“I’ll have a Graveyard, Jasper, two olives.”
He mixed the foaming drink, added the dollop of pepper sauce and the olives, which peered like eyeballs through the side of the glass, before setting it in front of her.
She sipped. “It’s perfect! Thank you.” She slid into a booth and watched the door, adjusting any who needed it, making them appear human and usual.
“Dragonale.”
Jasper, at 6’ 2”, craned his neck. Jeez, this dude is huge. With a nod, he tapped the ale, let it rest, layered the hot sauce, poured the balance, topped it with a clear unmarked liquid, and set it on fire. The man lifted it, flaming, and guzzled half before slamming the glass down. He glowered at Jasper, tipped his head back, and roared. Moustache smoking, he busted out with a long-toothed grin and an appreciative nod.
“Not bad. Another.”
“You know it. You still have half a womb broom to fry.” Jasper poured as the man erupted in laughter, slapping the bar top with a meaty hand. The cocktails jumped.
“I like him!”
“Thanks for the ride, Topper. The vibe outside tonight is weird.”
“Full moon. Good time to let the night’s creatures do their thing and stay out of their way.”
A howl punctuated the conversation’s pause, and Jasper blinked, seeing movement in the shadows as they rolled out of town. Gravel crunching, they stopped in Topper’s drive. He followed her up the steps to the big porch, bats swooping through the columns. It even smells weird tonight.
“Smells funky, like stank animals and smoking matches.”
Topper blew out a sigh and gestured to the stools around the kitchen island. She grabbed bourbon from the pantry, pouring two neat, before pushing one to Jasper.
“That’s not the night, Jasper.” Topper sipped and cocked her head. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this, but you need to know.”
“What are you talking about?” Jasper swirled the amber whiskey and sucked down half, a knot gripping his gut.
“That scent of sulphur. It’s you. It is a signal of who you are. Everyone in Magic knows what you are, except for you. That’s not your fault. You should be aware, Jasper, that your mother loved you very much.”
Jasper snorted, drained his glass and poured two more.
“If she didn’t, you’d remember her and your step-dad and still be with them. Your mother was talented and powerful, and she protected you with her fiercest weapons.”
“Topper, no offense, but you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“In actuality, I do.” With a wave, the book laying by Jasper’s bed materialized on the counter between them. Topper tapped it and it sprang open, pages turning unassisted until the picture that twisted his gut last night, of a witch screaming in childbirth beside a grinning demonic monster, lay open between them.
“Your mother, Jasper, is a witch. She had her reasons to make the deal with a demon, and those lie within her, but when the situation became untenable, she cast spells of incredible strength on you. Your few memories represent a testament of your love for her. If you didn’t harbor that, you’d remember nothing about them. She wiped you clean, Jasper, to keep you safe.”
“You expect me to believe that my mother was a witch who screwed some demon and got a warlock? That’s nuts.”
“Yet, you know I’m telling you the truth! You have random bursts of heat. In the mirror, your eyes flash red. Now you’re around other magical people, and it’s messing with your stomach. When you touched Melia’s hand, what did you see, Jasper?”
Oh, crap. Not going there. His vision of a devil, fire, and a silver line rose into his mind. I’m not letting her crazy-ass story start making sense.
Topper tilted her head and touched the book, the pages flipping in a flurry, then laying open once more. Jasper stared at the picture, of a warlock surrounded by witches while a cloud rose from his body. He drained the rest of his drink, aware of his shaking hands.
“A witch can lift any spell, if she’s talented enough to dissect it and build a counter spell. If you choose to live as a magical being, Magic is the best location. You are both dark and light, Jasper, and these forces fight for dominance within you. I cannot say with certainty your light will prevail. But, if your heart is set on Melia, she can help you come through.”
“I suppose Melia is also a witch?” Jasper made an exasperated noise.
“She is a Muse descendent. She embodies art, music, and poetry. Each endeavor of human betterment passes through her enchantments. The potential for balance between you is a powerful weapon; it may prevent your spirit from falling to darkness. If that happens, you remain there.” Topper tapped the book, closing it, and sighed. “You will live a long time, Kid, maybe hundreds of years. The choice is yours. Continue, and as long as the protection holds, you remain as you are. But, if your spell releases and you are alone, the odds of you controlling the demon piece… well, let’s say they aren’t great.”
Jasper poured another drink and downed it, wishing the alcohol would blunt his whirling mind.
“This is crazy. You’re saying Zeus is real, too? Come on!”
“Sleep on it and see what tomorrow brings. You can’t avoid this, Jasper.” Topper rose, tucking the bourbon back in the pantry with a finger wave and turning to face him. “You must decide. Good night.”
With a snap of her fingers, Topper vanished.
Chapter 5
Bleary-eyed, Jasper stumbled downstairs, hoping for Melia. Instead, an old woman in a funky lace dress holding onto a teacup peered at him with interest. Wellie and Romer sat opposite, downing a pile of eggs and bacon. Romer looked thoughtful. Wellie, amused.
“Bon Ami, how was the bar?”
“Good gig, Wellie. I did alright. You?”
“I’m up today. Melia got me short-order work at the diner. Krazy Kettle or something close to that. It’s down the street from Kokopelli’s.”
“I’m working tonight at the bar,” Romer added. “I plan on killing it.”
“Know you will, Bro. What did The Chunk say when you called in?”
“Everything’s cool. They said to fix the car, haul ass back, and don’t plan on asking for any time off for a while.”
“Cajun Cowboy’s was chill with it too, although the regulars will miss Wellie’s cooking.”
“Ah, Bon Amis, this tale is true. Also sad, but when I return the gumbo will sing once more.”
“If you make that at the Kettle, I’ll pop over for lunch. I lived in New Orleans for a while,” Elthera said as the young men turned to her.
“Ma’am, excuse my manners. I am Jasper Jones.”
“I’m Elthera, and it’s a pleasure, Mr. Jones. You are the reason I am here.”
Wellie’s eyes crinkled and Romer grinned, mouthing ‘player’, unseen by Elthera.
“Me? How can I help you?”
“I am here to help you,” Elthera replied with an arched brow as Romer and Wellie shook with silent laughter.
“You aren’t invisible, you know,” she waved at them. “I’m elderly but not blind.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” they mumbled as Jasper flashed a grin.
Elthera rose, walking around Jasper before placing a finger between his eyebrows, and muttering to herself. “Yes, yes, I see. Gracious. You poor boy. Well, now.” She shot him a considering look, shook her head, and snapped her fingers.
“W-w-hat the actual hell,” Romer stuttered. “Where’d she go?”
Wellie crossed himself, leaning forward. “Witch?”
Jasper grabbed the last pieces of bacon and sat down. “Yeah. Topper too. They said I’m... Shit. I don’t know what’s going on. Weirdness.”
Wellie leaned in. “Do they think you are under a spell? Maybe something major, Bon Ami? I’ve seen your eyes. Perhaps they know a story you do not?”
“Do you?” Jasper’s tone was blunt.
“Suspected. Wondered. But known? No. There is a sense. Mama said so the first time she met you. Sh
e told me, ‘Chere, this one is complicated’ and she made me promise to hang tight with you, that you needed a true friend.”
Am I the only person here who doesn’t have a clue? Do I believe any of this? I trust Romer and Wellie, we’re friends to the end. They both seem, what? Unbothered by spells, demons, and freaking Zeus?
Jasper rubbed his temples. They felt hot to the touch. It’s burning to get out. What the hell am I gonna do?
“I’d love to meet his mother. The spell work covering Jasper is superb,” Elthera said, facing Topper at their table in the Krazy Kettle, waiting for Wellie’s gumbo.
“Now that you’ve seen him, what types of spells are they?”
“Memory wipe, repression of magic, and a filter on the darkness like I’ve never seen.” Elthera’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve seen a lot. That demon must have been a whopper. I’m uncertain,” Elthera paused as the two gumbos floated over and settled on the table, “whether we can read him with accuracy.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we remove his protection, he may be far darker than he reads. Once freed, he’ll be frenzied. I wonder if his mother wanted to give him time to build his light to improve his chances.”
“He’s had fourteen years.”
“Jasper is a warlock. He’ll live to be several hundred. Is a mere fortnight of years enough? It might be best to leave him be, Topper.”
“Melia’s ancients foretold a suitor. She believes it is Jasper.”
“Hmmm. If so, she changes the dynamic. Perhaps, if Melia is certain, she’ll be enough. If we’re wrong, we could destroy her. We trifle with gods, Topper. I am uneasy with proceeding.”
“If he blows apart unaided, we risk unleashing terror onto the human earth. I’m not sure we can avoid this path.”
They dug into their gumbo, letting Wellie’s roux magic soothe.
Shift over, Wellie wandered downtown and into a shop called Crystal Curiosities. Herbs, stones, feathers, and dried bits of animals and plants occupied small bins in the center aisle. Crystals lined the far wall. This feels like the bayou.
Pulling out his phone, Wellie tapped ‘Chere’ and waited for her to answer.
“Mon Chere, where are you?”
“I’m in a place called Magic, New Mexico. Mama. I need to make a new mojo bag.”
“Your daddy and I visited there before you were born. I know it well. What is your sense, Son?”
“On the way here, the car broke down, and Chere, the Rougarou had us. They bounced on the car and cracked the windshield. Scared me sober.”
“Wolf?”
“Oui.”
“And your Bon Amis?”
“Everything is changing, Chere, just as you saw.”
“Be careful. Make the bag with black beans. Put in a good handful of black salt, don’t skimp. There is darkness afoot, so include the stone of the angel Rafael.”
“Aventurine?”
“Oui. Tuck in healing amethyst too. Use an entire root of High John the Conqueror. This is no time to be cheap. White bag. Tell the bag what you face, and why you are breathing life into it. Be slow, pay attention to detail, and be careful, Mon Chere. It is not enough to be thorough, you must be smarter. Do this as I trained you, as my mother taught me. Wear your gris-gris at all times.”
“Like an owl, seeing in both directions, with my bag over my heart. I love you.”
“I love you, Son. Bring your friends home safe.”
“Romer, we need to do something before you head to work. It’s important.” Wellie’s face lacked its normal amusement.
“Sure. OK, Wellie. What’s up?”
Wellie dumped the bag on the table and small paper packets tumbled out, followed by a roll of white cloth. “Bon Ami, we are making mojo bags, protection from what is coming.”
Romer leaned his muscled torso into the chair back, turning the events of the past two days over in his mind. Wellie waited for the pushback.
“OK. Let’s do this.”
“You agree?”
“Shit’s gonna get real. I am hedging every bet.”
“Looks like I’m not the only son who talked to his mom today.”
“Correct. So what do we do first?”
“Make the bags.”
Wellie cut the fabric into four squares, pushing two toward Romer, then threading two needles. “Stitch it on three sides. Small stitches. Take your time and talk to the bag. Tell it what you fear, what you require, and why you are giving it life.”
Romer’s eyebrow went up. “Life?”
“Life,” Wellie’s tone was firm. “We create an entity capable of changing an outcome.”
“OK, then. Hey white mojo bag, I need help to overcome dark stuff.”
Murmuring, the men stitched the bags.
“This is a High John the Conqueror root. Talk to it, tell it everything, and place it in your bag.”
Romer took the root in silence and looked at it. “My friend Jasper is coming apart. He needs to stay with us and not cross to evil. I must be clear to help him. This is my duty and one I seek your help to accomplish.” Romer tucked in the root.
“You sure you never built a mojo bag?”
“First time.”
“Not bad, Bon Ami.” Wellie spoke to his root before tucking it into his bag. “Next, go the stones. Blue first, that’s Rafael’s stone, then the purple, for healing, and the black obsidian for protection.”
Romer nodded, talking to each one and adding it to his bag.
Wellie pushed two tiny connected rings across the table. “This symbolizes friendship.”
Romer muttered to the rings, “Jasper is my friend, he needs my help,” before tucking them inside the bag.
“Now a piece of yourself.” Wellie yanked a few hairs from his head. Romer pulled several and added them.
Wellie divided the salt and beans on two pieces of paper and they funneled the mixture into the bags.
“Write what you need from this conjure. Don’t hold back.”
Strengthen me to protect my friend Jasper and keep the three of us alive.
Wellie watched Romer tuck the rolled paper into his bag.
Pull the dark away, save the light, hold the demon at bay. Wellie rolled his paper and tucked it in.
“Listen with care, Bon Ami. Roll this cord into the edge, sew up the end, and keep the stitches tight.” Romer stitched as Wellie lit an incense cone and a candle. “When it’s sewn, move it through this smoke.”
He rose, getting a mug from the cupboard and mixing salt and water. “Sprinkle it with this to cleanse it, then pass it above the candle’s flame. Dat how we start the mojo cookin’.”
Romer finished sewing, passing the bag through the incense, sprinkling it, then lifting it over the candle. “We finished?”
“Nah, be patient. We have to bring it to life. Hold it in your left hand and do what I do.
Romer moved his bag to his left hand.
“High John, High John, High John, wake up now. It is time to awaken, you have work to do.”
Romer repeated the request. Wellie held his hand up and patted the bag three times with firm, quick pats, then waited for Romer to do the same. Filling his lungs, Wellie exhaled into the bag with an audible ‘hoo’ three times. Romer followed suit.
“Hello, High John. Welcome to the world.” Wellie nodded and Romer greeted his bag, then placed the string over his head.
“Whatever you do, don’t remove it. You bathe, sleep, and sex with dis ‘til we get through what is to come, you hear, Bon Ami?”
“Done.”
Chapter 6
From the porch, Jasper watched Melia as she stepped from her car and turned to face the fading sun. Her hair shimmered in the light’s blush tones, the silver tips gleaming in contrast. He rose, meeting her as she reached the top step, pulling her with ease up into his arms and spinning her, lowering her slim figure along his hard chest, delighting in her soft curves. Holding her just off the ground, his mouth claimed hers, languid with explor
ation. The kiss lingered as thoughts whirled.
She tastes of honey and fresh air, seas and strawberries.
We fit, made to be one. My blood hums. Jasper’s mouth trailed along soft lips, chasing her scent over her jawline and down her soft neck, his stubble tingling across her skin. Melia flushed, heat rising as her lips parted, tasting sulphur tinged with something sweet, a forgotten gift of love, awakening.
Jasper returned to her mouth, shuddering as the red blinded him, a warning he could not control. He gripped Melia, pulling her tight against his cock, one hand sliding up the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair, forcing her head backward as he bit her neck, then chewed her lower lip, almost drawing blood.
“Stop. Harness yourself.” Melia’s voice, edged with an authority new to him, cut across the red, a thin silver line growing brighter. Lost in fire, Jasper saw his disembodied hand reach for it, incandescent and untouched in his inferno, closing around it as clarity returned. A life line. She pulled me away, curbed this hated swamping inferno.
“We must talk. Tell me what you see when you fall into yourself.”
I told no one. There’s no person to trust with these weird secrets. How did she know?
Melia held his hands, gaze steady against his discomfort. “I sense you and I share a destiny. Do you feel the same? This is not a small thing, inconsequential. This is purpose. It is beyond us, written by time. Tell me what happens.”
Lost in her eyes, he heard himself answer. “Red. I see flame everywhere. Anger swamps me, taking over, the agony of a thousand burns searing my skin. Sparks blow through my skull, a wind tunnel of death, igniting my mind and leaving nothing but ash. I decay in each breath, desire only to create pain, delighting in the fall away from myself.”
“Oh, well, that’s not so bad.” Melia’s happy smile shook him.
“Not bad? It’s insane! What the hell do you mean?”
“Jasper, my ancient was a god who threw thunderbolts across the sky and raised hell across an entire planet. You walk with a mere demon. If we’re meant to be together, we will prevail.”
Broke In Magic Page 3
