by Jaime Munn
The four quarters are commonly known to the free magic for everyone crowd; a movement inspired by authors who made fortunes off of what I liked to call imaginary magic. I wasn’t a fan. If you can’t feel the spell as it flows through you, if you can’t shape the energy and cast it forth, you’re just daydreaming, and there’s no getting around that. That doesn’t mean everyone can’t do a little magic; it just means you’re reaching beyond yourself if you think all it takes are candles and a little imagination.
There is magic in strength of belief, but belief is often mistaken for the I really hope that it’s true state of mind. If you need to convince others that it is true then you fall into the latter group, was how I saw it. I certainly didn’t need to be surrounded by witches to believe in the magic that flowed through me. There is also magic in love. That’s not love spells. That’s real and undemanding love freely given. Of that kind of magic, I am definitely a fan. A blessing, though you might think it falls into the magic of belief, is the purest form of the magic of love that I know. It’s a magic that anyone with a heart full of love can cast.
I set about casting my protections, spinning energy to ward the quarters. It’s not corners or compass points, it’s not invoking a simple guardian. Summoning angels is not something I would advise because, like demons and werewolves, there are a lot more supernaturals in the world calling themselves angels than are dreamt of in many philosophies. All it takes to uncover a few of the varied examples of angel kind is to take a look through the myriad mythologies of the world.
I moved through the spelling sequentially. The room got divided into quarters. I seeped magic into every inch of each quarter before moving to the next. I spun the spells fine like a net and set them in place till the air rang with power. It was like I was walking through thickened air. I almost felt I could levitate moving through that charged air. I remembered how difficult it was to fall asleep when the air vibrated with protecting magic. Maybe that was why I’d abandoned them and chosen a simpler life.
I got as far as going through the kitchen/lounge, my bedroom, the bathroom, and the passageway that connected them all before I found myself running out of time. I hurried through the spells for the entrance hall and scowled at the thin protection that manifested as a result. I would have to redo it later. I had little time to begin prepping the spaghetti carbonara before the doorbell rang and I let Livia in.
“I am so grateful that today is over,” was her greeting as she handed me the bag with her espresso maker in it. My heart skipped a beat when I caught sight of a familiar plastic container filled with chocolate truffles. I was running low on energy. Had I had dinner planned my way, Livia and I would have been eating Froot Loops with hot milk and extra sugar. I was glad that at least dessert would be the sugar on top. “This would have been the crown jewel of a perfectly horrid day if not for the call from Kevin this afternoon. Sorry, Nilla, dinner with you only gets second prize today.”
I nodded as she handed me a second bag with a brightly wrapped rectangle inside. I frowned at her. “It’s not my birthday.”
“It’s not for you,” she said simply.
I frowned but headed into the kitchen and set both bags where they would be firmly out of the way. I opened up a box of fruit juice. Though Livia grimaced at it, she graciously accepted a glass and sat down on the barstool at the opposite side of the kitchen counter from where I was slicing bacon into bits and chopping up peppers.
“So Kevin called,” I prompted, “and you promised me some saucy bits.”
Livia smiled, looking positively satisfied with herself and launched into a detailed recounting of the end of the evening that would have had Kevin blushing or running from the room with his hands over his ears. It left me feeling like I’d just had a narration of an erotic novel. When Livia brought her summation to an end, she slumped onto the counter like she’d relived it all and needed a moment to catch her breath.
“This is why we never do these evenings at a restaurant,” I told her. She smiled lazily at me. “What does Kevin do anyway, aside from second as a gymnast?”
“He likes to say he is in advertising,” Livia said, “but that’s just big city talk, which translates to working the advertorial desk at the Voice of Whisper Falls. He said it in exactly those words, or near enough, too. I think it says he’s modest with a side order of suitably sized ego.”
I smiled. Livia was clearly in full swing of early onset romance. I hoped that Kevin would be able to keep pace with her for a little longer than her paramours usually did. “Voice of Whisper Falls,” was all I could think to say to her, “someone thought they were really clever.”
“At least it’s not another Herald,” Livia retorted. I had to agree with her.
The water for the spaghetti began to boil furiously. The steam that rose from it made unusually complex spirals in the air. I wondered if that was an effect of the recent spelling. Livia seemed oblivious to it, but I goaded her into setting up her espresso machine anyway. I wondered how long I would need to keep renewing the magical defences. While the light in the apartment wasn’t particularly affected by the spells I’d cast tonight, it wouldn’t stay untouched by the honey-light of the veiled world if I had to magic the apartment for a few weeks. Places where magic seeped into the bones, whether made of earth and stone or glass and steel, inevitably drew closer to the veiled world.
It was a hungry world. It had been swallowing pieces of the young world, as the mortal realm was often called by supernatural kind, since the beginning of time. It wasn’t a misconception that the world was getting smaller and smaller all the time. One day it would become so obvious that even the blind would see it, but by then I thought it would be too late. We’d all be living in the veiled world. I wondered if strength in numbers would preserve the human race.
I hated contributing to the decline of the young world, so I had confined my magic to the basement of Witch Light. It had appeased my sense of human-friendly magic. Grace St John threatened to ruin a perfectly good track record. Feeling somewhat angered at the thought, I flung the spaghetti into the boiling water and got spattered by a few burning drops in reproach.
I turned to making the carbonara sauce, slow-frying the bacon and garlic in butter. Livia finished assembling the espresso machine and returned to her seat with a stern look on her face. I guessed where she’d be taking the conversation next. I felt my emotions sink lower still as I recalled the morning encounter with Sofia Bragga and her request for a spell. I wondered if she’d had an inkling of how powerful her friend’s magical wolf skin was and how powerful the spell that created it would need to be. If its casting had been within the confines of the young world that place was now forever part of the veiled world; such was the cost of powerful spells.
“Let’s talk about she who shouldn’t be on your radar, but so was all night long, even Erica couldn’t have failed to notice it,” Livia said. “What were you doing flirting with a stranger like that, Nilla?”
I shrugged, trying to keep my regret from showing in my face or leaking into my voice. I had scorned Sofia’s request for a spell. I was certain I had lost any chance to date another werewolf. “I wasn’t the only one flirting.”
“Oh I noticed that too, but that doesn’t excuse you,” Livia said, waving her finger at me. “You didn’t have to rub it in Erica’s face like that. She may be cool whatever the circumstances, but as the bard said, if you prick her she’ll bleed.”
I sighed. I hadn’t even considered how Erica might feel. “They weren’t on a date,” I said defensively. “Sofia didn’t know anyone in town.”
Livia didn’t say anything, but her disapproving look spoke volumes.
“I doubt we’ll see her again anyway,” I said quietly, turning the bacon pieces and casting an eye at the clock.
“Erica is just as pretty as Sofia you know.”
It was the point that Livia had wanted to make since last night. I could imagine the questions flowing through her mind. What’s wrong with
Erica? Why would I choose some out of towner who probably wouldn’t be around for more than forty-eight hours over a woman I could see every day?
“She is,” I said, my mind flashing to her standing with baby Emma in her arms at the church. “I’m just not a skin deep person; there has to be a…” I searched for a word and found one that had a meaning that made my words ring with truth, “…a spark. I don’t get that spark with Erica.”
Livia took a deep breath. “Oh I know, Nilla. I love the sparkage as much as the next gal. I should take my own advice,” she laughed, “and try sticking around after the spark has burned down to an ember.”
She rose and searched my cutlery drawer for a pair of tongs and stood beside me drawing a strand of spaghetti from the boiling pot. Her actions broke the coils of steam into orphaned serpents that quickly disintegrated into the air.
“I’m the last person to tell you to ignore the spark and go for the steady simmer, so I’ll leave it at that. Just don’t flaunt it in front of Erica like that. I have to work with her.”
I wondered if Erica had taken the day off to recuperate from a hangover, or from double rejection. I winced at the thought. Dammit, I had been heartless and cruel, but if I had one weakness, it was a werewolf in a sexy dress with wild and sultry eyes.
“Spaghetti is al dente,” Livia wiggled the long noodle at me.
With the bacon nicely crisped, as we both liked it, I gave her the nod of approval. I moved the large pan closer to the pot. Livia began lifting the spaghetti out of the water and dumping it over the bacon. I grabbed some eggs and cream while she did that, haunted by the image of Sofia walking away from me.
We finished off the last touches of our meal and transferred everything to my intimate dining table that offered space only for two. Usually reserved for one, Livia had shared it with me more often than anyone else. It was a sad state of affairs. I could almost see why my best friend had been determined to set me up with her boss. If I were in her shoes, I probably would have done the same.
“So when do you see Kevin again?” I asked Livia over a forkful of spaghetti. Her response came after a pause as she swallowed her first bite.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “This is the way you eat spaghetti.” It was her usual statement at a carbonara dinner. We weren’t as predictable as having it once a month, but it was our go to meal. It was the only happy meal either of us would admit to enjoying.
“Tomorrow?” I echoed a brief moment later. Livia had a tendency to space out her dates with new beaus to preserve the sizzle of fresh romance and extend it to the max. It was unlike her to want to burn it all up at once.
She arched her brows at me like it was a statement I should have understood, but when I didn’t get it and kept my silence, she huffed. “He said it was the only window of opportunity for a balloon flight this month.”
“He bribed you.” I laughed at the look on her face. I wondered how tactical Kevin was. Did he realise that he’d have to top his second date to get a third? “Champagne and a sunset over Whisper Falls?”
“No, an early morning flight,” Livia corrected. “We’re having breakfast after. He said the mornings when the mist spills out from the banks of the river across the valley and into town is spectacular.”
I didn’t say anything because Livia read the question on my face before I swallowed my food.
“Yes, I asked him how he knew that. No, it wasn’t on a date. It was part of a process for him of getting over a fear of heights.”
I considered that. Kevin liked to push himself. It sounded like he enjoyed a challenge. He might have a better chance at keeping Livia at his side than anyone else she’d recently dated.
After dinner, I cleared away the dishes. Livia made two lattes. We crashed on the couch. She opened up the Ferrero Rocher box she’d brought along, and we had a blissful few hours eating them and drinking our caffiened milk.
Livia didn’t stay too late; with an early morning date coming up, she was determined to get her full share of beauty sleep. It didn’t surprise me anymore that she thought of sleep purely in those terms. It was one old fashioned ideal that the rush of the modern world couldn’t beat out of her.
As I waved her off from the doorway, I wondered if I would get a better night’s sleep myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The magical protection didn’t spread to all of the apartment, but I didn’t think it would matter. The bedroom was solidly spelled. I washed the dishes before I called it a night myself. I’d long since learned that if I put it off even once, before I knew it the sink would be piled higher than the Alps and even a Sherpa would blanch at the dirty peaks. It took resolve and dedication to keep the kitchen clean, but if it is one thing you learn in practicing witchcraft, it is dedication and resolve.
I was about to turn out the lights when I realised that Livia had not only left her espresso machine for collection sometime over the weekend but also the mysterious gift she’d brought that hadn’t been for me. I hadn’t considered why she’d be bringing a gift along if it wasn’t for me, but I did now as I peered at it sitting in the bottom of an otherwise empty plastic bag.
The wrapper was garish.
Though Livia swayed through life like she was the living incarnate of Salsa, like under all that pale skin and blonde hair she was secretly all spice and hot Latin blood, she still had a demure English Lady vein shot through her. It meant that you’d find her more often dressed in pearls and an elegant outfit rather than wearing bright floral dresses and silver crucifixes.
The wrapper on the gift didn’t strike me as something she’d have selected herself. Every gift I’d ever received from her had been neatly wrapped in a pastel shade. The ribbon was always bright and cheery. It was usually emerald green or violet, though once it had been jet black over baby blue wrapping. The riot of colours that I looked at now was a far cry from that.
It wasn’t that neatly wrapped either. I’d seen Livia wrap a gift ten times before she’d been perfectly happy that every edge was crisp and beautifully folded. I focused on trying to guess at what lay beneath the wrapping. The rectangular box looked about the size of a brick, but when I lifted the bag, it felt as light as a feather. Everything was adding up to something that I didn’t want to consider, but my intuition wouldn’t be swayed. It threw me into red alert and frightening certainty. Livia had brought a Trojan horse to my apartment.
I had no time for doubt. Somehow Grace St John had got to Livia and imposed her will on my debonair friend. She might have known to target her from our handshake, but more likely she’d discovered all she had needed to know by having a little chat with Erica Hanley. I suddenly wondered if Erica’s day off had anything to do with an alcohol infused night out or the fact that her casual date and the woman her employee was desperately trying to set her up with had traded fever-hot glances throughout the evening.
If I lived through the night, I vowed to check up on her and see what, if anything, the wicked witch had done with her.
I imagined Grace doing more than asking a view questions over a cup of tea. A dark woman like that witch would never be satisfied until she’d pried open every memory and tasted them for herself. I pushed aside the thought to focus on the mystery package before me.
My defences weren’t entirely useless, but I’d given whatever lay within the wrapping a free pass into my home by welcoming Livia inside without a second thought.
I gritted my teeth, angry that Grace had me considering, even if for only a minute, that I might need to start frisking my friends before they were allowed into the apartment. The bitch had to be toppled down. I wished it was as simple as throwing water at her.
I didn’t need to think very hard about what the trigger for the Trojan gift might be. Darkness. Darkness was Grace St John’s stock in trade and darkness would be the signal to unleash whatever she’d wrapped within her garish paper. It sent a chill through me thinking that I had almost opened it already. I doubted that was the only key to the box of devilry,
but it would probably be the primary trigger. Through some twist of fate, I’d managed to avoid stepping on that landmine.
I wondered if it had all been my doing, or if some nudge from my mystery ghost had pushed me to look back at the kitchen before turning off the light. As I stood there pondering that I thought I heard a rustle in the box. Whatever was inside had realised that the subterfuge had failed I guessed. I had seconds to step back before the box exploded like it had a stuffing made from firecrackers. Bright coloured bits of confetti filled the air and swirled slowly to the ground in currents thickened by my protection spell. A few pieces of paper flared into flame. I realised that the underside of the wrapping had been scrawled with some kind of sigil that the defensive magic recognised as dangerous and worked to nullify.
But the confetti was nothing compared to the figure that slouched against my kitchen cabinets. Short and squat and dark with a surprisingly cherubic face until it parted its lips and you glimpsed the sharpened rows of teeth. It was a homunculus. The shine of its eyes made me almost certain that within its making was a sewer rat that had supplied Grace with the spark she’d needed to quicken it.
It was better to use an animal for the living component required to make a homunculus because while a human made a powerful homunculi, they were also made too wilful and independent. I considered it a black spell whatever the components because to create one you sacrificed a life.
From the well knitted creature before me, I could tell that Grace had a lot of experience in crafting them. The homunculus hissed at me as I studied it, showing its crocodile teeth.
It was naked, the skin a mottled colouring that reminded me of camouflage. It was the size of a child. Not nearly small enough to fit inside the gift wrapped box, but there were ways around that. Some of those ways required a lot of power and others less, though the complexity of the spell grew more extreme the smaller the magical energy required. Considering how light the gift box had been, I had little doubt that Grace had opted for using the most complex of spells to achieve her goals. I wondered if I was supposed to see that as her complete devotion to sending me to the ever after. I shuddered. It was an effective threat, imagined or not.