The Midwest Witch: The Revelations of Oriceran (Midwest Magic Chronicles Book 1)

by Flint Maxwell

  Time was running out. Her hands searched Claire’s Kia blindly until they came upon a hat on the backseat floor. It was a silly hat made up mostly of pink feathers, which Claire had worn on Halloween the year before. It was not the type of thing Maria would be caught dead wearing under normal circumstances.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures. Only way I could look stupider is if I let him see me in my popcorn-greasy state. Maybe he’ll think I’m whimsical, a little cute. She rolled her eyes. Keep dreaming. What are my other options? Roll the windows up and lock the doors? No. What about burning rubber out of here? Borderline psychotic, Maria, and possibly a felony. How about—

  Time had run out. They were a few steps from the car now.

  She put the hat on. It was a little tight around her head, but she made do.

  When Claire saw her, she burst into uncontrollable laughter. A heat ran up Maria’s arms, quickly followed by a tingle—the same tingle she’d felt when she thought of Ted ripping off that old woman. But when Joe smiled at her, she melted a little. The anger went out of her like air from a popped balloon.

  “Hey, Maria!” Joe said. He had a thick head of blonde curls—surfer hair—and he was tan year-round, as if he lived on the West Coast instead of the sometimes-Arctic wasteland that Ohio could be.

  Maria’s voice caught in her throat. “Heeeeey,” she choked out.

  “Happy birthday. I like your hat.”

  “It’s my hat,” Claire said. “But, yeah, you’re right, it looks better on Maria.” She grinned.

  Maria’s face grew hotter.

  “Gotta. Putt,” Maria said.

  Claire titled her head as if she were confused. “What about Joe’s butt?”

  Maria face-palmed. She had never been so embarrassed. Oh, well, maybe that wasn’t true. Gramps came in for career day when Maria was in the third grade, and told this wild story about how he was a great general in a war between witches, wizards, and the evil spiders of the Dark Forest, or something like that. Most of the kids loved it, but they didn’t know Gramps was being dead serious. She’d face-palmed then, too.

  “Gonna be late,” she choked out.

  “Right,” Claire said. “Nice seeing you, Joe.” She climbed into the driver’s side.

  Joe wore a movie star grin. When he bent down, Maria could see the definition of his pecs through the opened collar of his polo security shirt. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked forward.

  “Bye, Maria,” he said.

  “Bye,” Maria whispered. Joe didn’t hear her. He stood there in the parking lot as the Kia pulled through the open spot in front of it.

  Maria somehow looked even better in that silly hat. Like she was glowing, or something. I’ve heard the term ‘radiant,’ but I thought it was reserved for pregnant women…oh, God. No, don’t be silly, Joe.

  He shook his head and walked back toward the Employees Only door. He had to get back to strolling around the crowded mall, looking for shoplifters and those damn kids in their roller-skate-shoes — Heelys, or whatever. As he walked away, he thought about two things: One, he felt like he was being watched; like eyes were boring into the back of his head. Two, he was going to ask Maria out the next time he saw her.

  ***

  “What the heck was that? You totally chickened out!” Claire said. “Joe is so into you. How can you not see that?”

  Maria had taken off the stupid hat, and her brown hair blew in the rushing wind. Swirling around Claire’s car were the smells of popcorn and the Ohio summer air — freshly cut grass, hot asphalt, and gasoline.

  “No, he’s not into me,” Maria replied. “Joe’s into that Kay Jewelers girl; you know, the one who always wears that tight pencil skirt.”

  “Alice? No, she’s a lesbian. She hits on me about four times a week. Quit making excuses. If you don’t ask him out, or at least give him your number, I’m gonna do it for you, like we’re back in third grade on the playground.” Claire laughed. “Remember when I asked Danny Belasé out for you?”

  “And he said no! Yeah, I remember.” Maria clutched her chest, above the heart. “My first heartbreak.”

  They drove through residential neighborhoods while the sun was going down in the distance, and the temperature with it.

  “Hey, you mind if we stop at my house? I wanna change my clothes and check on Gramps.”

  “You’re the birthday girl…happy birthdaaaaayyyyy to youuuuuuu!”

  “Cut it out,” Maria said, but she was smiling.

  They arrived at Maria’s house a couple minutes later. “Just wait in the car. I’ll only be a few.”

  “I know. Your idea of freshening up is running a comb through your hair and making sure you’re wearing a clean pair of sweatpants.”

  “Hey, you can’t beat comfort. I’d walk around in my underwear wherever I went, if it was socially acceptable.”

  “You’d get way too much attention,” Claire said. “If you can hardly handle one nerdy, surfer-boy security guard’s passes at you, imagine what it would be like if you served popcorn with your ass hanging out.”

  Maria shuddered. “Good point. Imagine what it would do for business, though. We’d really be rolling in dough.”

  “Meh, think about Ted in his underwear.” Claire’s face went pale.

  “Oh, God! Okay, convo over.”

  She went up the front porch steps and unlocked the door. The smell of her grandfather’s weirdness hit her; it was a comforting smell, the smell of home.

  “Gramps?”

  There was no answer aside from the clicking toenails of Sherlock as he bounded across the kitchen linoleum from his usual resting spot near the refrigerator. He always waited around for Gramps to drop a piece of his sandwich, or some chips or cookies.

  “Hi, Sherlock!”

  Sherlock barked. He was an older dog, but he was as spry as a puppy. Next thing Maria knew, she was on her butt in the foyer from the Bloodhound knocking her down. Her face was slimy with his slobber as his super-nose explored the scent of buttery popcorn.

  “Oh, yuck! Yuck! Quit it, Sherlock!” Maria said, laughing. After the licking was over, Sherlock rolled over onto his back with his legs up in the air, waiting for a belly rub. Maria gave it to him.

  After a minute she got up and headed for her room.

  “Gramps? You up here?” she said.

  Again, no answer.

  “Must be down at the ice cream shop again. Poor guy.”

  Before Salem’s Ice Cream moved in, the space was a sub sandwich shop called Submerge, and Gramps had spent a lot of time there. Maria guessed he’d never really gotten over Submerge going out of business.

  She went into her room, opened her closet, and pulled out a Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were a little too tight in the butt. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” she said.

  Sherlock barked at her feet.

  “Thanks, boy.”

  You’re welcome!

  “What the fuck?” Maria said, turning around to glare at the Bloodhound. Sherlock sat on the carpet near the end of the bed. The music box was open on the dresser, softly playing the weird tunes of her grandfather’s rich imagination. “Did you just talk?”

  The dog wagged his tail, beating the floor with it, and panted. His breath was bad. Maria waved a hand in front of her face.

  “Holy shit, I’m losing it. I really am. It’s no question now that Gramps is actually my grandfather; I wasn’t switched at birth into some weird circus family.” She went back to the closet.

  I don’t want to be here all alone again, Maria!

  The air seemed to be sucked from the room.

  “No way,” she said dismissively. “Dogs don’t talk.” The Bloodhound’s eyes were hopeful, like he was expecting a treat. She paused. “Say something again, Sherlock,” Maria requested.

  She waited for the dog to speak; he did, except it wasn’t words that came from his mouth. He let out a deep, rumbling bark instead.

  “Yeah, that’s what I t
hought.”

  In the bathroom, she decided to prove Claire wrong. Not only did she run a brush through her wiry brown hair, but she also sprayed it with hairspray, teasing it up a bit, and washed her face. Twice. All that popcorn oil was difficult to get off.

  Then she went down the steps, Sherlock following at her heels. His collar jingled. At the front foyer, she slipped on her shoes. Sherlock stared at her, and whenever she stared back, the dog wagged his tail furiously.

  “Ah, what the hell. You wanna go play putt-putt?”

  Sherlock howled.

  “Well, c’mon.” She patted her thigh. Sherlock moved even faster than when he’d greeted her at the door.

  Outside, Claire’s voice wailed. “Aww, not the damn dog again!”

  Maria shrugged and pulled the door closed.

  “If he farts just one time, then you are both walking home. I don’t care if he’s old and it’s your birthday.”

  “You heard the driver; no farting!”

  Sherlock whined and looked up at Maria.

  She could’ve sworn he said, ‘I can’t make any promises. Stomach has a mind of its own.’ But that would just be crazy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tabitha lived in a townhouse with three other girls. Maria didn’t know the names of those girls, nor did she care to. Tabby’s other friends were, for lack of a better word, bitches.

  Claire pulled into the driveway. A couple of frat boys were in the front yard with their shirts off, muscles flexed and glistening as they tossed a frisbee back and forth. When Claire put the car in park, the boys hooted and hollered to them. Maria curled her lip up in disgust. She’d always believed she would be hard pressed to find something scummier than frat boys.

  Claire soaked up the attention, grinning and waving at the boys, then she honked the horn, making one of the shirtless blonde guys jump.

  Maria laughed. “Way to go, Claire. Really scoring the brownie points.”

  “Shove it.”

  Tabby came out. She bounded down the steps, her strawberry blonde ponytail swaying back and forth. One of the boys whistled at her, and she gave him the finger. Maria appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t appreciate the fact that Tabby clutched a wrapped box to her chest.

  “Happy birthday!” Tabby said.

  “Thanks,” Maria answered, her tone slightly annoyed.

  Tabby crawled into the backseat, much to Sherlock’s pleasure — he barked and breathed hot air all over her face.

  “Down, doggy!”

  “Sherlock,” Maria said from the front seat. Sherlock whined.

  She smells like bacon and eggs!

  Maria’s heart stuttered. “Did you hear that?”

  “Huh?” Tabby and Claire said at the same time.

  “Someone said Tabby smells like bacon and eggs,” Maria said. Her eyes were wide and she looked around the Kia suspiciously.

  Tabby arched her eyebrow. “You feeling okay, Maria?”

  “So no one heard that?” Maria said.

  “No,” Claire said.

  “I did make bacon and eggs this morning, but that was hours ago. I showered before you got here.”

  Maria couldn’t smell it. Now she looked at Sherlock. He was sitting on the backseat almost like a human. Maria could’ve sworn that his droopy lips were turned up in the slightest smile.

  “Okay…” Claire said. “Let’s just ignore the fact Maria is suddenly turning into her kooky grandpa.”

  Maria didn’t respond, even though she usually would. She was stunned. That voice. She heard it back at her house, and then in the car. It was Sherlock. Sherlock is somehow…talking to me.

  “It was bound to happen,” Tabby said. “No big deal. There’s medicine for it, I’m sure.” She thrust the gift box toward Maria. “Here, got you this.”

  Maria took it absentmindedly.

  “Open it!” Tabby said.

  Sherlock barked.

  Barked. Didn’t talk. Let it go, Maria. You aren’t going crazy, she chided herself.

  Claire backed out of the driveway while the frat boys watched the entire time.

  Maria unwrapped the package. Inside was a push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret. “Uh…” Maria balked.

  “Do you absolutely love it?” Tabby said.

  Claire burst into laughter.

  “This looks like something a stripper would wear before…you know, she strips,” Maria said.

  I think you’d look lovely in that, the voice piped up again.

  Maria snapped around to look at Sherlock. He sat eyeing her, wagging his tail.

  “Okay, weird. Super weird,” Maria mumbled.

  “The bra?” Tabby asked. “I think it’s perfect. You need something to attract the fellas. Not ratty old band t-shirts. Show a little skin, Maria! You’re nineteen and you’ve never even kissed a guy!”

  “Not true,” Maria said defensively.

  “Who?” Claire said.

  “Well…” Maria thought about it.

  “Yeah, exactly!” Tabby said, leaning forward.

  Claire turned left down Britain Road, heading for Barney’s Busy Corners, where Downview Sports was located.

  “No!” Maria said. “Last I checked, Sherlock is a guy! I kiss him all the time.”

  Neither Claire nor Tabby laughed. Tabby grabbed the bra out of Maria’s hands and held it up. “Seriously, Maria, that’s just sad. Put this on. We’re gonna find you a cute boy to kiss on your birthday.”

  ***

  Maria didn’t put the bra on. She was comfortable enough, and it was her birthday after all; she got the final say in what bra she wore.

  Downview was packed. They had each paid the few bucks for a round of mini-golf. Most of the people there were in the arcade or the batting cages. Some of the more “badass” kids were smoking cigarettes at the skate park next to the putt-putt course. Maria could smell the tobacco from where she stood.

  “Good luck,” Tabby said. She had just hit a hole in one on possibly the toughest hole on the course. A large windmill spun and knocked Claire’s green ball back to the tee. Claire growled in frustration. The other girls laughed.

  Sherlock watched with what looked like amusement. Typically dogs weren’t allowed in the park, but the owner of Downview was close with Maria’s grandfather; plus Sherlock was always on his best behavior. He was an old dog—his hyperactive days were long behind him.

  Claire finally made it through, and it was Maria’s turn. She swung, timing her shot with the spinning windmill. The ball soared up the green, on target, but the windmill blocked it at the last possible second and sent it pinballing back to the tee.

  “Damn it,” Maria said. “Why do we play a game that’s so frustrating?”

  “Relax,” Claire said, laughing.

  Maria tried again. It took her three more attempts to beat the windmill. Her score was not looking good.

  They made it to the last hole, catching up to the people in front of them. Maria had always thought this one was the hardest, despite what Claire and Tabby would’ve said. In order to reach the cup, you had to hit the ball up a clown’s tongue—which was hard enough. But it got harder. The clown would bring his top teeth down to bite as soon as it sensed the ball traveling toward its mouth. It was like the windmill, but faster. On busy nights, the line to get through the last hole sometimes took fifteen minutes. Claire and Tabby never got stuck on it, though. Somehow.

  It was not Maria’s favorite, not to mention the clown looked creepy as all hell. A big head, flaking white paint on its face and blood-red paint on its lips. The sinister laugh that sounded once the golf ball connected with its clamping teeth had given her nightmares when she was younger.

  As predicted, the line was pushing fifteen minutes; not because Downview was really busy, but because a couple of teenaged guys who were obviously stoned out of their minds were screwing around, trying to hit their balls at the same time in the hopes the clown’s teeth would be wedged open.

  Move it, Maria urged silently.
<
br />   “You guys hungry?” Maria asked her friends, not wanting to watch the clown bite down anymore.

  Sherlock barked.

  “Not you.”

  Awww, the phantom voice said, shocking her. She did her best to ignore it, thinking she must’ve gotten a contact buzz from the stoned teens ahead of them. I’m hallucinating, that’s all.

  “I could use a Butterfinger,” Claire said.

  “I’m good,” Tabby said. “I ate some of your cake on the way here.”

  “Damn it, Tab, that wasn’t for you!” Claire said, punching her in the arm.

  “Ow! Sorry, I was hungry. Besides, it wasn’t all me.” Tabby looked down at Sherlock, who wagged his tail faster than the windmill had spun on the previous hole. “Sherlock here helped me a bit.”

  “Ewww, you shared with the dog,” Claire said.

  Maria grinned. “So, a Butterfinger; anything else?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “Okay, I’ll be back.”

  ***

  Maria opened the door to the snack bar. A blast of air conditioning washed over her. Sherlock tried to follow her. “No, buddy. Dogs are definitely not allowed around the food. Doesn’t matter if Edgar and Gramps are old friends.”

  Sherlock whined and lay down on the concrete.

  A voice came from behind Maria. “If dogs aren’t allowed, then you definitely should turn around and go back to the kennel.”

  Maria’s skin prickled. She knew that voice. She hated that voice. It was Kaylee Wilson, her arch-nemesis from high school.

  She turned around and saw Kaylee standing there with a gang of her bitchy friends: Amanda Haggerty, Alicia Foreman, and a gay guy named Vince Lorenzo. They stood there tensed, like Maria was about to fight them. She didn’t plan on it, but anything could happen. Maria frowned, disappointed to see that in the two years since they’d graduated high school, Kaylee hadn’t put on any weight or gotten pregnant or drafted by the military or experienced any number of the other things that would get her the hell out of town.