Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “It’s just been a good year, that’s all. Now quit the applesauce, mi’dear, and show me what you’ve got.” Gertrude always liked to get business over with first, and visit afterward, so Carol pulled the sack with the ring in it out of her pocket. She put it on the small, glass-topped table between them. Gertrude picked up the bag, opened it, and upended it into her hand. Out tumbled a silver ring, decorated with tiny ivy vines and oak leaves, and set with an oblong moonstone of an indistinct, milky translucency. Gertrude held the ring up to the light.

  Carol felt a tap at her foot. A red ball had mysteriously rolled up against it. Carol smiled. This was one of the spirits that lived here, in Gertrude’s house. She was a shy little girl who stayed in the solarium and liked to play with the ball. Carol had only seen her hand manifest itself, and once, a long lock of curled hair. Carol could feel the spirit’s combined amusement and curiosity. She bent down and rolled the ball back into the pots and plants. She could sense a delighted giggle… and the red ball came rolling back, quicker now, out of the foliage to stop by her toe. She rolled it back once more and winked at the spot where it disappeared between potted trees. She could feel the girl’s mirth settle over her shoulders for a moment like a tight hug.

  “What you have here, Carol, is a real focus, or patra,” Gertrude said, her face wary and thoughtful now. “This… well, this should not fall into the wrong hands, let’s just say that. But I can’t tell you what to do with it or how to fix it. Nope. Nada. I got nothin’, dearie. But I’ll tell you what… I’ll just give Edmund a ring and ask him to come take a gander and we’ll see what he says.”

  Hannah was walking back in with a tray full of teacups and a teapot when Gertrude said this. Her eyes widened with shock, and she stumbled, sending the teacups rattling and tea sloshing over their sides.

  “Mother! You know Edmund has been gone, missing for these last three years. You can’t have forgotten that again! He’s your son, for goodness sake!” She roughly deposited the tea-covered tray on the tabletop and stood up sharply, back straight with exasperation. She glanced at Carol. “You see, Aunt Carol? This is what I was telling you about. It’s usually only little things here and there… but she just can’t seem to hold on to the fact that Edmund’s gone!” Hannah’s face lowered with concern and she shook her head. “Look, you two have a nice visit. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” And she stalked off, arms crossed, grasping her own shoulders as if holding pieces of herself together, thinking of her missing brother.

  Carol remembered when she found out that Edmund had disappeared. Each member of the family had called her to ask if she had seen him, would she keep an eye out for him, would she ask around to find out if he had been seen at all. She had had to tell them each that she had not had any contact with him and would call them if she heard anything. That was three years ago, and he had still not been found.

  Gertrude waved her off with a vague smile and a distant look in her eyes. She blotted up the spilled tea from the saucers on the tray.

  “I don’t know what she’s prattling on about. I don’t have Edmund’s new number anyway. And why is she so clumsy today?” Gertrude handed Carol a cup half-full of tea. “Some tea, Carol?”

  Carol stared for a moment before accepting her tea. This was different. Now she understood why Hannah had called her and asked her to come visit. It seemed as though Gertrude might finally be showing her age in the most common way that people did: by developing a level of forgetfulness that was a bit beyond normal. Gertrude had always been eclectic, so Carol was not worried about it, per se, outside of the distress it was causing Hannah.

  “You know,” Gertrude continued after sipping her tea. “Bobbi’s just come back to town. Maybe she’ll know more about this. They’re having a Fair this weekend, right by the Fort. A Renaissance Fair, of all things! I’m pretty sure Bobbi will be there; you two could meet and discuss what’s to be done.” Gertrude’s eyes lit up upon mentioning the Fair, and for a moment, Carol could see again the dynamic young woman she had been when they had first met.

  “Oh, a Fair sounds fun! I’ll go and see if I can meet up with her there. Now, about the ring… it’s a patra, you say. I’ve never heard of that. What does it do? Trudy… you know me. I’ve never had anything like that happen before… not like that. And in public and everything! It was very embarrassing, to say the least.” Carol raised her eyebrows, expectantly.

  “Oh dear. Well, they seem to be objects that have spirits forcefully bound to them. I’ve… done a little research on this over the years, but only a little really.” Gertrude gave Carol a sly smirk. “I have a couple tucked away in the attic. Antiques... you know. I’m still not sure what to do with them, or how to fix them. Yours, though… it’s still empty… I think. You know me, and I’m not getting anything off of….” Her voice trailed off into nothingness, and her face drained of color, unfocused eyes staring at an empty spot in mid-air. “This glory is dear yet can be maleficted. Your way is clear,” she intoned. “Yet your choice is conflicted. Chaos lies ahead: which way to go? Choose wisely, choose soon… or get caught in the undertow….” Gertrude’s voice rang hollowly, seeming to come from everywhere at once. The very air pulsed with it.

  Carol held her breath. She had only seen this happen once, years before, when Gertrude had picked up an old, stuffed horse toy. She had done this same thing, staring off at nothing, and said: "Oh, Malak Saghar, you cannot save them all! The boy will live, but the girl must fall!"

  That was years ago, and Gertrude had returned to normal and had seemed fine only moments after. They had gone on to have a lovely day in the garden. But this time Gertrude was talking to, or about, her! Carol wondered about this choice she kept hearing about. Lorelei had also told her she must make a choice, a year ago when they had met.

  Gertrude’s eyes came back into focus and her cheeks regained their color, like the blushing of the sun at the first light of dawn. She looked at Carol and smiled benignly.

  “Some tea, Carol?” She held up the teapot, almost empty after the earlier spillage, seemingly oblivious to what had just transpired.

  “Thank you, Trudy-dear, I’d love some.” Carol held out her cup. Oh, yes… she thought, I will have to visit Trudy more often.

  Carol stepped from the car and smelled the scent of the Summer grass hanging heavily in the air, like the sound of the cicadas. Summer was always humid near the Lake. She raised her eyes to the brightly colored proscenium over the entryway to the Fair.

  “The Jousters, Jesters, and Lady Knights Renaissance Fair!” It proclaimed in bold letters for all to read. “Featuring: fencing, feasts, foaming ales, feats of derring-do, fortune-tellers, and far more!”

  She reached into the car and pulled out a stuffed bear. It was not soft, like a Teddy Bear, but noble-looking, and shaped in a seated position. It was dressed in a Black Watch plaid kilt and tartan, and full formal attire, with a sporran, a lace cravat on its white blouson, and cross-gartered hose. Carol carefully placed the bear in her over-sized Kantha tote bag and grimaced at the cumbersome nature of it.

  “Ach, but ye've got ta bring me in wi' ye!.” Ian, her companion-spirit, spoke in her ear, all dusky tones and tumbled gravel. The Scotsman’s ghost was attached to the bear, or so it seemed. He certainly was stronger the closer he was to it. He had tried to climb onto a Black Watch shawl once, the better to travel with her… but the experiment had not worked, and Ian had felt bad that he had “Nae been able ta watch o’er” her. Carol had agreed to bring the bear with her on days where she felt like she might need him. Today was possibly one of those days. The ring was in its bag in her pocket. It made her feel vulnerable having it there, like she had a glowing beacon pointing her out to all and sundry. She picked up the tote and swung it over that shoulder, so the safe presence of the bear felt like it was guarding both her and the ring and strode into the Fair. As she paid for her entrance, the ticket-vendor handed her a brochure.

  “Make sure you stay for the evening entertainment
as well, my Lady.” The girl curtsied, a practiced dip that Carol was sure she used nowhere else in her life. She looked down at the brochure.

  “Special guest appearance: Lorelei! For fortune-telling and general mischief!”

  Now she was genuinely intrigued. The last time she had met the infamous “Patroness of the Paranormal,” Lorelei had spoken of choices to be made, quite similar to the warning Gertrude had voiced about choices today. How interesting. She had told Freddie that she was coming up to see her old friend this weekend too, not knowing about the Fair. He had replied, on the phone, with a vague: “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then,” before they had hung up. Now that she knew Lorelei was here, Carol wondered if she was going to see Freddie too. Her life seemed to have many of these coincidences lately. She clutched her bag tighter to her side, feeling Ian’s reassuring bear-form inside.

  She walked through the gates and entered the Fair. She had to pause for her senses to take in all of the strange and wonderful sights, sounds, and smells. To the left of the entrance, along the wooden fence line, were various food stalls and vendors. She could smell wine-simmered mushrooms, cooked meat, char, fresh thyme. There were two costumed pickle-vendors with a booth and three giant, wooden barrels, doing a skit for some onlookers. Carol chuckled as she saw that one of them had puppets. They capered and joked with their audience… and suddenly, Carol noticed that there seemed to be more people there than were actually there. No… not more people… they were spirits, wandering through the performance. Carol looked around.

  Wandering through the whole place, actually, she mused as she watched the spirits meander through the aisle-ways and booths of the Fair. After a few moments, she rethought her first impression: they were not wandering… they were seeking. She wondered what they were looking for here. She looked up the hill towards the Fort that raised its beetled brows over the town. In her mind, its stone presence had always weighed on this town like an anchor. Carol had never been up there: the place was teeming with spirits.

  She, herself, wandered through the walkways and presentations. She saw a group of entertainers, juggling and fire-breathing in an open area, with spectators making delighted sounds of appreciation. She saw a man with a long, grizzled beard, naked to the waist and dripping with sweat, working what looked like a sword blade in a forge. Next to him, in the same building-type enclosure, was a woman holding a long pipe in the coals with heavy-duty mitts covering her hands. She removed the end of the pipe from the furnace, and a molten blob of glass glowed on the end. She rotated the pipe so that the glass shaped itself into a twist, and then pressed it on the workbench to make a right-angled foot.

  A few more mid-air twists on the end of the pipe, and touches with large calipers, and the piece had been formed into a twisting dragon-shape standing on its own tail. The audience that was made of ever-present tourists oohed and clapped. Carol continued down the aisle, making a mental note to return for the dragon later. She had a grandchild who would love that.

  Just a few shops down from the smithy, Carol noticed one particular booth. It had open sides, like most of the other booths and buildings, however the searching ghosts did not seem to go into this one. Some seemed to seek along the perimeter of the outside, as if looking for a way in. Searching… searching… is what Carol felt from all around her. She ached in her bones from the want. She stepped into the booth.

  There was power here. There were spirits too, but not like outside, and the power was… different... than just the power of the ghosts, like the difference between smooth, sunlit silk and thick, shadowed velvet. Carol could not place it; it seemed to permeate the booth and radiated from everywhere around her. It was far stronger than the usual, ghostly energy as well. Finally, her senses seemed to acclimate, and she could feel the power emanating from almost every object in the room.

  Her spiritual study with Freddie over the last year had made her that much more attuned to the forces around her, and so she had more control over her perceptions than she had had a year ago, when she had first met him. He really had been an invaluable resource and teacher.

  She looked around. There were crystals, pendants, leather satchels, Tarot cards, carved wooden trinket-boxes, all kinds of random items both eclectic and occult. A tall woman walked over to her. She was strongly built and had blonde hair that had been dyed what Carol thought was the most magnificent, deep blue which angled across the nape of her neck and over the side of her face and collar. As she moved closer, Carol could see that she had freckles, which made her seem younger than her purposeful stride.

  “Welcome to my shop, Lady. Would you like me to show you something specific, or are you just browsing?” The blue-haired woman spoke to Carol, but her eyes furtively darted to the entrances. Carol thought that the barriers that seemed to be keeping the spirits out must be of her construction. But she also did not seem to be bothered by the energies inside of her shop, and that Carol just could not fathom.

  “Oh, I’m just browsing, thank you,” Carol replied. “What interesting items you have in here!” She reached out to touch a hanging scarf of woven blues and violets. The jolt of energy when she laid her fingers against the soft fabric was enough that she was surprised she did not see sparks fly outward from the contact. She winced and tried to conceal it by moving to look at another object. “Do you know anything about the after-dark entertainment tonight?” She asked aloud as she browsed, this time with her eyes only. “I just came for the day, and I was wondering if it was worth sticking around for the festivities?”

  “Well, it should be good,” came the response. “Lorelei is here for tonight only. It was totally unexpected, I understand. We’re lucky to get her! There should be a good crowd tonight. And then there’s the bawdy tavern-crawl show. The Pickle Guys do that one. And there’s the “Midnight Joust”. It’s not really at Midnight, but they call it that for drama.” She scoffed, blowing her hair away from her eyes in the age-old expression of mild scorn. Carol felt something cool brush against her shoulder.

  “A tourney’d be fun.” Ian’s spirit breathed over her ear. “Ah’ve nae been to un fer a wee bit o’ time, eh?” She had the mental-image of a Highlander, complete with Great Kilt and Tartan, wielding one of those massive, red-velvet-hilted swords called a claymore. She smiled. and brushed at her hair.

  “Oh!” Carol laughed a little loudly. “Well, I think I will miss the Pickle Guys, but a tournament sounds like fun. And, you know,” Carol confided to the shopkeeper, “I’ve met Lorelei before. She’s quite a character, I must say! Maybe she’ll read my tea-leaves again.”

  “Well, I understand she’s going to do a Tarot thing tonight,” said the woman. “See? I’ve got her decks right here,” and she pointed to a tasteful, gossamer-beribboned display. There were the said Tarot decks, in boxes with a painted portrait of Lorelei as the Queen of Cups on the front. something caught Carol’s eye as she was perusing the decks of cards. She found she was looking at a dark pendant that was hanging around the blue-haired woman’s neck.

  “That’s a nice piece.” She gestured to the necklace; an old knot-work curl hanging on a cord. When she did so, she sensed a spirit there. He stepped forward into her mind’s eye like he was bursting through a wall. His image in her mind was terrifying: a Beast and a Man combined, muscled and darkly-grizzled, with the hilts of two axes sticking out of his fur/attire. She sensed pride… and anger in him. Yet, she did not feel menace, just wariness. She suddenly realized that it was his power that was keeping all of the wandering spirits at bay. A Guardian spirit then, similar to Ian, but Carol felt more restraint in this ghostly figure.

  The shopkeeper closed her fingers over the pendant quickly and tucked it under her shirt.

  “You’re the second person who’s said that to me today.” She eyed Carol warily. “Are you with that guy?”

  “What ‘guy’? No, my dear, I’m by myself today. You seem disturbed by this ‘guy’ though.”

  “He was very slick… and very pushy. He wanted to bu
y my necklace, and he didn’t want to take no for an answer! But I told him ‘No way,’ and kicked him out of my shop. No means no, and I won’t be pushed.” And she nodded her head sharply and huffed, crossing her arms. Carol chuckled.

  “I can definitely see that! Good for you. Don’t let anyone push you around.” She affirmed. Slick but pushy. That certainly sounded like Freddie Archegon. That man could talk his way out of a starving pride of lions. Carol speculated to herself. The items in the shop were all… infused… with some sort of energy. That would have drawn him here. And spirits had always abounded in this town; now, at this Fair, more than ever. And Freddie was always on the lookout for more souls to win to his cause. Little did those spirits know, or maybe it was care, that he was going to use their energy as a battery for his own abilities. Certainly some spirits knew, and those ones sometimes reacted violently with fear, but Freddie’s shop in Chicago was always full of wandering ghosts who were, apparently, waiting their turn.

  “Well, I am something of an antiques-expert, and I can tell you that that piece you have there is quite old. Now, I’m not sure if I saw that right, but if I did, you have a real treasure there.” Carol winked at the shopkeeper. “Thank you for your time. You have a lovely shop here. Maybe I’ll see you around later tonight, during the festivities.” Carol exited the shop, passing through the ghostly barrier with a brief grimace. She could feel spirits thickly clustered around the edges of the booth. That guardian-soul inside certainly has his work cut out for him.

  It was close to sunset already, so Carol wandered the Fair, waiting for evening to come. When it did, some electric lights came on, and standing torches were lit in their sconces. The shops closed up and all of the vendors and actors and other employees came out and mixed with the remaining tourists. It was easy to tell them apart: the Fair employees were all in Renaissance garb. Carol found her way over to a dark tent designated for Special Guests. There were torches outside of the door-curtain, and a poster-board marquis hanging across the front reading: “Tonight’s Guest: Lorelei!” in colorful, glittered letters. There were not many people hanging around at the moment, and Carol figured they must be waiting for a larger crowd. It was unexpected therefore when a hand reached out from behind the tent-flap and removed the poster-board, and the curtain proceeded to draw to the side.