Hex-Ed: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Womby's School for Wayward Witches Book 2)

by Sarina Dorie

  “I know the witch was real,” I said.

  Mom set her spoon aside. “Yes, she was a real witch, but I didn’t think she had told Missy the truth. I thought she gave your sister a potion to make her see a false vision, something to lure her away from us. That woman wanted to use Missy, to gain her powers by draining her. She would have made her into a slave—or worse. What’s that movie with all the people who live in pods and the entities in charge keep them alive just to use them for food?”

  “V? The Matrix?” It could have been the premise of any science fiction movie.

  “Yes, that’s what they do with the unclaimed. The Fae use us.” Us. She was like me. Or I was like her. “Sometimes rogue Witchkin use other witches too. That’s what that lady was. She saw that spark of magic in your sister and intended to exploit it.”

  I knew what Fae and fairies were from fantasy novels, but the terms sounded like jokes coming from my mom’s mouth. I hadn’t heard the word Witchkin before. Or had I? There was a familiarity to it.

  This was more than my mother had ever admitted.

  “My foster mother… .” Mom swallowed. “I told you how she tried to use me, to gather my pain as a sacrifice for one of her spells.” She rolled her sleeve up and ran a finger over the white scar on her forearm. “I didn’t want bad people out there to use you or Missy. I tried to protect you. Witches like that woman are drawn to festivals where they can show their true selves and they won’t stand out.”

  Something scratched at the door. Mom’s eyes went wide. I started toward the door, assuming it was Lucifer.

  Mom held up a hand. “I’ll get it.” She placed a hand on the door, listening. A faint meow came from the other side. She opened the door a crack.

  Lucifer slunk in. He sat at her feet and licked a paw.

  “You believe in witches, then?” I asked. “You know what I am””

  Mom shook her head. “You are not a witch. Magic isn’t for you. Don’t play with things you don’t understand.”

  “Then help me understand. Show me how to use it. I know you can.” I gestured at the chili. It was obvious she had done something to it. I suspected one bite would make me as complacent as Brutus after my lunch smoothie.

  Mom closed her eyes. “I tried to help Missy. It didn’t do her much good. Everything I showed her to try to make her feel safe and confident backfired. She use it on you.”

  I plunged on. “That night, the night she died, Missy got mad at me and claimed I was adopted.”

  Her face flushed nearly as red as her hair. “You know that isn’t true. She was being, well, you know how she could be. She wasn’t the same after the fair.”

  “I know. I told her she was the one who was adopted. She didn’t look like you or dad. After I said it, I felt bad. It really … upset her.” My therapist told me everything that had happened in the bathroom at Olive Garden was a figment of my overactive imagination: the exploding pipes, the way Missy sucked all moisture from the air, and how she had used a Darth Vader-like chokehold on me. I could no longer buy into that any more than I could believe the day of dancing bananas was the result of delusional fantasies. Since then, too much had happened.

  “Was she adopted?” I asked.

  Tears filled Mom’s eyes. “It shouldn’t have mattered. I loved both of you equally. I tried to be fair.”

  The lead anchor of her words settled in my stomach. My mom had been keeping so many secrets from me.

  “And that man? Who was that man who came here today?” I asked. “What does he want with us? I’m going to run into him again. If not here, he’s going to see me at a school or somewhere else during the day. He’ll find me at the Saturday Market or at—”

  “He won’t find you if you stay here and let me protect you.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “Magic.”

  “His magic?” What did he want to do with me?

  “Your magic,” she said with a sigh. “That’s what I need to protect you from. The entire world will want you for your magic if they find out about you. Everyone will want to use you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why me?”

  “You’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, the equivalent of an O negative blood type for magic. You’re rare and useful, and I think you can magnify the powers of those around you.”

  Yes, this seemed right. I thought about Daisy Sunshine’s Tarot card reading. She claimed to be a psychic, but it was only when she’d touched me that true magic had happened. And then there was the tornado with Derrick. His wind magic had exploded a thousand times more strong when we’d kissed.

  “It’s not just that. Your powers are dangerous,” Mom said. “No one can tell what you are by looking at you. It’s only when you use your powers that it becomes obvious you aren’t any ordinary Witchkin.”

  I stared at her dumbfound. She could not be serious. “So I could be some kind of powerful witch? But you want me to hide inside this house for the rest of my life instead?”

  “No, we can’t stay here. We’ll have to leave. That man who showed up earlier—Felix Thatch—he knows you live here.”

  Felix Thatch. The man in the tweed suit had a name. I straightened, feeling a certain power, knowing who he was. Probably I’d read too many Ursula Le Guin novels about wizards gaining power from knowing someone’s name.

  Mom took me by the shoulders, as if she didn’t think her words were powerful enough alone. “If he found you, others will follow. I just can’t figure out why he didn’t come for you earlier in the week if he caught you using magic then. Really, we should drive to your Uncle Trevor and Aunt Linda’s tomorrow during the daylight hours when it’s safest. We can hide you there.”

  “Wait? You mean we’re leaving? Running away?”

  My mom took my hands. “We have to move. If we don’t, they’ll come for you.”

  “I’m not leaving Eugene. I should be learning how to control my powers so I don’t cause tornados or kill people. I need you to teach me.”

  She patted my cheek. “Sweetie, I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  She sighed in exasperation. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me.

  “We’ve had this conversation before?” I asked.

  “Yes. Every time it ends the same.” Her smile was sad. “You realize you don’t want to hurt people with magic and be unhappy. You choose to forgo your powers and let me cleanse your memories. And we move on. Again.”

  “How do you do it?” I asked.

  She pushed my bowl toward me. “You’ll be so much happier if you go back to not believing in magic. We can have a fresh start somewhere else. We could try Portland or Seattle.”

  No, I didn’t feel better not believing in magic. I felt worse. I had to keep up the appearance of being normal while feeling like I was a freak. The path I always chose wasn’t working. I shook my head.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  Mom kissed me on the cheek. “It’s a lot to take in. We can talk about this tomorrow.” She started down the hall toward her room. “I’m sorry. I have to go to bed. I’m too tired and depleted to talk about this anymore tonight.” She waved a hand at the table. “Please eat your dinner. It will make you feel better. It always does. Tomorrow things will be better.” She paused, just outside her room. “Don’t go to the fair next weekend.”

  I pretended to agree with her. “No, of course not.”

  “They’ll find you.”

  I waited until the door to her room was closed before I threw my chili away. I wondered what other secrets she’d been keeping from me. One thing was for certain. I was going to Oregon Country Fair. One way or another, I was going to learn magic.

  PART TWO

  The Return to Oregon Country Fair

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Stage Magician

  A murder of crows descended on the barren limbs of a dead-looking oak tree, filling the branches with black f
oliage that blotted out the heat of the sun. Too bad it didn’t block out the sticky humidity. Wouldn’t you know it, the Morningwood Odditorium stage where I was about to perform at Oregon Country Fair was stationed underneath the tree. There was supposed to be a canopy covering the stage and seating area to create shade, but it was absent this year. I prayed none of the birds pooped on my top hat and purple cape during my magic act.

  We can only collect the lost souls after dark, a voice from distant, childhood memories said. A shiver stole up my spine. Who had said that? I thought I remembered one of the women in bird costumes saying that, only now I didn’t believe those women were dressed in costumes. I would leave before dark and spend the night at Daisy’s house, my mom none the wiser that I had been here at all.

  I carried the table they’d provided onto the stage and laid out a tablecloth as the audience assembled. In the vase, I set up fake flowers that squirted water—more of a clown trick than a magic trick—but one I had worked into the act for comic relief. I arranged the battery-powered CD player under the table and my linking rings on top of the table. The setup was always the hardest part of a magical act in a place like this without a curtain that closed to shield me from the audience’s eyes. I kept my back to the spectators, using my cape to block my movements as I set up the tablecloth and mirrors.

  The skunky stench of marijuana wafted through the dusty air. Wind chimes hung from trees decorated with ribbons. The stage was one of many set up in the woodland park’s festival. The fenced-off areas of the fair had to be at least a mile long. It took me an hour to walk from my small stage to the main stage, but that was mostly because of the herd of people—and all the cute clothes I wanted to look at in the wooden structures of booths along the way.

  Something splattered to my left on the wooden boards of the stage. Ah yes, bird poop, of course. I shifted my table a little farther to the side so it wouldn’t be directly under the largest cluster of birds. They watched me with unblinking black eyes. They creeped me out in the same way the solitary raven outside my mom’s house had when the school district psychologist had showed up. I did my best to ignore the sensation stealing up my spine.

  Oregon Country Fair was the biggest event I had ever performed at. I only hoped I had practiced enough to be invited back the following summer instead of the flakey illusionist who had cancelled at the last minute. Maybe they would even pay me more than a free admission and food ticket next year.

  I probably could sell my performer wrist band for money. People paid well to get into the afterparty when the fair ended each day. As it was, I planned on heading home before the last shuttle left so I could rest up and prepare for tomorrow’s performance. Maybe I would try selling it the following afternoon when I was done.

  As much as I loved the event during the day, there was nothing that could have enticed me to stay the night at Oregon Country Fair. The orgies, druggie raves, and weird stuff that happened were nothing compared to what had happened to my sister. I wasn’t going to allow a witch to lure me away with the temptation of cookies—or Turkish delight. I was going to be smart and keep my eyes open. I would look for signs of people who could do real magic. If I was lucky, I would find myself a teacher.

  I would leave before dark, I told myself.

  Plus, my mom would freak if she discovered I hadn’t spent the day with Daisy at the Saturday Market in town. She didn’t understand this was where I needed to be. Oregon Country Fair attracted people like me. Witches. Fae.

  These people would have answers.

  The raised stage allowed me to look down at the crowd and see how full the wooden benches were. More people filled the outdoor auditorium than there had been at the eleven a.m. show I’d put on a few hours before. Children dressed as fairies sat with parents wearing pajamas. Two men holding hands in pink spandex outfits sat in the back. Slowly, more people trickled in. A group of topless middle-aged women whose breasts were painted with butterflies and flowers sat together. A guy covered in thick mud that obscured all features scratched at the drying coating on his chest.

  For all I knew, any of them could be witches. Or Witchkin, as my mom had called them. As she had called us.

  A man in the front row waved at me. I smiled, recognizing him from the morning show. From his vantage point, I was sure he would be looking under my tutu most of the show. At least I had striped leggings on, even if they did make me sweat buckets. I should have considered my costume more carefully.

  The man’s hair was sandy blond and his jaw square. He looked like he was a model from the way his sparkling silver shirt hugged his beefy frame. I had tried not to drool as he approached me after the first show and flirted with me.

  Well, hello, Mr. Future Ex-Boyfriend, I’d thought. Not that I expected I would ever be able to date again. The man had been so impressed by my performance, he’d told me he was going to call his friends to come see.

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “There isn’t cell service out here in the woods.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” he’d said. Maybe he worked at the fair and he had a walkie-talkie. I didn’t question it. I had other things to worry about, like how the sweat pouring out of my pores might affect my sleight of hand.

  The front row of benches filled with men and women in long robes, capes and witch hats, blocking the view of the children behind them. Mr. Future Ex-Boyfriend scooted over to make room for a crabby-looking femme fatale with a 1920’s bob. Her red lips pressed into a line as she looked me up and down.

  I smiled out at the group. “Wow! Raise your hand if you like cosplay.”

  Three teenagers in the back dressed in anime costumes waved their hands and squealed. The adults in the front row stared at me blankly. Maybe they were too old for the term. I wiped the sweat from my brow and adjusted my top hat. Derrick had never been willing to wear a top hat. He’d said it would make him too tall, but I liked looking like a magician. If he had been around, we probably would have fought over who was going to get cut in half. I smiled at the memory of him.

  Another bird pooped on my stage. I edged back. The audience laughed.

  I decided to work the birds into my act. I pulled my magic wand out of my belt. It was the Lucius Malfoy replica wand I’d found a long time ago. The glitter and pink stripes shimmered in the sunlight.

  “Abracadabra!” I waved it over the bird poop. “Oh darn, I was kind of hoping I could make it disappear. Maybe later.”

  People laughed. Another bird pooped. I would swear that bird did it on purpose.

  I tried to say, “Abracadabra” again, but the word came out “Abra-cadaver.”

  A bolt of light shot out the end of the wand.

  One of the birds fell from the tree and dropped to the stage. I stared in horror. It was one thing to be told I was a witch and know my boyfriends might experience sudden death syndrome from my kissing. It was another to accidentally kill something. A bird. I was going to hell for sure now.

  The witches in the front row murmured among themselves. Their eyes were wild with excitement. Fearful. A few hippies seated behind them laughed like it was a trick.

  “Ooopsie,” I said. I hadn’t brought my pills with me. I hadn’t thought I would need them. Oregon Country Fair wasn’t even arousing. Why was this happening now of all times? I hadn’t been thinking about sex. I’d been thinking about … Derrick.

  A child in the back squealed in delight and pointed to the bird at my feet. “Do it again!”

  I nudged the raven with a toe. The bird twitched and flapped a wooden wing before going rigid. Maybe it wasn’t dead. Maybe it was just sleeping.

  I picked it up, baffled. The bird wasn’t a bird anymore. It was the same size, only made of wood.

  People made oohing and aahing noises like they thought it was part of the act. The witches exchanged nervous glances and looked up at the other birds above me. I wondered if these people were real witches or simply fair-goers dressed as witches. It was hard to tel
l fantasy from reality at a festival where everyone dressed in costumes.

  I shoved the bird into my bag, unprepared to do more with it at the moment.

  I started off with the Chinese linking rings illusion because I did it well and it was a crowd pleaser. Energetic cartoon jazz from Scrambled Ape, a local Eugene band, blared from my battery-powered CD player as I linked seemingly solid rings. This always impressed people. Today’s audience, however, looked bored. The vintage vamp yawned. Maybe they were just hot and tired. I was.

  A man in a tweed suit pushed his way through the crowd to the front row. I could only imagine how hot his costume was. There wasn’t any more room on the bench, but the man stood, blocking the view of the people behind him.

  “Get out of the way, mister,” a woman with a child yelled. The mother and child sat at the end of the goth-wizard crowd.

  The man turned to her. “Move,” he said.

  The child and her mother gave him their seats and found different ones in the back. I was appalled at how rude this guy was. I couldn’t believe they’d given him their seats, either.

  I did a double take. It was him. The school district psychologist. Felix Thatch.

  He shook his glossy black hair over his shoulders, managing to look down on me even though the stage was raised, and I was higher than he was. He crossed his arms, his resting bitch face rivalling the crabbiest of scowls.

  I dropped one of the rings. It rolled across the wood of the stage and plopped into the dirt below. A child ran up to the stage, grabbed it, and handed it up to me.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I said.

  My air of bravado crumbled. My artificial smile hurt my cheeks. Felix Thatch glared. The intensity in his eyes unnerved me.

  I couldn’t get the thought of the Matrix out of my head. Only, my internal soundtrack was playing “Every Breath You Take” by Sting. This dude had definitely been watching me. I feared he was here to drain me.

  I ended the Chinese linking rings early and moved on to the old water in a hat trick. There were a number of ways stage magicians achieved this. I used a top hat lined with extra absorbent feminine hygiene products. I made a show of drinking half the water and complaining about the heat before I poured the other half of it into my hat, exactly on the spot hidden under the black felt where the feminine napkins were located. It was only eight ounces. I’d done this trick lots of times. It was always a sure-fire trick the kids loved.