Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  He drifts toward her.

  ***

  The priest still stands at the lectern, grinning charmingly at the rapt audience. Honest to God, it’s beyond disaster. Does this holy man know this groom really can't be a husband?

  Casey's sad little concession speech lies in his pocket. He feels it hot in there, poking at his thighs like a bird that wishes to escape. So, this is where that reckless night leads him.

  “If anyone knows why these two shouldn’t be married, stand up and say it,” says the priest, “or forever hold your peace.”

  A dead silence takes over the hall, not a chair squeaks. This is it. He stands forward. Two hundred jaws drop simultaneously. The ahs and uhs are deafening. The priest trembles.

  “I know why we shouldn't,” he says, then looks at the crowd. “This is not a mistake. My mind is very sober.”

  The priest shakes his head with his mouth open to a wide O. His face goes pale as though someone threw a bucket of ice at it.

  “Megan, I’m sorry I can't be your husband,” he says then pauses. “This is not to say I don’t love you, though. On the contrary, I do very much. Honestly, I do… But it’s just your husband that I can't be.

  “Thank you everyone for your support. Goodbye.” He takes off his tux jacket and walks out via the aisle that now looks like an airport runway. Nobody can block him; good luck stopping a Boeing 737 with your hands when it’s set to go. A good many just follow, but it’s hopeless.

  Forty-two

  I am still at the Southgate Plaza, but I got rid of Butch a long while ago and moved to another restaurant. There is no way I could stand to eat in the same place that he was. It’s bad enough for a witch hunter like me to confer with suspects outside of a courtroom, but I made an exception for him. Which perhaps I shouldn’t have, but then it’s already done.

  I take small bites while I weigh how things are, overall, for the moment. The day has already been an eventful one on several fronts, but unfortunately when it comes to landing something solid enough to decisively close the Casey case, very little has moved. My client waits and waits, while the time ticks by.

  The wedding is just an hour or two away, and it’s now crucial that I get something meaningful fast. Almost close to a panic, I pay for my food and scurry to the Vic. It’s again reveal time, and this is the last hope. Yesterday when I did one, I got a shock to glimpse that brightly lit postal outlet that had lots of boxes, packages and envelopes and shelves. Let’s see if I get something really good this time. A postman dropping the package off at Casey’s house would be most welcome. But most certainly not the darkly lit insides of a cargo plane.

  Tense, I lie still with amethyst. When I snooze, what I get is even more shocking. I don’t see any walls or ceiling lights. Everything is just so dark. I don’t even glimpse other packages. It’s absolutely black outside of that mailing box.

  It merits a panic. What is this room now; or is it a landfill, or garbage chute? I am at a loss. Even that little pride I felt for refusing to show mercy for Butch doesn’t help. The bottom has fallen off, and my spirits are just tumbling.

  Struggling for something to cling to, I resort on going to the wedding venue at the convention center. It’s just an impulse, because there is no real purpose that trip will serve. Only one thing exists in this world that can make Casey’s day, and I am going without it.

  The La Galleria is a very upmarket establishment in a strip mall in Orchard Park. Broken hearted, I arrive and then sit in a café that faces the hall a distance from across. A parking lot lies in between, but the vista afforded by an access lane separating two lines of cars is good.

  Waiting, I buy an iced latte and sip slowly, dreading what might happen in the refined space behind those glamorous marble columns and tinted glass.

  The limos arrive. I see a groom and a bride, crowded by their exquisitely attired teams. Everyone must be smelling nice.

  Anxious, I take more sips. Things can’t go right given what I know. What the reveal showed me was just so bleak.

  A while later, just as I am rapping myself for having accepted a case that was too big for me, a commotion breaks out at the hall entrance. A man in a suit is being restrained by others. He resists and paces farther out. He gesticulates and mouths furiously into his phone. More men and women, all nicely dressed but looking shaken, come to him. A yellow cab speeds toward the entrance and then stops. The man jumps in and leaves those who restrain him behind.

  Instantly the cab shoots away. Now I see a woman in a lovely white bridal gown saunter out and hold her face in her hands while a maid follows her clutching the train of her gown.

  No, I don’t want to witness this. I must go. Really, I have to.

  I stand up and allow just one more glance at the center entrance. Guests are pouring out in numbers. I turn away and run to my Crown Victoria.

  Forty-three

  Back home I park on my driveway and remain inside the Vic for a long while. Jesus, I might sleep all night in here as a way of punishing myself, but I know that won’t help. Some things are just to be forgotten. I gather myself out.

  Opening the house door, I try to hide my pain and perk up. Sara deserves to be shielded from my job disappointments, and I shan’t use her as someone to vent to, even though I wish I could. She is young, has problems of her own, and needs a big sister who can be like a rock to her.

  The air inside our little foyer welcomes me. There is peace, and a strange sense of love, too. Sara must be in, and I expect warm hugs, perhaps even a nice cup of evening tea. It’s the least I could ask for, but I shudder to think what the coming night will be like for Casey and Megan, separately as they are—because according to what I saw, they can’t be together anytime soon.

  Emanating from our living room, is the giggling of not one but two teens. The camaraderie is warm and infectious, thank God, I could use some of that, especially since I am this distraught.

  A friend of Sara’s is home. Her name is Katie.

  “Hi, Mel, how is your Sunday going?” Katie asks as I walk in. She is a bigger girl, at least an inch taller than Sara, but they are in the same class at Western Senior.

  “Very well.” I force myself to say.

  “Nice,” says Katie.

  “What have you got for us?” chimes in Sara.

  “Nothing, you know that.” I smile.

  The girls roll their eyes at one another and then giggle.

  Not knowing what that is for, I just sit. Something, though, must be going on; a certain mischievousness permeates the atmosphere in here.

  A moment passes, and then Katie says, “I heard you are a wizardess, Mel.” She gapes at Sara, who blushes.

  I am not sure what to say. “Me, a wizardess, who says?” I grin.

  “I know that you are,” Katie says, and my feeling is she’s only saying that to prevent me blaming Sara for telling people. “You sometimes work with magic.”

  “Magic, really?” I feign more surprise.

  “Yes.”

  Now it’s so clear these girls have something up their sleeves. The insistence is not normal.

  "It’s stuff I occasionally dabble in,” I say at last, hoping to close the discussion.

  Unfortunately it won’t end there; Katie has more. “Sara and I were thinking,” she says, “if you could, please, make us a little solution.”

  “Something to quicken things,” Sara adds timidly.

  I glare at them. “Quicken things, yeah? What needs to be quickened?”

  Katie’s face becomes imploring, flushing to a bright red. I haven’t seen such secret yearning in a teenage girl. She says, “Sara and I have been meeting this guy, and we want to be friends with him.”

  So this is where it was going, I realize finally. “Talk to the boy and be nice to him.”

  “It’s hard,” says Katie. “What we want is a little something just to help things along.”

  It’s out pretty much, and it makes me uncomfortable. “Ah, a love potion?” I glare at them
once more. “That’s what you guys want?”

  “Yes,” they both say, with more eye rolling.

  Mildly shocked, I give myself a moment to let the request sit in my brain. Love magic. It’s something I normally don’t help anyone with. I live to assist harmed victims, and also to chase after demons and errant ghosts but certainly not to bandy out potions.

  “You guys, how do you know magic helps?” I say just to find an escape.

  “It’s got to be able to,” says Katie. “Come on Mel, you know that.”

  Of course I do know, but should I give them what they want? Those things actually work, but I am opposed to them for one reason. Love should come naturally; it’s a principle I hold dear.

  “Please Mel, what do you say?”

  A feeling I don’t know tugs at my heart. Honestly, had this been another time I would have lectured these girls that it’s not money or anything like it that is the root of all bad in this world, but wanting what one cannot have—yet thoughts about Casey haunt me. I’m desperate for a happy ending. Just one sweet little nice outcome.

  “What is the guy like?” I hear myself say.

  Katie’s beautiful blue eyes pay me a begging look.

  “He is a real nice guy,” says Sara, “and polite, too.”

  “Only a little unsure,” Katie adds. “He wants it, but he hesitates.”

  “Huh.” I sigh. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Yeah, that would be a great thing,” Katie cheers. “I sure will worship you for that.”

  And now that I have agreed, the possibility that I could be the author of a joyful end works to lift my spirits. “Give me five minutes. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Brad.” Katie’s face glows like it’s been lit with neon beams.

  There are several ways to make love potions, and different wizards and wizardesses employ different techniques and ingredients. I might have suitable materials myself, but because it’s stuff I don’t routinely use, I first must verify in my storage cabinets to see what. The bathroom vanities upstairs hold most of the unused stuff.

  I go up. Rose oil is in a small glass bottle, some fine talc in a tiny round case. Those two alone can act as a good base for a love potion, and Katie is lucky I have them.

  Next to find is a romance stone. I go into my bedroom where I keep a few gems in a box, and select a yellow sapphire. Without any debate, the best crystal to use in love potions is rose quartz, but I don’t have it, so the sapphire must do. It’s not even a bad replacement—sapphire is great in itself. Plus I already got the rose oil, which is a super ingredient.

  What’s now left is somewhere to concentrate the potion’s essences on so it can work its magic on Brad. I go back down to the living room.

  “Give me your earrings.” I motion at Katie.

  She doesn’t take a moment to start pulling them off. Sara helps.

  “Good,” I say, as I accept.

  Ready to finish, I disappear to the bathroom once more, turn off the electric lamps, and then light up a scented candle. I work the blinds to block everything from the outside. The candle glows brightly and gives off its scents.

  Into a small china dish goes the rose oil, followed by a little of the talc, and then I immerse the sapphire. I shake a little then drop in Katie’s earrings. Chanting in Quimglich, I mix vigorously. The earrings make clinking noises against the china sides. I also warm up the ingredients over the candle.

  Talc is slippery so it’s an anti friction agent. It acts like an accelerator, knocking all romance obstacles away.

  After I am sure all the love essences have been absorbed into the earrings, I put the two into an empty jewelry case, one of maybe the thousands I have.

  Done, I come back.

  “Here now, take back.” I give it to her.

  Katie accepts. “So what do I do?”

  “Just call Brad to see what’s in the box, and all is done.”

  “Is that right?” Sara sounds too cautious of failure. “What if he asks what the earrings are for?”

  “You tell him good friends show each other things,” I say, then give Katie a look. “You then can add: aren’t they beautiful? And give him a smile.”

  Just as I mention the word smile, Katie does the same thing. Hers is beautiful, showing her perfect teenage china set.

  “We will make you a great supper.” The girls head toward the kitchen.

  Looking at them I feel their joy, their expectation to enter the world of romance, young as they are. My heart warms up as I trudge back upstairs to go rest in my bedroom. I may have failed Casey and Megan, but perhaps I will reap a little reward from this small endeavor. It’s something I am desperate, desperate for.

  Forty-four

  After the little teen romance gig, I sleep for very long such that by the time I wake up the next day, it’s almost twelve. It’s Monday; Sara is long gone to school, and that means I am alone. My mind is relaxed, at least initially, but it doesn’t take long to start regretting about yesterday again.

  I shower and then tuck in a little brunch. After that, it’s inevitable I try to contact Casey. I reach for my cell.

  His phone rings, but nobody answers. My heart hurts. Has he given up on me? I keep trying, but nothing happens. Eventually as I keep going, the calls go straight to voicemail without even a single ring.

  “Are you there, Casey?” I scream into the mailbox. “Please call me. I saw what happened yesterday. Honestly, I'm so sorry.”

  Of course, there isn’t any answer. I stare at the futility of my attempts. I have never been this disappointed with a failure to get good results, and it pains my mind more than a pin prick to the butt.

  Desperate to reengage my client, I consider some alternatives. One person I might try and reach out to is Megan, but sadly I don’t have her number. For one moment, I think to do a directory search to discover their home line, but I soon decide against it. Everyone there, but particularly Megan herself, must be so heartbroken let me not pain them further by calling.

  Dejected, I sigh. Why is Casey doing this to me? It’s worse than breaking up with someone.

  Anyway, nothing is going to change too soon, and I have to calm myself down. A lot is lost, but there is always hope something might creep up. Although there will be no locate today, I can still try a reveal, hoping that might lead me somewhere.

  I am not working today, so my bedroom will be suitable for that magic nap. I go straight back into the sheets with the amethyst, and in there I grip the stone hard until its edges bite into the folds of my palm.

  It takes a while to start dozing off, but when it happens I get some strong insights. The padding and cardboard box used for mailing are gone, but the chocolate-brown case with black velvet lining remains. The package has reached some place and been opened! Could that be a good or a bad thing, I don’t know yet.

  When, however, I see beyond the case to its outside, I get a shock. There are ice crystals all around it. And then enclosing everything, both the case and the ice around it to form a compartment of sorts, is a sheet of freezing metal.

  Jesus, someone has dumped Casey’s parts into a fridge! Tell me, what can I make of this? Is this mere preservation, or has Casey’s family jewels been thrust into a morgue, to be finally cremated?

  Forty-five

  “We simply crushed The Boss, didn’t we?” The Mage speaks in Quimglich to Tyrese and Wheeler.

  The two cats yowl, turning their heads.

  “That was great, guys.”

  Enjoying the compliments, the felines jump up and down. In a moment, Tyrese falls into her lap, and Wheeler climbs up her back. The family is relaxing downstairs in the late Monday afternoon. Whenever her maid is gone, the Mage doesn’t have to keep her felines confined in the prayer room.

  Wheeler is playful, but his claws can be sharp.

  “Ouch, please don’t do that, Wheels, you scratch me.” She japes. It’s a great time.

  Yesterday after battle, they celebrated. Truly, the reven
ge had to be savored in some way. They drove back to Alden, and she asked Milyn to grill some special steaks to regale her victorious warrior familiars with. What a pity that she could only fete her guys while in the prayer room—otherwise had the two been allowed to be seen in public, she would have celebrated with them right in the very open.

  Much later, in the afternoon of the same Sunday, she called Fred back to take him out for a big lunch. They drove to the strip mall where they chose the most expensive diner there, one specializing in Japanese and Mongolian cuisine. She splurged on sushis, sakes, and salads. After that, they left, and then it was time to treat herself—for she was the biggest hero in all this. She hightailed it to downtown to book a hotel room. There, she continued with lots of wine and more sumptuous treats. It was only this morning that she checked out, and then Fred drove her back.

  What a thrill ride to Medina. She will live to remember it.

  The hangover she had in the morning has gone and she is now fine. It’s time to look at the remaining jobs to be done, of which the most important would be to finally take care of that pesky upstart: The Breaker. The Mage has been seriously disturbed by her activities. To imagine she followed her to Medina. And then last time, it was the mall. Honestly, what could have happened had she shown up in the middle of the fight with The Boss? Whose side would she have taken?

  The Mage is going to crush her this very night—there won’t be two ways about it.

  Great, since the decision is made, why not give her family a heads up. Tyrese and Wheeler are now chasing one another underneath the table and chairs. They immediately stop and pay attention once they notice mother has something to say.

  “Hey, guys, did you see the car that arrived as we left the defeated Boss’s home?”

  The cats meow animatedly. Indeed they saw the Crown Victoria, but don’t seem to know what the problem is.

  “That upstart is now up for destruction. Just like we did with The Boss.”

  Tyrese wipes his face to show he has a clue. Wheeler angles nearer, seeming to want to know more.