Wilder Mage

by CD Coffelt

  “Yeah, she’s fine, grouchy as ever. But”—he waved his hand—“this is a mess.”

  “Oh, do you think?” Maggie said, huffing. “It’s worse in the back and in the antiques. Not much we can save, I’m afraid.”

  Her husband, Emmett, appeared in the doorway of the antique section of the shop with a broom. He leaned it against the archway and went to his wife.

  “Here, now, I’ll do that.” He took the bag and steered her to a chair.

  She sat down and brushed strands of her damp, curly gray hair out of her face.

  “Thanks, sweetie. Sometimes, I’m glad I married you,” Maggie said.

  Emmett’s grin lightened his aged face. “Well, reckon better late than never,” he said.

  Maggie patted his arm and chuckled. Then she flipped an arthritic hand to the back storage room. “There’s more broken than not, Justus. Emmett might have to cook up all that steak in a hurry if the power doesn’t come on soon. The freezer won’t keep that stuff cold much longer.”

  Emmett frowned. Without speaking, he went out the back door and the lid of the smoker banged open.

  “Sounds like he’s starting now,” Justus said. He began running water into a mop bucket from the supply closet by the bar. “No matter what, we’ll have a crowd for noon, so it’ll work out. I’m not going to worry about it.”

  “Aren’t you going to check the antiques?”

  Justus grimaced and shook his head. He slapped a wet mop onto the brown glass fragments, pushing them and the sad remnants of the cognac into a pile. “I thought about it, but…”

  “Couldn’t take it?”

  He shook his head without answering, steeled his courage, and walked to the antique wing of his shop.

  Emmett appeared at the back door, and a waft of smoke came in with him. “I piled up some of that broken stuff in the antique wing, but there’s a lotta glass. You want I should do some more?” he said.

  “Nah, Emmett, give it up for now. No use worrying about it until later. Stay with the smoker, and I’ll get the tables ready for noon.”

  Relief creased Emmett’s face into furrows. He escaped into the back yard.

  The H-shaped building had one wing dedicated to the bar, where Justus offered food and drink. The other wing was his antique shop. A long connecting room held the register, the entrance, and the back door leading to the barbecue.

  Justus stood at the arched doorway to the antiques and groaned. Bits of glass littered the floor, a mixture of toppled shelving, china tea sets, figurines, and pottery. Decisions, decisions; what to sell and what to trash. First glance told him the dumpster would get the majority.

  On the bar side of his shop, the touchscreen games on the mahogany countertop were undamaged. The antique mirror and glass shelving had survived with nary a crack. But the stemware and many of the steins lay mingled with the fragrant remnants of the liquor. Why the Fates chose the bottles of cognac and not the fifteen-dollar wine was a cruel mystery.

  Justus stood a moment longer with his hands on his hips, viewing the damage. He gritted his teeth and, like Emmett, retreated in the face of an overwhelming opponent, away from the mess and back to the bar. How convenient it would be to use magic to clean up the mess. But objects moving of their own accord tended to upset people.

  Instead, he used the old-fashioned method and employed mop and muscle. Maggie helped, but her stiff ballet of pain slowed her movements.

  He studied her pained progression, then slipped a hand under her elbow, as if to steady her. With his touch, the fixed magic from his ward stone folded onto her. Unconsciously, she sighed and moved with increased vigor.

  The elements of Air and Fire soothed her joints. Air to cradle and support her weight, Fire to add warmth. She felt less pain, and the slow, aching dance eased into movement that was more fluid.

  Discovery was the problem. Working small amounts of fixed magic left no trace, the signature undetected unless another mage stood within a few feet of him. The stroke of his fingers gave her a few hours of relief from the dull ache of her arthritis. It was worth the risk.

  Fixed magic was the infusion of elements onto an object. Gathering those elements from the surrounding magic left a signature any mage could read, a trace of the power used to pull the elements in and then fix them to an article. When he drew large amounts of magic from the phantasms swirling around him, adepts from miles around would notice and the Imperium would send its wizards to check out the use of “wilder” magic. His life always got interesting for a while after that. Using the fixed magic of the ward stone threw no signature, as long as he used it with care. Safer than using gathered magic, but not as potent as the wild streams that spiraled around the unsuspecting people in glittering trails.

  With his use of his talent came responsibility, to himself and to his friends. For now, he had done all he could for Maggie.

  Emmett made regular trips to the cooking hood. Soon, the smell of the apple wood and cooking beef enveloped the shop, and the morning passed quickly. With a last inspection, Justus wiped the round tables and viewed the eatery. He edged to the window and smiled slightly when he saw Maggie engrossed in a laughing conversation with her husband. A haze of fragrant smoke enveloped them as she gestured and Emmett turned the meat on the grill. For the moment, Justus was alone.

  With one eye on the couple, he pulled in a deep breath and held his hands away from his body. Justus sent his senses outward, testing and feeling for adepts in the area, looking for their magical signatures. He felt the McIntyres’ aura, as well as the people walking along the sidewalk. No mages. Only humans.

  Justus dropped his senses and sent a questing element made of Earth around the room, looking for glass or dirt, the amount of gathered magic minute, but detectable if another adept was within a hundred feet. Shards of glass and bits of dirt whirled out from cracks and from under the bar, creating a mass about the size of a cereal bowl. It whispered like sand along the floor and formed a small vortex at his feet.

  From the barbecue area in the back yard, Maggie laughed, and Emmett said something in a low voice, then the sound of his laughter joined hers. Justus released the gathered magic quickly, and the bits of glass brushed the leg of his black jeans before dropping to the floor. He hissed when he saw shards of glass had stuck to the material and tried to brush it away with his hand. A moment later, he realized his mistake, and now his curse was louder with the sight of the particles of glass stuck to his hands. He finished sweeping the pile into a dustpan, when Maggie walked stiffly through the doorway, her eyes still sparkling from Emmett’s teasing.

  “All the work done, then?” she asked. “Did I get back in time?”

  “Just finishing up here,” Justus said with a low chuckle. He wiped up the last of the fragments with a damp paper towel and threw it away with the trash. “There, that’s it. Time to get cookin’.”

  He brushed his black jeans to ensure nothing glimmered there and clenched his teeth at the sting in his palm. Nothing seemed attached to the dark blue material of his shirt, at least.

  Before long, the odor of meat grilled in Emmett’s outdoor cooker filtered not only into the shop, but out to the street as well. After eleven o’clock, the sweaty utility workers began filing in, hoping for a plain sandwich. The fragrant slabs of steak and pulled meat surprised them. With plenty of buns to go around and the seemingly endless supply of Justus’s microbrew beer, it was enough to put even the weariest in a cheerful mood.

  With no refrigeration, vegetables weren’t on the menu, and the beefy workers sighed dramatically and called for more beer to alleviate their feigned disappointment. More than one commented to Justus on his microbrew and asked for the name of his supplier, but he simply smiled and served them another glass of the warm beer. He wondered what their response would be if they discovered his main ingredient in the foamy beverage.

  Magic was one of the ingredients, enhancing the hops, water, and malted grains. Wild yeast, pulled from the surrounding area of apple orc
hards, clover fields, and sun-baked sweet corn made each brew unique. Some amber-colored batches smelled of butterscotch. Other bottles tasted like Emmett’s apple wood, earthy and flavorful. His preference had the spicy flavor of cloves and ginger. All filled the senses with the aromas of the woods, an orchard, or a flower garden.

  He devoted one section of the cellar to his practice of micro brewing, but fixed magic hid the rest of the cellar, the place where he held the parts of his life separate from his human friends—and the Imperium.

  Word soon spread and a line formed on the street. The hungry workers cheerfully took turns eating at the six mahogany tables, some electing to take a plate and sit on the wooden benches on the sidewalk.

  Emmett cooked the meat, and Justus served, threading his body between tables and the masses. Maggie stayed at the register.

  The crowd dwindled, and by the time the sun was down to the tree line, the freezer was empty. Alone with his friends, Justus leaned back in one of the large chairs set in the corner of the bar, his long legs stretched in front of him. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

  The lights suddenly flared, went out, and then came on again to stay.

  “Oh, yeah. Ain’t that timin’,” Emmett said, laughing. “Just after we empty the freezer, the power comes back on.”

  Justus got to his feet and went to look again at the antique wing with the broken china and figurines. Grimly, he took the angled broom and began sweeping the bits of broken china.

  It wouldn’t clean itself. At least not with witnesses.

  Buying antiques, then reselling them to happy collectors was only profitable on a cyclical basis. What he really needed was a web site. And how many times had he come up with this grand solution and not acted on it?

  “Hey, I’ll do that,” Emmett said, coming up behind him. “You need to call your mom anyway.”

  “She called?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I forgot. It was in the middle of the rush and you were in the cellar.”

  Emmett began sweeping the piles together. Justus pulled his cell phone from behind the bar and hit the familiar numbers.

  “Hello,” an aged, female voice answered.

  “What the hell you doing inside on a beautiful day like this?”

  She laughed, and Justus heard the familiar click of her dentures. “Answering the damn phone, that’s what,” she said.

  Justus snickered. “Geez. For an old woman, you sure cuss a lot.”

  “Yeah, well, for a young brat, you sure are opinionated.”

  Shattering glass caught his attention. Emmett uttered an oath under his breath, then glanced at him and rolled his eyes. “It was broken already, I think,” he said.

  Justus shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “Lookit, Mom, I don’t think I’m gonna make it over there tonight. Will you be okay?”

  A short hesitation, and then she said, “Of course. I don’t have anything going on here. Nothing broken or wrecked. Not like at the shop. So don’t worry. Just stay safe.”

  “You always say that.” He shook his head. “Take care, then, and I’ll see you sometime. Call if there’s a problem.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  He hung up and heard a footstep, crunching through the broken glass on the sidewalk. A lanky teenage boy stood in the doorway and gave a low whistle. The teenager’s honey-blond hair stuck in damp strands to his forehead from a half-ass shower. He wore a shirt that was growing tight over his shoulders and chest, touting a faded red Huskers logo. He was at that age between a kid and an adult—too old to be called a boy, and too self-aware to be a man.

  He was a splendid example of a seventeen-year-old stud muffin who didn’t yet know he was one and wouldn’t care when he did.

  “Holy crap, what a mess,” he said. The boy craned his head and whistled again as he looked at the destruction.

  “Wow, Bertie, nothing gets by you. It’s scary how fast you pick up on the smallest detail,” Justus said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a gift. And quit calling me ‘Bertie.’”

  “Okay. Bertram.”

  The boy narrowed his eyes at Justus and stepped into the shop.

  “Speaking of ‘picking up...’ Here you go, Bert.” Emmett tossed a roll of heavy-duty black garbage bags at him.

  Bert caught it against his chest and grinned at Emmett. He shook a bag out, opened it, and nodded at Justus. “Heard what you said to your mom. We’ll look in on her,” he said.

  “Thanks, Bert. Appreciate it.”

  “We could have used you earlier,” Emmett said. “What were you doing? Not homework?”

  Bert grinned briefly. “Nah. We had practice at school for the track tournament. Can you believe it? Even with the quake and crap, the coach said we still needed to run.”

  His eyes flicked to Justus, then away.

  “How did you do?” Maggie said.

  Bert glanced at Maggie’s hands and frowned. She was rubbing her knuckles gingerly. “I came in third, but it was my personal best at the five-mile run.” He shrugged. “I was happy with it anyway.”

  “Well, kid, you got the legs for it, skinny and all,” Emmett said.

  Bert snorted and held the bag open for Justus to dump a dustpan full of broken glass and dust, but his attention stayed on Maggie. He looked at Justus and subtly rolled his eyes toward the older woman. Justus nodded slightly and tied the bag off. Air and Fire. He began to formulate the need and gather the elements.

  Just as he took a step toward her, he felt the familiar creepy-crawly sensation on his forearms. In the same motion, he reached for the broom instead and began sweeping with a purpose. Bert frowned, confused. Justus nodded meaningfully to the front entrance. The teenager turned, at once eager and expectant.

  That kid will never learn to avoid magic, Justus thought.

  The front door opened and the footsteps stopped just inside the entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, Justus saw Emmett look up, smile, and cock his head slightly, as if puzzled. He kept his head down and worked the broom, but caught Bert’s wide-eyed expression as he looked at the newcomer. More than curious now. More like heightened interest. A purely male reaction.

  “Yes? Can we help you?” Emmett asked, brushing his hands together.

  Justus gave in to his curiosity and turned his head. The adept, a young woman, had stopped just inside the door and looked around the shop with dismay.

  Wisps of her brown hair escaped the long braid hanging down her slim back, and a rumpled, well-used denim bag hung over one shoulder. On her wrist, a metal bracelet made of many trinkets and loops chimed in silvery tones. She looked at the piles of broken glass and muttered, “Crap.”

  Her eyes came back to Emmett.

  “Oh, sorry. I saw your sign outside there, the ‘Help Wanted’ sign, and…”

  She stopped and her shoulders slumped. Tired or miserable, he thought.

  It didn’t take a magician to read her body language. But then she straightened and her jaw tightened.

  “Your sign says you need help,” she said firmly, almost defiantly.

  Emmett glanced at Maggie, then both turned to Justus with the same question in their eyes. Bert stared with appreciation at the girl, and Justus half expected him to whistle again.

  The girl turned to him; he met her eyes and felt his breath catch. Her eyes, dove-gray and lined in black lashes, were steady, determined, and not as defeated as he’d thought.

  Damn it.

  Three pairs of eyes waited, two with great expectations. The third went hard, her face wiped clean of emotion as he hesitated. She shrugged and began to turn away.

  Emmett stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Hey, boss, we could use some help, don’t ya think? I mean book work, cleaning, organizing. Maybe even serving when we get real busy like today,” Emmett said. “We could manage minimum wage at least for now. And ah, maybe she could help out at home…” His voice got smaller as Justus remained quiet.

  Justus felt his m
outh tighten as the impossible situation began to gather around him like the tangles of a rough net, ending every opportunity for escape. He sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth as they waited. The girl’s shoulders straightened and she jerked her chin. He felt a subtle touch of anger run through him.

  He nodded once.

  For a moment, he thought she would refuse and leave, rather than accept the job, her pride wounded. She lowered her eyes and relented. “I don’t mind. I’ll do anything. Sweeping, cleaning, organizing, filing. I don’t mind,” she said. She jerked her chin again, and then she smiled.

  She had turned to face him fully, and her smile knocked him back a step. Her face became a brilliant galaxy of light.

  Maggie stepped up to her and began patting her arm, asking her name and if she had eaten.

  “Sable,” she said softly. “My name is Sable Rounds, and no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?” Emmett asked, his smile as warm and welcoming as a cup of brewed tea.

  “Um, no,” Sable said.

  Emmett looked at Maggie, a question in his eyes. When she smiled and nodded, he grinned wider, as if satisfied, and turned to the young woman.

  “We got a place for you, over our garage. It’s been vacant for several years, but it’s in good shape, private-like and cheap.” He laughed. “Real cheap, maybe.”

  “See, we could use some help, like kind of a live-in helper, someone to do some light cleaning and such,” Maggie said, smiling and holding out her knobby hands. “I just can’t get things done like I used to, you see, with this arthritis, and if you could help out here and at our house…” She trailed off.

  Emmett gave his wife a fond smile. “Yeah, she can’t do the hoochie coochie dance like she used to.”

  “Emmett,” Maggie said, looking appalled.

  Her husband feigned chagrin.

  Sable grinned and added a laugh that was like the musical chimes of her bracelet. “Oh, of course, of course. That’d be great.” And then something seemed to break inside her, and she blinked and her voice sounded like her throat was tight. “That would…that sounds wonderful.”