Funny Tragic Crazy Magic (Tragic Magic Book 1)

by Sheena Boekweg

  “Google?” I suggested.

  Joe stood and offered his hand to help me up. “I can do better than that.”

  We cleaned up a little bit (not that you could tell) and then we went inside. Ms. P. was in the kitchen. Joe must have felt conflicted or angry toward his mom; I’m not sure, but he walked past her without even acknowledging her presence. I had no such qualms. I smiled at her, walked to her, and gave her a quick hug.

  When I got in the computer room, Joe was already on it. The screen was different than I expected, full of https and comp…

  “Wha…”

  “It’s all just patterns, Rizzio.” He clicked on something, again, I don’t know what, and an FBI database opened up.

  “Joe.” I said, my mouth hanging open.

  He looked at me and smiled.

  “I may be on a few FBI watch lists,” he whispered, “but don’t worry. We’ll be quick.”

  He typed in his father’s name and age and a blurb popped up. Joe copied down the address, exited the database, and cleared the search history.

  His mom popped her head into the room. “You staying for dinner with us, Riz?”

  Joe put his elbow over the scribbled address. He still didn’t look at his mom.

  “Sure, Ms. P.” I turned and smiled at her. She smiled back and then left the room.

  Joe had Google maps up before I turned back around. Joe’s dad lived off a small road in Salem, Pennsylvania. Joe zoomed in with street view. There was his father’s house. It was a small flat board house, and there was a rune for protection on the front door.

  Six hours and thirty-one minutes. It would take six hours and thirty-one minutes to be on that front step and knock on that rune-protected door. I think technology is better than magic sometimes.

  “You up for a road trip?” I whispered.

  Joe leaned back in the ancient leather computer chair, making it creak. He nodded.

  “Okay, so six and a half hours,” I said. “We could leave tomorrow at three in the morning; is three too early for you?”

  Joe rolled his eyes.

  “I guess that was kind of a stupid question,” I said.

  If Joe didn’t use his magic enough, it built up in him, and he wasn’t able to sleep because he’d have too much energy.

  “So if we leave at three,” I continued, “we could get there about nine in the morning, maybe stay until about noon, and then be home before dinner.”

  Joe and his mom always ate dinner late.

  Late. I glanced at the clock on the bottom of the computer screen.

  “Crap.” I said. Joe turned. “I’m supposed to be on a date with Ryan right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I think since I knew Fee’s birthday would be a rough one for me, I wanted to feel my family close to me. That’s why earlier that morning I had put on my mom’s clothes. So, that’s my excuse for wearing a pair of mom jeans and an embarrassingly loose tee shirt with a picture of a black cat sewn on the front. The clothes were too big for me to put my thin rune on, but only Joe saw me, so I didn’t get all girly and shallow and care what I looked like.

  I applied the rune for my hair as I ran to my car, but there wasn’t anything I could do to alter the look of the clothes. Giara didn’t teach me how to transform inanimate objects. You wouldn’t think it would be that different, but take it from a person who has spent hours trying to change an ugly dress into something fashionable: it doesn’t work. The magic necessary was so strong, only an Instinct whose talent was transformation could transform inanimate objects. Like how Fake Erica could transform her clothes into the cheerleading outfit.

  Joe drove my car to Ryan’s house because we needed him to fill up the tank so we would be ready to leave tomorrow morning. That early schedule seemed to loom over me as the boy I happened to love dropped me off at the house of the boy he was trying to pawn me off onto.

  Ryan’s house was just like him. Perfect to the extreme. It made my OCD happy to see his perfectly symmetrical house sitting on the top of a hill, looking more like a Christmas decoration, really, than a house. I walked up the manicured path lined with Christmas lights and up to the front door. The engine to my car revved, but I refused to look at Joe as I lifted my hand to ring the bell.

  The bell chime was one of those cutesy ones that played music. Jingle Bells echoed throughout the house as I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from shivering. I left my jacket in Joe’s garage, so that black kitten was out for everyone to see.

  Ryan’s mom answered the door. She was this plump blonde woman who was the PTA president in elementary school. She wore a Christmas sweater, so my embarrassment over my kitten shirt diminished. There was a chance she had this same tee shirt in her closet; it was probably a close thing that I didn’t show up and find we wore the same thing.

  “Larissa, you must be freezing. Where’s your coat?” she asked.

  I then proceeded to tell this brilliant lie about going Christmas shopping at the mall and falling into a fountain, then borrowing my mom’s clothes so I wouldn’t freeze, and then… well you get the idea. I don’t usually lie (my mom taught me not to) but in a pinch, I find I’m pretty good at it.

  When Ryan turned the corner to see me, I could tell he was confused by the way I looked. He accepted my story as his mom retold it, and then showed me his living room where we would watch the movie. He glanced at me again, and again I could see his disappointment in the way I dressed.

  This bugged me. Joe never cared what I looked like. He treated me the same when I looked my best, or when I looked like a slob. Of course, he treated me like his sister, so that wasn’t exactly helpful.

  I sat down on the plush microfiber couch, and folded my arms to try to hide the kitten. And my stomach, if I’m being honest. Ryan put a shiny silver disk in the player and his mom and dad, (a shirt-with-a-collar-and-khakis kind of a dad) went upstairs to give us some privacy.

  Ryan sat down right next to me, and I didn’t even notice how close he was sitting. With Joe, it sometimes felt like the side of my leg was next to a heater when he sat down close to me. As I sat, the heaviness of the day’s events caught up with me. It was one of those emotionally exhausting days with too much packed into it, and that three in the morning alarm loomed over my head. I didn’t mean to, but I kind of, sort of, fell asleep.

  Not for long, I mean I wasn’t asleep for that long. I know Duck Soup, and it had to be… maybe ten minutes. Ryan noticed though. When I woke up, he was sitting about a foot away from me.

  Oh man, I felt bad. If Meg was right, and Ryan had liked me since elementary school, and if boys were like girls (which again I have no idea if they are or not) then Ryan had probably pictured what this date would be like a bunch of times. I was disappointed in the date, and I hadn’t thought about it at all. Ryan’s expectations were probably much higher than mine were.

  He dropped me off before ten, walking me all the way to my front porch. I felt bad, so I leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, but Ryan must have misinterpreted my intentions, because he turned his face and kissed me on the lips.

  Nothing. When his lips touched mine, I honestly didn’t feel anything. It was as if he touched my lips with any other part of his body, like his feet or something. That’s how much I felt. Well, no, if he touched me with his feet, I would have felt disgusted, and that’s actually something. I felt nothing.

  He leaned back, looked at me as if he was thinking ‘Is this the girl I’ve liked forever?’ and then, without saying ‘goodbye’ or ‘thanks for the awkward date,’ he walked back to his car.

  But I wasn’t the girl he liked forever. He liked the runes, not me. I think he liked the idea of me, but the actual me… no, not so much.

  It was hard not to take that to heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The next morning… No, three in the morning is too early to be called morning, so...

  In the middle of the night, Joe woke me up by poking my arm. Repeatedly. I pushed him
, and he fell off the side of my bed, landing with a groan.

  I sat up in my bed and then leaned over the side. Joe’s feet were still on the bed, but his body lay on my carpet.

  “There are rules, Joe,” I reminded him.

  He winked. The sad thing was that just one wink from Joe put more butterflies in my stomach than a kiss did from Ryan.

  Speaking of which, “So how was the date?” Joe asked. His face seemed a bit too eager for news.

  I growled at him, walked to my door, and waited for Joe to leave. He moved his feet and then sat back against the side of my bed, his face looking eager for details.

  “It was hot,” I said flatly, “So hot. He ravished me repeatedly.”

  Joe smiled, “Really?”

  “No!” I exclaimed, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. “It was…” I couldn’t think of a word to explain it, not that… “It was none of your business, that’s what it was. Get out of my room so I can get ready. And don’t you dare poke your head in. I’ll come out when I’m ready.”

  Joe left, and I got dressed, feeling remarkably ugly. I armed myself with my runes. Giara taught me about transformation runes. See, inside the pattern of every transformation rune is this shape, a simple four lined rune that means transformation. Then, dashes or lines in different places and different lengths and shapes changed the details of what I could be transformed into. I put all three runes on, the thinness, the hair, and the clear skin, all with one simple rune. It was much cleaner, and more professional, I guess.

  I dressed in a blue polka dot skirt, a lace cami, and a red velvet jacket with the sleeves rolled up. It didn’t super work, so I threw a teeny black belt over the jacket, and my favorite vintage gloves.

  Downstairs, Joe was raiding all my cupboards. When I was all cleaned out of snack food and Joe thought he had enough (it wasn’t by the way, we had to stop at a couple gas stations for churros and red vines) we went outside. Joe ran to my car and slid across the hood. I locked my door, both with my keys and with the rune for stay.

  The air outside was clear and cold. Everywhere was silent, and there wasn’t any movement, although I kept expecting someone to jump out from behind the tree in my front yard. The streetlights reflected against the ragged footstep-marred snow, and the reflected light blocked out all but the brightest of the stars in the sky.

  I got in the car.

  “I see why you like this time of night,” I said. “It’s so still, so peaceful.”

  It reminded me of why I liked to sleep outside when I was younger and didn’t fear… well, anything.

  “Maybe I’ll have to wake you up more often,” he said.

  “No, thank you,” I said, smiling.

  The trip started out pretty well; we only had a couple of arguments, mainly because Joe didn’t find Carole King as brilliant as I do. He preferred angry music that traded peaceful melodies for a strong beat and screaming. Ulgh. I think I might have killed him if I had to listen to six hours of Joe’s music, and no judge would convict me. We settled on music that neither of us liked very well. But about the time we crossed the Indiana border, we turned the radio off and spent the time just talking.

  As we got closer to Pennsylvania, Joe stopped talking the way he normally does: funny, insightful, and, of course, obnoxious. His answers to my questions shortened, and he stopped asking questions, which for Joe was completely unheard of. When we crossed the sign that read ‘Welcome to Pennsylvania,’ Joe put in a CD of his music, and I didn’t complain as it blared so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, which was the reason Joe liked it so much. After a minute of torture, I drew the rune for silence on Joe’s hand, and another on the radio. Blissful quiet fell.

  Joe gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and turned the volume of his music up. I lowered my seat back one notch and lay back on my side. Joe stared at the road, the light from the fresh sunrise delineating the bones on his face and the arch of his nose. His lips moved along with the music, as if he was singing along. His hair was combed carefully to the side, and for the first time I noticed his clothes. He wore the button up shirt with a collar that his mom had bought him and he never wore because, well, Joe never wore collars. His jeans were clean and free of wrinkles. I saw his foot resting against my gas pedal, his leather shoes freshly polished.

  His face turned toward mine, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see me staring. I stayed like that for a while, and then the silence inside the car, the gentle purring of the engine, and Joe’s presence lulled me off to a dreamless sleep.

  I woke up when the silence rune ended a few minutes later. Joe was screaming along to some music. Or should I say “music”.

  Joe looked at me and then turned the radio off, and we both pretended as if it never happened. We sat in the car in silence, both of us aware of the tension that was building up inside of Joe.

  When we got to this town called Greenville, we pulled into an older gas station. Joe’s leg was bouncing up and down. I put my hand on his knee.

  “Don’t worry, Joe,” I said, “we got this.”

  He reached for my fingers and held them in his right hand. He didn’t let my hand go the whole time we were at Ash’s house.

  Not that I was paying any attention…

  Shut up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ashford Zabriskie’s house bordered the edge of a national forest. It was a small house on a huge plot of land right on the side of a two-lane road. Across the street was a huge expanse of snow in an open field, and all around the house there were gigantic snow-covered trees, which seemed like the opposite of how I would do it. If it were me, I’d put the house in the field and the trees across the street, but no one had the good sense to ask my opinion when choosing where Joe’s dad would live. You couldn’t even see the house from the road because of all the trees. You had to go past it and then circle back or park three houses down (like we did) and then walk back up to it.

  There was a bright yellow car parked in a dirt driveway. The car seemed incongruous with the house; the house looked more like a trailer, while the car looked fast and new. I don’t know much about cars, but it drew Joe’s attention, that was for sure, as we walked up to the front door.

  We stood there on the front porch for a while and then, realizing Joe didn’t have it in him, I knocked. Joe looked away from the door.

  When it opened, I was struck by how young this guy looked. He couldn’t be old enough to be Joe’s dad. He looked at Joe and I, appraising our clothes, our hands clasped together, everything about us.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked impatiently wringing his hands in a towel. His arms were covered in colorful tattoos that looked more like…

  “Invisibility? Another protection, and what is that, is that silence?” I asked.

  “You a Rune?” he asked.

  “What are you hiding from?” I asked.

  “Yup,” he said, chuckling to himself, “definitely a Rune.” He smiled, and all of a sudden, I could see Joe in him, in his smile, in his build. “How’s it going, I’m Ash…”

  “Zabriskie. Yeah, we know. I’m Larissa, and this is Joe.”

  “Penrod,” Joe said, suddenly turning to face his father. “You knew my mom.”

  We could watch the recognition as it registered in his eyes. He went from looking shocked, to confused, to abnormally happy within the length of a heartbeat. He swore, and then laughed, and then looked at Joe, and then whispered another swear word.

  “Wait, how old are you?” he asked.

  “Seventeen,” Joe said.

  They both looked at each other for a bit in silence.

  “Come on in,” he said with an awkward smile. “It seems we have a lot to talk about.”

  We walked together into the room, although I think I pulled Joe into it more or less. The house seemed bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The furnishings inside weren’t new or nice really, but they were well maintained. Everything had this varnish of age. The brown leather on
the couch was worn so thin it felt soft as butter. On the side of the couch was a metal porch chair with three layers of paint showing. The coffee table was made out of an old barn door with a piece of glass covering it, and gigantic antique movie posters hung in expensive looking frames along all the walls. It all fit together: a balanced mishmash of stuff.

  Ash went into his kitchen. There weren’t any upper cabinets, but long lines of shelves with colorful plates and pots stacked neatly on top. He pulled a couple soda cans from a vintage yellow fridge probably made in the fifties. He tossed the sodas to us. He wouldn’t look at us for a minute, and Joe wouldn’t look at him, so I started.

  “So Joe here is an Instinct,” I said.

  Ash glanced at Joe and then quickly looked away. Joe didn’t look up from the expensive zebra print rug that lay over motley carpet.

  “Anyway, the Grandfathers don’t know about him,” I continued. ”So, we were hoping you could get them a message that he exists. We think the Grandmothers are trying to hide him from them.”

  “Why don’t you both take a seat?” Ash went and sat in the lawn chair, I pulled Joe until we were sitting down on the comfortable leather couch. “So what’s your talent, Joe?” he asked.

  Joe didn’t say anything.

  I spoke, because I had to, before it became even more uncomfortable. “He can walk through walls.”

  “Ah open,” Ash said, “that’s a cool one. I bet you are good with computers, right? Have an easy time seeing a clear path, reading patterns, that kind of thing.”

  Joe looked up, “Yeah.”

  “The pattern thing... that’s part of his talent?” I asked.

  “Just the beginning part of it, my friend Omani from South Africa, is an open Instinct, and he can do some amazing things with it. He’s…” Ash looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry. I really am. I can’t say any more with a girl here.”