Making Magic: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure series (The Witches of Pressler Street Book 2)

by Martha Carr

  Laura turned around with wide eyes. “I got way too little sleep last night with way too much alcohol in my body.”

  Nickie snorted.

  “And I went who knows how far underground below a children’s museum to dismantle an energy core before coming back here and spending about thirty seconds thinking you didn’t make it out of that cavern. Plus, I had to help Nickie lie to Chuck about our weapons—”

  “Hey…”

  “And watch you slice up your hands fighting an antique suit of armor.”

  Emily shook her head. “It was hardly a fight.”

  “That doesn’t make it better, Em.” Laura laughed, because at this point, that was pretty much all she could do. “I’m tired. And we still have to destroy more energy cores. I’m thinking the airport next. For obvious reasons. So, no, I’m not going off by myself. I’m going to bed.” She paused on her way through the dining room and turned slowly around. “Okay, so if I decide to go to that party tomorrow…would you guys wanna come with me?”

  “Hmm…” Emily stroked her chin like she had a long beard to stroke and looked at the ceiling. “Totally. I should be off work at, like, four.”

  “Is this a plus-one kinda thing? Or should we just keep it to the three of us?” Nickie asked.

  “I have no idea. But I guess I’ll find out when I tell him I’m coming.”

  Emily elbowed Nickie in the ribs. “She’s gonna tell him. She’s saying yes to a date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Laura called from the stairs. “It’s a party.” She put one foot in front of the other and wondered why there were so many more stairs tonight than normal. “A party for a part-Kashgar physics professor who somehow mistook my repeated rejections yesterday for flirting,” she muttered under her breath. “Unless I was flirting, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Yeah, I definitely need sleep.”

  Emily turned toward Nickie with a grin. “She’s totally going on a date.”

  “Hey, you might be too.”

  “Huh?”

  Nickie shrugged. “If this Nathan guy says, ‘Yeah, sure. Go for it and bring lots of friends’…are you gonna bring John?”

  “What, like a purse? Just sling him over my shoulder and bring him along with me?”

  “I mean…if that’s what works for you guys.” Nickie huffed out a soundless laugh.

  Emily snorted. “Maybe I’ll ask if he wants to come. I dunno. You gonna bring Chuck?”

  “Guess that depends on whether or not this is a magicals-only kinda party, right? Same goes for John too.”

  “Right.” Blinking slowly, Emily turned toward her sister and frowned. “I never actually thought about that. You having to hide all this witchy-sister stuff from Chuck. That just feels like part of the whole thing you got goin’ on.”

  “Trust me. It’s not.”

  “Yeah, I think I realized that like two seconds ago. I wonder how many magicals fall in love with humans and spend the rest of their lives trying to hide it.”

  Nickie clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. “Not something I wanna even start thinking about right now.”

  “It does seem kinda…sad.”

  “Come on, Em.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m done.” Emily headed toward the staircase and grabbed the banister. “I think I’m just gonna crash too. Work and stuff in the morning.”

  “Yeah, out of all of us, you got tossed around the most today.”

  “Ha. Not really. Just got caught up in an underground explosion and flayed my hands open with an iron-chain attached to a wrecking ball.” Emily tossed her head back with an exaggerated laugh. “Happens all the time.”

  Nickie chuckled. “‘Night, Em.”

  “‘Night. Oh, hey.” The youngest Hadstrom sister turned around on the staircase and leaned back a little. “What were you gonna say earlier about a big break with your music?”

  “Oh.” Nickie shook her head with a dismissive wave. “I’ll tell you later. Go get some sleep.”

  “Okay. But don’t forget.” Emily almost ran up the staircase, pulling herself along by the banister.

  Nickie sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Getting a record deal kinda feels like the least important thing going on right now. I’ll just tell ‘em when it actually happens.” She stepped into the living room and grabbed her acoustic off the couch before spinning and flopping onto the cushions. She played a few chords, making it up as she went along, when she realized she recognized the song and couldn’t remember how long she’d been playing their Dad’s lullaby. She bolted upright and almost threw the guitar across the room. “Crap. No.” Nickie shook her head. “What was I thinking?”

  For a few minutes, she waited for the Gorafrex’s primal drumbeat to burst into her head, seeing as she’d just played the song passed down through generations of Hadstrom witches and wizards and composed to call the creature. Yet, nothing happened, and Nickie relaxed a little. Can’t relax all the way, though. Obviously. If I had a better handle on how to play that magical lullaby without passing out, we’d probably have that thing locked up by now.

  She sighed and rubbed her face. “And I have no idea how to get a better handle on it.” Then she froze, dropped her hands, and blinked. “But Dad might.” Nickie whipped her phone out of the back pocket of her black skinny jeans and pulled up the text thread with her Dad.

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’

  He replied right away. ‘Jam sesh.’ Greg Hadstrom followed that wannabe-cool text with an emoji of a guitar and a smiley face with sunglasses. ‘You?’

  Nickie snorted. ‘L and E went to bed. Super fun Saturday night at home.’

  ‘What about Chuck?’

  ‘Dinner meeting, I think.’

  The three little dots in the bottom corner of her screen blinked on, off, and on again until they stayed there for a really long time. With a sigh, Nickie dropped her phone on the couch. “I can’t believe my dad has a better social life than I do.” Then his next text came through.

  ‘Wanna join us?’

  Nickie did not expect him to send a picture of him, Ken, and Ronnie—the keyboardist and saxophonist who’d played with her the night before—sitting on a porch, drinks in hand as they toasted the camera. “Oh, man.” Nickie laughed and typed in a reply.

  ‘You look like a bunch of crazies. Gibson or Strat?’

  ‘Both!’

  “Seriously? Why not, I guess…”

  ‘Send me the address.’

  Her dad’s reply came with an address, which she located on her nav app. “Of course. I bet Dad hasn’t left the East Side in six months. Except for Emily’s college graduation. And I’m about to walk right into it.” Nickie stood and shoved her phone into her pocket, then grabbed her Gibson acoustic from behind the couch and stuck it in its case. Next came her dark-blue Deluxe Strat off the guitar stand and into its case. She locked them both and stood with a handle in each hand. “Too early for bed, anyway.”

  Nickie stopped at the front door and sighed since she didn’t have enough hands to hold them and turn the handle. Right on cue, the black ring flashed on her thumb, and the door slowly opened. “Okay, I’m really startin’ to dig you, ring.” With a nod, she stepped outside into Austin’s balmy night air, and her legacy ring pulled the door softly shut behind her.

  In her bedroom, Emily fiddled with the thumbprint coin on her keyring, weighing the pros against the cons. “Kind of a no-brainer, really.” She glanced at Speed sleeping on the bed beside her. “Did you get up at all since you jumped into our first transport bubble?” Of course, the immortally lazy bulldog gave no reply. Rolling her eyes, she stared at her keyring. “So, if I did this, Laura would be totally surprised. In a good way, I think. And there’s no way Laura Hadstrom, lover of all magical artifacts, would give up the opportunity to add another to her collection. That thing was seriously powerful.”

  Speed snorted in his sleep and puffed out a doggy sigh.

  “You’re right. I should just do it, get it over wit
h, and she’ll thank me more than lecture me, right? Okay.” Emily stood and stuck her keys into her back pocket. “Just in case. Probably won’t even need it.”

  She closed her eyes and focused on the giant energy core beneath the Thinkery. “At least I know exactly where I’m going this time.” She shot Speed a devious grin, and before she could even mutter the spell, a shimmering transport bubble bloomed from her flashing copper ring and grew in the middle of her bedroom.

  21

  Nickie pulled up to the two-story house on the East Side just before 11:00 p.m. The lights were on, cars parked all up and down the street, and the steady thump of drums and bass with the occasional squeal of an electric guitar washed over all of it. She thumped her head back against the headrest and turned off the engine. “Here we go.”

  When she opened her trunk, she decided to just go with the Gibson for now. Don’t wanna overdo it. And I don’t even really know what they’re getting up to in there. Her guitar case felt light in her hand as she stepped up onto the sidewalk . Knocking on the front door—twice—didn’t bring anyone to answer it, but at least it was unlocked. Nickie pushed the door open and stepped into what was the weirdest and most nostalgically familiar party she could remember.

  “Oh, my God.” She glanced around and couldn’t help but laugh. The house was immaculate, well-decorated, pictures on the mantle in the living room too far away for her to see anyone’s faces. There weren’t any strobing lights or flashy effects like the few frat parties she’d gone to right out of high school before deciding they were not her thing.

  What surprised her most, people milled about everywhere. Both couches in the living room were packed with four people each, everyone with a clear plastic cup in hand as they passed around what had to be a joint. They talked and laughed, having a great time without the rowdiness of parties with younger guests.

  Nickie grinned as she stepped into the house. She lifted a hand when everyone in the living room waved and said hi. “I’m totally the youngest person here,” she muttered. “Feels like I’m ten again, except now I’m actually invited—” She almost bumped into a woman in a flowing shirt and gray pants exiting the bathroom. “Whoops. Sorry.”

  “All good, honey. All good.” The woman grinned, patted Nickie on the shoulder, and moved on.

  The kitchen was packed, and Nickie didn’t recognize a single face until she saw Ronnie’s wife at the kitchen island scooping a massive pile of seven-layer dip onto a clear plastic plate. “Hey, Margot.”

  The woman looked up and squealed. “Nickie! Girl, I am so glad you actually came! Come here.” She dropped the plate on the island and slipped through the other women standing with her, who all smiled as Margot wrapped Nickie in a tight hug. Nickie found it a little awkward trying to hug her back with her guitar case in hand.

  Margot pulled away and grabbed her shoulders. “I saw the show last night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Nickie laughed. “How was it?”

  “Between you and me? The band hasn’t changed a bit in fifteen years.” They both laughed. “But you? Mm! Girl, you’re even better than your daddy.”

  Nickie grinned. “I’ll take it.”

  “You better. And he knows it. He would not stop talking about you coming over. I had to bring my ass in off the back porch just so I could hear myself think again.”

  “This is your place?”

  “Mm-hmm. Been here for twenty-five years. You didn’t know that?”

  Nickie shook her head. “I haven’t been around as long as…most people here.”

  Margot threw let out a sharp laugh. “Now you’re just making me feel old. Come on. Let’s go. They’re all outside waitin’ for you to show ‘em how it’s done.” The woman nodded at the sliding glass door off the back of the kitchen. With a smile and a few nods and hellos to the other partygoers, Nickie followed Margot to the back porch.

  Tiki torches emanated light from around the perimeter of the back yard, plus some strings of lights decorated the top of the screened-in porch and wrapped around the framing posts. Two rocking chairs, a glider, two wicker armchairs, and an outdoor dining set took up half the space, and every seat but one armchair had someone sitting in it. The men burst out laughing at someone’s joke.

  “Look at you.” Margot tossed her hands in the air. “Crackin’ up out here, and not one of you thought to tell this woman whose house she was comin’ to?”

  The laughter died down as Ronnie, Ken, Nickie’s dad, and a lanky man in a cowboy hat turned their attention to the woman standing there with her hands on her hips. “Nickie!” Greg stood and flung his arms open to hug his daughter, nearly smacking Ken in the face. The keyboardist waved Greg’s hand away, chuckling, and Nickie stepped into the hug.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “You didn’t know this was Ronnie and Margot’s place?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bet you wouldn’t have guessed it, huh?” Ronnie grinned from one of the rocking chairs. “I’d be happy living in a shack, but Margot kept going on and on about high expectations. Whatever those are.”

  Margot clicked her tongue. “Please. You were living in a shack when I met you.” The men burst out laughing, shaking their heads. “Don’t act like you don’t appreciate those high expectations, either. Since you’re the one showin’ ‘em off tonight.”

  Ken let out a low whistle and raised his clear plastic cup to his lips, chuckling.

  Their hostess cocked her head at Nickie and raised an eyebrow. One long, burgundy-painted fingernail pointed at the men on the porch. “When you get tired of all these hotshots spoutin’ off about their glory days instead of livin’ in ‘em, come find me.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Nickie grinned.

  Margot shot her a wink before raising an eyebrow at her husband and his friends. “Y’all got the real deal standin’ in front of you now. Don’t forget.”

  “Boy, don’t we know it,” Ken said in his deep, drawling voice before taking another sip of his drink. Margot slipped back inside through the sliding glass doors, and Greg gave his daughter’s shoulder a squeeze.

  “Come sit down, Nickie.”

  “Yeah, take a load off.”

  She laughed and took the empty armchair as her dad returned to the rocking chair. The guitar case settled on the porch beside her, and she leaned back, lifting both arms onto the armrests. “So this is your jam session, huh?”

  They laughed and shifted around in their seats. “Well, that’s what it started out as.” Ronnie nodded at his saxophone case lying on the table runner on the patio table.

  “Man, you can’t say it started as anything if we didn’t actually play.”

  “At least I got my instrument farther than the front door.”

  Nickie chuckled. “But you live here.”

  Ronnie wheezed out a laugh and lifted his plastic cup toward her. “Touché. Hey, you drinkin’ anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Greg. Grab that bottle of bourbon and get your kid a drink.”

  Another round of chuckling filled the porch as Nickie’s dad leaned over the side of the rocking chair and picked up a bottle of bourbon. “You good with this?”

  Nickie smirked. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Of course she’s good with it,” Ronnie said. “Nickie can handle anything.”

  “Including showin’ up blues legend Greg Hadstrom, the way I hear it.” The man in the cowboy hat rocked on the glider and crossed one pointy-toed boot over his bony knee.

  “Nickie, did I ever introduce you to Bobby Rawlin?” Greg lifted the beer bottle toward his friend.

  “You just did.” Nickie nodded at the man in the cowboy hat. “Nice to meet you, Bobby.”

  “You too, darlin’.”

  “Maybe now your old man’ll quit tellin’ us everything we know about you.” Ronnie chuckled. “Guess that’s what we get for playin’ with two different legends in two different decades, huh?”

  “Oh, man.” Nickie grinned. “I’m not a legend.”

 
“But you will be, kid.”

  Greg glanced around at the patio floor and then at the table beside him. “Anybody got an extra cup around here?”

  “Ronnie, what’s in here?” Ken pointed to the mostly full cup on the low wicker side table between them.

  “Water.”

  Ken reached out with a grunt, grabbed the cup, and tossed the water through the screen into the yard.

  “My water, man.”

  “Naw, you got a bourbon in your hand, Ronnie. You don’t need water.”

  “Tell that to the heartburn.”

  “Yeah, just keep drinking. That’ll clear it right up.” With a smirk, Ken leaned forward and passed the plastic cup to Nickie’s dad, who was just sober enough to pour two fingers of bourbon into it without spilling any.

  “Here you go, my musical genius of a daughter.”

  Nickie took the cup and lifted it toward her dad. “If I drink this, will your compliments get any better?”

  Ronnie howled with laughter, slapping his knee. Ken smirked into his bourbon again, and Bobby kept rocking on the glider, his head bent low so only his smirk was visible beneath the wide brim of his hat.

  “You tell me, sweetheart.” Greg set the bottle of bourbon on the ground and lifted his cup toward her. “I’m glad you came out.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ken lifted his cup, followed by Ronnie and Bobby, and a grinning Nickie joined the toast.

  “To the new Queen of Blues,” Ronnie added. “Nickie, I hope you own that stage as long as we have.”

  Ken leaned away from him and shot the man a sideways glance. “Man, you don’t wanna go puttin’ that on anybody.” They all laughed again, ending the toast, and drank.

  The bourbon burned down Nickie’s throat, and she tilted her head. “I wouldn’t be where I am without the three of you.”

  “Sorry, Bobby.” Ken grinned at the man on the glider. “You just haven’t proven yourself worthy, yet.”

  Bobby kept rocking and shook his head. “Only ‘cause I ain’t overcompensatin’ like the rest of you.” The other men groaned and waved him off, and the smirk returned beneath the cowboy hat.