Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Revelations

by Lydia Sherrer

  Her mentor remained silent as Lily walked around the pedestal several times, inspecting the exquisite example of ancient Sumerian literature from every angle.

  “This,” Madam Barrington began, “is the Tablet of Eridu. As you know, Eridu was considered the first city in the world by the ancient Sumerians. According to myth it was founded by the gods, specifically Enki, and from it was spread civilization as a gift from god to man. Undoubtedly an important center for trade, religion, and the arts, some sources even equate it to the Biblical city of Babel. Pulled from that great city’s ruins, this tablet contains incomplete accounts of the origins of the world, the gods, and mankind. It is not the only such work. The Nippur Tablet for example, holds similar accounts. But this is the only tablet we have that was added to by the hands of our wizard ancestors after being stamped into being by the historians of that time.

  “We know little about the first great wizards, purportedly descendants of the mythological Gilgamesh, the original recipient of magic from the gods. What we do know is that they took it upon themselves to preserve the first spells, hidden in plain sight, upon historical documents of their time. Dimmu runes beneath the cuneiform on this tablet outline some of the most primitive yet potent and dangerous spells known to wizardkind. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on your point of view, the tablet was broken many centuries ago. The pieces you see here—rediscovered during the 19th century by wizard archaeologists in search of links to our past—contain only parts of those spells. Despite the tablet’s relative uselessness, however, its potential was obvious. Thus, the wards.”

  Lily stared at the innocuous-looking piece of clay, the sharpness of its script speaking to the preserving power of the sand in which it had been buried. Both her imagination and scholarly instincts were excited by Madam Barrington’s words. “But what’s so dangerous about the spells? Wouldn’t the benefit outweigh the danger?” she asked.

  A humorless smile graced Madam Barrington’s lips. “When one can animate the dead, take dominion over creatures both man and beast, and control the elements themselves, then even the best of morals are susceptible to the realities of human nature. The saying that absolute power corrupts absolutely is no empty aphorism. Where magic is concerned, it is a deadly reality.”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “The tablet has such spells?”

  “So says ancient myth,” Madam Barrington replied, her expression dubious. “Without the complete tablet, we can only speculate. Regardless of the danger it poses to one’s morals, it has been many centuries since wizards possessed the power and force of will to cast such spells. Those who have tried have inevitably lost control and suffered the lethal consequences.”

  “Indeed,” Lily murmured, bending to examine the tablet again. During Madam Barrington’s speech her mind had instantly turned to the clay fragment carefully shut away in her desk. With such worn script it must have been unburied long before the tablet, but she could see where it might fit on one of the corners. Her boundless curiosity was tempered by common sense, however. Despite the enticing prospect of reuniting the pieces to learn their legendary spells, she wasn’t fool enough to think her abilities up to the task. She wondered if her mentor knew of the fragment and considered mentioning it, but some impulse held her back. Surely Madam Barrington knew; she’d been the Basement’s caretaker for decades. There was no need to bring it up. Yet.

  “Well,” Madam Barrington said into the silence, clapping her hands together. “Enough history. Our duty at present is to protect and preserve, not study. I am sure you have noticed the many wards around the case and room. We will be renewing them and adding a few improvements I have developed since my last visit.”

  They spent the next fifty minutes casting spell after spell. In each room they joined hands to make a circle of power—helpful when doing joint spell work—and together spoke words of power that shaped the magic laid over door mantels, sunk into floors, and woven through the walls. As they renewed each ward, Lily could see the myriad of dimmu rune anchors glowing in her mind’s eye. Wards could be cast without such anchors, but they were never as potent or lasting. Madam Barrington had already done the hard work two years ago when she’d meticulously engraved each rune, inlaying them with aluminum whose high energy density acted as a storehouse for magic. Lithium worked even better, but was too reactive to use safely.

  Though she knew all the standard ward spells, there were a few specialized ones her mentor taught her for the first time. She made careful note of each and committed them to memory, so as to record them in her eduba later. When Madam Barrington got to one of her customized “improvements,” Lily simply fell silent and fed her power into their combined link, letting her mentor shape the magic. Though not particularly complicated, the wards took time to shape and settle, and like all spells required concentration and force of will. When they stopped for a break halfway through, Lily went in search of water and brought back two folding chairs graciously provided by Mr. Baker. Madam Barrington nodded appreciatively when Lily reappeared: sitting on the floor was no longer as easy for her as it once was. Though neither of them were so fatigued they couldn’t stand, there was no point in wasting energy when so much was already being poured into their magic.

  About to resume their work, however, they were interrupted by Bewitched’s lively 1960s theme song. It echoed through the empty hall, the notes emanating from Lily’s tweed suit pocket. Madam Barrington’s eyebrows raised almost into her hairline, but she made no comment as Lily hastily withdrew the phone and put it to her ear.

  “What is it? I’m rather busy.”

  “Well, hello to you too, grumpy-face,” Sebastian chortled, unfazed by her repressive tone. His status as Madam Barrington’s great-grandnephew was made complicated by the fact that he was also a witch—a disgrace to wizardkind in the Madam’s opinion, which was why she had disowned him. That made talking to him in front of her a bit awkward.

  “To the point, Sebastian. I’m in the middle of spell-casting.”

  “Okay, okay. We need to talk. There’s been some…well, I’ve recently heard something you ought to know. It’s important.”

  Resisting the temptation to demand more detail, Lily simply replied, “Why don’t you call back in an hour, I can talk then.”

  There was a pregnant pause. “I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.”

  “At my apartment, then, this evening?”

  “Nope. I have to move on this now, or not at all. What I do depends on what you think of my information.”

  Lily sighed, amazed, as usual, at Sebastian’s talent for finding trouble, as this no doubt was. “Fine. I’m at the Clay Museum, on Emory campus. I’ll be done with my work by ten. You can meet me here.”

  “Got it. See you then,” he said, and abruptly hung up.

  Confused, Lily stared at her phone, then looked up to see Madam Barrington’s eyes on her. If her mentor was curious, it didn’t show. She simply looked politely impatient to get back to their task. Taking a deep breath to clear her mind and refocus, Lily joined hands with her once again and they got back to work.

  * * *

  Five minutes before ten they finished their last spell. Letting the power sink into its dimmu anchor, they took several long moments to slowly withdraw from their combined link to the Source and settle themselves. Afterwards, Lily gathered the chairs and they returned to Mr. Baker’s office. He was expecting a large group of middle schoolers on field trip just then, so they simply thanked him and departed for the parking lot.

  “I would be delighted to have you over for a bracing cup of Irish breakfast and a sit down,” Madam Barrington commented as they walked. “But I seem to recall you have a pending appointment.”

  “Um, yes. Sebastian needs to discuss something, and…” she paused, thinking of the long, long conversation she needed to have with her cat. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy the rest of today,” she finished regretfully.

  “Well,” her mentor said, “it has been t
oo long since we shared a cup. You must join me for tea Saturday afternoon.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Lily said, hoping against hope whatever Sir Kipling had gotten himself into would be resolved by then. Speaking of Sir Kipling… “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a cat who could talk?” she asked. “In wizard histories, that is,” she added hurriedly at the look on her mentor’s face.

  Madam Barrington thought about it as they approached her car. “Beyond myth and ancient folklore, I know of no historical documentation of any such thing. Spells to impart human speech and intelligence on creatures have been attempted, of course, but with no success.”

  “I see,” Lily said, shoulders slumping. “Well, I’ll see you Saturday. Four o’clock?”

  “As always,” Madam Barrington said with a smile, and got into her ancient Buick.

  Once her mentor had left, Lily returned to the Museum and entered the now-open café in search of something hot to drink. Much to her disappointment, though not surprise, they had only coffee. Resigned, she settled at a café table with an overpriced bottle of water, a banana, and a plain bagel. Meager fare, to be sure, but it would have to do.

  After breakfast, she got started satisfying her curiosity with a thorough tour of the museum’s exhibits. She was leaned over, engrossed in her examination of a terra cotta kylix—a type of Ancient Greek drinking cup—when she felt a light prickle on the back of her neck. It was so similar to the tickle of creepy-crawly spider legs that she let out an involuntary scream, shooting upright to writhe frantically, brushing the back of her neck. She loathed spiders.

  A loud guffaw sounded behind her and she spun to see Sebastian bent over, slapping his leg in glee. Several people looked their way in disapproval, obviously disturbed by the noise.

  Blushing beet red, Lily grabbed Sebastian’s elbow and towed him to an out-of-the-way alcove in the lobby. His guffaws had subsided by the time she spun him toward her, glaring daggers up into his amused face.

  “That was absolutely—”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!” Sebastian cut her off, holding up his hands. “I couldn’t help it. You were so enthralled by whatever ancient kitchenware you were looking at you didn’t even hear me calling your name. How could I resist?”

  Lily’s mouth snapped shut as a fresh wave of heat flared in her cheeks, though her expression didn’t soften. “You could have tapped me on the shoulder like any other decent, well-bred, sane person.”

  “Weeell, since I’m none of those things…” he said slowly, unable to suppress his grin.

  She stood, arms crossed, wanting to stay angry, but knowing it was a waste of effort.

  “You,” she finally said, “are an incorrigible…obstreperous…indecent…heathen!” Her words were punctuated by fulminating pauses as she searched for words worthy of her ire. It was one thing to play pranks on her in private. But to do it in public…at least neither Madam Barrington nor Mr. Baker had been present.

  Sebastian cast his eyes downward, undertaking an honest show of remorse. Unfortunately for him, it was ruined by the echoes of laughter still shining from his eyes and tucked into the corners of his mouth when he looked back up at her.

  “I’m terrible, I know. But now that we’re all agreed, can we get to business?” he asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t the one keeping us from it in the first place, you—oh, never mind.” Lily took a deep, calming breath. “What did you need to tell me?”

  At that, Sebastian’s expression lost its mirth. His eyes darted from side to side, checking the lobby for occupants. Apparently satisfied, he drew Lily close as he stepped further back into the alcove.

  “Word on the street is someone’s looking for a grifter. Specifically, a grifter of the, uh, witch persuasion so to speak.”

  “Wait, so…someone’s looking for you?” Lily asked, misunderstanding with studied deliberateness.

  Sebastian adopted an affronted look. “How dare you suggest such a thing? I don’t swindle people, I’ll have you know. All my tricks are completely honest and legitimate.”

  That got him an eye roll.

  “No, it’s for a job,” he said, forging onward. “Someone, somewhere, is looking to hire a witch with…less than legal skills. I, of course, don’t fit their bill. But I keep my ear to the ground and I know people. I usually hear about it when this sort of request gets circulated. My question for you is: what should we do about it?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Lily said, now genuinely confused.

  “Isn’t it obvious? If they want a witch grifter they’re after something magical. And stealing something magical is never a good thing. You’re the most magical person I know—well, the most magical person I trust, anyway—so I’m telling you.”

  “But why?” Lily asked again. “It could literally be anything under the sun, and it’s usually a bad idea to get involved with unknown magic or magic users. We have no idea what we might be getting into, and I’m tired of you dragging me into situations like that.”

  “Okay,” he said, “so, what if I get more information? More detail. If we know what it is, we can stop it.”

  “Or, you could just apply for the job, and when they pick you, turn them over to the police. Quick and easy.”

  Now it was Sebastian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t be naive on purpose, Lil. It’s unbecoming. No one with the balls to get involved with witches would be idiotic enough to give their hired criminals a loaded gun. They’ll make sure there’s no way to connect them to the crime; they’ll use middlemen. But even if we can’t catch the mastermind, we can stop them from getting their hands on what they want.”

  “I suppose,” Lily said, grudgingly. She’d given up trying to stop Sebastian from calling her “Lil.” He enjoyed it more when she complained.

  Contemplating Sebastian’s news, her mind went to the mysterious wizard they’d met in Pitts. The problem was that she knew too little about him to even guess if he was behind this shadowy plot. They’d already foiled one of his attempts to get a magical artifact, but he’d claimed it was a family heirloom and so rightly his, anyway.

  Speaking of magical artifacts…

  “Follow me,” she said, and stalked away. Though still annoyed, she knew she should do something. Madam Barrington had always taught her magic was a gift, not a privilege, and all wizards were duty-bound to be responsible stewards of it. Having the knowledge and skill to help, how could she justify hiding in her library and hoping the problem would go away? She just hoped this problem didn’t attract FBI attention. Having claimed ignorance during their interview about the Pitts incident, she didn’t know how long that song and dance would remain convincing if she kept popping up on their radar.

  Sebastian ran to catch up as she wove around small groups of museum visitors, headed for the Near East exhibit hall. They stopped in front of the Tablet of Eridu’s pedestal.

  “What is it?” he asked, bending down to take a closer look.

  “It’s a very ancient tablet inscribed with Sumerian myths,” Lily said, then glanced around. Several people stood nearby looking at other artifacts, so she lowered her voice before continuing. “Underneath the writing are some incomplete but powerful spells that could wreak havoc in the wrong hands.”

  “Hmm. You think this could be it, then?” he asked, matching her low tone.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt anyone could get to it. Madam Barrington and I just renewed the wards this morning. But take a good look, anyway, so you’ll remember it.”

  He did so, examining it from several angles. Stepping back to get a wider view, he accidentally bumped into an older woman with large glasses and various drawing implements behind both ears. Probably an amateur artist, she’d been sketching the ancient Egyptian statue of Ra that sat across from the tablet’s pedestal. They apologized profusely to each other, then returned to their respective tasks.

  “It’s not much to look at, is it?” he finally commented.

  Lily roll
ed her eyes. “It’s not supposed to be, silly. It’s impressive because it’s one of the oldest surviving written records of any kind. This is basically the oldest book in the world.”

  “Kinda makes ya drool, doesn’t it?” said a perky voice beside her, and she jumped for the second time that day.

  A young woman, cute as a button with brown hair in a pixie cut, had moved up silently beside her and was examining the tablet with a thoughtful expression. Though probably in her mid-twenties, she was so slender and petite she looked barely legal. Her garish metal band t-shirt—complete with unreadable words and an overabundance of skulls—along with ripped jeans and grunge boots almost gave Lily a fit.

  “Um…excuse me?” Lily said, trying for an arch tone but sounding distracted instead as she tried to recover from the assault on her fashion sensibility.

  “I said, doesn’t it make you drool? I mean, come on, the oldest book in the world? Who wouldn’t want that?”

  Before Lily could reply, Sebastian inserted himself into the conversation. “Well, I’m drooling, but I don’t think it’s because of some lump of clay, no matter how old it is.” He winked and gave the girl his most charming smile. “I’m Sebastian. Wanna get a drink?”

  The girl laughed, a tinkling sound that made Lily cringe more than the outfit had.

  “Nice try, sweetie. But you couldn’t keep up with me.”

  “Try me. You haven’t seen the things I normally have to keep up with.”

  His bold words made the girl laugh again, and Lily gritted her teeth. She cleared her throat, trying to get Sebastian’s attention, but he ignored her.

  “That’s cute,” the girl was saying, “but I’ll pass. I wouldn’t want to bruise that ego of yours, since it’s probably the only big thing you have.” With a wink she walked away, leaving Sebastian with his jaw hanging open.

  Lily snorted and covered her mouth, trying only halfheartedly to hide her smirk. She was secretly pleased at the rebuff, but avoided thinking about the hot flush she’d felt during the exchange. It was different from the prickly annoyance Sebastian often evoked, more intense, almost primal. She told herself it wasn’t jealousy—that would be ridiculous—and put the matter from her mind.