by Laura Rich
It was later in the evening by then, and most of the Rennies who work the festival circuit were away at a community potluck dinner before opening morning, so I didn’t see a soul on my way. It was a good thing too.
Our purple tent lit up from within with flashes of magic. Smoke rose from one blackened corner. I had no idea how to approach this situation other than to go right in. I needed to know if Mom was okay, so I crept silently to the doorway and peeked around the curtain.
Inside the long tent, Mom had her back to me and her arms extended. Thin bursts of electricity streamed alternately from her fingertips. Her strategy was working—her opponent, a big, hulking, dark-haired man dressed in dark jeans, a black T-shirt, and thick-soled work boots, had taken multiple hits and seemed to be weakened.
Among the shield bracelets on his thick wrist was a heavily charmed bracelet, which signaled to me that this was one bad dude. Only bad witches and supernatural creatures who did dark magic used a bracelet like that. I couldn’t recall the name of the charm bracelet, but supposedly it somehow deflected the negative effects of being evil to people—kind of like a ward against the bad karma that inevitably came with the territory.
Mom had a few smoking holes in her dress but otherwise hadn’t sustained any visible injuries. She probably didn’t want to completely blow him away for fear of attracting human attention but instead wanted to weaken him to the point where he could be handled by the police and taken away. My mom was a very smart woman.
The big man went down heavily on one knee, and I decided it was safe to enter the tent. I did so quietly, so as not to startle Mom. It didn’t work.
“Kate!” she exclaimed.
The man took that opportunity to use a stubby wand and shot a gossamer-like silver net in Mom’s direction. It hit her like a splash of water, conformed to her body, and squeezed her arms to her sides. She fell over with a thud and gasped for air.
“Mom!” I dropped to her side. My head ached as I felt her constriction.
“Don’t touch her,” snarled the man. He heaved himself to his feet, and his bracelet charms clinked. He staggered towards Mom and finally found his footing. “That net will suck you in, too, if you touch it. My bounty is only for her.”
His eyes met mine and darted away.
I pulled my hands back from where they had almost touched the net, and I rocked back on my heels. My breaths came short as I felt what my mother felt. “She can’t breathe very well,” I panted. My mom’s lack of air caused me to become dizzy, and my head throbbed.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “It won’t hurt her.”
Mom wheezed.
“Don’t . . . look for me,” she gasped.
I felt her fear as if it were my own, down to the core of my being. This man terrified her.
With incredible effort, she spoke again. “Listen to me . . . for once.”
But all I could think was, who makes my mother, a powerful witch, afraid? Anger built inside me. I had magic now, but I also had this stupid empathy that rendered it useless.
“Who are you?” I growled at the man.
I was usually good at telling ages, but with his weathered face, I guessed he could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty.
“Bounty hunter,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Is that the same as kidnapping? Because that’s what it looks like from here.”
He glared at me and mumbled a few words, then a quick sizzle of magic formed a barrier around his body. He grabbed Mom around the middle and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Lot of money in this one.”
“Whose money?” I tried to stand but couldn’t even catch my breath. My stupid empathy forced me to feel the pain, fear, and immobilization my mother felt. “Where are you taking her?”
He ignored me and left the tent, taking my mother with him.
“Mom!” I gasped. I reached out a hand after them in an effort to engage some of my new magic to save her, but nothing happened. My vision went dark and I slumped to the floor, unconscious for the second time today.
3
My empathy was distance-based. Someone I empathized with could walk up to a good mile before I’d lose the connection, so I knew when my mother was out of range because my breath returned to normal, and I staggered to my feet in the darkness. Night had fallen in the time it took me to wake up from this episode. That was intense.
I rushed outside the tent, but of course there was no sign of the hulking bounty hunter and my mother. I took a few steps toward the back of the grounds where I thought I’d seen him headed, but that was a loosely defined boundary, at best. Organizers did their best to fence in the parameters but still lost admission fees from creative freeloaders sneaking in through the wooded areas that surrounded the fairgrounds. Of course to do anything fun at the renfest, you had to spend money, so the organizers had the last laugh. That also meant the bounty hunter could have gone any direction to reach a parked car and a road.
Based on how long it had taken me to recover from this empathy episode, he was long gone.
My chest squeezed in anxiety. The last time I’d been separated from my mother for any length of time, I’d been small. She’d been struck by a car and went into a magical coma of sorts. I had a heck of a time moving her unconscious body into the workshop and evading all sorts of helpful social service workers until she recovered. But I was almost an adult now. And I was a witch.
I shook my head, remembering my mother’s words as she struggled to speak through the enchantment. Don’t look for me. Listen for once.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t do that,” I whispered.
Slowly, the panic faded and anger replaced it. Fists clenched, I stomped back to our trailer while a plan formed. I would finally get to use some of the spells I had only read about up until now.
Ward disarmed, I flung the door open in time to see Gringo scratching at the bathroom door like his life depended on it.
The bird. I had forgotten about my new familiar.
“Gringo!” I yelled, chasing him away.
He didn’t leave the trailer, but he moved away from the door with a yowl.
I glared at him and slid the pocket door open a crack. “Uh, pigeon? You okay in there?”
There was no sound or movement, and the bird didn’t speak to me like before. I scooted in and shut the door behind me before Gringo could rush in. It took me a moment to realize that my bird familiar was not on the sink, but on the floor, lying prone. I knelt down beside her and placed my hand on her body. She didn’t appear to be breathing.
“Oh, pigeon,” I said. “I’m sorry.” And I was. She wasn’t the familiar I wanted, but I hated to see any animal in pain or dead.
I had a cringing thought . . . maybe now I could get a new familiar, a real one.
Suddenly, the tiny mass of feathers flinched and struggled to her feet. “Witch!” she squeaked. “I felt very tired, so I laid down to rest. Thank you for waking me up!”
I stared. Had she just come back to life? What kind of magic was this?
I did a double take when I noticed her dark eyes weren’t quite . . . straight.
“Great, I have a lame, cross-eyed pigeon as a familiar.” I rubbed my forehead.
“What?” squawked the bird.
“Nothing,” I said. “What happened to you?”
“I don’t know. You left and I tried to wash off the blood, and then everything went black.” the bird shuddered. “I don’t want that to happen again."
Gringo scratched at the door and yowled.
“Go away, cat!” I slapped the door. “No dinner in here for you tonight.”
The bird tilted her head toward the door, then waddled around in a circle, her eyes lolling around. “The cat says to let him in.”
“No, he will eat you.” I shook my head. “Wait. How do you know that? What Gringo said?”
“Gringo? That’s a funny name,” she said. “Hey, what’s my name?”
“Mom named him.” Why
was I letting myself be distracted by this bird when I had to find a spell to save my mother? “I don’t know your name, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t have time for this.” I ran my hand through my hair.
“Gringo says I can help with finding your mom if you give me a name and keep me near until the third sunset.” She tilted her head and blinked. “It hurt me when you left.”
“It did?” I said. I wondered if this was the tricky part that Mom had mentioned about managing a familiar. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She cooed aloud. “You didn’t know. But now you do. So name me.”
Gringo scratched at the door.
“If I open the door, do you know if Gringo will attack?” I said. “Does he talk to you in your head like you talk to me?”
“Yes, the same way.” She paced in front of me, head bobbing front to back. “He said he would not hurt me now that I am your familiar. It's against the Familiar Code of Ethics.”
I raised an eyebrow and wondered just what was in the Familiar Code of Ethics. With a shrug, I slid the pocket door open to reveal Gringo, tail curved elegantly around his seated form, waiting on the other side.
“No eating.” I shook my finger at him.
The tip of his tail flicked once in response.
The pigeon gasped. “I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say to my . . . hey, what is your name?”
“I’m Kate,” I said.
“I’m-Kate!” said the pigeon haughtily. “You will not say such things to I’m-Kate, Gringo-cat.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Just Kate.” I eyed “Gringo-cat” with a sly smile. “And I’m sure he’s said worse.”
“Be that as it may, now that I can hear him, he will behave, Just-Kate,” said my little avian defender. “Is that like a nickname or just another variation of ‘I’m-Kate’? I’m somewhat confused by some of the names people call themselves.”
I giggled and shook my head. “My name is Kate.”
“Ah, okay.” The pigeon waddled to my knee. “Now, you must name me to make the bond complete, Kate.”
I looked at Gringo.
He nodded.
As I looked upon the pigeon’s white feathers and recalled the glowing orb I’d created to make her my familiar, the only image that came to mind was of the moon. “Luna,” I said. “Your name is Luna.”
4
A warm glow enveloped us, and a sharp prick of pain etched on my chest.
“Ouch!” I rubbed the spot over my heart. It felt like what I imagined getting a tattoo would be like, so I pulled the neck of my T-shirt away and peeked to see if it had left a mark. A small, angry red spot appeared over my heart and began to turn on my flesh like a pinwheel. As it did, it drew new colors in until it became a rainbow mix. It was very pretty, but each new color brought a new shade of pain—some slicing, some stabbing, some just throbbing. The entire thing felt like a nickel-shaped open wound.
I released my shirt and glared at Gringo. “Did you know this would happen?”
He smiled and rose to his feet, tail held high, and looked at Luna, then back at me. His smile faded and he flicked his tail a few times, then strutted out through the cat door.
“That’s right, Gringo,” Luna said. “Just keep on walking.” She patted my arm with her wing. “It’s just a pinch, dear, isn’t it?”
I didn’t want to appear wimpy in front of a bird who’d just survived a cat attack and a rather bumpy transformation into a familiar, so I bit my tongue and shrugged. “No big deal.” I rubbed the spot again, which only made it hurt more.
“Now we’re a pair, you and I,” Luna said. “But remember, Gringo said we can’t be parted until the third sunset or I die.”
“Does tonight count as one?” I said. “The sun had already set when we did this.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure,” she said. “Best start counting today.”
I looked at the wobbly little bird, and my heart tightened in a surprising feeling of protectiveness. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
The pain had dulled to an intermittent throb, so I peeked inside with a raised eyebrow to see that my wound had resolved itself into a white silhouette of a tubby little bird with a tiny head—Luna. “Oh, wow.” I pulled my shirt neck down so she could see.
She strutted up and turned her head one way, then the other, to inspect my new magical tattoo. “Very nice.” She nodded. “A good likeness.”
I had to agree, though I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about being marked in this way. Did Mom have a tiny black cat mark over her heart? If she did, I’d never seen it, but she didn’t wear lower-cut blouses in general. I tried to recall a time when she might have, then felt a wave of sadness over her kidnapping, and my eyes went far.
“Halloo?” Luna waved a wing in front of my face. “Are you in there?”
“Sorry.” I shook my head. Sitting around moping wasn’t going to help Mom. “I was drifting. What were you saying?”
“I was saying that it seems like you should get started on that spell to find your mother,” Luna said.
“Right, I’m so caught up in what’s going on with me that I totally forgot why I came back here.” I glanced at Luna. “No offense. I would have come back to check on you eventually.”
“Don’t even worry about that,” Luna said. “I know you would have. You have a kind heart.”
“I do?” I said. I offered my hand to Luna.
She sort of hopped on it, and I cradled her to my chest.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “I can tell these things about people. Always could.”
“Hmm.” I moved us to the small living room and eyed the carpet that covered the workshop door. Could I use magic, like my mom did, to lift the heavy piece of wood that covered the opening? I took a steady breath and focused on the rug.
“What are you doing?” said Luna. Her feathers ruffled.
“Trying to open the workshop door.” I gritted my teeth in concentration.
“Well, stop it,” she said. “That doesn’t feel very good.”
I gave up with a sigh. “What do you mean?”
“It feels like the time I accidentally landed on a live telephone wire,” she said. “I felt this strange humming sensation through my body. Left me wonky for days.”
“Well, crap, that’s not right!” I said. “So now I can’t use the magic I finally have, after waiting all this time, because it could hurt you?”
Luna tilted her head. “No, I don’t think that’s the case. It didn’t feel like this when you made me your familiar. Maybe it’s what you’re trying to do?”
I shook my head. This was going to be more complicated than just plugging in a lamp to turn on a light. If Mom were here . . . well, if Mom were here, I wouldn’t have half the problems I had today.
Instead of electrocuting my bird by trying to magically lift the trap door, I touched the beak of the rooster clock on the wall three times, which triggered the current charm that Mom set up for me. Every so often, for security, Mom moved the charm. If anyone got past the front-door wards, which was unlikely, they would still have a hard time opening the trap door without it, as it weighed (or felt like) a billion tons. We didn’t want intruders down there because it led to our workshop, which was full of magical artifacts . . . and didn’t exist in this world.
You see, attached to the heavily charmed trap door in the floor of our trailer was something called a pocket dimension—a space from another reality. Apparently she had some kind of interdimensional rental agreement with an absentee owner that involved payment with lots and lots of purslane—a little weed that grew everywhere around here. I had to harvest it and bring it back home whenever I found it so she could send it to him for who-knows-what purpose. It was all very complicated.
Anyway, if you looked under our trailer, you would see nothing out of the ordinary, but if you went inside and somehow got that door opened, you would see a set of thirteen earthen steps descending into th
e ground. If you went down those steps, there would be another door, which would open to our cavernous workshop.
I descended into the darkness with my bird, my steps illuminated by torches that burst into flame at my approach. The dome-shaped cavern was lit by enchanted candles triggered by our presence. I deposited Luna on the workshop table and went to the bookshelves, passing the ragged practice dummy my mother used to try out new defensive spells. I grabbed a few texts I knew contained spells likely to prove useful.
“What are we doing now?” Luna waddled to the edge of the table near me.
“Okay, so from my studies with Mom, I know a wide variety of spells,” I said, “but from an academic perspective only. Typically a witch would learn foundational skills that draw upon their innate connection to one of the four elements—earth, air, water, and fire—and build upon them, advancing from easy spells like producing a flame to more complex actions like transmutation.”
“Okay,” she said. “Which one do you have?”
“Mom’s strongest connection is to air, which gives her the ability to call on lightning and electricity. I don’t know which element I can use yet.” I pursed my lips and looked around, waiting for inspiration to strike. “It’s not really an inherited tendency.”
“What are those?” She nodded at a cup of wands on the shelf. “Are they useful?”
“Well, yeah, theoretically,” I said, taking out a long, thin one. “Wands are like training wheels—they help focus and direct. They’re typically used when learning a new skill. I’m just not sure . . .”
“Not sure about what?” Luna hopped up and down. “We’re burning moonlight here, kid! Let’s get moving!”
“I’ve never had to apply magic to a problem before! I have no idea where to begin.” I took a breath, feeling overwhelmed. “Then there’s the karma . . .”
“Karma?” Luna said. “I knew a chameleon named Karma once. Ironically, he was kind of a jerk.”
I gave her a double take and laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” she said.