The Trouble With Magic

by Tania Hutley

  I glare at him.

  “You were getting cold feet,” he says, unrepentant.

  “I wasn’t—” I cut off my reply as a tall, elegant woman opens the door. She’s wearing a long black dress that looks way too somber for a sunny Monday morning. Her long, black hair hangs almost to her waist. If she were wearing a pointed hat, she would have made the cover of Witches Today. I have to make an effort not to roll my eyes.

  She glares at me. “Sapphira Black. What corner of hell did you crawl out of?”

  “Nice to see you too, Mireya.” I incline my head toward Xander. “This is Detective Trent. Did you hear Sylvia was killed? The detective’s investigating her death.”

  “I heard you were there when she died. Funny how that keeps happening. Thought you’d try your trick of stealing somebody else’s gifts, did you? Taking your mother’s wasn’t enough for you?”

  She’s being coy because of the detective, saying ‘gifts’ instead of ‘magic’. I’ve heard her theory before, but it still cuts me to the bone. How could she think I would kill my own parents? Especially for extra magic I never wanted, that messed up everything I had and destroyed my life as I knew it.

  I’d ask how she thought I could use my mother’s gifts exactly, let alone Sylvia’s, but I’m so angry, I’m not sure I can form words. Besides, she’s not worth it. Who cares what she thinks?

  Xander steps forward, holding the cardboard box in front of him. “May we come in, Ms. Oswolde?”

  She hesitates for a moment, then steps back and waves us in with ill grace.

  Her office is large and filled with plants. Vines tumble from pots hanging from the ceiling, and her decorative houseplants are the size of trees. The air is heavy with the scent of the stunning flowers that probably bloom all year around, thanks to her plant magic.

  Other than all the greenery, it looks like a normal mundane office. Almost. There’s a small ceremonial knife on her desk posing as a letter opener.

  Sitting forward in Mireya’s visitor’s chair is her husband, Dallas Oswolde. He’s wearing a black suit, but his skin is very pale and his hair is white. He’s an albino, with eyes the palest blue I’ve ever seen, several shades paler than Xander’s. He’s the strong, silent type, and he’s usually lurking somewhere not far from his wife, as though he can’t bear to be separated from her.

  I’ve never much liked Dallas.

  Dallas and Mireya had a whirlwind courtship and were married only weeks before my parents died, but even in that short time I saw his nasty side. I overheard him telling my uncle that he should stick to politics rather than spell casting because he was so much better at it. A statement I have to admit is probably true, but it was the way Dallas said it, with a sneer in his tone, that made me realize how arrogant he is.

  He looks down on anyone who’s less powerful, which is just about everybody.

  I have no doubt he sees me as less than nothing now I have no magic I can use. And sure enough, his lip curls as he stands and wipes his palms on the legs of his black suit trousers. What is it with these two and the color black? Okay, so I’m wearing a black T-shirt, but at least mine has a band name on it.

  “Dallas,” he says, introducing himself to the detective. His eyes flick over me as though I’m not worthy of a greeting.

  Xander nods back.“Could I ask what your relationship was with Sylvia Black?”

  “She was a friend,” says Meriya.

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  There’s another chair beside the door, and I push a hanging tangle of honeysuckle flowers aside so I can sink into it.

  Meriya glances at her husband. “A week or so ago.” Dallas nods his agreement. He’s never been much of a talker.

  “Why?” adds Meriya. “We’re not suspects, are we?”

  Xander walks to her desk and puts the box down, then turns to face her. “I understand you’re a biologist? What’s your level of expertise when it comes to dogs?”

  “Dogs?” She raises her eyebrows. “Is that what you’ve got in the box?”

  Now I’ve managed to swallow my hurt, sarcasm rises in its place. “Sure,” I mutter. “It’s a box full of Rottweilers. How many university degrees do you have?”

  Xander ignores my interruption.

  “Do you mind if I speak to Ms. Oswolde alone?” he asks, looking at Dallas.

  “I want my husband to stay,” Meriya motions him back into his chair. “Now, what do you want, Detective?”

  “What was Mom working on when she died?” I interrupt. “Was she studying a particular kind of dog? One that could have killed her?”

  Mireya lets out a breath. “You’re blaming her work now?”

  Xander shoots me a frown. “I need to know what kind of dog might be able to tear open a person’s chest.”

  “Tear it open how? Do you have a picture?”

  He flicks through his phone to find a picture, then shows it to Mireya, holding it away from my line of sight.

  Mireya shudders and her hand creeps up to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible.”

  Dallas stands up to look over her shoulder at the phone, his mouth twisting. Then he stares at me with narrowed eyes, as though trying to decide whether I have it in me to do something like that. The pink rims of his eyes stand out against the paleness of his skin, and I find his gaze a little disconcerting.

  “Is that what happened to...?” Mireya hesitates. “Was Nala killed the same way? They told me she died from a chest wound, but I never imagined anything like that.”

  Nala is my mother’s nickname, only used by family and close friends. Hearing Mireya use it so casually makes my chest tighten painfully. She was my mother’s best friend, always at our house, and more like family to me than some of my actual family. Many of my favorite memories of my childhood include Mireya as well as my mother.

  And now she thinks I killed my own mother, for magic I can’t even use. If my parent’s death was like a knife being stabbed directly into my heart, Mireya’s belief that I could have killed them is like the knife being turned in the wound.

  “Yes,” says Xander, his expression grave. “I can show you more photos if it’ll help.”

  Mireya glances at me and I see a flicker of uncertainty cross her features.

  Finally.

  One photograph’s done what all my protestations couldn’t, and cast doubt in her mind about whether I’m to blame.

  “It’s unusual,” she says. “You’d expect a dog to go for a leg or hand first.”

  “There were no other wounds on the body. Just the chest.”

  “I suppose somebody might have trained it to do that. You’re sure it was a dog?”

  I shake my head, recalling Ratticus’s memory of Sylvia’s death. “More likely they used magic to control the dog,” I interrupt. “I think a witch either conjured a large dog creature or took on a dog’s shape. Is that possible? I thought I heard it talk with a growly half-human voice.”

  Both Mireya and her husband look shocked that I’m talking about magic and witches in front of Xander. The detective doesn’t look happy either. He narrows his eyes, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Okay, so I didn’t tell him about hearing the thing talk. He wouldn’t have believed me anyway.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Mireya, while Dallas sits back in his chair and folds his arms, his pale lips pressed together.

  “I already told him all about us.” I motion to Xander. “He knows I’m a witch and the killings had to be magical.”

  Mireya draws in a sharp breath. “He’s mundane. It’s forbidden to—”

  “He’s the only one interested in helping me find out what happened to Sylvia,” I interrupt, my voice rising. “I don’t care about the council’s stupid rules. Whatever it was that did this to Sylvia killed my parents too. His help is all I’ve got, and he can’t go stumbling about in this blind. He needs to know the truth.”

  She folds her arms, her posture mirroring her husband’s. “Sapphira, you k
now we’ve both been appointed to the council. We’ll have to tell Magnus—”

  “Fine. Tell him whatever you want. Just help me work out what did this. I found a dark magic grimoire in Sylvia’s athenaeum, and one of its spells uses a still-beating heart as an ingredient.”

  Her face pales. “A dark magic grimoire? Even protected in an athenaeum, that’s risky. You didn’t touch it without an archivist present, did you?”

  “Of course not.” I only just manage to control the urge to cross my fingers behind my back. I can’t even imagine which particular archivist she thinks would help me. Hopefully the stupid grimoire isn’t sucking my house into some horrible black magic vortex even as I lie to her. “I couldn’t read what the spell did, but could somebody have used it to create a dog-creature? Maybe some kind of doggy demon?”

  Her face jerks toward her husband, and they have a short, silent conversation with their eyes. They must reach an unspoken agreement, because Mireya turns to the large bookshelf that’s all but hidden behind trailing flowers, and pulls out a book. “Some demons do take on dog shapes in our world. It’s impossible to create them.” She sniffs at my ignorance. “But perhaps one has been pulled onto our mortal plane.”

  Xander’s expression gives nothing away, but I can sense a tightness about him. I don’t think he believes a word of what she’s saying, but maybe he’s starting to wonder. The alternative is that we’re all crazy, and that must be hard to believe in the gentrified surrounds of Maryland University.

  “Could Mom have accidentally summoned a demon?” I ask. “And if she did, what kind of demon might it be?”

  She flips though the book’s pages. “The Cadejos spring to mind. They’re Guatemalan spirits who take the shape of dogs. As do the Adlet, half-human half-dog creatures from Inuit mythology.” She looks up at me. “Your mother had an Adlet artifact. Is it still there?”

  I nod, though I’m not sure which artifact she’s talking about. Mom had a lot of them, most displayed on shelves, but the most potent ones in her safe in the basement. “All her stuff is still in the house, and her safe is sealed and warded. Nobody but me can get into it.”

  She frowns. “You should have let Magnus—”

  “She left her things to me,” I interrupt. “For the last time, the council can’t have them. Let’s move on.” It was a point of contention after my parents died, and I’m not about to let her start the argument again. A lot of my parents’ stuff was destroyed in the explosion, and magical or not, I’m not handing over the rest for no good reason.

  “Your mother’s Adlet artifact could theoretically be used in a summoning spell. But so could many of her artifacts. And the Adlet had the hind-quarters of a dog, but a human head.”

  “We’re looking for something that has a dog’s mouth, but can still talk.”

  Mireya turns another page. “There’s Teju Jagua, a lizard god with seven dog heads. Last recorded sighting was in Paraguay. I believe Nala had a picture of the god on her bedroom wall.”

  I glance at Xander. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?” I’d do it myself, only I didn’t think to bring a notebook with me.

  “The Yao people in China speak of a dog demon called Panhu, born from a golden worm.” She inclines her head to one side. “That one hasn’t been confirmed. Might just be a story.”

  Xander isn’t looking at me, and he hasn’t made a move to take out the notebook he keeps in his jacket pocket. He clears his throat. “Ah. Yes. Okay.” His tone suggests he considers this a waste of time. “Going back to the theory that somebody trained an animal to do this, could it have been another type of dog? Perhaps a wolf? Or a coyote?”

  “A jackal,” says Dallas unexpectedly. “Mireya, what about Jeqabeel’s bone?”

  Mireya frowns. “Your mother kept it in her safe. Are you certain all those items are secure?”

  “The wards stop anyone getting in, right? So it’s secure.”

  She huffs. “You have to let Magnus check the wards to make sure they’re still active.”

  “Council members don’t get invited into my home. Especially not Magnus.”

  “We’d know if it were Jeqabeel,” says Dallas. “There’d be a lot more deaths.”

  I raise my eyebrows at Mireya, and she puts the book she’s holding onto her desk and takes another one out of her bookcase. “Jeqabeel is an ancient jackal-headed demon.” She puts the open book on her desk so we can see it. “Here. This is Jeqabeel.”

  Xander and I stare at the picture in silence. An enormous hairy creature stands on its hind legs, big enough to hold a dead body in each hand like dolls. It has the head of a jackal but its body is human, although covered in a thick pelt of hair. It has a barrel chest and long claws coming out of hands that look more like paws.

  “Your mother had a bone said to be from Jeqabeel’s thigh. It was the only remaining fragment of the demon’s physical form after it manifested into our dimension in the eighteen hundreds. A demon cannot die, so in theory, its essence could still be present in the bone. It was secured inside a case, and your mother was careful never to handle it.”

  “What’s that building behind it?” asks Xander.

  I peer at the smoking ruin, littered with bodies. What remains of the building looks familiar.

  “The Library of Congress,” says Mireya, her head cocked as she studies it. “The demon killed tens of thousands, and the Blood Council of the time blamed the deaths on a hurricane.”

  “But the Library of Congress can’t have been destroyed,” I say. “It’s still there.”

  “They rebuilt it. It was the largest concentration of witches in history.” Mireya waves a hand. “The depiction is accurate.”

  I wrinkle my nose at the bloody corpses lying at the demon’s feet. Clearly not a live-and-let-live sort of creature. “And nobody thought to tell me a piece of this demon was in my safe?”

  “Magnus said you refused to talk about your parents’ possessions.”

  “I might have been more chatty if he hadn’t bound my magic, then left me to fend for myself.”

  Mireya makes an impatient noise. “You must allow Magnus to check the safe. If the bone’s untouched, it wasn’t involved in the killings. Let him rule it out, and check your mother’s other artifacts to make sure they haven’t been tampered with or used in any spells.”

  “Not Magnus,” I say, teeth gritted. “Besides, who’d want to summon a demon? Surely nobody would do it on purpose?”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t begin to guess.”

  Xander makes a move toward the door. “Thank you for your help,” he says, his voice carefully formal. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Wait.” I step over to the cardboard box on Mireya’s desk. “I need your help with something else.” After unsticking the tape holding it closed, I ease the top of the box open. I’m ready in case Agnes flies at me again, but she just blinks sleepily.

  “A chicken?” Mireya raises her eyebrows.

  “Actually, she’s my neighbor,” I admit, careful not to glance at Xander. “Turning her into a chicken was an accident.” Telling her what I’ve done is probably dumb, but I have to try to free Agnes somehow.

  “That’s a difficult spell.” Mireya frowns. “Your magic is bound.”

  “Sylvia’s death created a gap in the binding. When my magic escaped, it took me by surprise. I couldn’t control it.”

  “Ah.” She hesitates, looking at her husband. “Transforming flesh takes animal magic. Your uncle is better qualified to help.”

  “Can’t you use one of your potions?” I wave my hand at her plants.

  “One of my potions?” She repeats the word as though it’s the worst insult possible.

  And to a plant witch, it kind of is.

  I wince. It’s been too long since I was in the witching world. “An elixir. No, an essence, right? One of your concoctions, whatever you call it.”

  I’d forgotten how touchy witches with plant magic are about the brew
s they extract and mix for their spells. They’re the only witches who create potions, both for their own use, and for other witches, so they’re closest to the hated mundane image of a warty hag stirring a bubbling cauldron.

  Bit of a sore point. Whoops.

  She aims a glare at me, slipping her hands into the box to hold Agnes for a moment. “No essence can undo your spell. The transformation used both animal and earth magic, and the strands are tangled. It’s too complex to unravel.”

  Dallas meets my gaze with his light eyes. “If that’s the case, a witch would have to manipulate both earth and animal magic to undo the spell. You’re the only one who can.”

  “But I can’t undo it,” I say desperately. “I have no idea how I managed to do it in the first place.”

  Mireya shrugs, and her husband’s arrogant gaze moves back to the detective as though dismissing me.

  “How am I going to make her human again?”

  Xander picks up the cardboard box. “Time to go,” he says.

  Mireya steps in front of the door. “Sapphira, you must allow us to check your mother’s safe. If you give Magnus access—”

  “Magnus Fox isn’t stepping a foot through my front gate.” I push past her and open the door. Then turning back to face her anxious expression, I relent. “Uncle Ray can do it. I’ll ask him to come over and take a look. Okay?”

  “Yes,” she says quickly. “Good.”

  “And if the wards have been deactivated? If the safe is empty? What then?”

  Mireya blinks, considering the question, while Xander joins me outside her door, the box under his arm. She glances back at Dallas and her expression hardens. “If a demon has managed to enter this plane, we’ll need to figure out what kind it is. Something like Jeqabeel would have the potential to kill us all.”

  “Great,” I say brightly, starting down the hall. “At least that’ll solve my chicken problem.”