Magick Run Amok

by Sharon Pape

  I sensed there was more to it, but I didn’t want to press him on it. “Have you notified the police?”

  “The police won’t act on a missing person’s report for an adult, until the person’s been gone for at least forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  “Not really. Can you imagine what it would be like if you could call the police and send them searching for everyone who’s late arriving somewhere? Or isn’t answering their cell? Besides, there’s a fine line between protecting people and keeping tabs on them.”

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” I said, still far from convinced that forty-eight hours was a reasonable amount of time to wait.

  Travis’s coffee arrived by busboy. While he was adding sweetener, I took a sip of my cocoa. When I looked up again, he was smiling. “A white moustache is a great look for you.” I grabbed my napkin and wiped it off. “Way to win a girl over with compliments.” The moment of levity felt good, but it couldn’t last beneath the weight of Travis’s distress. “You’re certain Ryan is missing?”

  “Yes, if you knew him, you’d understand. He digs for stories that might be better left unearthed. Stories that can get him killed. And he has a bad habit of trusting the wrong people. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s needed to be rescued.”

  “We needed a little rescuing ourselves not too long ago,” I said, thinking of our last case. “Things aren’t always as dire and hopeless as they seem.”

  “But we had a secret weapon—he doesn’t.”

  There was a time when the idea of real magick sent him running from me, and now my family’s magick had become his secret weapon. Talk about zero to sixty in a flash.

  Margie arrived with our lunches, gooey cheese and steaming soup. “Enjoy,” she said, off to the mailman who was beckoning her. I took a bite of my sandwich; Travis took two, polishing off half of his.

  “When did you start looking for Ryan?” I asked.

  “Six p.m. yesterday,” he replied between spoonfuls of soup. “We were supposed to meet for an early dinner in Watkins Glen. He never showed. Doesn’t answer his cell. I started with all his usual haunts—nobody’s seen him. I’ve been driving around in widening circles, checking everywhere the road drops off, every place his car could be hidden in woods or dense brush.”

  I nibbled on my sandwich, no longer hungry. “Have you slept or eaten since then?”

  “I catnapped in my car for an hour or two before the sun came up. And I had a couple of donuts and lots of coffee.” He looked up at me. The naked pain in his eyes made my heart ache. He managed a lop-sided smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m fine. Believe me. I’ve survived on less.” He checked his watch and stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth.

  “Go, it’s okay,” I said. “Lunch is on me. Just please be careful.”

  He gulped down the coffee, then reached across the table for my hand before turning it over to plant a lingering kiss on my palm. As kisses go, it was a lot more effective than I would have thought. He ran his finger along the side of my face, and I wanted to grab his hand and hold him there a little longer. “I’ll call you.”

  “You’d better,” I said, “or I’ll be out there searching for you.” I’d meant it to sound playful, to lighten his heart for a moment, but my voice cracked. “Good luck and stay safe,” I murmured as he walked away.

  Chapter 2

  “You’re back!” Merlin said, swooping down on me as I returned from my abbreviated lunch. I peeled off my cold weather gear and stepped behind the counter to stow my purse.

  “Make haste, make haste,” he urged me a good seven times before he added, “It’s Matilda. She is in dire need of you.”

  “Why didn’t you say that first?” I yelled, running for the connecting door to her shop. I had visions of her on the floor, stricken with a heart attack or stroke, a broken hip or horrible burns. I was so geared for disaster that it took my brain a moment to reboot when I nearly collided with her. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her, not a red curl out of place. She was beaming at me, a doily covered tray of Linzer tarts in her hands.

  “You scared me half to death!” I snapped at Merlin when he caught up to me, panting like he’d run a marathon.

  “Well…ah…hmm…” he stammered. “You see, Tilly, dear woman that she is, wished to present you with this gift of her love and gratitude. She was waiting and waiting for you, after standing on her poor aching feet for hours baking these magnificent confections.”

  Tilly rolled her eyes. “Poppycock, he was distraught when I told him he couldn’t have a tart until you did. As you are aware, his highness is sorely lacking in patience.”

  Not what I wanted to hear, since I was uncomfortably stuffed from lunch. I must have been caught up in Travis’s nervous energy, because I’d bolted my food too. I felt like half of it was still stuck in my throat. As beautiful and tempting as the tarts were, they would have to wait a few hours. But Merlin looked so eager for one I didn’t have the heart to make him wait any longer. I sat down at the elegant tea table my aunt had set and selected a tart with raspberry jam. Tilly and Merlin took apricot ones, after which Tilly poured her homemade ginger peach tea.

  I sipped my tea and told my aunt about the cold weather patrons at The Soda Jerk. The wizard didn’t take his eyes off me. He was like a vulture waiting for its next meal to finish dying. Tilly must have warned him not to eat until I did. There was no way around it. I took a dainty bite of the buttery cookie with its mantle of confectioners’ sugar. At any other time, I wouldn’t have been able to stop until it was gone. But at that moment, I was having trouble swallowing the tiny piece in my mouth.

  “Never better,” I murmured once I’d gotten it down. “Perfection.”

  Tilly was looking at me, one eyebrow arched skeptically. “Something’s wrong. No need to spare my feelings,” she said, squaring her shoulders, but already sounding hurt. “I’d prefer you tell me, Kailyn, so I can correct whatever it is the next time.”

  “I swear to you, there’s not the tiniest thing wrong with it. I just had too much lunch. I’d like to save it till later when I can really appreciate it.”

  “Okay,” she said, although she didn’t seem convinced. Meanwhile Merlin had made quick work of his and was reaching for another. Tilly slapped his hand away. “You may have a second one, but after that, not one bit more. Do you understand me?”

  “Of course I understand,” he said indignantly.

  “And don’t try your sad, puppy dog eyes on me. It won’t work.”

  We sounded like a good old dysfunctional American family again, the way we had when Morgana and Bronwen were alive. Apparently even magick isn’t capable of changing family dynamics.

  “Have you heard what our resident wizard is proposing to do?” Tilly said, no doubt trying to move past anymore discussions of tarts.

  “Not yet.” What new can of worms was about to explode in my face? Merlin had chosen a raspberry tart this go-round and didn’t seem to be listening.

  “Merlin, what’s this new plan of yours?” I asked reluctantly. The sooner I found out, the more time I’d have to prevent or moderate the consequences. Even so, ignorance seemed like the better option.

  He sat up straight with pride, forgetting his tart for the moment. “To right a wrong, as any nobleman of my time would.”

  Something about the way he said it, made Don Quixote pop into my mind, along with a deep sense of dread. “What wrong would that be?” I sounded impressively calm for someone whose stomach was trying out for a gymnastics event.

  “I intend to make a run for the vacant seat on the town board,” he said grandly. “And when I win, I shall call for a vote to reestablish the proper name of this town and adopt a more appropriate emblem for it.”

  There were so many problems within those sentences; I had trouble deciding which one to address firs
t. I finally went with, “You have to be an American citizen and a resident of this town to run for the board.”

  “Says whom?”

  “The people who made the laws. Since you didn’t enter the country, not to mention the state, the county or the town, legally, you are not a legal resident.”

  “Then tell me how to remedy the situation.”

  “There is no way.” Fast and blunt, a ripping-off-the-Band-Aid approach. I hoped it might deter any further discussion. I should have known better.

  “I see,” he said. I waited in silence while he pondered the problem. Tilly and I shared empathetic glances. “How is one recognized as a legal resident?” he asked finally.

  “You would need a birth certificate stating you were born in this country as well as a social security card and that’s just the beginning. If you tried to use phony documents, you would wind up in prison, if not in a psychiatric ward.” Merlin went back to eating his tart, but I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

  * * * *

  Dinner time came and went, without my appetite making an appearance. I fed the cats, who had no such problem, worked on the computer, and watched TV. At ten o’clock, when I looked at the tart sitting on the kitchen counter, it finally looked inviting to me. I wasn’t going to save it for dessert, though. It was going to be dinner. I enjoyed it thoroughly and was still licking the homemade jam off my fingers when I called Tilly to extol its virtues. She lapped up the praise the way her big Maine Coon lapped up whipped cream.

  I listened to the late news before climbing into bed. There was no mention of Travis’s friend, but then it wasn’t yet forty-eight hours since he’d gone missing. I was worried about Travis driving around again all night with no sleep, staring into the dark for any sign of Ryan or his car. I tried to keep Tilly’s premonition of death from wandering into my thoughts, but it was like piling sand bags to stop a tsunami. I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until the phone woke me. “I found him,” Travis said.

  “Is he all right?” I asked, hoping it was just fatigue that made him sound so empty.

  “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 3

  The roads were empty and a little eerie. The street lights seemed farther apart and the darkness more impenetrable than I remembered from other times I’d driven there. I knew it was all in my mind, because I was once again headed toward death. Travis’s voice over the Bluetooth was comforting, but his directions were sketchy at best.

  He told me to take Grand Avenue west from New Camel. It was one lane in each direction, divided by a double yellow. It might have lived up to its name when it was new, but it was old now and in disrepair. Holes pitted the macadam in so many places it was impossible to avoid them all, especially at night. I bumped along it through a small town that had faded until it was no more than a gas station and mini-mart. The newer road that bypassed the town had hastened its demise. Although New Camel was still thriving, with more tourists every year, I couldn’t help wondering if it might someday face a similar fate. Everything had its time; nothing was forever. A chill flashed through me that wasn’t from the temperature outside, but I turned up the heater anyway.

  With virtually no landmarks to go by and a navigation system that required a specific address, Travis had to be creative about the directions he gave me. “After you pass the old gas station,” he said, “make the first right you come to after the speed limit sign.”

  I saw the street at the last minute and turned sharply, my wheels spewing gravel as I fishtailed onto it. If the street had ever had a name, there was no longer a sign post on which to display it. One street light flickered on and off farther down the road. Travis’s disembodied voice made me feel like I was stranded in a maze, getting vague directions from another lost soul.

  “What do I do next?”

  “It gets a little tricky now,” he said. “There aren’t any street signs and I don’t remember exactly how many roads I drove through in this area before I found Ryan’s car. My best guess is to take the first left after the second right. It should be about a quarter mile down from where you are. I’ll leave my headlights on for you to home in on. They’re just about the only light around.”

  How had he remembered even that much? He’d been searching for hours on no sleep, randomly turning left and right. I had a better idea. I told Travis I’d call him back in a few minutes. He wasn’t happy about it, until I explained that a little magick might help me find him more quickly. Before he let me go, he made me promise to keep my doors locked and windows up. I was about to remind him that my car was covered by protective wards, but that would only waste time. It was easier to promise.

  I looked for a good place to park for the few minutes I needed. I didn’t want anyone calling to report a strange car in front of their house. Such a call would bring the police and they’d stumble upon Travis and the missing journalist before I did, making my trip there pointless. The few houses I could make out along the road were totally dark. Not a single outside light among them. It was impossible to know if the occupants were asleep or the houses were abandoned. I chose a spot between two houses and pulled over onto what seemed to be the edge of the road, but where the gravel and dirt ended and the dirt and weeds began was hard to determine.

  I didn’t know a spell to find a person, but I had one for finding missing objects. I changed a few words to better fit the situation and figured it was worth a shot. I had a hard time clearing my mind with so much going on in it. I’d finally reached a Zen-like state, when Travis called. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I was doing fine, before you interrupted,” I said. “But I need to have my mind under control if this has any chance of working. I won’t forget to call you back.”

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly and hung up.

  When I regained my focus, I envisioned Travis and began the spell:

  Moon, Sun, and Earth,

  Air, Fire, and Sea,

  He who is lost

  Return him to me.

  I repeated the spell for the third time and opened my eyes, not sure what to expect. I was still in my car at the edge of the same road. I called Travis. “I don’t think it worked, but don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

  I rode up and down streets, Travis telling me to try one turn or another. At the ten-minute mark, I made a unilateral decision to listen to my instincts instead of him. After that epiphany, it wasn’t long before I saw his headlights. The spell had worked after all. I just had to trust myself enough to set it in motion. I pulled up nose to nose with his car. We both got out and met in the middle of the road. Travis pulled me to him. His hands were ice cold, even through my warm jacket, not surprising given the temperature and the fact that his friend was lying dead at the bottom of the embankment.

  “Thanks for coming,” he murmured, his cheek pressed to mine. We stayed like that for a full minute. “It looks like Ryan lost control, went over the edge, and into a tree,” he said after releasing me. “I want you to see the scene before I call 911. After the cops are here, they won’t let anyone get near it. I need your input—I’m not objective enough. I’m going to position my car for the headlights to light up the crash scene.” While he was doing that, I walked to the edge of the road and looked down. His headlights were already helping to illuminate the drop-off. It wasn’t as steep as I’d imagined, but Ryan’s flight down the hill had put him on a collision course with a tree large enough to win handily in any combat with a car. I turned away and searched the nearby roadway for evidence that Ryan had slammed on his brakes, burning rubber, when he realized what was about to happen.

  Travis joined me there, catching my hand in his and weaving his fingers through mine.

  “I can’t find any tread marks,” I said.

  “Yeah, there aren’t any.”

  “Could he have been distracted by his phone until it w
as too late and he was hurtling down the hill?”

  “I’d like to say ‘no’, but he was bad that way. Usually kept the phone on his lap when he was driving.”

  I wondered if Travis was also bad that way. It was a subject that would have to wait for another day. He let go of my hand and hooked his arm through mine instead. “Are you ready?” His voice wobbled a bit as if he were asking himself the same question. He’d been down there once, so it wouldn’t be the shock it was the first time, but that didn’t mean it would be any easier. His emotions were ripped up and raw.

  “Ready,” I said, clenching my jaw against the cold that was biting its way through my jacket and the anxiety over what I was about to see. We started slowly down the hill. The vegetation underfoot was slick with dew. I was glad I’d taken the extra time to put on sneakers before leaving the house. Even so, halfway down my foot slipped. If Travis hadn’t been holding on to me, I would have tumbled all the way to Ryan’s car.

  When we reached the bottom, I saw the accordion of twisted metal that had been the front end of the car. Although his airbag had deployed, it hadn’t saved his life. Or had it? It was possible he survived the crash, only to lie there unconscious in the cold with no one around to render help. It would take an autopsy to answer that question and many others.

  “How did you ever see his car down here in the dark?” I asked.

  “A flashlight. If I’d been lucky enough to drive by here during the day, it would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Examine the car and its contents, so I can be sure I didn’t miss something important. But don’t touch anything, not even with your gloves on. If this wasn’t an accident, you could destroy evidence.

  “Evidence?” I said. “How could this be anything but an accident?”

  “I’ll explain after you take a look.”

  I followed him closer to the car. He pulled a small LED flashlight out of his jacket pocket to better illuminate the car’s interior. Ryan’s upper body was suspended by the seatbelt just above the airbag. He looked like a macabre marionette, waiting for its puppeteer to return.