Tea & Croakies

by Sam Cheever

  He smiled, the action lowering thick black brows over his eyes to make him look malicious. To my shock, the cracked lips began to move. “Welcome to my in-depth study of the soul magics.”

  I yelped, jumping out of my chair and taking a few steps backward. The black gaze followed my movement, one thick brow arching in judgment.

  Apparently deciding to ignore my reaction, the head continued as if I hadn’t run away screaming. “Is there a particular area of interest? Or shall we start at the beginning and work our way through the material?”

  I swallowed hard, staring at the book as my brain struggled to understand what I was seeing. It was discombobulating to know that I could still be caught off guard by magic. It was also humbling.

  Doctor Osvald appeared to be waiting for me to respond. I cleared my throat and finally said, “Essence stealing artifacts?”

  He gave a slight nod, and the pages of the book started flickering.

  I glanced toward the blotter while I waited. It was still bubbling and shifting. Please goddess it wasn’t locked up. If I had to reboot the thing, it would take forever.

  “Ah, here we are. A toothbrush that removes enamel on the canines and toothpaste that draws the essence out and locks it in the tube. “

  “No,” I said, possibly more abrupt than I should have been.

  Osvald’s other brow lifted and his lips twisted with unhappiness. “Onward, then.”

  The pages flickered again. After a moment, they stopped. “Pantaloons that pull the essence from the crot…”

  “No!”

  He frowned.

  Pages flickered.

  “This one, then. A girdle that squeezes the essence…”

  “Not surprising, but, no.”

  When his black eyes flashed, I added, “But thanks…” in a weak voice.

  More flickering pages. He sighed. “Last one.” He glared my way. “Hopefully it will meet your…very persnickety…needs.”

  I made a small noise as an object appeared on the front page of the chapter he indicated. It was bowl-shaped and covered by a domed lid. The object was formed of silver, with a short chain protruding from the lid. The base of the bowl was perforated with a few dozen tiny holes.

  “That’s it!” I exclaimed.

  Osvald nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Would you prefer to read what is contained with in this text? Or take the information verbally from me, rich with the additional information contained in the footnotes provided here?”

  I preferred to read the book and not deal with Doctor Osvald’s scary face anymore. But I knew talking to him would be both faster and more informative. Given that logic, I reluctantly shoved resistance aside and nodded. “From you please.” I lowered my head to hide my grimace as I said it.

  “Excellent.”

  I glanced up to find Osvald grinning widely, his terrifying eyebrows like slashes above the glittering black gaze. “This artifact is of particular interest to me. It belonged to a dear friend who’d created it by sheer accident. Eglund Balthire collected tea infusers. He kept hundreds of them in his London home for a century. Until he was murdered just short of midnight on a foggy late spring evening and the artifact was stolen…”

  “Why did he create an essence-sucking artifact in the first place?” I asked, interrupting.

  Osvald glared over at me for a moment and then went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “The infuser had been in his possession at the time, in a specially created box that held a particular essence which had been extracted. He’d spent a decade creating that box, knowing that having an essence in his possession was a delicate and overwhelming responsibility…”

  “Then why did he remove someone’s essence in the first place?” I asked, hoping he’d stop ignoring me if he realized I wasn’t going to go away.

  “…but his care in protecting the essence was for naught. The Société of Dire Magic had been monitoring him, unbeknownst to poor Eglund. I’d heard a rumor at the time that they had a black purpose in mind for the infuser and they intended to get hold of it by whatever means necessary.” Osvald sighed unhappily. “He was on his way to me, having implored me for weeks to help him hide the device, when he was attacked and killed. He’d had the box in his possession at the time.” Osvald turned a deliberate gaze on me. “The box contained the essence of a young woman who’d died of a wasting disease and had requested that Eglund put her essence into a cousin whose body was sound but whose mind had long ago fractured beyond repair.”

  Well, it had taken much longer than I’d hoped, but at least that answered my question. “Was he killed underneath a clock tower?”

  Osvald blinked in surprise. “Why, yes. He was. I see someone’s been doing her homework.”

  I barely kept from rolling my eyes. “The Société of Dire Magic got the infuser?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “And the young woman whose essence was in the box?” I asked, almost afraid to know.

  “Unknown, I’m afraid. Though I do know who ended up with the infuser.”

  I started to ask him to clarify, silly me, but he was already winding up to tell me.

  “He didn’t even attempt to hide it, I’m afraid. Though possession of the item was all but an admission of his guilt in poor Eglund’s murder. Having power and wealth was as much a buffer against punishment then as it is today.” Osvald shook his head.

  I opened my mouth again but didn’t get a chance to ask.

  “Alcott Quilleran.”

  I snapped my lips closed. “Jacob Quilleran’s great, great, great grandfather?”

  “Yes. The story goes that he wanted the item for himself, to inject himself into a younger, healthier body. However, my understanding is that, without Eglund’s hard-won expertise on the method, the experiment went very badly. I believe the family put the artifact in mothballs after his death.”

  “I’m guessing you can’t tell me how they finally managed to make it work?”

  Osvald’s head shifted from side to side. “It does not surprise me that they tried again. That kind of power is irresistible to such as the Quillerans. However, they would be aware of the extreme danger involved and would no doubt have a plan for extensive losses in trying to make it work.”

  Yeah, I thought, I knew of at least two potential losses already. I had a thought. “Did Eglund document his method anywhere?”

  “Eglund was an emotional creature. He led with his heart in all things. As a scientist, he often gave himself a tough row to hoe with his emotional decisions. But if he had left documentation behind, I truly believe he would have determined its location through an exercise of the heart.”

  I waited for him to expound on that, but Osvald only winked and disappeared into the book with a soft popping sound.

  I swore softly and it came out as a bleep. Apparently, I’d spent too much time around SB. His magical curse cuffs had temporarily transferred to me.

  At least I hoped it was temporary. Because, as soon as I got Sebille back, I fully intended to throw curses of several kinds at the hateful Quilleran crew.

  15

  Calling Ittoqqortoormiit!

  My mind was so deep into what Doctor Osvald had told me about the artifact, that I almost forgot about my other search. Only the soft flash of light tugged me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see the book I’d been looking for settling gently to the surface of the blotter.

  Things were looking up!

  I hurried over and reached for the book, which, I realized as I looked down on it, was covered in a darker shade of leather, nearly black, and had the letters, KoA embossed on the front.

  I’d been right! The book had been a keeper’s tool, which added heft to the theory that Rustin got hold of his through less than savory means. I reached for the book with both hands, intending to head upstairs and grab Wally. I would put my plan immediately into action.

  My hands clasped the book, and I tugged.

  Nothing.

  I tugged again, putting ever
ything I had into picking it up.

  The thing felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

  I braced my foot against the desk and screamed out my effort as I tried again to lift the stubborn volume. It didn’t move.

  What the…?

  Wiping sweat off my brow from my efforts, I thought about the problem for a moment. Maybe it needed keeper magic so it would recognize me.

  That was probably it.

  I wrapped my fingers around the book again and pulled a thread of energy forward, releasing it slowly into the volume. The leather warmed and I smiled. “Gotcha.”

  Power blasted from the book in a violent purple wave, yanking me off my feet and sending me flying across the room. I slammed into Casanova’s chair and toppled backward, hitting my head hard on the floor and knocking the breath from my lungs.

  I lay there for a moment, seeing stars and feeling a bit dazed.

  A magical touch slipped over my hip and caressed my left buttock. I jumped to my feet and glared at the pervy chair. “Keep your arms to yourself, you oversexed collection of wood and velvet.”

  The chair bounced against the floor a few times as if giggling hysterically, and then shot upright, settling back onto the floor with a final rolling bounce that seemed even lewder than usual.

  I shuddered violently. Maybe if I locked it in the toxic magic room…

  With that happy thought, I returned to the desk, looking down at the cranky book. “What’s your deal, anyway? Your cover clearly says, KoA. I’m a keeper of artifacts. You work for me.”

  To my vast surprise, the book shot open and I looked down at the first page, where a gold stamp read, “Property of Alice Parker.”

  Of course! The KoA before me. Alice had handed over the key to Croakies when she’d turned ninety-two years old. While, as a sorceress ninety-two was her half-life, Alice had declared that she wanted to see the world, explore other magical communities, and enjoy the rest of her life with her cat, Fenwald.

  Aside from a serious lack of judgment in naming her cat, Alice had been eternally charming and full of fun. We’d spent a lot of time together as she turned the business over to me. Although, I was beginning to think Alice’s “one foot out the door” mentality was coming back to bite me in the same place Casanova’s chair seemed drawn.

  She should have told me about the book and she should have released it to me before she left. Now, I had no idea where she was.

  I would need to find her. And considering that she could be anywhere in the world from Motuo, Tibet to Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland, that would be no easy task.

  Mr. Wicked rubbed against my ankles, his purr rumbling through the room. I bent down and picked him up, burying my face in his soft, warm fur. A sense of being overwhelmed swept through me. I was bereft, unsure what to do next. My safe little world had turned upside down and inside out, and I had no idea how to fix it. People I cared about were in trouble and counting on me to help them.

  “What am I going to do?” I whispered into Wicked’s fur. He stopped purring and looked up at me, his orange eyes flashing with energy. I watched the light flare through them and frowned, knowing that even my cat had a better handle on things than I did.

  I sighed. “I’m a terrible keeper.”

  Wicked’s paw snapped out and smacked me on the side of the face. He’d included just a tiny bit of claw on the slap, enough to snap me out of my pity party. “Ow! Stop that.”

  He wriggled in my arms and jumped agilely to the floor. Trotting over to the stairs, he stopped and looked my way before bounding up the steps and disappearing through the door into my apartment.

  Sighing, I gave the magic book one last look and then followed him up. I’d splash water on my face, grab a drink of water, and then see if my mind cleared enough to help me figure out what to do next.

  I stepped into my apartment and my gaze went to the spot on the floor where Sebille’s hair had been. I moved across the room and yanked open the drawer to my nightstand, looking down at the coiled ribbon of hair. I’d tied the strands with a piece of string to keep them together. Hopefully, the tied clump of silky red hair wouldn’t be the only thing I had left of Sebille when the smoke cleared.

  With a sigh, I closed the drawer and headed into the kitchen.

  I found Mr. Wicked sitting on the table beside my laptop and my teacup from that morning.

  That had been such a long time ago. It seemed like years. Looking at the teacup made me sad. I no longer had to worry about Mr. Slimy planting his squishy backside in my cup. I should have been happy about that.

  But I kind of missed the bug-eyed little guy.

  The frog, not the Quilleran joy-riding in his fleshy green body.

  Of course I still had Wally. I looked around and didn’t see him at first, until I heard a deep-throated “Bawump!” coming from the bathroom. I felt all the blood running from my face.

  Please tell me he wasn’t in the toilet. If he was, I might be tempted to jiggle the handle and sing the muffin mister song. No way was I reaching into the toilet…

  As I approached the door, the big frog hopped out, staring at me as if he was trying to decide if I was a dinner option.

  “Don’t even think about it, Mister.” It might be time to get Wally something more substantial to eat than flies.

  My gaze slid to my computer. I had an email from Lea telling me the Fae were settled and were very excited about their new digs. That made me smile at least. I’d helped make something right for somebody.

  My email dinged and I looked at the address of the message that had just dropped into my box. Mqhighjinx@enchantedhigh.edu

  I frowned down at the email. I didn’t know anybody who worked at the high school. Did I?

  I opened it and saw a brief message that didn’t tell me much.

  Bleachers on FB field. 8pm. Don’t tell anybody.

  It looked like any other high school football field. The hundred yards of carefully kept green grass and the hulking form of the metal bleachers took me back to my own time at Enchanted High School. Those had been tough years for me, filled with unexpected magical leaks and inadvertent mystical explosions.

  Not pretty.

  But if there’s one thing that defines the teenage psyche, it’s resilience. That, and the ability to bury one’s head so deep in the sand you poop glass sculptures until you turn twenty-one.

  Since I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, I brought Lea along. Yeah, I know the email told me not to tell anyone.

  First of all, I don’t just do what I’m told when I have no idea who’s telling me. In fact, I’m kind of well known for not doing what I’m told period.

  I might have a teensy-weensy issue with authority.

  And, besides, I didn’t tell her. I just showed up at her house and said, “Come on, I need you to cover my back.”

  Lea being Lea, she didn’t even argue. She just asked if we could drive through Monster Burger on the way home. She’d been working in the greenhouse all day and hadn’t had time to eat.

  Monster Burger I could do. Solving any of my other problems, not so much. I’d given up trying to open the new KoA book after I’d been thrown across the room a few times. And I couldn’t come up with any other way to find Sebille, other than going to the Quilleran’s home again. As unpalatable as that option seemed, it might be the only thing left to do.

  I was stuck.

  Lea waited by the fence, her keen gaze locked on the bleachers and her cell phone clutched in her hand. I’d told her to call the police if anything looked even the slightest bit hinky.

  My phantom emailer hadn’t specified which bleachers I should come to, so I picked the home side, figuring I had a better than fifty percent chance of being right.

  Sure enough, as I approached the shadow-cloaked metal structure with an eel bracelet vibrating electrical energy on my wrist for magical protection, a girl-shaped portion of the shadows separated from the rest and stepped out in front of me.

  “Hi, Naida.”
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  I swallowed the lump in my throat and breathed a sigh of relief. “Maude. What’s this about? Are you okay?”

  I had a sudden, dire thought that inspired me to step closer than I probably should have to the teen. After all, she might seem kind and normal, but she was a Quilleran. “You’re not in danger, are you?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “Things are getting out of control. First Rustin and now…” She gave me a hesitant look and chewed the inside of her bottom lip. “I’m really sorry about all this. I feel like it’s my fault.”

  “Why in the world would you think that?” I asked the teen.

  She shrugged. “I gave Mr. Wicked to you.” She tucked a thick ribbon of wavy blonde hair behind one ear. I marveled at the color, wondering if it was real. I’d never met a Quilleran whose hair was any lighter than dark brown. “How is he, by the way?” she asked me shyly.

  “He’s great. Smarter than I am.”

  We shared a grin.

  “That litter is really smart. Magically, that is.” She seemed suddenly uncomfortable and I felt a jolt of regret. I’d probably created more heat for her with her family when I took the litter. “Look, I’m sorry we took the other cats. I just couldn’t leave them alone in that terrible place.”

  She shook her head. “I’m glad you did. I should have done it a long time ago. I wasn’t brave enough.” She chewed her lip for another moment. “I’ve been watching out for them, though. Feeding them treats and playing with them.”

  “That’s great, Maude. You’re much braver than you think. It took a lot of courage to give Wicked to me and it takes even more to go against your family and make sure they’re okay.”