A Spoonful of Magic

by Irene Radford

  “Dad, we can’t take the van. It’s still full of cupcakes,” Jason reminded him.

  “Screw the cupcakes.” He took one step closer to the bright red Chevy.

  “We need that money. Mom dedicated an entire night to baking for us. I won’t desert the cause now.”

  “Nice pun. But you are right. They probably know the van and that we are here. We need another way out.” G searched the periphery for an escape route. He watched Ted Tyler wheel a double rack of cupcakes toward the booth from his battered green pickup. He briefly contemplated hot wiring that vehicle.

  “Dad, there.” Jason pointed in the opposite direction toward a line of trees on a residential street. The street dead-ended in a heavily treed green space. Behind the mini forest, the land dropped away to a creek coming off one of the buttes. Lots of creeks in the area. Not as much of a fire hazard as he thought.

  “She could burn the whole space down with a single flick of her Zippo.” Autumnal rains had started, but not enough yet to drench the ground.

  “But trees are wood. I can defend myself there. Lots of hiding places and shadows.” He added the last at G’s attempted protest. “Dad, it’s where we need to be. I can feel it.”

  “When in doubt go with the gut,” G said, grabbed his son, and took off at a light jog for the shade of the first Douglas fir.

  Instinctively, G let his senses flow outward. Sight, smell, tasting the air, feeling the vibrations of the people moving around him.

  A whiff of patchouli perfume overlaying her perpetual smoke touched his nose and his tongue. Of all the things D’Accore might change about her appearance, she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change her perfume. It was as important to her identity fifteen years ago as it was now. Behind him. Moving closer.

  He gestured silence to Jason. The boy nodded his understanding.

  Then G did what he rarely had to do. He mumbled six words in ancient Greek and gestured a circle with his wand that encompassed the two of them.

  Instantly, noises and sounds grew muffled as if a wet blanket had fallen over them.

  Jason’s eyes widened in surprise and . . . awe. He opened his mouth to speak.

  G held a finger to his lips to silence him. Again the boy nodded.

  They slowed to a rapid walk, conserving energy. They’d both sampled a cupcake or two—well four for Jason and three for G—so they had a short burst of energy for what was to come.

  Even through his cone of silence, he smelled a new disturbance in the air. Young male. Three of them. None familiar. Smoke blended with rancid sweat.

  At least Jason would not have to face BJ and his buddies in his first fight. Those boys were harassing Daffy and the girls. Damn, he needed to be there. But he had to be here, too.

  A fight. G’s gut twisted. A fight.

  Not all boys indulged in violence at an early age. Jason had never been sent home from school for fighting. Never sported a black eye or the hunched-over posture resulting from a punch to the gut.

  Deep down in G’s soul, he’d hoped his boy would never know violence, never be placed in a position to be forced to defend himself.

  Resolutely, he drew in a deep, fortifying breath. So be it. He’d also hoped that someday Jason would follow in his own footsteps into magical law enforcement. He’d have to learn to fight. Better to start learning now when he had backup rather than later.

  They ducked behind the first big tree. One of the ancients, a tall Douglas fir with a trunk as wide as G’s shoulders. One hundred to one hundred fifty years old. These guys were like asbestos in fire resistance. D’Accore, before her arrest and conviction, could take one down. She’d had four months to gather a scattering of powers. Only one of her victims controlled fire. He had hope.

  They waited on a count of thirty. No sign of pursuit. Yet.

  They made a dash four trees closer to the greenspace.

  Three boys in their late teens entered the intersection at the back corner of the parking lot. They paused, sniffing.

  Bloodhounds. D’Accore, or her rescuer, had recruited boys of minimal talent not likely to bloom into full magic. Useful as minions and bodyguards. The bulk of their muscles extruding from their sleeveless T-shirts suggested how the sorceress planned to use them. She’d probably promised them more power if they did her bidding, then wrapped them in a compulsion spell—standard procedure. She’d been a true siren once, drawing boyfriend after boyfriend into her net. Climbing the ladder of wizardly power until she landed G, as high as she could go without touching the High Court.

  These teens would do her bidding doggedly, without fail and without awareness of wounds and pain.

  As her current rescuer did.

  The power of hypnosis rather than true siren song. She’d stolen that one from victim number three.

  The boys headed left, rather than straight ahead. D’Accore strolled after them, a full block behind.

  To look at her, he’d not know she was blind. When he pushed his eyesight to examine her more closely, a faint haze circled her head—widdershins. Residual smoke from some fire she’d set. It didn’t need to be a big or dangerous one to produce enough smoke to substitute for her eyes. The faintest whiff of wet ashes drifted to him on a seeking breeze.

  He dragged Jason closer to the copse. They made it deep into the shadows in two more short sprints. G dropped the cone of invisibility in favor of reigniting his augmented senses.

  The first thing that caught his attention was the click, click, click of D’Accore flipping her stolen Zippo open and shut, open and shut. A tiny flame flickered with every flip. Even from two blocks away, he heard it. Even from two blocks away he smelled the rancid smoke of her magic.

  “Jason, you’ll be safer if you climb a tree. A nice tall one. Stay out of the way and stay quiet,” he whispered.

  “Who is she?” Jason whispered back. He stepped onto a fallen log, flexing and arching his feet, bending his knees and stretching his arms. It looked like a warm-up.

  “My perp. She’s dangerous.” His boy didn’t need to know anything more. For his own safety he shouldn’t know anything more.

  D’Accore stopped short just as she was about to pass beyond the street G had followed. Her head swiveled right and left, then focused on the copse.

  Instinctively, G took one step backward, deeper into the shadows. A part of him remembered her holding a bloody knife and laughing at the corpses of his grandparents in their bed. He quailed in fear and loathing.

  Jason bent his knees and leaped to grab a branch that was six feet above the stretch of his arms. Impressive.

  Satisfactorily out of range of D’Accore and her evil.

  D’Accore wiggled the index finger of her left hand, summoning back her three minions. They converged on her corner diagonal from the market parking lot. Like puppets on D’Accore’s string, they swiveled and marched directly up the slight rise toward the tree line.

  “Up, Jason. Get up higher in that tree. You’re still visible.” G didn’t watch, but he heard rustling branches and felt a shower of dry fir needles. Now he could concentrate. His wand appeared in his hand, almost without thought. One flick and it extended to its full length. It vibrated with his pent-up tension. He broadened his stance for stability.

  Lifting their faces as if catching a scent, the minions shifted from their rapid, long-stride walk into a lope and then a run. D’Accore brought up the rear, her high heels and Zippo clicking in rhythm.

  G absorbed the rhythm, watching as the boys fell in with D’Accore’s steps, matching her movements. Carefully, he wound that rhythm into his spell, using their strength against them. A flick of the wand and . . .

  Energy with the force of a loosely mortared stone wall slammed into him, knocking him backward. He stumbled over the fallen log. The backlash energy flew off in every direction like bricks hit by a cannonball.

  With the
agility of long practice, G propelled himself backward, moving with the fall, arching his back, flipping on his hands and landing on his feet, wand at the ready in a classic fencer’s lunge.

  “Oh, really, G, don’t you think I learned a few things from you all those years I put up with you?” D’Accore taunted him. “Your cute little hypnosis spell won’t work on my boys. I got there first. Anything you throw at them will bounce back in your face.”

  Victim number two’s power.

  He’d have to enforce the law the old-fashioned way. But he’d have to go through the minions to get to D’Accore, the real criminal in this case.

  “The nice thing about borrowing the powers of others,” D’Accore continued, “is that there are all kinds of little extras hidden in deep crevices of the mind. They come out with the rest of the owner’s magic, and I can weave them into my own spells.”

  In other words, be very wary when he got to her. The breadth and extent of her powers were unknown territory. Even for her.

  G casually stepped up onto the broad fallen tree. An ancient Douglas fir that had come down in a big windstorm a year ago. His soft-soled shoes found purchase in the rough diamond shapes in the bark, worn smooth with time and erosion. Still a lot of life energy trapped in the tree. He soaked it up; used it to focus his senses more sharply.

  D’Acorre raised her Zippo.

  “Don’t even bother, D. Haven’t you learned that Oregon rains infuse every cell of our trees with moisture. Takes decades for them to completely dry. This tree won’t burn with only your paltry borrowed sparking powers.”

  Before he’d finished speaking, he leaped into a tackle against the middle of the pack of minions. No magic. Just G and his own muscles.

  He worked hard to stay fit. In fourteen years of eating Daffy’s cooking, he’d only gained five pounds.

  As his head butted the foremost minion, he spread his legs and hooked the outside boys’ knees with his feet. They all tumbled to the ground, leaf and needle litter flying in all directions.

  G recovered enough to send his fist flying, not caring where he connected.

  Someone’s flailing foot caught his ribs. Adrenaline kept him from hurting. Now. He’d deal with it later.

  “That’s not fair!” D’Accore screamed. She clicked her Zippo faster. The air warmed around them. But no flames leaped to her command.

  G scrambled up, taking a fist to his left eye. Pain exploded around the point of contact. He suppressed it and returned the blow.

  “Yiiieeeee!” Jason yelled, swooping down from his perch in the tree. He kicked minion number one in the temple on his way down. That boy’s eyes rolled upward, his face grew pallid, and he fell backward. Down for the count.

  Minion number two bounded upward, connecting a fist to Jason’s jaw and a second jab to the eye before he was fully on his feet. A seasoned fighter.

  His third blow slapped Jason with a flat palm against his ear.

  Jason shook his head, as if dislodging a bug.

  Anger boiled in G’s gut. How dare these upstarts attack his boy! Before he could react, Jason bent his knees, levitated about two feet up, and flung his feet in number two’s gut and head.

  That left number three. He hesitated and looked around for support from D’Accore. His eyes widened in hope just as G’s fist landed on his nose with a satisfying crunch of crumpled tissue and cartilage. Blood sprayed everywhere.

  G wiped his face free of the blinding mess just as another force tackled him from behind. His knee twisted as he fell.

  The newcomer squealed as he rolled off of G. His left foot dangled from his ankle at an odd angle.

  D’Accore slipped off her shoes and ran back down the street, still clicking her lighter. The height of each new spark diminished with each strike.

  “I got you, Dad,” Jason said, sliding an arm beneath G’s shoulders.

  “What?” In a daze of pain and blood spatter, he looked down and saw his jeans stained with dirt, forest debris, and blood. His already swelling knee pushed through the rips in the fabric. “Oh,” he said numbly, knowing better than to even try putting weight on it.

  He accepted Jason’s assistance, noting that the boy pushed some magic into his lift.

  “Who?” G asked no one in particular as he settled his weight on his left foot, using his son to balance as the world shifted around him.

  At his feet, John Mooney, aka Coyote Blood Moon writhed. “Call an ambulance,” he panted through gritted teeth.

  His head had connected with G’s ribs, worsening the previous damage.

  “I think our phones broke in the fight,” Jason said. “Can you drive, Dad? We’ll call someone to help Mr. Mooney when we get home.”

  “Jason, I hope you’ve been practicing driving on the sly without a permit. I know I did when I was your age. That’s my right knee and . . .” His mouth grew dry and the world spun.

  Twenty-Six

  “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT to hurt my boy!” Flora Chambers screeched at me before I had the front door fully opened.

  The sun neared the horizon that Saturday evening. My girls sat huddled together on the sofa, arms draped around each other. Neither tried to watch their favorite trivia TV show, shouting the answers before the host finished reading the question. I’d fed them and soothed them as best I could. I felt as shaky as they from the breaking of my wand.

  I hadn’t heard from G or Jason.

  Denise had called to report glowingly about the money they’d made for the ballet company thanks to my cupcakes and bath salts. They could afford a bunch of new costumes as well as reimburse me.

  Good news.

  It didn’t cheer me because BJ and his friends had broken my wand. I felt helpless, unable to focus. Caught in an endless loop of despair. Empty.

  Belle was actually in better shape than me. She still had one intact hair stick—the jade queen glowing lightly in the dim room—and the charm end of the other. The charms held most of her magic, the sticks incidental extensions. She clutched the jade bishop fiercely in her hand.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, you witch!” Flora screamed, drawing my attention away from my girls and back to her.

  Coming from her, being called a witch was the biggest insult imaginable. A dangerous insult.

  I reared back as if she’d slapped me. “Does it bother you at all that BJ and his bullies were arrested for malicious mischief and possible molestation of a minor?”

  “False charges, made up by you. You’ve wronged my boy, and I’ll see to it that you pay. He won’t be allowed to visit your house of black magic ever again.”

  “Not such a great loss since he wronged me and hurt Belle.” But Shara had hurt him just as badly, mangling his little bell of a wand. I made to close the door.

  She stuck her foot in the way.

  Oh, how I longed to slam the door and crush her foot. Or make her yank it out of the way.

  “Petty adolescent spat,” she said and angled her body closer. If I slammed the door, she might get a black eye. Or break her long, gossipy nose. “She disinvited him to her birthday party. BJ has been a part of her celebrations since they were tots! Of course he’s angry at her.”

  Actually, since BJ was four years older than Belle, he’d never been a part of her celebrations. He and Jason had been friends, not he and Belle.

  Flora was in no mood to view reality, only her twisted version of it.

  “And I disinvite you from ever setting foot on my property again. I’m calling my lawyer and suing BJ for malicious mischief and emotional as well as physical damages.”

  “BJ’s father is the best lawyer in town. We’re suing you for assault and battery!” She managed to turn around and flee fast enough that the door only spanked her butt. Like I wanted to do with my spoon.

  Only I couldn’t because BJ and his friends had broken it and stolen the t
op half.

  “Glad I waited in the kitchen until she left,” G said as he limped into the living room. Jason held him up by pushing his shoulder under his father’s arm. G held his left arm tight across his midriff. His skin was split above his right eyebrow, and that eye was nearly swollen shut, black with bruises. Through the rip in his jeans, his right knee looked swollen and bloodied.

  Jason fared better, but he did show signs of bruising on his jaw, around his eye, and on his right knuckles.

  “What happened?” I demanded, helping Jason ease G into the recliner. He sighed in relief as he took weight off his knee.

  Then he coughed, pain lines radiating around his eyes and along his hollow cheeks.

  “Dad was magnificent. If that woman hadn’t had four guys with her, he’d have knocked her flat and had her in custody inside of two minutes,” Jason said proudly. He brandished his swollen hand. “I helped.”

  “You held up your share of the fight. I’d like to see how high you can levitate with a real wooden floor beneath you and not just cork in your shoes. And thanks for driving me home. We’ll see about getting you a learner’s permit next week.” G tried to smile at his son and failed. But pride did swell his chest a bit. Until he coughed again.

  “Four guys? How could you endanger your son that way?” I screeched, all the while assessing what I needed from the first aid kit. Other than more ice packs than I had in the house and some over-the-counter painkillers, there wasn’t much I could do.

  “Three minions with more muscle than brains and a protection spell woven around them. And a full-blown wizard. Coyote Blood Moon,” G whispered. “I couldn’t leave Jason at the market. If they’d separated, one or more could have circled back and taken him.”

  “John Mooney part of her gang? No. I won’t believe that. He’s so sweet and has been so helpful,” I protested.

  “Until you spurned him,” G replied, trying to smile again and finding it too painful. “Just like D’Accore spurned him when she started dating me. But she went back to him the moment I realized the extent of her evil and made plans to haul her ass off to jail.”