Signs


Sybil Forester was taken to Heaven on September 9th, 1979, surrounded by God and His angels. She was born on October 31st, 1962 to two loving parents in Mobile, Alabama where she was raised as a God-fearing woman. She has been preceded in death by her grandmother Florence “Mawmaw” Ruth Forester, and has left behind beloved father William Adam Forester and mother Helen Irine Forester (nee Samson), as well as countless uncles, aunts, and cousins. 

Ms. Forester had a passion for singing in the choir at the Temple of Our Holy Lord, and loved going to the bay on Saturdays to catch crabs with her little cousins. Jesus has taken her to walk on the Gulf beaches forever, and her family will be reunited one day. 

God rest her soul.


Monday, September 3rd, 1979

Dear Diary,

Today in biology we got to talk about what’s going on in the water in the bay. I’ve never heard of a red algae bloom, but it’s toxic and makes the water look like there’s blood in the tide. News said that we can’t go on and get in the water. Jacob and Myrtle are gonna be spitting mad but they’re little and Momma says they’re tender and don’t need to be getting sick. Said that we’ll be good to go on after it goes away and she’ll even get Daddy to take us out on the boat to let the kids see the dolphins and the turtles. 

I kept arguing with her that it’s fine if we just go to the beach and pick up shells but she told me not to bring home any crabs or anything cause they’ll make us sick if we eat them. I swore on Mawmaw’s grave we wouldn’t, then she went on and hit me for swearing on Mawmaw! I don’t know why Momma is all like that. Says that she’s gonna hear me and snatch me up and that I gotta pray about it tonight when I’m done writing. 

Mawmaw would tell me that sometimes the water got sick. That was before I learned in school today about the bloom, but I think that’s what would make it like that. I miss her more than I miss damn near anything. I see her hair in the sea foam and I hear her laugh in the seabird caws when we go running up the beach. Jacob and Myrtle only hear stories about her cause they were in Birmingham when she went to Heaven and they never knew her like I did. I don’t want to wait till I’m old to see Mawmaw again – I want Jesus to bring her back down to Earth so we can go on making shell wind chimes to give out at Christmas. 

I’m gonna pray to Jesus tonight to forgive me for swearing on Mawmaw, but I’m gonna tell him that it’s because I miss her so much and I just want a little more time with her. He’s gotta understand and I’ll pray during Church and over all my meals and snacks just so make sure that he hears me. Any time I can, he’s gonna hear me and he’s gonna realize that the way I miss Mawmaw is gonna break his own heart. 

I’m gonna make good on my promise and get to bed. Momma told me to walk the kids to school in the morning and I’m not about to get beat by her.

Sybil


September 4th, 1979

Dear Diary,

Jacob got me beat today. 

We all went down to the beach after school let out and he kept trying to take home the minnows that washed up. Said he’d fix them. I kept telling him that his Momma would tell my Momma, but he’s a kid and doesn’t have enough sense to fill a cup. He was screaming and crying and throwing a fit but I told him he’s not gonna get me in trouble for his own wants. I told him those fish went to Heaven and they’re happier where they’re supposed to be, and we gotta leave their bodies there so Jesus can take them home. He didn’t like that one bit and then Myrtle started crying so I had to drag them both back and told them to stop their crying before I gave them something to cry about.

So color me surprised when Aunt Kathy came up to the porch raising hell, screaming about me being some no good kid making her babies cry and wail and that fish don’t go to Heaven and that I need to read Revelations again and that I must have some sort of boy on my mind to not know that. I told Momma that I ain’t got a boy on my mind but she’s not gonna believe me, she’s gonna believe Aunt Kathy and all her wailing on about her babies being traumatized cause the twins saw a dead fish and that it’s all my fault for being a brat and that my Momma raised me better than this. 

This ain’t the first time they’ve seen something dead before, Uncle Paul went out and shot one of the alligators that was getting too close to the beaches in the bay and he gave a foot each to the twins for them to have. Jacob’s just mad cause I told him he don’t need to touch one of those blooming algae fish, and he’s been Aunt Kathy’s favorite so of course I’m the problem. 

Momma made me go out and pick a switch and beat me till I was crying and swearing and then she washed my mouth out. Told me I better pray and hope that God forgives me and that Mawmaw would be disappointed in me. Said that if Daddy hears about it then he’ll tan my hide faster than I could run so I don’t need to say a thing about it.

Mawmaw would’ve agreed with me – she would’ve told Jacob to drop that fish and get his lily white ass home to Aunt Kathy. She would’ve snapped that switch and screamed at Momma for thinking I did something wrong. 

Jesus takes all those little fish to Heaven, just like how he took Mawmaw. Those fish never did anything wrong except went swimming in the tide. They didn’t sin or nothing. 

I’m gonna pray again to have Jesus bring Mawmaw back. Not gonna pray about making Aunt Kathy mad cause I didn’t do a damn thing wrong. 

Sybil

September 5th, 1979

Dear Diary,

I saw Mawmaw in the seafoam today. 

I almost missed it cause Jacob and Myrtle were trying to get me to pick out some reeds in the dunes. I did this double take cause I could hear her after I saw her. I could see her smile and then gulls started screaming in the way she’d laugh after she blew a smoke jellyfish for me. 

All I wanted was to run out and get her out of the surf but the second I got onto the beach the twins were screaming at me not to go in the water. I told them I’d do as I pleased and if I wanted to go into the bay I would. Their wailing made me lose sight of her and I was mad.

Mad! Screaming, hollering mad! The words I said, I pray to God and Jesus to forgive me but I know they were telling me that Mawmaw was in the water and that I had to go pull her out cause she told me the only time she would get in the water was for her baptism. Then the twins started wailing cause I was spitting mad and I know they wanted to tell Aunt Kathy I was swearing up a storm but they saw the beating I had yesterday and I guess something clicked in their little minds that I didn’t need another whipping. Told them I was sorry for the swearing and that we’d make kites tomorrow cause it was late.

When I got home Momma could tell I was mad about something but I guess she thought it was about yesterday. I’m not mad about the switch, I’m not mad at her thinking that Aunt Kathy was right – I’m mad that I was so close to Mawmaw and I wasn’t fast enough. 

Sybil

September 6th, 1979

Dear Diary,

Jacob and Myrtle had to stay home from school today cause they’ve been coughing and nothing’s helping them. Aunt Kathy took them to the hospital and told me I’m not gonna be walking them to school anymore and that she’s gonna get Uncle Paul to drop them off and pick them up cause “all I seem to do is cause trouble”. 

Aunt Kathy’s always been a sour puss. Been that way as long as I knew her so I try not to let it bother me, but I do one thing wrong and she comes hollering to Momma about how I’m just as good as a devil child, talking about animals going to Heaven, playing in the ocean, bringing home all these shells as if I’m gonna run off to join some pagan tree worshiping nonsense. That woman’s an Easter Christian and Mawmaw hated her for it. She doesn’t know a damn thing about the bible except to come and eat whatever Momma makes. I feel bad for the twins but it’s on Aunt Kathy that I can’t see them. 

Got to go to the bay by myself without having to wrangle the kids. The red water’s going away but there are so many fish on the sand. They smell bad and none of the birds are touching them – like they’re poisoned.

I didn’t see Mawmaw in the ocean today, but I know I’ll see her soon. She loved me and called me her special girl. She wouldn’t have let me go and I know Jesus would want her to be happy in Heaven but she’s still my Mawmaw. I miss her and right now, I’m not happy. God and Jesus wouldn’t want me to suffer here when they’ve got the chance to make it right by letting me pull her from the ocean. I know one of these days, I’m gonna get the chance. They’re gonna hear my prayers and know I’m a good girl that doesn’t sin like what Aunt Kathy says. She’s the sinner.

Sybil

September 7th, 1979

Dear Diary,

Daddy said a hurricane that’s gonna hit Mobile on Sunday.

I’ve seen a few hurricanes but we always just boarded up the house and went upstairs and Mawmaw would tell us stories about her and Pawpaw when they were young. Momma would cook us beans and cornbread cause it was easy, and Daddy would take over watching to make sure the water didn’t rise too high up. Then we’d clean up all the sand and seaweed from the bay off the porch.

It’s gonna be the first hurricane without Mawmaw. Aunt Kathy and Uncle Paul are taking the twins up to Birmingham so they don’t have to weather the storm. Momma didn’t like that one bit but told her that she can do whatever she likes. I hope the door don’t hit her on the way out. 

Momma told me I don’t need to be going out to the bay, but what am I gonna do since they canceled school? Everyone’s preparing for the worst and I just wanna go to the beach and look for Mawmaw in the waves. But Daddy understands. He said I can go so long as I’m back before dark. I know he misses Mawmaw too. I’ve only seen him cry once and it was when he was carrying Mawmaw to where they buried her as one of the pallbearers.  

I’m gonna make sure that I try to find Mawmaw before the hurricane hits. I don’t want her to lose sight of the land. And I don’t have Aunt Kathy to scream her head off to Momma about it. Jesus is gonna protect Mawmaw for me until I can get her back to land.

Sybil

September 8th, 1979

Dear Diary,

Momma didn’t know about me going to the bay yesterday and I went today too. It was dead quiet with lots of rain clouds – that hurricane that Daddy mentioned is supposed to come tomorrow, they’re calling it hurricane Frederic. The pastor’s come over and bless the house cause he’s going to Birmingham with the rest of the congregation and he knows Daddy’s a stubborn man and Momma’s ornery. He said he’s gonna keep us in his prayers and that God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit are gonna keep us safe like how they did before. 

I don’t think the storm’s gonna be bad. Mawmaw said the worst we ever saw was hurricane Camille. I was seven and I remember how that wind was rattling the windows and I was scared but she prayed and prayed to Jesus that we’d be okay and that storm turned into a rain.

That’s how I know Jesus loves Mawmaw enough to bring her back. She’s the best grandma ever, and God made her like that because God loves me too. So I’m gonna look for her in the ocean tomorrow, even if they’re trying to keep people away from the estuaries. 

Estuaries – one of the Coast Guard put up a notice not to go to them until they made the all clear after the hurricane. The sign said that they’re gonna flood and get all the way up into Mobile and cause all the animals to come out and be in the streets, like alligators and then some. 

Didn’t stop me from going down to the one close to where the bay opens out to the gulf. It was pretty as all get out. 

I swear on Mawmaw’s soul that she was there in that estuary. I could hear her better there than on the beach. All those birds were singing and her laughter was coming out of the trees, and the water was so clear and full of fish. There were sunbeams coming out of the clouds too like God was trying to point me in the right direction. Mawmaw was just out of reach and I would’ve gotten to her but I didn’t know where to look cause she was hiding too well. I could hear her calling for me. I damn near looked for hours until the sun started to set and I didn’t want a whooping from Momma. 

I’m gonna go tomorrow to get her before the hurricane. I know she’s hiding out there because Jesus wanted her to be somewhere beautiful. 

Sybil

September 9th, 1979

Dear Diary,

Today’s the day. 

I’m gonna make sure I can get to the estuary before the rain starts coming down harder than it is. Momma and Daddy won’t even notice me gone cause I’ll be that quick. 

God sent me a dove in my dream and it showed me exactly where Mawmaw was in those trees. I’ll bring her home and we’ll get out of this storm together.

I’m coming Mawmaw. 

You Wake Up

You wake up.

You’re forgetting something but it doesn’t come to your mind immediately. It’s a thick fog, but there’s no chance of it letting up. You get out of bed. 

Your feet touch matted carpet. You should vacuum today. You get to the mirror in your room and see your greasy hair that you keep putting off from washing. Today. You’re going to shower today, because that’s what you told yourself yesterday. Where’s your phone – oh, it’s in your hand. It’s like a limb to you. Can’t lose it.

You move to the bathroom. Every step seems a little easier than the last. You stumble into the dark before fumbling for the light switch. In that 40 watt lighting you see your face. It’s gaunt. You look like shit. You feel like it too, but this sight is the usual. No point in trying to change it now, you’ve got things to do and if you don’t get going the panic is going to start setting in. There’s deadlines, you know. And if you don’t hurry, they’re going to get tired of your excuses. 

You wonder who “they” are. You shake your head. No point in doing that. You’ve always had a competitive streak.

You get dressed in jeans that don’t stink and find some clean underwear in the laundry you haven’t folded yet. You should fold that. If it sits there too long, it becomes dirty again. Then you wash it. You know it’s illogical but there’s a thrum in you. Dirty. Filthy. Wash it. Wash it again. Is it clean? Clean enough. You get dressed and throw on a shirt that’s passable for something society can accept. That “they” can accept. 

Where’s your phone? On the couch. Grab it. You have to go. You are going to be late. 

You are an entity piloting this flesh suit, even if the skin fits too tight. Your responses are automated. There is nothing personable about the words you are saying. They’re natural, they’re deadpan. I can work on that. I like that. I hate that. You parrot those words like the robot getting fed simple commands like “Hello World!”. Hello world. 

You tune back into the channel from the commercial break. You’re back home. When did you get home? Where’s your phone? It’s dark outside, what the hell did you do today? They’re going to think of you as lazy. They’re winning. They always win. Your phone is in your pocket. 

The kitchen is a mess. You should clean it. You go in your fridge, something rotting but you’ll get to cleaning it at some point. You grab a canned coffee. It’s dark out but you want that coffee.

You go to your room. You sit on your bed in your jeans, avoiding the matted carpet. You lost your top somewhere on the journey from the kitchen to your room as a marker of where you were. You throw your jeans on the floor and sit in your underwear. You stare in the mirror.

You look the same. This is the same. This is normal. 

You’re going to shower tomorrow. 

You lay back on the bed. Close your eyes. Let go.

You wake up.

The Oracle and the Harpy

Erin woke up to the chilly, Oregon morning in her own cold sweat.

Drops rolled down her forehead, clinging to her skin as if it were a last ditch effort to keep themselves present in her mind. She could see the viscera branded on the back of her eyelids, forcing her stomach to clench and wane. There was the struggle to get to the bathroom before retching over the toilet bowl, the smell of iron still engulfing her senses. 

That poor, damned were. She saw the people in hoodies with those abyssal knives ripping her skin as she shrieked for help, but all the words that came from her slit throat were gurgles and whines. Every stroke of their blades was nearly art, and when they punctured her artery it sprayed blood like it was paint. 

Erin sat back on the cold tile and flushed the toilet, her breathing shaky as well as it was labored. She left Atlanta behind for Portland, but the dreams were following her. Oracle dreams. Dreams of death and decay, and at any moment now her phone would ring in the middle of the night and say what she was thinking.

On cue, her phone was buzzing. Erin lifted herself up to limp to her bed in her cramped studio, squinting at the neon text of her superior. 

“Hello?” Her throat stung from bile. “It’s—Damn, it’s 3am. What is it?”

“I think you know why I’m calling.” She could hear other cops in the background. Murmurs, distinctions to stay away from a crime scene. The lone siren in the night.

“Is it a woman?” She tried to close her eyes and focus on the face, past the rain of the dream, the blood, the gurgling cry for help. “Late thirties, a were—”

“You already know. No point in trying to get out of this one, Loxias.”

She resisted groaning into the phone. She hung up the phone after confirming the location of the killing, getting into the shower and dressing up before speeding to the scene of the crime.

It had been more gruesome in her dream as the blood was not misting the air as the morning dew was doing. Police tape quartered off the alley, paralleled by two cars sitting on either side to prevent anyone from entering as a deterrent. Erin could see a few forensic investigators out with their flashlights and hazmat suits, taking inventory of what little evidence was present at the scene. 

She caught the eye of her superior putting out his cigarette into the wet street, and she met him with a grim look on his face.

“Angela MacArthur.” He blew out the remnants of his wasted smoke into the crisp morning. “Were. Registered with the city. But there’s no murder weapon—no knife, no bullet casings. Nothing that would show that it’s… this.” 

Erin could see the circle of blood surrounding Angela’s body. She bit her tongue with her molars, sucking in her teeth as she crossed her arms. “Because they were summoned daggers.”

“You sure?”

“You already told me I knew who died, so—what—do you think I’m making this up now?” She hated the way her tone came off as defensive, but it was with good reason. “There were three of them. Wearing hoods—street clothing. Wielding abyssal knives. Do you think I make this shit up for fun?”

“Fine—fine. Go on then.” He waved his hand in dismissal to her, trying to put it out of his own mind. “You’re the damn oracle, not me.”

“It’s the AOS. Not me.” She was half tempted to sneer at him, but he was already in a piss-poor mood. “I’m going to see what I can dig up about Miss MacArthur.”

“Don’t do something stupid.”

“I’ll see it coming.” Erin turned to catch a cab to one place she knew she would find answers for a town’s supernatural: a clinic.

***

Erin gave a nod to the secretary as she shut the door behind her, hands shoved into her jacket as she looked at the meticulously clean office of the warden of the outreach center — Dr. Glaukopis. 

There was not a speck of dust on the bookshelves nor the keyboard of her desktop. Her eyes flicked to the clean walls with several diplomas — Doctorates, Masters — all lined up like little trophies. Other than the frames, Erin couldn’t deduce more of her personality other than being extremely focused on cleanliness and education. Nothing stuck out to her decoration wise to give her an in on who to expect.

Erin circled the desk, looking over the crisp and tiny writing on a legal pad. She squinted at the strange lettering, a free hand rubbing her forehead. 

Greek. The Hellenic language was leaping off the page at her. It was possible this doctor was just a non-sup with an interest in supernatural aspects, even a sorcerer. Casting in an older language rendered stronger spells than those cast in English. Erin’s lips twisted into a frown. It wouldn’t be the first time she was exposed to such things.

She forced herself to look away from the writing and analyze the rest of the desk despite the urge to translate whatever had been written, an instinctual calling back to her cursed nature. She looked over the pens: sorted down to the exact shade of ink. Trailing them past the computer with a sleek monitor, she finally settled her sights to a crisp, black frame on the corner of the desk, along with a single downy feather encased in glass.

Her brows shot up in surprise, Changelings were rare anywhere you went, and having a photo of one in their given face was like that of finding an authentic chimera fang. It was a family portrait of some kind; in the Changeling’s arms was a swaddled bundle, and a strange, human-like bird perched on her shoulder. 

Harpy. 

Erin’s blood ran cold. A harpy fledgling was never too far from her mother.

“I see Samantha let you in.”

She snapped her head up, and she felt a twinge of pain at how quickly she moved. Orange, predatory eyes looked down at her. Erin backed up slowly, removing one of her hands to extend it to the other woman. Instead of shoes, all she could think about were taloned feet flexed against the carpet. Sharp, known to peel the skin from any man that wandered too deep into their territory.

“Detective Loxias. You must be Doctor Ourania Glaukopis.”

The woman did not return her hand.

“I don’t know if you’re new, but I don’t speak to the police.” Her eyes bore into Erin’s, immaculate nails smoothing down her blazer. “I have patient confidentiality to uphold. You don’t have a warrant.”

Erin dropped her hand. “I don’t work on the force. And I don’t need a warrant.”

“Then why has a detective wandered into my office? Why haven’t you had a seat yet and remained patient?” Dr. Glaukopis swept past her, sitting in her desk chair. Erin couldn’t help but notice the fact that she hadn’t blinked yet. 

“I wanted insight on a couple things.” Erin shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest. She dropped her own notepad onto the chair facing the desk. Body language. “I’ve reopened a cold case regarding the death of Sir Adam Creswell. Something I’m sure you’ve heard of.”

“You’re that oracle that’s been hired on, aren’t you?”

Erin stiffened. That haunting word, the one that followed her from New Haven all the way to Portland. The one that carried a burden of dreams and pain and the contempt of someone who was delusional, filled with outrageous fortune, and a sense of self righteousness. Something that Erin would give anything to prove wrong, and instead offer them the crippling migraines and seizures every time one of her visions came about. But as people talk, it must have gotten around fast. 

“If that’s what you want to call me, sure.” She took her notebook into her lap and crossed her legs as she sat down into the squashy chair. “Like I said, I’m not looking for any of your clients. Just some insight, Doctor.”

Dr. Glaukopis finally blinked. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know. Sorcerers don’t come to my center often – it’s usually reserved for Were and Vampire support. The occasional other Supernaturals as well.” She shook the mouse and the computer flicked on. “Fey, Chimeras… those with AOS.”

“I’m not here to talk about my own problems—” Erin waved her hand, but put the information away for the meantime. “You do offer support to Sorcerers though, right? You know how they work?”

“Of course.” The doctor’s tone hadn’t dropped its annoyance. “When they’re burnt out from their patron or magical source, they come here looking for a prescription and they’re promptly turned away. Most go to the apothecaries in town to get supplements. I offer zero recourse here. This is an outreach center, not a drugstore.”

“So, would it be easier to get an answer out of one of those?”

“Unlikely.” Dr. Glaukopis’s desktop screen reflected in her eyes as she perused what Erin could see to be as a file directory, but the words were too small for her to even glean what they said. “They value their clients’ privacy – something I imagine you know all too well.” 

Erin suppressed a sigh, not sure how to even begin the trail again. She wasn’t going to comb through every apothecary in town. How many new-age ones had popped up over the course of a month? How many were run by actual sups who knew the legitimacy of spellcasting? And how many would try to upsell her on teas for her headaches, claiming bad karma or some other reason. 

 “That case’s been closed for years. Why open it back up?”

Her shoulders sagged as she rested her elbows on her knees. “Looked through the clues. Had a prophecy about it. Then some Were winds up dead and it’s done the same damn way as a man who died over twenty years ago.” Leaning forward, her hair falling from the messy bun as she closed her eyes. The sight had haunted her dreams as of late. “Same summon. Same ritual ring. Same fuckin’ sorcerer.”

“… I see.” 

The two of them waited in silence for a long time before the printer next to Erin sprung to life, chugging along until it spat out a piece of paper. “That’s a list of the next open sessions I’m having at the center. I’m not saying you’ll learn anything you don’t know, but I haven’t had a sorcerer in a session for years.”

It was a gesture that was unexpected but appreciated nonetheless. “Thanks, Doctor.”

Dr. Glaukopis raised her hand, a graveness about her. “I know the Were that died. Angela. She was troubled, and knowing that her murderer is out there and is still killing… I implore you to be resourceful.” 

“I will.” Erin reached for her own pen and tore off a sheet of the notebook, scribbling down her number and offering it out to her. “If you hear anything, if you see anything – this is my personal cell. I’ll keep you updated if I learn anything too, alright?”

The doctor leaned back in her chair, crossing one feathered leg over the other. “I’ll keep in touch, Detective.”