The Magic Shop

by Justin Swapp

  “What an interesting place,” Ellie said as she ran her finger along the contours of a ruby. “How do you think we find these Kabbahl people?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcus said, sitting down on the other arm of the throne. “But I hope they aren’t as creepy as the rest of this place.”

  Marcus looked down at the others below. Elba had cleared away a space on the floor. Squinting, he half-expected to see a trapdoor or something that only Elba knew about, but there was nothing like that.

  “Winston,” Elba said, “I need the Totem.”

  With a nod, he stepped over to the spot on the floor that Elba had cleared away, and pulled his brim out of his jacket. He had a very serious look on his face as he held out the sphere Marcus knew all too well. He mumbled something unintelligible that almost sounded melodic over the clearing for what seemed like several moments, and then he stopped and waited. A blue light appeared in the center of Winston’s brim. The intensity of the light grew bolder and brighter until a small blue wisp escaped the brim and descended on the floor in front of the group. The wisp moved like a long snake, taking shape on the ground. The light faded from the ball as it emptied onto the floor, forming a large blue rectangle.

  “Ellie, look at this,” Marcus said, pulling her to the balcony’s banister.

  When the tendril-like light had faded into the floor, Winston put his brim back into his pocket and bent over the ground. He placed his hands on the floor and lifted the rectangular shape he had just created to one side, exposing a staircase leading to a faint source of blue light.

  Marcus’s jaw dropped, and he pointed at the light below them. “Is that—”

  “The blue room,” Ellie said.

  “Charlotte,” Winston called out. He jerked his head toward the cellar-like staircase now leading into the floor.

  He held the plank open while Charlotte descended the stairs. A moment later she came up out of the room with a small wooden statue in her hand. She carried it like she might a baby—clutched safely in her arms.

  Arms outstretched, Elba approached her. “The totem, please.”

  “Wait,” Winston said, holding up a finger. He removed the brim from his pocket again, and repeated the process he had gone through to gain access to the blue room. A wisp of blue light appeared in the center of his sphere, and a moment later the doorframe seemed to lift up and peel away from the floor and float toward the glass ball until it was all absorbed, and finally, gone.

  Charlotte looked at the floor, and then sideways at her husband.

  “What?” he asked, looking surprised at her scorn. “I don’t trust them to keep their hands off our things. You know how they are.”

  Elba cleared her throat. “Shall we?”

  She bent over and placed the totem on the ground, taking a moment to adjust it several times until it was arranged in a particular way, then she stood up. As she stepped away from it, Marcus noticed for the first time that the totem had a long neck, a beak, and wings.

  Removing her cigarette-like brim from her blouse, Elba said, “Now everyone, I do the talking, agreed?” She took a moment to concentrate, and then she whispered a few words and waved her brim at the small statue. Flames erupted from the totem. In that moment, Marcus felt something bump him on one side, knocking him off the throne and onto the balcony floor. He looked for his sister, and when he saw her face looking up from the floor, frightened and frozen, he realized that it wasn’t the shock or alarm of the burning totem that cause them to fall over, but rather, as he followed her gaze, the people that had suddenly appeared in the thrones.

  “Wha—?” a deep, albeit disoriented voice burst out above the children. A tall, brutish-looking man with flowing black robes shot up from the seat next to them looking disoriented, but still sounding angry. Marcus and Ellie scrambled backward, felt for the wall, and got back to their feet. The man scanned the room and, after a moment, his eyes widened as a revelation seemed to strike him. ”Who dares summon this Kabbahl?”

  Taking in the room again, Marcus saw that for every seat they had passed along the old balcony, there was a man or a woman dressed in the same clothing: a long black robe, with a golden sash around the waist and neck. The twelve of them also wore black hats with gold, silken back flaps that hung around the neckline. For five of them, a colorful red band lined the bottom of their hat, and for the other seven, the band was green.

  “There, Cyril,” a crabby old woman said from a throne across the room. Her red-brimmed hat tipped over as she stood. She steadied her hat with one hand and pointed down at Marcus’s grandparents and friends with the other. “Kill them, and be done with it. I’ve things to do.” Then she mumbled, “Filthy distraction.”

  Cyril’s eyes narrowed. “I’m familiar with the rules, Kapriana. Now—”

  A younger man with whiskers who was sitting next to Cyril looked at the air above him with a confused expression. He drew in a deep breath, followed by a few short sniffs.

  “Var,” Cyril said, “what is it?”

  Var extended a hairy fist that bore a ring made entirely of crystal. He gave a low growl, and then whipped his head about as he shouted, “raw magic!” His fist followed his head’s direction.

  Red wisps leapt from the ring and darted down toward the group below. Then, without warning, the group of wisps stopped like a thing alive, and changed direction toward Cyril.

  “What is this?” Cyril asked, unsheathing a sword from his side. It too, was made wholly of crystal—a brim.

  Raising his sword, Cyril appeared ready to strike. But, before the magical mist reached him, the colored mist split into two separate tendrils and made their way to Marcus and Ellie, each hiding quietly against the wall behind either side of Cyril.

  Ellie screamed. Marcus closed his eyes, knowing what was coming.

  “Control your dog, Cyril,” Elba said indignantly. Tofu whined from somewhere behind her. Elba waited a moment as the tendrils closed in on the children, then finally, before they could do any damage, she stomped her foot and removed her own brim. Her eyes lit up like jade colored fog lights, and she shouted something in a language Marcus didn’t understand.

  Marcus thought the ground seemed to shake as swirling pools of green mist appeared in random places on the balcony. Bony hands reached up out of the pools of mist, then arms, and then heads. One by one, spirit skeletons emerged from the ground, arising from nowhere, flickering between their current and former selves, mumbling the word “magic” over and over again like drones.

  “Get ‘em off me, witch,” Var growled a moment later. He swatted at the spirits with his free hand, not able to grab ahold of them.

  The red tendrils that reached out for the children paused. Apparently Var was unable to concentrate on the spirits and the twins at the same time.

  “Withdraw your magic, mongrel, and let the children be,” Elba said, her eyes still aglow. “Your business is with me.”

  Without another word, Var lowered his fist and the wisps of red magic retracted, vaporizing in the air and back into his ring. In turn, Elba closed her eyes, and the ghosts began to fade away, looks of surprise and disappointment on their countenances as they vanished. She put away her brim.

  Marcus heard clapping from across the balcony. “Now that’s a good Crypt Keeper,” Kapriana said. ”Was it you, then, that bothered to bring us here?” After Elba gave a slight nod, Kapriana turned to Cyril, her tone of voice growing darker. “This is great news. Finally you can kill her and we can get back to our various pursuits.”

  “You mean killing innocent people, and stealing their magic?” Winston asked.

  “Winston Fith,” Kapriana said, “were you told you could speak?” She raised a hand quickly in the air and made a fist. In the same moment, Winston collapsed to the ground and coughed violently. Droplets of blood fell from his mouth and trickled onto the floor.

  “Enough,” Cyril said, giving a cold look to Kapriana as he waved the back of his hand lazily. She reluctantly lowered her hand, an
d then crossed her arms.

  “Why would you have summoned us, Elba?” Cyril asked. “Surely there must have—”

  “To tell you that there are people who are trafficking magic, and request that you bring them to justice” Elba said. “What else could I do?

  “Trafficking magic?” Cyril asked. “Only Uribrim can contain magic in its stable form, unless the magic user is highly skilled and can contain it within him or herself. What you say is not possible. We would surely know if—”

  “If you will allow her,” Elba raised a hand to one side of Cyril, “Ellie will show you exactly what we are talking about.”

  “What?” Cyril asked, turning to Marcus, then to Ellie on the other side. “You have proof?”

  “Just kill them and be done with it,” Kapriana said. “This is a waste of our time.”

  Ellie stepped forward and produced the vial that Mirella had given her. There was only a little magic left.

  “Impossible,” Var said as he darted out from his seat and snatched the vial from Ellie’s hand. He zeroed in on the substance inside and stared at it in disbelief, rolling the vial between his fingers and licking his lips.

  “We are all drawn to magic,” Elba said, “we just seek it out in different ways. But this? To extract it and sell it to non-magic users? This breaks the universal law. Surely we can agree on that?”

  Cyril shook his head and seized the vial again from Var, considering it for a moment.

  “These are all lies,” an old, bearded man to one side of Kapriana said. “Come forward with names and I will personally investigate the veracity of these claims.”

  “We will not, Nicodemus,” Elba said. “Not until we have the Kabbahl’s word that no harm will befall any of us as a result of summoning you.”

  Jumping to his feet, Nicodemous added, “I think you are lying,” he said, pointing a crooked finger, and then he leaned over the balcony. “I think you are behind this, and someone has discovered you, and you are trying to place the blame on them to divert the attention from yourself.”

  “Besides, what do you think this is?” Kapriana asked, getting to her feet as well, “some sort of negotiation? We have the right to—”

  Cyril raised a hand and the others fell silent. “What’s the damage? How many people have been exposed to magic?”

  “I will say no more,” Elba said. “Give us your guarantee, or we will be leaving.”

  Apparently not able to contain herself any longer, Anabell shouted out, “We can’t leave.” She marched over to Elba’s side. “You said that you’d—”

  “What is this?” Cyril asked, raising an eyebrow. “There’s something more?”

  “Not now, Anabell,” Elba said, holding her back.

  “But Caleb needs help,” she whined. It was obvious to Marcus that she was fighting back the tears.

  Cyril considered her for a moment. “Who is Caleb?” he asked.

  “We’re leaving,” Elba said, hooking Anabell by the arm and walking her out the way they came.

  “Don’t just let them leave,” Kapriana snapped, slapping the balcony, “kill them, or at least make them suffer for bringing us here and making us listen to this drivel.” Various members of the Kabbahl snickered.

  “Elba,” Cyril said ceremoniously, “wait.” A murmur swept across the room. Elba stopped as he sat back down in his seat and folded his robes over his lap. “We will hear your information regarding the improper trafficking of magic, and grant you safety despite having summoned the Kabbahl at such an inopportune time.”

  “Seal it,” Elba said, turning back to face Cyril and raising a hand. “I want your word sealed.”

  Cyril stood again, unsheathed his sword-shaped brim, and stabbed the air with it. A dart of blue mist leapt from his sword and, like a bullet, raced across the room, finally tagging Elba in the palm of the hand.

  Marcus squinted to see Elba’s hand. It seemed as though hot blue flame had burned a mark in her hand and then quickly faded.

  “There,” Cyril said, sitting back down again. “Now let’s set aside formality and get to the point. Someone is collecting magic somehow, and then selling it to non-magic users under our watch?”

  “Yes, among other things,” Elba said, drawing in a deep breath, “I’ll explain.” She recounted the story that the children told them, how they got the vial, and how there were important people from all over the world there to get magic, and to buy powerful artifacts.

  “Mirella and Sol Fith?” Cyril asked. “They haven’t been heard of in ages.”

  “These are all fabrications,” Nicodemous said. “We aren’t going to sit here and listen to this all day, are we?”

  “They have presumably been in hiding,” Winston said. “Considering what they have been doing, that would be logical.”

  “And they stole from us,” Marcus said, unable to contain himself any longer. “Well, Sol did, anyway.” At once, the Kabbahl turned sharply to look at him. Apparently they had forgotten that the children were even there. “They stole a bird’s skull that was supposed to heal my uncle, Caleb. It was my fault, and I’m so sorry. I never should have…” He trailed off.

  As soon as the words escaped Marcus’s lips, he realized he had done something terribly wrong. Elba slowly wiped her hand across her face and his grandfather looked down at the ground suddenly, taking in a deep breath. The members of the Kabbahl were staring at him in disbelief.

  “What bird skull is the boy referring to, Elba?” Nicodemous asked in an oily, sinister voice. He tapped his fingers together.

  Winston replied before Elba could say anything. “Like many others of our kind, we run a collector’s room out of our Magic Shop. The items are unique, or at least, very rare.”

  “Was this a Phoenix’s skull, perchance?” Var asked, before letting out a groan. “Phoenix bones are the only ones I know of that have healing properties. Some complicated spell work goes along with that, true, but they are the tasty little—”

  “That’s enough, Var,” Kapriana said, and then she mumbled, “Someone get him a biscuit already.” She glowered down at Elba and the others. “I think that Elba and Winston know that, as an endangered creature, harming a Phoenix is strictly prohibited, and carries heavy consequences.”

  “And if this is true,” Nicodemous said, “how would you have come across an item so rare? We all know that when the Phoenix dies it burns to ash, bones and all, and is later reborn again. To get Phoenix bones, one would not only have to kill it, but would have to do so with a very special weapon.”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong,” Winston said, “We’re here to discuss Mirella and Sol and the situation they are creating for the rest of us, and nothing else.”

  “Suppose you are correct,” Cyril said as if he hadn’t been listening to the conversation. He rubbed his chin, “and that we have two magic users that could actually bottle up magic. Where would they get all the Uribrim to contain the magic? Surely we would know about it if that were the case.”

  “Why would you have to know?” Ellie asked, out of turn.

  With a sigh, Cyril continued. “Because the Kabbahl controls the Uribrim mines. You can’t just carry magic around, especially non-magic users. The energy is unstable in its natural state; uncontrolled, and has to be contained. This is why we all carry a brim. The crystal is the only known substance that can contain and channel magic. Only very advanced magic users can do so without the need of the crystal.”

  “All I know is we have a problem on our hands,” Elba said.

  “Two problems,” Anabell said, looking spitefully at Elba. “Two.”

  “The Kabbahl will investigate the situation with Mirella and Sol.”

  “But Cyril,” Nicodemous said, “you aren’t seriously considering the word of a couple of children…”

  “Since you are so keen to protest, Nicodemous, I charge you with leading the investigation into the matter.”

  “But—”

  Cyril waved his hand, and there was a loud pop.
Nicodemous vanished in a twisting, grey vapor.

  “Cyril,” Elba said, “Anabell’s husband, Caleb Fith, sustained a severe magical wound at the hand of another Dun-Bhar some time ago, and—”

  “That’s of no concern to the Kabbahl,” Cyril said.

  “Please,” Anabell said, dropping to her knees, “I need to find a way to help him. I’ll do anything.”

  “Then let the matter go,” Cyril said as he raised his left hand, “and let nature run its course. So says the Shar-Din.” The other members of the Kabbahl mirrored him, all raising their hands, but only a portion of them repeated what he said, “So says the Shar-Din.” The others scowled.

  “Until next time,” Cyril said. They dropped their hands and disappeared, leaving behind a puff of smoke that slowly spiraled up and out through the roof cracks.

  21

  The Shrieking Forest

  Anabell clenched her fists, and then screamed. Her voiced echoed loudly off the old chapel walls.

  “I know, dear,” Charlotte said as she patted Anabell’s back. Tears ran down both their faces, and Winston drew in a deep breath.

  “We can’t just go home without a solution,” Anabell said, her voice cracking. “I’ve got to help my husband, regardless of the law.”

  Marcus heard several gasps, and the room fell silent. He could feel the tension rising.

  “No, Anabell dear,” Winston said. “There has to be another way.”

  “Wait,” Marcus said from up on the balcony. He weaved through the seats on his side, and Ellie did the same on hers. They met at the bottom of the stairs and approached the group. “We’ve got some questions.”

  Winston responded, “Children, I don’t know that we have time for—”

  “That answer is not going to work this time, Grandpa,” Marcus said.

  “But Caleb needs—”