by K. F. Breene
I thought over what Veronica had said. Callie and Dizzy were nervous, which was more telling than all of the visitors who’d come bearing questions. They didn’t rely on their intuition much, from what I could tell, but it was still there, working away below the surface. Their subconscious minds would be processing body language, tone changes, and anything out of the ordinary, feeding the information to their brains on the sly.
They thought something was amiss. And I’d learned to pay attention to that sort of thing.
Movement caught my eye. A grizzled-looking older man clad in black drifted out of the cemetery entrance across the street. Dark clothes hung off his bony frame. He stared at me as he peeled off to the side and stood in front of the wall.
A thrill ran through me as I wondered who he could be. A drug dealer sounded about right, with his rough look and the hours he kept.
Then again, would Reagan put up with that kind of thing across from her house?
I doubted it.
So then what? A thief, maybe? A guy casing houses?
Whatever he was, I knew what he was not. He was certainly not a mage. He didn’t have the satchel, for one, or the pompous strut that said he was somebody. Even Callie and Dizzy, lovely people, had a certain lift to their shoulders and height to their chins.
This character stooped, and not because he was trying to be sneaky, but because he didn’t want to be noticed.
I knew that posture well.
I watched him…watching me.
The scene should’ve been awkward, yet as I stared, and he stared back, I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to see if he did something fantastical that identified him as a magical person of some kind.
And strangely…it seemed like he was waiting for the same thing.
A car rolled by at the end of the street, the engine clunking badly.
The man’s head turned slightly, catching the motion, but it immediately snapped back, like he expected to catch me sprinting away.
That was when I felt something drift toward me along the air currents. It felt…welcoming, almost. A come-hither sort of invitation.
Wisps of colorful magic wafted up over the walls of the cemetery, curling into the air. Light and playful. They fizzled out at a certain distance before more, stronger streams of magic blossomed.
The man near the cemetery didn’t turn around. He didn’t so much as glance up at the sky. If I didn’t know better, and I really didn’t, I would say he couldn’t feel the magic going on behind him.
Unable to help myself, I leaned forward and pointed. “Do you feel that?”
He didn’t start, or jerk, or do any of the things I would have expected from a stranger with whom I’d engaged in an impromptu stare-off. He merely shifted one shoulder toward the cemetery.
“No,” he said. “Is it bad or good?”
I frowned at him. I’d expected him to say “yes,” or ask “what?” Instead, he’d asked about the danger level of something he could neither see nor feel. That spoke of a magical creature. Or…maybe just the sketchiness of the neighborhood.
“It’s good, I think. Done by people.” I braced my elbows on my knees. “Am I allowed to ask what you are?”
“Yes. Am I allowed to ask what you are?”
“Um…that depends.”
Joy and light and radiance flowered in my middle as I continued to watch the colorful display in the cemetery. Nature danced and sang and asked to be pulled into spells. I closed my eyes so I could savor the delightful feeling of it.
This—this was what I loved about magic.
“I’m human,” he said. “But…” He looked around before slowly crossing the street at an angle, heading for the neighbor’s house on my right. Once outside, he turned to face the street again. “I know what goes on in that house. Mostly.”
“Which house? This house?”
“Yes. Reagan and I are friendly. I know her…friends.”
The way he said friends left no doubt he knew they were vampires, or at least not human. It seemed the rule of not allowing humans to know about the magical world wasn’t followed as closely as I’d been led to believe.
“I watch over things,” the man said, his gruff voice low as he scanned the street. “I make sure all is calm in the neighborhood. You’re new here. Reagan hasn’t mentioned you.”
“Oh.” Magic drifted into the organized mass above me and my fingers longed to weave spells to add to the glory of whatever was happening in the cemetery. “I’m kind of…”
I stopped myself.
Great, Penny, nearly tell a creepy stranger that you’re hiding out.
He nodded like he’d heard my thought. “You’re in a good place,” he said. “A safe place. She has things pretty well tied down.”
“Right, yeah.” I frowned at him again, wondering how much he knew about Reagan. And if he’d be willing to fill me in.
“Are you…of her kind?” he asked.
“I don’t even know what her kind is, honestly,” I said without thinking, feeling a strong pull toward the cemetery. Almost like, if I didn’t show up, I’d miss out on a truly startling awakening. “I am of a magical kind, though you’re not supposed to know that.”
“I hear you loud and clear.” He touched a gnarled finger to his nose. “What did you say you felt over there?”
I stood, impatient, and rapped on the banister softly. “Wholeness. Unity. Nature. Everything that is good and right with the world. It’s really hard to explain—”
“That must be the Ladies of the Light. They’re the nice witches. We’ve got some bad ones that come through here, trying to call Satan and what not. I don’t mess with them. Reagan or No Good Mikey always chase them out. But if it’s the Ladies of the Light, they won’t hurt anything. They come here every so often to call the corners. They don’t get too loud or anything.” The man’s head turned toward the left and he looked down the sidewalk.
When he didn’t look away, I followed his gaze. A large, slope-shouldered man, thick from head to toe, ambled down the street looking at his phone. I straightened and stepped closer to the house, not trusting the sheer size of the guy. He looked like he could do some damage.
“Don’t worry about him, he’s a resident,” the creepy guy said. “Keep your mouth shut about what you are, though. He doesn’t know about any of that.”
A human…warning me not to talk about magic…to another human. What a strange neighborhood. Then again, Reagan chose to live here—of course it was strange.
“Hey, Smokey,” the newcomer said as he got close. Seeing me, he startled, his body jerking, and his phone sailed out of his hands. He grabbed for it, hitting it with a finger and then the back of his hand. It struck the ground with a hard plastic cack.
This man had no problem with swearing.
Phone back in his possession, he looked over the screen to make sure there were no cracks before finally straightening up and looking at me a second time. He exhaled in relief, one foot on the street and one foot on the sidewalk, leaning away from the house. “Oh, thank God. You don’t look like no serial killer.”
“She’s Reagan’s friend,” Smokey said.
“She’s on Reagan’s front porch. They better be friends, or this lady here would find herself in a bad situation.” The newcomer slipped his phone into his pocket. “Who’re you?” he asked me.
“I said, she’s—”
“I know she’s Reagan’s friend,” the newcomer said, palming his chest. “I heard that. What I’m asking is, what’s her name?”
“You should make yourself clearer,” Smokey said.
“You should mind your business,” the newcomer shot back. He raised his eyebrows at me. “What’s your name?”
“Penny,” I said before I could stop myself. I wasn’t used to hiding my identity in normal—well, normal-ish—settings. “But don’t blab that around.”
The man took a step back, all the way into the street now, and showed me his palms. He looked incredulous. “Do I look crazy to you? I’m n
ot about to go talkin’ about Reagan’s business. I got enough problems.”
Smokey nodded in approval.
“I’m Jerome, but people call me Mince,” phone guy said. He crossed the threshold of the property and stepped onto the lawn, clearly coming forward to shake my hand.
“No, no, you—” I said as Smokey stuck out a hand in warning.
Mince’s fingertips hit the invisible barrier at the edge of the porch, far enough back that a regular Joe wouldn’t reach it unless he was trespassing. A flare of light preceded a loud zinging noise. Mince’s body rocketed backward, hitting the sidewalk before rolling into the street.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I asked, coming around the banister of the porch and stopping at the top of the steps. I didn’t want to break the barrier in case he was pissed.
“Huuuuuugh.” Mince shook like he’d just been fried with electricity. Which, magically speaking, he had been. “Huuuuughnga.”
“I can’t… I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said apologetically.
“Hung nafunga. Uuuuugh.” He convulsed to his side and then rolled over onto his stomach before lying there for a moment.
“Should you help him up?” I asked Smokey.
“Reagan told everyone to stay off her lawn. He shoulda known better,” Smokey said without remorse.
“I mean…” I looked down at the little manicured patch of grass, the only one on the block. “Grass is made to be walked on.”
“When it comes to Reagan, you do what she says, or you get an awful surprise. Mince just got an awful surprise. He should’ve known better.”
Mince stiffly pushed up to his hands and knees, groaning. “She…looks…innocent. Uuuugh.”
“The most dangerous ones always do.” Smokey glanced in the other direction as the sound of a car going too fast barreled down the street. “The best assassins are the sexy, manicured ones, aren’t they? You shouldn’t let appearances deceive you.”
Mince looked over his shoulder at Smokey, his face a mask of anger. “Ain’t no…ass-ass-ins ’round…here.” A tremor shook him.
“How do you know? Do you know everyone?” Smokey asked.
Head shaking, Mince painfully got to his feet. He gave me a glance from beneath lowered brows.
“Sorry,” I said.
His body convulsed before he stiffly strode away, muttering to himself.
“I really was going to warn you,” I called after him.
“Don’t worry about him,” Smokey said, still non-plussed. “He forgot himself for a moment. That was his fault, not yours. He knows better.”
“Maybe this wa— Um. This…security device is a little too strong.”
“Forgive me for saying, but you don’t seem like the type to hang around here. And Reagan doesn’t seem like the type to have roommates. So if you’re here, there’s a reason for it. And that probably means you need strong protection. Don’t go second-guessing yourself.”
“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t really argue with that.
I blew out a breath, still feeling that tug of magic calling to me from the cemetery. Promising me something I’d been missing.
“How bad of an idea would it be just to run over there really quick, do you think?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t do that, Miss Penny. Not if you’re in need of protection.” Smokey moved to the edge of the steps. “You have no idea what has been seen in that cemetery. Human and magical both. There are bad people that roam through there.”
“But you said the Ladies of the Light—”
“They aren’t bad, no, but they might be set upon at any moment by a swarm of birds that turn into hideous monsters. Or a black magic coven that kills small animals. Or a thug wanting a cheap fix or some dough. You never know.”
I paused at the end of the steps, debating. He was certainly right. It was a cemetery, for criminy sakes. Anyone who was up to no good would head to a cemetery. That was true of any city in any town across the world. This one, smack in the middle of Reagan’s weird neighborhood, in particular. Smokey was right: there could be any number of really nasty things hanging around.
And then there was the most obvious threat, the Mages’ Guild, lying in wait for me to cross the threshold keeping me safe.
I turned back and looked at the house, a sanctuary if ever there was one. All the while, my temperamental third eye buzzed, begging me to walk across that street and see what was there.
My temperamental third eye had gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past.
But it hadn’t always been wrong…
I was walking before I could talk myself out of it.
21
“Wait. Penny. Miss Penny.” Smokey caught up with me. “Can I just call you Penny? What do your people call you?”
“Naive, mostly.” I made it to the other side of the street and stalled at the entrance to the cemetery. Strange feelings washed over me. Dense and thick, they seeped into my middle and took up residence. Not magic, or at least not any kind of magic I’d encountered.
“Are ghosts real?” I asked softly, starting forward again, albeit much slower.
“I’m inclined to think so, based on all the other things that are real.”
“Good point.” I blew out a breath, a creepy-crawly sensation taking over my body.
“They won’t hurt you, though. Of the things that might be in this—”
“I got it, I got it. That doesn’t change my terrible decision-making process. Where are these witches?”
He hesitated a moment, clearly not sure if he should help me.
“It’ll make things faster if I know where I’m going,” I whispered, moving down the concrete path, large gravestones to either side.
“Take a left when you’re able.”
I could’ve taken a left after each gravestone, but I figured he was talking about an actual path. When I came upon one, the same size as the one we were on, I did as he said and kept going. Soon he had me take a right, and my final instruction was to go straight back until I hit the wall.
“Will we walk right into them?” I asked, stooped now and half crouched, like a burglar.
“No. We’ll skirt beside them, go beyond them, cut in, and then sneak back toward them in the shadows.”
“My mother would batter me senseless if she knew I was getting tips from a person who lurks around in the shadows.”
“I like to know what’s going on without being seen.”
“Yes. I caught that.”
“Keep your voice down. They’ll be right up here off to the right. Drift this way.” He moved toward the left, and I followed, thankful he hadn’t put his hand on my shoulder in silent communication. The magic felt lovely and calming, but I was still traipsing around a weird-feeling cemetery in the dark after being blitzed with warnings about bad things. I wasn’t positive I’d be able to refrain from zapping him, or worse.
A few steps later, I could see candlelight flickering through a row of gravestones. A slim form moved in a languid sort of way, hands raised toward the sky. Another form, this one clearly a woman, had her hands raised in exactly the same way. I saw a couple more, all of them in the same pose, most wearing rings of flowers around their heads, some swaying in place to silent music. The one whose face I could see had a serene smile.
The most inclusive magic I’d ever experienced swirled around me, bringing joy to my middle and a grin to my lips. I contemplated joining them, partaking in the joy I was feeling. But it wasn’t my circle, and I didn’t want to disturb them. I said as much to Smokey, ready to retreat.
“You sure you don’t want a closer look? We won’t disturb them at all. We’ll just spy from the shadows.”
He really did the creepy thing well.
“Maybe just a look,” I said softly, curiosity getting the better of me. “Not spying, just looking.”
He was nice enough not to mention that it was essentially the same thing.
Smokey took the lead, drifting to the other side of the aisle
and then around the corner. The view was much better from here. The group—they looked to be all women—sat in a circle surrounded by glowing candles. A plethora of items littered the ground in the middle. They chanted softly, either looking toward the sky or the ground.
Magic rose from the items between them, called to life by the words they were saying in harmony. The source of the beautiful magical light I’d seen. They were using their emotions for this chant, and using one another for more power.
“You see?” I said softly, hunching down next to Smokey in the shadow of a gravestone. “They’re coming together as a unit and speaking the spell. They are using one another for power boosts. Why can’t mages do that?”
“Mages…is that like…guy witches?”
“No. They’re witches with more power.”
“Ahh.” He nodded.
“Mages are usually super solo when it comes to magic,” I whispered. “They kind of shut everyone else away.”
“Many hands make light work,” he said.
“Yeah, right? I’m not crazy for thinking this way is better, am I?”
“No you are not. Working together usually gets the job done faster. Even salesmen do better in a unit.”
I squinted in confusion, not knowing what salesmen had to do with anything.
A scent wafted our way, earthy and dense. Incense, if I had to guess, though I couldn’t place the fragrance. A few words sporadically reached my ears, but the intentions of the magic were coming through loud and clear.
Comforting. Love. Healing.
“What do you think—”
“Shhh!” I waved away his words.
“May she be peaceful and joyous,” the group murmured softly.
I closed my eyes as paper crinkled. A new smell hit me, like something burning.
“Now, I don’t approve of that at all,” Smokey said, stiffening. “Starting fires is a no-no. Fire can get dangerous. Occasionally these witch—or mage—people accidentally create fireballs. Big fireballs that puff up into the air. That kind of practice is going a bit far.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the fireballs were probably Reagan’s way of messing with him. She had an odd view of jokes.
