Wicce

By K. Y. Fong

Charlotte Branson dreaded the day graduation came. All the students at college celebrated it except her. Everyone seemed to already have a plan, a future; she had nothing. She was worried about just putting food on the table at home. But when she sees the ad in the classifieds for a job at her local university, her fortune turns. She got her dream job and even the varsity football star as her boyfriend. Just when everything seemed almost perfect, she discovered that her boss was not who he seemed. The eccentric Anthropology professor, Dean Brinkley, showed her a side of reality she never dreamt of. Elated, she felt special with her new-found talents. Obsessed with her new life, her new self, Charlotte took everything for granted and even thought nothing of it when girls began to disappear around campusuntil it was too late. Because of her foolishness, the most precious thing might now be ripped from her forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462084241

K. Y. Fong

K.Y. Fong is a research administrator who lives in Toronto. She is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. In her spare time, she likes travelling, photography, painting, cooking and of course writing. Almost all inspirations for K.Y. Fong’s stories came from her dreams. K.Y. Fong has always loved to read and wanted one day to become a writer. Galdre is the second book of the Wicce trilogy.

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Copyright © 2012 by K.Y. Fong

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-8421-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-8424-1 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-8423-4 (dj)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 12/29/2011

Contents

PREFACE

1

2

3

4

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PREFACE

People dream of writing, I write because I dream. Seriously, I am one of those rare gifted ones (or cursed more like) who dream so much it seems like I get to watch a new movie every single night. (I am a freak, what can I say?) That leaves me constantly sleep-deprived since I can remember. You can say the muses are especially kind to me in a malicious way.

Dreams are fantastical things. Through them, inspirations are born. It is in dreams that the imagination can run wild without limitation, passion can flow without restriction and innocence, once more, can be let loose. We are so knee-deep in the boring slush of daily grime that we often forget what dreams are. Remember back in elementary school we all had to write a piece on what we want to do when we grow up? Well I do not quite remember exactly what I wrote (anemia comes with old age and decreasing availability of usable brain cells) but I gather it must have been somewhere along the line of becoming a writer. I have always enjoyed reading and writing. I remembered when my elementary school teacher asked us to keep a journal I always filled it up with short stories. I figured my elementary school teacher must have enjoyed them but he still gently persuaded me to write more about how I actually spent the day. Being the stubborn brat I was, I could have argued. I bet after reading thirty entries about waking up, going to school, fighting at recess, falling asleep doing homework, he really must have looked forward to something different. Secretly, I believed that’s why he liked me so much.

Mind you, I did not take up writing – I mean seriously start putting something decent down on paper (or in virtual nano-bytes) until three years ago. I had graduated from graduate school, landed a great job and decided it was time. I guess it was must have been an Asian cultural thing because when I told my mom about writing (learn from my mistake mate, you cannot tell your mother everything!), she freaked out. By the sound of her, she thought I had gone mental and was going to quit my job and live on bread and water alone. (She should have known better. I’m no Jesus.) I don’t blame her. I mean everyone is familiar with the old stereotype: poor writer living on scraps and barely having a roof over his head. Writing is not a very profitable career. Therefore naturally, my parents did not think writing was a practical thing, not even for a hobby. Finishing school, having a decent desk job and being able to support yourself financially, that is what is practical. That is what you need to do to have a somewhat respectable life nowadays. My parents and I had serious arguments until they talked to one of our family friends, Mrs. Elsie Sze. She had gone into retirement and had recently published a novel. Then miraculously, they began to understand. We so often get caught in making breakfast, taking kids to school, dodging politics at work, getting stuck in traffic and going home and bickering over the smallest things over dinner with our spouse that we have become too exhausted, too fatigue, to remember what passion is and what it is like to really live.

I apologize I am not always this blabbering philosopher. If I am boring you in any way and you are about to put this book down, DON’T! Please, please just forget about my rambling in the past page and half. You see, what I really wanted to say is…please, please, please, please buy my book. If it really is not your thing, just buy it for your spouse, partner or teenager anyway. Beats thinking about what to get them, right? Not your right excuse? Fine, do it for charity then. Support this insane woman, yours truly, who still gave a crap about what she wrote in What I want to do when I grow up when she was still a little rascal learning the multiplication table. Even better yet, do it for yourself. When have you lived on the wild side lately and tried something new? Taking you more than a minute to come up with the answer? You should give this book a try then.

So here, I dare you. I dare you to buy this book. I dare you to live a little. I dare you to dream a little. I dare you to dream with me.

This book is dedicated to my mother,

my devil’s advocate,

my guiding star

and my best friend.

Wicce – Old English, meaning female magician, sorceress, in later use especially "a woman supposed to have dealings with the devil or evil spirits and to be able by their cooperation to perform supernatural acts. [Online Etymology Dictionary]

1

SHE was sitting on the edge of a flowerbed, basking under the early summer sun, the fragrance of tulips in her nostrils. The morning had started with a chill but she could feel herself starting to perspire a little now under her spring coat. It was one of those weird moments when you looked around and you felt out of place. The whole front yard of the Upper State College was buzzing with students who had just been dismissed. They were all holding their final scores and chatting enthusiastically about their summer vacation, their plans for the coming fall, the year after, the rest of their lives. Take for example the prom queen and her friends standing a few meters away on the right with their professionally manicured nails and designer couture. The prom queen was screaming periodically with hysteria as she boasted to her friends about the round-the-world cruise her daddy was taking her and the cute rich guys she would meet on the boat. There, on the left stood the school’s famous lovebirds, whispering about their wedding plans and where they were going on their honeymoon. Even the KZs, the skateboard gang idling in front of her with their long hair and baggy jeans, were talking about some really dope idea they thought up and that they were destined to make it big, whatever that meant.

Hey, Charlotte. Any plans for the summer? A skinny girl with blond hair and smiling blue eyes plopped down beside her. Charlotte returned a weak smile and did not know what to say. The truth was she did not have any plans, not for the summer, not for the year after, not for… the rest of her life even. She really did not understand why everyone was so hyped about leaving college. It was the best four years of her life. Today was the day she dreaded most.

I don’t know, Caitlin.

Come on! We are finally free! We should celebrate! Caitlin positively beamed at her. Caitlin was a special one. She’s gorgeous; half of the guys in school had had a crush on her or perhaps still do. She came from a mid-upper class family. Her father Daniel Ford was a well-known forensic accountant. He had even appeared on TV a couple of times. Caitlin had it all: looks, grades, popularity, and the most amazing thing of all, a great personality. She was one of the few who chose to hang around ordinary folks; mediocre people like Charlotte, instead of the popular crowd. Over the years, they had become best friends. Sometimes, Charlotte had to admit somewhat with guilt that she was sometimes jealous of her. Her best friend even had a cool name. Caitlin Ford. Modern. Feminine. Chic. Charlotte secretly shook herself inside. Her friend was now peering at her with those watery blue eyes, sincerely concerned.

I…ar…I might just take a few days off, you know to relax…then…then maybe start looking for a job? Charlotte almost felt ashamed saying that. Caitlin had been accepted into a nursing school in Washington, but for Charlotte, she wasn’t even sure if she would end up on the streets in the next month or two if she did not get a job soon. Her mother had put most of their savings toward her college education. Charlotte was half regretting she took the conversation down this direction. She had taken a double major at college, Anthropology and Archaeology, not because they were her favorite but they were the only programs with the lowest tuitions. Now she was worried it would be tough to find a decent job with those credentials.

Come on, Charlotte. Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will turn out fine. Have you got a dress for tomorrow? Honestly Charlotte still hadn’t decided what she’s wearing to their graduation ceremony tomorrow. Caitlin gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Come on. Let’s go shopping then.

2

THE sun was setting outside and the lingering sunshine filtered through the window shutters, spilling onto the kitchen table. Charlotte flipped through her organizer, disheartened. Four months had already passed and she had only gotten less than five interviews, no offers. She was feeling desperate. She flipped to the back cover and pulled out a photograph tucked halfway inside. It was a picture of Caitlin and her on the day of their graduation. Charlotte was wearing the strapless purple dress she found with Caitlin at the mall that afternoon before graduation day. She thought the color was too bright for her taste but it turned out great. She looked like a different person. With Caitlin looking her usual best in a sea-foam chiffon dress, the two of them beaming at the camera, they looked like almost like models out of a fashion magazine. That felt like years ago. She hadn’t heard from Caitlin for over two months now and Charlotte admitted that she felt quite deserted.

She tucked the photograph back into the sleeve and turned half-heartedly back to the classifieds. She looked through the whole page again with a red pen in hand but couldn’t find anything to circle. She heard keys turning in the lock. Her mother came through the front door a second later, returning from work and carrying one plastic bag in each hand.

Hi, honey. What would you like for dinner tonight? I have –, her mother said as she set the bags on the kitchen counter, roast beef and split peas or…chicken and mushroom. When she did not get an answer, Mrs. Branson turned around to look at her daughter. Her weathered face looked concerned as Charlotte was sitting very still poring over the classifieds. What’s wrong? She asked as she smoothed her hands over her pink uniform.

Nothing. I’m not hungry. Charlotte lied, putting down the newspaper. She was starving but she had grown sick of the food her mother had been bringing home. Her mother worked as a caretaker at a senior home and for the past two months she had been bringing home leftovers from the home’s kitchen. The food was bland and tasted like paper but Charlotte felt ashamed to complain. If she had landed a job by now, they would be buying fresh fruits and vegetables from the grocery store, or even going out to the corner diner for a treat once in a while.

I’m going out for a walk. Charlotte felt like escaping. She grabbed her coat from the coat stand at the front door and headed out.

Charlotte pulled the grey windbreaker tight around her as she headed to the community park. The park was anything but a serene place for a quick getaway. It was in the middle of a jungle of low-rise condominiums and run-down townhouses like the one Charlotte and her mother lived in. Almost everyone in the community passed through the park every single day, a busy shortcut through the mishmash of bricks and cement. The sun had set now and the last few pedestrians were rushing to head home, dying for a nice warm meal. A strong breeze picked up as Charlotte sat down on one of the graffiti-covered benches behind an overgrown bush. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head and calm her emotions. What choices do I have now? She could take up more tutoring jobs. She had been tutoring kids in the neighborhood since she was in high school. But there were less and less families in Lower State that could afford a tutor now and the long commute to Upper State or even the Metrocity meant she wouldn’t be able to take as many tutoring jobs as she would like to make it worthwhile. May be she should consider taking several part-time jobs, serving tables or cleaning toilets or whatever. At least that could help pay the bills for now. The breeze had picked up again, blowing some sand into her eyes. Charlotte winced and blinked violently, trying to flush out a grain that had gotten into her left eye when she felt something flutter at her feet. A torn newspaper was flapping against her pant leg. She picked it up and realized it was not a newspaper but a newsletter. She blinked again but this time not because of the grain of sand in her eye. Her gaze froze on a spot in the middle of the page. Assistant Wanted. She quickly scanned the header. Westminster University Newsletter. Charlotte’s heart jumped. May be her luck hadn’t run out after all.

3

Charlotte tossed and turned all night but when she woke up bright and early the next morning, she did not feel tired at all. She anxiously awaited by the clock, watching the minute hand inched closer and closer until it hit nine o’clock. She picked up the phone and dialed with shaky fingers. The line rang five times before someone picked up.

Department of Archaeology and Anthropology. A woman’s elegant voice answered on the other side. Although the woman’s voice seemed uncertain at first, Charlotte couldn’t believe her ears when the lady told her the position was still open and asked her if she would like to come in for an interview that very afternoon. When Charlotte got off the phone, she immediately changed into a brown skirt, a white cotton blouse and her best pea coat. She checked in the closet door mirror to make sure she looked decent before she rushed out to catch the next bus to the nearest underground station.

She got off first at the Upper State stop and went into the public library. She had spent so much time here over the past four years she was sure she could make her way around even blindfolded. Unlike other students, she couldn’t afford her own computer so she had to use the ones in the library to work on her assignments throughout college. The moment the librarian Mrs. Hawks saw her walked through the door, she signaled her to the back, her face stern as ever. Even though sometimes Charlotte wondered if Mrs. Hawks knew how to smile, she knew she was the kindest woman she had ever met. They met one Sunday evening during her first year. The computer room at college had closed that day and her assignment was due the next day. Unfortunately, when she got to the library, she found only one station functioning. She remembered waiting fretfully behind this kid hogging it, surfing for video games tips. She tapped her feet, cleared her throat and clicked her tongue many times but the rotten kid still did not get the hint. She remembered checking her watch every other minute. Great! Only half an hour left before the library closes. Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Mrs. Hawks. At first, Charlotte thought that she was being kicked out and the library was closing early that day. But Mrs. Hawks motioned Charlotte to follow her. They went to a room in the back. There was a small student desk and a desktop computer sitting idle. You can use this. I’ll be staying for another hour after closing. Mrs. Hawks told her, her face emotionless, and then she went back to the reception desk. From that day on, Mrs. Hawks continued to let her use the back room whenever she needed, especially whenever the college computer room became overcrowded before term papers were due. She later told Charlotte that the computer in the back room was for cataloging but it was idle most of the time because they couldn’t find any volunteers for the job. So Charlotte started helping out whenever she could, sort of returning the favor. From then on, they had developed a silent arrangement and an odd friendship. Even though Charlotte had become a customary visitor, she had rarely heard Mrs. Hawks speak if not spoken to and never even once saw her smile. In fact, she still felt quite awkward around her.

Charlotte hurried to the back room, flicked on the monitor and looked at her watch as she waited for the computer to boot. Eleven o’clock. It would take half an hour on the train to Metrocity. The interview would be at twelve-thirty. She still had about one hour. She sat down and began to work. She needed to revise her resume. She hadn’t elaborated on her college major and tutoring experience on her resume when she had applied to other jobs previously. No one in their right mind would pay attention to those when they were just hiring a simple store clerk. She worked feverishly until her back started to feel a bit stiff. Finally, she let out her breath. It was done. She glanced at her watch. Ten past twelve. Oh no! She quickly hit print, snatched up the papers at the printer, grabbed her coat and ran. But even in her hurry, she took a second to sneak a peek at the reception desk and caught Mrs. Hawks frowning briefly, shaking her head disapprovingly but most of all smiling faintly. Charlotte beamed. She could feel her luck turning. Today was going to be a good day.

The Westminster University looked very different from the Upper State College. The moment she stepped through the gates, Charlotte felt like she had been transported in time. The Upper State College she had attended was a modern cement building that looked somewhat like a military base but it felt like an oversized high school compared to Westminster. The campus was enormous, spanning two whole blocks in the center of Metrocity. Most buildings were built during the eighteen hundreds, composed of breathtaking towers and blackened mortar amazingly still holding the