by Phil Stern
In contrast to the audience, a boy and girl calmly stood in the center of the area, smiling a welcome. As with virtually everyone in the lower classes, the youth was thin and wiry, his clothes a wrinkled hodgepodge of bland, rough fabrics. Though seemingly relaxed, Caylee noted, his body was held in taut readiness, as if fight or flight might be necessary at any moment. The girl was also slim and pretty, her eyes cool and attentive. Both were around Caylee’s age, maybe slightly older. Clearly, these two were both the instigators and main attraction of whatever was about to happen.
And indeed, there was now a much stronger sense of latent magic. Not from the people, per se, but invisibly bubbling up from underneath the floor itself. Caylee suspected this building had been inadvertently built over an unrefined wellspring of the real stuff, similar to the far larger phenomena that actually connected Lysandy and Donlon.
Fully entering the area, Caylee was unsurprised to hear the heavy door close behind her. For the moment, she was trapped.
“Greetings!” Showman-like, the boy in the middle spread his arms wide. “We were just about to begin.”
“Yes, just stand over there.” The girl beside him indicated a free spot by the wall. “And don’t be scared! Nothing we do will hurt anyone.”
Trying to appear appropriately nervous, Caylee darted over and pressed her back against the cool, uneven bricks. Now comfortably in the darker recesses of the room, standing next to a guy who smelled vaguely of grease and leather, she watched the two “magicians” do their thing.
Most of the fifteen-menlar act consisted of pulling objects from a box on the floor beside them, which in turn channeled the natural magic in the room. There was a golden, round orb that began glowing softly, a model steamship whose propeller began slowly spinning about, a water-filled sphere that began bubbling on it’s own, and more. Each new bauble was revealed with grand gestures and wondrous expressions, as if these two were doing real magic.
Actually, the boy and girl did possess a minute amount of real ability. Virtually nothing by Coven standards, but just enough to access the innate power seeping up through the floor and momentarily focus it upon these inherently magical objects. Outside of this room, or some other naturally-endowed environment, they probably couldn’t do anything at all.
Thus, the whole thing really was a “magic show” in the most basic sense of the term, relying far more on showmanship than skill. Which in the long run, could only get these two into trouble. They were doing just enough to attract attention from the wrong kind of people, but lacked any real power to protect themselves.
Soon running out of magically-tinged gimcracks to wave about, the boy then resorted to simple sleight-of-hand card tricks. Actually, he was quite good. Even though Caylee knew he was simply stashing certain cards up his sleeve or taking hand-offs from his pretty friend, the small audience was suitably impressed.
“My friends, thank you for coming,” the youth finally announced. “We do these shows to both entertain and amaze, but also to make a point.”
“That’s very true!” Nodding emphatically, the girl motioned all about. “As you can see, there is great power in the universe, things the great lords and ladies of this city can only dream of!”
“Yet they sit on their fat arses, cracking their whips and paying their slave wages, as if they owned the entire world!” the boy continued. “That ain’t fair. Not one bit!”
There was a grumble of assent from a few of the attendees, the boy next to Caylee softly mumbling “you got that right, mate.”
“And we’re the lucky ones!” the youth continued, glancing all about. “The people from the conquered lands are treated like slaves! And the danders who come up from the lakes? Why, they have it even worse.”
“It’s not right!” Warming to her theme, the young woman aggressively pushed her long hair back. “Why should the rich people run everything just the way they like it?”
There were renewed sounds of assent from the dozen people around Caylee, several emphatically nodding their heads.
“The fancy lords sneer at us, call us common folk, but we’re not!” Holding up both hands, a tiny spark flared from a magically-tinged sleeve button. “My friends, when the time comes, I hope you join us!”
“We have power too! Power in numbers, and power in magic.” Theatrically pausing, the girl now raised an eyebrow. “And that’s far more than those vermin in their mighty homes and fancy carriages will ever have!”
“And soon, they won’t even have that!” the youth darkly continued. “Change is coming! Of that, have no doubt whatsoever.”
At this, the whole thing began to break up. A few people, clearly uncomfortable with all the revolutionary talk, quickly slipped out the door again into the shop itself. But most gathered around the two young magicians, congratulating them on both the show and their message.
Caylee hung around by the wall, waiting for everyone else to clear out. When the last attendee had left, leaving her with just the two magicians, she hesitantly came forward.
“Hi.” Giving a little wave, the sorceress shyly hid behind her own hair. “I’m Caylee.”
“That’s an interesting name.” The girl smiled warmly. “I’m Leyla.”
“And I’m Grant,” the youth said. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Oh, very much!” Caylee gushed. “You guys are really talented!”
“Well, thank you.” Clearly pleased, Grant executed a little bow. “I’m honored.”
“Yeah, it’s really cool.” Caylee smiled broadly. “Actually, some people say I’ve got powers too, but not at all like you.”
Grant and Leyla exchanged a quick look. As Caylee had suspected, they were always on the lookout for new recruits into their magical/revolutionary troupe.
“Really?” With little success, Grant tried to appear disinterested. “And what powers are these?”
“Oh, just little things.” As if she were embarrassed, Caylee looked around the dank, brick room. “Not much of anything, really.”
“Show us!” Clasping her hands, Leyla nodded encouragingly. “I bet you’re really talented.”
“Well, okay.” Stepping back, the undercover operative held out her left hand to one side, palm up. “But it’s not much. Please don’t laugh.”
“We’d never do that,” Leyla assured her. “You’re among friends here.”
“All right.” Taking a deep breath, as if preparing herself for a difficult task, Caylee squeezed her eyes shut.
A blaze of earth fire covered Caylee’s hand. As it faded away, the ugly rabbit vase from the nearby store shelf now complacently sat on her upturned palm.
This “manual shifting,” as it was called within the Coven, was actually considered an advanced talent. One had to mentally find the object somewhere else, magically tear it apart at the sub-atomic level, and then reassemble it again. Caylee herself wouldn’t try it with anything larger than the tacky vase, and certainly not with any object she couldn’t afford to lose.
Still, she was really good at it, having mastered the technique during her training days in Haven. Often she would sit in her room at night, magically stealing things from her friends rooms nearby. For some reason it had seemed very funny at the time, especially when someone had to come asking for their favorite hair brush or comfy socks.
Of course, Grant and Layla were suitably stunned. Obviously, the flashy trick would make a fine addition to their magic show,
“Wow!” Grant exclaimed, inadvertently taking a step back. “That’s really good!”
“You’re incredible!” Layla added. “What else can you do?”
“That’s really it,” Caylee apologetically murmured, nervously handing her the vase. “I know I’m not as good as you are, but…”
“No, no. You’re quite talented.” His mind racing, Grant grabbed the rabbit vase from his partner, thoughtfully evaluating it’s solid condition. “Where’d you get this from?”
“The store. A shelf just outside here. I mean, I�
��ll put it back…”
“No, no. That’s not why I was asking,” Grant soothed. “But you can do this with other things? Take them from somewhere else and bring them to you?”
“Uh, sure.”
“How far?” he pressed. “Just the next room? The next block?”
“I don’t know.” Trying to appear flustered, Caylee looked away. “Look, I don’t do it much. Actually, it can come and go, so I’m not even sure…”
“Oh honey, relax.” Walking over, Leyla squeezed her shoulders. “We know it isn’t easy. We also understand that magic works better in some places and not others.”
“Actually, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Almost conspiratorially, Grant leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Some of our tricks only work in this room, or a few other places we know of. But the audience doesn’t know that.”
“Really?” Caylee did her best of act surprised, pushing a strand of stray blonde hair back underneath her cap. “I would never have guessed.”
“Well, we’ve been doing this for a while.” Rather presumptiously, Grant now reached out and plucked the frumpy hat from her head. “Let’s see you now.”
Blushing furiously, Caylee looked down. “Maybe I should go. My mother…”
“Oh, we just want to see you. May I?” Without waiting for permission, Layla now undid Caylee’s hair, letting it fall loosely about her shoulders again. Stepping back, she was obviously impressed with the results. “You, my dear, are as attractive as you are talented.”
“Yes, indeed,” Grant now slowly drawled, also studying her with renewed interest. “Peck will want to meet you.”
“Peck?” Caylee pointedly turned to Layla. “Who’s that?”
“The most talented magician in all of Donlon.” Layla nearly swelled with pride. “Not to mention the man who will finally end the lords reign of terror for good!”
*****
The carriage unevenly swayed to a halt on a cobblestoned street. Inside, Lady Rhapsony moodily stared out the window, twirling long red hair between her fingers. Catching sight of a frail old man begging for change on the corner, a silver tinge crept into her otherwise calm gaze.
“Larson!” she snapped, rapping the back of the vehicle with a small riding crop. “Get that bum off the street! Now, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was the energetic, muffled reply from outside the carriage. Hopping down from the rear bumper, the uniformed constable roughly swatted the man with his truncheon, sending him scurrying into a garbage-filled alleyway.
“Good for you, my dear.” Lord Sathron thoughtfully watched her from the opposite seat. “Keep them jumping.”
“You are more than welcome to let these filthy wretches stain the streets in your district.” Rhapsony irritably flicked some dust from her sleeve as the carriage began moving again. “But I’ll have none of it in mine.”
“Oh no, I quite approve.” Impeccably dressed, the tall lord found his curly, dark hair brushing the roof of the interior compartment. “Almost as much as I approve of that new body of yours. Much better than the last one, I might add.”
“It’s hardly new. I took it over fifteen years ago.”
“Oh, I remember,” he drawled, now openly staring at her hips. “You were quite the eager young thing, as I recall.”
“And still am, in the right circumstances.” Unintimidated by his scrutiny, she coolly raised an eyebrow. “But that was then.”
Sathron slouched back on his seat, leaning down slightly to peer out the window as they passed yet another old woman begging for change. “And now?”
“Now you have a mansion full of wenches to service your every need, and we have more important things to think about.”
“You’re speaking of the Coven, I take it?”
“Don’t be coy with me.” Rhapsony irritably drummed her fingers on the cushion. “You have no more faith in Jarton and his bobbies to deal with this girl than I do.”
The Lord shrugged. “You underestimate our dear colleague, my dear.”
“Do I really?”
“Indeed. But even so, you saw Wendily.” As the carriage once more rumbled to a halt, Sathron ran a gloved finger over the fierce wolf adorning the top of his cane. “If anything, she hates the Coven more than any of us. That’s one demon who won’t rest until this witch is dead.”
They now sat before Sathron’s city mansion. A gate with uniformed guards was visible through the small carriage window, with the grandiose residence set a little distance off the street itself. Yet as Sathron half-stood in the small space, preparing to open the door, Rhapsody’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.
“But what if Wendily has other plans?” Deliberately, she held Sathron’s gaze. “You heard them back there. Some are already thinking of how useful this girl might be as some kind of pet, or lab rat. But if Wendily…”
“She’d never.” Breaking her grip, the youthful lord again eased back down in the opposite seat. “That would be utterly obscene.”
“Would it now?” Leaning forward, the words came easily from Rhapsody’s full lips. “Has any kind of obscenity ever stopped Wendily before?”
“How catty of you, my dear.” Eyes narrowing, Sathron’s pupils now pulsed a malevolent silver. “It’s quite the turn on.”
Outside the carriage, both Sathron’s servants by the gate, and Rhapsody’s on the carriage, waited silently upon their Lord’s and Ladies’s pleasure. The soft sounds of a child’s laughter carried down the street, along with the clack of a horses’ hooves and a yelling bobby.
“Look, despite our admittedly debased standards, I would not think that of any of us,” Sathron finally continued. “If for no other reason than that demon would suddenly be an enemy of us all.”
“But with the power of a Haven witch at their disposal, combined with their own, would they even care?”
“Rhapsony, you must…”
“What? What must I do?”
“Stop causing problems, that’s what.” Rolling his eyes, Sathron was clearly bored with the conversation. “In the end, this will all be a non-event. We’ll catch and kill this girl, and none will be the wiser.”
“As you say, my Lord,” Almost demurely sitting back, Rhapsony smiled. “But do keep your eyes and ears open these next few days for any other non-events. After all, we live in such interesting times.”
Sathron ruefully shook his head. “Indeed.” Brusquely rising, he now did exit the carriage, thin door slamming softly behind him.
As the vehicle rumbled on, Rhapsony’s smile quickly faded, replaced by a cold, unyielding frown. Holding up her left hand, she now diffidently inspected a large, silver ring on her left forefinger, shaped in the form of a fearsome snake.
With a visible silver surge, the lizard suddenly became animated, swelling into ten times it’s inert size. Expectantly rising a foot off it’s mistress’ hand, a thin tongue darted from it’s quivering, excited face.
“There, there, my sweet,” Rhapsony muttered, tenderly stroking the back of the snake’s head. “I bet you know what to do with a witch, don’t you? Or anyone else who gets in my way.”
Opening it’s mouth as wide as possible, the snarling predator’s oversized fangs flashed dully in the last rays of the afternoon sun.
*****
Long skirts flowing behind her, Lady Wendily swept into her prim and proper Victorian drawing room. Thoughtfully pausing in the middle of the large, open area, the Donlon demon lightly ran a gloved hand along the top of a chair. Through the sheer layer of almost priceless red cloth, she reveled in the minuscule swells and attendant undulations in the furniture’s fabric, the nearly infinite nuance of texture making her skin feel keenly alive.
So, the witches had found them once more. Her public doubting of it during the just-concluded Lord’s Conclave was mere dissembling. For there was vast opportunity here, not only for enacting her long-sought revenge upon the damnable Coven, but perhaps regarding the present power structure here in Donlon.
Eyes settled into their natural human state, the youthful aristocrat reached around her head and briskly pulled out several pins. Gorgeous dark hair now tumbling down about her shoulders, she once more surveyed her domain in great satisfaction.
A priceless rug covered most of the floor, with outrageously expensive furniture positioned just so. A gold-encrusted grandfather clock was pushed against one wall, surrounded by shelves loaded with extravagant books. Cabinets filled with delicate china and rare artifacts were strategically positioned along the opposite wall, most of it plundered from lands subjugated by the Donlon nation-state.
Almost without conscious thought, Wendily turned to a large wall mirror. First removing her frilly, outer blouse, she then unhooked the heavy, hot skirt. Soon shedding all her other clothing, Wendily now stood there in just a slinky bra, panties, and long red gloves. Hips gently swivelling from side to side, she coolly studied the sumptuous angles of her nearly perfect form.
She’d done very well four years before, ascending into the body and life of the beautiful but otherwise vapid Lady Wendily Osler. Of the many options then available, it had been an inspired choice. Now she was almost the perfect fusion of ravishing young woman and supernatural being, both sides of her complicated persona sitting at the very height of their personal powers.
Not that there weren’t some of the usual complications. Biologically speaking, she was suddenly the granddaughter of ancient Lord Karot. Under the circumstances, of course, they had mutually agreed to liquidate the generation in between.
Wendily’s mother had died quickly, in bed, her throat burned out by her own daughter’s blazing hand. Lord Osler had been a bit more wily, though, having anticipated his beautiful progeny might one day be more desirable as host than plaything. Briefly escaping by steamship into the vast ocean, he’d tried to reach the free nations in the southern hemisphere.
