by A C Spahn
Feet on a dirt floor.
Bracelet in the cellar.
Running, running, running, running.
My head ached. The magic bounced around inside it like hot fumes. I gritted my teeth and clung to it, straining for one more visual, one more hint.
Fear. Running.
Bracelet in the cellar.
Glowing screen. Reply. Clattering keys. New. Red letters. Black borders. Refresh.
With a gasp, I clutched the edge of the table. An ache threaded through the not-quite-closed cut on my shoulder, but the pain felt distant. “Wood. Ribbon. Pinwheel.”
Kendall ran off into the aisles.
While I waited for her, I fought the urge to sprint away myself. The magic pushed me, urgent, begging me to flee invisible dangers. If I ran, maybe the flighty, gnatty feeling in my skull would go away. I had to escape, escape, escape—
I forced my feet to stay planted before my table. If I gave in to the magic’s urges, if I let it control me, I’d be taking the first step toward madness.
Kendall finally returned and dumped an armload of supplies on my table. “I didn’t know what kind of wood you wanted, so I brought everything I could find. The stained plaques, the oak frames—”
I grabbed an unfinished cube of soft pine and swept the rest to the floor.
“Okey-dokey then,” Kendall finished.
With the pine cube on the table, I pressed the rainbow pinwheel against one side. I unwound two feet of yellow ribbon from a spool and tied it around the two objects in a bow. Spin unceasingly, I chanted, focusing the magic on the soft, malleable wood. Flee without traveling. Move within a set course. Run forever, in place.
Focused on the wood, the magic flowed out of me. I felt it try to escape the cube, to come back at me, but the wood was firm enough, its shape defined enough that the magic couldn’t find an outlet. Thus focused on its new goal, it channeled through the pliable ribbon and into the pinwheel, which promptly started spinning. The panicked urges receded from my body. My muscles relaxed, including ones I hadn’t known I could clench.
The etching on the bracelet’s plastic vanished. So that had been the manifestation of the enchantment within. The pinwheel now sported a helix of silver color twisting up its stem. If I hadn’t just put on the enchantment myself, I’d have mistaken it for paint. Around and around the multicolored wheel went, running away yet getting nowhere.
“You okay?” Kendall asked.
I nodded.
“Find anything?”
“I think so.” I rubbed my temples. “I saw a computer screen, with three buttons. Reply, new, refresh.”
“That’s a message board. I go on them sometimes. There’s a few where shifters hang out, and another one where people post funny college memes.”
“Sam—the girl who had the bracelet—used them, too. That might be how she found the enchantress she stole this from. Do you know any boards about the arcane that use a black and red color scheme?”
Kendall snickered. “Try all of them. It’s like there’s a design checklist.”
“If I can find the right board, one that looks like the one in my vision—”
“I thought Desmond told you not to go hunting this enchantress anymore.”
“The Union got to him, and they’re hiding something. They’re not going to accept my help, but they obviously aren’t able to track this woman down on their own. They need me.” I plucked the pinwheel off the wooden cube. “Besides, I’m just going to poke around online. They can’t get mad at me for that.”
“Why do you care so much?”
Around and around the pinwheel spun, fleeing, fleeing, fleeing. My grip tightened. “I moved here to escape the fleshwriters. Now one is in my backyard. I have to find her before she finds me.”
“I’m not the one with mystical insights, but I have a strong feeling that’s not the whole reason.”
On and on spun the pinwheel. It would be fleeing forever, or at least until it used up its magic. “I hate that I’ve spent my life running and hiding,” I admitted.
“It’s not like you had much choice.”
“I know. I know my limitations. I can’t do anything about my cult, or the others like it, and I can’t do anything about the Void Unions bullying people, but this is something I can do. This woman is hurting people with magic. The magic in my city, hurting people in my city. I can’t let her get away with it.”
Kendall studied me. “Just ... be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Don’t go off chasing this lady. Without me, I mean. You’ll need backup.”
“What are you gonna do, bite her?”
Kendall flashed a smile of squirrel-shifted teeth. “Hurts more than you’d think.”
I chuckled. “Thanks. Don’t worry, though. I’m not planning to go anywhere. If I find any leads online, then I’ll go to Desmond. The Union has to hear me out if I bring them evidence.”
“You’re assuming they’re rational. What if—” Kendall cut herself off as the bell on the door jingled. I shoved the pinwheel into the far corner of the table, out of sight behind the embroidered partition, and schooled my face into a neutral expression.
Desmond stepped in and spotted us at my workspace. His smile had a strain in it. “Thought you might be here. Packing up for the show?”
“Just about to start.” I slid my stepstool out from beneath the counter and climbed up so I could begin removing pieces from the display beam. Examples of my work hung there, brightly-dyed fique baskets, wind chimes and hand-stitched leather bags, macramé hangings and all-season wreaths, each with a discreet price tag. The San Francisco Festival of Art was a casual event in Golden Gate Park and drew mostly locals and passersby, so I wanted a good mix of pieces likely to appeal to the average consumer. I reached up with my uninjured arm, using the not-as-mobile limb to pass items down to Kendall.
“Bring that thing with all the mirrors,” Desmond said, pointing to one of the pieces near the back of my display. “It’ll reflect the light really well, might draw people to our booth.”
I paused halfway through gathering painted canvas shopping bags. “‘That thing with all the mirrors?’ It’s a suncatcher, you oaf.”
“You know me. If it’s not sturdy enough to wield like a club, I’m not interested.”
“Tell that to all those little faerie figurines you carve.”
He grimaced. “They sell well.”
“Do they sell better because you talk to them while painting them?”
“Yes. Yes, they do.” A smile threatened to crack Desmond’s serious expression. “Call it magic, if you want.”
“Pssh. Even if you could enchant, your magic would be all punching and bludgeoning. No artistry at all.”
“I’ll tell the faeries you said that.”
I broke, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh. Somehow my relationship with Desmond had absorbed our new knowledge of each other’s magic, or lack thereof, as if nothing had happened. Maybe I should tell him about Sam’s bracelet. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d side with me.
My hand rose to my chest, tracing the start of a familiar pattern. I clenched my fist and lowered it.
I’d tell him when I had something. No need to strain his loyalties before then. Tonight, after I looked for the message board from my vision, I’d tell him.
That plan didn’t quite work out. By the time we’d packed everything for the craft fair and loaded it into Kendall’s truck, it was almost eleven. We had to be at the park early to set up. Desmond bid me good night, letting his hand linger on my shoulder. I savored the moment and very nearly confessed everything, but my years of holding secrets kept me mute. Later, I promised myself. Later I would let him in.
At home I microwaved a bowl of ramen and ate less than half of it before fatigue got the better of me. The message board would have to wait, unless I wanted to fall asleep at the fair. I couldn’t sell enough to pay my fine if I dozed off in the middle of a sales pitch. I also couldn
’t let Desmond down like that. We were a team, and he needed me at my best.
As I crawled into bed, I hoped the normalcy I’d felt at the store with him would hold. Surely the worst of all this was behind me.
Surely.
Art fairs happened in the Bay Area all the time. Since we bought space at all the significant ones, Desmond had gotten a pop-up tent last year to make our setup more eye-catching. Our booth was a little smaller than my workspace in the store. A large wooden sign hanging from the tent read “Crafter’s Haven” with our store address and phone number. Desmond had carved the letters in the wood, and I’d stained them dark brown, then sealed the whole thing with varnish. We had three tables arranged in a U shape, one with the store’s usual offerings of sketchbooks, canvasses, yarn, and the like, one with Desmond’s woodwork ranging from tiny figurines up to large ornate shelves and furniture, and one with my eclectic display of pieces. I hung the mirrored suncatcher in the front corner of the booth next to the sign, where it played invitingly with the light. Kendall had brought a cooler with snacks and drinks, which we set up at the back of the tent with two canvas chairs. Only two, because Desmond insisted one of us be standing at all times, engaging with people who walked by.
While I was laying out my brightly-dyed woven baskets, two women in tight-fitting shorts browsed their way past. One made an “ooh” noise and pointed at the display. “Did you make those?” she asked me.
I smiled and nodded. “They’re woven out of fique, which comes from plants grown in the Andean region of South America. The dyes are all natural, too. The baskets make great centerpieces.”
“They’re gorgeous. So exotic!” said one woman.
“I love Mexican art,” said her friend.
“Colombian,” I corrected.
She blinked and made a little, disinterested shrug. “Oh, sure.”
My smile became brittle, but I managed to keep it on my face as one of the women purchased the biggest basket and a couple pieces of jewelry. They continued browsing the other booths, and I returned to my setup trying to put a positive spin on the moment. At least they’d bought something. Maybe I was being too sensitive.
Desmond came up behind me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. Leaning close, he murmured in my ear, “If you’re ever in Mexico, can you get me some Colombian coffee? I hear they’re basically the same place.”
I laughed and popped one of my baskets over my shoulder into his face. He caught it, grinning, and helped me finish setting up my display.
Kendall, being Kendall, took first run at being our barker. “That’s a gorgeous purse,” she crooned to a middle-aged woman walking by with two elementary-aged kids. “Where did you get it?” The woman stopped to chat, and Kendall went about extolling the woman’s good taste and by the way did she want to check out our wares?
Before sitting, I patted one of Desmond’s faerie carvings on its tiny head. “Good luck today. Sell well, or it’ll be really embarrassing for your maker.”
“Don’t talk to them,” he said. “They’re trying to focus.”
I snickered and dug in the cooler. The wound on my shoulder was feeling much better today, and the fair put me in a festive mood. “Kendall brought beer,” I told Desmond.
“Of course she did.” He rolled his eyes. “Let me have one. It’s supposed to be warm today.”
I tossed him a bottle and chose a soda for myself.
“Not drinking today?”
“It’s too early. I’m a lightweight. If I start now I’ll be slurring by noon and asleep by one.”
“There’s no magic for that?”
“None that I’d risk trying.” I popped the soda and let it hiss, again marveling at how easily he’d accepted me for what I was. Could it hurt to tell him I’d uncovered a lead on the rogue enchantress? He wasn’t a huge fan of the Void Union, I knew that. He wouldn’t betray my trust to them on purpose. But how deep were their hooks into him? Maybe I could find out.
“Desmond?”
“Hmm?”
“You said the Void Union found you when you were in college.”
He grimaced. “Do we have to talk about them now?”
“I’m just wondering. Why didn’t you just tell them to go away?”
With a sigh he set his beer aside. “Do you know what it’s like growing up, knowing there’s something different about you?” He glanced at me, then laughed softly. “What am I saying. Of course you do. Imagine going through that, but you have no idea what that difference is. It’s something you feel, something you sense, but you can’t put a name to it. You just know. Then one day someone shows up and says they have the answers. They can tell you what you are, explain those differences you haven’t been able to understand. And guess what? There are more of them, like you. All you have to do is let them into your life a bit, and you’ll never be alone again. I was starting to fall into it, little by little. But then the breakup with Maribel happened, and I realized I was becoming someone I didn’t recognize. I backed off as much as I could. As much as they would let me.”
My gaze dropped to the grass. “It was the same way with the cult. I vaguely remember my parents joining, but I saw other people get sucked in, too. It started with contact information, then home visits, then more and more.”
“Did anyone ever try to leave the cult?”
“A few,” I said quietly. “They tried.” I didn’t say more, and Desmond didn’t press.
“Nobody leaves the Union,” Desmond said, picking up his beer again. He took a gulp. “They say you can leave at any time, but they still have all your identifying information. Unless you want to go live in the woods without a phone or bank account, they know where to find you. It’s easier to stay in. That way you at least know when they’re watching you.” He suddenly sat up straighter, squinting down the rows of tables and tents. He muttered a curse. “Speaking of predators ...”
I turned to see where he was looking.
Maribel marched toward our table. Her heavy boots left deep prints in the earth. A few men watched her walk by, taking in her tight black pants and army green t-shirt with a deep neckline. Wind feathered her short blonde hair.
She strode into our booth, pushing past the mother and kids chatting with Kendall. “One sec,” Kendall told the mother. “Yo, cat-woman, we don’t allow shoplifters in our store.”
Maribel turned and glowered at them.
The mother grabbed her kids’ hands and rushed off.
Kendall pointed after them. “See? You scare children. Nice kitties don’t scare children.”
“Call me a nice kitty again,” said Maribel. “See what happens.”
“No, pay attention, I said you’re not a nice ki—”
“What do you want, Maribel?” I interrupted, rising from my chair.
She ignored me and looked instead at Desmond. “You’re being called up, Reserve Desoto.”
He scowled. “How did you find me?”
“Your store’s website said you were here today.”
“Yes. I’m busy. And I’m not supposed to be on Union business today.”
“Plans change. They want you to help with a search. We’ve come up with a possible identity for one of the victims at the ranch. Might be a homeless person, a vagrant who usually hangs around here in the park. We want you to chat up other homeless nearby, see if anyone from their community has gone missing.”
“I’m working, Maribel.”
“You’ve got employees.” She jerked her head at me and Kendall. “Even if they are poor help. You can spare the time.”
“I said I’m working.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing it hurt your business that you were ... away on Friday.”
“You mean detained. By you people.”
“We’re your people, Desmond. And if you want to avoid more time away, you should remember that.” She turned, clearly expecting him to follow.
Desmond’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair.
“Go, Desmond,” I
said quietly. “We don’t need more trouble with them.”
Sighing, he stood. He took his time straightening his clothes and finishing his beer, making Maribel wait under the hot sun. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone,” he said.
“If I do, I’ll call it modern art and sell it.”
He snickered. Then he grabbed another beer from the cooler and followed Maribel.
Kendall waited until the two of them disappeared among the other tents, then made her way over to me. “Did you see?”
“What?”
“She wasn’t even wearing the bracelet she stole from me. I bet it’s in a box in the back of her closet somewhere. She doesn’t even want it. She just wanted me not to have it.”
“Didn’t you steal the bracelet first?”
“Found. I found it. There’s a difference.” She crossed her arms. “And why didn’t you say anything? This homeless person angle seems wrong. I thought you said the enchantress recruits her victims online.”
“I couldn’t say that without revealing that I’ve still been investigating. Maribel would arrest me right now over that.” I stared in the direction Desmond had gone. If I’d needed proof the Union had their hooks in him, I’d gotten it. Good thing I hadn’t finished telling him what I’d done. “I’ll do it when I have something concrete. Not before—”
KADUMkadumKADUMkadum
A tide of nausea surged in my stomach. I staggered and clutched the nearest table. A few of Desmond’s wood carvings toppled and rolled off.
“Adrienne? Adrienne!” Kendall’s voice sounded far away. Magic surged through me, but it was garbled, confused. It brushed my senses, then danced away, only for another bit to hit me a second later. My fingers seemed to swell with magic, while my chest felt like it collapsed inward.
“Bottle,” I heard myself say. “Empty bottle.” My hand searched blindly on the table and seized the first thing it happened upon, one of the little wooden fae figurines, standing on a raised wire display rack. I yanked it over and swept the rest of the figurines off the rack.
