Pumpkins and Potions

by Tegan Maher

  The seer was running a hand over Patagonia, and Patagonia, in return, was playing the role of the loving cat, a role that she often dropped around me, instead preferring to use me as her personal chew toy. But Patagonia, despite being influenced heavily by tasty treats, was, in general, a good judge of character, and if she liked the lady, then there was probably no immediate threat of danger.

  The lady stood up slowly, a hand at her back, and eventually was upright and extending her hand to me. She then wrapped both of her thin, bony hands around my own hand and held it. “I’m Beatrice Maximal, owner of the Spice Pumpkin restaurant and rest stop. Thank you for helping me.”

  From the way she was looking at me, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy request. “Helping you with what?”

  “Oh yes, of course, I haven’t explained yet. Sit, sit.” She led me over to two enormous high-backed chairs, the seats covered in detailed needlework, then gestured for me to sit before continuing. “It is no coincidence that you are stranded here for the night. I will pay you, of course, but more important than the money is the assurance that justice is served. I know you’ll feel the same, if not now then soon. I need you to solve a murder.”

  I nodded. While this was not exactly the evening I had pictured, it wasn’t terribly surprising either. Solving murders was definitely within my top three skills, next to forensic accounting and entertaining Patagonia. My exact abilities weren’t public knowledge, but nothing could be kept from a seer. I could read the holographic image of a death caused by magic. The more magic used, the longer the image would survive. I could see, hear, and even sense the magic in the final moment before the soul left the body, and once I had experienced it, the memory would reside in me forever. That was my least favorite part of the experience, but justice always had a price.

  Few people knew of this ability, as it was rare and not well understood. Mages in general were secretive about their skills and abilities, which was something I had only discovered after I’d learned I was one, but that was another story. I would read the death site, help the bereaved, and hopefully get a full meal and curl up in a booth to sleep until morning.

  I was bummed about missing the Halloween parties back in Rambler but not as much as one would expect. Most mages considered them the main mage events of the year, but given my recent introduction to the magical world of mages, I hadn’t fully adopted all their customs, especially as tradition included a kiss at midnight. My dating life was complicated at its best, and it was not even close to being at its best at the moment.

  I sat opposite the older woman and studied her face. She seemed calm, even happy to see me, but I knew grief had to be bubbling under the surface. I studied her closely and waited until Patagonia was pressed up against her leg to talk.

  “Who died? When and where did it happen?”

  “No idea, later tonight, and your guess is as good as mine.”

  It took more than a few seconds for her answer to make its way through my neurons, and even once it had, all I could counter with was “Huh?”

  “The murder is going to happen later tonight, but how, when, where, and especially why is still a bit of a mystery to me.” She frowned. “I just know that you were set to arrive and will solve the murder.”

  “Okay… but surely it isn’t one of us?” I swallowed hard and looked around.

  “No, dearie, you have many hard times ahead of you beyond this evening, and my time is soon but not so soon. No, it is the class reunion inside.” She gestured to the two large doors that I had assumed led to the dining room. “I have known them since they were enrolled at the boarding school a few miles away. They were always a particularly troubled group of youth. Long-held grudges and crossed lovers. Drama, drama, drama, and I guess it comes to a head tonight.”

  “Can’t you just tell them that you know there will be a murder and to cut it out?”

  She pursed her lips and gave me a look like she had seen piles of dirt with IQs higher than mine. “Do you think that I didn’t consider that? Terrible things will happen. Terrible! Things! Lord, why did you send me such a dense monza?” She held her hands up to the ceiling and implored God for help.

  “I’m sorry. Of course you know your vision better than me. Please just tell me what you do know, and I will do my best to help.” I tried to muster up some enthusiasm but ended up stifling a yawn. The invigorating spell was shorter acting than I had intended, and my growling stomach proclaimed my flagging energy.

  “Come to the kitchen with me. I have your bartending outfit and a prime rib that should be ready in”—she checked her watch—“five minutes. After you eat, you can tend the bar and observe. You, too, Patagonia. I have fresh fish waiting.”

  3

  By the time I entered the party, outfitted in the black shirt and pants of my bartending uniform, I was full, energized, and ready to work despite the fact that I wasn’t much more knowledgeable than when I had first entered the restaurant.

  Despite having known the partygoers since they were teenagers, Beatrice didn’t have much useful information to add to prepare me. She remembered vague stories like someone running off with another person’s date at prom or cheating on the final exam, but the names of the people involved escaped her.

  To be fair, it had been eighty years since they had been in school, as mages were particularly long-lived. Beatrice was probably into her mid-hundreds, though she didn’t look a day over ninety in human years. Mages aged more slowly than humans, but no one escaped time’s effects forever.

  I had called home from an office in the back and explained that while I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in Nevada, I was safe and would be able to return once the roads were plowed. Vanessa was bummed, and I put on a sad front, but truthfully, I would rather be working than awkwardly introducing myself to all of Vanessa’s relatives who wanted to tell me all their troubles. They felt that as a monza, it was my duty and possibly even my joy to listen and console them about anything that bothered them. I tended to attract the most tedious guests determined to share ever more ghastly details of their lives.

  I entered the restaurant dining room, where the party was being held, and hesitated at the door. I knew that dinner was over and that the rest of the evening would consist of mingling and depositing well-wishes into the Luck Pumpkin along with a few reunion-related events like a gift exchange and toasts. The orange gourd was in the corner on a dedicated display table. The positive magic would gather inside it until midnight, when it would explode and rain down positive energy on all that were present.

  I wasn’t convinced that it was anything more than a parlor trick, but mages considered it a rule and planned whole elaborate parties around it.

  But my focus was on the people present, perhaps a dozen total. I had been warned that about half of the attendees were actually travel companions, nurses, or caretakers and were neither suspects nor potential victims. There were only five that I needed to watch, and those would be wearing large corsages pinned to their chests—something about a school tradition.

  Beyond that, Beatrice hadn’t had many details to add other than a rough outline of the schedule for the next four hours until midnight. There would be an open bar, which would provide my cover for being there. I was to act as a bartender. Even though the extent of my mixology knowledge was mostly limited to knowing what went into a rum and Coke, I had heard that you couldn’t go wrong with a heavy hand, and I hoped it was true.

  Beatrice had a few rounds of desserts and candies she’d bring out from time to time. Apparently, they hosted a similar event every decade, and while there wasn’t a set schedule, they followed a roughly similar series of events each time.

  But the most important fact to me was that a murder would occur, and I had thirty minutes to solve it. Otherwise, the killer would get away forever. I had tried to argue all the ways it could be avoided, like telling people up front that we knew there would be a murder or canceling the party or even locking everyone in afterward until the p
olice arrived. But in every case, Beatrice had shaken her head and told me that I wasn’t a seer and couldn’t understand. Fate was fate, and nothing I did would change the murder occurring, but it would ruin our chances of catching the killer.

  My options were to risk that she was wrong and go rogue with one of my untested theories or believe her and do my best to be observant and solve a murder based on what I saw before it happened. I had been leaning toward the latter but hadn’t been convinced until I spoke to Bear.

  I had called after speaking to Vanessa, right before I changed into my uniform for the rest of the evening. I needed to let him know I was okay but also wanted his advice. He listened all the way through with only a few grunts of agreement so I’d know he was still there.

  Bear had thought for a while before answering. “I have heard of Beatrice, and she is a straight arrow. You’re probably safe believing her. All you can do is observe. Could you leave if you wanted to?”

  I’d leaned over to check out the window and confirmed that driving home still wasn’t an option. Visibility was low, the sky was dark, and the landscape was nothing more than a smooth, undulating white surface. I’d spotted a few antennae and realized that the rolling landscape was actually parked cars buried under feet of snow.

  “Nope, couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

  So the situation was resolved. As I stood in the doorway, I surveyed the crowd, hoping that maybe someone had a sign around their neck that said Murderer, but it was just a room full of older mages in formal attire. I was glad for the uniform, as my casual clothing would have looked painfully underdressed.

  I picked up a miniature sword displayed on a tiny wooden stand, testing the edge on my thumb to discover it was quite sharp before putting it back. I didn’t want to accidentally cut myself, especially as all kinds of magical items required blood to set off unknown abilities. I had enough on my hands already.

  I had only a short time to observe before a woman with half a dozen carnations pinned to her ample bosom spotted me and snapped her fingers in my direction.

  “Girl, girl! Are you going to stand there all night, or will you finally get to work?” she barked.

  I rushed over to the bar on one side of the restaurant. As others turned to see me, they started shuffling toward the bar, grumbling under their breath about “servers these days” and “can’t find good help.”

  “Uh… give me just one second to get my bearings. I was a last-minute replacement, and this is not my normal gig.” I scooted around behind the bar, looking for a book that Beatrice had told me would be there.

  The woman with the carnations put her hands on her hips. “Well, really now. We have been waiting for forever.”

  A tall and distinguished gentleman smoothly rolled to her side, the red roses of his corsage still closed into tight buds, their petals barely hinting that they would soon begin to open. “Karen, give the gal a break. We are lucky to have anyone in weather like this. If you make her run off like that waitress did earlier, you will be forced to pour your own wine, and I can’t imagine a fate worse for you.”

  His voice reminded me of a black-and-white film actor’s, deep and with an accent that had never existed anywhere in the real world but still seemed rich and proper. He gave me a subtle wink.

  I suppose that I should have been thankful for his help, but I got a sense that he was writing up a bill I would need to pay later. His hair was an elegant solid gray that shone in the lights.

  Karen sniffed back at him. “Quit flirting with the help. She’s being paid for a job, and I hardly think I am rude to ask for her to do that job.”

  I ignored both of them upon spying what I was searching for, a yellowed and dusty paperback book of recipes. I flipped through and was disappointed to see things like fuzzy navel and red-headed mage. I highly doubted that either would be in high demand, as the party wasn’t for twenty-something spring breakers looking to get drunk.

  I grabbed two bottles of wine, a red from a shelf and a white from the refrigerator, and started to uncork them. “If you would like a glass of either of these, then I will happily serve you first. Once I’ve done that, then I can dig into more complicated orders.”

  By that point, a majority of the dozen people present had arrived at the bar. Before people could answer, I poured a glass of wine nearly to the top and extended my hand. Perhaps on instinct, someone took it and stepped way. I continued like that until the crowd had thinned.

  Karen, still upset at my ineptitude, huffed into her carnation corsage. “You don’t fill a wine glass to the top. You fill it to the widest part of the bowl so the wine can breathe.”

  “Breathe elsewhere, Karen. All that hot air is warming my mediocre chardonnay,” said a man with a voice that was slightly high pitched but heavy with snarky humor.

  I waited for Karen to huff off then served the few remaining stragglers. As they cleared, I was able to spy the owner of the voice that had spoken.

  He was a bald man with a carefully groomed white mustache and beard. He had a single dainty orchid pinned to his beaded lapel.

  Normally, I would roll my eyes at a beaded outfit, but it seemed to fit him. Not just literally, as it was tailored to within a millimeter of his svelte frame, but also metaphorically. It was gorgeous, elegant, and worn with a hint of humor, which confirmed that he didn’t take himself too seriously.

  His drink was nearly empty, so I held out the wine bottle to refill his glass. “Just say when.”

  He chuckled the way I imagined a small child would, and it was pure joy. “Aren’t you just a delight.” He watched the liquid fill the glass until it was on the verge of overflowing. “When!” He took a careful sip from his glass and looked me over.

  I had the strangest urge to gain his approval. I couldn’t say where it was coming from, but if charm and personality were magical qualities, then he had them in spades. He finally nodded at the end of his examination. “Would I be too terribly predictable if I sat and bent the ear of an attentive bartender?”

  “Nothing would delight me more,” I quipped as I grabbed a terry-cloth towel from a brass rod and set to wiping down the counter. I couldn’t say what was coming over me, but I felt entranced by his witty banter.

  He sat himself on one of the stools on the other side. Patagonia appeared on his right and meowed loudly for the man’s attention. Perched as she was, she could look him directly in the eye.

  He turned to her and gave her the same once-over he had given me. Karen with the carnations had looked past me and not seen me. The man with the roses had seemed to undress me with his eyes as though evaluating a piece of merchandise before purchase. But this man did neither. He just took a few moments to acknowledge and observe the person before him—or in this case, the cat—before speaking.

  “Does your familiar want to be petted, or will she take my finger off if I try?” he asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. With me, she can do either, but in your case, I think she wants the attention she thinks she deserves.”

  He gently scratched behind Patagonia’s ear, and I could hear the purrs instantly. She appeared to share my interest.

  I gave myself a shake and remembered the whole murder, death, and investigation deal I had signed up for. I had someone that was a suspect all alone, and I needed to start diving into finding the truth.

  I opened my mouth to talk, but he spoke first.

  “I know you are more than you seem, you know. The energy shifted when you entered the room. No one else noticed. But I did, because I can see the diamonds in the rough.”

  A thrill went through me. Who didn’t want to be thought of as a diamond? But then I squashed it down. I needed to switch tacks and focus on him. He could be the killer. I had heard that many serial killers could be quite charming.

  I tried to get a reading on him, an ability I had even before I found out that I was a mage. I could sense just a bit more emotion than was outwardly apparent. But all I got back from him was genuine inter
est and that he was enjoying our conversation.

  “Thank you. Are you enjoying your reunion?” I asked.

  He blew out a sigh and waved his hand. “I don’t even know why I came, and now I can’t even leave. I suppose I was just curious whether anyone had grown and matured, but here we all are repeating the behaviors of our youth. Even me, hiding out from my peers and talking to someone outside the situation. Oh, high school was just so tedious. Though there was some good gossip. Do you want to hear it?”

  “All of it. Which people here did you go to school with?” I surveyed the room.

  “It’s easy to tell because of the flowers, you see. There are only five of us left, and with the exception of me, they are all wearing enough foliage to bankrupt a florist. Our name flowers, as they were called at school, were flowers that matched the first letter of our name and were meant to be a personal mascot all through school. Funny, we picked them out in our first year, but they ended up making a case for nominative determinism.”

  When the average person dropped twenty-dollar vocabulary, I would normally feel they were being a bit pretentious and full of themselves, but instead, the words tripped off his tongue. “What is that?”

  “It is a phrase to describe when your name and your career align. Like when a man named Jim Plaque becomes a dentist or Samantha Storm trains in meteorology. But in our case, it appears that we took on the personality of our name flower. Take mine, for instance. My name is Orin, and I picked the orchid.”

  He gestured to the delicate blossom on his lapel. “I thought it was exotic and mysterious like me. Interesting and beguiling.”

  “That seems about right,” I countered.

  “Not in high school. I was pimpled, insecure, and quite pedestrian.”

  I chuckled. “Weren’t we all in high school?” I said, remembering the photos I had in my old albums full of bad bangs and bad fashion.