Magic at Midnight

by Lyssa Chiavari

  Ludwig’s orange eyes widened in mock-surprise. “Surely you jest. I would never wish to do anything of the sort, for fear of harming the kind and hardworking people of this good village.”

  He was taunting her. She scowled and hurriedly pushed past him, ignoring his cackles. Her good mood had been sullied by Magnus and Ludwig, and she wanted nothing more than to dry off and enjoy the chocolates she’d purchased.

  ♛

  Even after she’d changed into a fresh, dry dress and sampled two or three of the chocolates from Frau Nina’s shop, Greta found herself tense and irritable, pacing around her bedroom. She finally decided to settle her nerves by scrubbing her bedchamber’s wooden floor, which was covered with streaks of mud. Calla raced back and forth chasing the bubbles, creating damp, muddy paw prints wherever she ran.

  “Mind yourself, Calla.”

  Calla paused mid-pounce, bowing her head. “But the bubbles are fun.”

  Greta’s expression softened. “You may chase them over there where I haven’t scrubbed yet.” She scooped a handful of suds and blew them toward the opposite corner near her bed. Calla wiggled her backside and bounded after the bubbles, purring all the while. Greta resumed her task, wiping furiously at the streaks of dirt and grime. After several moments, she began to feel a tingling sensation crawl up her spine, like she was being watched.

  “You never stop working, do you?”

  Greta bristled at the voice, looking up to see Magnus leaning in the door frame. She paused in her scrubbing and wiped her damp hands on the cloth of her skirt. “There’s always something to be done around here. Not that you would know,” she mumbled, dipping the scrub brush into the soapy water once again.

  If Magnus had heard her last remark, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I wanted to thank you for bringing the flowers home to Aunt Rosa for me. She seems to like them very much.”

  Greta pretended not to hear, scrubbing the floor vigorously. When he still did not leave, she sighed and said, “Herr Ernst was hoping you could aid us after supper. The bottom step to the cellar is loose.”

  Magnus grimaced. “I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow. One of my instructors wants me to finish an assignment this evening. I just came back to fetch a few things.”

  Typical, Greta thought, staring at him incredulously. She rose to her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just what is it you work on day and night that’s more important than helping out around here?”

  Magnus seemed surprised by her question. “Well, I’ve finished my arithmetic, Latin, and botany assignments, but I have a still life, a landscape, and a larger-scale version of that drawing I need to complete.” He pointed to a place behind her head.

  Greta lifted her eyebrows. “A what?”

  Magnus smiled. “I’m working on a full-color version of that building sketch right there.”

  Turning, Greta realized Magnus was pointing to the envelope she’d perched on her window sill. Magnus drew that?

  “I must say, I’m flattered that you admire my work,” Magnus went on. “I thought perhaps Uncle Ernst had thrown it away.”

  Greta felt her face grow hot. So this was what Magnus did all the time—he was an artist. While she did like his work, the fact that he seemed to care about nothing else, not even assisting his aunt and uncle, made her angry.

  Magnus checked the pocket watch at his waist. “I’m running late. I hope to see you later,” he said cheerily, disappearing from her doorway.

  Greta deftly approached the sill and lifted the envelope. Where once she felt happy and calm at the sight of the lovely little sketch, now she only thought of his arrogance. She shoved the drawing in the drawer of her commode, not wanting to look at it ever again.

  ♛

  “There.” Greta rose to her feet, testing the bottom step of the cellar staircase.

  “You didn’t have to help me with this, Greta,” Ernst said, following her up the stairs and into the store.

  If it were up to that layabout, it would never have gotten done, Greta thought, though she knew better than to complain about Magnus to his uncle. “It’s no trouble at all,” she said with a smile, bustling to the stores of sugar and flour to restock the shelves. Busywork helped her whenever she was feeling vexed—something lazy creatures such as Magnus and Ludwig would never understand. As she undid the knot from around the large sack of flour, she began to dwell on her encounter with Ludwig from that afternoon. He was probably at the bonfire now, causing untold strife for any nearby mortals in his wake. Rolling her eyes, she said aloud, “I just hope that drunken kobold never patronizes this store.”

  Ernst turned to her, brows raised. “To whom do you refer?”

  “Oh, that old goblin, Ludwig,” she replied with a grunt, wrapping her arms around the girth of the heavy sack and hoisting it in the air over the barrel. “I can only pray he stays away from us. He’d torment you day and night for hiring a goblin—he might make the roof cave in.”

  Ernst didn’t seem too concerned, busying himself behind the counter.

  Not to be distracted from her poor mood, Greta pressed on, “And he’ll taunt me for not using my powers to perform simple tasks like this.” The last of the flour dumped into the barrel forcefully, covering her shoulders and face with white powder. She coughed, blinking as her lashes stuck together with flour.

  Ernst hid his chuckle, passing Greta a cloth from the counter. “There’s nothing wrong with doing things the mortal way.”

  Greta wiped the flour from her eyes. “I wish I’d been born a mortal,” she said wistfully. “I don’t belong with the other goblins! They make me feel like such an outcast,” she confessed, biting her lip. “I don’t feel truly satisfied unless I’ve worked for what I want, and they shun me for it.”

  “Goblins have lived in this village for generations,” Ernst said. “In my years, I have met many who were decent and kind.”

  Greta looked skeptical, but Ernst pressed on. “Much like you, they lived in harmony with us mortals. They even used their magic to help some of us.” Ernst sighed, stacking cakes of yeast on the shelf. “But, magic, though wondrous and useful, can make some beings tire of labor.”

  “Lethargy,” Greta repeated triumphantly, dusting the last of the flour from her braid and tossing the cloth over her shoulder.

  Ernst paused to look at her over his spectacles. “It is not just goblins, my child. Many mortals, if given the chance, would fall victim to the temptations of magic.”

  “This is why I don’t want to use my magic anymore,” Greta said, placing the wooden lid on the flour barrel.

  “It has nothing to do with whether or not you possess the gift, Greta,” Ernst insisted. “Every being is victim to temptation, but it is your character which guides you to be kind-hearted. You shouldn’t force yourself to hide who you are simply because you don’t wish to be like the goblins you know.”

  Greta bit her lip, pondering his words. Before she could reply, Magnus came through the door. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, his appearance putting her in an ill mood once more.

  “There’s our hardworking student,” Ernst said warmly as Magnus undid his coat to hang on the rack.

  Greta wrinkled her nose—hardworking was a term she would never use to describe Magnus. Magnus smiled and bade her hello, but she just gave a curt nod in reply.

  Ernst approached his nephew. “What have you been working on so late, my boy?”

  Magnus pulled a sketchbook from his satchel and held it up proudly. Greta’s eyes widened as she took in the beautiful sketch of the seaside. Tiny gulls danced over the waves, which seemed to roll off of the page. There was even a small lighthouse perched on craggy rocks in the distance, foam spitting out over the base of the formation.

  “Hm,” was all Ernst said before he returned his attention to the shelves.

  Magnus chuckled. “You know nothing of art, Uncle. Why do I even show you these things?”

  Greta inhaled sharply at Magnus’ insult, but
to her surprise, Ernst laughed robustly. “That is very true.”

  “Greta, on the other hand, has a keen eye. She’ll be able to give me proper input.” Magnus tilted the sketchbook in her direction. He lifted his eyebrows with a hopeful smile. “Well, Greta?”

  Greta wanted to say something about what she was feeling when she looked at his drawing—a sense of joy and tranquility, as if she could smell the salt air—but Magnus’ cruel comment to his uncle rang in her ears. “It looks like you wasted all of your time for nothing,” she said coldly, ignoring the twist of guilt she felt at the hurt expression on Magnus’ face.

  “Well, I won’t keep you two,” Magnus said briskly, dropping his eyes to shove the sketchbook back in his satchel. “I’m afraid I have to hurry upstairs and get to more studying. I have an examination in the morning.” He strode up the staircase and out of sight.

  Greta stared after him in disbelief. “Wasn’t he meant to mind the store? He doesn’t appreciate anything you do for him,” Greta exclaimed to the grocer. The irritation she’d been feeling toward Magnus all this time came burbling out. “He’d fit right in with the goblins—we should trade places! Magic would suit his lazy ways well.”

  Ernst regarded her over his spectacles. “Magic can’t save you from everything,” he said sadly.

  Greta had never heard the grocer speak so seriously before. “Herr Ernst?”

  Ernst cast a glance up the stairwell before continuing softly, “Magnus has had a difficult life, Greta. Though he may not realize, his father was—” He hesitated, staring thoughtfully at Greta.

  “Yes?” Greta prodded.

  “His father died when Magnus was very young,” Ernst said at last. “He and his mother have struggled on their own ever since. The boy hasn’t had an opportunity for proper schooling before this, so he’s very eager to prove himself in both his academic and artistic endeavors.”

  Greta thought back to the hurt look in Magnus’ honey eyes when she’d dismissed his drawing, and her pangs of guilt increased. Looking back, Ernst had been quick to throw away the envelope to Magnus’ letter, ignoring the thoughtful drawing his nephew had done for him. Then she furrowed her brow. Scrap paper is best meant for kindling, she thought sagely. He did no wrong. “He was mocking you,” she insisted stubbornly.

  She was taken aback when Ernst chuckled. “It was only in jest, my dear,” he said kindly.

  Her expression softened, and she found herself looking up the staircase to where Magnus had gone, her thoughts racing.

  ♛

  Greta did not see Magnus at all the following day, for which she was very grateful. She’d had trouble sleeping after her conversation with Ernst and couldn’t decide whether to apologize for her harsh comment, or avoid him altogether. His absence meant she didn’t have to make the choice.

  “It’s his fault for being so off-putting,” Greta grumbled to Calla on her way to their bedroom that evening. She thought of the times she had caught those honey eyes of his watching her, a smile playing on his lips as if he were the keeper to some secret. She shook her head to rid her thoughts of Magnus. “Come along, Calla, I must mend that dress.” She paused when there was no reply. “Calla?” Peering all around, she saw no sign of the cat. “Calla?”

  A small thump followed by a crash hit her sensitive ears, and she rushed down the hall to discover the door to Magnus’ room was wide open.

  Greta found the kitten sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by an overturned dish and tubes of paint. Calla happily batted one of the tubes around, chattering to herself.

  “You naughty girl! Did you do this?”

  Calla lifted her eyes guiltily. “The door was open,” she said in a small voice. Her paw inched toward the tube of paint again.

  “Stop,” Greta said firmly, hoisting the kitten around the middle and setting her near the doorway. “We have to clean this up before Magnus notices.” She scooped the paint tubes and returned them to the dish. Her eyes began to sweep over the many paintings that sat on easels around her, and she found herself mesmerized. There was a small painting of a forest, with moss climbing up the spindling trees and two deer in the clearing. The next canvas she looked at was larger, and Greta realized with a start that it appeared to be the painted version of the envelope sketch.

  Calla had tiptoed over to where Greta stood, gazing at the paintings in wonder. “Oh,” she breathed. “Look at the big one!”

  Greta turned her attention to the largest canvas of all. There was a long lane lined with tall, narrow shops on either side. Peering at the signs and storefronts, she exclaimed, “It’s our village!” She exhaled in wonder as she took in all of the fine details of the scene. There was Minna minding her florist shop with a basket of flowers on the crook of her arm, and a young couple perusing the storefront.

  “It’s awfully pretty,” Calla said with a sigh, her wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the canvas.

  “Why thank you, little one.”

  Greta gasped. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked breathlessly. Then she caught herself, handing him the dish of paint tubes and scooping the kitten up in her arms. “I’m sorry. Calla came in here and—”

  Magnus chuckled, setting the dish on a nearby commode. “It’s quite all right. I’m glad to know she likes my painting.”

  Greta lifted her eyebrows. “You can hear her?”

  “He can?” Calla squeaked.

  “Of course. It’s no surprise that you bewitched your kitten to speak. You are a goblin, after all.” He smiled and gave Calla an affectionate pat. “But she is quite the talker.”

  He knows of our kind? Greta began to think back on all the times Calla had spoken in front of Magnus, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. She turned away from him to collect her racing thoughts, gazing at the painted versions of the village shops once more, when she noticed a small, white haired figure in the shadows of one of the alleyways. A long-limbed figure was perched atop the eaves of a building. There was even a miniature version of herself on the step of the grocer’s shop, holding a broom and sweeping painted leaves. She leaned in closer, the paint hitting her senses as she studied the fine, pointed ears Magnus had given her, and the flecks of green he’d added to her hair. “You see my true self?” Greta was surprised, to say the least—the ability to see magic seemed to wane and wither with each passing generation. She had never met a mortal her own age who knew of goblins.

  Magnus smiled and nodded. “You must forgive me for staring when we first met. Uncle Ernst had spoken often of you, but he’d never mentioned you were a goblin.” Then he paused. “He might not have realized I, too, can see magic. Mind you, I’ve only met a few goblins in my lifetime. To think this village is full of them! How truly wonderful.”

  Greta grunted, thinking of Ursula, Ludwig, and the rest of the horrid lot. “Yes, it’s wonderful,” she said sarcastically. Calla began to wiggle to be let out of her arms, and Greta obliged, watching the kitten trot out of the room. Greta turned to follow, but Magnus’ voice stopped her.

  “Are you leaving so soon?” he asked, perching on his wooden stool before the village painting. “I was hoping to ask your opinion.”

  Greta found herself staring at the painting before him, drawing nearer. “Yes?”

  “You’ve lived in the village far longer than I. Whenever I work on this section”—he motioned to the lower right corner—“something seems to be missing.”

  Greta studied the line of shops for a moment before she spoke. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You’ve missed a shop. The candy maker is beside the cobbler.”

  “Ah, that’s it.” Magnus nodded slowly. “I’ll have to work on that bit. Unless you want to just give it a go.” He held out a paintbrush to her with a lifted brow.

  Greta stared at him in disbelief. Work-shy to the very end. He wanted her to do absolutely everything! “I don’t use my powers,” she said coldly.

  “I just meant for you to try painting the shop the mortal way,” Magnus replied
, setting the brush on the table and eying her with a puzzled expression. “You don’t use your magic? What about…?”

  “Yes, I did bewitch Calla with the Gift of Gab,” Greta replied tartly. “But I refuse to use my magic frivolously, or to shy out of chores and effort at every turn.”

  “And useless things like painting,” Magnus said, a teasing smile on his lips.

  Greta, however, did not smile back. Why is he bothering me with these questions? “You’re the one who insists on painting instead of helping in the store. Why should I do the work for you?” Rather than appearing offended, however, Magnus stared at her, looking amused. “What?” she snapped, feeling hot under his stare.

  “I’ve noticed something about you, Greta,” Magnus said at last.

  Greta lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “You don’t really have a sense of humor,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The other goblins I’ve met love to laugh and joke, but you… you don’t seem to comprehend when someone isn’t being serious.” His amber eyes, which were reflecting the glow of the lantern, danced with amusement. He was mocking her. This made Greta even more irritated. “Do you even know how to laugh?”

  Greta took a step toward him, her own eyes flashing dangerously in the lamp light. “You’re just like all of the other goblins. Yes, I have magic, and yes, of course I can laugh—but life isn’t all fun and games!”

  His eyes widened, the smile fading from his lips. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said quietly. “I only meant to tease. Please accept my apologies.”

  Greta found she couldn’t stand to look into those golden eyes of his any longer. Stepping away quickly, she said, “I have to get on with my mending. Unlike you, I don’t have time to waste on silly paintings.” In her haste she bumped into a table and knocked the vase that held Magnus’ paintbrushes to the ground with a crash. Greta fell to her knees to pick up the shattered mess, hissing when her hasty fingers met the sharp edge of glass.