The Servants of Twilight

Christine remembered the way that strange woman had clung to the car, jerking at the handle of the locked door, keeping pace with them as they pulled away, screeching crazy accusations at them. Her eyes and face had radiated both fury and a disturbing power that made it seem as if she might really be able to stop the Firebird with her bare hands. A witch? That a child might think she had supernatural powers was certainly understandable.

" A real witch," Joey repeated, a tremor in his voice.

Christine was aware that she had to snip this line of thought right away, before he became obsessed with witches. Last year, for almost two months, he had been certain that a magical white snake-like one he'd seen in a movie-was hiding in his room, waiting for him to go to sleep, so that it could slither out and bite him. She'd had to sit with him each evening until he'd fallen asleep. Frequently, when he awakened in the middle of the night, she had to take him into her own bed in order to settle him down.

He'd gotten over the snake thing the same day that she'd made up her mind to take him to a child psychologist; later, she'd cancelled the appointment. After a few weeks had passed, when she'd been sure that mentioning the snake wouldn't get him started on it again, she asked what had happened to it. He looked embarrassed and said, "It was only imagination, Mom. I sure was acting like a dumb little kid, huh?" He'd never mentioned the white snake again. He possessed a healthy, rampaging imagination, and it was up to her to rein it in when it got out of control. Like now.

Although she had to put an end to this witch stuff, she couldn't just tell him there was no such thing. If she tried that approach, he would think she was just babying him. She would have to go along with his assumption that witches were real, then use the logic of a child to make him see that the old woman in the parking lot couldn't possibly have been a witch.

She said, "Well, I can understand how you might wonder about her being a witch. Whew! I mean, she did look a little bit like a witch is supposed to look, didn't she?"

"More than a little bit."

"No, no, just a little bit. Let's be fair to the poor old lady."

"She looked exactly like a mean witch," he said." Exactly.

Didn't she, Brandy?"

The dog snorted as if he understood the question and was in full agreement with his young master.

Christine squatted, scratched the dog behind the ears, and said, "What do you know about it, fur-face? You weren't even there."

Brandy yawned.

To Joey, Christine said, "If you really think about it, she didn't look all that much like a witch."

"Her eyes were creepy," the boy insisted, "bugging out of her head like they did. You saw them, sort of wild, Jeez, and her frizzy hair just like a witch's hair."

"But she didn't have a big crooked nose with a wart on the tip of it, did she? "

"No," Joey admitted.

"And she wasn't dressed in black, was she?"

"No. But all in green," Joey said, and from his tone of voice it was clear that the old woman's outfit had seemed as odd to him as it had to Christine.

"Witches don't wear green. She wasn't wearing a tall, pointed black hat, either.

He shrugged.

"And she didn't have a cat with her," Christine said.

"So?"

"A witch never goes anywhere without her cat."

"She doesn't?"

"No. It's her familiar."

"What's that mean?"

"The witch's familiar is her contact with the devil. It's through the familiar, through the cat, that the devil gives her magic powers.

Without the cat, she's just an ugly old woman."

"You mean like the cat watches her and makes sure she doesn't do something the devil wouldn't like?"

"That's right."

"I didn't see any cat," Joey said, frowning.

"There wasn't a cat because she wasn't a witch. You've got nothing to worry about, honey."

His face brightened." Boy, that's a relief! If she'd been a witch, she mightve turned me into a toad or something."

"Well, life as a toad might not be so bad," she teased." You'd get to sit on a lily pad all day, just taking it easy."

"Toads eat flies," he said, grimacing, "and I can't even stand to eat veal."

She laughed, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek.

"Even if she was a witch," he said, "I'd probably be okay because I've got Brandy, and Brandy wouldn't let any old cat get anywhere near."

"You can rely on Brandy," Christine agreed. She looked at the clown-faced dog and said, "You're the nemesis of all cats and witches, aren't you, fur-face?"

To her surprise, Brandy thrust his muzzle forward and licked her under the chin.

"Yuck," she said." No offense, fur-face, but I'm not sure whether kissing you is any better than eating flies."

Joey giggled and hugged the dog.

Christine returned to the den. The mound of paperwork seemed to have grown taller while she was gone.

She had no sooner settled into the chair behind the desk than the telephone rang. She picked it up.

"Hello? "

No one answered.

"Hello?" she said again.

"Wrong number," a woman said softly and hung up.