Pattie reached over the bones for Rachel’s hands. She took them as she had done on numerous occasions when life bore down in its cruel gravity. “It’s us, it’s just us, right?”

For a moment Rachel faltered, all sense and forewarning crumbling just enough for her to believe they really could do the wishing ritual together. But then, a story came to mind, something she had read on one of the witches forums she was apart of. A poor, lonely farmer with a dry well saved an Other from being enslaved by a wealthy landowner and was granted three wishes. He wished to have water everyday, to be in a large city, and to be touched by women everyday. The Other turned him into a toilet in the women’s bathroom of a Hyatt in Chicago. While Rachel found joke tasteless, the poster swore on their dead baby sister that it was true. Others were kind enough to return a favor for a favor but they were also known to drawn a clean line through a problem, no beating around the bush, no reading between the lines.

Anything was possible with magic. It was as unpredictable as reading the end times.

“Pattie, we need to do this with Dario. Wishing doesn’t have the same parameters as other spells. We need to do this right, take every precaution.”

Outside, a crow called to the evening ushering in dusk as the chilly day turned over to sleep. The liminal transition into a washed out gray tinged with the setting orange sun crept into the room, casting shadows against the dim colors of the wall, the shelves, and the bed. Rachel’s face fell into the dark world, her eyes shining in the reflected setting light. Usually, Pattie was the one closest to the door facing the window. She should be the one whose face cast the last rays of sunlight against Rachel. How had they managed to switch places without noticing? Maybe Rachel had noticed and said nothing. Stung by the thought, Pattie could help but feel betrayed in a small way.

“How stupid can you be?”

“What?” Rachel recoiled. Through the window, the gloaming sky shed muted shades of decaying orange into the room. Both girls were cast in a darkness that muffled amicable reason. Without answering, Pattie began to stuff the bones back their leather prison. She thought she heard something moan in frustration but when she glanced up at Rachel all she saw was silent hurt.

“If you don’t have the guts to do this now then maybe we don’t need to make the wish at all,” Pattie said. The darkening of twilight had replaced the reflective light in Rachel’s eyes. Pattie saw herself in those green eyes, but it wasn’t her face staring back at her; it was her mother’s.

“Pattie, stop,” Rachel contested, trying to pull the sachet away from her but Pattie yanked it back. She felt something go in her pocket.

“Pattie…”

“No. It’s us. It’s just us or nothing,” Pattie stood. Realizing she meant to leave, Rachel stood up too, blocking the door.

“You’re being unreasonable,” she said.

“The hell I am.”

“Just stay, we can talk more. We can go over the ritual but I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Something doesn’t feel right. Why can’t you trust me?”

“Move,” Pattie shoved her friend aside.

“Are you really going to go back to her?”

Rachel made another lunge for the pouch, desperate. Surprised by her determination, Pattie stepped back into the wall but Rachel seized the bones. In the whirl of emotion, Pattie grabbed her wrist and twisted. Rachel didn’t let go but her eyes went wide as she realized Pattie’s grip was tight, too tight. Fury. Betrayal. Impatience. A storm of loosened madness twisted through Pattie’s arm and into Rachel’s. Just as her mother had done to her on many occasions, Pattie turned Rachel’s wrist over with a snap, forcing her to her knees. She let go of the pouch, the bones spilling out from a fall that mirrored the action and not physics. Rachel whelped but didn’t cry. She just gazed up at her friend who immediately let her go.

“Fuck you, Rachel. We’ve been waiting for something to get us out of this hell hole for years and now we have just that, our perfect escape and you want to play it safe. How many fucking occult gurus have you trusted? How did those work out for you?”

Rachel slowly stood, cradling her arm. “If we do this without help, we’ll just make it worse.”

With the door half opened, Pattie looked into the dark hallway and she felt something look back. Her dark shadow, perhaps, that Jungian parasite which she had never learned to command. She should turn around and apologize. Just fucking apologize. Look her in the eye and really mean it. Be better than her, for once in your goddamn life.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Pattie said as she walked away.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard Rachel’s father say something but she didn’t pay any mind. Outside the cool night air felt stale. In her pocket, she mindlessly rubbed one of the bone pieces between her fingers.

Next Chapter: The Dream