There is actually a very good reason why I never reached out to my wife.

I know, I know.

The question has been sitting on your minds for a while now.

All these years, and whatever happened to the obvious solution? Write something on Mary’s laptop and leave it open so that she will see it? Or for that matter, what’s there to stop me from, say, scratching out a message on the walls of my room?

Three words would be enough: I AM ALIVE.

Followed by a signature and, to cover my bases, probably some intimate detail about her that only I would know. (Her exact lingerie size, maybe, or which specific teeth she lost in seventh grade, when she tried to fly up a tree after watching too many kung-fu movies, and ended up in the emergency room.) I was also one of the few people in the world who can point out the scar in the corner of her mouth, so faint that it would take close examination over years to see it. A simple line, a few phrases, and I would have no need of Clark August the wizard to win her back.

I didn’t do it because Gramps stopped me.

[DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!]

That was his warning, and he was right, but not before I found out for myself.

After all, I can possess people.

After all, what was stopping Clark August from waiting at my wife’s door, to tell her that exact same thing?

~

I’m looking out at the spot where it happened. It’s morning, and snow falling over Toronto. The winter scenery was picturesque to look upon as I awaited the arrival of my great foe.

Not the hellhound. Not even the Prophet (if he even was a foe at this point). My enemy had a much simpler name, and he was called Emmanuel.

He was also a Toronto real-estate agent.

I didn’t turn around from the window. The beeping was in my ear but even that was negligible. I should have been working on the case, but wasn’t. My original plan was to spend the whole night, after putting Percy to bed, laboring in the Arcane Archives. My spells need replenishing, and working out formulae was a time-consuming business. I wasn’t even doing that, for the door to the Graveyard of Spells remained closed. My eyes were glued to the street outside, and I was counting down the seconds. The first rays of morning sunlight were just beginning to flicker over the nearby rooftops.

It wouldn’t be long now.

I heard movement outside my bedroom.

This place was my sanctum, and yet, the most powerful wizard in the world remained trapped here like a bird in a cage. The charm kept me tethered to the body, and despite Gramps’s warnings, I did try to break out, once upon a time.

I murdered to do it.

I raised my arm, and pointed out of the window. Right there. On my street. The parked cars are different, but the scenery was the same as the afternoon as when I first mastered the magic of possession. Gramps had issued no warning with it; and maybe he thought it needed to happen the way it did for me to learn my lesson. For my part, the plan had been sitting on my mind ever since his lessons began. I knew then it would work; and was sure it was only a matter of possessing the first person I saw in real-time, reestablishing contact with my wife and family, and informing them of my current predicament. I also knew they would believe me, and that I would not have to suffer my lonely prison any longer.

I still don’t know his name.

He was just someone who happened by at the wrong time.

He passed on the sidewalk opposite our street with a coffee in hand, and that’s when I took him over completely.

I timed it perfectly. A minute after, my wife returned from work. I saw her swinging into the driveway, where the driver’s side door on her modest Honda opened.

I had thrown away the empty coffee cup and approached her quickly.

I didn’t want to scare her. That was why, despite briefly considering it, I never tried to possess Mary to make her aware of my presence. If there was going to be difficulties with the spell, or some unforeseen consequence to the magic I was wielding, I rather it happens to someone else.

Yes, it was very selfish, and I remember thinking that even as I waved with the arm of the man I controlled. Mary did not see me, so I opened my mouth. I aimed a hollered greeting at her, and began to cross—

—and was promptly hit by a car!

Anguish.

Agony.

The jarring impact surprised me so much that my concentration broke. I felt none of the pain the man must have briefly endured, even as I was hurtled back into the same window overlooking the scene. I stumbled away from the panes with the shrill cries of the street ringing in my ears, and heard horns hold their notes as other cars stopped around the accident. I looked out, and got a full view of the young man lying sprawled over the demolished hood of a silver sedan. The driver was pinned beneath his deployed airbags, and already someone was running up to the door to try and wrench it open. Others followed his example. They were trying to save lives. I did the only thing I could just then.

I repositioned myself in front of the window, possessed the next person I saw.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but that was what happened.

From the window, I saw my wife in the crowd of gathered onlookers. She had her phone out, and was already yelling into it. Others mimicked what she was doing. They were all dialing 911, and in the middle of the chaos, one woman beside my wife suddenly turned off her phone and turned towards Mary.

Me.

I picked up right where I left off. I did not give up, and repeated the spell. I possessed the nearest person to her to try again, and only wanted a minute of her time. A few words, a hurried explanation; that was all I desired; and maybe even the smallest touch or, at the very least, a proper look into the eyes I remembered so well. I didn’t think I was asking for too much.

I was wrong.

The moment I tried to get my wife’s attention, another car—another careless driver—mounted the curb. Later, news reports stated that the person responsible for the second fatal accident, which took place so soon after the first, hadn’t even seen the crash. He was in a hurry, and once he saw traffic backed up along the narrow street, decided to try and squeeze by. He took to the parking lane, and an errant push of the gas pedal caused him to mount the curb. Then, he lost control of his vehicle as it threw itself onto the sidewalk, crashing into the two women standing there.

One died.

The other—Mary—lived.

The doctor and later, the police officer who came to take her statement both agreed she was very lucky. The vehicle was a huge black SUV, and she could have ended up crushed beneath its wheels like the first unfortunate woman. Getting off with a broken arm was, comparatively speaking, the best thing she could have hoped for.

I never tried it again.

~

Third time’s a charm.

Remember what I said about replenishing spells? I’ve discovered long ago every one of them is limited in use. Three charges, and no more, no less. No matter how complicated they were, or their effects, three was all you ever got. Gramps had taught me about the significance of the number 3, and I had learned the rest for myself.

Three.

The magical number.

The number of bears that nearly ate Goldilocks.

The number of witches gathered around a caldron in MacBeth.

There were three Fates who worked their spinning loom, and three is also the number of goddesses Paris was made to choose from that led to the Trojan War.

The Monkey King had to borrow an enchanted fan three times to put out the flames of an eternal volcano, and if you happen to catch something that grants wishes—be they leprechaun or djinn—three is the number you get before the bargain is fulfilled.

It goes on, too.

We have three strikes in baseball; three taps on the mat before the ref calls for the bell in wrestling. Three is the number of the Bible’s Holy Trinity of Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, and the number of Loki’s children who began Ragnarök. There are three naked men on the medal for the Nobel Peace Prize; and three is also the sacred number of time itself—past, present and future.

I grew up in the 90s.

I had a Nintendo.

I also remember three Triforces, forged in the shape of golden triangles with three equal sides. I also needed to stomp on the head of the lizard three times before I could rescue the pretty pink princess, who was always located in another castle. There are four Ninja Turtles, but in retrospect, that show was a blaspheme against nature and the laws of evolution itself.

As I learned magic, the rules became clear to me. They were ironclad, and absolutely unbreakable. Three was the reason I avoided contacting my wife. I had tried twice already; and thick headed as I was, had ignored the first warning to worse effect.

The second had been an ultimatum.

Two deaths on my conscience, and my Mary being injured.

It was a year and more before she dared to drive (or get anywhere near a moving vehicle) again. I will never try something like that. That was when I promised myself to solve the matter without bringing innocent people into it or causing them harm.

I have mostly abided by this self-imposed line drawn into the sand—

—until now.

Now, I was out for blood.

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