by Kate Danley
Inside, it was crowded with goods, I had to pick my way around barrels filled with old newt eyes and another with petrified rattails. The walls were packed with bottles four deep, and all of them past their expiration date.
An old hag sat behind the counter wearing an eye patch. Hair sprouted out of a mole on her pointed chin. There but by the grace of the goddess go I...
"Not often we see the likes of witches like you," she said, giving me a rotted, toothless smile.
"Don't judge a spell book by its cover," I replied, bracingly.
"Well, everyone's money is good enough here," she stated, rapping her knuckles on the warped counter. "Tell me what you're looking for and I'll see what I can do."
I leaned against the dirty wood. "I need a broom," I muttered under my breath.
"A broom?" She cackled so hard, she started hacking. "Oh, dearie, that's going to cost you quite a bit."
I sighed. "How much are we talking?"
She cleared the phlegm from her throat and wiped her eyes. "Well, seeing as how I'll have to hide the sale from your coven, explain a missing broom..."
"What will it cost?"
"Oh, a lock of your pretty hair... a memory..."
I resisted the urge to tell her that well was dry, and the whole reason I was here was that someone had been generously helping themselves to my memories already.
"How about this?" I asked. I pulled the ruby out of my purse and slid it across the counter.
The hag pulled out a jeweler's loupe and examined the stone. "Oh, very nice," she stated. "Imbued with first love." She then shrewdly pushed it away. "Barely worth the stone it is made of."
"You know and I know that is not true," I stated, pushing it back to her. "First loves are powerful loves. Trade me a broom for the stone."
"And a lock of your hair?"
A lock of hair used in a spell could be used against me. This was just a stone and first love had already done its damage. "Just the stone."
She pretended to think it over.
"Or I can just take it to the next store over," I said, reaching out to take it away.
She slapped her hand down on mine, then pretended like she wasn't as desperate as her actions revealed.
"A used broom," she countered.
"A used broom that works," I stated.
She sniffed as if I had insulted her. "I would never sell anything but."
"You have yourself a deal." I reached out my hand to shake on it.
When she touched my hand, there was a small spark acknowledging the binding of our agreement.
She swiped the ruby off the counter. "I'll be back," she said, walking through a moth-eaten curtain and into the backroom. She reentered with a sad, scrawny stick with a few twigs at the end. It barely counted as a broom.
"I said I wanted one that works," I reminded her.
"Ol’ Broomie works," she said, placing it in the middle of the paper counter and wrapping it. "It'll just take a little magic to get it into fighting form." She leaned across. "If you can't the natural way, a little spilled blood does wonders."
"That wasn't a part of the deal!" I exclaimed.
"You never said it wasn't."
I was horrified. "I just want a broom that flies! One that works! Why do I need to infuse it—"
"Everything needs a little magic, and if you don't have enough power to get it legally, then I'm afraid it is up to you to get the power through less legal means," she replied with a cruel wink.
But the bargain was done. There was nothing I could do to change that. She had trapped me fair and square. One should always watch out for loopholes when making magical bindings. She received a top-of-the-line, first-love ruby in exchange for a ratty broom. At least she was tying it up with a nice bow.
"Thanks," I said, not meaning it.
"Come again, any time!" she hacked as she climbed back onto her stool. "A pleasure doing business with you!"
I took the package by the string and stalked out of the shop, trying not to beat myself up.
I couldn't spill blood for magic.
I couldn't.
But what if my own survival depended on it?
As one of the fallen angels catcalled a nasty suggestion about what he'd like to do to my bosoms, I realized it might be easier to get over my squeamishness than I thought. On a case by case basis. Starting with that guy.
But my thoughts kept looping back to the hag. Hers was my fate if I didn't take some action. A magicless witch is a destitute. We already had goblins in the rafters. I would lose the No Spell if it got out girls were being pressed into my glass. I'd be lucky if I was able to afford a pawnshop in a dark alley. Faced with that reality, what was I willing to do to change this story?
I was no closer to a real answer by the time I got home to the No Spell.
Ajax was now polishing the brass floor vents, bless. He looked up to see what I was carrying, but did not ask any questions about the oddly shaped, brown paper wrapped object in my arms. In silence, I put the broom in my office before coming out.
"Any excitement?" I asked with a forced cheerfulness.
He shook his head. "All seems normal and balanced. I'll check the register later, though, to see if you start checking in any John Does."
Again, it was fair. I was guilty of exactly the sorts of deeds that demanded an audit. But I felt so infantile and accused, especially after being taken advantage of by that hag. "Enjoy your evening off," I said to him stiffly.
He toddled off, a whistle on his lips and a tap-dance in his soles. He gave a little bell-kick before turning the corner and heading toward his bedroom.
A few hours later, a happy couple checked in — a witch and a warlock. They were so sweet, cuddled against each other and so in love.
As I stared at them over the register, I wondered if I could do them in for my own benefit.
"Checking in?" I asked sweetly.
The man nuzzled his wife's neck. "That we are."
Such a delicate neck.
"How many nights?" I asked.
"Just one," said the man. "It's our anniversary."
The thought of the ruby I traded hung like a pit in my stomach; I gave up my first love for a worthless tool.
"This place is so darling," said the woman, taking in the pressed tin ceiling and mahogany architectural details. "I don't ever want to leave!"
Little did she know that in order for my magic to work, it might actually be a guest request I would need to fulfill.
Chapter Seventeen
Midnight had come and gone and the sun-sensitive crowd was out for their nightly activities. Ajax would be meeting me around 4 AM for the switchover.
I had just finished turning down the beds and walked down the hallway.
The adorable couple from earlier was coming down the corridor toward me. Their hair and clothes were mussed. Must have been a romantic dinner.
But my heartbeat quickened, and it had nothing to do with love.
I realized there was no one else around. No guests, no witnesses, not even Ajax. How badly did I want to get my broom to fly and break into my workshop? Enough to try to save the No Spell? Enough to try to free the glass girls? Enough to... sacrifice an unsuspecting couple on their anniversary night?
No.
I did not want anything that much.
"Enjoying your stay?" I asked.
They were walking jerkily and stiff. They were no longer holding hands or attached at the hip. As they got closer, they seemed so unlike the happy people who had checked in.
"Lovely anniversary dinner?" I asked, starting to realize something wasn't right.
Their eyes fixed on me. Their jaws were slack.
"Can I help you with anything before you head to bed? You seem tired?" I offered.
They were coming closer. Their faces were pale and their eyes sunken. Their hands stretched out. Blood ringed their mouth. I began to back away.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to cease any atte
mpts to eat other guests or your host."
"Braaaaaaains..." they moaned.
Crap.
As if goblins weren't bad enough, we had zombies.
And if I had known they were infected with the zombie virus, I wouldn't have felt so bad about considering them as a blood sacrifice earlier.
I hiked up my red, chiffon skirts and ran down the hall. I could hear their inexorable shuffling. A young, hungry zombie would track me like a dog on a blood trail. They would follow me no matter where I went. They would pound the doors until they fell off their hinges. They would climb up on any roof. They would tear through walls. They would never stop.
And I could not afford that repair bill.
I pulled a decorative sword down from the wall and tested the edge.
It was still sharp.
I steeled my courage.
The trick was not to get bit. If I was bit, I was done for. Oh, if I only had my magic I could set them on fire with a snap of my fingers.
But, I reminded myself, I was not defenseless. The No Spell was my home, and I had rid myself of Other Side vermin without magic many times before. This was just like that, except without the safety net.
With a yell, I ran out from behind the corner and swung wide with my sword.
The good thing is that zombies are fairly slow, and not too cognizant of potential threats.
By the time the zombie figured out I was carrying a sharp object, my blade connected with his neck, sending the man's head rolling across the rug. The torso dropped.
The woman didn't even register his fantastic King Louis XVI impression, she just kept groaning and shuffling toward me. I swung again, wielding that sword like a baseball bat, and connected. As she went down, though, her body continued careening. I shrank aside, not wanting her cooties on my work attire. It struck one of the pedestals, knocking one of my favorite vases to the ground.
She twitched once and then was still.
"Crap," I said as the priceless porcelain piece fell into the pile of zombie goo.
You run a nice establishment, you try to make it fancy, and people go and get themselves turned into zombies. This is why we can't have nice things. I walked into the storeroom and pulled out rubber gloves and a hazmat bag.
I picked up a few of the bigger pieces of the vase and wiped off the decaying flesh. I held them together sadly. "Oh, I wish you weren't broken," I sighed.
Suddenly, my pocket became warm and an energy swept up my arms and through my fingertips.
The two pieces fused together.
In shock, I dropped them and they broke into ten pieces.
I stood up in fear, but also in excitement.
There was magic here.
I hadn’t had to call in the west winds. I hadn't had to pull from a ley line. I had just held the pieces together and whispered a wish and it happened. I ripped off my gloves and threw them into the hazmat bag.
I reached into my pocket.
It was the stone I had found at the coven. My fingers reached around it and pulled it out. Its dark face twinkled at me in the candlelight, winking with a secret it wanted to share about all the power it stored inside.
I looked down at the mess. "I wish this vase was repaired."
The stone warmed. The pieces dragged themselves through the zombie goo and rebuilt themselves until the vase was exactly as it had been before.
This couldn't be happening. My heart was pounding in my chest, harder and faster than it did when I was facing my unwanted guests.
I had to be sure.
I turned to another vase and knocked it over. I pointed the stone at it. "I wish this vase was repaired."
The pieces just lay there.
My heart fell.
I shook the stone, as if I could dislodge something that was stuck. Was it just a onetime spell and now all the magic was tapped out?
"I wish this vase was repaired," I whispered again.
Nothing.
I reached out my fingers, trying to send out my will with my words as I tried one last time.
"I wish you would repair my vase!"
And... nothing.
The gem still twinkled at me, but now, it was just a fancy rock.
What had been the difference?
Disappointed, I walked over to the cleaning closet. Ajax had forgotten to return the broom. I let out a huge sigh. There was that worthless broom I had traded my first love stone for. Since it wasn't going to fly, I might as well put it to use earning its keep.
I went downstairs to my office, I pulled it out, dragged myself back up to the 2nd floor, and began sweeping up.
As the porcelain shards clinked together, suddenly, a thought occurred to me. It was such a dumb thought, but I realized these pieces were dry. I had grabbed the hazmat equipment rather than a broom because the other shards had been covered in zombie.
I regarded the slimy green stain.
Was zombie the secret ingredient?
I steeled my courage, fearful the only thing I'd get from this little experiment would be a night washing decaying guts out of my broom. But I had to try. I swept the broken pile into the goo and then stepped back. I held out the gem and said, "I wish this vase was repaired."
The stone warmed. The pieces flew together. The vase was as it was before.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
I scraped the broom across the body fluids. "I wish this broom could fly."
It immediately began to levitate over the ground.
I backed away with fear.
It was blood magic.
But blood magic draws from the life source of something that is living, only there was no one alive here. You shouldn't be able to work this sort of magic on the dead. Or the undead. They were dead. There was no life force because all the life had already been sucked out.
But it had worked.
All it took was killing a zombie.
I beheld the stone in wonder.
This gem was of immeasurable value.
I knew that I should return it to the coven.
Whoever lost it would miss it.
But... I wet my lips. It gave me back my magic.
And a part of me admitted there would be no giving back of this stone, not when my coven had stolen so much from me.
Finders keepers.
Everything I wanted could be mine.
If this stone could activate using dead energy, all I needed was the stomach to dispose of some of the undead weight our dimension wouldn't miss. There were mages and fighters who went out every day trying to rid the Other Side of the worst of the worst — vampires that turned children, boogie men that lurked in closets, ghouls that tore the living apart...
My eyes fell on the zombie goo. I'd be signing up to wade through that sort of muck every day. And there was also the question of how strong the magic actually was. I had repaired a vase and floated a broom, but there's a big difference between those spells and some of the things I would like to do.
I looked up at the empty windows and the missing stained glass. There was no time like the present for a little scientific testing.
Fighting down the urge to throw up, I placed my hand into the muck and then walked over and rested my hand on the glass. "I wish you were restored."
Sadly, the women did not come leaping out and the battle scenes did not return.
"What are you doing?" Ajax snapped, interrupting my concentration. He was staring at me in horror, my gooey hand pressed up against the window. Dressed in his best buttonless silk shirt, bell-bottoms, and platform shoes, I don't think he expected this after a night at the discotheque. I guess we were both lucky he hadn't brought a fella home with him.
"Um... nothing...?" I lied.
"And what. Is. That," he asked, pointing at the floating broom.
For some reason, I didn't want him to know yet. Not until I was sure this was something that was actually happening. I grabbed the broom. "One of our guests left this behind."
He pointed at the dea
d corpses. "Them?"
"Yes...?" I said.
"Magical corpses you felt the need to behead?"
"Just increasing the guest list for our haunted house...?"
"Elle?"
"They were witches who became zombies," I stated.
"Witches who became zombies who happened to have a broom that appears suspiciously like one you brought into the hotel this afternoon?"
"It has been known to happen," I insisted, as if offended at his insinuation.
He folded his arms with a knowing look. "Do you want me to return the broom you're clutching to your heart to the coven or do you?"
I hadn't realized I was doing that. I softened my grip and held it out, pretending like I didn't desperately want it. "I'll make sure to get it to them. Better if it comes from a witch."
"Right." He turned to walk away. "I'll get the cleanup kit." And then he flicked his silk scarf over his shoulder and shouted, "Let me know if there's anything else I'm going to need to clean up!"
Chapter Eighteen
Broom in hand, I stood before my open bedroom window. I could feel the magic weakening. That's the issue with a source you don't control. You can only tap it to a certain point before you hit the bottom of the blood bag.
"Just don't quit on me until after I get into my ritual room," I whispered to the broom.
I stepped on and the broom started to lift. It was such a strange feeling to be riding again. I remember my very first broom. I mean, sure our family flew around quite a bit when I was young. But for my ninth solstice, I had gotten my own. The freedom! That first time taking off across the sky without anyone telling me to slow down. The races with friends! The late-night escapes after a bit of mischief! That first love.
It all came back.
I hadn't realized how much I had missed it.
It made the cost of keeping the magic flowing seem like something worth any price.
I kicked off and we floated out into the night. I wanted to whoop and holler and soar and do loop de loops against the moon, but I reminded myself the magic wouldn't last forever. I needed to keep my eyes on the prize.
