by Kezzy Sparks
The time is after nine, and it’s getting close to checkout. Today she might do the continental breakfast thing because this place offers it, but hell before she goes for that, why not get right away into the repossession task she decided on.
Naturally, the very first person to ask regarding the red catcher, and its contents, is the client. She picks up her phone.
“Enjoying yourself, huh?” she says by way of a murky intro. “With that thing you stole from me.”
“No, Mage, I’m not enjoying anything.” A tingle of unease colors the client’s voice.
“Really…” The Mage goes on, and then suddenly she gets serious. “Okay, E,” she demands. “Can I know where that catcher is, because I’m making a move?”
From the other side, a sharp intake of breath. “Very sorry, I don’t have it anymore. Someone stole it from me, too.”
“Someone?” The Mage gasps. “Who, E? You, guys, know my ability to punish.”
“My other ex-boyfriend did.” The client’s voice crackles. “I can give you his details, but his phone is the new one, though.”
“Uh, another ex?” The Mage snorts. “Someone else, not Casey?”
“Yes,” says the client. “His name is Tyler.”
Excitement about the chase was building up in her, but at this news, a rage suddenly wells up in her throat. When she lifted off that dick, it was for Client E’s benefit only, not anyone else’s. Now why would that Jove forsaken son of a gun named Tyler take it? Didn’t he have his own?
Furiously she jots down all the info she is given and then dials right away.
“Tyler, my position and title is The Mage. I want back everything you took from E’s apartment,” she growls.
“Don’t trouble me. I don’t have it.” Ty is curt.
More bile floods The Mage, and her chest heats up. “Don’t fucking play those tricks on me, dumb man. Do you understand who you are talking to? I am the one who took that dick from its owner, and if you don’t tell me where it is, I am coming to take yours.”
“I am really sorry, Mage.” Tyler is cowed. “I don’t do magic, and please don’t involve me in this.”
“Well then, tell me, where is it?”
With no further delay, she gets the phone, name, and address of a woman whom Ty knows. Nikki is her name, but just like Tyler, she initially refuses to be asked anything.
The Mage has no kind words for people like her. “Bitch, I know how to work magic. You don’t tell me where you put that thing, and I will curse you forever. Seriously, I am powerful. If I can lift a dick off a living man, imagine what else I can do. You’ll fuckin’ perish.”
In haste, Nikki gives her the name of again another someone. Thank Jove, the list doesn’t grow long like The Mage had feared. This last guy gives her an address: of—isn’t it strange—a research institute. “I hope they haven’t operated on the organs and destroyed them,” he says, and then adds, “Please, Mage, it wasn’t my fault. I was just asked to help. Yes, I realize you are powerful, and don’t you hurt me.”
“Better not be lying.” She ends the call.
The adrenaline flows, the thrill of the chase is upon her. Right after she checks out of this motel, she is going to that Jove fucked-up laboratory.
Sixty-four
As soon as I wake up, I am seized by another new hope for Casey. It’s Saturday, and the day will be great because I will go to that institution that was revealed last night. The case’s ending is near, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. Casey is going to be turned back into the man he was!
It’s now eight o’clock, and truth to God, I can’t wait for the trip to begin. I have already packed everything into my tote, the only thing left being to shower. Today I shan’t use my GPS—since this trip is too special, and I don’t want to be led by a machine. I would like to as much as possible trace the natural footsteps we took in that dream with Flo.
After bathing, I change into my best clothes. My logic is to look as presentable as possible since I will be knocking on a professional organization’s doors. The formal style will make it easier for those I approach to accept me with a good amount of confidence.
All finished, I jump into the Corolla. Further anticipation tightens my muscles, and I am breathing fast as I drive. By nine-thirty I am already in the area. Parking is not as hard to get Saturday as it might be weekdays. I don’t park right on Ellicott, though, but a few streets away so I can again follow those steps of Casey’s granny.
The morning sun is reflected off windows and strikes the pavement, but the glare can’t blot the scenes I saw in the dream. I can almost see Florence, her silver hair glowing in the night light. What’s more, as I walk, I feel a deep human connection with her, as though she were someone I knew during her living days. The feeling is as exhilarating as it is cathartic.
Soon I glimpse the Ellicott sign, and it’s painted exactly like I observed last night. I walk up the road, and then before I go far, I see the building I am looking for, one with lots of glass on its façade. The research institute is named Woodsman, and my heart pounds as I head toward the doors.
The moment I walk in, however, my emotions suddenly alter from excitement to regret. I realize I should have invited Casey and Megan along, and together we could have made a bigger statement inside. And better yet, once we claimed the case, it wouldn’t fall on me to confirm if it contained the exact things we were looking for. The pains and joys, or even sheer embarrassment of that, would fall on Megan, or Casey himself, the most hurt person in this saga.
At the large and long front desk sits a woman, quite well dressed in institutional uniform. To both the left and right sides of the desk are two hallways. Near the right one is a small counter with a chair, and in it, a security guard is perched. My guess is that’s the hallway that leads to greater things. I take a few uneasy steps then reach the receptionist.
“May I help you?” she asks.
I introduce myself as Melanie Perkiss, a freelance reporter—because in a professional setting like this, it’s never advisable to tell the other party that you are an investigator of magical things.
“Good, but then what can I assist you with?” Her tone is firm and formal.
“I am here to track a parcel that was mailed to you, possibly in error.”
The lady frowns at this seeming change of tack. She must have thought I’d say I wanted to interview someone since I said I was a reporter.
She leans back in surprise. “What did the parcel look like, and why do you say it was sent in error?”
“It’s a chocolate-brown case that was contained in a white mailing box.” I respond to the first part of her question.
“And is it you who sent it?”
“No, someone I know did.”
“And what was in the brown case?”
This question, although I should have known it would come, stuns me for a moment. How, really, can I say it?
In the end I opt for something murky but easier on the lips. “It contains biological materials that shouldn’t have been sent to this place.”
“Indeed?” Doubt makes an appearance on the woman’s face. “We don’t do biological materials via regular mail. It’s illegal and dangerous.”
“But I know for sure,” I say.
“Look, are you really the one who sent the package?” The woman’s gaze changes to suspicion.
I reply, “No, it’s not me, but I actually spoke to the person who did.”
“Hold on, let me call someone.”
My hopes, which had begun to flag, soar a bit after she says that. My guess is she is calling the lab’s receiving department, and once I am referred there, everything should be easier.
Shortly the receptionist finishes talking, but instead of directing me to an office, hands me the phone. After a perfunctory greeting I again narrate what I am here for. This time, it’s a man on the other end. The answer is the same. They don’t do bio specimens in regular post. If I am so sure of myself why don’t I go
to the police. How did the box look anyway; no they never received it. Do I know the sender’s address?
Sadly, I have to hand back the receiver.
“Could you just let me in and I do some looking around?” I am down to my last wits.
“No, no way. This matter is settled.” The receptionist becomes curt.
“Oh please, it’s really important,” I plead.
“Hey, don’t cause any trouble, or I am calling help.” She shoots the security guard a get-ready look. “If it’s organs you people mailed, rightly the police should be arresting you. Want me to call them?”
“No,” I say in surrender.
Jesus, this isn’t working; I must go.
Defeated, I trace my way back to the door. I have almost reached the point of crying, and I chafe again at how hard the witch hunting job is without official recognition. With a search warrant I could have ransacked this place and found what I was looking for.
My last resort is that I will let Zed know of this, but before I can rummage for my phone, another idea hits me. Why don’t I force my way into this place after dark, when it has closed? I have a couple of magical door openers that can get the job done. And even though guild guidelines are that we don’t use those to gain entry to private premises where magic isn’t practiced, I think I will overrule that. Casey and Megan are at a breaking point and any means is justified.
I rush back to the Corolla wishing the daytime to end so I can be back. In the dark…
Sixty-five
After the continental breakfast of cereal and milk, then coffee with toasted bread plus a small bonus of a boiled egg, The Mage is ready to check out. All her things are packed—seems like she is going on a long journey, but no, she will only be ending up on Madonna Drive in Eden. The headquarters of the Fiends is in that small town, which is just miles southwest of here.
Before anything else, though, she must first go to Ellicott Street to reclaim that important belonging of hers, that penis which used to be Casey’s.
She calls Fred. He must drive her to the research institute, and after that, she will dismiss him. He doesn’t have to follow her to the Fiends. Just like the client, also, need not.
“You’re to take me downtown,” she says into the phone.
“Always ready to serve you, great Mage.”
Still loyal, Fred shows up soon enough with his Mercedes Benz.
“We are going to Ellicott Street.”
Her broom is the only thing that’s not in a bag of any sort, because it’s too long to fit. And it’s a very sensitive magical thing anyway that mustn’t be mixed up with others, lest its power be diminished through contact. She eases into the Benz holding it.
They drive from Lancaster chatting all the way till they get to downtown. Although she hadn’t meant to, she just decides to let Fred have a clue what’s happening.
“My last time with you,” she says, ready to get off. “I’m leaving, and thanks for serving me well all these years.”
“Why Mage, where are you going?”
“It’s okay Fred. Some things are better left unspoken.”
“Honestly, it’s sad,” he says and then seems like he has a small favor to ask for. “Could you still let me have that thing? You know I wanted it so much.”
“Oh, that dick.” The witch smirks. “Sorry it got stolen, otherwise I would have given it to you.”
“By who, Mage?” Fred scowls. “Who could have done such a thing?”
“Do you remember that trip to Medina when we visited The Boss and taught him a little lesson?”
“Yes,” says Fred. “I remember, last Sunday.”
“Why do you think I’d occasion such fury on a coven member?”
“Jove, is he the one who stole it? Son of a gun.”
“Yes, he and some fucked-up girl I shan’t name.” The Mage won’t tell Fred this trip is to claim the very thing, because he might start badgering her again.
From his Merc, she comes out with her broom and witching bag, but the two big luggage carriers Fred can drop those off at the nearest shipping center: FedEx or UPS. From there, they must be couriered to Madonna Drive. It indeed would have been cumbersome to spend the whole day lugging those two around, considering she will only be making her entry at the Fiends at nighttime. The witching hour…
For reasons only known to her, she made sure they not park right at the research lab’s entrance. She wants to walk a while before she gets there. She waves Fred goodbye, and he drives away as she traces her steps toward the gleaming glass building. Before long, she reaches it. At the reception is a lady, and then at a counter on the side, stands a guard.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist says while gazing at her broom.
“I am here to get a red catcher that was mailed to you by mistake.”
“Someone was here talking about the same thing. What do you people want?”
“I just want that case.”
“Please go away. We never received such a thing. I have already dealt with this.”
Noticing the little commotion, the security guy comes up.
“Tell her to go away,” says the receptionist.
“You heard that. Leave now,” the burly guard growls.
These people don’t know me well, swears The Mage under her breath.
She plans to play a trick. “Okay, I’m leaving, but can I just use your washroom?”
Ignorantly, they show her a hallway that leads to two sets of restrooms. She enters the women’s. In there, she takes to a stall, waves her wand while uttering chants and that brings on a magical disguise. When she gets out, everyone will see an old man in a jumpsuit, a custodian who takes care of this place.
To find out where exactly to go from here, she has that tiny match-stick wand that she finally waved so as to lift off Casey’s dick that Monday night. The little wand still remembers. It jerks a bit, pointing in a certain direction.
Now in her disguise, the guard, and the receptionist don’t even as much as acknowledge her. She walks into the other hallway and then arrives at a set of steps that go both ways, up and down. The wand indicates downward. She does as said, and before long, she reaches a basement with some freezers in it.
Steadfastly, the matchstick points to one. She opens the door, and something glares back at her! Yes, completely covered in ice is a case, but oh it isn’t red, nor is it the same shape as her catcher.
Expectation floods her. She tears the thing out of the frozen hold, and then checks it better. The case is chocolate brownish and then, quite curiously, is monogrammed with the initials NZ.
That don’t matter though; she will open…
***
Owing to the ice film, the case’s lips are hard to pry apart. The cold bites into her hands, but The Mage is excited. This thing is like a baby to her. Long lost but now found; it’s going to be a reunion!
She keeps trying, and then eventually with some force, the case does pop. Inside lies Casey frozen white, and a bit shriveled up. It’s her child; she is going to thaw him.
Many years have passed, but she once was introduced to a thaw song. One exactly for situations like this. She puts the case onto a countertop and then sings while rubbing her palms together.
Amazingly, the ice begins to melt, and a whitish vapor hisses. No liquid accumulates; all the water particles evaporate. She actually feels the heat of her words, what a magical language Quimglich is. Soon all the cold and ice have gone, and what remains is a huge, lively, ready-to-go phallus.
“Wow it’s done,” she says as she closes the case, which has also heated up. She thrusts it into her bag then picks her broom in another hand and is leaving. Thrilled, she doesn’t forget to utter the chant that rids her of the custodian disguise. Everyone will now see her as she really is.
The same lady still sits at the reception. Upon seeing The Mage, she gasps, and so does the security guard. The lady wants to say something, but her tongue is tied. Enjoying it, The Mage adds to the mystery by digg
ing into her bag and waving the brown case.
On glimpsing it, the guard stands up, but The Mage has no time to entertain him. She strides out the door, never to return.
Sixty-six
It’s now nighttime; all my stuff is in my tote. I got two kinds of door opener, for in case one fails, but that’s rare. Magic master keys only fail on those premises guarded by powerful wards, and that laboratory, owing to it being a nonmagical institution, cannot have them.
Of the two openers I grabbed, one is shaped like a pencil but with a knob at its rear, and the other is a leathern disc that I swipe at a lock, and then pop it goes. I will be acting against the rules tonight, but we will see about any consequences that this might attract.
And now that I believe I am on a path of success, that tingling concern of having to check what’s inside the brown case when I get hold of it, spirals through me, but it will be a lesser embarrassment compared to failing to help Megan and Casey completely.
My adrenaline is pumping. Tonight something must happen.
Before I go, though, I decide on a reveal. This is only to check if everything is still the same as last night, or this morning even. I don’t suppose anything has changed, but there is no harm in verifying. Sara has gone to watch TV at Katie’s house so I am alone and can do what I want anywhere. I take to the amethyst right in the living room.
To my consternation, or is it absolute horror, I don’t see any ice crystals around the case anymore. I don’t feel cold, meaning Casey’s things have been taken out of the freezer. The brown box is still the same, but its surroundings isn’t the basement anymore. I wonder if it’s my visit of today that caused things to change. Did someone hear of what I was looking for and just went to the freezers to check?
Hey, Jesus, why the big change? It’s crazy. I sigh as I grope for reasons. Most likely the case was taken out just as part of a planned process in the research lab. A scheduled study it might be, but that doesn’t make me happy at all. On the contrary it makes me sad, because the case’s contents might now be lying on an operating table, with some very sharp scalpels nearby.
