Magick & Mayhem

by Sharon Pape

  Travis chuckled. “That’s how long your shop’s been around?”

  “No, don’t be silly. This shop has barely been here for three hundred and fifty years.”

  “Touché. I get it. You have to keep up the mystique of the place.”

  “You have no idea,” I said, tempted to give him a taste of that “mystique.” But if I tried a little magick and failed, I’d wind up proving him right. What if I stuck to something simple, without any hoopla beforehand? That way if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t know I’d made the attempt. I put his products into a canvas tote. If I wanted to wow Travis, it was now or never. I focused my mind on the shop brochures piled neatly at the end of the counter. I tried to lock onto the top one and lift it off the stack, but I kept losing it before I had any real traction. Travis didn’t seem to be any the wiser, but if I kept staring at the brochures, he was sure to wonder why. I was on the verge of giving up when I finally felt my mind hook onto the brochure and lift it free. Once it was off the stack, it was easy to propel through the air and drop gently into the canvas bag. In light of our recent magick woes, I was a bit amazed that I’d succeeded. Maybe having Merlin around was healing me too. In any case, I didn’t dare celebrate my success in front of Travis. I had to act like it was a common thing to see in a real magick shop.

  “Okay,” he said, clearly nonplussed. “How did you do that? Is there a button under the counter or what?”

  “Magick,” I replied. “I don’t know any other way to do it.” In spite of my best intentions, I was finding it hard to contain the smile that spread across my face. It felt like it reached from ear to ear.

  He stepped over to the brochures and passed his hand around them, no doubt checking for a wire too fine to be easily seen. “Neat trick, but I’ll figure it out,” he said, hefting the tote off the counter. “I was a total magic nerd as a kid.”

  “I’d be interested to hear what you come up with.”

  “You’ll be the first one I call.”

  “The number’s on the brochure.”

  “Right, thanks.” When he reached the door, he turned back to me. “I may not be a convert yet,” he said, “but I am glad I waited for you.”

  The door had barely shut behind him, when my mother and grandmother appeared simultaneously, two clouds of stormy energy hovering over the counter at eye level. News sure traveled fast on the other side. “I’m afraid I’ve been a very bad girl,” I said, in hopes of preempting them with a cute confession to take the edge off their pique. I should have known better.

  Sparks flew from Morgana’s cloud. “You think this is funny? This is not a joking matter.”

  “I didn’t say it was. But it’s also not the end of the world.”

  “It could be,” my mother said, no doubt hoping to add gravitas to her claim.

  “Anything could be,” I replied. “And by the way, I’d like to know why you think it’s okay to spy on me whenever the mood strikes you.”

  “I wasn’t spying,” she said indignantly. “I wanted to stop in for a visit, but I always check first to be sure you’re alone.”

  “We’re simply concerned about your future,” Bronwen said, entering the conversation for the first time.

  My mother wasn’t ready to get off her soapbox yet. “You were showing off for that young man, weren’t you?”

  “When someone has a closed mind, I can’t help trying to pry it open,” I said in my own defense.

  “You’ve always liked proving people wrong.”

  “Well I wonder who I got that from,” I muttered before I could stop myself. If my mother heard me, she chose to ignore it in pursuit of her own agenda.

  “You were using magick to flirt with him,” she said. I had to admit she was partly right, but I didn’t have to admit it out loud. Again in my defense, I’d never been self-confident enough to flirt with my ordinary skills. The couple of times I’d tried had been awkward and downright laughable. My college roomie and I still double over with laughter whenever we talk about my feeble attempts. If I was smart, I would take my mother’s verbal drubbing and get it over with. Sadly, time had proven I wasn’t that smart.

  “Kailyn,” my grandmother said in that way she had of sounding stern and understanding at the same time, “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten why it’s best not to flagrantly remind people that we’re not quite like they are; that we have certain, shall we say, advantages over them. I know how easy it is to feel bulletproof at your age. But beneath the thin veneer of this modern age, people are essentially the same as they have always been.” She succeeded in talking me down to a low simmer.

  Although I understood their concerns, hiding my powers had always been a sore subject for me. When I was a child, I didn’t see any point in having special abilities if I had to keep them hidden. Super-heroes were always flaunting theirs. Adding more fuel to my confusion was the fact that my aunt worked openly as a psychic. I’d pointed out this glaring double standard many times during my early years. Bronwen always gave me the same answer. “There were times when your Aunt Tilly would have been hanged or drowned for correctly predicting the future or reading someone’s mind. One day real magick will find greater acceptance too.” But children are nothing if not impatient. There were some incidents at school that required Morgana’s intervention. After a while I got better at doing things on the sly. With adulthood had come rational thought and a sense of responsibility for my “gifts.” Before meeting Travis, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken my telekinesis out for a spin in public. According to Bronwen, the definition of “in public” was in view of anyone other than family.

  “People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” my mother said now, her tone immediately raising my hackles again. What was it between mothers and daughters that was so easily resolved by widening the gap by an additional generation? “And they’re envious of what they will never have or ever hope to attain.”

  “Okay, Morgana, no need to beat a dead horse,” Bronwen said. I could have kissed her for that, but I didn’t know how to go about it in her present form.

  “Oh by all means,” my mother grumbled. “Once the great Bronwen has spoken, everything else is superfluous.”

  My grandmother sighed. “Get a grip, dear.”

  Listening to them spar, I wondered if my mother’s relationship with her grandmother had been easier too. They went at it for a few more minutes, without any sign of their emotions cooling. At that point, I interrupted them with a reminder that a customer could walk in at any moment. They vanished on the spot, still embroiled in their eternal combat.

  I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon more upbeat than I had any right to be, given the Sturm und Drang with my elders and the fact that I was no closer to finding Jim’s killer. If the police were the only ones who could elicit customer information from the bank, then logic dictated I pay Duggan a visit. If he already knew about the feud between Jim and the dentist, maybe I could get him to reveal if Silver’s alibi had held up. I’d been wanting to talk to the detective now that I knew he and Jim had not parted amicably. I would have to be careful about what I said and how I said it, though. If Duggan suspected I had access to Jim’s confidential files, things would quickly become worse for both Elise and me. I was thinking this when the phone rang and Elise’s number appeared on my caller ID. We spoke so often these days that our phone etiquette had evolved into verbal shorthand: “Hi, you okay?” “You?” Sometimes we didn’t bother with responses before jumping right into the meat of the conversation.

  “I need to see you.” Elise’s voice was ripe with unspoken words.

  “Six?” That would give me time to feed the cats and check on Tilly and Merlin. I didn’t know exactly why I felt the need to check on them. Maybe it was because the sorcerer’s recent track record hadn’t been great. He’d turned the cat into a bird and was responsible for the great puppy escape. Of course he’d also changed the bird back into a cat, helped round up the puppies, and restored Tilly�
��s abilities. In the final tally, though, there was still too much potential for disaster to give me peace of mind.

  “Pizza?” Elise asked.

  “Half mushroom?”

  “Done.”

  I had the kitchen table set with paper goods when she arrived. We took time for a quick hug before tearing into the pizza. Before I tore into it anyway. I was so hungry I didn’t come up for air until I’d downed most of my first slice. “No time for lunch today,” I said in explanation.

  “Were you busy sleuthing?” she asked, taking her first, dainty bite.

  I told her about the faux dental emergency and how I hoped to learn if the bank verified Silver’s alibi. I poured each of us a glass of citrus-steeped water and reached for another slice.

  “I realized where the money in that safety deposit box could have come from and why Jim never told me about it.” I froze with the pizza halfway to my mouth as if chewing might compromise my hearing. “When we were first married, Jim occasionally played poker with his friends. The stakes were low; it was mostly a chance to hang out with his buddies and have a beer or two. As everyone got married, started families, the game fell apart. Then Jim found another game through one of his clients.”

  “That high stakes game you told me about?”

  She nodded. “The more he lost, the more fixated he became on winning it back. When I confronted him, he claimed it was entertainment, not an addiction. I didn’t talk too much about it to you, my sister or anyone. I couldn’t spend all my waking hours dwelling on the problem. I became an ostrich. If I stuck my head deep enough in the ground, he would miraculously be cured.”

  I put the slice of pizza down on my plate. “I remember there was one point you threatened to take the kids and leave if he didn’t go for help. But he did, right? I thought you guys were in a better place after that.”

  “So did I. But where else would he have gotten all that money? He must have started gambling again. And winning.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “The money is going to be a huge help, I can’t deny that. But I feel betrayed, like our marriage was built on deceit.” The tears wobbled on her lashes, then ran down her cheeks, murky with mascara.

  I reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “He probably convinced himself he was protecting you by keeping his relapse a secret.”

  “Or he kept it a secret, because he didn’t want to give up the whole roller coaster ride of gambling and he didn’t want me on his back about it.” She sounded wounded and angry. I couldn’t blame her. She took a half-hearted bite of her pizza, before putting it down again. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” she said. “This may be grasping at straws, but there are two other people who could have taken Jim’s gun.”

  “Who?” New avenues to pursue equaled good news in my book.

  Elise took a sip of her water. “Anna, my cleaning woman, and Ronnie.” My hopes deflated. I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Anna or Ronnie would steal Jim’s gun and try to frame Elise for his murder. “The way things are going,” she went on, “I decided I can’t afford to overlook anyone.”

  I tried to think dispassionately, the way the police would. “Did they both know where Jim kept the gun?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Anna saw him take the gun out or put it away at some point over the years. We trusted her implicitly. Not to mention that the woman is afraid of her own shadow. Ronnie definitely knew where the gun was. Jim showed it to her when she was thinking of buying one for protection. You know, a woman living alone. She even went target shooting with us a couple of times.”

  “How about opportunity?”

  “I leave Anna alone in the house all the time, and Ronnie comes over when we’re away to water the plants and bring in the mail. They both have keys.”

  “Given the stakes, you’re right—we can’t afford to automatically dismiss them.” I debated taking a third slice, but decided two was my limit, or should be. “You can’t be the one to confront them,” I said, “because you won’t push hard enough. On a subconscious level, you’d be worried about destroying your relationships with them. You have to tell Duggan what you’ve told me and let him take it from there.”

  “It feels like I’m throwing them to the wolves,” she said miserably.

  A loud rap on the front door made her jump in her seat. It was immediately followed by the creaking of the hinges, which reminded me they needed oiling. “Kailyn,” she whispered, “I think I heard someone walk in the front door, but I know you locked it after me.”

  “Tilly’s here,” my aunt called out before I could explain. “Merlin’s with me, so you’d better be decent.”

  “In the kitchen,” I yelled back. “She knocks before she lets herself in so she doesn’t startle me,” I told Elise, who still looked unsettled.

  “I smell pizza,” I heard Merlin say. A moment later they both appeared in the kitchen doorway along with my cats, all milling around Merlin’s feet. Sashkatu stayed at the periphery of the mob. Oblivious to everyone, furred and not, Merlin made a beeline for the box in the center of the table, causing the cats to scramble out of his way. After helping himself to a slice, he sat down with barely a glance at Elise or me. If we ever figured out how to send him home, it might have to be with a pizza oven. The cats were vying for a place beside him, which led to a lot of hissing and hackle raising. Elise watched all this with a bewildered expression.

  “This is Merlin,” I said, “a distant cousin of ours, visiting from England. He’s a bit . . . um . . . eccentric and he has this weird connection with cats.” I hoped that introduction would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. Of course if he changed one species of animal into another in front of her, it probably wouldn’t suffice. Since Merlin didn’t show any interest in finding out who she was, I decided to stop the meet and greet there.

  “Merlin isn’t a name you hear every day,” Elise said, her own slice of pizza left to languish on her plate.

  I shrugged. “We don’t actually know that side of the family very well.”

  Tilly had shuffled her way around the table to give Elise a motherly kiss on the top of her head. “How are you holding up, dear?” she asked.

  “To be honest, I have no idea.”

  “I promise you, it will get better. Time is a healer as well as a thief.” I’d never thought of Tilly as a purveyor of wisdom. My mother had always filled that slot, after Bronwen of course. It made sense that Tilly, being younger, had had to carve out her own niche in the family. So she was the fun one, the lamp-shade-on-her-head one, the one who marched to the beat of her own whimsy. Silly Tilly. Maybe I’d underestimated her.

  She lowered herself into the chair between Elise and me. “Baking is hard on the body, especially the feet,” she said with a soft groan. “I’ve tried to do it while sitting, but I’m up and down so often that my knees start aching.” She reached into the box and tore off a piece of the pizza crust, her favorite part of the pie.

  “Did you come by to chat or was there another reason?” I asked.

  “A reason,” she repeated, her thinly penciled eyebrows knitting together. “Yes, I’m fairly sure there was a reason . . .” She took a napkin to wipe away the crumbs on her chin. “Oh, I know!” She reached for her purse on the floor beside her. It was large enough to tote around a week’s worth of clothing or a litter of tiny dogs. When I was a kid, I’d dive into her huge handbags in search of the hard candies she always kept there. I still marveled at the variety of things she felt obliged to carry around. This time she withdrew a plastic container and set it triumphantly on the table. “I brought dessert.”

  I opened the lid to find mini pastries and scones from the day’s baking. “I had to hide them from the mouth over there,” she said, looking pointedly in Merlin’s direction. “In the interest of full disclosure, I mean this as a bribe.”

  I bit into the frosting of a pink petit four. My aunt knew her way around a bribe. I slid the container across the table to Elise, who selected a mini orange-cr
anberry scone. “Okay,” I asked, licking my fingertips, “what do I have to do now that I’ve ingested the bribe?”

  “Here’s the thing,” Tilly said, “it’s impossible to do readings with Merlin around. No one wants a third party present when we’re discussing private matters. I was hoping you could keep him with you when I have clients.”

  I could hardly say no. Merlin had shown up in my storeroom, not hers, and she’d been kind enough to let him stay with her. She might not have expected the care and feeding of a legendary sorcerer to be as demanding as it was, yet she hadn’t dumped him back on my doorstep. At least not until now. “We’ll work it out,” I told her with a lot more confidence than I was feeling.

  Chapter 17

  The squad room looked a lot like the ones I’d seen on TV, although somewhat smaller. The flooring was tile, the lighting fluorescent, the desks utilitarian steel, each holding a computer terminal. It would have been hard to make the room more drab. Duggan was one of two detectives there. He was in shirt sleeves, his tie loosened around his neck.

  “Miss Wilde,” Duggan said, looking up as I approached his desk, Merlin trailing behind me. I’d asked the sorcerer to change into the jeans and shirt Tilly had given him, but he’d refused. Comfort meant more to him than fitting in. A sentiment to be applauded if he were a teenager, but problematic, since we didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to him. I worried about the questions his appearance would raise. Where did he come from? Was he destitute? Homeless? Crazy?

  “Good afternoon, Detective,” I replied.

  Duggan was frowning in Merlin’s direction. “Is he with you?” He seemed poised to leap over the desk and muscle him outside if I denied any connection to him.

  “Yes, he is.” I enjoyed watching the detective’s expression try to accommodate to this unexpected news.

  “Relative?” he asked, no doubt thinking that had to be the reason I was in the company of an elderly man who looked like a vagabond.

  “His name is Merlin,” I said to skirt the issue. Telling the detective that I didn’t know, would only lead to a round of twenty questions and a series of lies that would eventually trip me up. “He’s from England,” I added. “Merlin this is Detective Duggan.”