Enchantress Undercover

by A C Spahn

  My bracelet now pointed toward a stately building with a roof more suited to a medieval castle than a modern institute of learning. Inside I found row upon row of shelves crammed with dusty books. A circular reception desk stood in the middle of the entrance hall beneath a huge chandelier that still had dust on it from the prohibition era. Not that I blamed them. If I had to climb an extension ladder to dust my lights, I wouldn’t do it, either.

  The girl at the reception desk wore a vest over a collared shirt and didn’t even look up from her magazine as I entered. Probably a student, doing some kind of work-study. Or maybe volunteer hours for her resume. This didn’t seem like a work-study type of place.

  I found Pete in a second-floor reading alcove, seated at a polished wooden desk. A window looked out over a wooded garden, with one twist of a creek peeking between the shrubs. The alcove had its own chandelier, but this one included only three bulbs and seemed to have been recently dusted. Books covered the desk in front of Pete, with pretentious titles like Tabulations on Population Analysis and Inquiry and Investigation of Historical Externalities Resulting From Blah, Blah, Blah. What he was actually reading behind the studious tomes was a graphic novel with over-muscled superheroes and torpedo-breasted heroines.

  I snuck up behind him, trusting his reverence for magic to help me make a strong impression. “I don’t think that’s part of the curriculum.”

  He jumped a foot off his chair and banged his knees on the desk. His hand flew to his back, and he stifled a groan. He twisted so he was half hanging off his seat, staring at me wide-eyed. His other hand splayed flat on the table, as if holding himself upright. A chip of the fingernail was missing. “How did you find me?” he demanded.

  “Take a wild guess.”

  “... Maps dot com?”

  “Magic, you idiot.” I folded my arms, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder, and frowned. “You don’t think things through, do you? How did you get into Cal State Trust Fund here?”

  He blushed. It made him look much younger, and I suddenly felt guilty for beating up on a kid, even if I only had a year or two on him. “It’s not really a normal university,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s accredited—barely—but none of us really expect to get a job from here. I’m supposed to get a board position in my mom’s investment firm, but she wanted me to have a degree first. Lake Oberon Lewis University will take anybody, if you can pay.”

  “Lake Oberon ... your university’s abbreviation is LOL?”

  He grimaced. Then winced. His hand went to his back again, and I caught a hint of bandaging under his shirt, where my magical bullet had struck him. He hadn’t come out of our fight unscathed, and from the looks of it, he was faring much worse than me. At least I’d been able to remove my bandage.

  I uncrossed my arms and softened my voice. “If your future’s all set, why get mixed up in the arcane?”

  “I’m no good at this,” he said, waving a hand over the pretentious books. “That job at my mom’s firm would be just for show. She doesn’t expect me to actually do anything. In fact she’d probably prefer it if I didn’t. But a man has to do something, right? I thought, maybe if I had magic …” He fidgeted with the corner of his graphic novel and cast a guilty look at the costumed protagonist.

  “You wanted to be a vigilante hero?” I fought to keep the incredulousness out of my voice.

  He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  I’d come here prepared to intimidate Shifty Pete into helping me. In some ways, that would have been easier. Find the snooty shifter, bully him, and leave him sniveling behind me. But I couldn’t do that to this guy, not after I knew his story. Certainly not while he sat before me like a contrite child.

  “You shouldn’t go fight crime,” I said softly. “Sooner or later the Void Union would notice, and you’d wind up in an unmarked grave. But there is something you can do to be a hero. Right now, in fact.”

  He frowned at me. “What?”

  “The enchantress who gave you your powers. Who is she?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “She’s doing some very bad things, Peter. She’s already hurt half a dozen other people. Wrecked their minds. She could have done the same to you, if your enchantment hadn’t worked.”

  “I promised not to tell. She said she’d know if I did.”

  That gave me pause. Could an enchantment tell if someone broke their word? I had never tried such a thing before. “Did she put more than one enchantment tattoo on you? More than one line?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you accept anything from her? Anything, even a glass of water or spare change?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. She was bluffing.” I met Pete’s eyes. “She’s kidnapped my best friend. She’s going to kill her, or at least drive her insane. You have a chance to use what you know to save a life. That probably won’t ever happen again. Would you rather sit in those board meetings knowing you did what you could, or knowing you let innocents die because you were afraid?”

  Pete’s fingers entwined into knots. He stared down at his comic, at a panel where one of the musclebound men was pulling one of the impossibly-busted women out of a slow death trap of quicksand.

  “I don’t know if I can help,” he said.

  Swear words popped into my mouth, but I bit them back. I prepared to get pushier, maybe bring out a little of the magical bravado I had prepared. But he went on, “She wore a hood, and it was dark. I didn’t get a good look at her face. And she never told me her name.”

  “Tell me what you can,” I said.

  “Um ... to be honest, I wasn’t paying too much attention to what she looked like. Her jacket made her kind of shapeless, you know? There wasn’t a lot to see. But I think she was blonde, under the hood. Maybe a redhead.”

  “Was she tall, short?”

  He paused in recollection. “Taller than you.”

  That covered just about everybody in the world. I sighed. “If you can’t describe her, can you tell me anything about where she came from? Was there a car on the ranch when you met her there?”

  “I think ... yeah, there was.”

  “What kind?”

  “It was pretty dark out. I think it was just a generic sedan. Blue, or black, or dark green. Nothing special.”

  “Bumper stickers, license plate numbers, decorations?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” He tapped his hands on the table. “You have to understand, I was about to get turned into a shapeshifter. I wasn’t really thinking about anything else.”

  My teeth ground against one another. “You must know something useful. What about how you found her? How did you get in touch with her in the first place?”

  He brightened. “That, I remember. I had been hanging around this message board online. It’s called Ye Olde Circle. Lots of Seekers go on there to hang out and talk about magic, but there are also threads for shifters and other enchanted people. And ... sometimes enchanters would show up, but they usually only talked to each other and acted like the rest of us weren’t there.”

  “That’s where you picked up the reverence for enchanters?”

  He nodded. “Seekers on the Circle said you all like to be treated with respect. And you deserve it, with what you can do.”

  “Tell me how you found the enchantress on this site.”

  He leaned forward. “I spend a lot of time watching the Questions board. That’s where people come and post questions they have.”

  Duh, I thought. I managed to not say it aloud.

  “One day this new account registers and starts posting these theoretical questions, like, ‘What if an enchanter has too much magic and a Seeker volunteers to take it? Is that still illegal?’ Everybody replied that it was illegal if you were in Void Union territory, but if you were outside that, you would probably be okay. The poster asked about San Francisco and got lots of replies saying don’t tangle with magic a
nywhere near here. Then she answered with more what-ifs, like, ‘What are enchanters supposed to do, then?’ She kept trying to make it sound like she just felt sorry for them, but it smelled off. I messaged her privately and said if she knew an enchanter near San Francisco with too much magic, I wanted some. And I said it wouldn’t be illegal if nobody found out about it. She gave me a time and a place, and I showed up.” He shrugged. “She tried to make it sound like she was just arranging the meeting for a friend, but I’m pretty sure the enchantress was the one posting online.”

  “This account asking these questions. What was the name on it?”

  “248ToilAndTrouble.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe the numbers are a clue! You could use them to—”

  “It’s a pun,” I said, shaking my head. “Two, four, eight. Doubling the numbers. Double, double, toil and trouble.”

  He looked blank.

  “Macbeth? Shakespeare? The witches?”

  Still blank.

  “Never mind. I’m going to need the URL for Ye Olde Circle.”

  He dug in his backpack for paper and pen. A moment later he handed me a web address.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded and reached up to tug his shirt back over his bandages. “I don’t think I want to get any deeper into this.”

  “I don’t blame you. If I could avoid it, I’d stay out, too.” I turned to go.

  “What do I do now?” he asked.

  I looked over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “Well ... I have this ability now. It seems like I should be doing something with it.”

  I smiled thinly. “Finish your degree, sit on your company board, and find something useful to do with your time. Spend weekends eating berries and honey in the forest. Whatever makes you happy. Most paranormals just live their lives, Pete. Those of us who spend every day tangled in this—we’re the unlucky ones.”

  Chapter 22

  THE COLLEGE LIBRARY held an impressive array of computers. Unfortunately, all of them required a student ID and password to use. I thought about asking Shifty Pete for his, but I didn’t want to bring Union trouble down on him. I also didn’t want to use my phone to visit Ye Olde Circle, in case someone on there could trace me through it. Instead I made it to my car just before the meter ran out and decided to try my luck at a public library.

  The security guard paid me no more mind leaving than he did when I came in. I drove down the wooded road until it rejoined the main street, then headed across the bridge into the city.

  Sunlight glistened off the rippling water of the San Francisco Bay. To my left the old steel frame of the former Bay Bridge loomed like a skeletal giant. The new bridge had a more open design, allowing me to watch a handful of sailboats cavorting on the waves. Salt scented the air pouring through my open window. Omnipresent fog shadowed the Bay’s more famous sights and obscured the city skyline until I’d crossed Yerba Buena Island onto the second half of the bridge.

  Traffic slowed my progress to a crawl as I approached the city. An accident was blocking the fastest route, so I turned off into the downtown area to meander my way on. Cars, buses, and cable cars crawled up steep hills, the kind of hill where you keep your foot firmly on the brake at a stoplight for fear you’ll roll backwards and hit the car behind you. Agonizing minutes passed as I crept along the roads and urging my aging vehicle to crest the next rise.

  The San Francisco Public Library had dozens of branches, but I chose the main one for its central location. If anyone managed to track down where I’d logged onto the message board, they’d only know I was in one of the most densely populated areas of the country. I didn’t bother checking for an open meter on the street, instead pulling into a nearby parking garage. As I walked to the library, someone pulled out of one of the street parking spaces right out front. Another car filled the space in under ten seconds. Good choice, going for the garage instead.

  A five-story atrium of white stone and open walkways greeted me inside. I wandered the stacks until I found some unoccupied computers. Wooden privacy dividers secluded me from the other workstations, but even so I chose a spot at the far end of the row, away from other people. I entered my library card info, logged on, and quickly navigated to Ye Olde Circle.

  Black background. Red-lettered list of topics. Curving buttons: Reply, New, Refresh. Recognition made me inhale sharply. It was the message board from the vision I’d gotten out of Sam’s bracelet. The enchantress had been here, not only to recruit Peter, but to try to lure in Sam as well. Two visits at least, and who knew how many more. How many of her other victims had been recruited off this site?

  There were dozens of sub-boards on the main message board. “Shifter Hangout,” “Predator Support Group,” “Legal Advice,” “Dealing With Normals,” “Dealing With Voids,” “Hookups,” “Virtual Yard Sale,” “Jobs/Resumes,” “Paranormal Sightings,” “Seeker Support,” “Vent Your Frustrations,” and a baffling one titled “Mother Hubbard’s Pasta Salad.”

  The “Questions” board appeared halfway down the page. I clicked it, and a popup prompted me for a username and password. Apparently I couldn’t get out of this completely anonymous.

  I gave it a throwaway email address and chose the username “HideandSeeker,” which I thought was generic enough to avoid suspicion. A welcome message popped up, along with a chat window. Apparently the site had a live running conversation in addition to its message boards. Curious, I watched the currently unfolding discussion.

  myotherrideisaunicorn: Im serious. It had to be magic. The flag was just waving by itself. No wind.

  Fandom_of_the_opera: Because there couldn’t possibly be another explanation. Like, idk, a draft higher in the air.

  myotherrideisaunicorn: Dont make fun of me. I really really think it was magic.

  Spudnick: POTATO SALAD

  Fandom_of_the_opera: Why would an enchanter make a flag wave on its own? I don’t think magic can even do that.

  myotherrideisaunicorn: I bet it can.

  Spudnick: POTATO SALAD

 

  myotherrideisaunicorn: Come on people. Somebody must know if magic can do this.

  SamwiseassTheBrave: I once saw magic make a drawing move.

  myotherrideisaunicorn: See?

  I startled. The debate continued, but I scrolled back up and clicked on SamwiseassTheBrave. A user profile came up, mostly blank, but under “interests” it listed art and drawing. A red button said, “Message.” I clicked, and a separate tab opened in the chat window, allowing a private conversation.

  Sam? I typed. Is that you? You told me you wouldn’t come on these sites anymore!

  Long seconds eked by.

  said the screen.

  More long seconds. Then the status disappeared, replaced by a new note:

 

  Sigh. I shook my head. Apparently I’d overestimated my own persuasiveness. I’d have to have another chat with Sam. Given the past week, it was way too dangerous to be a Seeker right now.

  Again I navigated to the Questions board. This time a list of topics bombarded me, twenty-five to a page. “My ears won’t shift back to human after I eat spicy food, is that normal?” “What’s the hottest kind of power to have?” “Share your enchantment tattoos/birthmarks!” “R they5 witH uNd8er things??!8” and at least five iterations of “Is this board for real?”

  Glancing at the number of pages, I saw there would be over two hundred topics to wade through on this sub-board alone. No time for that. Instead I found the site’s search bar and typed in “248ToilAndTrouble.”

  Only five results came up. The first was the topic Shifty Pete had told me about, the one asking about the legality of enchanter-Seeker meetups. I found Peter’s own comments there, under the username BearlyLegal. Groan.

  The enchantress had posted similar topics in two other sub-boards. Another of her topics was on the Questions board:

&
nbsp; 248ToilAndTrouble: I see plenty of shifters and vampires on here, but do other paranormal creatures exist? Just how much of mythology is true? And if other creatures like elves and faeries are real, where are they?

  Glancing at the date, I saw this was her earliest post in this account. Gathering information, I supposed. Figuring out this new world she had entered. There were several replies, most of them sarcastic, but one good answer spoke so authoritatively I wondered if it might be another enchanter, one of those Pete said occasionally visited the board:

  CleverUsernameHere: There are no true mystical creatures. Every paranormal creature that exists was once a human or an animal who was reshaped by magic. Shifters, vampires, were-beasts, merfolk, the elementally empowered, all of them received magic from an enchanter, or inherited it from a parent or grandparent who did. It all traces back to enchanters, one way or another.

  248ToilAndTrouble: Figures. Thanks for the info.

  The enchantress’s final posts appeared in a Questions thread titled “Can you go back to being a normal?” It only had three replies, but the content intrigued me.

  248ToilAndTrouble: Is there any going back? If you turn into a paranormal, are you going to be that way for the rest of your life?

  QuothTheRaven: Some go back. If your enchantment is removed, you turn back into a normal. Sometimes enchantments are weak and fade on their own. But both of those can be dangerous. I wouldn’t risk it.

  248ToilAndTrouble: I’m talking about people whose powers show up naturally.