It Happened One Doomsday

by Laurence MacNaughton

  Dru sat up. “What?”

  “Never mind. Not my business.”

  “Nate’s not boring. Practical, maybe. Successful, definitely. But not boring. I like having an actual everyday conversation with someone. We talk about politics, instead of demons. Classical music, instead of ancient curses. The other night, we had an entire conversation about books we loved as kids, and I never mentioned The Folio of the Forlorn, not even once.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you wanted to.”

  “Maybe I like not having to worry about magic twenty-four hours a day.”

  “No way, dude. You know too much to ever be cool with that white-picket-fence routine. Face it.”

  Rane’s words cut her to the core, though she tried not to show it. Still, hot tears filled Dru’s eyes. Quickly, she averted her gaze and tried to blink them away.

  Rane froze, as if Dru had pointed a loaded gun at her. “Okay, um, sorry? Seriously. Don’t freak out on me. Just . . . breathe.”

  Dru swallowed and wiped at her eyes. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

  Rane looked at the ugly chair across from Dru’s, and then glanced toward the back door, as if she was planning an escape route. But instead, she stalked over to the other chair and lowered herself into it. “You, um . . . you want to talk?”

  “No.” Dru pretended to sort through the stack of books next to her.

  “Okay.” Rane resumed flipping through the pages of her book. “Sorry. I know you really like Nate and all, and it’s so not my business.”

  “What is the big problem? For once, I’m finally dating a nice guy,” Dru said. “Every time I’ve tried dating a sorcerer, it always ends in disaster. Just like it did for my mom.”

  “And everyone else. Join the club.”

  “Nate’s different. He’s stable, he’s successful, he’s crazy about me. I hope.” She thought about Chez Monet and who was going to be there. “You know that blonde hygienist who works for Nate?”

  Rane leaned closer, eyebrows knitted together. “What did she do now?”

  “Nothing. Yet. It’s just . . . I’m a little worried. Maybe Nate’s not that into me.”

  Rane’s face hardened. “Dude, I live by my instincts. And my instincts are right, like, ninety-five percent of the time. Even if Nate’s not my type of guy, he’s solid. He cares about you. He’s always there for you. You remember that time you accidentally drank the sour fish potion and couldn’t stop hurling?”

  That particularly memorable experience was actually Rane’s fault, but Dru didn’t bother to point that out.

  “Nate stepped up,” Rane said. “He held your hair back all night while you were upchucking. And he cleaned you up. Took care of you. Right?”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Dru said dryly.

  “Look, I’d kill for someone like that. Vanilla or not, he’s your man. I get it. If you’re into him, you’ve got to fight for him, D. By any means necessary. Do not let some gold-digging bimbo get her claws into him.” Rane stood, paced the cramped room for a minute, then flung herself down in the chair again and glared off into space. “Want me to beat her up? I’ll do it, you know.”

  “I know. That’s what scares me.”

  “Seriously.” Rane brooded, apparently reliving a painful memory. “Just when you think you have everything under control. Right? Just when everything’s all chocolate hearts and roses. That’s when you let your guard down. And when you least expect it, bam.” Rane punched the arm of her chair, shooting out a constellation of dust motes that glowed in the shaft of early-morning sunlight. “Whatever. You need a shower, and I need to get to work.” She got to her feet, hefting the book. “Mind if I take this? I need to go hammer on those blue lime-pit critters.”

  “Today? In broad daylight?”

  “Duh. Easier to find them in the daytime. Besides, the only people down there who will see anything are the homeless guys in their tents, and they’ll be a lot safer when those stinky blue ankle-biters are history.”

  Dru stood and huddled deeper into her sweatshirt, feeling suddenly cold. “What kind of stinky are they, exactly?”

  “What you mean? How many different kinds of stinky are there?”

  “I mean, are they stinky like brimstone? Stinky like bad breath? What?”

  “Bad breath. Definitely.”

  “Do they smell a little bit like garlic?”

  Rane’s face wrinkled in concentration. “Little bit, I guess, last time it rained. Kind of like tzatziki sauce gone way sideways.”

  “They’re blue, they’re from a lime pit, and they stink like garlic when they get wet. And they’re extremely flammable. Right? I’d say calcium carbide.”

  Rane shook her head. “English please?”

  “Calcium carbide. They used to make water lanterns out of it. It’s blue, reacts with water, and it gives off an explosive gas. Your best bet is to lure these critters out into the open air and fight them there. Give the gas a chance to disperse. Then you can handle them.”

  Rane paused. “That’s it? You sure? I don’t need some kind of funky magic wand or something?”

  “Maybe a fan would help.”

  “Awesome.” Rane grinned. “Check you out, D. Smart and hot, all in one little package.”

  Dru blushed. “Whatever. Get out of here, and leave my books where you found them.”

  “There’s no way Nate is going to give you up for that hygienist hussy. You’re all that.” Rane nodded solemnly.

  Dru nodded back. “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

  “Think so?” Rane grinned, showing teeth that looked like they could take a bite out of the hull of a boat. “Just remember, I got your back. You say the word, that chick is toast.”

  5

  RAT SIGNS

  Dru slipped the honey-colored citrine crystal into a paper bag and rung up the sale. “Remember, from your front door, you put this in the left corner of the restaurant. Also, I put an extra little piece in the bag for you. That one goes in your cash register drawer.” She hit the Sale button, and the drawer slid open with a chime, revealing the chunk of citrine she kept in her own change drawer. “See?”

  Joe, the Chinese delivery guy, smiled. “Practice what you preach.” He paid and took the paper bag.

  “Prosperity and abundance,” she said as he left. He waved and got into his car.

  Opal caught the door before it closed behind him. Wrinkling her nose, she poked her head outside, then turned to look down the length of the shop at Dru. “You smell that? Some kind of chemical. Wind is blowing it right in.”

  Before Dru could answer, Opal’s eyes widened in anger.

  “That’s spray paint! You little—” Opal launched herself out the door, hustling down the alley.

  “Opal, wait!” Dru came around the counter and chased after her, haunted by visions of Opal getting jumped by spray-paint-wielding juvenile delinquents.

  But in the alley between her shop and the 24-hour liquor store next door, she instead found one of her customers, Salem, spraying the finishing touches of a symbol on her broken back door.

  As Opal shook her finger at him, working herself up into a tirade, Salem stepped back, black trench coat swirling around him. Ignoring Opal, he tipped his silk top hat back on his head, pushed his long hair out of his face, and fixed his piercing gray eyes on Dru.

  She stopped short, looking from his crazy, eyeliner-outlined eyes to the symbol he’d painted on her door, and back. “Salem? What’s up?”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but your door is broken,” he said matter-of-factly, tilting his head toward the damage Rane had caused earlier.

  Opal planted her fists on her wide hips. “I know that rat sign you painted on there is not gonna fix that door. All it’s gonna do is bring trouble, and we don’t need any more than we already have. Salem, I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

  “Sure you do.” He pointed one finger to his temple and smirked at her. “Guess what I’m thinking right now.”

  Dru stepped b
etween them. “Okay, enough. Opal, I’m sorry, I’ll take care of this.”

  Opal dropped her chin and gave Dru a withering look. “Nothing but trouble, mark my words. Don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ later on.” With a dismissive sniff at Salem, she turned and headed back to the front door.

  “She will anyway,” Salem murmured. He locked gazes with Dru again, but she always had trouble maintaining eye contact with his half-crazed stare. Instead, she looked at the sign he had spray-painted on her rear door: an elongated hexagon beside a triangle, and beneath that, a smiley face without eyes.

  It took a moment for the meanings to come to her. “‘Crystals inside . . . um, somebody will help . . .’”

  “Kristalo sorcisto helpos,” Salem said effortlessly in the sorcerer tongue. “‘Someone here will use crystal magic to help you, when you need it most.’”

  “Sure, but . . . Salem, in the entire world, there are, like, a few hundred true sorcerers, at most. What are the chances that one will happen to come through this exact alley and read this?”

  His gray eyes widened with animal-like intensity. “We all move on the same paths, Dru. Magic attracts, like magnets. They’ll come here, sooner or later. It’ll seem like luck, that they saw this sign. But that’s how magic works.”

  As much as she hated the ugly spray paint, she couldn’t argue with him and his crazy eyes. “Speaking of signs, do you know a sign of a seven-fingered hand?”

  He stared at her like a hungry wolf at wounded prey. “No.”

  It was plain he was lying. Alarm bells went off inside her head.

  “Why?” he asked, edging closer. “Have you seen it?”

  She backed up a step. “Uh, no. Just . . . always wondered about that one. Don’t remember where I saw it. Long time ago. Anyway, what do you want, Salem?”

  His black eyebrows drew together. “I need a way to focus. Three civilians have disappeared. We found their garages exploded outward, like something burst out and escaped. Traces of demon magic everywhere. And from the looks of it, there will be a fourth victim.”

  Dru suppressed a shiver. “Who?”

  Salem shook his head in frustration. “I should be able to see the pattern. But I just can’t put it together.”

  “Want me to have a look at the clues?”

  He shrugged, as if the idea that she could see anything he’d missed was simply preposterous. “Just get me a crystal to help me focus.”

  She folded her arms. “Too bad you’re not with Rane anymore. Why don’t you get your new girlfriend to help you? What’s her name again?”

  Salem lowered his eyelids over his sharp eyes. “Just because you’re BFFs with my ex doesn’t mean you won’t help me. As a professional.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was complimenting her or insulting her. As if they were sharing some secret joke that she wasn’t really a professional and he was just pretending to go along with her.

  She sighed. All sorcerers were weirdos. It wasn’t worth getting riled up about. “How about some red zincite? It can help you identify your gut feelings and trust your intuition. Want one?”

  He took off his top hat, letting his long hair fall across his thin face. “You’re too kind.”

  She led him back up the alley to the front door. But before he followed her, he waggled his fingers at the back door. The sound of mending wood and metal crackled through the alley as the broken lock knitted itself back together.

  6

  STRANGE BREW

  The spiky red zincite reminded Dru of a pile of transparent plastic cocktail toothpicks. “Red zincite is good for clarifying your thinking. It also happens to remove hypnotic commands, just in case you start feeling very . . . sleepy . . .” She waved the crystal slowly back and forth over the counter.

  Salem snatched it from her and peered closely at it. “Looks like a fine natural crystal.”

  “Nope. Dirty and artificial.” Dru got a little spark of enjoyment from the glimmer of surprise on Salem’s face. “Straight from the chimney of a smelting furnace in New Jersey. Natural ones are rare, and they’re weaker. These smelter ones are industrial-strength, I promise.”

  Salem raised the crystal slightly, as if to salute her, and gave her a gaunt smile.

  Opal looked up from the tray of crystals she was sorting. “Salem, I’m here to tell you, you’re so skinny these days you don’t look right. You been eating?”

  “It’s next on my to-do list.” He tilted his head until his eyes glinted from beneath the rim of his top hat. “Dru, when you remember where you saw that seven-fingered sign, you tell me.”

  She forced a smile. “Oh, will do.”

  As Salem paid for the crystal, Greyson walked in through the front door. His attitude was so changed that Dru did a double take when she saw him. He walked taller, his eyes were brighter, and the brooding look that had plagued him before was nowhere to be seen. He strode up to the counter with a trio of coffee cups and a box of fresh-baked cinnamon Duffeyrolls.

  “Just to say thanks.” He cracked a slow smile.

  Dru traded glances with Opal, whose wide eyes mirrored her own astonishment. Usually when they got surprises from customers, they were the unpleasant kind.

  Salem turned to go but stopped and looked back at Greyson, studying him intently.

  Greyson didn’t notice. He was busy turning the coffee cups to read the markings on the side. “Went out on a limb here, but I think you’re kind of a caramel latte girl.” He pushed a cup toward her and another toward Opal.

  “Damn,” Opal said after the first sip. “That’s exactly right. How’d you know that?”

  Dru took a tentative sip and had to agree. It was her favorite. “Don’t tell me you’ve been stalking my barista.”

  “Just a hunch, that’s all,” he said.

  “Is this a new thing? Or do you always have hunches this accurate?”

  He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve been getting better lately.”

  She had no way to tell whether Greyson had some kind of natural talent, whether this was a symptom of his problem, or whether he had, in fact, interrogated her barista.

  “Anyway,” Greyson said. “Just saying thanks for helping me.”

  “That’s what I do,” Dru said. “That’s the whole reason for this shop. To help people.”

  “Mostly people who get their own selves into trouble,” Opal muttered. She opened the box of cinnamon rolls with a sigh of satisfaction.

  Without a word, Salem darted in and snatched a cinnamon roll, then made a beeline for the door. Greyson watched him go, looking slightly puzzled.

  “Truth is,” Opal said, “most people don’t even know what kind of dark magic trouble they’re getting themselves into until it’s too late.”

  Greyson sipped his coffee and frowned. “Still not sure I buy this whole Ouija-board-and-voodoo-doll thing. But I did sleep better. That’s enough for me.”

  Dru suppressed a smile. It was so obvious that Greyson didn’t know the first thing about magic, but in a way that was kind of endearing.

  It wasn’t unusual, though. By and large, people without magical powers were oblivious to their existence. Those who witnessed magic and creatures of darkness firsthand usually tried to rationalize what they saw. And if they didn’t, hardly anyone believed them anyway.

  But that didn’t stop occasional dabblers from treading where they didn’t belong. “Mostly, people who don’t know what they’re doing get themselves into trouble trying to cast spells on other people,” Dru said.

  Opal picked up a roll with her fingertips and bit into it. “Mmm. Love spells, a lot of times.”

  Dru nodded. “We do get those a lot. Dark magic.”

  “Love spells are dark magic?” Greyson didn’t look convinced.

  Opal rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lordy. Yes. Anytime you try to cast a spell on another human being, that’s dark magic. Comes back on you threefold. Trust me, nothing’s so sad as a lonely person with three unrequited loves.”

  Greys
on gave her a dubious look and sipped his coffee.

  In her years of doing this, Dru had never seen anyone come into the shop who was so innocent about magic, and yet mired in so much trouble.

  He hadn’t so much as touched the dark arts, but here he was afflicted by the sort of soul-sucking problem that only the darkest sorcerers usually faced. She made up her mind that Greyson was worth saving, no matter what. “So the petalite crystal is working for you?”

  “Apparently.” He pulled the crystal out of his pocket and set it down on the counter.

  But something was terribly wrong with it.

  The petalite had been as clear as glass when she had given it to him. But just a day later, half of it had turned inky black. Sickly bluish-gray tendrils wormed through the remaining transparent part of the crystal, like smoke frozen in time.

  “Ooh.” Opal shuddered.

  Greyson looked from her back to Dru. “What?”

  Dru hesitated, afraid to touch the contaminated crystal with her bare hands. Instead, she rooted around under the counter until she found a pair of salad tongs and used them to gingerly pick up the crystal. “Did you let anyone else handle this at all?”

  “Just me.” He frowned. “Why?”

  “Did you maybe bump into any weird strangers? Possibly you heard, I don’t know, voices in the night?” She groped for some explanation other than the dark truth she suspected. “Maybe you’ve noticed something odd recently, like a window you didn’t think you left open? Or inexplicable sounds in the moonlight?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Inexplicable? No.”

  “Time for my break.” Opal quickly placed several cinnamon rolls on a napkin and tottered away on her new stiletto heels. Behind her hand, in a stage whisper, she said, “Boy’s got problems.”

  “I’m standing right here,” Greyson said as she retreated.

  “Thanks for the yum-yums!” Opal called.

  Greyson turned sharply to Dru. “What does she mean?”

  “She’s a big fan of Duffeyrolls.”

  He gave her a look that was clearly not amused.

  “Well.” Dru cleared her throat. “There’s no easy way to say this.”