“So, you and Sharlena?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes if I could get my mother out of my business, yeah.”
“I’m sorry about what I said about her. That was completely out of line.”
“I figure it was the wisp talking.”
“Well, let her know that I’d be happy to talk to some folks to help her find a new apprenticeship. It’s the least I can do for barging into her apartment and making a complete ass out of myself. Wisp or no wisp.”
“I’ll let her know,” says Houston. He gets up and stretches. “Well, back to work.” He pauses at the door. “Will children always inherit magic from the same-gender parent?”
“With hereditary magic, yes. The level of strength may vary between children, but there will always be something present.”
“Then why isn’t Aunt Ruth a witch? She has no magical ability at all.”
It’s one of those questions that are so obvious that nobody ever thinks to ask it.
Family Affairs
June 25th
“So your niece got kicked out of day care,” says my brother with no small amount of misplaced pride.
I stop mid-bite into my burger and glare at him. He always loves to dump surprises on me when I have a mouth full of food. He sits across the booth with that stupid grin as he watches my face contort. I remind myself, again, to check in with his wife before I meet him for lunch in the future.
I finish chewing my food and feign calmness as I wash it down with a sip of coffee. “Please tell me she didn’t set someone’s hair on fire.”
“Nope. She decked a boy,” he says. “Knocked him flat on his ass, too.”
“Are you going to explain to me why, Scott. Or do I need to knock you on your ass?”
“The kid called Laurie a witch.” My dear brother is struggling to contain his laughter. “So Megan said to him ‘Okay. Your mom is a nurse,’ because she’s thinking ‘yeah, my mom is a witch’ and you know she’s a very literal kid.”
“I do not like where this is going.”
“It gets better. So the kid…the kid…he then says Laurie is a witch and a toad head.”
“A toad head?”
“Yeah, so Megan said to him ‘Mommy never turned her whole head into a toad it was just the one time with her tongue as a joke for Halloween.’”
“Oh ye gods! She knows she can’t go around saying those things!”
“So…so…” Scott grabs a napkin to wipe tears from his eyes. “So at this point the boy is confused because your niece doesn’t get that he’s insulting her mother.”
“How can you find this so funny?”
“Because it is. Let me finish!” He takes a deep breath to regain some composure. “So then the boy apparently starts trying to taunt her with a ‘Megan’s mom is a toad head’ chant because, you know, nothing like repetition to make a non-insult sound insulting. So Megan finally says something along the lines of ‘well, at least my mom doesn’t change dirty poop pans all day. Your mom is a poop pan changer!’”
I bite my lower lip to avoid laughing. I don’t want to encourage Scott.
“So the boy starts all with ‘your mom tucks you in at night with a toad head on her head’ and Megan is all ‘you mom packs your lunch with poop pan hands.’”
“Scott, just…just get to the part where she punches him.” We’re both laughing now. The waitress comes over to bring more coffee.
Scott takes a deep breath as she walks away. “Eventually Mrs. Riley breaks them up and makes them apologize to each other. So later on they are outside playing and some of the boys find a frog and the boy goes ‘look, it’s Megan’s mom’ and Megan doesn’t say anything. But then she sees the boys tormenting this poor frog, according to her anyway. She said they surrounded it and poked at it with sticks. So she tells them to stop and the boy threatens to step on the frog saying ‘Look out, Megan! I’m gonna crush your mom’s head!”
“And that is why she hit him?”
“In the words of your niece, ‘But I had to save it from certain doom! He had big feet!’”
“So she actually punched the boy?”
“Knocked him down with one hit, too.” Steve is beaming. “Kid just sat in the dirt crying.”
“She’s six years old and rescuing a small animal. And they kicked her out of school?”
“Zero tolerance policies, sis.”
“How is Laurie handing the fact that her daughter is a future felon?”
“I’m thinking more UFC.”
“Scott!”
“They have female MMA fighters now.”
“Scott!”
“Laurie’s upset. Not really at Megan. Just that we’re gonna have to bite the bullet and either get a fae nanny or enroll her in Brookview.”
Scott isn’t a witch. Because hereditary magic flows from the same-gender parent, Scott didn’t inherit any magical ability from our mom. But his wife, Laurie, is a Rank Four Transmuter who runs a day spa in Marlton. Mixing her flesh-working techniques with massage therapy has made her a much sought-after commodity among the well-to-do. Of course, she disguises her technique as Reiki and other mumbo-jumbo to avoid too much scrutiny.
But Laurie has always been a little uncomfortable with her magic. She spent the first two years of their relationship hiding her ability from Scott. It wasn’t until an outing when we all finally had a chance to meet her family that mom recognized Laurie’s grandmother from some symposium on best practices for cairn sealing that the truth came out. Her family was thrilled that she was marrying into a proper magical family (though thinking of my family as “proper” anything is sort of funny). And I think she was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about being discovered.
But she’s been reluctant to expose Megan to any more magic than is necessary to make sure that she understands the truth. I think she is hoping the gene will skip a generation or that Megan will chose to not develop any inherent magical ability at all.
Most practicing witches either send their children to College-approved centers where magical theory is part of the curriculum or hire a fae. Fae are surprisingly inexpensive to hire, since their real payment is an anchor to the material plane. Brownies are popular in this regard because not only do they make great babysitters but they are also excellent housekeepers. And you can pay them in sweet cream and honey.
Come to think of it, I should really look into hiring a Brownie to clean my house. I need to remember to check WitchNet for a reputable agency.
“Brookview has both a great day care program and elementary school system,” I say.
“You know she was determined for Megan to go to normal school. She didn’t want Megan feeling peer pressure to develop magic. She hasn’t shown any manifestations yet and she was sort of hoping to keep it that way. Being around other witch children all day would encourage her to try and practice.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you feel about Megan potentially manifesting?”
“It is what it is, Nancy,” he says with a shrug. He starts picking at his fries. “I grew up with you and Mom casting spells and fussing with demons and I turned out fine.”
“Well…”
Scott rolls his eyes. “Very funny.” He picks up a fry and then drops it back onto his plate.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can I say something without you getting mad?”
“Um, how about you just say what is on your mind and I promise not to open a vortex under your feet?”
He folds his hands on the table and leans forward. “I miss Mom, Nancy. I do. I loved her,” he says in a low voice. “But there was this part of me that was…relieved. Relieved when she was gone. I mean, you weren’t practicing and Laurie decided against going for her Rank Three trials and Megan wasn’t manifesting and…I just…I just thought maybe it was done.”
“Done?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Scott, it’
s Okay.”
“You know, there were days when I was really jealous of you, particularly after Dad died and it felt like it was you and Mom on one side and me on the other. And it was never anything the two of you did. Don’t make that face. It was just that, you know, you two shared something I didn’t. Something I couldn’t. Hell, the other day I was lying in bed thinking to myself ‘I bet Nancy still talks to Mom’ and I was angry. Because I can’t talk to her. And you can.
“But there were other days when I was terrified. Mom would casually make some comment about recharging the house wards because the Veil was getting thin and I would just want to go hide somewhere. The monsters in the closet and under the bed were real, Nancy. Mom would sweep them away like dust bunnies, but they were real and it scared the Hell out of me.”
“Laurie is a Transmuter, Scott. The Veil doesn’t weaken around them like it does Evocation practitioners.”
“That’s not the point. It’s…Laurie’s pregnant again.”
“Was it unplanned?”
“No, we wanted another. It’s just that…if it’s a boy I don’t want him to go through what I did.”
“I’m sorry, Scott.”
“It’s not your fault or anything. I’m not blaming you or whatever. I’m just being moody.”
“Is this why you kept rescheduling our lunch?”
“A little bit. And I figured you had your hands full with the shop and what’s-his-name moving in.”
“Houston?”
“Yeah, your apprentice. I mean, you’re all in now, right? Closing the counseling practice and taking on an apprentice?” I nod. “Yeah, Laurie had mentioned that she saw something on the site. He’s some hot shot or something?”
“Houston, a hot shot? Only in his dreams. His mother was a very powerful psion, however, and something of a celebrity in some circles. So there’s a little gossip.”
I refrain from burdening Scott with the travails of Grande Madame Vivika Marchan and her quest from beyond the grave to find a baby mama for her son. It would just make him worry. Or laugh at me. Or both.
As I say my goodbyes to Scott, my cell phone rings. It’s the shop.
“Oh my God! Is Houston allowed to leave the shop during the day?” It’s Anastasia. She's whispering into the phone. I can hear Houston in the background yell something about not opening the shipment from Alabaster’s Imports if it arrives while he’s out. He’s not screaming or anything. Just the standard warning to Anastasia that we have both gotten into the habit of issuing whenever she might be alone with a sensitive order.
“Ah, yeah, I’m sure it is fine,” I say.
“Oh. Okay. I just thought after what happened before…”
“That…was just a miscommunication. Don’t worry about what Houston is doing. Just take care of any customers that come in.”
Anastasia is not fully aware of what went down at Sharlena’s apartment. I thought Sharlena was a succubus-in-training trying to seduce Houston for some Erosmancy sex ritual. Turns out Houston was just trying to help her get away from her lecherous sponsor. But I think after that whole incident Anastasia thinks she needs to spy on Houston for me.
Speaking of spying, I get another call coming in. It’s Houston. I put Anastasia on hold.
“I’m just having lunch with my Cousin Terri,” he says. “And will you tell her to stop whatever it is she thinks she is doing? She’s not as slick as she thinks she is.”
“Have you ever met a teenager that was?”
“Terri is working on a family tree. Yes, Mom’s side.”
“Since when can you read thoughts over the phone?”
Houston feigns a maniacal laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know? No, seriously. I just know how you think by now.”
“I hate you, sometimes.”
“Wait, can some psions actually do that? Read people’s minds over the phone?”
“Oh yeah. There was a big scandal a few years ago with a group of psions working a telemarketing scam. The Nine almost had to get involved.”
“Cool.”
“Not cool. It was a complete breach. Is Terri a witch?”
“No. And that’s what’s weird. I was looking over some of the stuff she sent me already and cross-referencing on WitchNet. It’s not adding up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lemme talk with Terri over lunch,” he says. “And then I’ll tell you what I found later. After Anastasia goes home.”
Houston has spent the last week trying to solve the mystery of his Aunt Ruth. Aunt Ruth is Vivika’s biological sister. Their mother was a psion, as was their grandmother. Ruth should have some latent magical ability, even if she never chose to use them. It isn’t uncommon for the gift to skip a generation, but it is highly unlikely to skip one child but not another. Since Vivika manifested, her sister should have as well. And even if Ruth never used it, she should still have a witch’s aura. But she’s completely mundane.
I used to wonder why Mom would ask my opinion on things when I was a kid. It seemed strange that a woman of her experience would turn to her teenage daughter for advice on magic. She would say “Young eyes see what old eyes won’t.” I figured she was just complaining about her astigmatism. But I know now what she meant. People who are accustomed to the occult tend to miss the obvious, because it is obvious. We are so used to magic that we don’t always stop and think about the how and why of a situation. We just shrug and move on. But people new to the craft tend to focus on how and why because they are still trying to understand what they are experiencing. Once Houston understood the basics of how hereditary magic was supposed to work, he made it his mission to figure out why it apparently wasn’t working correctly in his own family.
As I sit at the traffic light trying to decide whether I should turn left and go to the shop or keep going straight and see if Macy’s was still having that twenty percent off sale, a window shatters above me. Glass covers the hood of my car.
The body, however, hits the roof of the car in front of me.
Breaks squeal and bumpers crash into each other around me. My eyes fixate on the body as it bounces off the roof of the car and onto the street. There is something very wrong with the entire scene. Not that it is a common event to have a body crash through a window and crush the roof of a car. But this isn’t a mundane suicide or accident or murder. I activate the Third Eye incantation.
There is a demon in the body.
Why did I not take that online refresher course on demonic seals in organic matter last month? Oh, right. I remember. I was busy trying to set up the shop and figured I wouldn’t need it unless I started doing exorcisms again. Silly, silly me.
I get out of the car through the passenger side door to avoid stepping into the street. People get out of their cars and come out of nearby buildings to see what happened. I look up to figure out where the demon came from. It appears to have exited a third floor window above a craft store. Maybe an apartment or studio? It doesn’t matter. I can still see the vapors escaping through the broken window. A summoning?
Sirens. More screeching breaks. The sound of cars crashing. An ambulance had been trying to get through the intersection just as this happened, and someone on the other side had run the light in the process. The ambulance miraculously avoided hitting another vehicle stopped due to the demon-jumper. But the guy running the red light wasn’t so lucky. He barely misses the car in front of me but ends up running over the body and crashing into another car across the street.
I try to find a safe place from which to view the body. If it wasn’t already dead, it sure is now. I choke back the urge to vomit. Not from the blood. From the smell. A demon possessing a corpse for the first time creates a foul stench that smells a combination of swamp gas, rotten eggs, and moldy apples. Not exactly something I want to encounter on a full stomach.
The demon emerges from the corpse. The mundanes, of course, can’t see it. A small mercy all things considered. It is dark and formless, like a moving shadow. It twists around
like a snake, trying to ascertain its surroundings. It jerks back from my direction. It recognizes what I am. I can sense its hesitation and fear. Were it not for the fact that I’m standing at a busy intersection filled with people, cameras, and crashed cars, I could have bound this thing already. As it is, we’re both staring at each other trying to determine who will move first.
It pulses with a red energy than fills the block. The mundanes in the area start to flee in fear, causing even more commotion. A damn lemure! Its use of the Dread Aura to scatter the mundanes means it is at least a rank four.
The ambulance driver began pulling away from the scene, horn blaring and sirens still screaming. The lemure flees toward the ambulance and passes through the back door.
“No, no, no, no!” I yell and give chase. There must be a patient near death in the ambulance for it to do that. If it possesses a still living body…
I lose the ambulance after two blocks when it finds an opening in the traffic and rushes off. I go back to the accident scene. Nothing but chaos. Somehow my car survived the mess with only damage to the paint and a chip in the windshield.
I open up my phone and click the Demon Sighting App to issue an alert while the police try to make heads or tails of the situation. I look up and see some faint whiffs still billowing out of the window.
You aren’t a Justicar, Nancy. I remind myself of the obvious fact. But I am a Rank Three Warlock. Maybe I can just see if I can get some more information for the Justicars before the police trample all over the occult evidence?
What are you thinking? I enter the craft store. Nobody pays attention to me, as everyone is gawking at the dead body. The only person aware of me is the woman at the counter.
“Did you see what happened?” she asks quietly as I enter the store.
“Yeah, he fell on the car in front of mine,” I say.
“Told Grams not to rent that room to him,” she replies. “He was into stuff.” She turns her head as if to look out the window, but looks away. “Is it…messy?” I nod. “Why do people want to look at that?”
I shrug. “Do you know his name?”
nancy werlock's diary s01 - episodes 1-7 Page 9
