A Weapon Of Magical Destruction

by Katie Salidas

  “Grab me another beer too, would ya, honey?”

  “Sure thing, baby cakes.” She giggled and reached into the fridge to grab one of the amber bottles and stopped short, knocking it onto the shelf as she noticed her wrist. At first she thought too much sun had given her a freckle to go with the tree-like veins branching out under her skin, but now her eyes were truly playing tricks on her. The leaf-shaped sun-spot had multiplied, dotting her wrist in a semi-circle around the top of her birthmark. “What the hell…”

  “You okay in there?” Matt asked.

  “How long have you known me?” She pulled back her wrist, leaving the bottle on its side in the fridge. Holding it like a wound, she walked back into the living room.

  “Years. Why?” Confusion added to the concerned look on Matt’s face.

  “I swear my eyes are playing tricks on me. What do you see?” She held her wrist out for him to inspect.

  “You get some ink done while in Phoenix? I like the whole tree of life thing you’re trying to do.” He smiled and traced the new semi-circle of leaves with his finger. “How is it healed already, though?”

  “Okay, I’m not insane, then. You see it too.” She sighed, but not in relief. She might not have been the only one seeing things, but that didn’t explain how she’d gotten the new markings.

  “That’s not ink?” Matt asked.

  “Nope.” Sage ran to the kitchen again, lathered up her arm with soap, and ran it under the hottest water she could stand. Scrubbing didn’t remove the marks either. “What the hell is this?”

  “Don’t peel your skin off.” Matt came to the rescue with a towel and some lotion.

  She’d rubbed herself raw, but the marks still remained. Neither raised bumps nor sunken impressions, they were just there, as if her skin had manifested them… like magic.

  “It actually looks pretty cool. Makes all your little squiggles look like a real pattern now. Why are you stressing about it?”

  “Marks don’t just appear out of thin air.” Anxiety sharpened her tone.

  “Freckles do. Too much sun?”

  “What if it’s like cancer or something?”

  “Wow! Way to jump straight to the worst-case scenario there, lady. How about we take a breath first? Calm down.”

  There had to be an explanation for this. Magic was something kids believed in; the stuff of fantasy and games. Fun to play at, but in the real world, it didn’t exist. All the crap she’d seen – or dreamed – made her feel as if she were on the edge of a complete mental breakdown. That, or something else she couldn’t possibly say out loud – because it was equally crazy. “What’s the first sign of skin cancer? Strange freckles and moles, right?” Her stress level had already been at twelve, and it was quickly notching higher with each freaky thing that happened. Soon, she’d been in full panic attack mode, and there was no Mom around to help ground her in reality.

  Mom had always been her rock.

  Mom had always had an answer.

  Mom was dead!

  Her head began to spin. The world blurred as tears flooded her vision. Her heart knocked frantically at the wall of her chest, desperate to be free of the constant pain of its cage. If only. There was no escape. No easy way out of this. Sage had to learn the hardest lesson of all – how to endure. Because her mom would never again be able to make everything better.

  “Mom’s gone!” She gasped the words, her lungs fighting against the very air she breathed.

  She swooned from lightheadedness, and her knees buckled. She’d have crashed to the ground if not for the strength of Matt’s massive arms.

  “Slowly now.” He pulled her into a bear hug and gently stroked her head. “In and out. Nice, deep breaths. You’re fine. You do not have cancer.”

  Where she was panic, he was calm, and his soothing voice guided her back from the brink. She’d fallen backwards from the panic attack, straight into full-blown depression. Matt made the landing as soft as possible. Thank the gods for him. Words failed her. She opened her mouth, but all that came out were mouse-like squeaks.

  “C’mon. The Doctor will see you now.” He walked her back into the living room and hit the button on the remote.

  Theme music came on, and for a moment paused her downward spiral into madness. “I’m a hot mess right now.”

  “I know. But you’re allowed to be. And I’m here for you. If you’re that worried, we’ll make an appointment with a dermatologist. I know a decent one.”

  “You’re too good to me.” She finally found her breath and sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold before letting it go with a loud sigh.

  Matt disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two more beers. “You say that now, but wait until you get my bill.”

  Her wrist began to itch again, but Sage didn’t dare look at it, fearing another spot might appear. Somehow it all tied to her Mom – all the crazy things she’d seen, which had started after she died. And then there was her birthmark, which grew more and more like her mother’s each day. Sage might have been in mourning, but she wasn’t going crazy. Even Matt had seen the change. There was a connection, an answer to questions she didn’t even have the words for, but she doubted a dermatologist would know it.

  FIVE

  The alarm blared with ear-piercing intensity. Sage whimpered at the clock, pleading for it to stop without having to get up and hit the button. The damn thing never listened. Instead it kept screaming at her from across the room, the true master of the morning.

  On a whispered curse, Sage lifted herself from the bed and began the ritual of making herself look human for the workday ahead.

  Life, under normal circumstances, was a mind-numbing routine of business casual dress, coffee on the run, and microwaved lunch at her cubical workstation – monotony at its finest, but she couldn’t complain. Fresh out of college and working an entry-level position in a large accounting firm was more than many people her age had, and she counted herself lucky for it.

  Sage lumbered into the office and tossed her gym bag under the desk. It wasn’t even nine in the morning and her in-box looked like Mount St. Helens threatening to erupt at any moment; that was her punishment for daring to take two days of bereavement leave. Cost-to-completes needed to be entered, piles of charge offs and expense forms needed to be sorted by job, and if she managed to finish those tasks, there were always the endless stacks of filing.

  She mentally prepared for a thrilling day of carpal tunnel and papercuts as she booted up her computer.

  “Back so soon?” Genevieve called out from behind the cubicle wall. Her quad-desk neighbor was an accounting lifer. Thirty-something with kids and an addiction to caffeine, she had already been working for the company for eight years when Sage was hired on. She was the office gossip guru.

  “It’s not like I can afford to be off for long. Still have bills to pay, right?” Sage peeked over the top of the cubicle to speak to her.

  Her mask must have fallen. Sage thought she had hidden her despair enough to manage the work day, but the pity reflected in Genevieve’s hazel eyes said otherwise.

  “You doing okay, honey?” She had the mom voice down pat, and just that simple phrase brought Sage back to tears.

  She ducked down below the walls of her cubicle, hoping to shield herself from embarrassment. But there too she found reminders of just how gaping the hole in her heart was. A card had been wedged between her keyboard and monitor, signed by the whole office; a touching note of solidarity. The waterworks were coming. She couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now. “I was. I’m…fine.” She sniffed back her emotions, hoping to dam them up inside. “Just need to bury myself in work.”

  “If you need anything, sweetie, just let me know. I’ve got your back.”

  “I will.” Sage packed the card away in her bag to avoid being sent into another fit of tears. She had to be strong. Her in-box was calling, and there was more than enough work there to keep her busy for the rest of the year. After few deep breaths, she was ab
le to put the mask back on.

  “Oh, and plan for margaritas on Friday. We’re putting together a happy hour at the Iguana,” Genevieve chirped happily, between shuffles of papers. “Don’t tell the rest of the girls, but your first drink is on me. Okay?”

  Pain relief with a salted rim; who could say no to that? Even if it did mean socializing with the entire accounts team. Harkening back to the school lunchroom, social hierarchy in the office was well-defined. Dealing with each person one-on-one was easy enough when you had deadlines and assigned tasks to complete, but beyond the confines of their cubicles and job titles, navigating the various personalities required skill and finesse that Sage had yet to master. Like on a reality TV show, befriending and allying yourself with the right people could save your job.

  Before she could answer, Genevieve warned, “Heads up – Marcy is on the warpath. Someone on the uniform account misplaced a decimal point on a CTC change request, and she fired them on the spot.”

  “Seriously?” Sage popped her head over the wall again, shocked to hear Genevieve’s report.

  “Oh, yeah. Word is Marcy is getting a divorce, so stay off her radar until things cool down. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She pantomimed zipping her mouth shut and re-took her seat.

  Hours dragged on as Sage meticulously went line by line, entering job cost information into a spreadsheet. The numbers began to look the same after a while, and the gentle clack of the keys as she typed became hypnotic in their cadence. She’d fall under their spell if she didn’t do something quick. Coffee was the only solution, but as she stood to grab a cup, she bumped into the infamous Marcy.

  Sage shrieked, and her heart nearly stopped. Marcy had the reputation for being the troll of the accounting office, ruthless as she was evil; the department head known for cutting costs as well as employees with brutal efficiency. That alone was enough to make Sage fear stepping on her toes, but on first glance, the normally poshly dressed head of accounts had suddenly grown a foot taller. Her skin a sickly grayish-green that had nothing to do with the fluorescent lights above.

  “Follow me please, Miss Cynwrig.” Coal-black eyes stared straight through Sage as teeth like razors snapped together after the shrill order.

  Staring dumbstruck at her boss, whose face had sprouted moles with thick black hairs jutting from their tops, Sage couldn’t bring herself to do more than slap a hand over her mouth to keep it from gaping in surprise. Was this a joke? It had to be. But Marcy wasn’t the kind of woman who played around. She was as strict as they came and known for having no personality whatsoever, which had earned her the nickname troll. But to see her standing there, looking the part… Marcy even had the long-tipped ears to match. Sage didn’t even wanted to look down at her feet. But searching for somewhere else to look, she did, and nearly shrieked again. They were more claw than foot, with red-painted talons for toenails.

  What the hell is happening to me? It wasn’t the first time Sage had seen a transformation like this. And seeing her boss now reminded her of the dream she’d had – the army of trolls fighting a magical war.

  “Is there a problem?” Marcy growled, after an uncomfortably long period of silence had earned stares from everyone else in viewing range.

  Sage blinked and shook her head. By the time she opened her eyes again, her boss had reappeared. Curls of fiery red hair circled a heavily made up heart-shaped – and very human – face. Dark eyes still glared at her, reminding Sage she was not in a position to cause problems.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” Sage gulped back her initial revulsion. Snap out of it! Her mind had been playing tricks on her lately. Stress and grief playing havoc with her sanity.

  “My office. Now!” Marcy demanded.

  The Rumor Mill girls were standing up at their desks, looking to see what all the commotion was about. If she still had a job after this meeting with Marcy, she might need to check and see if her insurance benefits included mental health. More and more, it seemed a shrink was in order.

  Sage hung her head and slowly made the walk of shame all the way to Marcy’s office.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your family member. I hope you were able to settle the affairs during your bereavement leave.” Marcy marched through her office, taking a seat behind the large desk.

  Sage took a spot opposite the desk but didn’t sit. She bit her tongue to avoid scoffing. She’d had all of two days to make it home and back, hardly time for true mourning or settling of anything, but already at strike one, she knew better than to reply with anything less than, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cunning eyes scanned her from head to toe, looking for another strike to add to the tally.

  “May I remind you, Miss Cynwrig, we have a standard of appearance here?” Instinctively, Sage pulled back her arm, covering it quickly, but it was too late. Marcy whipped a manicured finger out, aiming it straight at her wrist. “Tattoos of any kind may not be visible during working hours.”

  “It’s not a tattoo. It’s a birth mark.” Not now. Please, not now! Just the thought of having to talk about it made her cringe.

  Marcy’s eyes dilated cruelly and her lips parted in a smile more frightening than anything Sage had seen before. As if she had gift-wrapped a reason to be fired, her boss held out her hand and demanded, “Let me see.”

  With a defeated sigh, Sage reluctantly showed off her deformity. Embarrassment of the highest caliber. Working in a right-to-work state gave employers carte blanche when it came to firing people. By rights she shouldn’t have had to reveal any part of her body to an employer, but at the risk of losing her job, it was the lesser of two evils.

  Marcy snatched her arm, pulling Sage off balance as she brought it closer.

  She cringed and closed her eyes, awaiting her boss’s verdict, but rather than the sting of the guillotine’s blade, she felt the hardwood of the desk as her knuckles crashed down.

  Marcy sucked in a breath, dropping Sage’s hand as if it had burned her.

  When their eyes met across the desk, it was Marcy who looked frightened, but that fleeting emotion quickly disappeared behind her usual mask of self-importance.

  “I see. Quite an interesting…birthmark. Is that what you called it?” Marcy averted her eyes, suddenly taking more interest in the papers on her desk.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Something about her deformity had struck a chord with Marcy. Most people thought it was ugly or a bad ink job, but no one had ever responded with fear after seeing it.

  Still avoiding eye-contact, Marcy asked, “Who was it again that passed away?”

  “My mother,” Sage responded, as calmly as she could.

  A moment passed in stunned silence before Marcy finally looked up at Sage. Emotions warred for control of her boss’s face. Eyes that had been calculating and cruel moments before suddenly softened. Fine lines appeared at her brow as if she were deep in thought, but she didn’t speak her mind.

  “I’ll do my best to keep it covered,” Sage offered, as a way to break the silence.

  “I’m truly sorry, dear. I’m sure this loss has affected you in more ways than you can imagine.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Her boss’s words were too kind. There had to be a trap somewhere in this conversation.

  “Perhaps you should take a little more time off to grieve,” Marcy continued.

  And there it was. Her job was about to be eliminated. Even the cruelest of trolls couldn’t let her go directly after a death in the family. But if she played along, maybe she’d get enough paid time off to find another job.

  “Okay.” Sage hung her head as she turned toward the door.

  “Have Genevieve take over your duties for the next week.” How could Marcy speak so sweetly as she stabbed someone in the back? No wonder she was getting divorced. That woman was pure evil. “Oh, and I’ll make sure your paycheck is delivered to your apartment. No need to come down here to pick it up.”

  “Am I being let g
o?” Sage decided to just go for blunt. What was the worst that could happen? “When do I come back?”

  Marcy smiled, but it was far from genuine. “We’ll discuss your career later, after you’ve had proper time to grieve and deal with all the changes.”

  Cruelty with a dash of crafty on top. What a bitch! There’s got to be a special place in hell for trolls like her. Sage took her leave and headed back out to her desk.

  “You okay?” Genevieve asked, popping her head over the cubicle.

  “I think I just got fired,” Sage replied angrily.

  “She fired you?”

  “She told me I should take more time to grieve. Those were her exact words.” Sage picked up her bag. “Oh, and she’ll mail me my check.” The reality of being let go from her job hadn’t quite settled in, but anger was quickly taking hold.

  “Unless she said you’re fired, you still have a job,” Genevieve offered, with a weak smile.

  Semantics aside, Sage knew her time with the company was over. It might be a week or more before the paperwork was sent to her, but the truth was obvious. Her hands shook with anxiety as the realization hit her. She might have to consider Mark’s offer to work at ASSET. Her mom might be dead, but she still had a life to live, and she couldn’t without a job.

  SIX

  When life tries to kick you in the nuts, fight back!

  After wallowing in her own misery, wondering what she was going to do for work, Sage was looking forward to the opportunity to punch something… hard.

  Her mom had always been a gym rat, and Sage shared that love of burning out aggression through a rigorous session of weight-lifting and cardio. Even stressed to her breaking point, Sage looked forward to throwing herself into a merciless routine. Pushing her muscles to the limits actually sounded refreshing.

  She’d only just started a membership at Bulwark Gym. Two days a week, one mixed martial arts class and one personal session comprised exactly the kind of ball-busting workout she needed.

  Sweat poured down her forehead as she grappled with the seven-foot-tall steamroller Devon – her personal trainer. Struggling to gain enough leverage, Sage failed time and time again to throw him to the mats.