Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  After a few moments, things ease up somewhat. “I’m now fine,” I say. “Thanks for being a rock.”

  He rewards me with a kiss on the cheek.

  My tote is intact on the Vic’s floor; I will get it later. For now I would like to see even the littlest details I can. I start with the front. The driver side is crushed and caved in, and the bumper is mangled, one side of it hanging down. Water and oil leaks suggest the poor old Vic may never see the road again.

  The left front wheel is deflated, most likely due to the impact, for there is no way the flat could have occurred as I was still driving. That time when I came out of my garage, I heard that bump, but I don’t think it’s the one that caused this. And If I remember well, that bump occurred to my right.

  I check the other three wheels. Nothing seems to be wrong with them, but when I look carefully at the rear right, a whitish thing jumps at my eyes.

  “There is that thing there, Kay.” A strange feeling buzzes into me.

  “A stuck piece of paper,” he says, on noticing it. “Won’t do no harm.”

  I understand him, he has no knowledge of black magic. The smallest thing can cause the greatest harm so long as it’s packed with enough power.

  “I will take it off and see.”

  As I extend my hand toward the tire, I see things better. Even if the piece of paper is folded, it can’t have naturally clung into the tread. It’s a little too big to fit, but there it is, holding fast as though someone had glued it in. It must be magic, but I caution myself it just might have some gum behind it that’s causing it to stick.

  Removing it is no big deal, but there is no gum there, so how was it holding in such a shallow tread?

  “Just a piece of garbage really,” Kay says. “Don’t worry.” He has seen the mild terror on my face.

  “I’ll take a look.” I don’t tell him, though, about my suspicion of magic, and that huge bump in the driveway.

  Carefully I start to unfold. The piece is not exactly a simple pad but rather a small sheet of gold wrapping paper. The film side is yellow like the metal used to make it, and the paper side is white. The paper has some things written on it, but unfortunately the tight folding, and the dirt on the pavement it was riding against, have dulled the words.

  Slowly I scan. The message at first is not intelligible, but soon I realize it’s a series of Quimglich symbols forming a statement. I know how to speak Quimglich but not how to write it. This is indeed a magic message, and this whole thing is a sigil, one of a very harmful type. I am holding a murder weapon.

  “Let’s go,” I say to Kay with a crackle in my voice.

  He doesn’t ask why I am again troubled, but just opens the Vic’s passenger door, picks up my tote, then we leave. I only start to feel better when we get to his apartment, where I imagine some family protection. Things are just crazy, and we go to bed early.

  Fifty

  It’s been a long while since I slept this close to a seminude guy—long story don’t ask me why. Kay is so warm against me. I am down to a bikini suit, but he never went as far as asking me for what he recently has been pestering me for whenever we meet for a date.

  I actually told him it would be okay if he wanted anything, but he said he didn’t want to take advantage of anyone. Mentioned that I had had a rough time and deserved to rest and recharge. He is a psychologist. He said trauma victims can be so needy and vulnerable that they might end up doing things they wouldn’t have wanted to.

  So he will wait till I regain my mental toughness. Hats off to him for that, but to me it’s a big loss. I have never seen him so hot or so desirable. And worse, I can feel his breath on me.

  It’s too bad we have to pass on that, but it’s probably good, too, when I look at it from the point of view of Casey and Megan. Giving up sex in solidarity with my troubled clients isn’t such a bad thing. Yesterday they seemed so pained but yet inseparable, and I wonder what they are doing now, them being so alone. Dear God, it’s supposed to be their honeymoon.

  We sleep in for long; it’s almost ten by the time I decide I have to get some stuff going. I become the first to shower, and then Kay follows. As he is singing in the bath, I make a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage with toast. By the time he is out, a smell of fine-grind Folgers has filled the whole kitchen and dining area.

  “You’re such a great chef,” he says.

  Nice to play house. Maybe one of these days I should take him up on his request that we move in together. But no, I got Sara to think of.

  And talking of my sister, yesterday Natalia picked her up. Not knowing how those two liked spending some time together in the family home, as estranged as they are.

  We finish eating. I check my phone; maybe it’s time to really start cracking. I am fit enough, although if I could get to a treadmill, I'd be fitter.

  “Thanks for taking care of me, but now let’s go,” I say to Kay. “I must get a car.” It’s what I imagine as the most important thing on my task list.

  “No, you don’t have to do that. I could drive you around if you need to get somewhere.”

  “I sure appreciate it.” I thank him. “But I have jobs to do.”

  “Won’t you rest? What with all you have gone through, honey.”

  “No, I will be fine, kudos to you for all you did.”

  Kay is not the type that will over-insist, so we go. The sun is well up, and it beams through the windscreen to light up his skin. He is radiant. He has shaved, and his chin and cheeks are as supple as anyone could ever want. The spicy allure of his aftershave works its way into my nostrils.

  We drive to downtown, where my favorite rental place is the AVIS outlet on Main Street. There, we take no time; I pick up a Toyota Corolla, smaller of course than the Crown Victoria, but newer and sleeker.

  “I will be back home for dinner,” I say to him as though he and I were already living in.

  “I will be in touch all day,” he answers. “And if you need anything, just call.”

  Now we have to part, and it’s a pain when I kiss Kay bye. I don’t know what I would do without him. Honestly, this very temporary separation is like a divorce. I am still vulnerable to emotions like he suggested last night.

  ***

  I drive off in the Corolla, sampling its features. It’s a good car in all respects and I should be enjoying it, but then because I am now alone, my mind doesn’t take long to swing back to what happened yesterday. Who wants to kill me? Why wasn’t my sniffer wand triggered as soon as I drove out of the garage? Of course I didn’t have the sniffer in the open, but I should at least have heard some kicking in the tote. I am afraid it could mean the person trying to harm me is so powerful as to render my tools useless.

  A solution must be found before things get bad. I call Zed, and he says let’s meet at my house.

  “Bring guild support,” I add.

  Zed is aware what I mean. When one member has been attacked by too big a force, the guild brings in another powerful witch hunter to help with the curse breaking and spell lifting.

  On the way, I pass through my office, obviously not to open for business, but just to see what’s going on. Mr. Gillz lies upside down on the bottom of the tank. His fins hardly twitch. For a moment I think he is dead, but that cannot be, because dead fish rise to the surface and then float flat. Maybe he is just unconscious, I don’t know.

  As soon as I walk closer, he rights himself and then swims, diving up and down. Sort of like he is pleased to see me.

  “Happy to be back, Mr. Gillz.”

  He pops his head out the water for a second, like he is blowing a kiss.

  “That’s so romantic, mister. Now I have to go.”

  After dropping in some pellets for him, I get out and find the Corolla. I drive normally all the way on William and then Union, but my heart starts to pound when I turn into Seneca. From there it’s St David’s, and I cruise along, but as I reach Emerald I experience real déjà vu. This is where the nightmare yesterday began,
and for a moment I feel like the Corolla is just going to spin out of control like the Vic did. I bite my lips and brace my feet for another harrowing roller coaster ride, but the Toyota remains steady. In fact its ride is quite smooth as I turn, and the control is finer than I could ever ask for.

  When I get home, I show to Zed the paper sigil I retrieved from the Vic’s rear right wheel.

  “Quimglich-like symbols,” he says.

  “You understand what they mean?”

  “No, but I have a dictionary and an alphabet in my office. Give it to me, and I will try to decode it for you.”

  “Thanks.” I hand it over.

  Worry enthrones itself on Zed’s face as he grips it tight.

  Seeing his reaction, I become scared for myself again, but it doesn’t mean I am giving up the work. Casey is the reason why I am in this peril, and I intend to do all I can to find a solution that will bring a smile back to his lips. And fire to his loins.

  We get inside with Zed and wait for the guild helper who is coming. Guess who shows up. Anastasiana, that healer I called on to help that bloodied warlock of Sunday morning in Medina.

  “Good, to see that you are okay, Mel.”

  “I survived.”

  “Truly, you have been in a lot lately,” she remarks. Actually she is now alluding to my pursuit of the Lady in Red, a quest I told her of when I called her over to Medina.

  “It’s the perils of the job,” I say.

  “Thank God, we still breathe.” She sighs. “Let me see what I will find in here.”

  Only a second later, and she is into her way of sniffing for black magic and evil spells. Unlike what many might think, a Breaker like me can’t undo what a dark witch has already thrown at me. I need the help of someone, and Anastasiana is a pro at what she does, so when she is finished I will be fine. Her method of driving away evil spells is to smoke the house with frankincense mixed with some other sweet-smelling herbs. All lights are turned off during this process, and only a couple of windows are cracked open to let the smoke out. She tells me she could smell the evil magic, but after she is done, everything has gone.

  “Thank you for your work,” I say, taking in the refreshing sweetness of balsam, sage and jasmine.

  “Your wards activated themselves against the enemy,” she explains. “But now they aren’t good anymore, so I will deploy mine.”

  She does so, and afterward I feel very safe. But that can only be for now—for who knows what the enemy plans next.

  Fifty-one

  After Zed and Ana are gone, I am by myself. Their departure makes me feel unsafe again, and I realize it’s always good after trauma to have other people around you. Nature of the job, I try to tell myself, but it’s hard not to remember.

  Just before one, I decide on a reveal—and snooze on the couch with the amethyst. Nothing big has changed, it’s still the same cold permafrost. Today I was hoping to glimpse some faces so as to suggest to me where this place is, but I don’t see any, just the ice that is thickening. Disappointment overcomes me, and then I nap tiredly, only to be woken up by the sudden opening of the door.

  The time is now three o’clock, and Sara is back from school. The mystery of how things went between mother and daughter is already solved, going by what I see.

  “I’m not going back to that woman,” she says, after greeting me. “That’s it, I'm done. One day was enough.”

  “Why so, Sara? She is your mother.”

  “She’s crazy...”

  “No, Sara let’s not say that.”

  “Ain’t no way I’m seeing her again. I’m glad you’re back; how do you feel?” We talk for a while, then Katie calls her. She has come and is already by the door. She pops in. Isn’t it ominous she has a whole paper bag of what looks like changes of clothing. Recently she has undergone a mini transformation and has been taking better care of herself. Her face is prettier, her blue eyes clearer underneath the dark eyelashes she has made sharper with a liner.

  “What’s up, girl?”

  “We’re headed for the movies, thanks Mel,” Katie says. “That thing worked excellent.”

  “Did it?” I suddenly remember what she is talking about. That little magic potion.

  Sara coos. “She’s got a date, and I am hopping along for the ride.”

  “Which movie place is this?” I ask.

  “The Dipson McKinley today,” Katie says. “But next time it will be downtown.” She is beaming like an angel, and her joy seeps into me.

  My spirits are lifted high, and I would like to be a part of this nice little outcome. “How is Brad himself?”

  “He is so nice,” says Sara. “Just the right kind of guy.”

  Katie’s cheeks turn crimson. Something hot has taken over her body and some cute little butterflies must be fluttering in her belly.

  It would be great to see what that young dude looks like—the one who succumbed to the small charm I concocted. “If a movie is the plan, then, I am coming along too, for a ride,” I say.

  “No, Mel, the whole thing is so totally not for adults,” Sara offers.

  “I don’t mind it,” I say. “You guys I’m giving you transport.”

  The girls eye one another and then shrug.

  Because they had intended to go by public transit, and now I have offered something better, we can delay a little, and that gives the girls more time to preen themselves. The two drape their bodies in tight jeans and tank tops. They style their hair and put on whatever makeup is allowed sixteen-year-olds, and it’s a lot in my opinion. They smell nice, too.

  We climb into the Corolla and then drive up the road. The Dipson McKinley Mall is named after the road that hosts it—the McKinley Parkway—which for most of its length runs parallel and close to the more celebrated I-90. The theatres are a bit of a hive when we arrive, despite it’s a Wednesday. A smell of buttered popcorn pervades the whole grand entrance. Teenagers shimmy from one side to another, while ticket and other vending machines plink by.

  “There he is.” The ever-alert Sara points.

  On seeing us, a guy walks up and hugs Katie. He is a little older than her but cannot be out of high school himself; no, not by the invasion of pimples on his skin. He looks kind of cool, though, and is in jeans, too, with his hair finely combed.

  “We are way too early,” he says.

  “Let’s go have some ice cream then.” Sara suggests.

  I definitely am not dumb and know this is her way of getting rid of me. She is aware I am not into licking any of those cones at all. “Bye guys,” I say as they leave the theatre building to go to a Baskin and Robins that is on the other side of the mall.

  Now, I am left alone again, but the good feeling of having succeeded to help build a teenage romance doesn’t disappear with them, at least not so soon anyway. Magic does work sometimes, but God why won’t it do so when Casey is that much in need.

  Fifty-two

  Anxiety hits me again as I return home. I’d immersed myself in the joys of a budding teenage affair, but as soon as I reach the driveway, the warm feelings evaporate and instantly are replaced by fright. This house may be protected, but danger still lurks around. The enemy wishing to destroy me is still out there.

  Call me paranoid, but I am developing a sense that if the enemy can’t hurt me enough, they might try the same thing on someone I love. Sara lives with me, so Anastasiana’s wards will protect her, but can I say the same of Kay? I once thought of installing a protection in his apartment but never did so because the subject was hard to introduce, he being a non believer. But now that he has got a hint, I must get to doing it.

  Homing in on the idea, what I later decide on is much more: a thing with a greater bite than a normal ward. Those more experienced with the practice of witch hunting will know there exists something called a containment zone, and I might try that. The zone is a magical demarcation that traps evil witches or wizards but is rarely ever used owing to two main reasons. The first is that only the fewest know how to la
y it, and the second is, it’s a controversial thing the bureau is very antsy about.

  Different hunters call their containment zones different names. Some call them sticky rhombuses or trapezoids, while others call them spider’s webs. I have heard someone call theirs’ a magic wall, but mine I call it the Alcatraz—after that famous fortress prison of decades ago. My containment zone is simply that strong. No one caught inside it can escape, and I need that so my boyfriend will be safe.

  Kay himself called me before four as we were preparing to go for that movie, and we spoke briefly, exchanging our usual harmless banter. Mainly he wanted to know how well I was doing—so nice of him to ask that—but he also said he wanted to see me. Unfortunately I had made arrangements with the girls, and I had to tell him he couldn’t, at least not right away. As a compromise I offered instead to visit him as soon as I was free.

  And now that I am, I have to honor that promise. The truth, though, is that I have this Alcatraz thing that I would like to do, so for Kay it will be as though his girlfriend just drove in for a date, but absolutely not so for me.

  To cast the Alcatraz I don’t need much in terms of substance. I only retrieve from under my mattress an oaken scepter, which is the main tool for the job. The scepter is hook shaped on one end, much like a shepherd’s stick, but it also has a long stem that tapers to a point at the front.

  Mine’s total length, however, is such that I can’t fit it all in my tote, so I only tuck in the hook end and let the sharpened front jut out. As soon as I get to the Corolla, I am going to hide it in the trunk so the public can’t see it. The requirement for basic secrecy sometimes makes our work rather difficult, but this job has to be done.

  That part complete, the drive is a breeze. At Kay’s building, the front lot is now packed with cars for the night. There are Jeeps and Fords and Chryslers, and then long Ram trucks and GM vans that overshoot their parking slots. My Corolla proudly holds its own in the visitors bay, so different today because Kay’s space is taken by his rental.