by A C Spahn
A screen embroidered with black and white flowers hid the back corner of my space, giving me a private area if I needed to enchant something. Boxes and drawers crammed with artsy bits and bobs filled the shelves beneath my counter and lined the walls behind it. Buttons, keys, colored string, and bits of roadside junk that spoke to me, waiting to be turned into art.
As always, when I saw my crafting paradise, the week’s stress eased.
Sam had afternoon summer school, leaving her mornings free. She was sitting on my work counter beside half a car tire, the rubber edges cleanly severed to form a perfect half-circle. She had a sketchpad in front of her, and was tracing her finger along the top sheet of paper, brow furrowed. Kendall sat on the floor at the opposite end of the counter, laptop balanced on her knees. She wore one of my steampunk shirt projects, a brown one with lace at the cuffs and collar, and leather piping along the edges. A glance at the counter showed she’d left me the cost of the shirt, plus a couple bucks in tip.
“Where’s Desmond?” I asked, letting my tie-dyed purse plop on the table.
“Out back,” said Kendall, not looking up. “He’s kinda grumpy this morning. I guess because of all the Void stuff. He keeps poking his head back in, though. Looking for you.”
Straining my ears, I caught the faint whirr of power tools from the direction of the loading bay behind the store. “Somebody should tell him it’s not safe to work a saw while angry.”
“You do it,” said Kendall. “He’s my boss. You just rent space from him.”
I looked down at her computer screen to see an online message board, black and red theme loudly proclaiming, “Ye Olde Circle, a paranormal meeting ground.” Unease flickered in my stomach, but I forced it down. “You’re looking for information?”
“That and trading memes with other shifters,” said Kendall. She glanced up at me. “Don’t worry. I’m being cautious. Just asking if anybody heard about any enchanter drama in the area. So far, nothing. Just rumors about that stuff with the kid here last fall.”
“I’m not a kid,” Sam said absently.
“Can you vote? No? Kid.” Kendall clicked on something and snickered. Glancing over her shoulder, I saw a picture of a squirrel running with a dollar bill in its mouth, captioned: Must save for winter!
Shifter humor.
I rounded the counter, intending to dig through my supplies for a granola bar I knew I’d put somewhere, when I caught a glimpse of the paper that had Sam so occupied. A circular pattern, drawn in highlighter from a single unbroken line, an exact match of the tattoo on my chest. The image seemed to twist and distort before my eyes, like an Omar Rayo optical illusion painting.
I snatched the paper so fast I cut Sam’s finger. “What do you think you’re doing? What if someone sees?”
“Ow!” The girl stuck her finger in her mouth and glared at me. “The store’s empty. Nobody’s going to see. I just wanted to try to solve it.”
I crammed the paper back into the bottom drawer of the chest behind my embroidered screen, then began layering other art supplies atop it. “It’s not a maze. And you can’t solve it. It doesn’t have any way out.”
“I think it might.”
“That’s because the paper has a confusion enchantment on it. I appreciate your initiative, but you need to ask before poking through my stuff.” I finished burying the condemning drawing and slammed the drawer shut. Turning to face Sam, I planted my hands on my hips. “That pattern is a neon sign pointing to me. If the wrong people see that, Sam, I’m as dead as that corpse we found. And so are you, probably. We’re enchantresses. We can’t afford to take chances.”
Sam had the grace to look chastened. “I’m sorry.”
“Told you she wouldn’t like you playing with it,” said Kendall. I shifted my glare to her. She raised her hands. “If there were people around, I wouldn’t have let her. But she’s right, Adrienne. There’s no chance anyone saw.”
“Why don’t you just destroy it, if you’re so worried?” asked Sam.
“I can’t destroy the maze,” I said. “That will let the confusion magic out, and if I’m nearby, which I’d have to be to destroy it, it will start assaulting me. Even if someone else destroys it, some of the magic might come back at me. I don’t want to risk trying to channel it again. Not unless there’s no other choice. I’ll put it somewhere safer later.” I narrowed my eyes at Sam. “So long as nobody goes waving it around before then, we should be okay.”
Sam raised her hands in surrender.
Sighing, I hopped up on the counter and swung my legs over the side, letting my purple sneakers kick against the wood. Below me, Kendall typed something into a private chat window with another paranormal under the username PMmeYourFangs. Kendall’s username was ILikeBigNuts. They seemed to be talking about the best places to eat trash while in animal form.
“The Voids don’t trust Desmond anymore,” I said quietly.
My tone got their attention. Kendall closed the laptop.
“One of them stopped by at the Faire. A guy who used to hang out with Desmond. All his buddies are distancing themselves from him.”
“Because of us?” asked Sam.
I nodded.
“Bad timing,” said Kendall. “With enemies at the door.”
I flinched at the thought. “I know. We need a strong alliance with the Voids. Which means we have to solve this case for them. We have to figure out what that boy was doing here.”
“Running away, I think,” said Sam.
“Yes, but why? How’d he get here? If he came from Geralt’s cult, he traveled almost three thousand miles. Did he choose to do that, like I did, or did they bring him here? And if they did ... why?”
The back door opened and shut. A moment later Desmond came around the end of the last aisle. Sawdust flecked his black, tousled hair. He smiled on seeing me, though I couldn’t miss the lingering tension in his face.
“What’d you make back there?” I asked.
“Just shelves. One of my regulars wants a matching set to display his book collection on the walls.”
“I heard your friends don’t like you anymore,” said Kendall. “You okay, man?”
Desmond shot me a look, and I frowned. “You seriously weren’t going to tell them?”
He wiped some stray sawdust off his hands. “I guess I wasn’t. It’s not important.”
“It kind of is, though,” said Kendall. “What if these jerkfaces decide to turn on us when the cult shows up?”
When, not if. An image flashed through my mind, of Geralt stepping through the doors of Haven. In my mind he was more monster than man, a hazy vision with shadowy features and burning pupils shaped like enchantment tattoos. Behind him spread a map of North America, with growing redness obliterating all in its path.
I clutched the edge of my counter against the sudden surge of terror that spilled from my gut. The aisles of Haven swirled in front of me. I forced a deep inhale through my nose. Then let it out slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I had this. I could handle this. I was okay.
None of my friends noticed the near-panic attack. “They wouldn’t turn on us,” said Desmond. “They have as much reason to hate the cult as we do.”
“What happens if the cult finds us, exactly?” asked Sam. “I mean, I know what they’d do to Adrienne ...”
Panic surged again. My teeth gritted, and I focused on breathing as Sam kept speaking.
“... but what about the rest of us? They’d try to recruit me or something, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kendall asked sharply.
“Nothing. Just that I’ve heard cults recruit enchanters, so I figure they wouldn’t want to kill me.”
“Planning how to save yourself?” There was a slight chitter in Kendall’s voice, a sound she made when facing a threat. Part of her squirrel nature bleeding through.
Sam noticed it. Heat infused her tone. “I’m not going to join them, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Who’s implying that?” Kendall looked around. “No one said that. So why’d you think of it?”
“You’re ... you were ... that’s not fair,” Sam protested. “I didn’t mean anything, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on.”
“If the cult finds us,” Desmond broke in, “they’ll kill us. All of us, for hiding Adrienne from them.”
Sitting still and breathing wasn’t working anymore. I had to move, to do something to stifle the terror clawing its way out of my mental shadows. I hopped off the counter. “It doesn’t matter what will happen because we won’t let them find us.” My hands shook, and I pretended to rummage in my craft supplies to hide the tremors. “We need to start figuring out how much of a problem we have. Kendall, keep fishing around online. Desmond, I know your Union contacts are mad at you, but see if you can get any information out of them. Sam ...”
She perked up.
“Work on that.” I pointed to the severed half tire beside her before busying myself with my supplies again. My hands still shook. My chest felt tight. The room’s magic seemed to grow more oppressive, its kadum kadum kadum echoing in my head.
Sam sighed. “I don’t have any ideas. I’m just not inspired.”
“Art takes work, not just inspiration. I told you when you became my apprentice you had to make something beautiful out of that. So far you haven’t even touched it. I don’t care what you do, just do something. Express yourself.”
Rolling her eyes, Sam turned the tire toward herself. “Touchy today?”
“Yes, with good reason.” My hands would not quit shaking. I needed to stop talking about this. Another topic came to mind. “Did you find the owner of that silver bracelet yet?”
Sam flushed guiltily. “Uh ... not yet.”
“Did you even try?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.
“Of course I tried!” Anger colored her tone as well. “It’s not easy to call every jeweler in the city, you know.”
“You should have thought about that before you stole it.”
“I get it, lesson learned, I’m sorry. Maybe I should just enchant myself into knowing where it belongs!”
My temper flared at her sarcastic tone. “Magic can’t do that. Even if it could, that would be fleshwriting, and we’ve talked about this.”
“I know. It was a joke.”
“You can’t treat this stuff as a joke, Sam. I’m trying to teach you how to handle your power.”
“I do know how to handle it.”
“You don’t! Just two days ago, you fleshwrote, despite every lecture I’ve given you about how unsafe it is. You’ve got to start listening to me, without making me fight you every step.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Sorry isn’t enough!” My palm slammed onto the counter. “Didn’t you hear Desmond? If the fleshwriters attack, we all die. All of us. But I die last. If they get us, I have to watch them kill all of you first, and I can’t let one of your mistakes cause that!”
Sam’s cheeks went white, her eyes wide. I realized I’d been yelling, every muscle clenched. Not only that, I’d drawn in magic, pulling it from the room until it pounded inside my head like the marching of an army. KADUM! KADUM! KADUM! Feeling around, I sensed that the room’s magic had greatly diminished, by more than just what I had sucked in. Sam was holding raw magic, too, ready to be unleashed. Unleashed at me.
Slowly I uncoiled my fist, one finger at a time, wincing against the pounding in my head. The trembling in my hands had stopped, anger overriding the fear. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not going to attack you.” I rummaged in my craft supplies until I came out with a pair of leaf-shaped earrings, a length of soft blue velvet, and a tiny wooden rake for a Zen garden. Laying the rake and one of the earrings beside each other, I spread the velvet over them and rested my fingertips atop the fabric. “Soothe your wearer,” I chanted aloud. “Relax the body. Relieve tension. Provide calm and peace of mind.” I repeated those words as I sent the magic into the Zen rake, absorbing the tranquility it represented. Then I guided the magic through the yielding velvet into the earring. As the magic left me and the drumming receded, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was in control.
I swapped out the earring for its twin and motioned Sam over. “You need to release your magic, too. Make a copy of what I just did. Earring as the target, velvet as the channel, rake as focus. You heard the enchantment I used?”
She nodded, tight-lipped. The drumming in her head would be starting to hurt by now.
I backed away and watched as Sam repeated my enchantment, creating a second relaxation earring. Her shoulders lowered as the magic left her. I went to pick up the earrings, both now threaded with blue veins from their enchantment, and touched Sam’s arm.
kadum ... kadum ... kadum ...
“Good,” I said. “That was a clean enchantment. I can only feel the room’s ambient magic in you. You channeled the rest of it away.” I passed her the earrings. “You can wear these.”
“Seems like you need them more.”
The tension I’d just released flared again. “Sam ...”
“Adrienne?” Desmond stood with a hunted expression. “I need to talk to you, please. Alone.”
Gritting my teeth, I pointed at the tire. “Call five more jewelers and see if they own the bracelet. Then work on your project, apprentice.”
Sam huffed, but went to do as she was told. She left the earrings on my worktable.
I followed Desmond into the store aisles, stopping between the knitting section and the embroidery patterns. “What?”
He glanced over my shoulder, to where Sam and Kendall were no doubt trying to listen in. “Perdiste el control. ¿Estás bien?”
The Spanish caught me off guard. You lost control. Are you okay?
I sighed. “Sí. Estoy cansada, es sólo eso.” Yes. Just tired.
“Deberias volver a casa.”
“No,” I said in English, “I don’t want to be alone right now.” Desmond suddenly frowned at something behind me. I turned to see Sam sticking her head around the endcap.
“You speak Spanish?” she asked.
“What did Desmond say about talking in private?” I demanded.
“Sorry.” She blushed. “I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have drawn in magic against you.”
I waited.
“And I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re just trying to help. I just ... I guess I still think you must be trying to get something from me. I know you aren’t. It’s just hard to get over that fear.”
I softened. Sam had been through a lot this year, and had good reason not to trust anyone. Something I understood. “I’m sorry for getting angry. I promise I’m just looking out for your best interests.”
She glanced at the ground. “How come you haven’t spoken Spanish around me before? Is it another secret?”
“No. I’m not keeping things from you.” Not more than I was from anyone else, anyway. Suddenly weary, I lowered myself to sit on the edge of a display of sewing kits. “I grew up bilingual, but I don’t speak much Spanish anymore. Geralt forbade anyone in the cult from speaking anything other than English or French.”
“French?”
“The other language he understood. I think he came from Quebec.”
Kendall’s voice carried to us above the aisles in an exaggerated twang. “Dayum foreigners ruinin’ our country.” When nobody laughed, she added, “Too much?”
Desmond chuckled. “You may as well come over here, Kendall. This private meeting seems to have ended.”
Kendall trotted around the corner and plopped herself down against a big display of yarn. “Not that I was eavesdropping, but you never told me why you don’t speak Spanish, Adrienne. Maybe you should start speaking it more, to reclaim your identity and shit.”
“I thought of that,” I said. “After I escaped the cult, I spent a few years diving into Colombian culture. I’d spent my entire adolescence cut off from my heritage, so I learned everyt
hing I could, studied the art styles, the music, the food. Spoke Spanish as often as I could. I still enjoy the other aspects, but using the language ... it reminds me too much of my early childhood. Of when my parents and I spoke Spanish at home. Every word reminded me of what I’d lost. So I stopped. To dull the pain.”
“What else are you suppressing?” asked Kendall. A fountain of tact, that gal.
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly conscious of my three friends watching me with concern. “Plenty of memories, I can tell you that.”
“Did you change your name when you escaped the cult? Adrienne is a French name.”
“What is this, interrogation hour?”
“We’re just trying to help,” said Desmond, crouching beside me and putting his hand on my knee. “You don’t have to answer anything, and we can stop this conversation if you want.”
I rubbed a weary hand over my eyes. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m just ...”
Worried about an impending war that nobody even knows is happening.
“... on edge.”
Yeah, that was much more diplomatic.
Turning to Kendall, I said, “My maternal great-grandmother was French. My mom named me after her. She was very proud of her French ancestry.” I left out my suspicion that said French pride made it easier for Geralt to sweep my mother into the cult, and my father and I along with her. “I kept my name when I left the cult because they’d expect me to change it, and because at sixteen I had no way of legally changing my identifying documents. And I wasn’t about to risk going around without an ID, not with my Colombian heritage. Fleshwriter cults don’t have the same inroads with the normal government that the Voids do, so I figured they couldn’t track me so long as I avoided making myself obvious. All my sales are under a business name, and I never let people post photos of me online. That sort of thing.”
