Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Revelations

by Lydia Sherrer

  Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Revelations

  The Lily Singer Adventures Book 2

  Lydia Sherrer

  Chenoweth Press

  To Droopy, who keeps me sane (sort of)

  Contents

  I. Episode 3

  1. Unexpected Conversations

  2. Two Sugars With a Pinch of Foreboding

  3. Major Magic

  4. Danger Walks Among Us

  Epilogue

  Interlude

  Witchy Times

  II. Episode 2

  1. The Pitfalls of Well-Meant Interference

  2. The Stories We Tell

  3. Of Mothers and Men

  4. Sins of the Father

  Epilogue

  Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Allies

  Afterword

  Also by Lydia Sherrer

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Episode 3

  Lost and Found

  1

  Unexpected Conversations

  Beams of late afternoon sunlight poured through Lily Singer’s living room window, casting a bright patch of warmth on the rug. It was the only bit of July heat that made it into the air-conditioned refuge of her apartment. She sat cross-legged in the bright rectangle surrounded by open books and scattered papers. Her cat, Sir Edgar Allan Kipling, lay artfully sprawled across the mess, paws in the air and fluffy tummy soaking up the warmth like a sponge. Being a cat, he always seemed to be lying on the exact paper she was looking for, no matter where she moved him.

  Lily usually did her research and casting in the Basement, her magical archive beneath the McCain Library of Agnes Scott College, where she worked as archives manager. Yet, the Basement lacked natural light, so she’d relocated to her living room in an attempt to translate the cuneiform from a fragment of clay tablet the size of a matchbox. Its worn marks were exceptionally hard to see, so the sunshine helped.

  Thus far, by cross-referencing her most reliable lexicon with archeological accounts dating to the nineteenth century, she’d been able to confidently identify only a single grouping of marks. They made reference to Ninmah, the Sumerian goddess of the earth and animals. More fascinating than the cuneiform, however, were the dimmu runes hidden beneath, invisible to the mundane, non-wizard eye. They were easier to see but no less confusing as they differed from the standardized runes in her eduba—her personal archive contained within a single, enchanted tome. She assumed the runes differed because they predated the centuries of study and research she benefited from. Whatever they meant, exactly, the runes appeared to be part of a controlling spell. Without the complete tablet for context, however, she couldn’t know for sure.

  Technically, she was supposed to be working on the engravings for her new ward bracelet. Madam Barrington, her teacher in the wizarding arts as well as the former Agnes Scott archives manager, had lent her a standard ward after her original bracelet broke under the strain of magical backlash. It was enough to tide her over, but it was no replacement for a true, personally crafted ward. While digging through the Basement’s drawers looking for supplies, however, she’d come across this fragment. Enkinim, the language of magic and therefore her primary study, was related to Sumerian in the same way magical dimmu runes were related to cuneiform. Curiosity and the promise of a challenge had been too much to resist.

  She was peering at the fragment when a ringing interrupted her. Laying the piece of clay down on a pile of reference papers, she headed for her purse in the bedroom. As an introvert, she had few friends, and an observant, rather than interactive, presence online, and so rarely kept her phone nearby. Glancing at the caller ID, she was surprised but delighted to see who it was. Madam Barrington didn’t often use the phone.

  “Good evening, Ms. B.”

  “Good evening, Miss Singer,” she replied. Despite having been Lily’s mentor for the past seven years, Madam Barrington was old-fashioned to the core and rarely addressed anyone by their first name. “I trust I’m not interrupting anything important?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “If you are able to excuse yourself from holding office hours tomorrow, an opportunity to further your professional and magical knowledge has arisen. The Tablet of Eridu exhibit at the Clay Museum will be closing at the end of the month. The artifact is on loan from the Hermann Hilprecht Museum of the University of Pennsylvania and has great historical as well as magical significance. I worked in partnership with the Clay Museum’s curator two years ago when the exhibit opened; they have requested my help again to ensure the artifact’s safe return. I agreed on the condition that you be allowed to assist. I am, after all, retired.” Lily heard the faintest hint of dry humor in her mentor’s voice and smiled. Like all wizards, Madam Barrington was long-lived and well preserved. She’d retired to let Lily take over management of the archives, not because of age or infirmity.

  “I’d be delighted to join you. Fall term is a good month away and the summer students rarely darken my door. When and where shall I meet you?”

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning at the Clay Museum. It is located on Emory University grounds.”

  “I’ll be there,” Lily said, making a note in her datebook.

  “Very good, Miss Singer. I shall see you then.”

  They exchanged farewells and Lily hung up, thoughtful. She was familiar with Emory. It was a private research university north of Agnes Scott in the Druid Hills area of Atlanta. She’d been to their archives once or twice, as well as taken a few of their library science classes to augment her work experience at McCain, but she had never visited the Clay Museum.

  Returning to her patch of sunlight and pile of papers, she was horrified to find Sir Kipling licking the clay fragment.

  “Stop that! Shoo, shoo!” Lily hurried over and Sir Kipling, knowing he was in trouble, fled to relative safety underneath her desk.

  “You ridiculous cat. Why must you bother everything?” she lamented to herself, picking up the fragment. Examining it, she was relieved to see it was barely damp at all, with no damage to its markings. A glance under the desk revealed her errant pet, who was now cleaning his paw with supreme unconcern, pausing occasionally to blink at her.

  “Cats,” she grumbled, settling back down in the patch of sunlight. She needed to get more deciphering done before the daylight weakened and she had to start thinking about bed. Nine a.m. came early and she wanted to look, and feel, her best for an appointment at a prestigious university museum.

  * * *

  Lily woke Wednesday morning, not to the sound of her alarm clock, but to the soothing vibrations of a purring cat. She had an uncomfortable feeling she’d overslept, but was distracted from it by the warm, heavy ball of fur settled comfortably on her chest.

  Groaning, she tried to push him off. “Kip, you better not have turned off my alarm again.”

  Sir Kipling, however, didn’t want to move. He dug his claws into the sheets and resisted her groggy attempt to dislodge him. “Well, if it weren’t so loud and annoying, I wouldn’t have to take matters into my own paws,” he protested.

  “It’s supposed to be loud and annoying to wake me—”

  She froze, going cross-eyed in an attempt to see the feline perched atop her. Her muddled, half-asleep brain tried, and failed, to make sense of what she’d just heard. It’d sounded like meowing, but also like words. She stared at her cat and he stared back, eyes half-lidded.

  “Did you…?” She paused, giving her head a shake to dislodge the cobwebs in her brain. “I thought I heard…good grief, I’m imagining a conversation with my cat. I need a hot shower.” She sat up for real this time,
her movement threatening to spill Sir Kipling onto the bedcovers.

  Twisting with signature feline agility, he launched off her chest and landed on the edge of the bed in a dignity-preserving move, then turned to lick his mussed fur into submission. “A hot shower won’t fix your problems,” he commented between licks.

  Lily stared, speechless, no longer sure of her own sanity.

  Sir Kipling paused his ministrations to look at her. “If you insist on sitting there being shocked, you might as well make yourself useful and pet me.”

  “I—” She stopped, then tried again. “You…talk?”

  A smug look was all the reply she got.

  “Wait, that’s not—since when?” Lily was still shocked, but her brain at least had started working again. She’d adopted Sir Kipling as a stray kitten during her last year of college and had never gotten the slightest inkling he was anything but a normal cat.

  “Since now,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t be silly. Cats don’t randomly start—” she paused, suddenly suspicious. “Was it that fragment of tablet? Wonderful. Just splendid. What did you do?”

  He sniffed archly. “You’d think you weren’t happy to talk to me. Well, good morning to you, too. I’m just fine, thanks for asking.”

  Lily rolled her eyes. He was perfectly healthy but probably wouldn’t cooperate unless she mollified him. Typical cat.

  “I trust you’re well this morning? Did whatever you got up to last night damage anything vital?” She couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm, but he ignored it.

  “Now that you mention it, there is this place on my back that’s been itching all night—”

  “Sir Edgar Allan Kipling,” she interrupted in a voice that brooked no nonsense. “To the point, please.”

  “Well, if you insist,” he said, taking his time to stretch and yawn before continuing. “I did nothing at all. I was just minding my own business when that piece of dirt you’ve been staring at—”

  “You mean the clay fragment?”

  Sir Kipling stopped, ears tilted back in annoyance. Lily closed her mouth. After a deliberate pause, he continued. “Yes, the piece of dirt. It started glowing and then…well, let’s just say interesting times are coming, and someone thought you could use a little help.”

  “What? What’s that supposed to mean? What’s coming? Who are you talking about?”

  “Well, I could answer your questions, but then you’d be late for your meeting.”

  Glancing at her alarm clock she yelped and jumped out of bed, heading for the shower. She had barely thirty minutes to do what normally took an hour, and she would have to skip breakfast.

  Hand on the bathroom door, she turned and glared at her cat who’d settled comfortably onto the warm spot she’d just vacated. His eyes had closed, as if in sleep, and all four paws were tucked under him, making him look like a fluffy loaf of bread—a catloaf.

  “This isn’t over, Sir. You and I will be having a very long conversation when I get home.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply as she rushed into the bathroom to get ready.

  * * *

  The A.T. Clay Museum, named after American Semitic archaeologist Albert Tobias Clay, was a modestly sized but nonetheless impressive building. Its columned marble facade was draped on either side with banners declaring its latest exhibits, and wide steps led up to a set of beautifully carved wooden doors.

  Picking up her pace as she hurried toward it, Lily tried to push thoughts of Sir Kipling’s shocking new skill to the back of her mind, needing to focus. She glanced at her watch. One minute to nine; at least she wouldn’t be late. She’d had the sense to prepare her outfit the evening before, thus avoiding any rushed fashion decisions. Her leather and mesh pump oxfords were vintage 1950s, their soft gray hue matching her linen suit worn over a cream chiffon blouse.

  As she neared the marble steps, she got a faint impression of magic in the air. Before she could examine the feeling further, however, she was distracted by the sight of Madam Barrington on the top step speaking to a man in the process of unlocking the large wooden doors. They both turned at the sound of her heels on the marble.

  “Ah, here she is,” said Madam Barrington. “Mr. Baker, may I present Miss Lily Singer, my replacement as Archive Manager at the McCain Library. She has graciously agreed to assist in preparing the tablet for return and is an accomplished curator and wizard in her own right.”

  Lily barely managed to hide her start of surprise at Madam Barrington’s word choice. Mounting the steps and grasping Mr. Baker’s hand in an uncertain shake, she probed gently, looking for signs of his magical gift. There were none. He was quite clearly a mundane.

  Seeing her look of confusion, Mr. Baker chuckled, his voice rich and jolly with the faintest trace of an Irish accent. “No, Miss Singer, I’m no wizard myself. But I’ve got a few in my family tree, and the smart ones know to stick together.” His short stature, rotund belly, and twinkling eyes put her in mind of a halfling. She wanted to ask what he meant by “the smart ones” and “stick together,” but she knew now was not the time. So she tucked the question away and moved to follow her mentor into the dark, echoing hall.

  She didn’t get far. As she attempted to step over the threshold, something stopped her and there was an unpleasant prickling on the back of her neck. A second attempt got her no further, and the unpleasant feeling of being repelled grew. Herself several steps into the hallway, Madam Barrington finally realized Lily was not following her and turned.

  “Oh, good heavens, I do apologize, Miss Singer,” she said, and came back. “This is partly why you are here, to study and help renew the magical wards on this building, one of which is a ward against magical blood, both man and beast. Here, take my hands.”

  Lily took them and found she could now pass through the doorway.

  “Once you add your magic to the ward, you will be able to pass unhindered,” Madam Barrington explained as they followed Mr. Baker to his office and he went through the process of waking the building’s systems from their nightly slumber.

  “What about all the other wizards?” Lily asked.

  Madam Barrington smiled dryly. “What other wizards? As you know, we are not precisely a thriving community. We do get a visitor now and then, but anyone who knows of the tablet also knows it is well protected, and therefore only accessed with approval from the local caretaker.”

  “I’m sorry, the local what?”

  “The wizard tasked with maintaining the tablet’s protection wherever it is on display. I have been its caretaker these two years it has resided in Atlanta.”

  “I see,” Lily said, mind dancing with even more questions than before. Madam Barrington had given her a thorough education in magical theory and spell casting, including all the major highlights of magical history. But the older woman had always been decidedly vague about current wizard society and customs, and there was a dearth of modern works in the Basement. She suspected Madam Barrington’s vagueness was connected to whatever had caused Lily’s own mother to divorce and move to the backwaters of Alabama when Lily was barely a toddler. Since then her mother had remarried and built a quiet country life, all while flatly refusing to talk about her family or past. She’d never breathed a word about magic to Lily. Lily grew up knowing she was different, but not why, and by the age of eighteen she’d had enough. After a huge fight with her mother, she’d left for Atlanta to attend Agnes Scott College and discover her past on her own.

  To her knowledge, her mother and Madam Barrington were not acquainted. Then again, you never knew. Her mentor had always been guarded when it came to personal questions. Lily respected the older woman’s privacy, but it was times like these that sorely tried her patience. It felt like she was part of a game where she knew all the moves, but none of the rules. Perhaps today’s work would shed more light on the rules, and players, she sought to understand.

  Mr. Baker returned from his office, his smile now lit by the soft glow of museum light
s all around them. “The doors don’t officially open ’til ten, so you have a good hour to work before any visitors arrive. I’ll be in my office. If you need anything, just pop right in.”

  “Thank you Mr. Baker, I am greatly obliged.” Madam Barrington said, inclining her head, then turning to Lily. “Come, Miss Singer. We shall begin by examining the tablet.”

  Madam Barrington led her down the marble-floored lobby, their steps echoing loudly in the silent museum. At the end of the hall, a security grill blocked access to a café and gift shop area. To the left were closed doors with a plaque that read “Reception Hall.” They turned right through large doors that opened onto a room filled with lit displays of ancient Roman and Greek pottery, jewelry, and artwork. They passed through this to a hall hung with drawings from Renaissance-era Europe. She caught a glimpse of Oriental art to her right, but Madam Barrington turned left and she followed.

  Lily’s skin tingled with anticipation and the ghost touch of more spells as they entered a large room filled with ancient Egyptian and Near East artifacts. At the end of the room stood two giant pillars, their tops touching the ceiling. Crooked joints were faintly visible where they had been pieced back together from whatever ruins they’d been pulled from. Between them was a single pedestal brightly lit by recessed lights in the ceiling above. Suspended within its display case was a tablet intricately stamped with tightly packed lines of cuneiform. Twice the size of her palm, it was missing most of the right edge so that each line of script disappeared into speculation. The three-quarters that remained had been painstakingly reconstructed from several large fragments and many smaller ones.