A Spoonful of Magic

by Irene Radford

  “I didn’t spurn him . . . I just delayed responding to his overtures. Delayed until you weren’t around growling like an injured mountain lion.”

  “Y’know, BJ was my best friend until Belle disinvited him to her party,” Jason said. I could see the wheels of his mind, seeking patterns in the dance of life as he did the choreography of a ballet.

  I hoped he missed the reference to his mother.

  “Then he went all distant and started making mean jokes about girls,” Jason continued. “I told him to back off, but he got worse. He told me to get lost and took up with some guys that just the day before we’d joked about for being losers and bullies.” Jason said. “We heard on the car radio that he and his new friends were arrested at the chess park.”

  As minors, the police shouldn’t have released the boys’ names. Belle, however, had informed the press before we left the park.

  “They were detained by the police until their parents could claim them,” Belle corrected him. She sounded disgusted. “All they got was a lecture and whatever punishment their parents deal out. We couldn’t tell the police that breaking our wands was much worse for us than malicious mischief.”

  “He broke your wands?” G tried to sit up straighter in alarm but fell back against the recliner in pain.

  I helped him raise the footrest to ease his knee. Ice packs. I needed to get ice on that knee and his eye. The rest could wait.

  “You both are going to the ER,” I said firmly. My own troubles faded in importance.

  “No. They’ll have to call the police with this much evidence of violence,” G protested. But he didn’t sound very convincing.

  “Then tell them you got mugged or carjacked or something.” Shara stood up, hands in fists and with a determined glare in her eye that matched her father’s in intensity. “Mom, get the keys. I’ll get the ice packs.” She marched off to the kitchen. My baby girl had suddenly grown up and taken charge of all of us.

  “Not yet,” G said, barely above a whisper. “I call a family meeting. There are things we need to discuss.”

  “I’m still getting the ice packs.” Shara marched into the kitchen and reappeared seconds later with two packs, each wrapped in a towel. “Jason, there’s one more in the back of the freezer, the segmented kind that wraps. You choose which hurts most, your face or your fist.”

  G raised his uninjured eyebrow at me. “She sounds a lot like you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “More like you in a fit of organization.”

  “What’s up?” Jason asked, holding the pack to his jaw with his injured hand. Easing both with limited resources. His eye looked painful but nowhere near as swollen as his father’s.

  “First off, it’s time I told you the truth, Jason. That woman, D’Accore, is not just any rogue magician.”

  “D’Accore?” Jason mouthed. He knew the name. We’d never hidden from him that I wasn’t his birth mother. “That’s my dead mother’s name.”

  “She didn’t die,” I said softly, wrapping my arm around his immature shoulders.

  He turned wounded eyes toward me. “But you said . . .”

  “I didn’t know myself until a few days ago, Jason.”

  “What happened to her? Why didn’t she get custody of me?”

  “Jason,” G said with enough determination to get his son’s attention. “We told you she died because in many ways she did. She turned rogue, using black magic, blood magic to gain more and more power, not so she could use it for anyone’s benefit but her own, but because she could. And if someone got hurt or died in her quest for power, it didn’t matter to her. It was fun because there is power in death.”

  “Did she kill someone?” Jason asked. His entire body trembled. I held on tighter.

  “Five that I know of. Probably more,” G replied. “Oh, gods! Her wand. The Zippo lighter with a death’s head soldered to one side and the names of her victims magically etched onto the back. The back was so full of names it looked like a mess of scratches, each one so tiny it was illegible. She must have murdered twenty or more. And she was in the process of killing you, before you were born, draining your life energy to fuel her own.”

  Jason sank to the floor, graceful as ever, legs crossed, elbows on knees, and cradled his face in his hands, ice pack still in place. I dropped down with him, holding him as close as he’d allow. “How could she? How could you have married someone like that!” Jason mumbled.

  “I don’t know. I thought I married a sweet and funny girl who had a gift for lighting fires but not much else. But her fires got bigger than candles and yard debris. They grew to bonfires at campus celebrations and pagan rites. They got bigger yet and in inappropriate places. She burned down one of the new apartment buildings south of campus. Three people were trapped inside. And she giggled in delight with that news. That’s when I knew she was no longer sane. She started scratching me, hard enough to draw blood, then licked the wounds clean. She couldn’t conjure fire in this house because of the pentagram. So she took a knife to murder my grandparents.”

  G swallowed deeply and closed his eyes in both physical and emotional pain. I’d never heard this part.

  I wanted to go to him, give him the hug he so clearly needed. Jason needed me hugging him as much or more.

  “I threw a stasis spell on her, careless of the niceties. I hurt her. I needed to hurt her as much as she hurt me. While I called for backup, she broke through my flawed spell and fled. She went back to her old boyfriend, John Mooney. I caught up to her and went with my backup to . . . to her permanent dungeon home. She was three months pregnant.”

  Jason shuddered and the girls hugged each other, then reached out to their dad. He let them linger with their arms around him. “And you lost your grandparents. They’d raised you after your parents died,” Belle added, remembering a long-ago story.

  “What happened to her?” Shara asked. Her chin trembled in terror. I wondered if she had finally made the connection between her picking locks or hacking computers and consequences.

  “When the Guild is presented with a rogue of that magnitude, they use a complicated and dangerous ritual to strip her of her magic. Then they break the wand in front of the prisoner and burn it, or in the case of her wand, a vintage Zippo lighter, I dropped it into a vat of hydrochloric acid. With conventional wands, the ashes are then scattered to the four winds so that they may never reassemble. I dumped the acid into the ocean over one of the deepest trenches in the Atlantic.”

  Exhausted by his retelling, G laid his head back, exposing his throat. Tears leaked from his right eye. From the damage or his inner pain?

  “By that time, D’Accore might as well have been dead. She was locked in a prison cell with magical and mundane locks I doubt even Shara could manipulate. I never saw her again until she returned here last spring.”

  “How did she escape?” Shara asked, always the one who was curious about locks.

  “She had help. I believe Coyote Blood Moon may have orchestrated it. He has the money—he’s been accumulating it in offshore accounts since the day after I arrested her—he has the contacts, and the powers to do it. One of D’Accore’s victims had an image of him in his dying moment. John was there tonight, at the end of the fight. He caught me by surprise while I was dealing with D’Accore’s minions. I couldn’t get close enough to her to put a stasis spell on her until I dealt with her boys. Jason launched from the high branches of a tree and felled two boys with his feet.”

  “Why would John do that?” I demanded, still not accepting that the gentle man who had befriended me was capable of such a thing.

  “He knows that D’Accore is the only wizard capable of and willing to get rid of me. I’m the Sheriff, I enforce our laws. John Mooney has been cheating on his real estate deals for decades. He’s cheated on his taxes, too.”

  Jason looked away, showing a trace of guilt. I knew my boy, knew w
hen he tried to keep a secret.

  “I just became aware of his cheating recently. My information has not been confirmed. I’ve never questioned his honesty before. But now he has violated our first and most important commandment: ‘Above all, harm none.’ Someone who works closely with Mooney got disgusted with the shoddy work he passed off as top of the line repairs on a house he flipped and overcharged for. The homeowners lost thousands in inflated prices and more in unreported foundation and electrical damage that wasn’t reported or fixed. The state board for contractors’ permits, and the IRS have been called. He’s out for revenge.” G clamped his mouth shut.

  “What about Ted Tyler?” I asked. I had to know if the man I was growing to like was caught in this web of evil. He contracted with Mooney to flip some of those houses.

  “Ted Tyler is so honest he nearly squeaks.” G tried to laugh but clutched his middle as it turned into a painful cough. “Mooney gives him contracting jobs for clients he doesn’t dare offend. And Ted does an excellent job for a fair price. For ordinary people who are beneath Mooney’s contempt for being ordinary, he hires an outfit in East Springfield that doesn’t bother with permits and codes or even licenses. There’d probably be bribes to inspectors involved, too. There’s an ongoing state investigation on the contractors. But they close shop and reopen with a new name as fast as they are caught.”

  “Then why did you tell me to go to CBM for help when you had to go to Europe in a hurry?”

  “Because I didn’t know about his schemes to free D’Accore, and I thought he was willing to turn a blind eye on business ethics, but honest in his magic.”

  “How . . . how could my own mother try to kill me?” Jason asked, raising his bleak and tear-streaked face to his father.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then she isn’t my mother. You are.” He reached over and gave me a fierce hug. His fingers clutched my back in desperation.

  “Thank you, Jason. I love you.”

  “I know. That’s why you are my mother and not her.”

  “Enough. We know the truth. We know who our enemies are. Time to get you two to the ER.” Shara took charge once more.

  “Call Gayla and ask her to come over and stay with you,” I said, bringing Jason up to a stand with me.

  “Mom,” Belle protested. “We’re not little kids anymore.”

  “No, you aren’t. But you are hurt and recovering from the loss of your wand. I want a responsible adult here with you. An ordinary adult who will call 911 at the first sign of trouble and not try to bully through it.”

  “Both D’Accore and Mooney are hurt, weakened from our physical and magical battle,” G said on a wince. “They should be off nursing their wounds and trying to recharge their magic. The minions were hurt and will probably slink away. Typical bullies. I doubt they will return to D’Accore’s side, despite her hypnosis spells.”

  “Dad drained them pretty good before things got nasty. That woman is going to need a bunch more wands to replenish her stolen powers,” Jason added. I noted that he didn’t refer to her by name or as his mother. “The girls should be safe at home.”

  “I still want Gayla here. Call her.”

  It took both Jason and me to get G upright and headed toward his car.

  “Don’t you need our help?” Belle asked. “We should be together. We are a family.”

  “Thank you, but not right now. We may be gone all night. You both need your sleep. There are leftovers in the fridge you can microwave.” My second night without sleep. Had I eaten since breakfast?

  Twenty-Seven

  “NO I WILL NOT stay in the hospital overnight!” G shouted for the third time. “Mild pain pills and ice packs will do just fine, now that you’ve stitched up the worst of it.” He’d have a scar bisecting his right eyebrow, though, and two on his knee.

  “That broken rib could shift and penetrate your lung,” the hapless intern said. He was running out of steam with G’s stubborn arguments.

  “Then tape it tight so it won’t shift. That’s all you can do for broken ribs anyway.”

  “But that has been proven to restrict breathing, and you won’t get enough oxygen to heal. Though the pressure does relieve some of the pain. You need to breathe more.” The intern looked at me, his brow crinkled with bewilderment.

  “I’m only the ex-wife. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.” I shrugged.

  Why is it that the strongest, most stalwart men are the worst patients? He’d been the same way when he smashed a thumb while building my greenhouse and the time he came home from Kiev with pneumonia. He’d thought he’d heal better at home.

  Maybe the pentagram in the attic would help speed his recovery. I didn’t plan to stay home and take care of him. I only sat on the rolling stool beside his hospital bed to keep him from wandering around the ER poking his nose where it didn’t belong while we waited for X-rays and lab tests and surgical kits for stitches.

  I wished now I hadn’t left Jason at home so he’d eat and sleep. He could spell me in controlling his father. I’d eaten in the hospital cafeteria—there was a quite good vegetarian menu—but I hadn’t slept, and it was way past my bedtime for the second night in a row.

  Without my wand to soothe my nerves, the moans and groans, the stench of fear and pain, mixed with disinfectant nearly drove me to dump G here and go home.

  “What’s the problem here?” An older woman wearing a medical white coat, rumpled slacks, and sensible walking shoes bustled into the cubicle divided by curtains for an illusion of privacy. “I suppose you don’t want to stay overnight either?”

  “Either?” I asked.

  “Bar fights and muggings all over town tonight. Mostly minor wounds and too much alcohol,” she said, turning toward me while still perusing G’s chart. “He looks as bad as the guy two rooms over. They got the brunt of the bad juju going around town tonight. And he doesn’t want to stay two minutes more while we stitch him up and set and cast his broken bones. Real estate agents are as bad as software engineers.” She clicked her tongue in dismay.

  Then I heard fingers drumming on the metal bars alongside a hospital bed. Impatience gathered around the rhythm of a heartbeat with an occasional flutter that sounded like a small bird taking flight. I’d heard that drumming cadence before. In Coyote Blood Moon’s drum and flute shop.

  I murmured an excuse and left G’s room, following the haunting drumbeat.

  “Ah, my beautiful golden daffodil,” John Mooney sighed, dreamily—or drugged into submission. “Have you come to whisk me away from this torture chamber?” He rolled his head back and forth, either in agitation or seeking a more comfortable position.

  He had a huge bruise on his left temple and a bandage on the back of his head. His perfect haircut had deteriorated. His hands looked like he’d suffered third-degree burns, and he had a sling elevating his ankle where his foot dangled in a loose and awkward position.

  As far as compliments go, being likened to a golden daffodil isn’t bad. But I wasn’t his in any way, shape, or form. We hadn’t even kissed, let alone slept together. And after G’s revelations, I didn’t want to do either.

  “No. I heard you drumming your fingers and thought I’d see if I could hasten your treatment,” I demurred.

  “Are you here with G?” he asked, more alert, but his eyes were still glassy and his tongue thick. Concussion if not drugs slurred his words. “He doesn’t deserve you. You need to leave him. He didn’t deserve D’Accore either. She was seduced by his power. You were, too. Leave him, my daffodil. I will take care of you as you should be cared for.”

  I handed him the bottle of water beside his bed with a straw in it. Stalling. He sipped only a little, then made a face as if it tasted like garbage and thrust the bottle back at me.

  “G and I are divorced. He lied to me one too many times.” I handed him the explanation I gave eve
ryone as to why we broke up.

  “Good. Don’t trust him. He lies to everyone. And about everyone. Did you know that his first wife didn’t die? He got tired of her and found the most despicable way to get rid of her without the taint of divorce. She’s blind now, you know. He did that to her. She can’t see anything at all without her smoke. And he took that away from her again tonight. All G really wanted out of the marriage was his son. Stupid brat didn’t inherit any useful talents.”

  How dare he insult my boy!

  I forced myself to remember that I was here for information. I had to play nice while the drugs and/or his concussion loosened his tongue.

  “Don’t trust him,” John insisted again. “Not him or the boy. They are traitors to our kind. Cruel and unjust traitors. He tells more lies than truths.”

  “You got that part right.”

  His eyes drifted shut.

  I slipped out between the curtains with a sour taste in the back of my throat.

  Both he and G told lies wrapped in half truths. One to protect me, the other to delude me. Which was which?

  I thought I knew. But that wall of lies still kept rearing up in front of me.

  When I returned to G’s room, he and the doctor were negotiating what he considered a mild painkiller. She wanted him on morphine. He wanted aspirin.

  “Keep him or send him to his apartment in a taxi. I’m going home to take care of our children,” I told the doctor, then turned on my heel and fled.

  I slept fitfully. Every time I woke and checked the clock to see if it was time to get up or not, I reassured myself that I had left G at the hospital precisely so the medical professionals could monitor him and help him heal. No way could he make it up the stairs to his apartment without aid. He had to stay in the hospital until someone came to get him. Presumably me.