Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Oh, goodness…,” she began, “I don’t know what came over me. I just got a little light-headed, I guess.” Carol gratefully accepted the glass of water that Katherine handed to her and sipped at its cool security. “I’ll be fine in a minute. You two go ahead and finish your business.” Carol tried to wave off their concern.

  “Nonsense, my dear,” replied Mr. Archegon, “I will sit with you for a minute or two. Now, what brought all of that on, hmm?” He peered at her, smiling again. He did seem nice enough… although that smile made Carol feel like he might unhinge his jaw and swallow her whole.

  “Oh, nothing really… it’s been this way since my husband passed. That was a long time ago, but it still gets to me sometimes.” She could not just tell people what had happened to her; they would think her insane! There were a few folks she could talk to about this kind of thing… but certainly not this man.

  “I’m sorry about your husband, my dear, and I am very glad I was here today to help. Let me take you out to lunch. No,” he held up his hand to forestall her refusal, “I won’t take “no” for an answer. You’re coming out with me. My treat. I know this lovely little Greek place not too far from here. Do you like Greek food?” He was so pleasant and charismatic that, before she realized it, he had the whole afternoon planned: lunch, the Rodin Museum, and then a walk up the river to see the sculptures. “It’s a world-renowned place,” he insisted, “I understand that the Art Museum is too big to be seen in just one day, so I’ll have to make do with Rodin and the river!” He winked, patted her hand, stood, and walked over to the counter and the waiting-Katherine.

  “I will take all three rings. Here’s my card.” He produced a leather wallet and pulled out a golden-colored credit card. Katherine took his card and placed it next to the register, then turned to prepare his parcel. She placed each ring in a black velvet bag, and those were deposited in a larger, paper shopping bag.

  “Mrs. Conley, how about for you? Are you interested in any of those pieces I showed you?” Katherine asked while preparing Mr. Archegon’s purchase.

  Carol felt the hairs on her arms stand up.

  “Yes, of course. Katie, I’d love those pieces I already mentioned. Thank you, dear.”

  “Of course, Ma’am.” Katherine picked up the tray with the jewelry Carol had looked at. She repeated the packing process: jewelry in a black bag, black bags in a larger bag. Carol walked over to the register and rummaged in her purse for her wallet. This would cost a pretty penny, but she was sure she could pass some of these pieces along to antiques-collectors she knew. Freddie turned to Katherine.

  “Go ahead and ring up Mrs. Conley first, so she can sit down. I don’t mind.” He stepped to the side, to walk around and look in display cabinets.

  Katherine turned to add up Carol’s purchases. She handed Carol the bag, and then tallied up Archegon’s items.

  Carol looked at the bag.

  Maybe I can just take the ring, nip it out while no one is watching?

  She certainly had to keep it from him, although she still did not know why. Whatever it was that had happened to her when he had touched that ring, she was sure she must not let it happen again. She leaned to the side a bit, closer to Freddie’s shopping bag, enough so that she could peer in at the velvet sacks.

  Now? Can I do it now? Her fingers twitched on the countertop.

  “Here you go, Mr. Archegon,” Katherine said, as she reached over and handed him his bag. The moment had passed. Carol thought about the afternoon that he had planned. Maybe she could find time later. She would stay vigilant for an opportunity.

  Freddie Archegon turned to her with a beaming smile.

  “Alright, my dear. Shall we?” He offered Carol his elbow. She slipped her hand into the crook of it and replied:

  “Of course. I love Greek food.” She managed a smile.

  And off they went: down the elevator, out into the sunshine of a Philadelphia-summer.

  They entered the dim interior of the restaurant. The room was, of course, decorated in white and rich, Greek blue, with murals of hilltop ruins overlooking the wine-dark sea, and photos of the Parthenon. The elderly hostess came over to them. She was shorter than Carol and much older, with seamed, olive skin, pure white hair worn in a bun at the back of her neck, and dark, smiling eyes.

  “Come in, come in,” she cried as she saw them, “Come in! Sit down! I have a nice table for two over here.” She steered them to a table in the front corner, by one of the lace-curtained windows.

  Carol sat down and grinned at Freddie.

  “This is a-dorable! I never knew this place was here.”

  Freddie Archegon smiled back at her as he sat down in the white, wicker chair.

  “Oh, I make it a point to find a good Greek restaurant in every city I visit. This one has some very good recommendations.” He flipped open his napkin with a practiced, cultured movement and placed it in his lap. He put his shopping bag on the floor next to the leg of the table. Carol glanced at it when she put her own shopping bag, and purse, down.

  “Oh yes, you just have today then. So tell me, Freddie, where are you from?”

  “Chicago. Well, New York originally, but that was a lifetime ago!” He laughed. His laugh was capricious and light in tone, and Carol caught herself smiling with him.

  There was not a stir from any spirit. Here she was, sitting with this man who seemed so… calamitous to them… and she was getting nothing. The worst part was that she felt as though she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. She was actually starting to enjoy herself.

  It turned out that the restaurant they were in, Giannopoulos’, was an old, family-run business, known for their homestyle food, casual ambiance… and Grandma Giannopoulos, who had always stood by the front door to greet guests; had been the woman who greeted them today. Carol had to admit that the food was excellent. They split an order of lemon-chicken with orzo, and a rather large salad with plenty of feta cheese. Freddie talked most of the time, telling Carol about the city of Chicago, and waxing on about several different subjects. Carol tried not to reveal too much of herself in the conversation, but he was so genial that they were soon chatting like old friends. Somehow, they ended up talking about whether or not there were “spirits” or “ghosts”.

  “Well, of course there are, there must be,” Freddie was saying, “Energy never goes away, it just changes form, after all. That’s physics. So why shouldn’t there be spirits of dead people around? Just because we can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Look,” he gestured dismissively downwards, lowering his eyelids as he did so, “You may think I’m crazy, but I’m telling you, I think they are there.”

  Then he leaned forward, his keen eyes looking right into hers, and whispered conspiratorially, “I know they are there.” He raised an eyebrow theatrically.

  Carol suddenly felt trapped. She hid her apprehension behind a large sip of her drink.

  Does he know about my ability? How could he? Have I given too much away?

  She tried to appear unconcerned as she leaned back in her chair and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, replacing it in her lap.

  “Now, Fred, why would you tell me this? You don’t even really know me.”

  “Oh, my dear,” he replied, smirking over his folded hands, elbows resting on the table, “I know you. Let me make this clear: we have never met until today, no… but I know you. We were obviously destined to meet.” He waved his hand in the air, as if shooing away a fly. “It must be the will of the Gods.” He glanced upward reverently, before turning his gaze back to her, and chuckled. “Oh yes, Carol, I am not a Christian. Believe me: I prefer to eat with my Gods, not eat my God.”

  Carol smirked. She had been raised Catholic, so she understood the Eucharist-reference, but she no longer followed that way herself. She had been considered “pagan” for a long time. It was a clever joke though, and so she allowed the smile.

  “Well, I am not really Christian myself either,” she said, “So I think I am g
lad to know you, Mr. Freddie Archegon.” And she reached her hand over the table to shake his. She was definitely perplexed. This man was very pleasant! He was intelligent, interesting, and told his life-stories well. He was polite, gracious, and he seemed kind, although Carol knew that could change in an instant with anyone. She was certainly enjoying herself, talking to this person who inspired such terror. Why were all of the spirits so afraid? She was going to have to have a talk with Ian when she got home.

  “My dear, it is time. I must use the restroom, but then shall we, to see Rodin?” Freddie announced.

  Carol saw her opportunity.

  “I’m so sorry, Freddie, but I just can’t. I am supposed to meet my sister at home this afternoon, and I have just enough time to get there,” she lied, “I hate to have to cancel on you….”

  He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “I am sorry to hear that, Carol, my dear. I shall miss having you with me to discuss the art. Well then, I shall be right back, and then I’ll escort you to the door at least.” He walked off to the bathroom, which Carol was gratified to see was down a hallway at the back of the restaurant.

  As soon as she heard the bathroom door close, Carol bent down, as if to pick up her shopping bag and her purse. In doing so, she slipped her fingers into Freddie’s bag. Her sensitive fingertips found a bulge of velvet that felt like it was oblong, rounded. She flipped the velvet sack into her shopping bag with a twist of her wrist. Then, she took the sack containing the pearl necklace from her bag, dropped it quickly in his, removed her fingers from the paper enclosure, and picked up her belongings. She glanced around. There were not many customers, and neither the waitress nor the hostess were visible anywhere, so it seemed like no one had noticed what she had done. She feigned nonchalance, and sipped at her iced tea.

  After a few minutes, Freddie came back and picked up his bag. If he noticed that anything was different, he did not show it, and they proceeded to the front counter to pay for their lunch. Grandma Giannopoulos was there to receive their money, and to inform them that it was her Grandmother’s recipe that made the lemon-chicken so good. She laughed, with shining, black eyes like the darkest grapes.

  “You come back sometime! Saturday nights are great! Drink a little ouzo…,” She winked.

  They promised to return someday and walked out of the door and into the afternoon sunshine. Carol blinked and hunted in her purse for her sunglasses. She put them on, and the world became a softer amber.

  “My dear, it really has been such a pleasure to meet you. Here,” he handed her a business card, “Here is my number, and that is also my address. If you are ever in Chicago, do not hesitate to look me up. I will show you all of the sights, and we shall go to Zorba’s!”

  Carol looked at the card. It was tasteful, plain, off-white in color. His name was there, “Fredrik Archegon” and an address and telephone number. “Oddities & Rarities” was printed in large, scrolled letters in the middle of the card.

  “I certainly will,” Carol replied, tucking the card into her purse. “Thank you for lunch, you dear man. I’m happy we bumped into each other today.”

  “I am as well,” he said. “Well, I’m off! Wish me luck!”

  With that, he made a kind of bow with a flourish above his head, such as one sees at the theater, and he turned and strode up the sidewalk. Carol watched him go with both disquiet and disappointment. He had been so benign! She had expected something more sinister, or frightening at least.

  She felt a single tap on her elbow. There was Grandma Giannopoulos, her wrinkled face wearing a serious expression. She moved to stand next to Carol, staring across the street at nothing.

  “You sure dodged a bullet there, eh?” she rocked back and forth on her feet. “Good to see him gone.”

  Carol turned to stare, aghast, at the older woman. Grandma Giannopoulos returned her stare with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they are talking about.

  “Hrmph,” she huffed, “Well, you think what you want, young lady… but that man is a trap.” and she walked back through the door to her restaurant, calling over her shoulder, “Just ask the dead!”

  Carol followed her back inside.

  “What do you mean, a ‘trap’? What do you know about the spirits? Please,” she importuned as Giannopoulos went back to folding napkins behind the hostess’ counter, “This is all just a little weird now, and I need to know more about what is happening. Grandma-.”

  “Fortuna. Call me Fortuna.” She looked out of the front window, scanning up and down the sidewalk, and then took Carol’s hand in hers and led her back to the table that Carol and Freddie had just been dining at. She sat down in Freddie’s chair.

  “Ah. I can still feel him.” She shook her shoulders, like shrugging off snow. “He’s a powerful one, this Murus. What did you take from his bag? A stone of some kind?”

  Carol had had a Catholic education as a girl, and although she had not taken Latin classes in over 50 years, she still recognized the word for “wall”.

  “What do you mean? What’s a ‘Murus’?”

  Fortuna cackled.

  “You don’t know what a Murus is? How long you been doing this, girlie?”

  “I… I don’t know. Forever, I guess. As long as I can remember. No one has ever had to teach me.” Carol blushed.

  “You listen to old Grandma Fortuna, girl. The Muri trap the spirits. They use them for power. Yes, even your young Scottsman there.” She gestured behind Carol. Carol couldn’t hear Ian or feel his presence; she didn’t even know he was still hanging around. “Now, show me what you took.”

  Carol reached into her shopping bag and pulled out the sack she had stolen from Freddie. She handed it to Fortuna Giannopoulos with some trepidation.

  “Who is this woman?” Carol wondered, “Fortuna is like an old crone from a fable, warning me of the future and giving me advice, like magic beans.”

  Those fables often had dire consequences for failure….

  The older woman opened the sack and poured the moonstone ring out into her palm. As soon as Fortuna touched it, Carol felt an overwhelming sense of relief, like cool water pouring down her back. She exhaled a long sigh and relaxed in her chair.

  “Oh, this one is nice! No wonder he wanted it,” she said. “This one is pure, you see. No attachments, no spirits, and the binding is just right. And you can’t quite see through it, like a window into some other world. Yes, it’s good you got this away from him. It’s far too powerful.” And she dropped the ring back into Carol’s hand and closed Carol’s fingers over it. “You keep this safe now, young lady. Don’t you let just anyone see this, you got me? lisoús, when you two walked in, I thought Grandmother was going to come right out of her ladle!”

  “Fortuna, how do you know so much about this? I’ve never heard anything about this before. What do I do if I come across another one, another Murus?”

  “Oh, dearie, you just listen to your young man, there. He’ll let you know.” She addressed the air behind Carol’s right shoulder with an arched eyebrow. “Won’t you, boy?”

  “Aye, Ma’am.” Carol heard Ian agree.

  “Good. You do that.” She stood up from the table. “Now, I have work to do: those napkins aren’t gonna fold themselves!” She marched herself back over to the hostess’ station, put a flat pile of napkins on the top, and started to fold them into practiced triangles.

  Carol gathered her items and walked over to the counter.

  “Fortuna, thank you. I had no idea. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” Carol replaced her sunglasses over her eyes. “Maybe I’ll come back and we can talk again?”

  “Make sure you do, dearie. I’ll make time for you.” Grandma Giannopoulos didn’t look up from her folding.

  Carol walked out into the sunlight. It was late in the afternoon now. She walked back to the parking lot where she had left her car, paid the fee, and made her way out of the city.

  “Ian,” She spoke up when she was about halfway home, “Did yo
u know all of this already?”

  “No’ in such terms… but aye.” His disembodied voice sounded contrite.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What, and miss all the fun?” There was a chuckle. “Oh, I’d have fought for ye, Carlie!” He used her childhood nickname with familiarity. She had the impression of raised fists, and of riotous tavern brawls.

  “Well don’t,” she said. “I don’t want any fighting. I’m an old lady, for goodness sakes!”

  “Nae to me, ye aren’t,” he replied. There was a cool touch on her salt-and-cinnamon hair. “Dinnae ye worry, lass. I’m lookin’ out for ye. I’ll no’ let anythin’ happen to ye.”

  She pulled in her driveway and walked into the house, dropping her keys in the porcelain bowl on the table by the entryway. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself that glass of wine, glancing up at the grandmother clock. It said 4 pm. A little early for her to be drinking, but she deserved it. She pulled the jewelry out of the shopping bag, and out of the velvet sacks, and laid it all out on the granite countertop. The moonstone ring gleamed softly in the light from the tall, recessed windows. She picked it up and went to her room; up the creaking, restored-wood steps, down the old hallway with it’s well-worn and patina-ed boards, and into her carpeted bedroom. She walked over to her jewelry box on the desk across from the bed. Inside, there was a ring-box covered with golden, Chinese satin, embroidered with tiny birds and flowers. She opened it, took the ring that was already in there out of it, and placed the moonstone ring inside. Then she closed the box and closed the jewelry box lid. She took a small key with a green tassel off of the back of the desk and turned it in the lock.

  “There,” she said to herself, “that’s as safe as I can make it.”

  And she sat there and sipped her wine wondering if she had been effectual at all: an old lady with greying hair and more years behind than before her.

  She could hear the rising sounds of spirits arguing in the kitchen downstairs, where she had left the other pieces of jewelry.