Love Charms

by Multiple

  One of them kneeled down and checked Malcolm’s pulse. “He’s still alive.”

  The other nodded. “Right then. Let’s get him back home so he can try again.”

  They each hooked an arm under Malcolm’s shoulder, and hoisted the druid up between them. As one muttered some words I didn’t understand, the other scanned the basement with detached curiosity.

  Just before a second burst of white light blinded me again, he cocked his head and fixed his gaze on the corner where I had taken refuge. I stared back, and when he waved at me, I returned the gesture.

  “You can see me?”

  He nodded. “We can see anything outside of time.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, but it was too late, the bomb detonated, the force of the blast pushing me out of the past and into my body with a painful metaphysical thud. I didn’t have to be psychic to know what kind of headache that was going to cause.

  I lay on the ruins of the basement floor for several long minutes, allowing myself to slowly come back to the present. And then I began to cry. Great, big heaving sobs. The kind that make your nose red and eyes swell. It wasn’t just grief, but fear, and shock, and pain both physical and emotional. I probably would’ve cried for hours if left alone, but a scraping sound above me, followed by a pebble stinging the back of my neck startled me.

  Putting a hand to my neck, I jumped to my feet. Blinking to reconcile my double-vision, I looked up, trying to see what was happening. Something, I couldn’t quite make out what, landed next to me, the ground quivering underneath its weight. From what I could see, it was too large to be a person. Had more of the cinder blocks that made up the basement walls fallen in?

  “Watch out,” Mark yelled.

  His warning came too late. A gnarled hand wrapped itself around my wrist, and, next thing I knew, I was heaved over a shoulder, my nose entirely too close to my captor’s unwashed nether regions. His green unwashed nether regions.

  The lack of underwear and the skimpy nature of the loin cloth trying—and failing—to cover things gave me an eyeful I’d really rather not have seen. The view identified my captor as definitely, no doubt about it, male. A green slime colored male specimen to be exact. What exactly it was that had grabbed me, I didn’t know. What I did know was I had to escape as soon as possible. The last thing I needed or wanted was to be smuggled into Fairy by a green man.

  I struggled to break my captor’s grip only to be rewarded with a stinging slap to my rear end.

  “Oh hell no.” I redoubled my efforts to squirm free. To Mark I said, “What is going on?”

  “Trolls or ogres. Scavengers,” he said, matching my posture and floating upside down.

  “Holy shit, you’re kidding me?” I kicked my legs doing my best to connect with my captor’s stomach. “What should I do?”

  He shrugged, calmer than me. “I would play along until you’re out of the house. He seems to know how to get around, it’ll save you some time.”

  I considered his suggestion and reluctantly decided Mark was right. The hollow remains of a burned out house did not make an ideal fighting ground. I didn’t know how to fight anyway. That had been Mark’s department. It would be better to wait until I was on terra firma, where it was easier to run. I went limp, resigned to the reality that I was going to be staring up a dirty loincloth for at least the next several minutes.

  A shorter-than-most-miniskirts loincloth that reeked of smoke and putrid things I didn’t want to think about. His oversized calves bulged with too much muscle and his thick, wedge shaped feet had yellow calluses. Coarse hair corkscrewed out of his legs, and, in an effort to make my feelings on my abduction known, I began to pluck them out one by one taking great satisfaction when he hissed in pain.

  “I’m not sure that is a good idea. You’re annoying him,” Mark said just as another slap to my rear came crashing down.

  I bucked, yelping in surprise and pain. My captor chuckled low in his throat and hit me again. I took the hint and stopped pulling on his leg hair. Instead, I focused on bouncing extra hard off his back with each step he took, a subtle rebellion he didn’t seem to notice. I bounced harder in the hope of putting his back out. It would serve him right.

  Mark trailed behind us openly laughing. “You’re big, but not big enough to hurt him.”

  I glared at him. “Are you calling me fat?”

  Mark stopped mid-laugh as he realized his mistake. “No. No. Not at all, just that, you know, you’re taller than most women.”

  “Which makes me fat.”

  “Sofia, you know I think you’re gorgeous.”

  I harrumphed and ignored him. Easy to do as we had cleared the ruins and hit firm ground. The troll or ogre or whatever the hell it was that had been carrying me over its shoulder dumped me onto the grass making no attempt to control my descent. One second I hung on a shoulder the size of large ham, the next I was in a free fall.

  I landed with a grunt and used the momentum to somersault and roll onto my feet. I faced my captor and oriented myself. The yawning maw of the house stretched between me and Jacob’s car. I would have to do some pretty fast running to make it to safety.

  My captor grunted and I turned my attention back to him. Brown eyes looked me up and down with blatant interest. A square jaw led to a pointed chin and heavy jowls bulged, crowding his flat, squat nose in a fight for space. His large belly, also green, poked out from underneath an ill-fitting, once white shirt. From his appearance and the color of his skin, I decided he was an ogre. Trolls were supposed to be smaller with brown skin and goatees. Not that I had met either a troll or ogre before, but I had watched a documentary once on the Sidhe Channel.

  The ogre flashed a smile at me and raised his hands in a placating gesture, but I had seen the sharp canines behind his full lips and I had no intention of becoming someone’s dinner. I slowly backed away, body tense and ready to run. He seemed puzzled at first, but then matched my pace, following, but not seeking to get closer.

  After a few steps he began to hum a tune, clapping his hands in time to the beat. I raised my eyebrows and looked to Mark who shrugged. “I think he’s dancing.”

  I nodded my agreement as the ogre started to hop in a pattern reminiscent of a polka, his stomach jiggling with each jump. The humming escalated into an off-key wailing that made my ear drums cringe. He stopped after a moment and then gave me an expectant look as he said something with a guttural grunt. When it didn’t get the response he wanted, he clapped his hands at me and stomped his feet.

  “What do you think he wants?” I asked.

  “Maybe he wants you to dance?”

  “What is this? Some kind of ogre mating ritual?” Mark didn’t get a chance to answer as the ogre howled at me and made to charge. I shuffled my feet and began to sing the first thing that came to mind, the chorus of Lady Marmalade.

  The ogre backed off with a smile of satisfaction as Mark said, “Interesting song choice. You do know you’re asking him to sleep with you?”

  “Shut up. It was the first thing I could think of. Besides, he probably doesn’t speak French anyway.” I executed a quick twirl and switched to Amazing Grace.

  My captor roared, startling me into silence and began to hop and wail again. Guess it wasn’t my turn anymore. This time he raised his arms over his head showing off impressive sweat stains in the armpits. Call me judgmental, but I suspected ogres didn’t bathe all that often.

  We alternated like this all the way back to Jacob’s car. I sang everything from the ABC song to Bingo to church hymns. I sang and danced myself right up to the car, and, before the ogre knew what was happening, opened the door and jumped in.

  “Lock the door, lock the door!” I pushed buttons on the armrest at random.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jacob peered out the window at the ogre. “What is that?”

  “Just lock the doors and go.” A fist hit my window punctuated by a loud howl. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter.

  “Jesus.�
�� Jacob threw the car into reverse and hit the accelerator whipping us around so fast my head spun. “I thought he was friendly.”

  “You thought wrong. Next time don’t assume, ask. I could’ve used some help. Now get us out of here.” I smacked Jacob on the arm the same way a jockey whips a race horse. “Move it.”

  “I am.” He shifted into drive and pushed the accelerator to the floor, but not before the ogre had jumped onto the hood. The metal buckled under the force of his weight. “What should I do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His eyes went wide and he frowned at me.“What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I’m a psychic, Jacob. Not an ogre keeper.”

  “And I’m a lawyer. I guess I’ll wing it then.” He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. “Hang on. I’m going to try something I’ve seen in movies.”

  I fumbled to fasten my seat belt and then grabbed the oh-shit handle, praying Hollywood’s car stunts were based on actual physics. Jacob accelerated taking the car well past eighty and then swerved to the right while slamming on the brakes. The ogre might have been large and strong, but he was no match for that kind of rapid change in direction. He shot off the hood faster than a rock in a slingshot, landing in a heap several feet away. Go Hollywood.

  “Geez, is he okay?” Jacob peered out the window at the ogre.

  “I don’t know and I’m not about to get out of here to play the Good Samaritan. That thing wanted to eat me.”

  “Are you sure? He doesn’t look like a cannibal.”

  “Yeah, well you didn’t see his teeth.” I rubbed my shoulder, which ached from my fall off the ogre.

  Jacob looked thoughtful. “It’s just, if he dies, we could be liable for his death.”

  God, trust a lawyer to worry about liability before his own life. “And, if we stay, he’ll be liable for ours.”

  “You’ve got a point.” Jacob rubbed his chin as he considered my point. “Hey look, he’s moving.”

  “See? He’s fine. Happy now? Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Six

  I nursed my whiskey, hugging the glass with both hands, while Jacob gulped the last of his rum and coke, and held his empty glass up to the waitress in the universal signal for a refill. After our run-in with the ogre, I needed a stiff drink and a place to tell Jacob what I had seen. Pirate Pete’s, a family run dive halfway between my place and Jacob’s seemed like a good choice. They served cheap Italian food complete with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and cheesy prints of pirates on the wall. Most of the pictures were faded with dusty frames. Pirate Pete’s had opened in the sixties and they hadn’t redecorated since. But the food was good.

  “It’s a necromancer for sure.” I said it fast, forcing myself to get the words out. “He made your brother into a zombie.”

  “But why my brother and his family? I don’t understand.” Morose, Jacob stared into his empty glass.

  “They wanted to rob your brother’s bank.”

  “What?” His voice went almost as high as his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy. Unheard of, but also true.” I lowered my voice. “I saw everything.”

  Jacob was quiet for a long time, processing it all. Finally he said, “So they want money then. But why a zombie? I don’t get it.”

  “Do you know anything about zombies?” The waitress came by with two more drinks for us, which I acknowledged with a nod.

  “Other than they’re the living dead, no.”

  “Well, I’m no expert, but, from what I understand, your brother became a zombie. One that likely retained his memory, but not his will. That gives a necromancer complete control. He’s got someone who knows the passwords and has the access to rob the bank for him.” I paused and shook my head, still stunned by the whole thing. Across from me, Jacob’s eyes went wide with shock.

  I gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s the perfect crime. The police would never realize the thieves were zombies, which is why they think your brother was the one who robbed the bank. He’s the one on camera, not the necromancer.” I looked at the menu in front of me, thinking it would be a good idea to eat something. Liquid meals gave me the worst hangovers.

  “My brother was murdered and made into a zombie for a bank robbery?” Jacob rubbed his forehead as if it hurt to think, which given what I’d just told him, it probably did.

  I nodded. “Think about it. No worries about your victim refusing to cooperate and the police blame the wrong guy for the theft. Like I said, perfect. There’s something else though. The druids are involved somehow.”

  “Druids?” He gave a ‘now what’ look.

  “Yeah, they were actually trying to save Jason.”

  Jacob cradled his head in his hands, overwhelmed. “What? How did they get mixed up in this?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have any details other than they were there after your brother died. They’re pretty mysterious about their agenda anyway.”

  “But pretty public about their financial support of certain politicians,” Jacob said referencing some of the recent campaign finance scandals that involved the druids. Only normal non-magic humans could hold public office, but money talked and magic worked on humans just fine, something the druids knew very well. Or so the rumors said.

  “I know. It’s funny too, because the druid that showed up just before the house blew up is my new neighbor.” I thought back to the missing eyebrows and made the connection with the explosion. Interesting.

  Jacob looked at me, surprised. “No shit.”

  “No shit.” Malcolm and I were going to have a talk as soon as I got back to my apartment.

  Jacob downed his second drink in one swallow and looked longingly at mine. I pushed it towards him, but he held up a hand to stop me. “No, that’s okay.”

  “It’ll take the edge off.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  “I do.” I gave him a grim smile.

  “How long has it been since Mark died? A couple months right?” Jacob ran his finger around the rim of my glass.

  “Just about a year actually.” My chest tightened all of a sudden and I had to work to inhale.

  “Is it getting any easier?”

  I swallowed the lump of misery in my throat, but my voice still came out hoarse. “No.”

  His gaze met mine as tears gathered in the corner of his eyes and I knew he saw the same when he looked at me. For a second, we had a connection that transcended language, one of those silent moments full of tacit understanding.

  Uncomfortable, we both broke eye contact. I dabbed my eyes with my napkin, pretending not to notice when Jacob did the same. The grief between us was too fresh and our pain fed off each other. It was either ignore it or pay the price it demanded. Neither one of us wanted to have that particular breakdown.

  Careful to act as if nothing was wrong, we studied our menus as if competing to see who could memorize it first. I waved to the waitress who passed our table carrying a pizza for a couple sitting close to the door. She nodded at me and came right over after dropping off their food. We ordered our meals as well as another round of drinks. I went with my favorite comfort food, spaghetti and meatballs, and Jacob ordered lasagna. When the waitress left, we sat in silence looking at anything but each other.

  “Does it ever get better?” Jacob asked finally, an expression of such anguish in his eyes that it tore at my heart.

  I shrugged. “Too early to tell. I think so.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Jacob caved and took my drink, tossing the amber liquid into the back of his throat.

  I thought about feeding him one of the many platitudes I had been made to suffer, but the raw appeal in his eyes gave me pause. Pat answers like ‘they’re in a better place now’ didn’t help, they just sounded good. I was probably one of the few people who could understand the devastation of his loss. I would be lying not just to him, but to myself as well if I fell into the trap of psychobabble. �
�I can’t pretend to know your grief or the depth of your loss. All I can do is tell you what it’s been like for me. The first few days after the accident, I didn’t think it was true.”

  He snorted. “Denial.”

  “Yeah. I kept forgetting Mark was dead.”

  “Me too. I catch myself dialing my brother’s phone number all the time.” Jacob poked at the ice in his glass with the tiny cocktail straw. “His voice mail account is still active. I always wait to hear his voice and then I hang up. Once I even left a message.”

  “I did that too. The worst was when doctors or people he had plans with, but didn’t know he died, called looking for him and then I had to explain why Mark hadn’t shown up.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I even had to fight a bill from the doctor’s office saying Mark was a no show. They didn’t want to make an exception for a patient who had the gall to die without canceling first. After a while, I couldn’t deal with them anymore. I just hung up or deleted the messages.”

  “How did you get through the funeral?”

  “I didn’t. I was told if I showed up I would be forcibly removed.” I closed my eyes remembering how I had snuck into the funeral home on the morning of the burial to see Mark one last time. Little did I know his ghost was about to become a regular part of my life.

  “That’s cold.”

  I just shrugged. “Mark’s parents blamed me for his death, I was the driver after all. They even campaigned for the involuntary manslaughter charges.” Our drinks arrived and we paused as the waitress murmured something about our food being ready soon.

  “I don’t remember hearing that,” Jacob said after the waitress had left.

  I laughed again. “You’re probably the only one who didn’t read the paper that day. Or watch the news.” The media had mobbed me like piranhas at a buffet. I think I’d even made national news that day. They dubbed me the ‘psychic murderess’.

  “But it was a car accident, right?” He frowned at me, confused.

  I tried not to be offended. The question was frequent enough, understandable even. Still, it stung. I suspected it always would. “Yes it was an accident.” I enunciated each word, placing emphasis on the word accident. “I shouldn’t have been charged at all. They dropped the case fairly quickly when my lawyer threatened to reveal certain key, prejudicial connections Mark’s family had with the DA and the presiding judge.” I had gathered the evidence of the bribes myself with clairvoyance. Celia wasn’t one to let ethics stand in her way and I could fight fire with fire when pushed.