by Jayne Faith
He gave me an amused roll of his eyes. “Sure.”
“Thanks, Johnny.” I squeezed his forearm—he really had been a champ the past couple days—and went to tell Roxanne I was taking off.
The dog—Loki—and I set off down the street. I peered at the signs as I passed, looking for a shop that offered charms.
I slowed at a door that read “Discount Spells and Charms” but then decided I wasn’t too keen on the “discount” part. What did that mean, anyway? Crappy spells produced in bulk? Charms that didn’t always function as advertised? No thanks.
A sign across the street caught my eye: Personalized Magic. In the little window stenciled words read “Drop-ins welcome – Custom spells – Results guaranteed.” And underneath: “Fully Licensed and Insured.”
I angled toward it. When I pushed open the door, little tinkling bells attached to the inside announced my arrival. The owner’s license to sell magic was posted at eye level.
A woman dressed in a flowy boho skirt and peasant top rose from a chair behind the counter. Her pale blue eyes sparked with a genuine smile. Her face was smooth, but her hair was nearly all gray, making it difficult to guess her age.
“Good evening,” she said. “What can I provide you with?”
“Oh, um. I need a charm that will induce a deep sleep.” I glanced down at Loki. “I can tie him up outside if you prefer.”
“He’s welcome here.” She reached out and patted his head, and Loki panted happily. She peered up at me, and I was pretty sure I knew what was passing through her mind—she was assessing my level of magic aptitude and probably thinking something pitying. “What you want is a spell rather than a charm. A charm is a magic-infused object you carry with you. Something for luck or courage or protection, for example. A sleep charm would make you perpetually sleepy.”
I scratched my cheek, a little embarrassed that I’d exposed myself as a magical dunce. “Ah, yeah, you’re right. I should have said spell. Single-use, something I can use tonight.” I hesitated. “And if there’s a way to make me, um, open to visions while I’m asleep, I’ll pay extra.”
“Sure, I can do that. It will be forty-five dollars plus a fifteen percent surcharge for the insurance. If that’s okay, I’ll go to the back to create your spell.”
I nodded, and she disappeared through a batik curtain hung in the doorway behind the counter.
I looked around the shop. There wasn’t much actual merchandise—a rack with a couple dozen different types of incense. Another rack full of different colored spell candles. A shelf with little bottles of essential oils. I picked up the peppermint oil bottle that had a red “Sample” label on the top, unscrewed the lid, and took a whiff. The pungent, refreshing scent seemed to perk me up and sharpen my mind.
I’d been in magic supply stores with Deb, but I’d never had much interest in witchy rituals and supplies. She was a full-on practitioner of the craft and self-identified witch, with an altar set up at home and a Book of Shadows she’d started when she was a teenager, and like many witches, she celebrated the pagan holidays. I knew she’d been vying for months to get into a specific coven, but I didn’t really know the details. The world of witches and covens never held any attraction for me, even though Deb had tried more than once to get me interested. She kept telling me that magical aptitude didn’t matter—even people with no detectible magic could have an altar and celebrate the pagan holidays—but I just wasn’t the type to burn herbs, chant under a full moon, and talk to Mother Earth or Universal Wisdom or whatever was out there supposedly listening. I understood that nature was the source of magical energy, but I’d just never really identified with the spiritual aspects of magic that most witches seemed to embrace.
The curtain stirred, and the woman emerged with a few items in her hands. I sensed she was probably a high Level II, like Deb.
The woman set the items on the counter next to the register. She held up a printed piece of paper. “Here are your instructions.” Then she pointed to a white spell candle and a little white muslin drawstring bag. “The candle has been anointed with oil and carved with some runes. The bag contains some crystals and herbs for under your pillow. Just follow the sheet, it outlines what to do.”
I glanced at the printout. “Okay, sounds good.”
She placed all the items into a small paper sack. “Would you like to start a punch card? Tenth spell is free.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” She’d been helpful and I was grateful, but I doubted I’d be returning here nine more times. “Thanks for the offer, though, and thank you for the spell.”
I paid and left with my spell.
Loki and I went back home and found that in addition to Johnny and Stein’s cars, Deb’s Honda stood out front.
When I pushed the door open and found four people making themselves at home in my tiny living room, I nearly backed away.
“Ella!” Deb jumped to her feet, her long strawberry blond hair swinging, and ran over to throw her arms around my neck. At barely five-foot-four, she practically had to hop clear off the floor to make it happen. She laughed at my startled expression. “Don’t freak out. I told everyone to speak softly and not make any sudden movements or you’d clear the room.”
As usual, Deb had accurately read my emotional state. I relaxed a little when I caught the familiar scent of her floral-woodsy perfume, and actually felt a smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
“How are things at home?” I asked in a low voice.
For the briefest of moments, her face clouded. But then she blinked, and her usual contented expression returned. “Eh, it’ll be fine. I just wanted to check on you after your first day back at work.” She gave a tiny shrug as her eyes grew a little misty.
My initial reaction was to brush off her concern, but I’d died on the job, and I supposed that gave her the right to hover and get a little bit emotional. My throat thickened, not at the thought of my own death but at the thought of what it would have done to Deb. What it had done to her for about twenty minutes. I turned my head to look around the room, partially to cover my own unexpected emotions.
“You got here just in time for the party, I guess,” I said, not quite keeping the rueful tone from my voice. “Want to help me get some beer?”
She rolled her eyes at my less-than-enthusiastic expression and followed me into the kitchen.
I pulled glasses from the cupboard to the right of the sink, noting with an amused chuckle that I actually only owned six proper drinking glasses, one of them a random lone pint glass. Fortunately, five of them were clean. I filled one with ice and water for Roxanne. Deb found my bottle opener in a drawer, pulled a bunch of paper towels from the roll on the counter, grabbed a six-pack of local lager from the fridge, and helped me carry everything to the living room.
I sat between Roxanne and Johnny on the sofa, and Deb took a patch of floor across the coffee table from me. To my relief, they’d all done introductions before I’d arrived, saving me that little hostess job.
As we ate, we kept the conversation light, with Johnny taking the lead for most of it. He entertained us with stories from his work as a supernatural PI. I’d always found it interesting that he was so at ease around self-proclaimed crafters. Most normals had some level of discomfort around magic users, vamps, shifters, and anything supernatural. And the magic and supernatural communities generally kept to themselves partly due to a long pre-Rip history of secrecy. So, social stratification tended to split people into two groups: normals and everyone else. Johnny’s equipment gave him the ability to see and detect the magical world through technology, which made him unique among normals. I watched with warm satisfaction as Roxanne giggled at Johnny’s antics and blushed every time he leaned her way. For the moment, at least, she seemed to have forgotten her troubles.
While everyone seemed to be relaxed and having a good time, I rose and slipped away to my bedroom, where I closed the door and pulled out my phone. With my heart tapping a nervous rhythm and an uncomfortable prick
le creeping up the back of my neck, I found Jacob Gregori in my contacts and tapped the phone number. I’d never actually made a call to the number, and had no idea if it would go directly to his personal phone or to an assistant or what. Considering the hour, if it wasn’t a personal line, I’d probably just get voicemail.
After four or five rings I fully expected to end up leaving a message, but then a man’s voice answered.
My heart stuttered. “Is this Jacob?” I asked.
“Gabriella Grey, I presume?”
I sat down on my bed, my legs suddenly shaky. I’d changed my phone number the previous summer. Considering Jacob’s wealth and resources, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised he knew my new number, but it creeped me out all the same.
“Yeah, this is Ella.”
“Has something happened? I imagine you would only contact me under extreme circumstances.” He sounded genuinely concerned, but I couldn’t help recalling my mother’s and grandmother’s deep distrust of him.
“Yes, something has happened. Not to me,” I added quickly. “I’m trying to help a friend. Your men came to her home today and took a statue. A Gregori-bred gargoyle that has her brother, still alive last time we checked, trapped inside. I need access to that statue.”
I didn’t really have any leverage or grounds for threats, but I wanted him to know that I wasn’t totally ignorant about what he was doing. I was almost positive that whatever gargoyle-breeding scheme Gregori Industries was playing around with was illegal. At the very least, it was unethical, and as far as I’d been able to discern it was still secret.
Jacob made a little tsk sound. “Ah yes, one of our prototypes failed to find its way back home.”
His mild tone sent a spark of indignation shooting up through my chest, though I did feel some satisfaction that he’d more or less confirmed our suspicions about the gargoyle breeding. “Can you at least tell me if Nathan is still alive?” I gripped the phone hard against my ear, trying to control the irritation in my voice.
“Of course he is. We would never purposely hurt a human being. Our entire mission is centered around protecting humanity. But the situation is delicate, and the specimen is under observation.”
“His sister is only thirteen years old, she’s now living alone, and she’s terrified she’s never going to see her only family member again,” I said. My voice cracked and I struggled to keep it under control. “Exactly when do you plan to release her brother?”
“I understand your concern,” he said, but instead of reassuring me, his words only pissed me off more. “How about this? You come to the Gregori campus tomorrow after your shift and we can discuss it in person. I’ll be able to let you know when the young man may be freed.”
“You know there’s a human trapped in that statue, and you’re knowingly risking his life. It seems pretty obvious that the best thing to do, the right thing to do, is to release him immediately.”
“If you’ll meet with me, I can explain the situation. It’s a sensitive matter that I can’t discuss over the phone. But once we’ve spoken, you’ll understand why we haven’t released him yet.”
My nostrils flared as my breath came faster, but for Roxanne’s sake I couldn’t lose my temper. “Can you swear to me that Nathan is being monitored and nothing will happen to him?”
“I swear on the name of your dear departed father.”
“Okay,” I relented.
“Instructions will be sent to you in the morning,” he said. “Good night, Ella.”
I hung up and sat on my bed for a long moment, holding my phone and staring blankly at the closet door. I’d achieved what I’d set out to do—contact Jacob to try to get Nathan free—but cold apprehension settled low in my stomach. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but the whole thing made me uneasy. I pushed myself to my feet, trying to shake off the inexplicable film of ick the conversation had left me with. Perhaps I was being unfair, allowing my mother’s and grandmother’s prejudices to so strongly slant my feelings about Jacob. After all, he did seem to want to help.
I blew out a harsh breath and then went back into the living room to rejoin the others. I wasn’t going to let Roxanne know the specifics, but I planned to text Johnny and Stein about my impending meeting with Jacob.
Deb was the first to leave, and I walked her out. She’d gone quiet several times, with a drawn look on her face. I paused at the sidewalk, and she stopped too.
“I don’t have your empathic skills,” I said softly. “But if I had to guess, I’d say things are still rough with Keith?”
She hesitated for a moment before responding, which partially answered my question. I loved Deb like a sister, but I’d never been a fan of the man she chose to marry. During the seven-ish years they’d been together, married for the past year, they’d had more ups and downs than I would have wanted for her.
She forced a smile and reached up to gather her strawberry blond hair at the nape of her neck. “Oh, we’ll figure it out.” She kept fiddling with her hair, pulling it around to the front of one shoulder and worrying a strand between her fingers, another sign that things weren’t okay.
“Is there something I can do?” I asked.
She let out a little sigh and looked off down the street. “No, but thanks. You know Keith, always chasing the rainbow for the pot of gold.” Her gaze returned to me, and she gave a short laugh that held no actual amusement.
I shook my head, trying not to appear too judgmental but knowing I wasn’t doing a great job at hiding my irritation. Keith and Deb had been together since Deb was seventeen and he was eighteen, and he’d always been searching for the next sure-fire get-rich-quick shortcut. Over the years, she’d tolerated more pyramid schemes and crazy-ass business ideas than I cared to tally. I had no doubt that he loved her, but all Deb had ever wanted was to have lots of kids and immerse herself in being a stay-at-home wife and mother. She needed—and deserved—someone who was steady and supportive and wanted the same life she did. I suspected that Keith was okay with having children only because he knew Deb would do the heavy lifting. He didn’t seem to have any real aim or plan to support a family financially, though, and I hated the thought of Deb having to work full-time when her deepest heart’s desire was to stay home and care for her babies. And gain a place in the coven of her choice, of course. She’d been talking about coven life almost as long as she’d been dreaming of a big family, and both of those dreams were born of an obvious desire to be part of a close community and family. Deb was a former foster kid, so it was no surprise.
“Do you need some space?” I asked. “You’re welcome to stay here more than just a night.”
She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I know. Thank you.”
I pulled her in for a hug—Deb was the only person in the world I hugged willingly and without any internal cringing—and didn’t really want to let her go. On the surface we didn’t seem to have much in common, but we’d been tight since the start of junior high. I was a loner who preferred to devote my social energy to one or two people, and she had always longed for closeness. My focused loyalty to her seemed to fulfill something she deeply desired, and in turn her genuine warmth had been a bright point through my difficult years of losing one family member after another.
I went back up to the porch and watched her pull away. The sounds of Roxanne’s laughter and Johnny’s deep voice drew me back inside. The two of them were sitting on the floor facing each other with their phones out. It looked like they were engaged in some sort of game. Stein was sitting on the old navy leather chair with a notebook spread on his lap and his backpack sagging open on the floor next to him. His brows were drawn low in concentration as he scribbled on a page.
Through the doorway into the kitchen, I saw Loki standing at the back door. I let him out and then tiptoed up behind Stein to try to get a peek at what had him so intent. His handwriting was almost annoyingly neat, and it looked like he was making notes about moon phases. There were also some symbols I recognized as repre
sentations of the zodiac signs.
“I didn’t take you for an astrology buff, Stein,” I said.
He jolted and snapped the notebook closed, twisting to shoot me a look that was half-irritation and half-chagrin.
“Why don’t you call me by my name?” he asked.
“Um, Stein is your name.” I reached for the last beer, popped the cap with the opener, and plunked down on the ottoman.
“You use last names for people you don’t like. Devereux, for instance.”
I took a swig of beer, considering. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”
“Do you have something against me?” He crossed one arm over his stomach to grip his other elbow in his palm, his gaze ticking down and away before coming back to rest on my eyes.
I lowered my lids partway and gave him a wry look. “I’m not sure yet.”
His mouth tightened.
I shifted a little, remembering how he’d looked at Johnny earlier, and suddenly suspected I knew why Stein was getting closed off all of a sudden.
“So Damien Stein, are you—?”
“A Virgo?” He cut in, giving me a wry, unblinking look.
“Gay, I was going to say.”
“I know you were. And yes, I am.” His eyes tensed the slightest bit.
“Gay or a Virgo?”
“Both.”
“Good. I don’t have to worry about you checking out my ass all day long.” I gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
A small smile broke over his face, and he seemed to relax.
“Well, since we have to work together, how about if you make a leap of faith and call me Damien?” he asked, hardly missing a beat as he returned to our previous topic. “At least until you’ve completed your assessment and know for sure whether I’m first name worthy?”
I laughed. “Fine. Damien it is. For now, anyway.” I jutted my chin at the closed notebook in his lap. “What’s that, your diary?”
“No,” he said emphatically, accompanied by a withering look. He shifted a little on the seat, obviously reluctant to discuss the contents of the notebook.