Magic Ain't a Game

by P. D. Workman

  Jessup showed her several methods of decorating her egg, and Reg felt like a little kid again. She hadn’t celebrated Easter or done any handicrafts for years. She watched some of the other ladies around her as they worked on their eggs, taking great care and attention. They didn’t seem embarrassed to be doing it. There were even a couple of warlocks who tried their hands at some of the different dyeing methods. Reg tried not to stare at them, but couldn’t help herself.

  “Regina!”

  Reg turned to see Francesca approaching her, slipping gracefully between the crowds to reach her. “How are you enjoying our Ostara so far?”

  Reg smiled and shrugged. “It’s kind of fun,” she admitted. She had expected something more mystical and less third-grade, but she was having a good time dyeing eggs, so she couldn’t complain. She was still feeling pretty good from the effects of the punch.

  “This is for you,” Francesca offered, reaching out to place a circlet of small white flowers on Reg’s head. “There. You are beautiful!”

  Reg reached up to touch it and wondered how it went with her red hair and headscarf. She didn’t exactly have flowing locks of ebony that would show off the pretty flowers.

  “Uh, thank you.”

  Francesca cocked her head this way and that, admiring them. “They are perfect.”

  “Okay.” Reg tried not to fiddle with them. If she just left them alone, they would stay in place and not look like they’d been pecked by birds all day. But she had a hard time not feeling them and trying to pat them back into place. They would be ragged by the end of the night. If she didn’t throw them out.

  Francesca bent over to talk to Jessup, who was painstakingly painting a flower on an egg. “You must come over to the terrariums next. You must plant some seeds. It can’t be spring without new seeds!”

  “Okay, we will,” Jessup agreed.

  “Will you decorate an altar?” Francesca questioned, looking from Jessup to Reg.

  Reg slid her gaze over to Jessup. She didn’t want to offend, but Jessup had told her that she didn’t have to participate in any rites that she wasn’t comfortable with.

  “Reg isn’t really into the spiritual practices,” Jessup said. “Keep it to earthborn stuff.”

  Francesca shrugged and wandered away. Reg nodded to Jessup. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. You don’t need to do anything just because someone suggests it. We’re all about people celebrating in their own way. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, go ahead and do what’s right for you.”

  “I don’t want to offend anyone.”

  “You won’t. It isn’t like going to church, where everyone is expected to do the same things. Everyone finds their own way to mark the occasion. And if you don’t like something, you adapt. Try something different. Next year, you can try something else again. Just find out what resonates with you.”

  Reg had lived with several foster families who had tried to force their versions of religion on her, even when it was against child services’ strict regulations. Her view of religious and spiritual practices was therefore somewhat disenchanted.

  “I don’t know. It’s all pretty new to me.”

  “No one is pushing. We are only offering.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t even have to wear the crown if you don’t want to.”

  Reg patted at it again. “I’ll wear it for a while. Until it starts to drive me crazy.”

  “Fair enough.”

  When Reg grew bored of the egg decorating and Jessup was happy with her creations, they went on to find the terrariums that Francesca had suggested. Reg studied the shy-looking woman at the table who was clearly in charge and showing others how to put together their terrariums. She had a red, pointed hat and her wrinkled cheeks were rosy. Reg took a swift glance under the table and saw that the woman was sitting on a high stool, her short legs not even close to reaching the ground.

  She directed her thoughts at the woman. Are you… gnomen?

  The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. She gave Reg a toothy smile, nodding.

  Yes, gnomen, she agreed, her voice in Reg’s head rather than audible. Reg had discovered from Forst, Sarah’s gardener, that gnomes generally spoke to each other telepathically in what they called their “inside words” and found it very difficult to speak aloud to humans.

  The gnome woman motioned for Reg to take the chair closest to her and started assembling the materials she needed for her terrarium. Jessup followed suit, sitting the next chair over and mirroring what the woman collected.

  The gnome looked shyly at Reg’s flowered circlet. Beautiful fleabane.

  Fleabane? That’s not a very pleasant name!

  Fleabane can be powerful. Good physic. And very pretty.

  Reg patted at it, hoping she wasn’t smushing it down too badly. Thank you. My name is Reg.

  Zinnia.

  That’s a beautiful name.

  Jessup looked over at Reg. “Are you talking? Am I interrupting?”

  “Interrupt away,” Reg said. “This is Zinnia. Zinnia, this is Marta Jessup.”

  Zinnia bowed her head in acknowledgment. She handed Reg and Jessup each a plastic cup and indicated the small pebbles.

  Put pebbles in? Reg asked.

  Just over the bottom. For draining.

  Reg followed Zinnia’s instructions and Jessup copied her. Zinnia let them pick out the seed or bulb they wanted to plant and then helped them mix the right soil for that particular plant, plant it at the correct depth, and give it the amount of water it “wanted.”

  Reg and Jessup then enclosed the miniature garden with a plastic dome over the top, and Zinnia gave them instruction sheets on when to transfer the seedling from the terrarium to their gardens.

  Reg sat with her eyes just a couple of inches from the terrarium, imagining the seed awakening and growing up into a tiny, perfect plant. And then she could give it to Forst and he would plant it in Sarah’s garden.

  Forst is mine cousin, Zinnia said shyly, looking up through her lowered lashes at Reg.

  Is he? He is a wonderful gardener. And I met his brother, Fir, too.

  Zinnia blinked rapidly. Fir has no woman.

  Oh. I… didn’t know that. What about you, do you have a man?

  Many years ago. He died very young for gnomen.

  I’m sorry. Do gnomes… remarry?

  She shook her head slightly. Rarely. Another look at Reg through her lashes. But sometimes.

  Reg smiled, thinking of Fir and Zinnia holding hands sitting under a tree. Zinnia’s cheeks grew a duskier red, but she gave Reg a small smile.

  Chapter Eight

  Music started blasting in the main hall as Jessup and Reg labeled their creations and set them aside for later.

  “Time to dance,” Jessup announced.

  Reg wasn’t sure whether there would be some kind of ceremonial or ritual dancing, or whether it was just going to be a ball. She followed Jessup reluctantly. She was curious, but she wasn’t going to be doing any dancing herself if she were just going to end up looking like a fool. Or if it were some complicated traditional dance or spiritual ritual.

  Others who had been working on crafts were also headed to the hall to watch or participate in the dancing. Reg at least didn’t stand out too much. There were plenty of colorful costumes, many more formal than Reg’s, and many more casual. She seemed to fall right in the middle of the pack, which drew little attention. Sometimes it was good to stand out, but Reg didn’t want to be anyone’s focus when it was something she was so new to.

  The warlock who was emceeing the dance cut the music and called for everyone’s attention. It was a few seconds before everyone quieted enough for him to continue. Reg looked around as he chattered, announcing the dance and that it was celebrating the vernal equinox, which everyone already knew, and on and on. There had not been many warlocks working on the crafts, so Reg was glad to see more of them in the hall. If they were having a dance, it would be best if the men were
not in short supply. Although Reg supposed she could dance with other witches too. But that always felt just a little bit awkward. Like everyone was watching and making judgments.

  The dance was to kick off with a traditional piece, and the emcee called on several couples by name to begin. The music began, a slow instrumental piece, and the couples that swept out onto the floor began a graceful dance with carefully choreographed steps.

  “After this, they’ll do regular stuff,” Jessup whispered.

  “Just one special dance?”

  “There are more outside,” Jessup made a small gesture toward the doors. “Like he said, some smaller group dances, performed outside under the moon.”

  “Oh. Right.” Apparently, if Reg had been listening, she would have known that. “Sorry, there’s just so much to take in.”

  Jessup nodded.

  After five minutes, Reg was more than ready for the traditional dance to end. The sounds of the instruments were getting on her nerves. The repetitive patterns of the steps, with the dancers drawing in towards each other and then out again in geometric exactitude were too much for her. She made her way around the hall to the refreshments table to snag another cookie and a couple more glasses of punch. After ten minutes, the dance sounded like it was wrapping up. Eventually, they stopped, bowed to each other, paused for the audience’s applause, and left the dance floor. Reg’s applause was more for the fact that it was finally over than the dancers’ skill and patience in executing the dance. It felt more like they were executing the audience.

  The band started playing something more bouncy and popular. Reg looked around. She wanted to move her feet and work off some restless energy, but while she recognized a few of the men who were watching, she didn’t know them well enough to approach them.

  She felt a sudden rush of heat and pressed her fingertips to her cheek. What was that? A hot flash? The beginning of a fever? Or just too many people crammed into the small hall? Maybe she’d had too much to drink.

  “Regina,” a pleasant voice murmured behind her, and Reg immediately knew what it was. Not a hot flash. Corvin.

  She turned to look at him. She knew him well enough now to recognize that his robe was not his everyday wear, but something special, made of a different material. It had a high collar rather than a hood, and underneath he was wearing formal wear. Not tails, but something fine with a red sash.

  “You look nice,” Reg blurted, then pretended to herself that her cheeks were not getting hotter still.

  He looked down at her, his eyes drinking in her laced bodice and circlet of white flowers. “And you are looking very festive yourself.” He extended a hand to her. “Shall we dance?”

  Reg remembered the last time they had danced. It had been an amazing experience, the two of them anticipating each other’s moves and perfectly in sync. But it had led to Corvin being able to overpower her with his charms. He had nearly succeeded in stealing her powers, and would have been able to if it hadn’t been for the intervention of the fairies.

  She didn’t take his hand.

  “I don’t think so.” She resisted the warmth and the smell of roses that he exuded, starting to build up invisible protections around her.

  “I promise I wouldn’t do anything,” he told her huskily.

  “You already are. And I know what your promises are worth.” He’d promised the last time, too. And he was still being shunned by his coven for what he had done.

  “You are strong enough to resist,” he pointed out, switching to flattery. “We can enjoy ourselves without fear of… something untoward happening.”

  “Something untoward. Like you deciding to drain all of my powers.” He had spoken as if it were something beyond his control. Something that might just happen all by itself.

  “You know how difficult it is trying to resist instinctual behavior. Can you blame me for what comes naturally to me? Without an external source of power, I would…”

  Reg frowned, waiting for him to finish. But it didn’t appear he was going to. “You would what? I don’t think you’ve ever said what would happen if you weren’t able to find a source of powers to consume. Would you stop being able to charm anyone? Stop being able to perform any magic? Would you die? Exactly what would happen?”

  He looked offended, as if she had said something rude. And maybe that wasn’t something that you were supposed to ask a warlock with Corvin’s “affliction.” But she thought that as his favored target, she deserved to know the answer.

  “Warlocks such as I will eventually die if they are not able to consume the powers they require,” he said slowly. He was so careful with his words that Reg knew he was lying or misleading her somehow. Maybe what he said was technically true, but he was trying to cover something up. The fact that he only needed an external source of power once a year? That he would die within the normal lifespan of a human being? She had never seen him so desperate that she had feared for his survival.

  He had forced her to feel his hunger, which was also against the rules, as it turned out. So she knew how desperately hungry he could get if he could not feed on someone else’s powers. Or from some power-imbued object. But she didn’t know how often he was really that hungry or if it were something he could distract himself from.

  “I’m not dancing with you,” she reaffirmed.

  He scowled. “One dance, Regina. I’m not asking for the whole night.”

  Reg shook her head again.

  Another warlock came over. Reg recognized him as one of the bartenders at the Crystal Bowl. Not someone she knew well, but they knew each other to say hello to.

  “Reg. How about a dance?”

  Reg obligingly reached out her hand to him, and he led her onto the dance floor. Even looking away from Corvin, she could feel his rage at being snubbed so obviously. Other people may have seen. It was humiliating. Reg focused on Bill. She kept her eyes on his face and tried to anticipate his movements and to enjoy the dance. It was hard not to be distracted by Corvin when she could feel his feelings so clearly. They had shared each other’s thoughts too many times for her to just shut him out. She had to listen to his angry growlings about how she had embarrassed him in front of everyone. And how she was being a hussy throwing herself at another man on the dance floor.

  Bill raised his brows at her. Reg tried again to focus on him and on dancing naturally to the song. But her movements felt awkward and she knew she wasn’t moving in sync with him.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m just not in the groove yet.”

  “No worries. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

  Reg nodded her agreement.

  She was relieved when the song ended, and she moved toward the side of the hall again. But another warlock stepped in front of her. Davyn. Her mentor and the leader of Corvin’s coven.

  “Could I tempt you into another dance?” he offered.

  Reg looked around for Corvin. She could still feel him close by. It was probably a good thing if she stayed with Davyn for a bit. Part of his job was to keep Corvin in line and make sure that he followed the coven’s rules.

  “Yes, sure,” she agreed, and they found a space on the dance floor. Reg knew she was dancing even worse with him. His eyes flicked around the room and back to her.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, just Corvin being Corvin. He wanted to dance, I said no, so he’s going to have his little temper tantrum over it.”

  “He’s a powerful warlock. His little temper tantrum could be a pretty big thing.”

  “Yeah, except that would embarrass him in front of everyone, and he’s already embarrassed by being turned down. If he explodes and has a big meltdown in front of the whole equinox celebration, it isn’t exactly going to look good.”

  Davyn nodded. “I’m glad he cares about what other people think. The way he acts sometimes… I do wonder.”

  “Well, I can tell you he does. Even if he pretends that it doesn’t make any differenc
e to him.”

  “Then you should be safe tonight. Try to just enjoy yourself. Have you had a good time here so far?”

  Reg nodded. “It feels sort of like a kids’ party. You know, crafts and cookies and punch, and a dance… but it’s been fun. And I know it’s all symbolic. It just seems… a little juvenile.”

  “You can perceive and enjoy it on whatever level you are at. It can be childish and simplistic, or it can be complex and laden with meaning. It all depends on you.”

  “Jessup says I’m… earthbound. I guess that means I’m not into the religious stuff.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine. That’s where you are. That’s where many of us are most comfortable. No one expects you to suddenly start chanting or participating in rituals you haven’t been properly introduced to.”

  Reg glanced around once more for Corvin but couldn’t see him. His anger level seemed to be subsiding. She didn’t know whether he were still watching her and just knew that she wouldn’t get romantically involved with her mentor, or whether he had gone off to participate in some other activity that took his attention away from the anger and humiliation. She tried to relax her shoulders and to move more smoothly in time with the music.

  “How about you? Have you been enjoying the celebration?”

  Davyn smiled. “Equinox is one of my favorite times of the year, one of my favorite celebrations. The renewal, increasing energy levels and growth around us, all of the focus on balance and new beginnings…”

  Reg smiled. That sounded good to her too. She was glad that she had agreed to attend with Jessup, despite the scene with Corvin.

  The dance ended, and Reg smiled her thanks. “I think I’ll just go get another glass of punch—”

  She was cut off when yet another warlock stepped in, reaching out to take her hand and pull her into the next dance. By the time she had a chance to focus on him, she was already in position and moving her feet. Then she saw who it was.