Prelude to a Magickal Nightmare

As I woke up with the sun shining in my eyes, I cursed myself for not remembering to close the curtains when I dove into bed at dawn. Sometimes, fighting evil just does not seem worth it. The previous evening, I had tracked a nut who had gotten his hands on some forbidden Tomes and was trying to raise the spirit of a long dead dark mage. It seemed he had been summarily dismissed from his marriage by a bored wife. I actually almost felt sorry for him. The poor guy was the epitome of nondescript. His pale blue eyes looked around him through thin, wire-framed glasses. His hair was some shade with no name that is somewhere between brown and blond. I can sympathize with him. Nobody can put a name to my hair color either. Multiple colors of medium brown to blonde is the best I can do. I doubt anyone working at the huge insurance company with this guy would recognize him if they ran into him on the street or saw him on the news, even if he had taken a semi-automatic rifle to a tall building and started taking potshots at random people.

Fortunately, I am able to see a little more than the average person. I have the ability to see and hear spirits, both those who have died and those who were never alive. I have to wonder if William Shakespeare was not a bit like me. That line, "There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio," is quite true, and few people are really aware of this. Oh, they think they are, but if they knew, they would be hiding in their homes with the windows boarded.

I am also able to use the various elements, but only when necessary, to protect and maintain the universal balance. People are included in the universe, so I guess they qualify. After all, they seem to constantly find more ways to put themselves, and usually others in serious danger. I only use the elements when I absolutely have to do so. I prefer simple magick, as it is one of my natural talents. It is far less draining than compelling the elements or casting spells, and I prefer to not be hindered by a ton of spell books and ingredients. I like to trouble-shoot and think on my feet. Planning is something I leave to those who have some talent in that area of things. As I am told frequently, I am a bit impatient and impulsive. (Who me?) Well, I am so totally not a perfect superhero. I can have some faults if I want.

To return to the tale of the previous evening: moron gets dumped, moron gets mad, moron steals a big book of big nasty, moron almost succeeded in destroying himself, body and soul. Since he had no magical ability or training, he did not know what he was doing. He managed to open a portal between our world and a world that closely resembles the Christian concept of Hell. I do not mean a guy in red tights with horns and cute bugaboo demons, either. I mean things that the average human mind would not be able to handle and would either become mad as the proverbial hatter or have to have the memory completely blocked.

There would have been no way to know what had happened if a wise mage had not put spells on all the Tomes of Magickal Knowledge. By doing this, there is a magickal burglar alarm on each volume and known copies, and it alerts our Elders to thefts. With the skills of the spell casters, the Tomes can be tracked to a general area, but once in that area, I am able to use one or more of my abilities to pinpoint the location and either prevent catastrophes or perform clean-up duties both magickal and mundane. It was through this system that I was able to reach Mr. Invisible Guy, stop him from unleashing hell on earth and close the portal. I then had to help with removing the memory and the temptation to seek revenge on his soon-to-be-ex-wife from his mind. This is not as easy as using a "flashy-thing" like the MIB. It is time consuming and mentally draining, even though a psychic is the one doing most of the work. After that, there was the need to help with the cleansing of the area, which is not my favorite thing, but we all have to do things we don't want to do.

As I lay in my bed, cursing my lack of sleep and pushing my mass of snarled and angry hair out of my face, I suddenly heard the chorus of Rob Zombie's "Living Dead Girl," so I sat up and grabbed my cell, but I missed it. I chose to not see who it was that had called. It was eight o'clock in the morning. Were they serious? I finally rolled over feeling as if I weighed more than one hundred forty pounds and that my body had been stretched past my normal five feet and four inches. Within moments, there was a little dinging sound to indicate a voice mail. Crap. My conscience won the argument. I decided to check it, just in case.

"Brigid Branwen, you need to call me A.S.A.P," said my mother's voice. Oh, wonderful. My mom could be as light-hearted as any person when it was appropriate, but this was her serious tone. I immediately dialed her phone number.

"Hey, it's me," I said.

"B.B! Thank the gods! You have to get to my house, immediately. We need your help!"

"I'm on my way." My feet barely hit the floor, as I dressed and gathered my things on my way out. My mother is not one for drama. Something was seriously wrong, and I was on my way to try and fix it.