The Accidental Spy
THE SUN SAT POISED ABOVE the Olympic Mountains. The colors of the pre-sunset sky mingled with oranges and purples, pinks and maroons. They would look cheap painted as makeup on a woman’s face, Mavis thought, but even she had to admit that it just made the sky look prettier.
There wasn’t much that she found pretty these days. Everything looked washed out and gray, even without the constant drizzle that would certainly be settling in any day now. Mavis sighed, shifting her weight on the park bench, which was growing steadily colder.
She had wanted all of this, hadn’t she? She had wanted to be more, had told herself for years that if she could, life would be better. It would be easier. More colorful even. She wouldn’t be so broke all of the time.
Well, that hadn’t happened yet. Who cared if she could actually do more now? She used to be able to live in relative obscurity, deciding how her days went, even deciding who she got to pal around with. She and her friends would mostly complain about everything, always wanting things to be different. But at least they got to complain when they wanted to.
But now, no. Now her time was dictated by others. She felt like an indentured servant, with the terms of her unwritten contract changing all the time, getting worse.
And the money never came. That was the biggest rub. You had to have a good plan in order to liberate people of their hard-earned cash, and in order to have a good plan, you had to have time. She was a fool. She had only thought about being able to do more, to have more, to finally upgrade herself to be more like a real …
“Hello, Mavis,” said a soft voice in her right ear. She jumped, her hands clutching at her ample bosom.
“Jesus!” she wheezed. Unable to catch her breath, she started coughing.
The young woman sitting on the park bench next to her laughed, clear notes ringing true in the cooling twilight.
“It’s just me, honey. Relax.”
Mavis remembered Beverly saying, “Don’t you ‘honey’ me.” She almost opened her mouth and repeated the line, but she cherished her existence too much to start the conversation like that.
“Do you always (cough) have to (cough) sneak up on me like that?” Cough, cough.
Another laugh. “I thought you’d quit smoking.”
Mavis sucked at the air, trying to stay calm. She had once thought she could hold her own with these people. Now she did her best just to remain unscathed.
“I did. Damage’s been done, though,” she said, pointing to her lungs.
Mavis turned her head to look at the woman. Claudia was young, black, with tight curly hair springing from her head in coils that reached just below her earlobes. Her eyes were the color of jade and would have been beautiful on a normal human being. On Claudia they were exquisite. Painfully so. As was everything about her, from her high cheekbones, to her mahogany-colored skin, to her lithe figure. She had a warm, sugary scent about her. She looked like she belonged in a multivitamin commercial or an ad for a Caribbean cruise.
Looking at her was a mistake. Mavis held her hand over her mouth to feign another cough. Instead she mumbled a few Words and relaxed slightly as she felt a thin veneer surface between them. It helped Mavis to find her balance again. Claudia could suck her in and enchant her in a heartbeat if she wanted to.
“Mavis, dear, why the distance? You know you’re safe here with me.”
“Ha! That’s a laugh. Like the sheep is safe with the wolf?”
“Like the sheep is safe with the shepherd, dear one. You know that.”
Several retorts sprang into her head, but she kept her mouth closed. She was learning. She had spent her entire life saying whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. The luxury of all of that easy tongue-wagging was nearly gone. Bank account drained, so to speak. The price of getting what she always thought she had wanted was watching her freedom and time drift away from her, slipping right through her fingers. And it was too late to do anything about it.
“What can I do for you, Claudia?”
The young woman sighed, and her sugary smell filled Mavis’s nostrils. It made her want to cry, to let her head drop down onto Claudia’s firm breasts and be held while she wept and told her everything.
But Mavis knew that she had to keep whatever autonomy she still had these days.
Claudia patted Mavis on her hand. The woman’s skin was warm. What it must be like to let those fingers run along your skin, to let her palm press down into …
“What do you want?” she asked, wishing this were already over, wishing that she were home alone, in her robe and slippers, watching American Idol, a hot mug of tea and a plate of cookies her only companions.
“Just a report, sweet ’ums. That’s all. What’s new in the neighborhood?”
Mavis still wasn’t sure why they needed people like her to report in on goings-on. Claudia and the others dripped with so much power that it was like sitting next to a nuclear reactor. Couldn’t they just divine what they needed and leave her alone?
But clearly she was missing something. There was some need they had that she and the others provided. The other halfies, as she liked to think about them. What a joke, though. More like a half of a half of nothing.
She told Claudia about the different networks operating around the city, about how they had infiltrated the courtrooms downtown, about the new school board superintendent that they had put in place, about the kids over on Beacon Hill. To be honest, it wasn’t much. But she had to stretch it out to make sure that Claudia knew she was doing her job.
Mavis had considered not mentioning the unpopped boy at the farmers market. She really didn’t want to be on Beverly’s bad side any more than she already was. But if she didn’t, and her little omission were discovered, she would be on Claudia’s bad side too. And when you were on Claudia’s bad side, it was only a matter of time before you were on her bad side, and when that happened …
Jesus, she thought to herself for the hundredth time that day. Can’t I just get out of this? Can’t I just go back to being a hag with no real abilities to speak of? I just want to be home, I just want to be …
She stopped. Whining to herself would only have her lose focus. Not a good thing to do when sitting on a park bench, now in the dark, with someone like Claudia. Besides, she needed to make sure that Claudia and the others knew she could still provide value. She told the woman about her encounter at the farmers market.
Claudia listened quietly. Even though Mavis looked straight ahead out over the dark waves of the Sound, she could feel the twin emeralds of Claudia’s eyes pressing against the side of her face, pulling at her.
When she finished talking, Claudia said, “So. Mama bear felt threatened today, did she? Interesting.” Her last word seemed to linger. Mavis could almost see it as a smoke ring, thick and solid, floating up in the night air.
“Thank you, Mavis. You’ve been a very helpful kitten today.” Claudia stood up from the park bench.
“Don’t mention it,” Mavis replied, hoping she sounded nonchalant.
“Keep up the good work, okay?” The beautiful young witch cooed at her as she turned her back on the park bench and walked across the cement path, leaving a faint waft of wet wood lingering in the air.
Mavis couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder. Weak yellow light from the lamppost a few feet away showed Claudia reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out something the approximate size of a single chopstick. She threw it to the ground, and Mavis heard a cracking sound, then watched as the chopstick shot out into a full broomstick, its bristles extending outward in a soft whoosh.
The witch picked up the broom from the ground, placed it between her legs, then waggled her fingers in Mavis’s direction.
“Toodle-oo,” she said. Her face was covered in shadow, but Mavis knew she was smiling. She pushed with her feet and sailed off into the night.
CHAPTER 27
Dinner Party
GLASSES CLINKED, CANDLE FLAMES flickered, Amos sighed on the floor near the tab
le. They sat in the dining room, all six of them. The sun had nearly set, and Randall dimmed the lights until they shone with a soft glow.
At first Charlie thought that he shouldn’t be wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. The silverware sparkled on the table, and to him the dining room looked like the kind of restaurant he had seen on TV, the kind he had never been to before. But the others were also casually dressed and seemed very relaxed with each other.
His aunt and uncle sat on either side of him. Across from him and to the left sat Daniel Burman, a thickly built quiet man with hair cut close to his scalp. He worked as a detective in the Seattle Police Department. His eyes were pale gray and seemed to bore into whatever caught their attention, including, at times, Charlie. The man appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties.
Next to Daniel sat Rita and Jeremy Lostich, a married couple in their late twenties or early thirties who owned several coffee shops around town. “Local and fair trade, of course,” said Rita, winking at him and laughing. He didn’t know what that meant but found himself smiling back at her. She had curly dark blond hair that fell halfway down her back. She smelled of spice and wore a loose sleeveless shirt. A small ring pierced her nose. She had a generous laugh.
Her husband Jeremy had a beard and shoulder-length dark hair, which he wore parted down the middle so that it hung down and over each side of his forehead like opened curtains. He had kind eyes and an easy smile. Charlie thought he could play the role of Jesus in an Easter movie.
“The Lostiches are my favorite hippy-chic couple,” Randall had told Charlie as he had made introductions.
Where the Lostiches were quick-witted and giggly, Daniel Burman remained solemn, almost brooding. Neither, however, appeared bothered by the other. Only Charlie seemed surprised by the contrast.
The guests oohed and aahed over his aunt and uncle’s cooking. The meal was halibut, steamed in a banana leaf, with rice, soy sauce, green onions, ginger, chilies, and sesame oil. They had roasted summer squash, and there were fresh greens with berry something-or-other that was tart and refreshing. (“It’s just a fancy name for a sauce, Charlie. Remember, these witches are insufferable!” Randall had teased.)
Charlie was pretty sure his aunt had informed the guests ahead of time that he was shy, because they didn’t pry him with questions. Rita told him that she had lived for several years in the Lake Tahoe area and knew the foothills quite well.
“I used to hang out in Nevada City as a teenager.”
“Yeah, N.C. is pretty cool.”
“Did you ever go to Fairplay?”
“Yeah, it’s about forty-five minutes away from Clarkston. Closer to Forkville,” Charlie said. Then he remembered the newscast he had seen with his mother and the photo of Ted Jones, the Forkville high school senior beaten and left by the roadside. He had forgotten all about him in the tumult that had preceded coming to Seattle.
Daniel was staring at him from across the table, as if waiting for him to say something. The candlelight made his gray eyes look silver. Instead of saying more, Charlie looked down at his plate and stabbed the last bite of fish with his fork.
“Well,” said Rita. “I heard a rumor there was dessert?”
Randall and Beverly served homemade green tea sorbet with ginger cookies, accompanied by late-summer peaches from the farmers market, which brought more expressions of delight from the guests.
“So what happened earlier today, Ms. Geehan?” Jeremy asked after licking a drop of sorbet from his spoon. “You were so cryptic on the phone.”
Charlie looked up at his aunt. Geehan? That was her last name? It dawned on him that he hadn’t known his aunt and uncle’s last name even though he had been living with them for over a week already. Maybe he had heard it during the mad dash to get him registered at Puget Academy. He couldn’t remember. There was still so much he didn’t know.
Beverly began. “Randall, Charlie, and I went to the West Seattle Farmers Market this morning. I was pricing some orchids. When I looked up I saw Mavis O’Malley, of all people, sitting behind a booth, holding onto Charlie’s arm.”
All three dinner guests reacted.
“What?” said Daniel.
“No way!” said Rita.
“You gotta be friggin’ kidding me,” said Jeremy, his rough response tarnishing his Jesus-like image.
“It’s true. Charlie,” now Beverly turned to him, “it would be easier if you told this part of the story. Do you mind?”
He had hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk much in front of these new adults, let alone recount the events at the farmers market. But everyone was looking at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was bone dry.
He took a long sip of water from his drinking glass, then felt his face redden as his mouth made a loud sucking noise.
“It’s okay, buddy,” said Randall, ignoring the sound. “Just tell them what you told us.”
“Yeah, well, um, I just wandered by her booth, not really paying attention to anything, you know?” He left out the part about meeting Diego.
Everyone nodded, so he continued, explaining how Mavis had grabbed his arm, what she had said to him, how he had felt dizzy and couldn’t see very well.
“That goddamn hag!” Rita exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the table, causing the dishes and silverware to rattle. “What was she thinking, doing a drain like that?” Charlie wondered if maybe the Lostichs weren’t as “peace and love” as Randall had led him to believe.
“More importantly, how did Mavis O’Malley learn to do a drain anyway?” asked Daniel.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Beverly.
“What happened after that?” asked Jeremy.
Beverly took over the recounting of the incident. “I walked right over to her and told her that if she messed with me and mine, I’d mess with her.”
“You didn’t!” said Jeremy, impressed.
“You bet I did. I told her to leave the farmers market and not come back. I know it scared her.”
The adults all looked at each other, then at Charlie.
It was taciturn distant Daniel Burman who spoke next. “I’ll get my inside team to investigate. Something is afoot among the echoes here in Seattle. I don’t like it.”
CHAPTER 28
How Do I?
BEVERLY LED CHARLIE THROUGH a trail at Carson Park, Amos pulling hard at the leash in her hand. It was Monday, after school. “We’ll get there, buddy, we’ll get there,” she said to the dog.
When Charlie had walked into the house earlier that afternoon, his aunt had approached him from the kitchen.
“Would you be up for a walk with Amos and me today? There’s something I’d like to show you, and I thought it would be fun to have a little outing at the same time.”
The weather was cooler today. Charlie had watched a cold full moon rise in the near-black sky the night before from his bedroom window soon after he had explained what Mavis had done to him and the table-side discussion had wound down.
He felt a chilly touch of autumn in the air as they walked along. The afternoon light glowed and the undergrowth shone bright green against the dun walking trail, as if everything were preparing for the full color display of the upcoming season.
“… and the reason I decided to keep my last name was because it was part of who I was, part of my community,” Beverly was saying.
Charlie hadn’t been paying attention, caught up as he was in the lushness of the woods.
“Wait, so your last name is ‘Geehan’ but Randall’s is ‘Ruben’?”
“That’s right. ‘Geehan’ is my family name. It’s your Mom’s too. Or it was before she changed it to ‘Creevey’ to hide her identity. Amos! Get away from there!” Beverly yelled, then laughed as she yanked on the leash trying to keep the dog from sniffing at a small pile of animal scat on the trailside.
Charlie wasn’t really sure why she was telling him this, but he found himself enjoying the conversation nonetheless. More than once in the las
t week he had observed Beverly talking to him like he was someone with thoughts and opinions about things. He had never really regarded himself that way, but maybe he was that kind of person. Or maybe he could become one.
“So that’s why you both decided to keep your own last names?” he said as they stepped over a sodden log laying in the middle of the path. Amos took the opportunity to lift his leg on a bunch of devil’s club, a stalky spiked plant that Beverly had pointed out earlier.
“That’s right. Randall has extended family all over the U.S. and Europe. He isn’t religious, but his Jewish roots are very important to him. He likes being part of that group of people, or ‘tribe’ as he calls it, even if he doesn’t know most of them. It gives him a sense of place in the world. A sense of belonging.
“It’s the same thing with me. The legacy of my family is such a strong part of who I am. It ties me to my community. Not just the Irish part, but the witch part too. I thought about changing my name to ‘Ruben’ when I got married, but it felt like I would be losing who I was.”
Charlie wondered if that meant he was Irish too. Like everything else, his mother had never told him about his ancestry.
They took a right turn and ducked under several cedar branches, which hung over the path like mossy green flags.
“Can I, um, ask you some more questions?” Charlie asked once they had begun to follow a wider trail.
“Shoot.”
“Well, really … I have a bunch.”
“Go ahead.”
He paused, then took a deep breath.
“I’m a witch, right?”
“Yes. Or, more technically, you have the legacy in you. Your mother carried it very strongly, so you do too.”
“What about my dad? Was he a witch?”
Beverly didn’t say anything for quite some time. He wondered if he had said something wrong. The trail climbed up for about a hundred yards, so when they reached the top they were both out of breath.
“Whew!” she said, hands on her thighs, inhaling and exhaling deeply. After a moment, she continued.
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (Book 1, The Broom Closet Stories) Page 15
