by John Mackie
“Is that Mayor McCallion?”
“That’s right. Hurrican Hazel. We won a Board of Trade award a few years back, and she attended the ceremony. Harper had always wanted to meet her, so we caught up with her afterwards, and she agreed to have her picture taken.”
“What was she then? Eighty-five?”
“Eighty-seven. Amazing.”
“No kidding.”
The top shelf appeared to be personal items – a pottery jar, Eskimo soapstone bear and a glass bowl. The jar immediately caught my eye. Black on black, with matte images carved into the polished surface. The decoration reminded me of some of the Pueblo art I had seen in the past.
“Where did you get the—,” I reached out to lift the pot from the shelf.
“Don’t!”
“Huh?” Too late. I spun, just managing not to smack the pot on anything.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Clay. Didn’t mean to presume.” I reached to place the pot back in the cabinet.
“No, no. It’s OK. Just – don’t worry about it. Feel free to take a look.”
I glanced at him and noticed he seemed a little flustered. Not a good thing in his condition. I was debating getting Harper when she descended the stairs.
“There you are! I wasn’t sure if you’d gone to lie down, or – oh, hi Darnell.”
“Hi Harper.” I glanced down at the pot in my hands, to give her and Clay an opportunity to talk for a moment. She was no doubt checking in on him to make sure all was well.
The pot was maybe four inches tall by five inches wide, and seemed to be half-full with salt or something similar. The polished parts of the clay surface were so reflective that they served as curved mirrors, and I could see my own face looking back at me. Several bands had been etched into the circumference of the pot, with geometric representations of various animals, reminiscent of the totem poles of the Canadian Pacific Coast.
I was still taking in the remarkable artistry of the piece when I noticed that Harper and Clay were not talking. A glance confirmed their silence, and I saw both were staring at me.
“Uh, I wasn’t supposed to take this out of the cabinet, was I?” I turned to set it back in its original resting spot. “What, is this thing worth a small fortune?”
“No, no.” This time it was Harper. I turned back, now wondering what the hell was going on.
“Somebody want to explain what’s going on? I feel like I’m missing something here.”
They exchanged a look, and Clay seemed to make a decision.
“When you spilled that potion, did it have any effect on you?”
OK. That was from left field. More than a little embarrassing, too. It seemed I was never going to escape that incident. It would have been nice not to have to discuss it in front of Harper, though.
“No. Not that I noticed. I mean, it was a little difficult to tell.”
“And in the Lost and Found Room?”
“The Lost and Found? Oh the fearstone, that. Nope.”
Seemed like I wasn’t the only one noticing a few odd things. I hadn’t even told them about the events with Crazy Lady Lucas from the day before. Wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I didn’t have any choice now.
“Maybe we should ask Huguette and Sol to join us?”
Harper headed back up the stairs.
“OK. Now you’re starting to freak me out, Clay. Did I do something wrong?”
Clay studied me – that’s the word, studied – and shook his head. “Nothing wrong, kid. Just the opposite, in fact.”
Now my mother and Sol were clumping down the stairs, followed by Harper. I could hear my brother’s voice from the living room, then the sound of laughter from the remaining guests. I suspect he had determined that I was in a shitload of trouble. Which remained to be seen, but was always a possibility.
“OK. Somebody tell me what the heck is going on.”
My mother gave me that look. The one that says don’t you swear in front of others, even if it is a grade two swearword. Then she saw the pot in my hands and paused.
“Is that – is that the pot from Santa Fe?” She had turned to Harper, who nodded in confirmation.
“But I thought —.”
“I know. Clay?”
Now they were all staring at me, and I was distinctly uncomfortable. I put the pot down on the bar and took a swig of my Ginger Ale.
“Anybody?”
Sol stepped forward.
“I believe – correct me if I’m wrong Clay – I believe that pot is a protective talisman that Clay and Harper were given by a Pueblo Indian medicine man when they visited New Mexico. What, ten years ago?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
The Professor was standing in front of the bar now, studying the pot.
“So, I wasn’t supposed to pick it up?”
“Well—.”
I sighed, and they could all tell I was exasperated. It was my mother that answered, oddly enough, and for once her answer was clear and to the point.
“You shouldn’t be able to pick it up.”
I had moved around to the front of the bar, and was perched on one of the leather stools. The others had settled into the theatre seats, making me feel like I was facing a jury.
I still wasn’t clear on what my crime had been, or for that matter what the potential penalty might be. But apparently it had something to do with the pot in my hands.
“So tell me that again?”
“We were given that pot in ‘98 by a Pueblo Indian who was a medicine man. It was a gift for letting his daughter stay with us during her senior year at Ryerson.”
I nodded, half listening and half checking out the faces of the others in the room, in particular my mother. I kept expecting her to signal her displeasure with me in some way, for not paying attention, or picking up the damned thing, or simply being here. But she was listening intently to Harper, and when she glanced in my direction, it was with a solemn look on her face.
“He lived in a tiny village fifty miles outside Santa Fe. Paranoid about big cities, crime, that kind of thing. When he gave us the pot, he claimed that it was a protective talisman, that it would prevent unwanted visitors from entering our home. I don’t know if it works. Suppose we never will, unless someone tries to rob us one night. But he also cast a ward on it, to ensure no one other than Clay or I could remove it from the house.”
“OK. And this ward is supposed to prevent anyone from taking it out of the house? Well, I haven’t—.”
“Not just take it out of the house. No one is supposed to be able to touch it.”
I must have had a skeptical look on my face, because this time my mother scowled.
“Maybe the ward has worn off?”
Professor Irving piped up. “I don’t think so. These types of spells aren’t supposed to have a shelf life. Excuse the pun.” Not sure I could. It wasn’t very punny. “Certainly the last time I tried to pick up the ward it seemed to be working just fine.”
“What does it do?”
Sol glanced at the others and apparently concluded he was the one best suited to show how it worked. Sighing, he wrestled his way out of his leather nest in the second row and headed my way.
“Why don’t you put it on the bar. Make sure it’s not near the edge.”
“Sol, you don’t need to—.”
Sol patted Harper on the shoulder, and continued toward the bar. “I think it is well worth it, if we can prove that the ward is still working.”
I moved aside to let the Professor stand at the bar. Up close, I could see that drops of sweat were forming on his forehead. He gave me a quick grin, but I could see in his eyes it was much like the smile a patient gives his dentist just before the root canal procedure begins. Then he reached out his right hand, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. He paused for a moment, just a few inches from the lid of the pot, then closed the gap.
The Ontario Science Centre was one of my favorite places to visit as a kid. And one of the exhibits I looked forward to most
was a Van de Graaf generator in the Science Arcade. A big aluminum sphere, the generator always made me think of a metal mushroom. Operating at 500,000 volts, the device was terrific for introducing kids to electricity and its effects. I just loved watching the girls get up there. When their hair stood on end, they looked like giant dandelion puffballs. And I remember how, if you got up close, you could feel the charged air around you, and the hair on your arms would stand up.
Sol’s finger was about three inches from the pot when a spark jumped through the air. This was no carpet spark. I swear a mini-lightning bolt formed in that room before our very eyes. There was a crack like an axe splitting a log, and the room lit up. I think I may have yelped like a startled puppy. I know I hopped back a few steps.
The ladies both cried out in surprise, and Clay fell back in his chair with a thump.
What was three or four seconds felt like thirty. Finally, my voice seemed to work.
“Are you OK?”
Sol was staring at his finger, inspecting it for burn marks. The pot seemed to be rocking ever so slightly on its base.
“Yeah. I’m OK. Jeez, that’s the third time I’ve done that. I should know better by now.”
“Everyone OK down there?” That was Jamar’s voice, I thought, calling down from the living room.
Harper called out in response. “All good. Just crossed the wrong wire.”
More laughter upstairs. Ted was no doubt mocking the old folks in the basement.
“That seemed a lot more powerful than last time.” Clay’s eyes were filled with concern for his friend.
“Yeah, that had a bit of pop to it, that’s for sure.”
“You sure you’re OK?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, first at me, then at Clay. “Well, it seems to be working just fine.”
Which raised an obvious question.
“Then why didn’t it zap me?”
Two shapely legs descended down the stairwell and a moment later Kara’s eyes met mine. Right behind her was a pair of significantly less shapely legs, covered in dense hair. Those belonged to Ted.
“We’ve been sent down to make sure everything’s alright.”
Both were smiling as they entered the room, but the smiles faded as Harper took them aside in the second row of seats and began to whisper to them.
For a moment I wondered whether the other guests were beginning to feel left out, then I heard a roar of laughter upstairs, followed by Harold’s voice objecting to Jamar’s telling of past adventures. Seemed they were holding down the fort.
“Do you mind picking it up again?”
“Thanks a lot.” I smiled wryly. Now I was the subject of a science experiment.
I found myself wincing as I reached out to the pot, convinced that this time it would feel like I had stuck my finger in a light socket. I tensed, then stabbed out clumsily to grab it. Probably looked like an idiot in the process, but no damage done.
“Nothing?”
“Nope. Not a thing. Just feels like an ordinary pot.”
“It’s like in that lady’s house.” That was Ted, speaking up from his consultation with Harper.
“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
The others stared back with blank faces, so Ted explained the incident up North, and how we had been fortunate to avoid Crazy Lady Lucas’ wrath. My mother’s face settled into a familiar expression – livid anger.
“That sounds pretty serious.” Clay spoke up, the voice of reason.
“Yeah. Sorry, we didn’t expect anything like that. We just got back last night. No real harm done, though.” I gave Ted a quick warning glance. If he mention the fire or the cops, I would beat his ass.
“Still, that sounds like a lot heavier magic than a protective spell, or a love potion.” That was Sol speaking, but a lot of heads were nodding in response.
“Maybe its because I’m new to Arcane? Or maybe it’s the type of magic?”
Silence. OK, so maybe neither was a great theory. They could at least act supportive. Geez.
“Or— Oh! I’ve been carrying around a lucky charm, the one from the office.” I pulled out the leper coin and the tiger’s eye stone from my pocket, and handed Clay the coin. “Maybe it’s been protecting me.”
That seemed logical. Certainly Ted was nodding in agreement. But everyone else was giving me a skeptical look.
“That coin is strictly playtime, Donnie. Might even be classified as inert.” Clay was up and leaning on the back of the chair in front of him, energized by the discussion. “What Ted described, that’s serious mojo.”
Hm.
“AAAACHHOOOOO!”
I almost fell off the stool, and Clay looked like he was going to have another heart attack.
“Sorry about that.”
“Bless you.” That was from Harper.
“Don’t do that again. Tsk.” And that was from my mother.
“Uh, where were we? No, it’s almost as if you’re protected, or immune. It’s like the magic can’t affect you. Unless you’re wielding some heavy duty magic yourself.”
Yeah, right.
“Assuming there even is such a thing as magic, why wouldn’t it affect Donnie-boy the same way it does everyone else?” I’m sure Ted’s cynical tone wasn’t making him any friends, but it was a good question.
“I have no idea. Huguette? Any thoughts?”
I realized then that my mother had been very quiet throughout this entire turn of events. For my mother, quiet was uncharacteristic. Even now, she remained seated in the front row of theatre seats, watching the discussion as though observing a lecture.
“Well, we suspected something was different when they were very young.”
“We did?” Ted and I spoke out in unison. I might also have queried the word “they”.
“Well, your father and I. From time to time one of his friends would give you a special gift for a birthday or for Christmas. Say a teddy bear that could say your name. But you and your brother, the gifts never worked for you. It seemed a strange coincidence. But it never occurred to us that magic might not work around you at all.”
“Maybe the batteries weren’t working.”
“These weren’t battery operated.”
“Oh. Then why wouldn’t they work?”
“It’s like magic is... désamorcer?” She looked at Ted and I, but we drew a blank. Count on Sol, however.
“Defused.”
“Yes. It seems to be defused when you are nearby.”
“Me, anyways. I’m not sure about you.” I was looking at Ted.
“Thanks. You make me sound like I should be riding the short bus.”
That brought a scowl to my mother’s face. Sol stepped in, apparently willing to risk the wrath of the she-beast.
“Listen, for all we know, a great many people react to magic in this way. The fact is, much of the world has never seen magic employed. It’s just that, well, you would think we would have seen some example of this before.”
I was thinking through what I had heard over the past few minutes.
“So you’re saying I can’t use magic, and no one can use magic against me?”
Clay seemed to flinch at that, and spoke up from his chair. “I wouldn’t be too quick to assume that. We don’t know that others can’t use magic against you.”
My mother joined in. “There are some very powerful people out there. You can’t just suppose that they cannot do anything to you.”
And why would my mother know anything about that? This whole day had gone sideways into some weird dimension.
“It does make for an interesting situation, though.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Ted’s mood and manner were degenerating rapidly.
“Well, it’s just ironic that Donnie has ended up working with Clay here. I mean, a courier business for magic items!”
I suppose it was somewhat ironic, but Professor Irving seemed inordinately pleased with the point. Maybe it was the look on my face, but he seemed to realize fur
ther explanation was warranted.
“It was not unusual in ancient times for couriers to be illiterate. In fact, it was desirable. The nobility could rest easy knowing that the person delivering a document could not understand its contents. There is a parallel here. If it is true that you’re not able to use magic, then you’re well suited to transport magic goods for others. The fact that others may not even be able to use magic against you makes you even more fitting for the role.”
Did he just call me illiterate?
“Bit of a strange coincidence, don’t you think?” I don’t know whether I was directing my comments at someone in the room, or the world at large.
“That’s what worries me,” said my mother, and I knew what she was going to say next. “There are no coincidences.”
CHAPTER 17
The ride back to my place was a quiet one. Ted closed his eyes and seemed to be napping, possibly a consequence of his “one for you, one for me” policy while tending the bar. My mother stared out the window in silence. And I considered my last few weeks.
I had a lot of questions, and no answers. Why did magic appear not to affect me? What did Niki the Bull have to do with Maxim and Elena Legenko? How could I help Jamar out? Where did the tiger’s eye come from? Should I make a move on Amy or Kara? Could I hope for Amy and Kara? Could I keep Arcane afloat, or was I going to run it into the ground?’
The questions flitted in and out, like mosquitoes drawing blood then racing off to be replaced by their brethren.
No one said a word until we were ensconced in the apartment. I was grabbing a beer from the fridge when my mother spoke up.
“We should talk.”
I glanced around the corner, just in time to see her settle into the sofa with a swoop of her coat. Ted observed this with a leery look on his face, as though doubtful of her intentions.
She gazed up at me, and I could see that her normally terse mouth and stern eyes were somehow softer, a look of concern taking their place. It’s funny. We spoke most days, visited at least weekly, but seldom ever focused on one another.
“Do you have any wine?”