Page 77 of Dead Rockstar

“If he's dead, I swear I will-” I screeched at the old woman, who had stood up and was peering down at us, her face full of weary concern.

“He's not,” she said, but her voice was shaking. “He breathes. See?”

I placed my trembling hands under Phillip's nose, and waited. Sure enough, I could feel a faint, shallow trace of breath on my skin. “Phillip,” I said, tears prickling behind my eyelids. He was as still as a statue, and his skin was growing colder by the minute; too cold. “Phillip, wake up!”

“You must be a stronger witch than I realized,” she said thoughtfully behind me. “Cutting his hair should have ended the spell immediately, but he lives.”

“Then why won't he wake up?” I moaned. “Oh god, Lydia, is he dying?”

“I don't know.” Her words chilled me to the bone.

Then I knew. The knowledge just came to me – I could feel myself standing up, looming over him, my hands and fingers extending as if they were apart from myself, full of muscle memory and intention that I could barely control. Only I could wake Phillip, but I couldn't do it by shaking him or yelling in his ear. I would have to use magic. It didn’t matter if I knew how or not; my body knew. My spirit knew.

I bit my lip and looked down at his silent form. His dark eyelashes were a deep contrast against the paleness of his face. He was fading fast. His skin had taken on an almost gray undertone. I needed to work quickly.

“He wouldn't want you to,” Lydia said, intuiting my intention, her body stiff and tense beside me. I heard her lighting yet another cigarette. The smoke trailed around my face. “He cut his hair for a reason – to free you. He did it so quickly, without even a thought – it’s what he wanted, to sacrifice. What love he must have felt for you.”

“You're just saying that because you want the spell for yourself.”

“That doesn't make it any less true, Fee.”

“No.”

“He didn't want to live the first time, either,” she said, though her tone wasn't cruel. “Some people just aren't meant for this world.”

“Shut up,” I spat. I wasn’t in the mood for her platitudes right now; besides, she had an agenda. One hell of an agenda.

She didn't reply, only stood there, hovering over me, watching as I thought fervently what I could do to save him. She offered no guidance, but I could feel her quiet presence beside me, could almost hear her wrestle with a thought, then come to a resolute decision. It was unspoken, hanging in the air –an invisible-but-solid reinforcement – Lydia was with me. She might not have much magic, but what little she had, she was pooling it with mine. Even in my frantic and distracted state, I knew this was extraordinary. There must be some hierarchy of magic; surely someone as old and experienced as her was at the top, and I resided somewhere at the lowly bottom – for her to put aside her own desires and cast her lot with me – well, that was something indeed.

But I didn’t have time to think about it now; Phillip needed saving. I placed my hands on his cold skin and tried to infuse warmth into his body, but he was like ice I tried to formulate a spell, a prayer, but words failed me. As I cried in frustration, I heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway and didn't bother to look up. I knew it was Lee. Whether his mother had called him, or he'd just known, I didn’t know. And for once, I didn't care. I stared down at Phillip’s nearly lifeless form. Lydia was right, dammit, he wouldn’t want me to do this; he’d said as much many times. If I hadn’t done the spell, if I hadn’t brought him back…He’d been blaming himself for everything pretty much since he’d drawn a fresh breath. I knew that making this sacrifice for me was him trying to even the score, to thank me for what I’d done by giving me a chance to live freely again. If I took that sacrifice away, would he be able to forgive me?

But if I didn’t save him again, would I be able to forgive myself?

I set my mouth in a firm line, stretched my limbs and rolled my head, preparing myself. There was no choice; I had to save him. And it needed to be right away. Phillip’s skin felt so cold; foreign, unnatural. He'd always been so warm. I had to get that warmth back, into his blood, his heart, his body. I wouldn’t allow him to die again; if he hated me for it later, then so be it.

Bracing myself against any attack – physical or spiritual – I focused all my energy, imagining it forming into a bright yellow ball inside my chest, and envisioned propelling it outward, over my shoulders, down my arms and into my fingers, where it would flow forth into Phillip, setting his cool body alight, with golden, shimmering magic, warming him up and reviving his cold, still vessel. He didn’t move. I crouched back down, gingerly putting my hands on his cold form, pulling his dead weight into my arms, murmuring silently. “Wake up. Wake up, Phillip.” I cocooned him in the yellow light in my mind, imagining him blanketed with it, caressing his skin, his hair, letting it seep into his pores, infiltrating his very blood, his muscles, his bones. Reheating him. Reanimating him. Then I bent down and placed my lips to his – they were ice-cold and turning blue – and let my breath mingle with his own. I pictured a perfect storm; a meeting of cold and warmth, icy blue breath and golden, warm life.

“It's not too late to stop, Stormy,” Lydia cautioned, and I felt a warm hand touch my shoulder. I ignored her. “He doesn't want this. He didn't then and he doesn't now.”

“Then why are you helping me?” I asked.

She sighed. “Because I can’t not help you.”

“What's going on?” Lee was stepping onto the porch. “Ma, what's going on?”

“I've told them everything. Phillip did the noble thing and took his exit,” she explained in a low voice. “And now poor little Fee is trying to bring him back – again.”

“She can't do that,” Lee said, stepping over to me. My lips were still pressed to Phillip's, and I didn’t look up. I barely registered them talking. I was still holding him in the light, afraid to let it go for even a moment. “Can she?”

“Let her try,” she said, stopping him from moving toward me. Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. “It won't come to anything but let her try. It's been so long since I saw another witch at work. Can you see her aura? It's so golden! Oh, she's so much more powerful than I-”

I felt a sudden zap in my fingertips, reminding me of the feeling I’d had when I’d touched the electric fence that housed the cows when I was little. A feeling of pure power, traveling through my fingernails with a jolt; not painful, just…big. It flew out of me and seemed to form into a ball, much like the one I was imagining in my head, aimed at Phillip. I watched, transfixed, as the odd ball of light hovered in front of my eyes for a moment, and then suddenly traveled backward, shimmering and quick. The next thing I knew both Lydia and Lee were in a heap against the front door, and the disconcerting smell of sulfur was in the air.

“What did you do?” I heard Lee's voice rather than saw him. I was still focusing all my energy on Phillip.

“Oh, Goddess.” Lydia's voice was small and seemed to contain both awe and revulsion.

I laid Phillip's head down gently on the porch, and stood up, facing them. They were still huddled against the front door. My hands ached. I looked down to discover that the tops of them were bright red, like a bad sunburn.

---