Street Magicks

by Paula Guran

  Jamie pushed back from the desk, stretching until his spine popped.

  “Lila going to forgive you?” Mick asked.

  “Maybe,” Jamie said dolefully. “She hates my schedule.”

  “That’s because you don’t have one.”

  “Bite me.” Jamie took a generous swallow of coffee and said, “Do you think we’re right to say that body is Daniel McKendrick?”

  “It is Daniel McKendrick.”

  “Not like that. I mean, his family’s gonna be notified, and they been thinking he’s dead all this time, and now they get half a fucking body to bury? Aside from which, Daniel McKendrick has been dead all this time—or at least most of it. That body was . . . somebody else, if it was a person at all.”

  “You mean, you think when you were sleeping with him . . . ”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. Because he didn’t give a shit when Shawna Lafayette disappeared, and now I know why.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Mick asked, red-faced at his own stupid clumsiness.

  “No, but I’m gonna have to put it in the report anyway.” Jamie sighed, took another slug of coffee. “It’s the reason I quit Electric Squidland. Well, one of the reasons. Shawna was a waitress in Kaleidoscope. She caught Adler’s eye, because she was pretty and not very bright, and I was worried about it—because she was pretty and not very bright. And then she disappeared, and nobody cared, and I asked Brett if he didn’t think there was something strange about it, and he essentially told me to mind my own business. And, you know, I’d seen him talking to Shawna before she disappeared. Talking to her a lot.”

  “Persuading her.”

  “Seducing her,” Jamie corrected. “And I don’t know how many other people he seduced like that, or why he didn’t try it on with me.”

  “Jamie, you’re not helping yourself—”

  “You know, that’s the worst part. He let me go.”

  “Sorry?”

  “He let me go. Oh, he tried to make me stay on, but when I wouldn’t, he was okay with it. He never used magic on me, or tried to get me to play Adler’s little games. Hell, he never even asked me to go down to Neon Cthulhu with him, and he must have known I would have. I think about the shit he could have pulled on me and the fact he didn’t pull it, and the fact that he fucking let me go, and . . . Well, fuck it, Mick, I don’t know. Was I just not worth it? Or do you think ifrits can love?”

  “I don’t know,” Mick said, wanting desperately to give a better answer but simply not having one. “I really don’t.” And hesitantly, almost cringing, he reached out and put his hand over Jamie’s, feeling the warmth and the strength and the roughness of Jamie’s knuckles. And Jamie turned his hand over, folded his fingers around Mick’s hand.

  They sat that way for a moment, saying nothing. Jamie squeezed tighter, then let go and said briskly, “This ain’t getting the paperwork done.” But his eyes were clearer, as if some of the pain knotting him up had been released, and Mick returned to his share of their report feeling better himself.

  Today might turn out to be a good day after all.

  Sarah Monette is the author of The Doctrine of Labyrinths series and co-author, with Elizabeth Bear, of A Companion to Wolves and A Tempering of Men. Some of her four dozen or so short stories have been collected in The Bone Key and Somewhere Beneath the Waves. Her 2014 novel The Goblin Emperor, published under the pseudonym Katherine Addison, received the Locus Award for Best Fantasy Novel and was nominated for the Nebula, Hugo, and World Fantasy Awards

  Although hidden from mundane eyes, The Library of the Hidden Arts is located somewhere on the rain-swept streets of Seattle. Its assets are a great help to a young man trying to become a full wizard.

  Speechless in Seattle

  Lisa Silverthorne

  Thunder rumbled through the evening sky as storm clouds rolled off Elliot Bay where Brant Trenerry stood in Kerry Park, staff raised, ready to change the world.

  The air prickled with energy, alive with the swirling of ancient forces as he summoned the power of all the wizards who’d carried this staff before him.

  Already he smelled the acrid, almost electric tang of magic from the eye of the storm, a crisp, pungent odor that tingled his nose like cracked pepper.

  He gripped the family staff tighter and whispered a spell he’d spent months crafting. It hissed from his lips, quickly joined by ancestral voices that echoed from the family grimoire he carried in the messenger bag underneath his cloak. He just needed to get the words right.

  Brant was descended from House Trenerry, one of the five great houses of wizardry that settled in Seattle’s sleepy streets nearly two hundred years ago. They lived quietly alongside mundanes who couldn’t see or hear the trappings of their world.

  He’d spent his whole life studying magic, schooled in the Arts before preschool and throughout his time in public schools. He’d lettered in all three schools of magic and passed all of his MHAATs. A senior at Seattle’s College for the Performance of Magical Arts, he had a 3.8 average in Calefaction magic and a 4.0 in both Camber and Compulsion minors.

  After committing the important spells of House Trenerry’s grimoires to memory, he scoured Seattle’s streets for a familiar, like all wizards-to-be. Just last month, he’d enticed a winged, tortoiseshell cat named Zipestra into the role. She’d been following him since his twentieth birthday, but it took him nearly a year to convince her to accept him as her wizard. Originally, he’d nicknamed her Pest for short, but the claw marks on his arm convinced him to choose Zip instead. Cats.

  Now, on his twenty-first birthday, with his focus in place, he’d chosen a place of power to perform the spell. After the incantation, he’d inherit his house’s power, becoming a full wizard in the eyes of the five great houses and Seattle’s magical community.

  If he completed the spell correctly.

  All he had to do was say it.

  He winced as he remembered his childhood struggle with stuttering. He’d grown out of it, but sometimes, when he was tired—or nervous—he stuttered.

  Brant’s staff glowed molten purple now, steaming in the mist-laden air, thrumming with pent-up forces ready for release. Carved out of myrtlewood on the steps of Glastonbury Abbey, honed with generations of Trenerry blood, sweat, and incantations, this staff had weathered continents and centuries. He was the seventh generation to carry it, an only child—which worried his parents.

  Lightning fractured the sky, casting a neon yellow flash against Kerry Park’s tall, steel sculpture. Changing Form, by Doris Totten Chase, consisted of two boxes with spherical cutouts that framed the skyline like a portal. For Brant, it was the most powerful place in Seattle.

  Touched by the Puget Sound, Kerry Park carried elemental powers of earth, wind, and water. It pulsed with the constant energies of thousands of people who walked these worn red bricks every day. The walkways writhed with the hopes and dreams of tourists snapping countless photographs through the sculpture’s circle. Each time, the world changed; storing bits and pieces of its magic into moments scattered throughout the Internet, framed on walls, and printed in the media—touching everything and everyone.

  It just needed a spark. An element of fire to focus all the power he was about to summon.

  Thunder roiled around him as he chanted the spell louder. The wind rose, strafing his face with rain. He stumbled over a word, then carefully spoke it again.

  Brant’s familiar fluttered around him, channeling his newfound energies into the staff, combining them into a single force. A task that familiars had performed for thousands of years.

  The staff grew hot in his hand as lightning flashed overhead, crackling like pebbles against a tin roof. He shouted the spell’s final line and slammed the end of the staff into the ground.

  A massive fireball burst from the staff like a comet, shooting across the black, churning sky and exploding in a shower of sparks that rained down like fireworks. A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the horizon, thundering in a sharp, pi
ercing clap.

  Fire reigned from the clouds as a bright ring of fire rushed across the park, rolling over Seattle.

  I’m free! It was Zip, his familiar’s voice.

  Brant turned, staring into the cat’s deep copper eyes.

  “Free?” he cried, shaking ashes out of his dark hair. “But . . . you’re b-bound to me.”

  The winged cat rolled over in mid-air and stretched cream-speckled paws, arching her back as she clawed at the air.

  Not anymore, Zip purred. You spent so much time perfecting diction and crafting the spell, little wizard. You forgot about the words.

  “What are you talking about?” He glared at Zip as she licked her front paw. “I crafted my spell from the exact words in the Trenerry grimoire. And I didn’t stutter!”

  The pit of his stomach dropped into his feet. What had he missed?

  Zip sighed. That’s the problem, little wizard. You forgot the first rule of magic: update all spells.

  He cringed, bristling at the smug, little furball. He wouldn’t be lectured about magic by a flying cat.

  A thousand years ago, each magical word was precise and had one meaning, Zip continued, rubbing against his elbow, her throaty purr soothing. Today, those words have many meanings.

  He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So what did I cast?”

  You didn’t call House Trenerry’s magic into your staff, said Zip, you set free every familiar in Seattle.

  Brant’s eyes widened and he cursed under his breath. “I what? Oh, Gods, my father’s gonna kill me! I’ve gotta fix this!”

  He cast a Compulsion spell, transporting him to the one place that could help him, before anyone found out, The Seattle Library of the Hidden Arts.

  Willa Rosewarren pulled her lavender cloak tight, head down, auburn hair tucked behind her ears as she shuffled through the angry crowd of wizards gathered at the steps of The Seattle Library of the Hidden Arts. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She smiled, hoping the storm would clear out these protestors.

  Luna, the white dove on her shoulder, cooed in soothing warbles. The familiar scrubbed the impurities from Willa’s magic until her Calefaction burned a pure, white flame. The five houses had mastered all three schools of magic, but only House Rosewarren exclusively practiced Calefaction, the manipulation of heat and light. Their wizards were the best at it, too—not that Willa liked to brag.

  Willa loved practicing magic, but she preferred managing the library’s collections, assisting researchers, and gathering rare, magical artifacts for her Seattle patrons. As the newest librarian, two weeks today, she’d volunteered for the evening shift, hoping to learn about the evening crowd’s needs. She’d expected it to be busy, but she never dreamed there’d be protests.

  Willa glanced at the two stone griffins perched on either side of the winding granite staircase that curved toward the library’s oak doors, but the glowing slashes of blue, green, and orange runes obscured her view.

  She groaned. Wizard graffiti.

  The air smelled like melted plastic as she read the symbols flashing in the evening air.

  Tomes Belong in Libraries. Grimoires Shouldn’t be Digitized! Barcodes are Bad Magic!

  Willa sighed, brushing away the runes. They turned to dust and floated away. Wizards. She rolled her eyes. Perfecting the magical arts for thousands of years, yet show them a barcode and they start a witch-hunt. Five great houses competing against each other since the Bronze Age, but mention digitizing family grimoires and they all band together.

  Lightning flickered to the west as she swerved past two wizards, a man with black hair and a sable-haired, dark-skinned woman. They wore the royal blue robes of House Negus as they burned runes into the air, chanting, “Barcodes ruin grimoires!” as Willa reached the staircase. One had a shaggy brown dog that panted and wagged its tail. The other had a red squirrel perched on her shoulder, happily shelling an acorn. Willa loved seeing all the familiars.

  House Rosewarren built this white two-story, gothic revival in the 1850s. At times, the black mansard roof with its wrought-iron widow’s walk looked forbidding, but the spandreled portico softened its harsh appearance. It sat in stark contrast to the modern curves of the Seattle Art Museum, just a few blocks from Elliot Bay. Mundanes couldn’t see House Rosewarren due to the extensive Camber magic that curved and refracted space around it.

  A white-haired wizard dressed in a brown cloak and the yellow silk robes of House Kestell stepped in front of Willa. His familiar, a black stag, fidgeted beside him, rubbing its antlers against the granite stairs. The wizard smelled like stale smoke and decaying silk, his teeth clicking when he talked.

  “This is an outrage!” he shouted. His features were sharp and hawk-like, small, dark eyes glaring. A goatee framed his angry pout as he shook a finger at her. “Just you wait until all the houses hear about what you’ve done here! It’s desecration!”

  A chestnut-haired sorceress wearing an orange pullover rushed out of the library, cupping blue orbs in each hand. “Have you seen my tiger?” she asked, looking upset, eyes glassy, a trail of blue sparkles trickling through her fingers and scattering down the steps.

  Willa shook her head. “No, sorry.”

  She moved away from Willa. “Has anyone seen my white tiger, Freyja? Anyone? Please, my familiar’s vanished! I can’t focus spells without her!”

  Distraught, she shuffled past Willa who tried to sidestep the angry House Kestell wizard, but other protesters blocked her path, tossing fireballs at the stone griffins.

  The griffins let out a screech, broke free of their magical tethers, and fluttered into the night, halting the protestors’ shouts.

  Willa gasped, nearly falling down the stairs. The Library familiars!

  She grabbed the railing as Luna took flight, following the griffins.

  The deathly quiet on the stairs forced her to turn around. Every familiar was gone.

  “What’s happened?” someone whispered. The wizards looked lost, staring at each other as the protest runes faded into puffs of smoke.

  “Where’s my dog?”

  Storm clouds broke, rain pattering against the granite steps, washing away dust and smoke. Panicked, the wizards scattered.

  Willa didn’t know what happened to the familiars, but she’d start researching possible causes—and solutions. She pulled open the heavy oak door and collided with a man in a black cloak.

  Everything turned dark when the young man’s cloak tangled around her head and she fell. She struggled to free herself, but the marble floor was too slick and she couldn’t get to her feet. She groaned in frustration as the man struggled up from the floor.

  He pulled back the edge of his cloak. She stared up at him, studying his kind face, warm brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. He looked mesmerized, his eyes wide and unblinking. He was quite attractive, tall and slim, tousled hair just above the collar of his gray henley, and wide-set brown eyes like a distraught puppy. His cloak almost hid his faded jeans. She brushed a tangle of auburn locks away from her face and smiled, but he seemed almost frightened of her. His lips moved, but no words came out.

  Instead, the young man signed a spell, copper flashes dancing across her body, lifting her from the floor. Sweat misted his face as he seemed to struggle to hold the spell until she was on her feet. She grinned. A wizard!

  “Thank you,” said Willa, struggling to catch her breath.

  She straightened her cloak, smoothing the Juliet sleeves of her pale mint blouse. Her black pencil skirt was hiked up, so she straightened the seam. Her rain-damp face was flushed, cheeks burning as she did her best not to stare—or make him feel more uncomfortable. After all, as a wizard of House Rosewarren, it was her duty to uphold the house’s reputation of producing helpful, compassionate wizards and stewards of written magical knowledge.

  At last, the young man returned her smile, looking calmer as he picked up his staff and bowed politely. But that distressed look returned to his face as he ducked into the east reading room.


  Willa followed, hoping he needed help with his research.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asked, hurrying down the long, narrow room, past wooden tables and brown leather couches. “I work here.”

  He turned away from a shelf of books against the far wall, smiling. “I . . . thought you were from House Rosewarren.”

  Bookshelves lined every wall, the room painted a pale aqua, and stood in neat rows of three between the tables and couches. The young wizard seemed fascinated by the rows of colorful books. Frosty white orbs floated across the ceilings in a slow, circular path, lighting the room with soft white light as he rushed from shelf to shelf, a look of desperation in his eyes.

  Thick tomes and loosely bound manuscripts filled the shelves, some books glowing blue. Others had pictures that flashed along their spines, others were adorned with shiny jewels and fiery runes. Leather, colored cardstock, delicate silks, and vellums in frosty, crisp sheets.

  He closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, which seemed to calm him. Willa felt even more attracted to him now. He loved the smell of books. She was certain of it. When he opened his eyes, they had a dreamy quality, like someone who wanted to lose himself in every tome and text.

  She breathed in the comforting scent of leather and old paper, knowing this man was someone she could have long conversations about magic and grimoires with over hot tea and scones. Someone who probably loved the rain and the ocean’s nearness to the city. She desperately wanted to get to know him.

  The wizard walked toward the large, glass-summoning spheres in the corner that bobbed in the air at eye level. They were the size of large melons and had more facets than a diamond.

  “What are you searching for?” Willa asked, startling him. He reached toward the spheres and images danced across the clear glass. With a flick of his index finger, and a bit of Compulsion magic glowing lavender at his fingertips, he tried to use the spheres. He was probably new to the Library’s new catalog system.