Magic Redeemed

by Coralie Moss

  “If you mean my family’s realty office, just say it, Aunt Calli.”

  I nodded. “Yes, that one.” I started the car, backed up, and stopped at the exit area to let a group make their way along the crosswalk. The queasy feeling in my belly strengthened.

  “Do you feel that?” Sallie asked.

  “I do. What do you think it is?”

  Sallie pressed her lips together, grabbed the edges of the front seats, and hauled herself to the front. “I know who it is.” She dumped the contents of her purse in the footwell, jammed the bag on her head, and reached for where I’d tossed my sunglasses on the dashboard. “Adelaide and Meribah share a lover, and he’s here. Complete with his entourage.” Sallie flicked her thumb at the windshield and wiggled deeper into the passenger seat.

  The last pedestrian had stepped onto the sidewalk. I hit the blinker, signalling a right hand turn, when two people stepped off the curb to my left. They were followed by a trio, then another couple and I watched, jaw agape.

  “Shut your mouth,” Sallie hissed. “You’re giving us away.”

  I clamped my lips together, adjusted the rearview mirror, and pretended there was nothing more fascinating than whatever was going on with the blemish on my chin. The man in the middle held my attention. Slightly shorter than the six clustered to his back, sides, and front, he was the only one not wearing a bluetooth device in their ear. Disconnected from technology, he was acutely connected to the swirling, magical signature I could see even with my eyes wide open.

  The seven disappeared around the corner. I inched into traffic and glanced to my right in time to see the couple bringing up the rear step into the Flechette Building. The reflection on the glass doors hid the interior and a honk from behind hurried me along.

  “That was intense,” I said.

  “Why are you whispering?” Sallie removed my sunglasses, pulled her fringe-edged bag over her head, and scratched at her scalp.

  I laughed. “Because I don’t want them to hear me.”

  “That was close.” She turned toward me, and asked, “Can we go home now?”

  * * *

  I had to drive holding tight to the steering wheel and sitting forward to keep my upper back from rubbing against the seat. Passing through the tug of the wards that shielded my house from uninvited Magicals, I parked, nose facing the road, and relaxed.

  “I’ll plug your car in for you.” Sallie shoved her belongings into her purse and opened the car door. Jasper was lounging on the top step, his front paws crossed and hanging over the edge of the decking. He yawned, stretched, and descended the stairs, his tail curled in a lazy question mark. Sallie stroked his fur as they passed in the middle, the charging cord in her other hand, and squealed when Thatcher came barreling out the opened screen door.

  “Hey Mom, hey Sallie,” he said, giving his cousin a hug. “Guess what?”

  “You made dinner?”

  “I’m on kitchen clean-up tonight. Sallie’s on dinner prep. And dessert’s covered because—”

  “Ta-da!” Leilani and Harper squeezed past Thatcher and tumbled down the stairs. Harper caught me up in a breath-defying hug. Lei-li brushed a kiss against my cheek and dodged my car as James and Malvyn passed through the wards and pulled onto the grass. “Daddy, Papa, we’re back!”

  “Missed you, Mom.” I didn’t care that Harper’s tight embrace was pulling at slightly raw skin.

  “This is the best surprise,” I said. “Is Christoph with you?”

  “Sure is,” he said. Harper let me go and held my shoulders. “I have something to show you. Don’t freak out, okay?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “Harper Jones, last time I heard that phrase, Thatch was—”

  “I know, I know, Thatch was letting you know I had sprouted feathers.” Harp let go of me and grinned, and spun around. “Take a look.”

  I set my bag on the grass and took hold of the bottom of my son’s baggy flannel shirt. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what I wanted, or hoped, to see. When Harper and Leilani left for the Northwest Territories with my grandfather, Harper had to be sedated and the process of his forming wings artificially halted.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Positive.”

  His lower back was tanned, the skin unblemished. I rolled the shirt higher and gasped. “Harp. You decided.”

  “I did.” He spun, hugged me again, and waved at whomever was heading toward us. “I gotta go show Mal and James.”

  Harper walked away with a newfound confidence. I was dying to speak with Christoph and find out what had swayed Harper into accepting the winged part of his genetic heritage.

  Thatcher stepped next to me and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his shorts. “I want to make those kinds of choices too, Mom.” He bent to pick up the raccoon that had waddled down the stairs after him, and let it perch on his shoulder. “I want to know what I am, beside a sixteen-and-a-half year old kid.”

  “Go look in the mirror,” I said. “You’re the Racoon Whisperer.”

  “Yeah, but I want to be more.” He walked Pokey to the Garry oak tree, extricated its delicate paws from his hair, and lifted the animal onto a branch.

  Harper and Leilani, along with Malvyn and James, were strolling toward the house. James clutched the handle of picnic basket, its contents covered with red and white checked cloth. He waved, and quickened his pace.

  “Calliope,” he said, lifting the corner of the cloth to release the scent of fresh-cooked lasagna, “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. We wanted to see everyone and thought a group catch-up made sense.”

  He was right, and it did. “I’m thrilled when anyone shows up with food,” I said, accepting his right cheek, left cheek kisses. Mal delivered the same, and Leilani delivered another tight squeeze.

  The small kitchen area always shrunk in size when more than three people were trying to sort out reaching for dishes and utensils to set the table, pouring drinks, and getting whatever else was needed. I pulled a wooden spoon from the canister beside the stove and banged the bottom of a pot.

  “Outside, everybody. Picnic time.”

  Christoph, Malvyn, and James. Harper, Leilani, and Thatcher. A toot from the driveway announced another arrival. Lifting my heels off the floor allowed me to peek out the window over the sink. Rowan and Shamaha emerged from a familiar sedan, followed by Wes. He waved two bottles in the air and Ro lifted a big bowl above her head.

  Laughter trailed through the first floor of the house, down the porch steps and across the lawn to where Harper and Thatch were setting up chairs and an old bench in the flat area near my herb and vegetable garden and the crabapple tree. We didn’t have a picnic table, so they’d spread an old quilt over the grass.

  “Mom, can you throw down the swing cushions?”

  I opened the sliding screen door to the back porch, dropped the old, hard pillows to my sons, and again reminded myself it was time to have them replaced. Counting heads, I came up one short.

  Sallie was missing. If I held the railing and leaned out, I could see if she was sitting on the small balcony that jutted out from the second floor. Empty. Until a soft meow reached my ears and a fuzzy, whiskered face poked out from between the bars. Another meow, and Jasper disappeared.

  Thatcher and Sallie had agreed to share his room while our crew of druids, aided by Christoph, added a guest cabin to the property. If my niece wasn’t joining us for dinner, I had a feeling I knew why.

  I knocked on the bedroom’s closed door. Jasper had been waiting on the landing and was between my ankles, rubbing the sides of his face against the door jamb.

  “Come in.”

  “Hey,” I said, stepping into the right side of the room. The teens had hung a huge cotton tapestry from the ceiling to give them each a sense of privacy. “You hungry?”

  Sallie shook her head, the uneven ends of her hair swishing around her jaw and neck. “No.”

  “Shamaha’s here’s. She came with Ro a
nd Wes and she’d love to see you.”

  “It’s hard for me to be around Leilani and her fathers.” Sallie’s cell phone buzzed. She kept her sad-eyed gaze on me, before flipping the phone in her hand and reading her message.

  “WHERE TF ARE YOU???”

  Thumbs flying, she sent her own message and waited. When the incoming response dinged, Sallie read it, sighed hard, and looked at me again. This time, her gaze was raw. “My girlfriend’s on the road and she can’t get past the wards. She can’t even see the house. Can I ask her in for dinner?”

  “I would love to meet her,” I said. “And there’s food enough for everybody.”

  Sallie linked her fingers through mine, and hefted Jasper onto her hip. Thatcher was moving from the kitchen to the door, a stack of tall glasses in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other.

  “Need help?” I asked.

  He acknowledged my question with a nod. He only had eyes for Sallie, and smiled broadly when she said, “Azura’s here.”

  “Cool. See you out back.”

  An irritated young women in a retro dress and heels paced at the end of the driveway. Wes and Kaz had created wards that allowed humans to see my house, while keeping everything hidden from Magicals, at least from the road. Azura was—obviously—on the magical spectrum.

  “Let me hold Jasper while you reach for her,” I instructed, eying the two vintage suitcases standing next to the girl. “I assume she’ll recognize your hand?”

  Sallie nodded and swallowed. “My nails look like shit, but she knows my rings.” She transferred the hefty cat to me, grabbed my hand, and beckoned to Harlow.

  Azura screamed and slapped at Sallie’s fingers. Taking a step back, she darted looks to her left and right, and up to the sky, then peered at a spot right beyond Sallie’s shoulder.

  “Do that again, Flechette,” she said, extending her arm. Sallie reached past the ward, grabbed Azura’s wrist, and tugged.

  “Hey,” she said, “you look so pretty.”

  Azura shook off the compliment and kissed Sallie. The two pressed their foreheads together, whispered, “I missed you” at the same, and broke apart giggling.

  “Hi, I’m Calliope, and welcome to our home. You hungry?”

  Azura nodded. “Sorry for crashing the party, but it’s taken me so long to find Sallie and once I had your address I couldn’t wait.”

  “Did you drive?” I asked, searched the road for a parked vehicle.

  “Ferry from Swartz Bay, bus into town from the terminal, then hitched a ride. I could really use a bathroom.”

  “C’mon, then. And don’t forget your luggage.”

  Sallie hefted both suitcases and led Harlow toward the house, while I waved them off and headed to the feast. Jasper pressed his hind paws against me, and when I let him go, he headed straight for Shamaha.

  “What are the chances we can have one, uninterrupted meal?” I directed my question to the assembled guests and family members while helping myself to a slab of lasagna. Melted cheese oozed between layers of grilled red peppers and onions and other ingredients. I seriously considered taking my plate back to my bedroom and shovelling forkfuls into my mouth while naked. Naked, and wishing Tanner had also shown up, unannounced and exquisitely anticipated.

  At least, by me.

  “I think the odds are eighty-seven percent in our favor that Sallie’s friend is the last Magical to cross the wards onto the property tonight,” said Wes, balancing his plate in his lap while he leaned against Rowan. “River said he finished your tattoo. Care to show it to us, Calli?”

  I swallowed and wiped my mouth. “Soon, I promise.”

  Thatcher clanked his glass of lemonade with his fork. “I would like to propose a toast,” he began. He held his glass high, and acknowledged the gathering of adults and teenagers—and one special feline.

  “Wait for us!” Sallie waved one arm, her other hand entwined with Harlow’s. They each filled the empty glasses Christoph offered. “Thank you, Thatch,” she said, catching her breath. I gave silent thanks for Harlows’ arrival and the subsequent injection of joy flickering over Sallie’s face.

 

  “I would like to acknowledge our mom’s aunt, Noémi.” Thatcher closed his eyes for a moment and lifted his free hand in the direction of the house. When his eyelids opened, there was a clarity to the hazel coloring that declared he was reaching into a part of himself and showing us a growing piece of self-knowledge.

  “Aunt Noémi kept this house, and this land, intact, against one of the greatest odds imaginable.” He looked at me quickly. “Mom, I’ve been doing some research and I wanted to tell you this when I knew more but tonight seems like as good a time as any.”

  He cleared his throat. “Like my mom, Noémi was a witch. She was also separated from her animal familiar during a stupid experiment that went very, very wrong. And that familiar, a bear, stuck around. I never told you, Mom, but I felt her bear’s presence, too. That’s how I knew which animal trails to follow, and how I learned to communicate with raccoons and squirrels. Bear taught me all of that.”

  He wiped at the tears streaming down his face. “I miss Bear. Here’s to Noémi and Bear and the spirits that watch over us.”

  “So mote it be,” said Shamaha and Rowan in unison. Christoph rose and opened his arms—and his magnificent wings—and took Thatcher into his embrace.

  “So mote it be.” The rest of our motley crew lifted their glasses to the house, and to Thatcher, and drank.

  Chapter 3

  “Am I really too young for a beer, Mom, because that was hard.” Thatch refilled his plate with salad and garlic bread and sat next to me. His face was flushed.

  “I kept a few bottles of Aunt Noémi’s homemade fruit wines,” I said, “and I cannot think of a more appropriate occasion to open one.” Getting the bottle would entail entering the cellar area, which I hadn’t done since I collected the soil samples in August. Those teaspoons of dirt revealed pieces of the history between the Doug’s family, and mine.

  Conversation picked up again. I savored the delicious food, while keeping my eye on Sallie. Having Malvyn Brodeur, the Enforcer, at dinner would be hard for her. I harbored hope that we could all continue to get along as Meribah, her sister Adelaide, and Sallie’s parents Josiah and Garnet, faced sentencing.

  I carried my plate to the kitchen, rinsed and stacked it in the dishwasher. In the back of one of the cupboards, perhaps with my assorted porcelain tea cups, was a set of cordial glasses Aunt Noémi had used at holiday dinners. Her son, Clyde, hadn’t wanted them when he and his sister sold me this house.

  One knee on the counter, I hoisted myself up.

  “Calli, let me help you.” Rowan put her plate in the sink and tapped the side of my thigh. “Hand whatever it is down to me.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m looking for matching wine glasses so we can toast Noémi in style and I think I stashed them—” I tried another cupboard door, “here!”

  I pulled the cardboard box forward and handed it off to Rowan. “Can you tell me how many glasses are in the box?” I asked. I tried not to knock over the stack of saucers as my fingertips swept the back of the shelf. Brushing the delicate stems of the old glasses. I curled a finger around one and brought it forward, “Gotcha.”

  “Eight,” said Rowan, “plus whatever you’ve got there.”

  “How many of us are there?”

  “Twelve-ish?” Ro squished her face. “Yeah, twelve.”

  Side by side, we washed and dried the glasses. “Want to accompany me to the dark and gloomy cellar?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  We carried the tray of glasses and a corkscrew outdoors and left it on an empty chair. Rowan followed me to the cellar. The entrance door was underneath the overhang created by the back porch. One of the new Jones Family Expansion projects was to turn the old catch-all storage spot into an overflow sleeping area. A new, poured concrete floor coupled with the freshly painted bright red door wen
t a long way toward scrubbing away old memories.

  “Ready?” Rowan grasped the latch. I nodded.

  The smell of old stone, old wood, and old, old dirt always hit me first; the mustiness never seemed to change, whether it was the long, dry days of summer or the months of damp stretching from November through March.

  “Over here.” I pointed to a small room, partitioned by an added stone wall and salvaged door and frame. The entire door unit sagged inward. Decades ago, someone had slapped concrete in between the rocks used to make the wall, and the rough surfaces were coated with grime and cobwebs.

  I pulled the old door toward me, careful to press a hand against the frame so the whole thing wouldn’t shift and topple over.

  Gravel coated the floor and crunched underfoot. Rows of wood shelves held dusty wine bottles lying on their side, and damp boxes full of empty canning jars. More boxes held shrivelled flower bulbs. Rowan shined her flashlight over the hand painted labels.

  “I wonder if Belle should have a look at these,” she said. “You never what some of these twisted roots and knobby things might grow into.”

  “Ro, that’s just asking for trouble,” I joked. Belle bubbled over with a sunny disposition that could fool you into thinking she was superficial. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Plant Witch had an encyclopedic knowledge of everything with roots, stems and flowers. Her herbal tincture helped my reproductive system produce a menstrual cycle at a critical time, and now I was on her ‘Menstrual Maintenance’ regimen until I had completed my five years of Witch training.

  “Look, Calli. Read these labels. Someone in your family had a working knowledge of magical plants.”

  “Shine that light over here.” I crouched next to Rowan and read along with her. “Attraction. Camouflage. Blood Borne. Vines, Defensive.” My aunt—or my mother, or a more distant relation—had grown plants to be used for specific purposes. I gave a low whistle and said, “I’m calling Belle tomorrow.” My curiosity was piqued, and curiosity gave purchase over fear.