The Wicked: A Love Story

Warning: if you haven't read the Old or the Beasts, you'll want to start there before you read this. This is the third part of an ongoing tale.

I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

London, William Blake 1794

Assembly

The Witches and The Wolves

I give unimaginable joys on earth: certainty, not faith, while in life, upon death; peace unutterable, rest, ecstasy; nor do I demand aught in sacrifice.

-The Book of the Law

MARABETH STRAUSS had retired to her room. After a while she didn’t think she needed to do anything but be by herself. There was no message from Jason, and that almost bugged her. He usually knew the right thing to do, then again, their relationship had been a matter of days and started with a fuck on the floor. Besides, maybe he knew the right thing was to leave her alone. Being alone was, after all, what she really wanted right now.

Also, after all of Myron’s strangeness at church—no, that was not it—Myron had reached into her mind and spoken to her. Myron was Amy’s brother, and her favorite male cousin next to Jim, who wasn’t really a cousin at all, but a brother. She had always thought he was more than a loveable goof, but she was not ready for what he had done. And then he had departed the house as if his urgent words were not urgent at all, and now no one knew where he was.

Downstairs she had played the gracious host, and wasn’t it good enough that she wasn’t going home tonight? It was as if all the misery of the last few days could not overwhelm her, and now she let it. Why must this life be so hard, and with no promise of getting any better? And then she cried till there was nothing else really, until she just lay on her back in the half dark and gathering shadows of a new year that would surely have as little promise as the last.

Even as she allowed herself the rare luxury of this self pity, Marabeth heard something. It was hum, but with rhythm. There it was again, an almost singing. The tune was familiar, and the words were coming over and over again and she realized, Not in the house. On the street. Christmas carolers. But Christmas was over, and now she pushed open her window to the cold air.

In the gathering darkness, holding lanterns, their voices rising eerily from down below, she heard several people singing, low, and then with high intensity:

“THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
—Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
—And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art past
To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.”

She sprang from the bed as if this were some sort of Christmas gift, struggled into shoes, then plodded down the steps, trying not to call attention to herself as her family looked up at her, Amy, putting a hand to her cheek, Peter touching Joyce’s hand. Marabeth came through the living room, and wrapping her grandmother’s shawl about her, that she’d taken from the hook on the wall, she opened the great door and stood there, hearing them sing

“If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane

-—Every nighte and alle,
The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane.

—And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,
-—Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;

—And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
-—Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;

—And Christe receive thy saule.”

Their voices had risen and fallen, like an enchantment, and now they rose to their height and then went down to their depths finishing.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-—Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
—And Christe receive thy saule.

By now, Kris had come. And Jim and Peter. Cyrus, Joy, Rebecca, too, but they were all behind Marabeth, and from the circle of singers came one, bearing a lantern of cut glass that winked in the night. Marabeth thought people were not like her family, because they did not inhabit the normal world, but they were like her, because she, in a way did not inhabit the normal world either, and the Black man in his wool cap and flashing spectacles, stopped singing, extended the lantern and said, “Marabeth Strauss, I have come to bring you greetings and condolences. This is my clan, and I am Lewis Dunharrow.”

Jim Strauss stood behind Kris and Marabeth,and he watched as the visitors came in. He knew so little, hadn’t really even heard of Lewis Dunharrow, whom Marabeth apparently knew. He was related to that Uriah who had come by the house the night after Christmas. Beside him was an impossibly pale man with high cheekbones and pale blond hair and aside from his looks there was something strange about, but Jim could not put his finger on it. Beside Lewis Dunharrow was a golden girl with a puff of cinnamon colored hair and fine features, grey green eyes, and she was taking off her coat and handing it to Marabeth’s open arms, and then, with them, was a young man with a thin beard around his jaw, and wavy brown hair, creamy skin. Jim had to see his face, and when he turned around, Jim had to keep looking at it, and then, before Jim could look away, the young man was looking at him with brown eyes he’d dreamed of, and Jim could only smile. He couldn’t turn away. Why was he so nervous? And the young man smiled at him.

“This is my cousin, Loreal,” Lewis was saying.

Loreal was the most forward young woman Jim had ever seen. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She shook hands with everyone immediately, and Amy said, “I like you. Would you care for a drink?”

“Do you have Bourbon?” the girl asked in her thin voice, and Amy said, “Well, shit, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“And this is my cousin, Seth,” Lewis said, and Jim thought he was guarding Seth, that Seth, who quickly waved and nodded his head seemed like he was glad the introduction was over. But quickly, before Jim turned, he saw that Seth had sent a glance his way.

The library door wasn’t closed. It was half open, and sometimes children passed in and out, but the family seemed to understand that this was different and some important meeting was happening between the Strausses and Peter and these visitors.

“I wonder if they have something to do with what Marabeth and Peter said the other night,” Cyrus murmured and Deborah looked at her brother and said, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“That’s what I’m calling it,” Cyrus said.

But in the room, Jim and Seth were in the corners, and Seth kept looking back at the bookshelf.

Jim took a breath, at last, and said, “I’m going to go out and smoke.”

He made a gesture to Seth.

“Yeah,” Seth said. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll grab my coat,” Jim said on their way out of the room.

“Is this a no smoking house?”

“No, not really.” Jim said as they came into the living room and passed into the foyer. “It’s just sometimes I need air.”

Jim turned to him. “We can stay in. If you like. I just thought you might like some air too.”

“Yeah,” Seth shrugged, then said, more clearly “Yes. I would.”

“Don’t make me force you,” Jim said, as he handed Seth his coat and Seth said, “You remembered.”

“Remembered?”

“Which coat was mine.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, pulling on his own green car coat, “Walking in you were hard to forget.”

Jim quickly looked away and opened the door for Seth, and then shut it behind them.

“So, you’re Seth?”

“Yes,” Seth said.

He did not say that Jim had not introduced himself, but Jim realized it and said, “I’m Jim.”

“Jim or James?”

“Well, James is my name, but everyone calls me Jim. I’m named after my grandfather.”

“Was he nice?”

“I don’t know,” Jim shrugged. “He died a long time ago. He died when my dad and his brother and sister were kids.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Seth said. “I’d say I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t have known him. The man who died, he was your uncle?”

Jim nodded, and exhaled smoke. “Nate raised me. Him and Aunt Rebecca. After my parents died.”

“Nate?” Seth said.

“Yeah,” said Jim. “My Uncle Nathan. You alright, Seth?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seth said, telling himself to put his eyes back in his head. “My parents died too. My Uncle Owen raised me. He’s not here. He didn’t come with us. I was seven. It was an accident.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Jim said. “My mom killed herself when I was twelve. No one ever says it, but I think my dad did too. My Grandma Natalie had three kids, and they all died, and she’s still here.”

“Oh,” Seth looked so sad that Jim almost laughed.

“You’re a really sweet guy,” Jim said.

“It’s just really sad,” Seth said. “Wanting to die. Feeling that way.”

“My family’s sort of been under a cloud,” Jim said. “And now we’re trying to climb from under it.”

“Because you’re werewolves?” Seth said, plainly.

Jim blinked at him. “Well…well… shit.”

Seth turned a little red and he said, “I probably wasn’t supposed to say it just like that. You didn’t even now we were coming. But your cousin, Marabeth I believe, she was coming to see us. And we met your cousin Kris. He came to Chicago when Lewis was… when he was Made.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jim said, tossing his cigarette and indicating that Seth could do the same. “What are you guys?”

“We’re witches,” Seth said. “Most of us. Most of my family.”

“Fuck,” Jim said. It never occurred to him to doubt it. “Like, honest the fuck witches?”

“Yes,” Seth said. “Lewis is the head of the Clan of the Child and Stag. Everyone in our family isn’t a member of the Clan and everyone in the Clan isn’t a member of our family, but… the lines converge. It seems like my great-great uncle, Augustus, might have known about you, or known one of you. So…. I guess they’re all figuring it out.”

Jim was quiet for a while, and then he said, “So you’re a witch?”

“I guess,” Seth said. “I mean, you’re a werewolf.”

“I can’t remember ever changing,” Jim said. “I’m told that it’s the pills we take that stop us from changing, but I never took those pills. But…. I guess. Yeah.

“What,” Jim started, sounding a little shy, “what can you do? I know that sounds stupid. I’ve just seen movies. I don’t really know what it means, being a witch.”

“I have dreams,” Seth said. “Really, vivid dreams sometimes. Much too vivid. And I can…. I’ll just say it. Dead people. Not all the time. Some times they come to me.”

“What?”

“I… I got shocked because… Can I ask you a question?”

Jim grinned. “Sure, Seth.”

“Was Nathan… Your uncle…. Was he tall, dark haired, dark eyed, sharp faced. Kind of movie star looking?”

Instead of answering, Jim tilted his head and looked at Seth.

“Nathan… someone named Nathan came to me before Christmas. He came for a while and then he disappeared the same night your cousin Kris showed up. He just told me that… I was about to meet people he loved. That we had to help them do what he wanted to but wasn’t able to. He said, just be there for them.”

Jim bursts into tears right there on the porch, and Seth hugged him. He didn’t think about the fact that it was January in a post industrial city in Ohio and he was standing on the porch hugging a goodlooking guy who smelled wonderful and was sobbing into his shoulder.

Jim sniffed a bit and then wiped his eyes and tried to talk, sobbed and then, tried to talk again, wiping his red eyes.

“What… else do you do?”

Well, okay, that would make sense, trying to be normal again, normal as possible, Seth figured.

“See thoughts. Not all the time. And animals. I can talk to them. A little.”

“You’re really pretty,” Jim said, sniffing. “I mean, handsome. I should of said that or… said nothing, but, that’s how I feel.”

“Yeah,” Seth said. And then he said, “I’m not good at words, and very shy about… feelings and everything, but, I feel the same. And… you smell good.”

Jim burst out laughing and his eyes were still shining with tears. He looked up at the door, but not at the street, because no one on the street concerned him. High on the stoop he said, “Could I kiss you? Would you—?”

Seth kissed him quickly, or it was supposed to be quick. But it felt so good, his lips, his mouth, his tongue, being pressed to Jim’s face. They stopped and then started again, and when they were looking at each other, Jim’s eyes blue under the lamps on either side of the great door, Seth said, “I dreamed about you.”

“I dreamed about you too,” Jim said. “But I wasn’t sure until now.”

They both said, “The day after Christmas,” and stopped, blinking, and then sat side by side saying nothing, looking at the townhouses across from them on the other side of Dimler Street.