I start calling my existing clients to let them know what I am doing. Mrs. Russell starts to apologize again, thinking this has to do with something she said. Some are anxious and ask lots of questions. Some seem nonplussed by the idea of exchanging what they think is a lucrative practice (I make a nice living, but some of my clients have this idea I’m one of the one percent for what they think is a mom-and-pop trinket shop (when you include her fees for exorcisms and such, Mom made more money than me all these years! At least according to her tax returns). Others are genuinely excited for me and promise to stop by the shop to say hello. It’s well after 7 PM when I get through all of the phone calls I have to make.
I leave the office and head over to the parking garage. Isabel is sitting in her car with the hood up. She’s on the phone arguing with someone. I walk over and rap on the window. She hangs up and opens the car door.
“Need a jump?” I ask.
“Tried that. Mr. Stevens tried to jump it and it wouldn’t take the charge. I think the alternator is dead.”
“Triple A on their way?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have Triple A. It’s too much money.”
“Somebody coming to get you?”
“Craig’s working a double. He can’t get here until after his shift.”
“What are you gonna do about the car?”
“Craig’s got a friend with a tow truck but he can’t tow it until the morning cause he’s on call tonight. Herb said it was OK to leave it ‘til morning. He’d watch it.” She points over at the guard shack.
“What about your sister?”
Isabel rolls her eyes. “She has a Bible Study at the Center.” She lightly hits her fist against the top of the steering wheel. “I guess it’s true what they say about karma,” she mutters.
Not always. “You need a ride?”
“I live out in Bensalem.”
“OK. You need a ride?”
She gets out of the car and locks the door. “Thanks.”
Tag…You’re It
June 17th
And this is why I was reluctant to hire Anastasia.
“That’s a special order for a client,” I say as I take the bag of dried chicken feet from her. “Where’s Houston? He is supposed to unpack the shipments.”
“He went out,” she replies as she resumes rummaging through the box. “What’s this? They look like toenail clippings.”
“What do you mean, he went out?” I say as I take the bag of toenail clippings from her. “They aren’t toenail clippings. That would be gross.”
“They look like toenail clippings,” she says with a shrug. She holds up a tiny bag of white powder.
“Get the thought out of your head.” I hold out my hand and she gives me the bag.
“So what is it?”
“It’s werewolf dander. What do you think it is?” I say. “Where’s the packing list?”
“Fine, don’t tell me!” she says. She hands me the packing list. I check the box and pull the remaining two bags of werewolf dander out.
“So he didn’t say where he was going?”
Anastasia shakes her head. “He got a text and rushed out the door. Just said he’d be back and he’d let you know what he found out.”
Oh ye gods.
Houston created a Magelite profile not long after he became my apprentice. He made the mistake of posting that he was looking for information on erosmancy…sex magic. We figured out that Vivika’s relentless pursuit of a hook up between her son and I came from her desire to protect her lineage. As her only living child, she’d be anxious for him to start a family to protect the bloodline. I told him I would look into the situation with the Vice-Chancellor of the School of Enchantment, but it seems he couldn’t wait. So he must be following up a lead from someone he met on the social networking site.
Crap.
I call Houston, but he doesn’t answer his cell phone. I go into my office, lock the door, and remove the Ouija board from the closet. After reciting the scrying incantations, I begin the process of searching for him. I can’t scry anything but smoke and shadows.
Vivika…
I storm out of the office. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything about where he was going?”
“Is he in trouble?” Anastasia looks concerned.
“Possibly.” My attempt at a neutral answer just makes her expression worse. “He’s not answering the phone and we…we have a meeting with a client later.”
“Oh.” Anastasia “Poke him on Facebook maybe.”
“Poke him?”
“Yeah, maybe he’s not answering calls but he’ll get a notification he got poked.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if he isn’t answering his phone he might still be checking posts.”
“Maybe I should avoid poking employees.” I go back into my office. Vivika’s up to something, otherwise why would she be blocking my attempts to locate Houston? Maybe she found another baby momma for her son. She must be desperate if she is settling for sleazy hook-ups through Magelite.
“Nancy, where have you been?”
“MOM!”
“Oh, good, you do remember me. I was beginning to wonder.”
“Mom! You got through!” Among her other nuisance behavior, Vivika has been blocking my ability to pierce the Veil. Without being able to pierce the Veil, I haven’t been able to communicate with my mom or Nana Morri for advice.
“She can only block one person at a time!” I shout. “She can’t continue to block me off and shroud Houston!”
“Who is Houston?”
“My apprentice.”
“Oh, you decided to keep the store! How lovely! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have…there’s no time right now. I need your help.”
I give Mom the abbreviated version of events. Houston is the only living heir of Grande Madame Vivika Marchan, and she’s been reaching across the Veil to try to ensure that her son gives her a grandchild to carry on the family line. Mom giggles when I tell her what happened in my bedroom.
“Didn’t I always tell you to wear sensible pajamas?”
“Now…NOT the time, Mother!”
“Just pointing out the obvious. You know I hate technology, but did you go on Magelite and see if anyone knows where he might have gone off to?”
“I don’t have a Magelite account.”
“Log on to his.”
“I don’t have his password.”
“You are assuming he signed out. Just turn his laptop on. Don’t those things all automatically save your passwords now?”
“Mother, you’re brilliant!”
“I know, dear.”
I rush over to Houston’s desk and open his laptop. I turn it on and a moment later I’m in his Magelite account. I need to remind him to make sure he signs out in the future (um, AFTER he gives me his login information!). Gods forbid Anastasia decides to poke around his desk.
Sharlena Madison. Apprentice to a Vincent LeCroix, who owns a few “Gentlemen’s clubs” in the area. Guess the dancers don’t need liposuction and collagen therapy when the boss knows glamour spells.
You’d think Houston would have more sense. Then I see Sharlena’s profile picture, remember Houston’s age, and sigh.
“I know him, sweetheart,” says Mom. “He’s a cad. I once had to banish a succubus that was dancing in one of his strip clubs after she almost possessed a client.”
“He employed a succubus? Is he stupid?”
“Yes, sweetie. He is. In that way most men are when they think they can control something with breasts. But he’s also a coward at heart. Don’t let him talk too much or he’ll talk you in circles. Just pull rank on him. Man’s almost seventy and he’s still just Rank Four. Name drop if you have to. He’s a sniveling man when cornered.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ll speak with Nana and see what we can do about circumventing Ms. Marchan’s shrouds. How dare that woman.” She mutters something incoherent that sounds vaguely like cursing.
I call his office and get a bored-sounding man on the phone. I ask for LeCroix. I can almost feel the man’s eyes rolling in his head. He yawns before asking who is calling.
“Tell him it is Nancy Werlock, and if he doesn’t take my call the next person I dial will be the Vice-Chancellor. He’ll know who that is.”
A moment later, my call is transferred.
“Madame Warlock, what an unexpected pleasure,” says LaCroix. “To what do I owe the delight of this call?”
“Where is your apprentice? And I am in no mood for hemming and hawing. She has my apprentice with her.”
“My dear, Nancy. Whatever do you…”
“Shut up. My apprentice is the only child of Rank One Psionist Grande Madame Vivika Marchan. Now if you are too dense to understand the urgency of this situation in light of his heritage, I can instead ask the Vice-Chancellor to find her for me.”
He stammers over an address and says that he will meet me there.
That was much easier than it should have been. I sort of feel like a bully. But LaCroix is a skeevy strip club owner. No reason to feel too bad.
I drive over to Sharlena’s place. LaCroix is already there, standing at the front door. I know it is LaCroix because he has a glamour overlapping his real form. To mundanes, he looks like a distinguished and fit man in his late fifties, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a trimmed beard. But I’ve already activated the Third Eye spell and can see his stumped, pot-bellied, balding form beneath the glamour. That’s what happens to you when you rely more on magic instead of a healthy diet and exercise to maintain your appearance.
LaCroix must sense that I’ve arrived, as he turns around and takes a deep breath before trying to force a smile. “Madame Warlock, I was just…”
I step past him and pound on the door. The door opens.
“Hey boss,” says Houston. Within a split second, his face transforms from mere confusion to absolute horror. “What…happened?” He steps back away from the door.
“You’re dressed,” I say as I step into the apartment.
Houston looks around cautiously. “Is there a reason you thought I wouldn’t be?”
“Where is she?”
“Boss, whatever you think happened here…it’s just not…”
“Where is that little whore?”
“Madame Warlock, please!” LaCroix says as he finally develops something resembling a backbone.
“Oh, of course. How silly of me. Whores get paid for sex. Your apprentice is just a slut.”
“Nancy! That’s enough!” says Houston. “What the Hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here? I told Anastasia I’d talk to you when I got back.”
“Your mother was shrouding you. I didn’t know where you were.”
“OK, OK. Just chill out before you spontaneously combust or something. Your aura looks like you are on fire. And what is that on your back?”
“On my back?” I start grabbing at my shoulders. “Oh, crap. Did I pick up a wisp?”
“Is that what that is? Huh. Hold still, I’ll get it.”
I turn around. Houston peels the Anger Wisp off my back. He’s holding it at arm’s length. It looks like a translucent blob of red and yellow snot. Wisps are an ectoplasmic form of raw emotions, the supernatural equivalent of flies. They reproduce rapidly but have really short lifespans. But sometimes a wisp can latch on to a food source and eventually turn into an imp. Somehow I had attracted one between my car and arriving at the apartment. I had been so focused on Houston that I hadn’t even noticed. I am so out of practice.
“What do I do with it?”
“Just flush it,” I say. “It’ll die in the sewer.”
“I should check on my apprentice,” says LaCroix.
“You’ll just stay right there,” says Houston. The wisp wraps around his hand, reacting to his angry burst. Houston looks at the wisp and then at me. “Keep him there.”
Houston walks to the bathroom to flush the wisp. I follow him down the hall and hear someone crying in the bedroom. Houston comes out of the bathroom after flushing the wisp and washing his hands.
“What happened here?” I ask as I point toward the bedroom door.
“So, boss,” begins Houston. He’s speaking to me, but looking at LaCroix. “What do you call someone who refuses to let his apprentice take her Rank Five exam unless she sleeps with him?”
I turn to look at LaCroix.
His lower jaw moves up and down a few times, but it takes a moment before anything resembling words comes out. “I…young man…I…how dare you…”
“Don’t,” Houston and I say in unison.
“This is what is going to happen,” says Houston. “You are going to sign off on Sharlena’s paperwork so that she can take her Rank Five exam. Then, when she passes, you are going to write the most glowing recommendation of your life so she can get an apprenticeship with someone else.”
“And why am I going to do this?” says LaCroix as he looks at me, as if expecting me to interject. I fold my arms and watch how this plays out.
Houston taps LaCroix on the shoulder. I notice the faint spiral of supernatural smoke rise up. “Because I just tagged you. There is nowhere you can hide from me.”
LaCroix jumps backwards. “Your apprentice…he’s a…by the gods…he’s a witch hunter!”
“No. He’s just multi-talented.” I have to admit that I’m shocked Houston played that card. I knew his mother had taught him that power when she first imprinted on him so that he could locate other magic users, presumably to assist with his training. But that power is traditionally a witch hunter power, and hasn’t actually been seen in centuries.
LaCroix looks back and forth between Houston and me. “Fine. Fine. Take it off.”
“No,” says Houston. “Because you’re scum and I have no reason to trust you.”
“I should report the both of you!”
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’m sure the Council would be very interested in why my apprentice had to protect your apprentice from you. A Rank Four illusionist doesn’t have enough skill to mask the truth from the Nine.”
LaCroix leaves with a passive-aggressive slamming of the front door. Sharlena is still crying in her bedroom. Houston and I just look at each other for what feels like an hour.
“Can we talk back at the shop?” he finally says as he nods toward the bedroom door. The door cracks open. Sharlena peeks out.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her. She shrugs and closes the door. “Houston, I…”
“It’s OK, boss. Let me talk to her and I’ll meet you back at the store.” He looks toward the bathroom. “I’ll tell her it was the wisp’s fault. She’s an Enchanter. She won’t know any better.”
Houston walks into my office a couple of hours later. He looks exhausted.
“How did you even know I was there?”
“I looked on your Magelite account?”
“You’re spying on me now?”
“No, I’m not spying. Spying would be putting a mite on your computer to report back to me. It’s not my fault you didn’t log out.” Houston sits in the chair across from my desk. “Besides, technically I paid for that laptop so it is work property. You have no expectation of privacy on work computers.” He raises an eyebrow. “And I was worried.”
“Your aura went nuts in her place,” he says. “Now I know what Hellfire looks like.”
“I’m sorry. How is she?”
“She’s fine now. She’ll be better once she’s free of that scumbag.”
“So what happened? You were looking into something about your mother?”
“I was out with some friends a few days ago. There was this girl there. I started to talk to her and things seemed cool at first. Then all of the sudden there is this gray cloud around her, and a minute later she’s completely lost interest in me. This is the first time I was consciously aware of it, because I could see the cloud. But that’s not the first time it’s happened.”
“What do y
ou mean?”
“When I was in high school, I didn’t have a steady girlfriend. I’d go out with a girl a couple of times and then she’d just lose interest. I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“There is hardly anything wrong with you.”
“Well, I know that now. I’m a stud.”
“Oh by the gods…”
“But seriously, I got to thinking. What if this all predates my accident? What if my mom has been planning whatever it is she is planning before the accident? When I started talking to Sharlena on Magelite, I’d get this little voice in my ear saying how pretty she is and how I should try to meet her in person. That only happened once before. With this goth chick named Audrey I dated for about a month a year before the accident.”
“Was Audrey a witch?”
Houston nods. “I actually found her on Magelite recently. She’s studying for her Rank Four Conjurer trials. But don’t worry. She’s engaged now.”
“So what happened between you two?”
“My aunt happened. Aunt Ruth has a way of making people feel unwelcome, if you know what I mean. But looking back, all the things I was thinking and all of the fighting I did with Aunt Ruth over Audrey. I think it was my mom.”
“She’s pushing you towards a magic user,” I say. “Most magic is hereditary. Before she imprinted on you, the only chance she had for a witch grandchild was for you to marry a witch. Even with her imprinting on you, I don’t know if it would be enough to guarantee a magical grandchild. We’re in new territory. You weren’t born a psion, so there is no guarantee a male offspring will inherit any ability. If you marry a witch, then the probability of you having a witch child improves dramatically. A female child would be guaranteed to be a witch.”
“Exactly. When I decided to meet Sharlena at her place, it was to see if Mom would try to intervene. She did.”
“What did she do?”
“I think she tried to actually take over Sharlena. Then I think she realized I knew she was doing it and it was creeping me out, so she left.”
“Yeah, I can see how your dead mother possessing your girlfriend’s body to engage in sex could be creepy.”
“Hearing you say it out loud makes it creepier. Thanks, boss.”
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