by Ward Parker
“Has Frank stolen any gnomes recently?”
“No. The group isn’t active now. I wear this button just for the fun of it.”
Missy thanked her and stuck around for a while, waving at passing cars along with the protesters to make the woman she had questioned feel comfortable.
Later, on her way home, she called Matt.
“I have to speak with Frank as soon as possible. Can you set up a fake interview with him?”
“Sure. Guys like that love to talk to the press. Are you suspecting him for the werewolf murders?”
“No. For something even more disturbing.”
It took longer than expected for Frank to bond out from jail, so the meeting at the beachfront bar was three days later. Missy chose that location because she wanted a noisy, distracting environment. She and Matt sat at a corner table with a view of the ocean. They each sipped beers. The idea was to make Frank as relaxed as possible.
“What if he’s not alone?” Matt asked. “Sometimes the heads of organizations have minders with them to make sure they don’t say anything stupid.”
“This is not that kind of organization,” Missy said. “But if someone else comes, I’ll need to enchant both of them.”
She knew that her plan to use a spell made Matt nervous.
“Don’t worry, this is a very minor spell, and it wears off quickly.”
Frank arrived, a little disheveled, and searched the crowded bar. Missy and Matt waved at him.
“Hi, Mr. Fitzwhizzle. Good to see you again. This is my colleague Missy Mindle. Thanks for agreeing to the interview.”
“My pleasure,” Frank said, shaking their hands. “We need any publicity we can get.”
After they sat down, and Frank ordered a water, Matt began with a bunch of softball questions. This allowed Frank to spout off with his talking points and feel at ease. About twenty minutes in, Matt’s eyes were drooping, and Missy was seriously bored.
It was time for the spell.
It was a simple truth spell. Missy had learned it early in her witchcraft education. After her divorce, and her husband’s subsequent death, she dipped her toe in the dating pool. She found she needed a way to weed out the guys who were interested in only one thing. And the truth spell made them feel compelled to blurt out their genuine feelings. The spell didn’t alter their consciousness or force them to do anything. It simply empowered a person’s natural urge to unburden oneself of lies and secrets. It made telling the truth feel good.
Frank looked at Matt and rattled off his manifesto of righteousness. Missy recited the words, a short verse in the Middle English of Chaucer’s era. Then, out of everyone’s view, she opened a small pouch filled with a mixture of herbs, flowers, and essential oils. She sprinkled the mixture under the table upon the floor, tossing some upon Frank’s shoes.
Finally, she sent a burst of energy onto the floor to activate the spell.
“Mr. Fitzwhizzle, Do you have anything to do with the uprising of garden gnomes in this area?” she asked in a tone of authority.
He looked at her. “Yes. I do.”
Matt’s mouth dropped open with surprise.
“Why are you doing it?” Missy asked.
“I believe in real gnomes. And I believe that garden gnomes contain some of the magic of real gnomes. I think they’re treated horribly, by classless people who buy them as a joke or because of some tacky sentimentality. I believe the gnomes are mistreated by being used to decorate yards and gardens, by being forced to endure extreme weather, by being urinated upon by dogs, and chopped by weed trimmers. For years I have liberated them and set them free in the wilderness. But now there is so little wilderness left in Florida. And my lawyer says I can’t afford any more arrests for petty theft. So I went big. Really big.” He smiled.
“Did you summon the demon that possesses them?”
“No, I hired someone to do that.”
“You what?” Missy asked.
“There’s a sorceress in Central Florida who does black magic for a price. It’s just like hiring a lawyer, only cheaper and more satisfying.”
Missy’s mind was reeling.
“How did you find her?”
“You know those books of coupons you get in the mail? She had one for forty percent off.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I know it sounds hard to believe, but she really gave me forty percent off.”
“No, I mean about the coupon. What kind of magic practitioner would do that?”
“The evil kind. The kind about to have their home foreclosed.”
Missy sighed with exasperation. “And what is her name?”
“Ruth Bent.” It was the same name that Jack the ogre reported. Her mother, whose real name was Ophelia Lawthorne, was using an alias.
“One more thing. Was it your intention that the gnome owners would be killed?”
“No. Honestly. That’s the gnomes’ doing. I didn’t even know there were deaths until I saw reports of mysterious accidents in the news. I only wanted the gnomes to run away and go somewhere safe. But deadly vengeance is what they want. And it can’t help that they’re animated by a demon.”
“No, that doesn’t help. That was a terrible idea to involve a demon.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I just hired the sorceress. I didn’t tell her how to do her job.”
“You could have told her to make sure no one died,” Missy said.
A look of resistance passed over Frank’s face like a cloud obscuring the sun. The spell was wearing off. Missy whispered the words that deactivated it.
“I think I said too much,” Frank murmured.
“You were very helpful,” Missy said.
“This stuff about the demon and the gnomes—I hope that’s not going in the article,” he said to Matt.
“Trust me. It won’t.”
“Well,” Frank said. “This has become a little awkward. I think I should be going.” He stood up. “You’re still doing the article, right?”
Matt gave him a thumbs up.
Frank walked a few feet, then stopped and turned back to them.
“Can I get in trouble for this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Missy replied.
Frank looked worried, but gave a friendly wave goodbye.
“This is nuts,” Matt said. “Every time I help you out, craziness ensues.”
“Welcome to my world. But seriously, I need to stop my mother right away. I’m getting no replies to my calls or texts from the guy who tracked her down and I’m worried about him. I’m worried about us all, actually. Can you come with me?”
“You mean to battle a sorceress?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I have any vacation days left.” Matt’s eyes widened after Missy glared at him. “But I’m sure I can find a way to take a little time off to go with you.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to stop this woman. This mother I never knew.”
“I see. You don’t sound very encouraging.”
“What should we do about Frank?” Missy asked.
“We can’t exactly report him to the police for this. But he does need to face justice of some kind.”
23
Mommy Dearest
Missy felt magic in the air as she and Matt drove down the dirt road. No, it wasn’t magic between the two of them. She had an extrasensory perception for magic and similar energies, especially when it involved the earth and sea energies she used for the magick she practiced. But this was black magic. She could feel it, not as pure energy, but as if it were radiation. It was dirty, malevolent, dangerous.
And it came from her own mother. What a comforting thought.
“I know I promised you I would stop asking,” Matt said, “but have you figured out a plan yet? The GPS says we’re arriving.”
“I told you not to ask me because I don’t have a plan.”
“Okay. Good to know.”
“Look, I don’t want this to be a titanic battle like you�
��d see in a movie. I’ve never fought true black magic before, so I don’t even know what tactics to use. I’m going to handle this like a normal human would when she’s meeting her mother for the first time. The mother she never knew she had until recently. The mother who gave her up as an infant. That’s how I’m going to handle it.”
“I see. Like a titanic battle.”
“Shut up.”
“Just so you know,” Matt said, “I brought a gun. It’s in my bag.”
Missy glanced at him. He didn’t appear to be joking.
“You? A gun?”
“Yeah. My experience with the Boogaloo Brigade got me thinking I should have one.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“No.”
“Well, in case my mother and I get along, please don’t shoot her.”
“Duly noted.”
The dirt road ended at the edge of thick, tangled woods. On their left was a dirt driveway that twisted through the trees, the setting sun giving them a fiery glow. The black mailbox had the address, “666,” painted on its sides.
“That’s really the address?”
Missy turned into the driveway. Right after it curved, she stopped.
A white van was parked on the side. It was Jack’s van.
“You know, I think we should park somewhere else,” Missy said, backing the car out of the driveway. “Maybe up the road a bit. I don’t like being in a dead end like this.”
She reversed onto the dirt road and drove back the way they had come.
“A little walk won’t hurt us,” she said.
“Was that the enforcer’s van?” Matt asked.
“Yep. She must be holding him captive.”
“Or maybe they hit it off.”
Missy gave him a dirty look.
When she returned her eyes to the road, she slammed on the brakes.
Because the road was gone. Dense woods with vines and thorns blocked their way. Her scalp prickled with fear.
She looked in her rearview mirror. The scene was the same as before: the dirt road ending at the dense forest like the one that blocked them now.
“What happened to the road?” Matt asked. “It’s still here on the GPS map.”
“Magic. Black magic.”
“Is it just an optical illusion?”
She inched the car forward. The grill kissed the trunk of a scrub oak tree. The tree wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was the car.
“Not an illusion or apparition,” Missy said. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her. You stay out here as backup.”
“As a backup daughter?”
“As someone who comes running with his gun if I yell for help.”
“Uh-oh. I’m hardly the cavalry.”
“You’re all I’ve got.” Missy handed him the keys and got out of the car. “I’ll text you within an hour. If I don’t, call the cops.”
She left him there in the car and walked the short distance down the dirt and gravel road to the driveway. Now was the time to use a little magick, a basic protection spell that would enclose her in an invisible bubble that shielded her from projectiles and physical attack. It even worked against bullets, the one time she had to try that. Most non-corporeal entities couldn’t penetrate it either, but she didn’t know if it would protect her from everything, such as black magic. She would just have to find out the hard way. Holding her power charm in her pocket with her left hand, she drew forth the natural energies in the air and earth around her.
She stopped walking. It had never been this difficult before to reach these energies. It was as if she had been weakened. She did the best she could, adding the energies to those that had been born inside her, and recited the brief spell. The formation and closing off of the surrounding bubble gave her some relief.
The protection spell was the only magick she allowed herself for now. It would be foolhardy to unleash blindly a bunch of spells against her mother and the house. She had no idea what the situation was inside. But she did know her mother was likely much more powerful than she was. She had to handle this carefully and improvise along the way.
As she walked along the sandy, rutted driveway, almost tripping on a protruding root, the radioactive feeling of the black magic was nauseating. Her bones ached with it. Sweat trickled down the small of her back. Gray Spanish moss hung from the branches of the twisty oak limbs like the beards of dead men. No birds sang or insects buzzed. It was silent except for the beating of her heart. The protection spell’s sense of security wasn’t enough to ward off her growing fear.
Jack’s van was unlocked. She opened the driver’s door. The keys were still in the ignition, but no one was inside. Her gnome, that Jack had borrowed, wasn’t visible. Hopefully, it had liberated itself and ran off to live in the forest with dignity and freedom.
The driveway wound through the shadowy woods as the daylight faded. She kept expecting to come across human bones scattered about like in a fairy tale about a witch. Instead, she saw crushed beer cans and used tires like a true-life tale about a redneck.
Was her real mom a redneck? Her father certainly hadn’t been, from the little she had learned about him. He had been a well-respected and powerful witch until he was murdered, she’d been told, by a demon.
The driveway twisted left and now she saw the house. It was small and made of red brick with a metal roof. Pine needles covered the roof from the trees that surrounded the house. A rusty old Chevrolet Impala, its red paint faded by the sun, sat in the carport that extended from the side of a one-car garage. The car was surrounded by stacks and stacks of mildewed cardboard boxes, softened by years of humidity and threatening to fall apart and spill their contents.
Missy briefly wondered what was in those boxes. She decided she didn’t want to know.
There wasn’t much landscaping to speak of. Some scraggly shrubs were planted beneath the windows in the front of the house. The yard had been recently mowed, with chopped-up pinecones scattered about. The home had the feel of neglect. Oh, and of evil, too. Mustn’t forget about that.
She hesitated and rang the doorbell. Actually, she just pushed the button, and no sound came from inside. So she knocked. And knocked. Waited politely and knocked again.
The door finally opened, and the loud audio of a TV spilled out. A woman about Missy’s height stood there with short hair dyed raven black. She looked vaguely like Missy, with the same high cheekbones and impish nose but with the wrinkles of someone in her seventies. Her eyes were icy steel gray. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth.
“Ah, Elizabeth, took you long enough to get here,” said the woman named Ophelia Lawthorne, maiden name Ophelia Finch, who apparently now called herself Ruth Bent. Elizabeth was Missy’s name at birth before her adoptive parents called her Missy.
The woman turned away from the door, saying, “Wheel of Fortune is on,” as she walked away into the house. Missy didn’t know what to do, so she followed her into the smoke-filled living room. Ophelia sat on a wing chair very close to an old television. A small table held a can of beer and an overflowing ashtray.
“There’s beer and soda in the fridge,” her mother said without taking her eyes off the screen. “Buy a freaking vowel!” she yelled at the contestant.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Missy heard a metallic clang coming from behind the house.
“Actually, I’ll grab a soda,” Missy said and went into the adjacent kitchen. It hadn’t been updated since the seventies, with dark paneling and Formica counters. The window over the sink had a view of the backyard. The door of a metal shed opened, and Jack emerged holding a rake. He was shirtless, with lots of chest hair and two nipple rings. He also had bony ridges on the top of his shoulders as ogres do. He began raking the lawn despite the impending darkness.
Missy stood in the doorway to the living room and asked, “Why is Jack doing yard work?”
“Shhh! It’s the final round.”
Missy watched the woman, who was allegedly her birth
mother, fixate on the television while chain smoking. Despite the vague similarity in appearance, how could this woman be her mother?
Finally, when there was a commercial break, Ophelia looked up at Missy.
“I’ve enslaved the ogre with a spell. This place has really gone to crap lately, so I’m having him do some work for me.”
“Is he okay?”
“I’m sure he’s not happy about it. But I feed him from time to time.”
Missy had feared a cataclysmic battle when she faced her mother for the first time. This was pretty underwhelming.
“So, I’m here about the gnome possessions. Why are you doing this?”
“I was hired to do it. I’m an independent contractor.” She pointed her cigarette at Missy. “It’s how I make a living. Hiring me is no different from hiring a lobbyist to make things happen for you in Washington. In my case, I use black magic. It’s what I do. I’m not a nurse like you.”
“How much do you know about me?”
“I’ve kept an eye on you over the years.”
“Why did you pick my gnome to begin this whole thing?”
“I thought it was sweet to reach out to you.”
“Reach out? You didn’t contact me. You summoned a demon and made it possess my gnome, which is killing my neighbors.”
“It didn’t kill you. See? I’m looking out for you.”
“That’s not the case anymore,” Missy said. “The gnomes are coming after me now. It’s time to call your demon off.”
“I can’t. My contract was to liberate all the gnomes in Jellyfish Beach. My cheapskate client couldn’t afford a larger geographic area.”
“They’re not being liberated. They’re rising up and killing their owners.”
“That’s not my problem,” her mother said, turning her attention back to the TV.
“You summoned this specific demon. Why?”
“Because she’s the mother of the devil. Mother. Get it?”
“Okay, I see from whom I inherited my taste for the ironic. The problem, though, is that the demon is influencing the gnomes to be evil.”
“Well, what a surprise.”
Missy walked over and got in her mother’s face.
