Dirty Magic

by Jaye Wells

  She nodded absently. “How’s the case?” The fact that she wasn’t nailing me to the wall with questions about my lame story told me how upset she was about the kid who’d died.

  “It’s coming together.”

  Her brows lowered and her mouth formed into a thin line. It was a look I called “the Analyzer.” “What aren’t you telling me?” I guess that lie had been such a stinker it shook her out of her funk.

  I sighed and decided to tell her the least dangerous development to get her off my trail. “I saw Volos today. Someone dumped a body at his building. I had to sit through the questioning.”

  “Oh shit.” She blew out a breath. “How was that?”

  “Awkward, frustrating, you know.” I tried to shrug it off.

  “Is he still a malignant narcissist with megalomaniacal tendencies?”

  My lips quirked. “I love it when you speak shrink.”

  For a few years I’d nurtured a lot of guilt and pain over leaving John. However, one of the benefits of having Penelope Griffin as a best friend was the free therapy. With her help—as well as working the steps through Arcane Anonymous—I’d realized that my relationship with John had been far from healthy. Things were fine between us only as long as I let him call the shots. I liked the music he’d liked, preferred the same types of food. Hell, it had taken me years after I’d left him to realize I hated my coffee with cream, but I’d drunk it that way forever because it was how John liked his. Pen’s theory was that I’d been attracted to him initially because he’d reminded me so much of the other overbearing male role model in my life: Uncle Abe. Not exactly the foundation for a faerie-tale romance.

  She shrugged. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said honestly. “It wasn’t easy, but I think I can keep things on a professional level.”

  “Of course you can, Kate. You’re not the same kid who used to let him manipulate you. You’re all grown up now, girl.”

  I forced a laugh. That was the problem. He was all grown up now, too. Seeing him again had affected me on a physical level—more than I’d ever admit out loud to Pen—or myself. Old self-sabotage habits die hard, I guessed. Luckily, Pen was right about one thing. I wasn’t the same kid who let her emotions—or her libido—guide her actions anymore.

  “Anyway, hopefully I won’t have to see him again for a long time.”

  Pen yawned as she nodded. “That’s good.”

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

  I paused because I didn’t want another lecture, but I needed to know. “Did he say anything to you?” I said, finally. “About the argument?”

  “I can’t talk about it if he did.”

  I frowned at her. “Don’t pull that patient privilege crap with me, Pen.”

  “And don’t take that cop voice with me.” She crossed her arms. “If I came running to you every time he vented about some fool thing you did, he’d never trust me again.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘every time’?”

  She rolled her eyes but softened it by putting a hand on my arm. “Look, he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. In the meantime, just play it cool.”

  I looked over at the back of my brother’s head, which bobbed to some beat I couldn’t hear. Meanwhile, seeing Volos had opened old scabs and a nagging voice in my head whispered dire predictions about having him slink back into my life. And now, my little brother, whom I’d struggled to save from the Cauldron, was trying his hardest to run right back to magic’s strangling embrace.

  “Right,” I said, “I’ll just play it cool.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Blue Plate Diner had been around for as long as I could remember. Mom used to take me every year on my birthday. We’d sit at the counter and order shakes and burgers and giggle as if we were a normal mother and daughter, instead of a sex magic practitioner and her budding magical criminal of a kid.

  The diner sat on the corner of a street just across the Steel River from the Cauldron. It was an institution at the crossroads between the Mundane and Arcane worlds.

  The place looked exactly the way I remembered it from my childhood. It had been the one comfortingly Mundane thing in my life as a kid, so it made an impression. The red vinyl booths were cracked and slick from decades of greasy mist. The gold-flecked composite countertops had yellowed and warped from years of coffee spills. The old Wurlitzer jukebox boasted all the greatest hits of the ’40s and ’50s, which added to the time-warp vibe.

  Once Mom was gone, I kept up the annual tradition for Danny’s birthdays. I told Danny I did it so he’d maintain a connection to Mom, but I suspected I got more out of it than he ever did. Like always, Danny got a vanilla shake while I ordered chocolate. We ordered that way so we could share and not have to choose between flavors. But he always ended up drinking both. He always got Tater Tots. I always got the famous crinkle fries. And when they arrived we dutifully divided them between the two plates. Like clockwork, we had been repeating this ritual for the last decade.

  Danny dabbed a Tater Tot in the lake of ketchup on his plate. His eyes were downcast and he’d been unusually quiet. So it surprised me when he said, without looking up, “Did Mom do magic?”

  Shock at the question forced a sharp intake of breath. The fries I’d shoved into my mouth a few seconds earlier slammed into my throat. The waitress was still making our shakes behind the counter, so I groped for the glass of water she’d brought in the meantime. I coughed until my throat was sore and the other patrons turned on their stools to gape. I held up a hand as the man in the next booth over started to rise, his face set in a determined line that hinted at a painful Heimlich in my future.

  I waved my hands to show I was okay and gulped some more water.

  Normally, we spent our meal people watching and laughing over stories I made up about Mom. As far as Danny knew, Mom had been a hardworking laundress who’d been hit by a stray bullet in a drive-by shooting. Maybe over the years he’d realized there was more to that story, but he’d never pressed me about it until now.

  By the time I recovered and saw Danny’s worried but determined expression through my teary eyes, I almost wished that guy had done the maneuver and broken a couple of ribs so I wouldn’t have to have this conversation. Not right then. Not ever, if I had my way.

  But Danny, even though he hadn’t grown up in the family, was a Prospero through and through. I wouldn’t walk away from that table until I delivered the answers he wanted. I just prayed he was prepared for the truth because it wasn’t pretty.

  “You know she was an Adept.” I sighed and took one last sip of water before I proceeded. “Why are you asking?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not all Adepts learn how to cook magic, Kate.”

  He leaned forward and removed his wallet from his back pocket. From it he withdrew a small photograph and tossed it across the table. I cursed under my breath. The image was old, twenty years at least. In it, my mother wore the memento mori makeup of a member of the O Coven. White greasepaint, colorful shadows creating a sugar skull motif on the delicate planes of her face. Her hair was piled on top of her head and a tight red corset contained her … assets. I considered playing it off as if the picture was of someone else or maybe write it off as a Halloween costume. But when I flipped it over, the faded ink read, “Maggie Prospero, April 1985” in my mother’s own hand.

  Shit.

  “Where’d you get this?” I hedged.

  His eyes shifted left. “In the attic with the other stuff.” The admission confirmed that he’d had this picture the other night when we fought but had hidden it from me. “Why is she wearing that weird makeup?”

  I scratched my forehead, as if doing so would make my brain come up with the perfect response. When that didn’t work, I just decided to wing it. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you about all that. It just caught me off guard.” I blew out a breath. “You didn’t, um, take this picture in to school, did you?”


  The look I received in response made me feel like an idiot. Teenagers have a way of reducing you like that. “Of course not. I found a normal one, too.”

  Well, that was something, I thought. I couldn’t imagine the crucifixion my brother would receive if he brought a picture of his mom in full-on sex ritual regalia into that snobby school. “That’s good,” I said, slowly. “So you’ve never seen this makeup anywhere before?”

  “No.” He drew the word out as if I’d asked the most obvious question ever. “But it’s not exactly normal, so I figured…” he trailed off.

  Moment-of-truth time: I could either come clean and shatter my brother’s limited but positive impression of the woman he’d barely known or I could lie and risk his finding out later and never trusting me again.

  Shit.

  “The makeup is kind of a costume she wore for work,” I hedged.

  “I thought she worked at a laundry.”

  I chewed on my lip and cast a hopeful glance toward the waitress, praying she’d interrupt. But her back was to us. “She did sometimes—for extra cash,” I said honestly. “But she was also kind of a … performer of sorts.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Guess the kid had picked up a few of my techniques. Damn it.

  “Like a burlesque dancer, kind of.” I couldn’t look at him.

  “Wait a minute—Mom was a stripper?” he shouted.

  The volume in the restaurant dipped as patrons tasted drama on the air.

  “No, Daniel, she wasn’t a stripper.” Not really. “There was more art to it—and magic.”

  My kid brother gave me a look with eyes that appeared way too wise for his young face. “Hold up, are you talking about one of those sex magic shows?”

  My brows slammed down. “How do you know about those?”

  “Kate, I’m sixteen. What the heck do you think my friends and I talk about all the time?”

  Jesus, I really wished I could change the milkshake order to a whiskey. I slammed another gulp of water. “I was hoping you discussed sports and homework.”

  He snorted. “Andy Lipshitz’s older brother went to one of the shows. Said it was like some kind of boring religious ceremony but that the hand job at the end made it worth it.”

  Hearing the phrase “hand job” mentioned so casually by the kid made me want to gouge my ears out with my spoon.

  But before I could deafen myself, he leaned in with an expression that was part shocked and part intrigued. “So Mom was a whore?”

  “Shut your mouth.” I jerked forward and lowered my voice into a harsh whisper. “Whatever else she was, that woman gave you life. She deserves more respect than that from you.”

  He looked away, his cheeks reddening with shame. “What do I care? I didn’t know her.” His eyes flicked to mine. “Not really.”

  My heart contracted in my chest. “How can you say that?” He was almost six when she died. Old enough to have some memories.

  He was saved from having to answer when the waitress arrived to deliver our shakes. She set the vanilla in front of Danny and the chocolate next to me. I thanked her while Danny dug into his with gusto.

  I watched him for a moment, wondering how we’d come to this juncture. Seemed like just yesterday he was that cute kid who wanted me to read him a story before bed. Now he was hiding things from me and rolling his eyes as if I were the most ridiculous person ever. Pen was right, I guessed. Danny was old enough to make his own decisions. But what kept me up at night was that he was still too young to understand the long-term consequences of those choices.

  But one thing was becoming clear: Hiding secrets wasn’t protecting Danny from the past.

  “What do you want to know?” I said.

  His head jerked up. He had a smear of shake on his chin. He wiped it with his hand instead of the napkin on the table in front of him. “Really?”

  I blew out a long breath. “Yeah.”

  “How did Mom really die?”

  My stomach contracted. Jesus, the kid really came out swinging, didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”

  “The death certificate,” he admitted.

  I opened my mouth in a silent “ah.” Inside, I cursed myself seven ways to Sunday that I’d kept all that old stuff in the attic.

  “The cause of death was listed as coronary failure caused by complications from Arcane substances.” The accusation in his tone cut to the bone. “Why did you tell me she was shot?”

  I hardened the part of me that was still tender after all these years. The wound in my chest that was put there by guilt. “Because it was easier for you to understand when you were younger.”

  He nodded, seeming to accept that. He’d been ten the first time he asked what happened to his mama. “So why didn’t you tell me the truth once I was older?”

  I fidgeted with a straw wrapper on the table. My eyes stayed on my shake, which was melting into soup. “Because it was easier for me.”

  He stayed quiet, like he expected one wrong word would spook me. Eventually, I looked up, my chest so damned tight, and confessed my sins.

  “It was a new potion. Uncle Abe was sure it would be the hot new commodity. It hadn’t really been tested, but the plan went ahead to get it in rotation quickly.” I lifted my water with a shaking hand and took a sip to wet my dry throat. “Back then, Abe had a deal with Aphrodite Johnson. Her girls were to act as couriers because the cops knew all his guys too well.”

  “Why wouldn’t they recognize the girls?” Danny asked quietly.

  “Because of the makeup. When they weren’t working, they were clean-faced and less suspicious, I guess.”

  He nodded for me to continue. His hands slowly twisted a napkin into knots.

  “Mom volunteered to do the drop,” I said. “I didn’t know until later that she’d been saving up for a bike for your birthday so she needed the money.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, knowing there was no turning back now. “Best we could figure afterward was she decided to help herself to a sample.”

  I closed my eyes against the sting of hot tears. In my head, I was back in that cramped room ten years earlier. The one Uncle Abe brought me into to tell me the news. Funny, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I remembered he had a small cut on his neck, from shaving. A dot of blood had held a small scrap of paper to the wound. And when he smiled, his teeth bore the sepia stains of a man addicted to caffeine and cigarettes—“coffin nails,” he’d called them.

  I felt a touch on my hand, warm against my clammy skin. When I opened my eyes, Danny’s face was all lit up with gratitude I didn’t deserve. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”

  I laughed bitterly. “That’s not all of it.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I licked my lips. “The potion.”

  “Yeah, I get it. It was bad. Uncle Abe shouldn’t have put it out there.”

  “It wasn’t Abe’s fault.” I shook my head. “He was told it was safe.”

  “By who?”

  I looked my baby brother in the eye and pulled the trigger. “Me.”

  He blinked hard.

  I forged ahead. “It was my potion.”

  All the blood leaked from Danny’s face. “What do you mean?”

  I reached for his hand, but he jerked away. “It was supposed to be my big break. It’s a big deal for a potion-cooker to get their own recipe chosen for the streets. I-I wanted to prove myself to Uncle Abe, and I got cocky. Told him it was solid even though I hadn’t tested it.”

  Danny stared at me as if I were a stranger.

  “Anyway.” I swallowed the hard lump of shame in my throat. “Abe tried to tell me it was just part of the game. Happened to everyone at some point.” I shook my head, remembering the smile on his face as he told me how many of his potions had killed people when he was starting out. That conversation had been the first time Abe ever really scared me. He’d acted as though killing my own mother was just a cost of doing business. It wasn’t too much
of a stretch to imagine his writing my life off just as easily. “I knew then that I had to get us away from that life. So the day of Mom’s funeral, I told Abe I was out.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He tried to get me to stay, of course. We fought for hours, but eventually he gave me his blessing. I told him even if he made me stay I’d never cook again.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  I smiled sadly. “In the end, after all those years of telling me I was his heir and building me up, it turns out all he wanted from me was my magic. Without that, I was useless to him.”

  Luckily Danny had been too young at the time to show any signs of potential with magic, otherwise Abe would have fought tooth and nail to make me leave the kid behind. But the fear that Abe would change his mind one day and try to woo Danny into being his new protégé kept me up at night. I would stop at nothing to ensure he never got his dirty magic or his malignant influence anywhere near my baby brother.

  Danny said nothing, just watched me with those wary eyes.

  “So that’s it. The big dirty secret.” I blew out a shaky breath. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Silence hung over us like a funeral shroud. I’d been afraid a lot of times in my life, but waiting for my little brother to hand down his verdict was definitely in the top three.

  He took a sip of his shake, watching me over the straw. Finally, he licked the residue from his lips and leaned forward. “So let me get this straight. Our mom was a junkie who killed herself using illegal magic.”

  My mouth fell open. “No, Danny, it wasn’t like that. She used that potion because she knew I’d made it.”

  “How do you know that? Were you there?”

  I shook my head and admitted that no, I wasn’t. “But Mom wasn’t an addict, Danny.”

  “Whatever.” He crossed his arms and slouched down. “I say it’s pretty unfair that because of your mistakes I can’t learn about any magic at all.”

  I paused and spoke slowly because he wasn’t getting it. “It’s illegal and dangerous. Of course I don’t want you to mess with it.”

  He leaned back with arms crossed. “Not all magic is illegal.”