by Susan Hayes
A school of salmon appeared in the water around him, their silent forms slicing through the dark water like a river of silver that gleamed in the faint light of the cloud-veiled moon. He held his breath and sank beneath the waves so he could watch as they swam. The Goddess wasn’t much for long conversations, but he had no doubt there was a message in the sudden appearance of the fish. Sure enough, their swirling pattern came together to form a flow of letters that spelled out her reply.
“She comes.”
He chuckled and surfaced again. “If the witch plays her cards right, I’ll be happy to help her do that, all night long.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he was screwed. “Filter malfunction!” He shifted and dove for cover. Not that it helped. A small, purple-tinted lightning bolt pierced the waves and zapped him right in the tail. Son of a starfish, that stung.
The salmon scattered when the lightning bolt struck, but he managed to find a few of them and ask if they’d seen anything in the harbour in the last few hours before they all vanished into the depths again. Apparently, they had. A “stinky, oozy, man-machine,” had crossed the water above them not long ago, heading towards what the salmon called the Stream of Beginnings and Endings, a local stream the salmon used to spawn. He thanked the fish, then sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess for gifting him with the ability to talk to other aquatic lifeforms. It really saved time when he needed to track someone down.
He flicked his flippers and set out in direction the salmon had indicated. The saltwater stung his newly singed pelt, but at least he’d been underwater this time. Last time he’d pissed off the Goddess, she’d scorched the ass of his Armani suit. The woman really had no respect for the classics.
Once he was headed in the right direction, it didn’t take him long to come across the seagulls’ trail. The salmon had been right, the barge was leaking, leaving a disgusting trail of trash and slime in its wake. He tried not to think about what he was swimming through and swam faster. He needed to catch up to them before they reached the shore.
Once he got close enough, he didn’t need to follow the trail any longer. He could hear the wheezing groans of the tug’s engine as it lub-lub-lubbed its way through the water. Now came the fun part. He had to get ahead of them, and then… he chuckled, which in this form came out more like a chuffing noise that escaped in a flurry of bubbles. Goddess, he really loved this part of the job.
Once he was in front of the tug, he surfaced and shifted back to human form. Most of the gull Shifters were on the deck of the boat, squawking at each other in harsh voices that carried even over the misfiring engine.
“We there yet?”
“This job sucks harder than Jimbo’s momma.”
“Naw, Momma Jim don’t suck, she blows!”
There was a chorus of raucous laughter that grated on his ears, followed by a couple of meaty thumps as the biggest gull Shifter he’d ever seen waded into the middle of the group and started laying a beating on anyone too slow to get out of his way.
“You don’t talk about my momma that way! Quit being such buttholes. You know she’s sick.”
Three of the crew shifted and flew out of the big one’s reach, squawking and shedding feathers as they made their escape.
“Assholes!”
Connell made a note to find out who Jimbo’s mother was. Moms were a great source of information, and they usually didn’t react well to learning their offspring were up to no good.
He dragged his attention back to the mission at hand. Along with the entertainment value, Jimbo’s fit of pique was the perfect distraction, and he intended to make good use of it. He continued to tread water with his legs, but he stilled his arms and let them float, palms down, on the water. He let his awareness of the water deepen, feeling the churn of the deeps, the surge of the current, and the endless rise and fall of the waves. He drew on that power, shaping it as it flowed through him. His connection to the ocean was a powerful gift from the Goddess, and he didn’t use it lightly.
The change was so gradual as to be almost imperceptible to the Shifters on the tug or soaring overhead. They didn’t notice until a wave took them broadside, crashing over the railing and dousing them all in seawater and foam.
“What the fuck?” One of them spluttered.
Connell continued to pour more power into the waves. He wanted them pushed away from the shore, so he directed the waves to move against their nature, rolling back out to sea. The waters of the bay seethed as waves from the open ocean slammed into the ones he directed. Foam flew as they broke over each other, and everyone on deck started scrambling. Some donned life jackets, others ran to the wheelhouse to bang on the door.
“We’re getting soaked out here! Let us in!”
The wheelhouse door flew open, sending several of the smaller gulls stumbling backward across the rolling deck. Connell couldn’t see much from his position—he was low in the water, and waves as tall as he was kept appearing between him and the tug. He was having trouble keeping them away from the scow, too. Every time one hit, it knocked more trash into the water. He was going to need to stay and do a serious clean up after this, which meant he couldn’t follow them.
“This isn’t natural!” Someone bellowed from inside the wheelhouse. “No wind. No storm. Just flocking waves. Something’s hinky, boys.”
“Magic?” one of the others squawked in an octave normally only hit by boys going through puberty.
“Don’t know, but we’re not paid to deal with this kind of crazy. We’ll make this run another night.”
Connell threw another wave at them just to drive the point home. It slammed into the bow of the tug with enough force to make the whole ship shudder. “You come back and you’ll get more of the same,” he muttered under his breath.
He was tempted to sink the damned thing, but that wouldn’t be any better than letting them dump trash on the shore. His first priority was to protect the area. Dealing with the gulls would have to wait until backup arrived. The seagulls didn’t like magic? Wait until the Goddess’ handpicked witch arrived. She was going to wipe the floor with their tail feathers.
Chapter Three
Breeze looked around her apartment for the last time and sighed. She was really doing this. Uprooting her life and moving to the west coast. She still didn’t know anything about the dark threat she needed to face. Given she was a mediocre witch, she had her doubts she could do anything about it. Even the message from her parents hadn’t exactly been a confidence builder. If she found a way to win. If. Two little letters with a big impact. If she won. If she could protect a place she could barely remember. If she could decode the weird message. If. If. If.
She snorted. “and if I do manage to see my parents again, I’m telling them they suck at pep talks.”
It hadn’t taken her long to pack. In fact, it had taken her less time to do that than to write her letter of resignation and find the courage to hand it in. Conveniently, the same letter also doubled as her notice to vacate, since her boss was also her landlord. She had the shortest commute in the city, which was especially nice when the temperature dropped and the snow piled up on the streets.
Breeze had given them two week’s notice and offered to pay for next month’s rent, but the moment she’d mentioned that she had to go home to deal with some family matters, Irene and Ben had waived the rent and told her to do what she needed to. They were decent people. She wouldn’t call them friends, exactly. She didn’t have friends in the human world, which made for a solitary life. Her boss-slash-lords thought she was a quirky goth girl with a magical touch when it came to crafting the perfect cup of coffee. They had no idea their late-shift barista was an actual witch.
She wiggled her fingers, and a shower of blue sparks danced over her hands. They were right about one thing. She did make a magically delicious cappuccino. The thought amused her. If Black Fin Bay didn’t have a coffee shop, maybe she could open one. Not that she needed the money, but she’d go stark
raving looney-tunes if she didn’t find something to fill up her days. The devil might find work for idle hands, but a bored witch could actually start Armageddon.
She’d gone over all the documentation last night. If she was reading it right, she could probably buy half her hometown. She’d become ridiculously wealthy the moment the clock struck midnight. For some reason, her parents had set it up so that she had nothing until she turned twenty-six.
The sparks around her hands intensified as she thought about how different her life would have been if they hadn’t made her wait so long to inherit. She wanted to believe they had a good reason, but Great Goddess in gumboots, what could it have been?
Those questions and about a million more had whipped around her head all night, making sleep impossible. She’d finally given up around four in the morning and packed instead. The apartment had come furnished, and all she’d added over the years were a few posters, cooking utensils, and the usual collection of linens and towels. Everything she owned fit into a couple of cardboard boxes she’d liberated from the coffee shop’s storeroom. They sat in the middle of the apartment, along with a battered suitcase one of the witches at the orphanage had given her the day she’d moved out. It only had three wheels and it looked like it had seen some dark and savage times, but it was clean and functional, and that’s all she needed it to be.
“Okay, then.” She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’m doing this.”
She raised her hands and summoned her magic for what she hoped would be a relatively straightforward spell.
* * *
“Bountiful Goddess whose wisdom shines bright,
I’m casting a spell now, I hope it goes right.
Everything I own is ready to be stashed,
When I recall it, I hope it’s not smashed.
Send this stuff somewhere safe, warm, and dry,
And I’ll call it back to me when my new home I spy.”
* * *
The small pile of her belongings vanished in a puff of blue smoke, and she breathed a sigh of relief. For as long as she could recall, her magic hadn’t been exactly reliable. She was good with the small things—minor incantations and anything that didn’t require much focus. It was the bigger stuff that never seemed to work right. The harder she tried, the bigger the backfire. By the time she’d left the orphanage, she’d given up on bigger spells, which was a great relief to the witches and warlocks who ran the place. They’d gotten tired of repairing melted walls, extinguishing small fires, and putting the spots back on the school’s resident guard leopard.
She went over to the table, tucked the carved wooden box into her oversized handbag and slung it over her shoulder. She had memorized the photo of the town’s welcome sign that morning. Given the distance she was travelling and how unreliable her magic was, having a visual to focus on would limit the chances she materialized somewhere inconvenient, like Alaska or the men’s washroom at Walmart…again.
She closed her eyes, summoned her magic, and braced herself against the wave of dizziness that always accompanied her attempts at teleportation. She just hoped her first act after arriving home wasn’t to puke all over the welcome sign.
When she opened her eyes again, she was delighted to discover that not only had she hit the target perfectly, but she wasn’t the slightest bit queasy, either. She did a little victory jig in front of the sign, then took a good look around. The sign was worn, the letters fading, and the wood itself was weathered and cracked. Beyond the sign was the town itself. The buildings were squat, grey things that almost blended into the stony beach she could see beyond the small cluster of shops that huddled along a single lane road that ended only a few hundred meters from where she stood. Grimy windows full of dusty displays, signs with letters missing, and the wind that blew up the main street was thick with the smell of dead fish and rotting seaweed. This was home? Ew.
None of it looked familiar, but there was something here… an itch at the back of her brain that made her keep looking. That’s when she saw it, a shimmer that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Magic.
Once she saw the first hints of it, she spotted it everywhere. The buildings, the sign, even the cracked and potholed road were all glamoured by a spell. It was elegant, elaborate, and far better than anything she could manage, but now she could see it, she could also see that it was failing. There were cracks in the magic, so small and subtle that the illusion wasn’t affected, yet, but if the spell wasn’t repaired soon, it would start to unravel faster than a scarf in a box full of kittens.
Blue sparks lit up her hands and arms as she summoned just enough magic to see past the glamour without damaging it.
* * *
“I sense a lie,
This isn’t right,
Show me what’s hiding in plain sight.”
* * *
And just like that, the entire town looked different. “Holy llamas of the apocalypse!” Now she understood why she didn’t’ recognize the town, or its name. The sign had changed, too. It was blue and green, with elegant letters highlighted in silver. “Wyrding Way.”
“Someone’s been reading too much Frank Herbert.”
The town certainly felt more familiar to her than the illusion had. The buildings still looked weathered, but they were cleaner and in better repair. The windows gleamed, and the displays were colourful and welcoming.
She could see a corner store and a diner from where she stood, and she was certain there was a bakery across the street from the store, though she didn’t know how she knew it was there. The stench of decay was gone, too, replaced by the salty tang of sea air and appetizing aromas wafting from the diner that reminded her she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. It was still afternoon here, but she was on Manitoba time, two hours ahead, and she was hungry.
As tempted as she was to head to the diner, she really needed to figure out where her house was and if it was liveable. After all these years, it was probably falling down.
She was contemplating a seeking spell when the forest lining one side of the road erupted into motion.
“Attack the interloper!” a shrill voice squeaked, and the air filled with a loud buzzing noise and a hail of pinecones flew at her from all directions.
She threw up a quick shield that deflected most of the barrage, though a couple of the pinecones hit their target before she got it up.
“If I’ve got sap in my hair, you’re going to regret it!” She yelled at the trees.
“Go away! You’re bad, and bad witches aren’t welcome!”
“Yeah, go home or…or…we’ll drop a house on you!”
No one dropped houses on witches anymore. It was expensive, inefficient, and hellishly hard to coordinate that kind of attack. Who were these people?
The answer came at her a few seconds later, like a swarm of oversized hornets in drag. Tiny spears and arrows flew at her, and she threw out a hand to send a sharp gust of air at the horde descending on her. “Hey, quit it! Stay back!”
The wind knocked them aside momentarily, and she heard them screeching in surprise and fury as they tumbled through the air, shedding loads of glittering pixie dust from their wings as they went. Breeze felt her throat begin to close up and her eyes started to itch and swell. Just her luck, the first citizens of Wyrding Way to greet her were pixies, and she was highly allergic to the fluttery little fuckers.
Another barrage of pinecones flew at her, and this time, she was too slow to get a shield up. She had to resort to flinging her coat over her head and making a run for it.
“Baba Yaga sent me!” She stumbled away from the forest and the gang of overprotective whatever-the-hell was in the woods that were intent on driving her away. She headed for the beach. If she could wash some of the dust out of her eyes and nose maybe she’d stave off a full-blown reaction.
She stumbled over logs and scrambled through the sand, occasionally flinging another blast of wind behind her in an attempt to keep the pixie horde at bay. They
weren’t attacking anymore. Now they were following and jabbering questions at her like the world’s tiniest paparazzi.
“Who are you?”
“Why you here?”
“Why were you messing with the magics that protect us?”
The questions came fast and furious, and she didn’t have the breath to answer any of them. By the time she reached the water, her eyes were swelling shut and she was sneezing non-stop. Lesson learned. She was going to start carrying a Pix-E-stick pen again. She’d take an unpleasant jab to the thigh over an allergy attack any day.
She dropped her purse on the shore and waded out into the water, dropping to her knees when she got a few feet into the surf. It was so cold it was painful, but she stayed put and lowered her head into the next wave, letting it wash over her. Saltwater and sand filled her mouth, and she spat it out, her teeth already chattering. She crawled into the surf, the undertow pulling the sand out from beneath her as she moved. She tried again. This time the ratio of water to sand was better. Again, she crawled forward, until the waves were breaking over her head and she had to sit up or risk being caught in the current and pulled into deeper water. This was as far as she could go. Here’s hoping it worked.
The next wave came and she forced her eyes open, the sting of salt and sand a welcome contrast to the itchiness the dust had caused. She was freezing cold and soaking wet, but at least she hadn’t sacrificed her outfit for nothing. Her impromptu full-body eyewash station was working.
Two more waves, and she decided that discretion was the better part of not freezing her ass off completely. Her eyesight was still blurry and the waves strong enough to knock her off her feet, so instead of walking out, she crawled to dry land and flopped onto the sand with a groan.
