Superheroes in Prose Volume Eight: Magic With a C

by Sevan Paris

  “The idea is the same—” Casa grabs my elbow and turns me around—“distraction! Something Mystick excels at. You think she dresses the way she does because it helps her pick up dates? She does it because it helps people forget about how dangerous she is, about how scary her powers are. Now, she’s working that same kind of magic on you.” Casa takes a step back, his loafer crunching on a broken bottle. “Think—if Ember was going to betray you, why would she leave the thing—the very one thing—that could grant you your powers back right here on my mantle? Along with the instruction manual?”

  I force my voice to stay level. “Ember could’ve just left it because she knew I’d be too late to stop Mystick.”

  “Or she left it, hoping you’d be right on time.”

  A few moments of silence pass. The wood from the fireplace pops twice.

  Loathe as I am to admit it, Casa is right. Our weakness to this attack makes facing the situation, head on, the best means of defense. But as my readings of the dragon indicated, the so-called ‘Magicks’ of this planet may somehow be connected to the abilities my people had after The Ascension. Which would make Mystick and Macabre considerably more powerful than anything we’ve yet to face, including Liberty. Casa’s assistance will—at the very least—reduce certain suicide to probable.

  “ …. Things are going to get rough,” I say. “We could find ourselves up against Ember, a desperate Mystick, and an even more desperate Macabre at the same time. Do you have any idea just how epic that could be?”

  Casa grabs his coat. “Go epic or go home.”

  ***

  Casa and I step through the chalked doorway, into the Magickal Hideaway known as Old Prose.

  Considering the number of Magickal doohickies I’ve seen Casa use in the short time that I’ve known him, the fact that he already knew about Old Prose wasn’t a surprise. But it was kind of a bummer … I wanted something to hold over his head, to finally one-up him with some radical piece of knowledge that I had and he didn’t. At least I was able to take a small comfort in knowing that—from the look of his raised eyebrows—he was as surprised by what we were seeing as I was.

  Which was absolute chaos.

  A tangled assortment of multicolored bodies and objects clog every storefront and section of the street. Frantic shouting fills the air. There is bartering, there is pleading, and there is crying. People, creatures, and … things shove against everyone and everything around them.

  Casa jumps back, barely avoiding a leaping, horse-sized frog. It spins in a half circle, nipping at the ropes holding a love seat to its back. Three ninja turtle looking things rush to either side of it. Two of them push and pull at the green beast while the last one checks the ropes. The frog bucks, dumping the love seat into a fireworks kiosk. The piece of furniture breaks through a sign reading, “Liquidation Sale!” The kiosk’s owner, a man with a long grey beard and starry cloak, yells and shakes his fist at the ninja turtles.

  A young boy with a red coat and purple eyes takes advantage of the situation, sneaking up behind the old man and his kiosk. The boy snatches three fireworks the size of two liter coke bottles before the owner’s eyes fall on him. The thief freezes, then takes off into the crowd.

  The owner rolls up his cloak sleeves and presses his fingertips against his temples. The boy makes it into the thickest part of the crowd before the fireworks in his hands flare up, sending a motley sparks in every direction. They collect above the street and morph into a large tentacled creature. The creature’s roar segues into a pounding boom, then fizzles into the night. Parents cover their young, merchants cover their wares. Everyone screams and tries to crawl over each other to get away.

  I help one of the ninja turtles to his feet. He nods at me before chasing down the bucking frog with the rest of his pals. I step next to Casa, who’s taken refuge in the alcove of a storefront. The man in the wizard’s cloak swivels his kiosk around to keep his narrowed eyes on us.

  “I don’t get it,” I say, unable to look away from the insanity. “It’s just fireworks.”

  “It’s not just fireworks,” Casa says. “It’s fireworks that look like a tentacled monster, which Macabre is supposed to be. And since Mystick’s apparently drawn a line in the sand, everybody knows a battle is coming. And there’s going to be spill-over.”

  “I should probably power up and help.”

  You’ll do no such thing. We’re outmatched as it is. I’ll not decrease the chances of survival even further by depleting our power level.

  “We are helping,” Casa says. “Where’s Ember staying?”

  I step into the street, keeping sideways to move as fast as possible. Casa stays close behind me. In the storefront window to our right, Magicked pencils write on a piece of paper: “Entire stock 90% off! U.S. Currency only!”

  “So, what’s it like living with an alien in your head?” Casa says. He never looks away from the crowd.

  Of course.

  I shake my head. “What’d you do? Leave your apartment just so that you could watch the cameras? That’s—”

  “Just like me.”

  Which is exactly what I said earlier. But whatever.

  I pick up the pace, weaving through some knee high brown skinned creatures with pointy ears. I accidentally step on one’s tail. He screeches at me and bares his teeth.

  Casa sighs and tiptoes around the creatures. “You were obviously about to reveal everything to Pink. My being there would have just stopped you. This was the most efficient way to make her feel better. Or to make you feel better.”

  “You mean for you to feel better,” I say.

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You would have eventually told me about M anyway. You were just agonizing over when you’d be able to trust me enough. I removed that decision for you. So you’re welcome.”

  Across the street, above Obi’s Magick Shoppe, several four foot squirrels with banjos hold up a wooden sign saying, “We play 4 food.” I maneuver towards the building, sidestepping in front of a smurf-looking creature. He gives me the stink eye and moves on.

  “You should have asked me,” I say over my shoulder. “Instead of just … taking it from me. That stuff was private.”

  “You were the one trying to comfort Pink, trying to make her feel better about her exposed past by exposing yours.”

  For the record, I took a great deal of comfort in her depressed state of mind before then. Less for us to worry about.

  “You two can now connect on an even more personal level,” Casa widens his arms and bows to a slight angle, “… An astounding sense of betrayal. Plus it’ll be easier for me to help you do what you do, since I know all of your secrets.”

  I look at him, in utter disbelief.

  He straightens. “Again, you’re welcome.”

  “I’ll thank you when you do something for me, instead of trying to do something for my own good.” I turn away.

  “Nice deflection, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  A gondola glides through the air above our heads, carrying a flat-screen television. Casa and I duck under the swinging paddle.

  “Because I know you, Casa. One question will lead to the next and then so on until I’ve satiated your curiosity. And right now, I don’t want—can’t—focus on that. Or you.”

  “Come on, you millennials excel in multitasking. Couldn’t you just text it to me or something?”

  I stop in front of the large wooden door to Obi’s shop. “We’re here. Guess you’ll have to wait to catch it on film.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Casa says. “Those locks your Mother uses couldn’t keep Dr. Villainous out of your house.”

  “That’s awesome. Now you’re snooping around my house too.” I slap the door with the flat of my hand. “We get through this, you and I are going to have a serious heart to heart.”

  Assuming he has one. I must admit Casa’s devious intelligence both vexes and impresses me with equal measure. You could learn a thing or two from him, Gabe.

 
Great. As if the alien in my head needed even more sociopathic encouragement.

  “Wouldn’t that be fun.” Casa nods at the door. “Who is this guy?”

  “Friend of Ember’s. An overprotective friend. Spectacular personality. And looks down on anybody from above. Expect resistance in spades. Come on, Obi—” I knock again—“open up!”

  “Go awey!” Comes Obi’s muffled accent from the other side. “We are closed!”

  “Obi, it’s me: Gabe! I’m here about Ember!”

  There is a pause followed by a series of clicking locks. I hesitate, thinking about powering up. Obi has a hundred different items in his shop that could do anything from turn me into a bunny rabbit to make me wear all of my insides on the outside. If he’s decided to use one of them, if Ember is against us and he’s sided with her …”

  Obi opens the door with a slow creak. The whites of the Nigerian’s eyes match the white piping along his mustard yellow robes. “She left a messege for you.” He steps sideways and gestures into the darkness of the shop. “ ‘Dis way.”

  “Wow, real hard-ass, that one,” Casa says. “Amazed you were able to talk us through.”

  “Shut-up.”

  Casa follows me into the cloud of incense.

  ***

  Obi’s shop looks like a Kroger on the day before a snowstorm.

  Broken shelving, empty packages, and broken glass make it difficult to walk. Obi throws a partial glance at it all, muttering something in Nigerian before kicking a metal pot out of his way. It clanks against a wooden shelf, empty save for a few useless trinkets.

  Casa’s eyes dart around the room. “Fire sale?”

  Obi releases a heavy breath and turns. “I have not had ‘de pleasure?”

  “Salvador Casa,” I say.

  “Oh yes,” Obi’s voice builds in volume. “I have heard of you. People say you are a real son of a beech.” Obi palms away the purple beads leading to the back room. “I can see ‘dey are right.”

  We follow him into a long hallway, warmed by the smell of sharp incense. Book stacks line both sides. “ ‘Dis was not a sale. ‘Dis was Obi’s mercy. Many have leeved in Hideaways ‘deir entire lives, teleporting from one to ‘de other. Dey’ve never had a reason to set foot up top. Until now. Until Mystick and Macabre—STOP THAT!”

  I look up, surprised by the outburst. Following Obi’s eyes over my shoulder, I see Casa lifting the cover of a nearby book, peering inside.

  “Do not look! Do not touch!” Obi squeaks out the last word. “Some stuff in here, very potent! We don’t want to add an apocalypse on top of every’ting else.”

  Casa raises his fingers away, letting the book’s cover plop back. He gives both of us a tight grin.

  Obi grunts. “Only the reechest have means to teleport to another Hideaway. But fear seems more equal than money. Many need items for ‘deir journeys that cannot be paid for. So …” Obi gestures back to the storefront.

  “But, wait a sec,” I say. “You were gonna make me pay for the stuff that I needed last week. The save my life kinda stuff. You told me a ‘man ‘as to make a leeving.’ ”

  “Yes, well,” Obi says. “I’m not overly fond of you, am I?”

  Burn.

  Obi pulls some beads aside, and steps away, showing me the room. A set of dumb bells lines the far brick wall. In the corner rests a fitness ball and a rolled yoga mat, and over them hangs a punching bag. The same mattress from last week lays in the corner, neatly made. A long brown shirt with the word “Muggle” across the front lays on top.

  Ah, memories.

  I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to forget the smell of Ember’s hair, the taste of her skin, the feel of her under me … I duck under a pull-up bar wedged in the doorway. A flash of light above her mattress catches my eye. A quarter hovers there, spinning very slowly.

  “That,” Obi says, “Is for you.”

  I look at Casa. He shrugs.

  I reach out, hand hovering over the quarter, queuing M to do his thing.

  I’m sensing Void Energies in the object. It’s nothing dangerous, just being used to store information.

  My thumb and forefinger close on the quarter. It lights up and a flash of light fills the room, then collects into an image of Ember. She’s partially transparent for a moment and then her black hoodie, jeans and boots become opaque. Fiery red hair curls away from her raised hood.

  “Ember?” I say. “Where the hell are you?”

  “She cannot hear you,” Obi says. “ ‘Dis is a message—not a phone call.”

  “Gabe,” Ember’s voice fills the small room with a life-like presence. It’s like she’s actually there. “By now, you must hate me. A lot. But we’re on the same side.”

  I shake my head. How can she say that? How can she even think it? After everything Ember went through … she’s the last person that should be pulling this sort of ‘better for your own good’ crap.

  “And I don’t mean that in some sort of lame, interpretive sense.” Ember grins. “I mean, you, me and Pink are going to kick that bitch’s ass.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ember takes a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the skinny: Macabre is trying to kill every Sayer on the planet. He wants all of their Magicks. He wants to turn Earth—maybe even reality—into his own little twisted work of art. He’s already too powerful for one Sayer. At best, a few of them may be able to hold him off for a hot minute. And a lot of them may be able to do more, but—” Ember shrugs—“if the Sayers would stop being a bunch of girls and agree on something, I guess we would know what they could do.”

  “Squabbling idiots,” Obi says.

  “Mystick’s been trying to find a way to kill Macabre on her own, but kept coming up empty—until the stuff with Pink and Black at UTP happened. Mystick then figured out she could use Pink to get at Macabre.”

  Casa and I exchange a look.

  Ember rubs the side of her button nose. “Mystick has recruited Mariachi, Poet, and Braille to help her create a Lifelink spell.”

  Obi clucks a hiss through his teeth.

  “Obi can give you the details, but it’s some really twisted shit. Anybody that a Sayer has changed with their Magicks—anything from a love spell to turning somebody into a Ward, or what Macabre did to Pink—that person then becomes a kind of Achilles Heel for the Sayer. Killing that person means you’re killing the Sayer as well.”

  Casa shakes his head.

  “Mystick brought me in because … she knew the past you and I have would lower your guard, making it easier to nab Pink. I’m sorry to keep you in the dark, but well—you suck at lying. And Mystick is too powerful for you to beat her by yourself. This is the only way to keep you alive and give you a chance to do the hero thing.”

  I feel Casa’s eyes boring into me, but I don’t look back. They’re just a reminder of how much Mystick’s been playing me, fiddle-style. And if it hadn’t been for him, Pink and Ember both may have paid the price.

  “Help from HEREOS is out,” Ember says. “Mystick and the others just placed a sleep spell on them. But you and Obi may be able to get help from the other Sayers. When they find out their Wards are about to become a big-time liability, they’ll shoot so much Magick up Mystick’s ass she won’t know what to do.”

  Convince a bunch of ‘squabbling idiots’ on the run to see reason? Piece of cake.

  “The others are getting the Lifelink spell ready now, which will give you until dawn. But … if things go sideways, and you don’t make it to Mystick’s place by then, I’ll bust Pink out. We’ll meet you at Obi’s. Or I guess we’ll both be dead.”

  She swallows. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s come to this. And I’m sorry that I’m the one that brought you here. Mystick only gave me a few moments to decide. If I could’ve come up with another way …” Ember looks at the floor and then back up. “I’ll see you soon.” The image disappears, leaving nothing but an emotional echo.

  There is not one bit of this which isn’t terrible.
<
br />   I look at Obi and Casa. “That doesn’t make sense. Why is Mystick targeting everyone the Sayers have ‘touched’ or whatever? Why not just target Pink?”

  “Magick this complicated is easier if it’s broader,” Casa says. “Targeting someone with a Lifelink would be like … standing twenty feet away from a crowded room and trying to hit a specific person with a grain of rice. It’s much easier to just sling handfuls of rice and hit everybody instead.”

  I take a heavy breath. “…. What are the chances of the other Sayers even listening to me?”

  “We have enough evidence to convince them to at least look into it,” Obi says. “But the problem we’re facing now and—something which Ember did not account for—is this chaos.” Obi gestures to the front of the store. “It has everyone running scared. Finding them will be problematic.”

  “They wouldn’t listen regardless,” Casa says.

  Obi turns on him. “ ‘Dis is my world. My people. You do not know ‘dem as I do.”

  “I don’t need to know ‘these people’—I just need to know people. And if it’s one thing they’re good at, it’s protecting their own asses. What do you think is going to happen the moment the other Sayers find out Mystick’s plan? That they’re just going to run to our aid? That’s fantasy land, pal.”

  “I am not your pal,” Obi says in a hard voice.

  “I’m sorry—what I meant to say was ‘dumb-ass.’ ”

  Obi roars a coarse language and reaches inside the vest of his robes. He pulls out a foot-long blackened stick, thick as my wrist. The tip glows yellow. It’s that capture stick thing that Ember and Tommy were fighting over in the parking lot of Frankenstein Pancakes.

  I power up, replacing my skin with the blackness of space. Grav Blasts build up in my fists.

  Casa raises his hand at me, but keeps his eyes on Obi. His voice lowers: “The Sayers will act on the same paranoia that made them create the Wards in the first place. They’re going to find their Wards, lock them up where no other … future Macabre wannabes can find them. And that’s best case scenario.”

  I step forward. “What’s worse case?”