Ghost Garages_A Boston Technowitch Novel

by Erin M. Hartshorn

  “Your phone number?”

  Not the first time I’d heard that line. “Food or drink?”

  With both of us working, the line shortened quickly. Some of the customers stayed to watch the artists at work, others took theirs to go with the promise to come back and see the final product.

  The mural was fleshing out nicely — a mix of styles, with a touch of Michelangelo, a bit of Maxfield Parrish, a bit of Orthodox iconography, and some more modern bits whose influence I didn’t recognize, but it all blended, somehow, making a whole that was incredible. No wonder people had wandered in off the street to watch.

  One of the students shifted, allowing me to see what she had been working on, a jester in profile. No, not a jester, even if he did have such a hat on. I knew those eyes, that dimple. Haris had inspired these students.

  The rest of the afternoon, I would pause in my work as I made lattes and espressos, brewed tea, and reheated quiches, just to look up at that profile. I was staring at it when one of the students came over to talk to me. “Um, before I do this part, I just wanted to know if it’s okay?”

  I looked at him — early twenties, barely growing a mustache, his hair clipped in what I would call a fade, although I didn’t know if that was the right word.

  “You’re all doing a wonderful job. I can’t imagine what you need permission for.”

  “This is going to sound weird, but when I look at you, I see a black winged horse shadowing you, and I want to paint it. I think it would be perfect next to that bunch of clouds there—” He pointed. “—but Kara said you might find it too creepy, too much like van art or something.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “When you look at me?”

  He scuffed his foot on the ground. “Yeah, I know, it sounds weird. I just sometimes … see things.” He looked back up at me. “You don’t have to say yes.”

  Interesting. A touch of the Sight? “Keep the flames to a minimum, and I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  His face lit up with inspiration. “How about lightning? Can I do lightning?”

  Inspired indeed. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” I paused. “You are leaving wall space for your gallery work, right?”

  He grinned. “We can do that? Wicked!” He saluted me with his paintbrush and headed back up the scaffolding.

  “Are you sure this is what Kendall had in mind?” Ximena frowned at me, reminding me that she was still living under the influence of a ghost. I’d have to do something about that soon.

  “She’s going to love it,” I said and let it go. Ximena wasn’t going to be feeling any enthusiasm over the project, no matter what it looked like. Whenever we got our next break from customers, I would duck into the back room to grab a few of the baby’s breath flowers and some of the tea I’d already mixed. I’d already helped Carlos; now it was time to help Ximena.

  When I had a free moment, I called Carole. “That tea hit the spot.”

  “You found all the ingredients?”

  Her surprise was both palpable and reasonable. “No, not at all.” I told her what I had used and mentioned the baby's breath that I was adding to the second batch.

  “If you weren't a natural technowitch, I'd suggest you work more on potions. You seem to have a flair for them.”

  I murmured my thanks, then added, “My next off-the-wall question — is it possible to store my energy in something else, to, say, siphon some off when I'm strong so that I can get a quick refill if I empty myself again?”

  “How is that different from trying to charge yourself from an outlet?”

  “I’m not trying to convert electrical energy to magic inside me, just store the magic outside me. Is it possible?”

  “If that really concerns you, perhaps you're doing too much?”

  “You're trying to make sure the world doesn't explode. I'm trying to make sure this small patch doesn't implode.”

  “A noble goal. I would like a home to come back to.” She fell silent for a moment. “I'm worried about you. We spent years together. You learned, you refined your technique, you ignored the broader world of magic because you said it would never apply to you. In some ways, you've done more in the past week than in all our time before. And now you want to take that a step further.”

  “Look, you know me. If you don't tell me, I'll brute force it, figuring that if I can make an app, I should be able to create a battery.”

  “Yes, I know. That's why I'm worried. Just do me a favor and don't use a ring. No good ever comes from magic rings.”

  “No problem. I don't have any rings anyway.”

  I wasn't happy with her evasion, but I let her go. If she wasn't telling me, even though she knew I'd try, that meant either she didn't know or it was so similar to storing a spell that she knew I wouldn't get hurt trying. I didn't really think it was the latter — the power for a computer was different than the software that ran on it. On the other hand, intent counted for a lot in witchcraft.

  I pulsed my power into the phone, looking for a place to store it. I wasn't sure what such a place would look like, so I finally settled for doing something similar to what I'd done with the coffee shop’s ward — I wrapped my power into the phone’s battery, duplicating its storage architecture. Then I left a tether to the phone as I slipped it back into my pocket, so it would continue charging as my own power refilled with time and tea.

  I hoped when I drew on the power, I could do so fast enough.

  A green flash off to one side reminded me of the other thing I’d meant to ask Carole about. Next time. Or maybe I’d ask Maggie, if she was even on speaking terms with me after my comments yesterday about sea-based patrons. I hadn’t meant that we should cut her off from her patron. Hell, I didn’t even know if that was possible. Most patrons had been worshipped as gods — what chance did a human have of locking one of them out?

  I needed to try, though. What was my alternative? The witches’ idea of how to deal with me — if I were dead, my magic would be gone. I wasn’t ready to consider premeditated murder, even to stop other deaths. I wasn’t judge, jury, and executioner, and I didn’t want to be.

  One of the art students had moved down near the front door and was busy framing it with vines and flowers reminiscent of an illuminated manuscript, complete with fantastical animals tucked around the edges. At least the student was keeping it free of some of the more explicit items found in actual manuscripts. Although customers didn’t seem to have any problem moving past or even stopping to admire the work, Rich made a big deal of squeezing by.

  Once Rich was inside, he looked around with a sour face. Me making progress on my task meant the manager’s position was less solidly his. I’d told him yesterday he wasn’t going to be in charge; it wasn’t my fault he didn’t believe me.

  His words echoed Ximena’s. “This isn’t what Kendall asked for.”

  “That’s funny. I’m pretty sure you weren’t there when she and I were talking about it.”

  He paused in twisting his hair into a hair tie. “At least one of us has common sense. Besides, I looked at the original work orders, which specified chocolate brown with café au lait trim.”

  “The original work orders, which have been canceled?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re ignoring her preferences.”

  Her preferences would have made the coffee shop feel like a cave, but saying that out loud would be the same as giving up any shot I had at the position. “Her preference is a profitable shop. By the way, you’d better do another order. We ran through a lot of inventory today.”

  “How am I supposed to do a full shift if we don’t have enough food?” His anger was a pale shadow of everything I’d seen recently. I let it wash over me.

  “That’s not my problem. The standing rule is to bring out anything necessary to keep the customers happy if we run out of something.” I waited for him to acknowledge that he knew the rule. “I did leave you two trays of the cinnamon apple scones today, but you’re completely out of sandwiches.�
�� I glanced at the clock. “You might want to get some of those made before the evening crowd comes in.”

  He stalked off without another word, and Ximena turned back to straightening up the condiment bar, wiping up spilled sugar and cinnamon, turning the swizzle sticks into a tight grouping, and diving into the cabinet beneath for more packets of the various sweeteners. She hadn’t been obvious about listening to us, but her renewed activity drew attention to her. I didn’t say anything — I couldn’t blame her for wanting to know who her new boss was going to be.

  Chapter 25

  The art students left around five-thirty, promising to be back the next day to finish up.

  “It looks good to me already,” I said. “I wouldn’t have thought you could this much this quickly.”

  The art student shrugged. “Many hands make light work? But we do have some fine points to add — highlights on the lightning, some gilding near the door, stuff like that.”

  “If you say so.” I did a quick head count — eight of them, although a couple had left early, saying they had to get to class. At an hourly rate of forty dollars each, this group would cost less than Kendall had paid for the deposit for the pros. But hourly didn’t seem to be the right way to charge for a mural. “How much do we owe you, and do you want individual checks?”

  They looked back and forth among them, then the spokesperson met my eyes again, sheepishly. “We didn’t talk about it yet. Can we get back to you?”

  “All right, but it needs to be fair market value. None of this working for exposure crap.”

  Beth would be so proud of me. Or would at least say that she was glad some of her lectures had sunk in. I made a note to research what the going rate was for commercial murals and hoped that Kendall’s budget would cover it.

  “We are only students,” one of the girls piped up.

  “Doing a professional job, for which you should get a professional wage. As well as a credit for your portfolios.”

  She didn’t look certain she agreed, but they left. Rich glowered at me. “You should have settled on cost before they started. You’d make a crappy manager.”

  “Not your call,” I said lightly. It was almost time for me to count out and get out of here, and I was glad. The less time I spent with Rich, the happier I’d be.

  As I left, Rich called after me, “What, no escort today? You couldn’t afford to keep paying him?”

  I gritted my teeth and left wordlessly. In high school, Rich would’ve been a prime target for my anger-fueled magic. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to pull up Bitter and make him regret getting out of bed today or any other day. Instead, I took a deep breath, deliberately calming myself so the small sparks I saw flickering from nearby lampposts would stop. I didn’t want to short out the whole neighborhood. Rich wasn’t worth it.

  This time, I wasn't surprised when I saw the ghost on my way home. The wisps had been obvious for at least a block beforehand. Nor was I surprised when she dove into a man walking ahead of me, although the glimmer around him did surprised me. I didn’t know how long it would take her to settle in so I wouldn’t see her, as the other ghost had with Carlos, but I didn’t want to give her the chance to do so.

  In theory, I could stop her. The tea gave me some strength, and I could channel her into an object to hold her, then slap a ward on the outside to keep her there until I could get in touch with Lashonda about a proper binding spell. In theory.

  But Carlos had cooperated. He’d let me touch him, he might even have been pushing her out. This man? I knew nothing about him, and he certainly had no reason to trust me if I came up and grabbed his arm.

  I matched his pace to give me time to study him and come up with an idea. He was fairly dapper with a flatcap and a vest, but he was alone. He might be on his way to a date, but he wasn’t on one yet. That made my life a little easier. I wouldn’t have to convince anyone but him if I acted quickly enough. Not that I had any idea what to say to him — he’d never believe the truth.

  Then there were all the other people on the sidewalk, streaming both directions, to the T, from the T, toward Downtown Crossing, toward home, toward Chinatown to grab takeout on the way home — people everywhere. Grabbing him and holding him for the time I needed was going to draw attention and possible interruption. On the other hand, following him around all evening wasn’t an option, either.

  All right, acting like a crazy woman it was. Or at least a slightly off-kilter woman who made everyone around her uncomfortable but who probably wouldn’t fit neatly into a pop-science diagnosis.

  I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and launched at him in a full-out run. Cries of “What gives?” and “Hey, watch it!” followed me down the sidewalk as I pushed past people and even knocked a purse off a woman’s shoulder. There were some less polite phrases, too.

  He turned around to look, which made latching on to his arm simple.

  “There you are! How could you do this? I can’t believe it! Why?”

  He tried to pry my fingers off, even as he spoke soothingly. His hands were cold — not clammy yet, but cold. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person, sweetheart.”

  Skin to skin contact would be more effective. I turned one of my hands to clutch his fingers. “Sweetheart? How can you, after you—?” The sobs were fake, but they looked real enough that everyone stepped back to give the two of us room.

  Now that I had him and could feel the ghost in him, what could I channel her into? I let go with my left hand and plunged it into my pocket, wishing I’d taken the time to think this through before I ran after him. The only thing in that pocket, though, were my keys. I shrugged mentally. If that was all I had, that was what I would use.

  I didn’t want to use my work or home keys, and although there would be some heavy level irony in using the spare key I had to Matt’s place, I didn’t really want to do that, either. That only left the keyring itself. I hoped Carole’s warning about rings didn’t apply to it.

  “Are you okay?” He looked around wildly, as if someone might come to his aid. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  “Sorry.” I didn’t let go. Instead, I yanked at the ghost and shoved her toward the keyring, knowing I’d only get one shot at this. She fought to stay inside of me, and I could feel my control waver. Taking a deep breath, I pushed her as hard as I could. As soon as I felt the last of her slide into the metal, I wrapped a spiral around the ring, warding her within. The temperature around us rose noticeably. I shook my head and smiled apologetically, repeated, “Sorry,” and walked away without looking back. No one spoke to me or came after me, although I did catch a glimmer of green from the corner of my eye.

  I’d let myself get home before I succumbed to the shakes.

  Mistress of improvisation. It had been that or — well, if I hadn't had Carole’s tea, I imagine the ghost would've stayed inside me the same way the other had inhabited Carlos, and it wouldn't take a lot to twist my power. Most of the witches thought I was already on a dark path.

  The only difference between their opinion and Matt’s was that he thought all magic was wrong. Maybe he'd led with the “death curse” not so I'd take it seriously, as Benjamin thought, but because that was how he viewed it, as something twisted and wrong, to be avoided. If I asked him, he'd probably tell me, and not in the nicest terms, either. Just as well that it was Friday of his weekend with the kids — they were most likely already throwing popcorn at each other while curled up on his couch, and I wouldn’t intrude to ask.

  My lips twisted. I knew that was an unfair characterization. They might play and goof off, but Matt would still get them into their pajamas and to bed at the usual time, with promises for breakfast out in the morning after they made their beds. He was a good father to the twins and a good friend to me — as long as we didn't talk about magic.

  I nodded to Wei through the front window as I passed, but I didn't stop in. Friday evening wasn't as busy as Saturday afternoon would be — prime time for dim sum — but
they really didn't need me stopping in to interrupt them and distract their customers. I had leftovers in the fridge. Those, some more tea, and an early night should help put me to rights. Maybe lots more tea.

  Tomorrow, I'd worry about how and whether I owed Matt an apology for dismissing his concerns. I had taken a lot of the ghosts’ power by cutting them free, but I had also made them more mobile and let them pick their targets. I still needed to fix things, that was certain.

  Also certain was me needing magic to do it.

  I took my keyring out of my pocket and hung it on its hook by the front door, out of the twins reach (for now — they seemed taller every week) and out of my pocket so I wouldn’t start rubbing it, wondering whether the ghost could get free. My ward was, at best, a stop-gap. I needed to ask Lashonda about proper bindings — or get rid of the original witch who had killed the girls.

  Mmm. Yeah, that wasn’t something I wanted to think too hard about, either. Getting rid of a witch, like the other witches had talked of getting rid of me? That was some first-degree premeditation there. It was one thing to eliminate the ghosts, who were already dead, something else entirely to think of eliminating a living, breathing human being.

  I could just imagine me explaining to the police, “I had to do it to save Boston.”

  Uh-huh. Time to think about alternatives, ways to separate witches from their patrons, their power. Somehow, I didn’t see Maggie or Carole being willing to help me with this research. Especially since Maggie was at least wondering whether I had it in for her patron. Right, like I wanted to take on Ouroboros. Because that would go well.

  I pulled out my cellphone to check its charge level. The battery was at seventy-five percent; a quick pulse told me the magic storage was only at twenty-three percent, but how that compared to my own normal energy levels, I didn't know. I tucked it back into my pocket and headed to the kitchen to brew the tea. I’d plug it into my laptop to back up the data before I went to bed. My texts and the address book should be backed up in the cloud, but I liked having a copy locally. Redundancy was key. Always.