by Evelyn Snow
"Technically," I admitted, "this little guy was never alive and never will be alive so the whole dead part won't apply. You're safe."
The place things got dicey with my uncle was in the middle between one never and another never. He liked facts and numbers. In the world according to Delano Jinx, there were no gray areas allowed. Considering our family history, I couldn’t say I blamed him. A hundred other people had lost their lives the same day as my parents. No one had ever gotten a straight answer regarding the cause.
The problem was magic.
By definition, magic never worked according to what anyone in the Greater World thought of as normal, and that was only when, against all odds and basic logic, magic worked at all. Also, my inclination to improvise frequently led to magical mistakes and misfires. Sometimes I lucked out, and my mistakes were the happy kind. Three guesses how they turned out nine times out of ten …
The bottom line was that it wasn’t easy being a witch from a witchy family in a world that wanted magic to just go away, thank you very much, because the world already had more problems than anyone knew how to solve.
To be fair, I’d turned over a new leaf recently. It was out with flying by the seat of my pants (not literally, mind you) and in with practical care and consideration. I was all, Dear World, meet the new and improved Evangeline Jinx who is pragmatic and practical to her core. Most of the time.
Granted, a couple decades and change of life wasn’t enough time to rack up major screwups no matter how much natural talent I seemed to have in that regard. I tried. No one who’d known me longer than two weeks had a lick of faith in my new leaf; that was their issue, not mine.
What fueled the new attitude was my desire to become an agent with the Magical Bureau of Investigation. Somehow, I’d finagled a chance to test for the MBI’s trainee program.
To say my uncle wasn’t enthused about the idea was the understatement of the century. I hadn’t let his attitude stop me. He didn’t know it, but I’d already passed the written MBI exam, which was the hardest part of the whole process. That had been three months ago. In the meantime, I’d kept my preparation for phase two of the testing under wraps.
It had been inevitable that my uncle would find out what I’d been doing. Now he had, I hoped we could zoom past the fighting about it stage. Rather, that’s what I’d been hoping before he entered the shed tonight. One look at him told me I was in for a fight. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, which did nothing to improve his mood or the chances for a peaceful resolution.
While my uncle gave the project side eye, I added, “Think of it like a wind-up toy only the wind-up part is magical instead of mechanical. It’s not dangerous.”
“I know I’m safe in my backyard. That’s not what I was asking, and you know it.”
Light from the single bulb hanging from the end of a black cord bounced off the shiny skin of his head. With his brown bathrobe belted at the waist and hair balding in a classic Friar Tuck pattern, he looked like a grumpy escapee from a Renaissance Fair. At least he wasn’t carrying a battle staff.
“What did you think I was doing out here?” I asked.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up. When I saw the light on down here, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what you were doing. I had a drink of water. Then I decided forewarned is forearmed.”
Like that didn’t sound ominous.
“This is a onetime thing,” I said, “and I wasn’t trying to hide from you. Not really. What I mean is—I don’t go around casting spells in the wee hours of the night.” That I admitted.
“Nice try, Evie, but I’ve met you.”
He shuffled over to the desk that shared most of the large shed’s floor space across from a twin-size daybed. The desk was an old schoolteacher’s model he’d picked up at a yard sale and installed out here to make a home office. Even though Aunt Phoebe loved to garden, the shed functioned more frequently as a refuge for my uncle where he could be as messy as he liked.
“You don’t have to lie,” he said as he settled into the chair behind the desk.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He grunted and pressed the power button on the remote for the television mounted on the wall while I tightened loops of twine and added a few more pieces of duct tape. If this thing held together, it would take a miracle.
“Another body,” he said.
“So, it’s not exactly a work of art. I get that—”
“Not that cursed thing you’re making!”
I turned around and saw he had the TV on mute. He pointed the clicker at the screen. “They found another body in the real world. For your information that would be the world that matters although you don’t believe it. That’s why I’m going to keep reminding you until you get it through that stubborn head of yours.”
The television screen showed a reporter standing against the backdrop of a smoky red sky. Wildfires raged in the hills surrounding the city. The story about the grisly discovery must have been about someone who hadn’t evacuated in time to escape the blaze.
“If you wanted to do something worthwhile instead of fiddling around with a bunch of nonsense,” my uncle said, “you could take me up on my offer and freelance for the Times-Journal.” He gestured at the television again. “You could cover stories that matter. Getting the truth out to the people is more important than ever.”
“I’m not a journalist and, no offense, but I don’t want to be a journalist.” This wasn’t a battle I wanted to fight. However, the battle had rolled out of a comfortable bed and marched across wet grass in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t give up. Besides, why pass up an opportunity to lecture to a captive audience?
Turning my attention back to my sad little creation, I decided the stick arms looked too small compared to the stuffed body. I wrapped a few more strips of muslin around the length and then packed on another layer of mud.
“Evangeline, please, I don’t know what you’re doing, and you don’t have to tell me as long as you stop.”
Since there was no point in dodging the issue, I gathered the dummy in my arms and faced my uncle. The milk jug head lolled to one side, making it look like the dummy might be about to ask a question. For one insane moment, I wished I’d added a mouth, so it could talk for me. Then I couldn’t be accused of being impertinent or disrespectful or plain old stupid. Is that what I really wanted? The moment passed.
“This is for my MBI test tomorrow. Actually, it’s later today.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No joke, the dummy is part of the test.”
His expression had gone carefully blank. “Whatever for?”
“He’s a prop.”
“He?”
“Yeah. I can’t explain it either, but it seems like it’s a … he.”
After thinking for a moment, Uncle Delano said, nodding, “It’s the boots.”
“I suppose.” I pushed the head upright once more and considered how long it would take to add a working mouth. The milk jug handle already looked kind of like a big nose. I decided a mouth would be overkill, and I was running out of time. I needed to finish in the next ten minutes.
“What’s that monstrosity for again?” he asked.
“He plays a victim at a crime scene—the undead variety. At a certain time, he’s supposed to come to ‘life’ and cause trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how will you know how to respond?”
“That’s the point of the test. They want to see how I deal with the unexpected. If I knew ahead of time, it wouldn’t be a fair test.”
Uncle Delano shook his head. “Magic.” The word came out like a curse. “I thought you were over this nonsense. We talked about it and you said—”
“I said I’d think about it, and I did.”
“Did you talk to that Talbot witch?”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
My uncle muttered under his breath but
didn’t elaborate.
“Magic isn’t nonsense and the Magical Bureau of Investigation isn’t the airy-fairy, made-up thing you seem to think it is,” I insisted. “It’s a real organization that investigates real crimes. They stop real criminals.” I took a moment to perfect my glare. “You said you want me to use my abilities for good. Working for the MBI is a good thing. Period.”
“You think it’s that easy? Boy, have you got a lot to learn.”
No argument there.
Because my uncle didn’t give up easily, he added, “Magical crimes aren’t crimes. You know why? Because no one takes magic seriously, even those who should know better. That includes those idiots in the federal government who think they’ve got everything under control. What a bunch of jokers.”
It had been more than a decade since Disclosure. That was when the public learned magic was real and so were all the supernatural beings, they’d been reading about in fairy tales for centuries. Talk about a shock.
Even now, there were many who refused to accept the revelation. Not that they denied monsters were real; they couldn’t agree on who or what was a monster. Online, photographs abounded. In many cases they were accurate. Few images showed the truth. In a world flipped upside down, unicorns and dragons were real, and the truth had become a myth.
My uncle wasn’t a Disclosure denier. That didn’t stop him from criticizing anything and everything to do with magic and the supernatural. Sometimes I wondered how he had time to do anything else.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” I asked. The Greater World could barely manage ordinary problems like wildfires, homelessness, and hunger. Now on top of everything else they had to figure out how to deal with witches and shifters and nearby worlds that defied the laws of conventional physics. It was a lot to take in.
“Magic is an excuse for low lives to justify their actions,” my uncle thundered. “When they get caught, they use magic to concoct an insanity defense. As if the world needed more loopholes to help crooks escape paying for their crimes.” He waved the remote at the news channel still featuring images of destruction from the fires. “How about finding whoever started the latest catastrophe? I’ll bet you dollars to donuts they didn’t use a spell to start the fires. It won’t be a spell that puts them out, either.”
“If state authorities asked for help,” I said, “I’m sure the MBI would pitch in. How do you know there aren’t witches and wizards working right now to help contain the fires?”
“Trust me, they have their priorities at the MBI, and it’s not anyone or anything in this world.” He sighed heavily. “Your mind is made up. I don’t know why I bother. You’re just like your father. He never listened either.”
My uncle had never forgiven his ordinary mortal brother for marrying a witch from another world. That being said, he wasn’t usually as hateful about magic as he sounded at the moment. Especially since he’d spent the last sixteen years raising his magical hybrid niece. I chalked up his mood to the hour. Uncle Delano normally rose at six on workdays. It was ten minutes before three.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I smiled and lifted my free hand as if displaying a badge. “I can’t wait to show it to you: Evangeline Jinx, Special Agent, Magical Bureau of Investigation.”
“Evie, working for the MBI won’t bring back your parents.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you’re not acting like you know it.”
“I need to know why the bridge collapsed. I need to know why they died.”
And why I lived.
“Promise me one thing,” Uncle Delano pressed.
“Sure, what?”
“Just because people on the other side have remarkable powers, that doesn’t mean they’re any better than people over here. There’s evil there, too. They lie as often as people do over here. I want you to remember that.”
Like he hadn’t said this a thousand times before. Ten thousand. “I will. I promise.”
Chapter 2
Uncle Delano hit the red button on the remote and pushed wearily to his feet. “Remind me what that thing’s supposed to be again?”
Part of me wanted to shriek I’d already told him—twice—but this was the game: He played dumb, and I played along. I’d made a promise to myself that when (and if) I got my MBI badge, I wasn’t going to play dumb anymore. Hopefully, the man who’d raised me would be on board for the journey.
If he wasn’t? I didn’t want to go there. My aunt and uncle were all the family I had left in any world.
“He’s a murder victim,” I said as I finished attaching the second polka-dotted boot to the bottom of a mud-caked branch.
“A victim of good taste.”
“Ha. Ha.” I grimaced as I regarded the project. Uncle Delano was right on that score. I couldn’t decide if the dummy looked like a five-year-old’s worst nightmare, her best buddy, or a tragic combination. It wasn’t like I needed a newsflash that I wasn’t and never would be an artist. That wasn’t the point, but if I couldn’t express that point, maybe my uncle was right. Agreeing with him would be as bad as a public announcement of the end of the world, and I wasn’t willing to go there.
“Put that mess away and hit the sack,” he ordered, as if I was still twelve and staying up late reading under the covers.
“There’s a spell I have to attach and then I’ll be done.”
“Evie,” he said in a tone of warning, “I’ve been clear about my rules—”
“I know. I get it. No magic on the property. Here’s the thing: I have to apply the spell now, but it won’t kick in until noon, so technically, I’m not using magic here and now.”
He frowned. “You mean like a time-delayed kind of spell?”
“Exactly. The test is in the park next to the town hall in Serenity Point. There’s a ban on magic anywhere in the area so I can’t cast the spell on-site. That’s why I have to apply it now. I wasn’t trying to break your rules … or theirs.” As usual, I was caught in the middle. I should be used to it by now. Apparently, I was a slow learner.
“You see?” He shook a finger. “They’re not as stupid as they act on the other side. If they’ve banned magic in public places, that’s as good as admitting magic is dangerous and unstable.”
“The ban is more on account of the courthouse and the town hall being located close to the bridge.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means they’re serious about enforcing the boundaries between the realms.” I propped the dummy sitting up on the workbench with his legs sticking out straight. “Isn’t that what you want—to make sure no one gets hurt because of the misuse of magic?” He’d written enough editorials on the subject since Disclosure.
“Forget magic. What I want is for you to put this nonsense behind you and attend classes at the community college. The fall session starts in a few weeks. Don’t you want to make something of yourself? For goodness’ sake, Evie, you’re twenty-three. You’re not a kid any longer. It’s time to accept reality.”
I remained silent, staring at my pitiful construction of sticks and rags and mud. It didn’t look like much because I wasn’t an elemental witch like my mother. Working with natural substances didn’t come, well, naturally. Given that my abilities tended toward metals, welding scrap metal and pipes into a scarecrow or tin man could have been a better choice. I was worried how well the mud and branches would ground the animation spell. The instructions they had given me, however, called for using traditional, organic materials—at least nothing that could be welded. I wanted to prove I was as worthy as any other candidate, so I had followed the directions to the letter.
Finally, I said, “Unless you want to hang around to observe my technique on the time-delay spell, you should get out of here.” I pointed to the clock on the wall over the television. “I have to do it right at 3:00 A.M.”
“What do you need a spell for? Murder victims are usually, you know, dead.”
“Not always
and not completely dead. Potentially, death is a gray area, which falls into the MBI’s jurisdiction.”
His eyes widened. “Since when is dead … not quite dead?”
“When there’s more than one kind of dead. Dead but not totally gone. Or dead and still hanging around. There’s also dead and trying to get back inside the body. If the way they died forced the victim to evacuate in a hurry, it can confuse them. They could assume they’re still alive and mistake their etheric body for the physical one left behind. That can turn into a real mess, especially if their death involved a lot of blood. For the test, I need an animated dummy to act out one of those examples. I won’t know which one until the spell kicks in during the test.”
“And then?”
“Then I show how to take care of the problem.”
“That’s disturbing.” Uncle Delano turned and headed for the doorway, adding over his shoulder, “It’s not an investigation when someone dies a second time. That’s murder or torture or some nightmarish mix I don’t even want to think about. It’s just … wrong.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “You want answers, and I get that. This isn’t the way. Messing with the MBI will only stir up questions no one can answer. It means more heartache. Stop before you’re in too deep and can’t turn back. Evie, please, I don’t want that for you. I love you. That’s why I’m forbidding you to take that test. You might be mad at me now, but in the long run, you’ll see that I’m right.”
He didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t give one. He wanted blind obedience, and I couldn’t give him that, either. I watched him trudge through the darkness back to the house.
If my uncle ran into a spirit lurching around in a newly dead body that refused to work properly and was causing all kinds of mayhem, I’d like to see what he would do. He wasn’t a wizard or any kind of supernatural, but I had a suspicion it wouldn’t be pretty.
After all, Friar Tuck had only looked like a pushover; with that battle staff, he’d been a badass.
* * *
When I came downstairs the next morning, I found Aunt Phoebe stationed next to the wide window in the living room scanning the street outside with a pair of binoculars. Without turning around, she said, “They’re back again.”
