Black Magic

by Russell James

  “God has blessed us,” the Reverend said. “Just this Sunday the congregation prayed for the health of our church and our prayers have been answered.”

  Maribel looked unconvinced. The Reverend knew even the most devout usually were. This backsliding society had so conditioned everyone to scientific explanations. The search for a rational, though reaching, alternative hypothesis always blunted the acceptance of miracles. Nonetheless, he certainly would not look at the Lord God’s handiwork as anything but divine.

  “I am already filled with the fire of the spirit for this Sunday’s sermon,” the Reverend said.

  Maribel voiced some encouraging words and continued her morning march through downtown.

  The Reverend looked at the war memorial across the street, a bronze statue of a doughboy that paid honor to the county’s fallen dead in the Great War. The sparse grass at the statue’s sandy base had turned a luxuriant green. And it may have been his imagination, but the statue’s head had lost most of that mottled patina that made the soldier look like a leprosy victim. It shined with a ruddy, brown color.

  The meaning could not be clearer. Like manna from heaven, like the destruction of the walls of Jericho, the condition of the memorial was a sign from God. Clearly the Congregation of God Church was the epicenter of the Lord’s blessing and from here it was spreading across town, first to a symbol of the righteous defenders of freedom, then further on to the current keepers of the faith. Even the most unrepentant would be unable to deny what their eyes saw. A great awakening was being visited upon the town, and Reverend Wright would be here to lead it.

  He looked down toward Main Street and thought of the first change the upcoming awakening needed to sponsor. The eradication of the blasphemous Magic Shop.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Shane Hudson rolled into the day room. Chester Tobias and Denny Dean had the usual table with a mass of dominoes spread out between them. Shane took his spot at the table’s head.

  “Doing okay, Shane?” Denny ventured. “Little late to the game this morning.”

  “Never better,” Shane said. He meant it more than the two could know. He gave each a visual once over. “How you two feeling today?”

  Chester gave his right shoulder a roll and winced. “Damn bursitis lit into me this morning. Woke me up about three a.m. Asked for a shot of something, but you know how that works around here.”

  Shane turned his head to Denny, who looked flattered that he cared. “Not bad. Something in the breakfast gave my stomach the usual roll but the rest of me is fine.”

  Well, whatever mojo Shane tapped into last night apparently wasn’t universal. He gave the room a quick sweep. Chief Stupid Bear wasn’t at his post for some reason, but a half dozen of what Shane called the Drool Patrol were out and about. Three of them looked, for the first time in ages, alert. Their eyes didn’t stare off into space. They moved from object to object, as if some long dormant recognition routine had been reactivated. One of the old geezers was actually watching TV, his head rolling in sync with the game show’s big flashing wheel as it spun for prizes.

  So there were winners and losers in this recovery lottery. As long as he was one of the winners, he didn’t care about the rest of them. Well, he cared about Dolly Patterson. He’d be happy if she was on the loser list. That smug bitch could use a shot from the head of his cane, and once he was back on his feet, he’d be sure to give it to her.

  At the far end of the room, Janine, spokesgirl for the New Age, surveyed the Elysian day room in triumph. She had two leather laces braided into her hair this morning. She polished a crystal with a soft white cloth.

  “Now if I can see the difference,” she said to Nurse Coldwell, “you must see it.”

  Nurse Coldwell had her hands crossed across her broad chest, fingers barely touching her elbows. Condescension dripped from her voice as she answered.

  “The fact that several patients seem a bit more alert might look like a big deal to you,” she said. “But we see random changes like that all the time. Plenty of residents move up or down from day to day. It’s natural, not supernatural.”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Janine said, finger raised and wagging. “I can feel the amplified energy level in the room. You would not have invited me in if you didn’t think the crystals would work.”

  “I didn’t invite you,” Nurse Coldwell said. “The owners did. And to keep my job, I’ll refrain from any comment on that decision. But I will tell you that the fact that Mr. Bingham looks like he’s watching Take a Spin on the television isn’t a great breakthrough.”

  Janine flitted to the next crystal, unfazed. “You’ll see. Soon you won’t be able to deny the changes.” She dusted the final crystal in the room. “When I come back next week, you’ll see what’s happening.”

  Nurse Coldwell shook her head as Janine floated out of the building. Nut job. Certifiable nut job. If she herself spouted all that New-Age garbage, the staff would sign her up for a room here with daily supervision.

  Nothing rejuvenating was going on here. Yes, a few of the worst cases were having a good day. And Dolly was in a fine mood, but she was universally up when she was coherent. But Walking Bear had to be given a mild sedative, and he was never a problem. Did the crystals want to take credit for that?

  This place was the last sad stop for many. The owners were misguided fools for letting the false hope of moronic pseudo-science through the front door. Of all those who checked in here, none ever checked out. No hunks of rock were going to turn that success rate around.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Carlina Arroyo blew in through Reverend Wright’s office door like a barely contained tornado. She beamed with the enthusiasm of the newly converted, an enthusiasm the Reverend rarely saw.

  “Reverend!” she said. “We have a miracle in our groves!”

  Normally the Reverend would have a jaundiced reply for such a proclamation. But in light of the transformation of the church fountain, his curiosity piqued.

  “Sit down and tell me about it.”

  But Carlina was not in a sitting mood. She stood and fired off a description of the renewed harvest hanging from the trees on her property, her story punctuated with a flurry of wild arm gestures and stray bits of Spanish.

  “And the sign from God,” she finished, “is that the blessed trees are all in a cross.” She made two sweeping gestures with her right hand in case the Reverend had forgotten the shape of the Christian symbol.

  Coincidence? Coincidence was an atheist’s code word for the hand of the Almighty. Reverend Wright rose and went to the other side of his desk. He grasped Carlina by the shoulders and looked down into her glowing brown eyes.

  “Follow me, child.”

  He led her through the door to the church and out the front door of the building. He raised his hands over the rejuvenated fountain like a temple priest over the Ark of the Covenant.

  “The Lord has also blessed the church and renewed the memorial across the street,” he said. “His hand has touched your groves in response to the prayers of the righteous and penitent. This is just the beginning, the sign that others can believe in, so their faith can restore our town.”

  “Amen, Reverend,” Carlina affirmed.

  The Reverend cast a contemptuous glance in the direction of Main Street.

  “In the midst of all this benevolence,” he said, “that Magic Shop brings evil into our community. Am I the only one who sees it?”

  Then divine inspiration struck the good Reverend. He would spread this miracle across town the way the Good News spread across Judea. He could see it, plain as day, but as the Good Book said, others had eyes but could not see. The time had come for an awakening, for the Rev himself to open those eyes to the wonders of God’s coming salvation.

  “Praise God for his inspiration!” he said.

  Carlina followed him as he went to the storage shed at the rear of the church. He spun the combination lock and yanked it open. The doors swung out with the creak of disus
e. The musty smell of mold and dry canvas wafted out. Carlina helped him extract a dusty white canvas bundle. The Reverend rolled it out on the ground.

  “Carlina, child,” he said. “We are going to spread the word.”

  Bold red letters on the banner read REVIVAL.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Andy spent the morning taming the explosion of greenery at Memorial Park and delivering the cuttings to the dump.

  As he drove back to the DPW, he noted something familiar and strange. The same stripe of weeds that surfaced in the DPW parking lot had ripped through the intersection of Main and Tangerine. And blossoms festooned the magnolia at the corner. Some bizarre green thumb had taken a haphazard swipe through Citrus Glade.

  He thought of someone who might know why Mother Nature had randomly run amuck—Autumn, who he had been looking for an excuse to call. The cute redhead. The embarrassingly younger cute redhead. He pulled out his wallet and fished through an assortment of receipts. He couldn’t find her card.

  He was half relieved. It would be a lame excuse. They would be talking about mostly weeds here.

  It was pushing noon and he’d promised his mother they would do lunch, if she remembered. He took out his phone and dialed Elysian Fields for a weather report.

  Andy stood in the doorway of his mother’s room without trepidation. Nurse Coldwell’s prognosis had been more than good, it had been excellent. He gave the open door three knocks.

  Dolly turned and delivered an enormous smile. She wore her paint-dappled apron and was working on a canvas that faced away from the door. She held a palette in one hand and a brush in the other. A second painting of a seascape was at the far end of her work table.

  “Andy! Is it lunch time already?”

  Andy gave her a loose sideways hug to avoid any wet paint. He nodded at the seascape.

  “That looks beautiful,” he said. “Really vibrant.”

  “Ooh,” Dolly said. “I had a brainstorm to make the light really dance off the whitecaps.” She took a spray can up off the table. “Clear lacquer sprayed at the wave tips. They actually look wet!”

  Andy gave the can a circumspect look. “Geez, Mom. You gotta be careful with that stuff. Flammable with toxic fumes. You need more ventilation and the windows in these rooms barely open.”

  “Bah,” Dolly said with a dismissive wave. “Compost heaps smell stronger than that stuff.”

  Andy turned from the seascape to the canvas on the other easel. It could not have been more different. The vibrant seascape hosted an active mix of blues and greens that captured the waters so unique to the Keys and Biscayne Bay. The other work was all blacks and grays, an Impressionist rectangular outline with some kind of conical mast at one end. The unfinished painting gave no hint of what the finished product would be.

  “And this one is…?”

  “Well,” Dolly said. “I really can’t say. I woke up this morning with a picture of it in my head. The image wouldn’t go away. I figured that meant it wanted to be painted out of me.”

  Andy cocked his head sideways to see if an adjusted perspective was the key to understanding. It was not. “It’s not as…bright…as your usual work.”

  “And now you’re an art critic,” Dolly said. “The spirit moves me and I follow its path. For all I know, that painting may be done as it is. We’ll see tomorrow.”

  She pulled her apron off and tossed it over the canvas.

  “So did you come down here to critique my work or to get your feeble old mother a decent meal?”

  Within the hour they were seated at The Chew and Chat, the last man standing in the battle against the fast-food onslaught. The population exodus had long ago doomed the mid-level seafood and steak houses that Citrus Glade used to support. The Chew and Chat, with its mix of country-fried everything and homespun décor, still hung on, though whether because the clientele was devoted or desperate was anyone’s guess. The booths were full and Andy and Dolly had a table on the main floor. Their paper placemats had The Sunshine State emblazoned over a map of the state. It had to be vintage mid ’70s because a dozen long-shuttered Mom-and-Pop roadside attractions were still listed on it.

  “Monday, we had two visitors,” Dolly said. “A New-Age free spirit in the morning and a creepy magician in the afternoon.”

  Andy paused with the fork halfway to his mouth.

  “Lyle Miller was at the home?”

  “Yes, enthralling us all with Cub Scout card tricks. He made Shane Hudson look foolish so I guess it was worth it.”

  “But you were not impressed.”

  “Honestly?” Dolly said. She shot conspiratorial glances right and left and whispered, “He kind of gave me the chills. Of course, I felt silly about it afterward.”

  “It’s not just you,” Andy said. “The Reverend is all wound up about him opening a ‘shop of evil’ on the town square. Flora thinks the Rev needs to chill. But to tell you the truth, I met him in passing downtown one morning and he sent my blood running cold. Probably all part of the persona he wants to create.”

  “If it isn’t the Gator Slayer,” a woman’s voice said.

  Andy turned to see Autumn at his shoulder. A wide-brimmed straw hat framed her face like a painting. Andy grinned in recognition.

  “And if it isn’t the Gator Doctor,” he replied. “And to clarify, I think I’m more of the Gator Scraper than Slayer.”

  Dolly gave Andy a little kick under the table.

  “Oh, Autumn,” he said. “This is my mother, Dolly.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Autumn said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dolly answered. “Joining us for lunch?”

  Andy blanched. Autumn missed his reaction.

  “Oh, thanks, no,” Autumn said. “I’m just picking up an order to go. I had a hankering for fried eggplant and this place does it better than I ever could. Just saying hi.” She turned to Andy. “Remember, your next road kill’s mine.”

  “I’ll gift wrap it,” Andy said. He watched every step of her retreat.

  “And she is?” Dolly asked.

  “A wildlife biologist studying the Everglades outside of town.”

  “She’s cute,” Dolly said.

  “Mom, please. I just met her yesterday at the Food Bonanza.”

  “Who told you road kill is the way to a woman’s heart? You didn’t get that from me.”

  “Who says I’m looking for a way to her heart?”

  “Your smile when you saw her says it. I’ve seen that look before, though certainly not recently.”

  Andy realized that there had been a little twinge there when he saw her. Something special about the way the sunlight lit her red hair…

  “You’re imagining things, Mom.”

  She nailed him in the chest with a pack of sugar and smiled. “Don’t contradict your mother.”

  The waitress delivered two steaming plates of food to the table. “Anything else you need?”

  Andy thought about Autumn again. Maybe there was. “Excuse me a second.”

  He left the restaurant and caught Autumn as she unlocked her RV.

  “Say, can you give me your opinion on something this afternoon?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Yeah, that is weird,” Autumn said to Andy.

  They both stood in the DPW parking lot, one on each side of the strip of weeds that had defied Andy’s attempted extermination. She plucked a few sprigs and sniffed them. She and Andy walked across the street to Memorial Park.

  “These blooms are all out of season,” Andy said. “This is a springtime growth. And the grass shouldn’t grow so fast I’d need to cut it twice a week.”

  “Well, growth cycles need water, nutrients and sunlight,” Autumn said. “Daylight hours have been a constant so there has to be a boost in one of the other two.”

  “Water?” Andy scratched his chin. “Let’s check something out.”

  He led Autumn inside to his office. There were four desks in the room but three were empty.

  �
��Run off the other employees?” Autumn asked.

  “When this was a real town,” Andy said, “there was a real staff. Most of the work is farmed out to the county now. DPW is a staff of one.”

  “I like a man who is indispensable,” Autumn said.

  Andy went straight to the town maps and pulled out the butcher-block-sized sheaf of water main maps. He spread out a sheet on his desk and pointed to the DPW parking lot.

  “I thought the growth strip patterns looked familiar,” he said. “A waterline runs right through the DPW lot, with a dogleg over to Memorial Park.” He flipped to another sheet. “The spurts of springtime growth around town followed the path of the main waterlines through Citrus Glade. Three join under the jungle that sprouted at Memorial Park. There’s one wide stripe of green heading south. ”

  “A leak would water the ground around it and encourage growth,” Autumn said. “But could the whole system all of a sudden be leaking?”

  “Well, no,” Andy said. “Pressure would be down and people would be getting sand in their sinks.”

  “I guess something could be leaching out of the pipes,” Autumn said. “I’m not sure what.”

  “But whatever it was would have to be in the water as well, right?” Concern darkened Andy’s face. “And everyone drinks that water.”

  “I’ll get some plant samples,” Autumn said. “I can test them for nitrogen, phosphorous, contaminants. I can let you know if it’s anything dangerous. But since no one’s sick, I doubt it.”

  “And I guess a big growth spurt is less worrisome than a massive die off, right?”

  “I’m sure whatever’s going on won’t hurt anyone,” Autumn said.

  Neither of them sounded at all convincing.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Walking Bear could not sleep that night.

  The nurses had given him the Calm Down pills that morning and one more in the afternoon. The Calm Down pills always made him tired, and he’d spent most of the day in bed. He’d tricked them on the evening dosage and hid the pill under his tongue. The nurse didn’t check such a cooperative patient too closely. Now midnight approached and he was wide awake.