Magic Gone Wild

by Judi Fennell

  24

  Zane was just about to step onto the porch when a paint can went sailing by.

  Then the old rocking chair his mother used to sit in during the evenings.

  Then a drop cloth. Two spindles that had rotted out and fallen onto the porch. Several old newspapers, an assortment of dead leaves, and a squirrel running in the opposite direction like a hamster on a wheel.

  Zane now knew what that felt like.

  And there was Vana, standing across from him on the other side of the spinning top, staring in horror.

  He tried to keep a mirror image off his own face. The only way to fix this was for her to gain some control, and preventing her from panicking was the first step.

  Zane grabbed the lintel above his head and leaned out over the whirling floorboards. “Something wrong?”

  Her gaze shot to his. “You don’t see it?”

  He had to laugh. Either that or cry. “Oh, I see it. It’s the reason I haven’t stepped out the door. Question is, what can you do about it?”

  “Um, well…” Vana closed her eyes, clutched her fingers together in a death grip, and puckered up.

  The image socked him in the gut and twisted his insides with desire.

  He really did need to get laid if he was thinking with his dick at a time like this. Maybe he’d clear out tonight and head back to the city. See if Stephanie was still unattached, take her out for dinner, then a night of mutual pleasure. It’d worked for them in the past.

  Yeah, and that was why he hadn’t spoken to her in over six months, had no idea if she was seeing anyone, and had come up here on his own.

  “Holy smokes!”

  God, he hated that term.

  He opened his eyes slowly. “What now?”

  “Um, nothing.”

  The wide-eyed stare she had while looking up toward his roof didn’t say nothing to him.

  “What’s up there, Vana?”

  She didn’t answer him because she’d closed her eyes again and puckered up. This time, his libido was wise enough to shut up so his gut could churn with dread instead.

  The squirrel lapped the front door again.

  Vana opened one eye, which she slammed shut.

  Then she puckered up again.

  “Vana, please, no more.” Zane was eyeing the width of the porch. If he started in the kitchen, he should be able to work up enough speed to jump it. If he didn’t, he might break his leg on the landing. Again.

  When Vana emitted another “holy smokes!” Zane was willing to take the risk. She’d already proved that she could heal his legs.

  Of course, she’d already proved that she was good at breaking them, too.

  Zane backed up into the kitchen, took a running start, yelled, “Don’t move, Henry!” before he ran past the armoire, kicked off at the threshold, and managed to land on the top step with a huge crescendo.

  Crescendo?

  Zane ran down the stairs. Each one played a musical note. It sounded like the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

  Vana’s eyes flew open again, and her mouth dropped. If she said “holy smokes” one more time, Zane didn’t know what he’d do.

  Another “holy” had just made it past her lips when he kissed her. Hell, it’d stopped her mixed-up magic before.

  She gasped when their lips met, grasped his wrists when he held her face, and melted into him when he couldn’t help but slip his tongue inside.

  She felt so good. Tasted better. Fit against him perfectly and drove him half out of his mind when she tentatively flicked her tongue over his. Her fingernails curled into him as she kissed him back.

  Something flew off the porch and smacked into the backs of his legs.

  “Ow!” he muttered, yanking his mouth from hers.

  “Oh, no. What’d I do now?”

  She said it so forlornly that Zane immediately lost any anger he had. She hadn’t done it on purpose. But why had she done it at all?

  “Vana, why did you use magic? Didn’t we discuss this?”

  “Well, yes, but the mess… And it works when you kiss me, Zane. It even worked when I remembered you kissing me, so that’s what I tried to do just now.”

  “Well, it’s obviously not working now. You need to stop.”

  “I know, but what about… them?”

  He didn’t like the way she said that, really didn’t like the way she stared at the roof, and pretty much dreaded turning around to find out why.

  Gargoyles were dancing on his roof.

  The slate roof tiles were disintegrating under their feet, the pieces sliding over the edge and crashing onto the metal porch roof below. Combined with the stairs, he had one hellacious symphony going on in his front yard.

  And then a car pulled through the gate at the end of the drive.

  “Quick! Get rid of them!” Zane spun around. Like his porch was still doing.

  “And stop the porch! And the steps! For God’s sakes, turn off the steps! And what about the gargoyles?” He should be doing something. Running around picking up far-flung paint cans or collecting the brushes—one was stuck in the bark of the oak tree’s trunk—or chasing the gargoyles who—oh god!—jumped off the roof and were now turning into Tasmanian devils all over the side lawn. Thank God for the overgrown rosebushes that shielded them from the driveway, but how long would that last? One whirling dervish on the front lawn, and this whole thing would turn into an even bigger circus.

  “Vana!”

  She hadn’t moved. Except for her hands. She was wringing them as if she were trying to unscrew her fingers from her body.

  And her lips. They were moving, forming a pucker—

  He kissed her again. Anything he could do to boost her powers for good.

  “Go for it, Vana,” he whispered when he released her. “I know you can do this.”

  Her smile was like a beacon of light that would turn into a spotlight on this craziness if she didn’t fix it now. The car had just rounded the last bend.

  Zane sucked in a breath, his gaze darting between the approaching car and the gargoyles.

  Then the car stopped.

  “It’s fixed,” said Vana.

  Two words. Such relief. Zane exhaled and glanced over his shoulder.

  The gargoyles were gone, the roof was back in shape—better actually, because the gutters were no longer listing at the top—the porch had stopped moving, and the paint cans were back in place. She’d missed the paintbrush on the tree, but he could pull that off when she wasn’t looking.

  “The stairs?”

  She nodded. “Muted.”

  “Thank God.”

  The car door slammed, halting any other conversation.

  Gary was back. Jesus. Didn’t the guy ever learn?

  “I know, I know,” he said striding toward them, his hands in the air. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say, but you have to listen to me, Zane.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, Huss. You, however, have to get off my property.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. What if it were my property?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Hear me out. I’ve given this a lot of thought and it makes perfect sense.” Gary, the sleazy, smarmy politician was at work again. “I want to buy the place.”

  “In what universe?”

  Vana sucked in a breath and looked at Zane sharply. Great. Did that mean there were other universes? He didn’t want to know.

  “Seriously, Zane. You want to sell; I want to buy. It’s perfect. Just name the price.”

  Part of the reason Zane was an effective ballplayer was that he analyzed the play while it was in motion and came up with countermeasures when it didn’t go well, but what the hell was he supposed to do with this bomb? Name the price? Since when did politicians make that kind of money?

  Although… Gary was probably counting all the money he was going to make with those damn tours of his. Tours set up at the expense of the Harrison name.

  “I’
ll have to think about it.” The words surprised him as much as they did Gary.

  “What’s there to think about? I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of it. I’m giving you the answer to your problem. I’m even prepared to give you a nonrefundable deposit right now.” He waved a stack of hundreds in front of him.

  The thing was, it wasn’t just about the money. Sure, it’d be a nice chunk of change, but selling the house was about more than that, and Zane couldn’t shake the feeling that Gary was up to his old tricks.

  “Let me sleep on it, Gar.”

  Gary looked at Vana, who was having a hard time keeping the smile off her face. “Can’t you get him to see how perfect this is?”

  “Me?” Vana splayed a hand on her chest and gave up trying not to smile. “No, I don’t think I can.”

  “I said I’ll think about it, Gary. I haven’t even considered what I’m asking for the house, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “You’re not going to find anyone else around here who’ll want it, Zane. Not with its reputation.”

  It was that reputation he was thinking about.

  And wondering why he cared.

  ***

  “Oh, Zane, I knew you couldn’t sell the house! I just knew it!” Without thinking about it, Vana flung herself into Zane’s arms the minute Gary’s taillights disappeared around the first bend.

  When his hands gripped her arms and held her where their faces were inches apart, she thought about it. She couldn’t not think about it.

  “Vana, I didn’t say I’m not selling. I said I’d think about it.”

  “But he was giving you the perfect opportunity. If you’d wanted to sell it, you would have. There’s something making you hang on to the place.” She’d like to think it was something she’d done, but she knew better. If anything, what she’d done should have had him giving the house away.

  She glanced over his shoulder, but the gargoyles were still waiting for her to find them since she was “it.” A game of hide-and-seek was the only way she could keep them from running all over the place. Gargoyles loved parlor games.

  “Vana.” Zane scrubbed at the side of his face. “Let’s table this discussion for now, okay? I just want to call it a day and go into town to get something to eat.”

  Tabling it was a good idea. It’d keep her here another day.

  And another night.

  25

  Gary waited for Zane’s car to pass his hiding spot behind the Ertels’ shed. Good, the genie was in there with him. Talk about perfect timing. That’d make this much easier.

  When the taillights disappeared around the bend, Gary got out and ran to the trunk for the supplies he’d rounded up after his errands this afternoon. He’d set several wheels in motion in case Zane hadn’t gone for his offer, but at least now he could put Marshall’s money back. With any luck Lynda wouldn’t find out. Nah, make that: with a genie, Lynda wouldn’t find out because the woman was like a hawk. He yanked the tarp over the car. Overkill probably because the Ertels’ eyesight wasn’t what it’d once been, but Gary didn’t want to take any more chances than he already was.

  He checked around the edge of the shed, slung his supply bag over his shoulder, and set off along the wooded path toward Zane’s house. He’d prefer to do this in the dark of night, but they’d be home then and who knew how light a sleeper a genie was? Did genies even sleep?

  Gary shrugged. He’d find out soon enough.

  Carefully, he watched every step. That talking bird might be flying around, and if that was the case, his plan would be shot. He clenched his fingers tighter around the mesh bag he’d bought to contain the bird.

  All in all, though, it was ridiculously easy to get into the house. He should probably warn Zane about the dangers of leaving old screens in open windows, but… why?

  He popped one out, climbed in, and voilà, instant access to unlimited power—

  Holy shit! The idiot had left the thing right on the table. There, in tarnished brass, stood the oddly fluted thing that had to be the genie’s bottle. Heh, Hollywood had gotten it wrong back in the ’60s; the bottle wasn’t glass, but brass.

  Gary scooped it up and shoved it into the bag. Now, on to find those journals because who knew what else Old Man Harrison had found, and this was the perfect opportunity to snoop.

  He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. Had that armoire moved?

  Hell. He was imagining things.

  He took another step, keeping a sharp eye on the furniture.

  Nothing. Though… he thought he’d seen some movement out in the foyer.

  He spun around quickly. Nothing but a coat rack and the vacuum cleaner, neither of which was so much as breathing.

  Normally a comment like that would be ridiculous, but with a genie around, anything was possible.

  Like the tackle from the… coat rack that dropped him to the floor.

  Or maybe it was because the armoire tripped him.

  Gary smacked his forehead on the floor and twisted, the bag with the genie bottle skittering away. But he had bigger problems: that coat rack could throw a punch. He was trying to dodge the wildly swinging arms, kicking it in what he hoped were its nuts, while he crab-walked away from the armoire that was stomping across the floor like a giant.

  This was Fucked Up.

  So was the rug that started undulating beneath him.

  Fighting with the fringe that was wrapping around his fingers, Gary scrambled out from beneath the psychotic hunk of wood, scooped the bag, yanked the genie bottle out, and brandished it in front of him. “Get back or I’ll melt this. Then where will your genie be? Where will you be?”

  Either they couldn’t hear, or they didn’t get the concept of smelting; they kept coming. And the armoire’s doors were flapping. That would hurt more than the spindly arms of the coat rack if it caught him, and, man, these guys could move.

  And then something small, shiny, and metallic flew across the room, just missing his nose and clacking like a bad set of chattering teeth. What the fuck?

  Gary headed toward the kitchen since the coat rack stood shoulder to shoulder (figuratively speaking) with the armoire, blocking his escape route.

  And then he stumbled into the kitchen to find… dishes. Standing on their edges. Lined up like a field of linebackers—with their ruffled edges fluttering in the breeze. Except there was no breeze. And these were dishes. Inanimate objects.

  Or were they?

  Oh ho; this was his lucky day. Enchanted dishes. Things he could easily transport. The genie would definitely want her magical, dancing dishware back. Women always liked this kind of stupid shit.

  Then one of the dishes went whizzing by his head like a Frisbee. Followed by another—and another—forcing him toward the back door.

  He was not leaving without one of them.

  When another dish went sailing through the air toward him, Gary grabbed it. Its edges whirred around like a circular saw but luckily were too smooth to do any damage. He, however, could do a lot of damage to it.

  He shoved the bag with the lantern under his arm and held the dish out in front of him with both hands. “One more step and I snap it in half.”

  Every inanimate animated object in the room stopped moving. The chattering-teeth thing stopped clacking. Thank God.

  “That’s it, big guy,” he said to the armoire. “Back it up. Right into the living room where you belong. You, too, Ichabod.” He could swear the coat rack shivered.

  “You.” He nodded at all the dishes who’d landed on the dish towel on the drainboard. “Wrap yourselves up in that towel. One layer each.” He grabbed another towel from the cabinet knob and tossed it to those on the table. “The rest of you, too. Hurry up. One flex of my wrist and this guy’s history if you don’t.”

  The dishes drooped their edges as they worked themselves into a stack, each one divided by a layer of towel. He grabbed a pair of grocery bags and stuffed the bundles inside, tying the ends securely, then shoved them in
side the box on the counter, just squeezing them in. Good. They wouldn’t be able to move at all.

  Then he shoved the box inside another couple of bags and tied each one tightly, trussing them up enough that they wouldn’t be able to alert Zane or the genie while he got away. He’d like to take them all, but that would alert Zane immediately that someone knew his secret. Gary wanted some time to plan how to use this to his best advantage.

  Now to see to the thugs in the living room.

  He shoved the remaining dish into his supply bag with the bottle, picked up the package of dishes, then walked back into the living room.

  The furniture was having a powwow, leaning against each other as if they were planning something.

  “I’m not kidding, you two.” He held up the box of dishes. “Separate or I start breaking these one by one until you do.”

  He could almost feel the animosity emanating from them, but who the hell cared? He just needed some way to stop Zane from finding out what he’d been up to. Since kidnapping an armoire was out of the question, the next best thing would be to knock them out… Hmmm.

  Before the coat rack had a chance to realize what he was going to do, Gary grabbed it and swung it at the top of the armoire with all his might. Luckily, the thing didn’t break as it made contact, but he felt the reverberations all the way up his arms.

  He also felt the coat rack go slack. And saw the armoire’s door fall open.

  Aha!

  Gary grabbed the fishing line he’d packed and made quick work of tying their legs together in a crisscross pattern. He did the same thing with the armoire’s door latches after shoving the box of dishes inside. That shit was stronger than twine and had the added benefit of being nearly invisible. Zane and the genie wouldn’t be able to see the binding unless they were looking for it, buying him more time.

  The rug was a little tougher, but a couple of thick nails from Zane’s toolbox—ah, the irony—nailed it to the floor and some tape on the fringe kept it immobile. The little clacking compact, though easy to transport, was too vicious to risk it getting free in his home, so Gary taped it shut and stuffed it between the sofa cushions after it came at him one more time. Hopefully no one would find it for a long time.