The Trouble With Magic

by Tania Hutley

  What the hell is he doing here? It’s not like Magnus cares what happens to me.

  Maybe he doesn’t want a witch, even an outcast one, held by the police? Or is he here to punish me for the magic I’ve done?

  My heart beats faster as a third option occurs to me. What if the police aren’t the only ones who think I should be held accountable for Sylvia’s death? If the council believes I killed her, I’m in real trouble.

  Then I see somebody else behind Magnus and my racing heart calms a little. It’s Uncle Ray, and if he’s come with Magnus, maybe I’ll get a chance to tell my side of the story.

  As he squeezes into the small room behind the other two men, my uncle’s gaze meets mine and he gives me a nod of reassurance. I let out a long, relieved breath. But my uncle doesn’t say a word, and I can’t tell anything from Magnus’s expression. He’s concentrating on whatever spell he’s using to manipulate the police captain.

  “With respect,” says Detective Trent. “We haven’t yet established—”

  “Ms. Black will be leaving with her uncle and Mr. Fox. Be grateful they’ve agreed to not press charges over your handling of this case.”

  “Press charges? I’ve done everything by the book.”

  “If you don’t want to be demoted to traffic duty, Detective, do as I say.”

  The detective’s expression is puzzled and angry. It’s obvious he’s biting back more protests, forcing himself not to object further. It always surprises me when magic is so obvious and mundanes still don’t recognize it.

  When Detective Trent looks back at me, a muscle pulses in his jaw. “Looks like you’re free to go, Miss Black.” The words are tightly controlled. I almost feel sorry for him.

  But hanging in the air, left unsaid, are the words: I’m not giving up.

  I can tell from his expression he’s going to keep trying to prove that I killed Sylvia. A tight knot of emotion sits heavy in my chest, and I struggle to breathe again. I saw that same expression on the face of the detective who thought I killed my parents. He hounded me for months, making my life a living nightmare.

  For a moment, the room moves in and out of focus. Memories collide with reality, and I’m back there, being pressured to admit to something inconceivable.

  “Saffy, come on,” says a familiar voice. I cling to Uncle Ray’s words, and use them to pull me back to reality. When I look up, he gestures for me to stand, to move quickly.

  He’s right. We need to get out of here, and fast.

  Whatever spell Magnus is using could die at any second, and as soon as it does, the police captain won’t be so sure of my innocence.

  Standing up, I sneak a look at the detective. He’s staring hard at me, like he thinks I’m some kind of master criminal who’s foiled his chances of solving the case.

  Though I’m glad to get away, I can’t help feeling that walking out of here with Magnus is like stepping out of the frying pan and into a blazing demon fire of hell. The powers of the council are far scarier than anything the police could throw at me.

  I don’t have a choice. I stand up, and walk out of there with Magnus and Uncle Ray, knowing I’d never have managed to get away by myself.

  For so long, I’ve had almost nothing to do with the magical world. I carved out a place for myself as a mundane, I have a business that’s doing okay, and a home that’s almost back to being how it was before the explosion.

  And now, all that means nothing in the face of Magnus’s magic. Now my mother’s gone, he’s the most powerful witch in Baltimore. If it came to a fight, I’d be helpless against him.

  Gritting my teeth, I stride along behind him with my fists clenched and every muscle tight. Whatever Magnus Fox intends to do with me, I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  Six

  Walking out the front door of the police station, the sky is unexpectedly light. The street is still quiet, but there’s a jogger going past and a man walking his dog. I thought it was still the middle of the night, but dawn has broken.

  Magnus’s black BMW and Uncle Ray’s silver Jaguar are both parked outside the station in a no-parking zone. Of course, neither of them have been ticketed or towed away.

  Uncle Ray nods at Magnus. “Thank you for helping, Magnus. I’ll take her home.”

  Magnus grunts and steps forward to shoot me a sharp, narrow-eyed glare. I get a whiff of something funky, like when a dog needs a bath. Then he lets out a disapproving breath through his nose, turns, and slides into his car. As he drives away, I let my fists unclench. My uncle came through for me. Guess I underestimated him.

  Uncle Ray gets behind the wheel of his car and I ease onto the cool, sleek leather of his passenger seat. The car looks and smells brand new. It makes me all too aware how filthy and smelly I am. After the police finished examining me, they let me wash my face and hands, but a tingling in my scalp tells me I probably still have dried blood in my hair. All I want to do is stand in a scalding hot shower until the water runs clear and cold, then crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

  “Thanks for getting me out of there,” I say.

  “Mundane laws don’t apply to us, Saffy. You know that.”

  As if I could forget when I’m with him. Life with magic is so easy compared to living as a mundane. My uncle has no idea what it’s like to work, or worry about money, or even to come back to his car and find a parking ticket on the windscreen.

  He’s my mother’s brother, and every time I look at him I see heart-breaking reminders of my mother in the length of his nose and the shape of his mouth. He inherited her side of the family’s affinity for animals, though his magic is weaker than my mother’s was.

  “Do you know what happened to Sylvia?” I ask.

  “Sylvia was risking her life with those powerful grimoires. She got careless with one of them.” He starts the car, checking in the rear view mirror.

  “But how could a grimoire kill an archivist on its own? And her heart was torn out, just like Mom’s. It would have had to have been a dark magic spell to do something like that, and there’s no way Mom would have had a dark magic grimoire.” Only an archivist could control a book like that, and they’d never think of using it.

  “I warned Sylvia to keep her grimoires securely locked away,” he says, shaking his head as he reverses out of the park.

  “But she did. She died in her athenaeum.”

  Did the grimoire I saw on the table in her athenaeum kill Sylvia? The room’s wards prevent anyone but Sylvia from removing any book. Even if a person cast one of its spells, they would have had to leave the grimoire behind.

  “Her wards must have failed.” He frowns. “Going into her athenaeum was incredibly dangerous for you, Sapphira. If the grimoire killed a witch as powerful as your cousin, imagine how easily it could have killed you.”

  “You think my parents were killed by the same grimoire?”

  “They must have been. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  If he’s right, and the grimoire cast its own spell, then it tore out my mother’s heart and sent a shock wave through the living room and hallway, killing my father. But there was no explosion at Sylvia’s.

  “Magnus has called a council meeting to discuss Sylvia’s death.” My uncle glances sideways at me. “What happened to her was enough of a shock that I’m not going to mention the spell I felt you do. But this is the only time I can hide something that serious. If it happens again, I’ll be forced to inform the council.”

  I shift in my seat, uncomfortably aware of Agnes the chicken hiding out somewhere, hopefully still at Sylvia’s. I feel duty bound to turn her back somehow. But Uncle Ray is offering me a lifeline, and I have to take it. “It won’t,” I promise.

  We drive in silence. This early, the streets are quiet, and my uncle doesn’t bother to obey speed limits. His graying hair is neatly combed and he’s wearing a suit and tie, as usual. If the suit weren’t so perfectly pressed, I’d suspect he sleeps in it.

  I feel numb and exhausted. My eye
s are gritty and my head is throbbing. How many hours since I last slept? I’m too tired to even do the math.

  “I think I felt her death,” I say after a while, remembering the weird shockwave of magic I’d felt. “I was at the top of a ladder…” I trail off.

  That’s why my magic surged. Sylvia was part of the council and her death broke one of the bindings they created to hold my magic in check.

  “I’ll ask Therese to organize Sylvia’s funeral,” says my uncle.

  Now that he’s mentioned Aunt Therese, I should ask after her. His wife has been unwell for what seems like years. But I’m too weary to have that conversation now. “The police might not release Sylvia’s body for a while,” I say instead. “After my parents died, I had to wait for ages before I could hold the funeral.”

  “I can make sure they release it.” He’s silent for a moment, then says, “Magnus will be stepping down as head of the council soon.”

  I frown, not following the change of subject. “Will he?”

  “This is my chance, Saffy. I know you like to think you’re not one of us. You’re a loner, right? Don’t need anybody?” His gaze flicks to the clothes the police gave me, so different from my regular ones. “But whatever you believe, I’m here for you, and I think tonight proved it. So, can you do one thing for me? Could you keep a low profile until after the blood moon ceremony is over?”

  Anger burns inside me, and I struggle to hold it in. I have to remind myself that I’m grateful to Uncle Ray; I’d still be in that interrogation room if it weren’t for him.

  But honestly, what the hell is wrong with him? Sylvia hasn’t even been dead a full day and all he’s worried about is his damn position on the council. And why does he think he has a chance at taking Magnus’s job? He’s not that powerful.

  But I bite my lip, fighting the urge to voice my thoughts. He doesn’t deserve my anger, not when he’s helping me.

  “The police captain that Magnus influenced will make sure nobody bothers you, at least for a while,” he says. “I suggested he extend the spell to the detective, but apparently the man’s new to the precinct and only has his position because of his family ties. The captain will keep him in line.”

  I frown, curious about the magic they’d used. “How did Magnus manipulate the captain’s thoughts?”

  “He didn’t. The Veritas did. Magnus was the conduit. He used a rune to channel her magic.”

  “Can you do that too? Channel another council member’s magic?”

  A pained expression flickers across his face, there and gone again. “What I can do is use my influence to keep the press from being informed of Sylvia’s death. This time, I’ll make sure there’s no media coverage.”

  “That would be a big help.” When my parents were killed, reporters came around and Agnes fed them mean-spirited gossip.

  Agnes.

  How on earth am I going to change my neighbor back into a person now that Sylvia’s not here to help? I have a feeling Uncle Ray’s not going to be sympathetic if I admit how big my tiny, harmless spell really was.

  As he pulls up outside my house, I see her. A small brown chicken perched on the front windowsill of the house next to mine, peering inside. Not something you see every day on a suburban street in Druid Hill.

  Luckily, Uncle Ray doesn’t notice her. I thank him quickly and climb out. As usual, there are some stray cats hanging around my front door, waiting to be fed. They come because my animal magic calls to them… but mostly because I buy them cat food.

  Hopefully, the cats won’t spot Agnes, though she’s not exactly defenseless. My savagely-pecked forearms are proof of that.

  Because my uncle seems to be waiting until I go inside before he drives away, I wave and let myself, and the cats, into my house. I’ll go next door and get Agnes once I’m sure he’s gone, and figure out how to change her back into a person when my brain doesn’t feel like it’s been stuffed with wool.

  Inside, the cats wind around my feet, purring while they do their best to trip me. The house is quiet and still. Jess, if she’s here, is sleeping.

  It feels great to be home, but waves of exhaustion turn my limbs leaden. Maybe I should leave Agnes to her own devices for now. I don’t even care that I’m still covered in blood, dust and dirt; I just want to sleep. If I go upstairs and collapse into bed, I can pretend the last twenty-four hours never happened.

  The idea of turning back time is tantalizing. All I’d need would be one measly day.

  I’d make sure Sylvia was safe, I wouldn’t go up the ladder and cut myself, and I definitely wouldn’t open the door to Agnes.

  Problem solved.

  One of the cats meows piteously at me, reminding me of my obligations. Moving like a zombie, I make my way to the kitchen. My dirt-covered work boots are by the back door. Tomorrow is Monday, and I have a rock wall to start work on. Until my overnight stay at the precinct, I’d been looking forward to the job. It’ll be a good earner, especially if I can convince my rich client to do even more stone work around his new house.

  I’ve been slowly chipping away at my debts, and for the first time since my parents died, I can see light at the end of the financial tunnel. Not to mention that after years of hard work on the house, I’ve almost finished repairing it.

  Yeah, until yesterday, things weren’t going so badly.

  I’m moving on autopilot as I get out the cat food from the cupboard. Too much has happened in too short a time, and I can’t think any of it through properly. I’ll put out breakfast for the strays, then hit the pillow.

  Only my hands aren’t working as well as they should. They’re trembling from exhaustion or delayed shock. When I pick up the heavy bowl I’ve dumped the cat food into, it slips out of my fingers and smashes on the floor.

  “Shit.”

  With both hands on the kitchen bench, I put my head down and let out a long, tired breath. At my feet, the cats lick up the spilled food.

  A door opens upstairs, then the stairs creak. “That you, Saffy?” calls Jess.

  “It’s me. Go back to bed.”

  Instead, she appears at the kitchen door. “You’re up early.”

  She’s wearing pink, puppy-printed pajamas and fluffy slippers, her long, blond hair messy from sleep. She looks like a fresh-faced college princess ready for a sorority pajama party.

  Looks can be deceiving.

  Her pink pajamas hide some killer tats, and while the puppies on her pajamas look cute at first glance, on closer inspection they’re doing unspeakable things to each other.

  Jess frowns at the spilled cat food, and the ugly pants and gray shirt I’m wearing. When her gaze lifts to my face, her frown deepens. “You okay? You didn’t just get home, did you? No offence, but you look like death warmed up.” She’s already coming forward to pull out one of the kitchen stools for me to sit on.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Did you get something in your hair?” Jess clicks her tongue. “And you’ve cut your hand.”

  “It’s just a scratch. Looks worse than it is.”

  “What happened?” she asks.

  I don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t just brush her off. Though I swore never to depend on anybody, I owe Jess everything. Not just the money she pays to rent my spare room, but by watching her, I learned how to fit into the mundane world. She thinks my parents used to do everything for me, because it was the only way I could explain why I didn’t know how to do simple things like cooking a meal that didn’t taste like old car tires.

  She’s the one exception to my rule. The one person I like, and the only friend I need. Plus, freckles or not, my roommate just happens to be the best drummer I’ve ever heard, and a founding member of my favorite band, the Flaming Buttholes.

  With a resigned sigh, I sit on the stool. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m awake now. I’ve got time to hear it.”

  She pulls a beer out of the fridge, pops the top and hands it to me. I doubt there’s another person in t
he world who would have given me a beer this early on a Sunday morning. Though she’s a mundane, Jess’s ability to know what people need sometimes borders on magical.

  I take a long, slow gulp, then close my eyes to savor the cold liquid as it slides down my throat. “Has anyone ever told you how great you are?” I ask.

  She wrinkles her freckled nose. “All the time. Now, spill. Were you out all night and why do you look like that?”

  I wish I could tell her. But as cool as Jess is, there’s no way she’d understand the world I come from. Not to mention that telling mundanes anything about magic or witches is forbidden.

  Besides, what would I say? That my cousin’s heart was ripped out, I was arrested on suspicion of murder, and a couple of witches used magic to get the police to let me go?

  She’d think I was crazy.

  Magic needs blood because it’s an inherited power that’s tied to family and the life force we share through our bloodline. But if Jess saw me pull out a knife and start slicing, she’d have me committed.

  Still, I have to say something.

  “I went to my cousin’s place last night,” I start slowly. “You’ve met Sylvia. She owns Ratticus, the rat I look after sometimes. She was the smartest person I knew. A genius, really. She was kind of distant, but I don’t think she meant to be. Her brain was just working on other things.” I’m not sure why I want to talk about Sylvia, but it’s suddenly important that Jess knows my cousin was a good person, in spite of being a member of the council. “And did I tell you about the time she brought Ratticus over and one of the cats almost ate him? Sylvia loved that rat, but she was good about it. I never saw her get angry about anything.”

  “What happened at your cousin’s place?” Jess asks softly.

  “When I got there, I found…” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I found her on the floor.”