Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  “LETTERS IN AIR MAGIC SPELL,” Sebastian read again, then lifted an eyebrow, considering the possibilities. “Hmm, maybe he wants you to cast a spell to make the scrabble letters float in the air? But what good would that do you, Kip? Are you going to run around with a flock of scrabble letters following you everywhere?” He couldn’t help himself this time and let out a snort at the mental image.

  With a growl, Sir Kipling shook his head, an unnatural and awkward movement for a cat. When neither Sebastian nor his aunt voiced any other ideas, the feline set to rearranging the letters again. This time, he left a large space between the first word and the rest.

  “SPELL MAGIC LETTERS IN AIR.” Fighting back the distracting buzz of impatience, Sebastian considered the scrabble pieces, then looked at Madam Barrington. “Any ideas?”

  For a moment she looked as confused as he felt, but then her face cleared and she smiled at their furred companion. “Indeed I do. Our estimable Sir Kipling is requesting a spell that can conjure magical letters to float in the air, which he can then rearrange. Is that correct, my friend?”

  Sir Kipling meowed in a self-satisfied sort of way and started purring.

  “Well if that’s not a resounding yes, I don’t know what is,” Sebastian said. “But, Kip, it’ll only work if you’re around Aunt B or Mrs. Singer, since I’m obviously not a wizard, even if I do have a well-preserved face.”

  The cat went back to his letters and spelled out a new sentence.

  “PUT ON COLLAR,” Sebastian read for his aunt. “Can you do that?” he asked her, eyeing Sir Kipling’s collar.

  “I could. It is not a particularly difficult thing, to imbed a spell into a physical anchor. But that does not solve our problem. As you have adroitly pointed out, only wizards can activate such a spell, and Sir Kipling is not a wizard.”

  “But my ring has a manual activation,” Sebastian pointed out, holding up his hand, “and so did that lugal-thingamajig. Couldn’t you just put a button on his collar for me to press or something to make the letters appear?”

  “That is possible, in theory. But it would be a much more complicated construction that would take time and careful testing to create—time that we do not have.”

  Sir Kipling’s meow drew their attention back to him. He had hastily arranged another sentence.

  “PUT SPELL I DO REST,” Sebastian read aloud, then scratched his head. “Huh. You mean you can do magic like a wizard, Kip?”

  The cat just stared at him, his whiskered face as enigmatic as a sphinx.

  “Can he do that?” Sebastian asked, looking to his aunt.

  The old woman raised an eyebrow, her gaze on Sir Kipling. “I believe only the Creator himself could say what, exactly, our extraordinary companion can or cannot do, so I will not waste our precious time hypothesizing. If he says he can do it, we must trust his instincts. Otherwise, what is the point of asking?”

  Sebastian crossed his arms, anxious to be going but also curious. He had never heard his aunt speak of “the Creator” before—whatever wizard euphemism that was supposed to be. But just because he’d always resented being excluded from her world of magic didn’t mean he wouldn’t relish learning more, given the chance. He’d try anything if it helped them rescue Lily.

  “Unfortunately,” his aunt went on, “such an irregular spell will still take a bit of time to prepare. The individual elements are familiar to me, but I must consider how best to combine them so the magical parameters are properly warded from cross-contamination while remaining functionally integrated, not to mention recalibrating the reaction specifications to identify non-hominid kinesics.”

  Sebastian’s eyes glazed over at his aunt’s technical mumbo jumbo, but he shook himself and forged onward. “Right, okay, so how long will it take? An hour?”

  “Goodness no, nephew. Days, at best. A week if we allow for proper safety testing—which we need, but may have to do without.”

  “I don’t think we have a week,” Sebastian said, expression turning grim. “If we wait that long Lily could be—could be—” He stopped, taking a breath to calm his racing heart. He just couldn’t say it. “We don’t have that kind of time,” he summarized. “The sooner you can get that spell ready, the better. That cat is our wild card. He may be the only advantage we have over John Faust—if we don’t even know half of what Sir Kipling is capable of, then Mr. Fancypants won’t have a clue what’s coming for him.”

  His aunt nodded, the weary cast of her face replaced by hard determination. “I will see it done. Now, before you depart, I need to give you something. Will you bring me my bag? It is over there.”

  Following the line of his aunt’s pointing finger, Sebastian retrieved a large black purse from her dresser and brought it to her. She rooted around in it before coming up with two round, silver objects, each a little smaller than his palm. They had minimal decorations, only a ring of stylized flowers and leaves around the edge, and there was a space in the middle where curly initials were engraved. One said “ELB” and the other “DGB.” His aunt took the second one and pried it open with a fingernail. Examining it, he realized it looked like the doodad Lily always used to touch up her makeup. This one, however, appeared much older and had no powder in it, just a mirror on top and a circle of dimmu runes engraved into the bottom beneath a little grate where the makeup was supposed to go.

  “These are pocket conveyance mirrors—or portholes, as wizards used to call them. Few wizards use them anymore, not since the mundanes invented cell phones. But they do have their benefits. Lily has often complained to me how difficult you are to reach via phone.” Sebastian tried not to look guilty, but then he caught a twinkle in his aunt’s eye, and relaxed. “Since I believe you lost your cell phone courtesy of Mr. Darthe, and I avoid the confusing little contraptions as much as possible, these portholes will do nicely. They used to belong to myself and my sister, Day. It is how we kept in touch over the years without our father knowing, since he forbade the family from contacting me after he summarily cast me out.”

  That odd feeling of upside-downness returned as Sebastian tried to imagine his aunt—the Madam Barrington, epitome of propriety and class—as the black sheep of her family. He couldn’t manage it, and shook his head to clear it before reaching out to take the mirror his aunt offered him.

  “Thanks, but how does it work?” Sebastian asked, hoping it was quick and easy so he could get going. “Is there a switch or something to turn it on? Or is it on all the time like that photograph you smuggled me when I was in prison?”

  Madam Barrington smiled a little, perhaps remembering that particular misadventure of his. “Almost. My sister was an initiate, so these were designed specifically to work for one not gifted with command of the Source. The one you have was hers. You simply need open it and say my full name, Ethel Lucy Barrington, and the phrase sorores ad aeternum.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sebastian said. “Isn’t that Latin? Since when do wizards use Latin?”

  “They do not. Which is why we decided it would be a perfect password for our little portholes. No self-respecting wizard would deign to use Latin as a key phrase, and you can be sure my father had an overly healthy respect for himself. But precocious young girls engaging in advanced and strictly off-limits magic have little mind for convention. Besides, my sister and I thought it quite romantic.”

  Sebastian’s eyes grew wider and wider as his aunt spoke until they were as big as dinner plates. At her last sentence his jaw dropped and he stared at her open-mouthed. She just gave him a mischievous little smile.

  “You did forbidden magic? You? B-but what about all that rule-following nonsense you went on and on about when I was a kid?”

  The mischievous twinkle vanished and sternness returned to Madam Barrington’s face. “Rules exist for a purpose, and we break them at our own peril, as you yourself have learned most painfully. I have ignored my fair share of rules, and suffered their consequences. You must forgive me if some of those consequences were so painful that,
in my desire to spare others the same grief, I became quite inflexible.”

  Not having a reply, Sebastian simply nodded. After a moment of contemplative silence, he ventured a question. “So what does it mean? The key phrase?”

  “Sisters unto eternity,” his aunt replied, each word leaving her lips reluctantly, yet softly—as if they were precious things she was desperate to hold onto. The sadness in her eyes made Sebastian look down at the silver mirror resting in his palm, and he had to work hard to keep his thoughts from turning to his mother, and how much he missed her, even after all this time.

  “Um, okay. So say the password and then you’ll just appear?” he asked once he had swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “In a manner of speaking. The porthole will grow warm when it is being activated, so it is best to wear it somewhere close to the skin. It conveys both sight and sound, unaltered. Therefore if you are in the dark, I will not be able to see you, and if you shout, it will be as loud as if you were in the room beside me.”

  “Right, so no shouting.” With that, he slipped it into one of his back pockets, since his front pockets were occupied by his truth coin on one side and Lily’s broken charm bracelet on the other. The reminder of it made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, and he opened his mouth to bid his aunt goodbye.

  “There is one more matter I must quickly address,” his aunt said. “The family ring which your great-grandfather gave you, I would ask that you leave it with me for the time being.”

  Sebastian looked down at the signet ring on his finger. It was plain except for the symbol engraved on its flat top: a four-legged creature of some kind flanked by two leaves—or perhaps they were feathers? He glanced back up at his aunt, confused. “What do you need it for? I know I can’t really ‘use’ it the way a wizard could, but it still has some passive stuff that protects me, right?”

  “Indeed it does, and there is more which it could do, were I allowed some time to examine and modify it. George reminded me of this recently, and you need every protection I can offer, so please let me do this for you, nephew.” She held out a gaunt hand, and after a moment, Sebastian tugged off the ring and dropped it into her palm.

  “Better be quick, then, or there may not be much left of me to protect,” he said, mood turning dark as he thought of his broken oath to Thiriel.

  “Do not speak such things, Sebastian. Though we may not always understand our trials, that does not mean they are without purpose. Despair poisons the soul just as surely as the most potent venom poisons the body. Do not give it the chance—for Lily’s sake, if for no other reason.”

  Sebastian took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He remembered times past when his aunt had offered her cryptic bits of wisdom. For whatever reason—whether because he was older and wiser, or perhaps just more used to her strange ways—this offering actually made some sense to him. He tried to let it soak in, so he wouldn’t forget.

  “Go, now, Sebastian. And may the heavens watch over your endeavors.”

  Sebastian gave his aunt a solemn nod, then turned to Sir Kipling. “You coming?”

  The feline gave him an unfathomable look then jumped off the bed and trotted to the door, pausing only to meow back at him as if to say, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  With a snort, Sebastian grabbed his jacket and strode from the room, mind already turning over his next task. He needed to call his phone company and get his number sent to the prepaid burner phone he’d grabbed from his apartment. He kept some around for the inevitable times when his main phone went on the fritz. It was annoying to keep forwarding his number to different disposable phones, but it was the only way around his little “causes mundane technology to randomly break” problem. It was fortunate that the simpler the tech, the more reliable it seemed around him, which was why he tried not to drive any vehicle made in the last twenty years, what with the amount of computerized tech in cars these days. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when that brand new Camaro he’d rented for his date with Lily had still been running smoothly when he’d returned it.

  In theory, all that was behind him now, with his fae powers gone. But he’d spent enough time dealing with the fae to know that the drawbacks of their magic usually stuck around a lot longer than the benefits.

  He’d shrugged on his jacket and was almost to the front door when a call stopped him.

  “You’re leaving so soon? What did Ethel say? Where are you going next?”

  Sebastian hesitated, itching to get out the door, but then turned back to face Mrs. Singer. “I’m tracking down more leads. Don’t worry, Mrs. Singer, we’ll find Lily.”

  “I know,” she said, coming down the hall and stopping in front of him. “It’s just...I feel so helpless. My daughter is in danger, and I want to be out there looking, or wringing someone’s neck, or something. If anything happens to her...” Her tortured expression sent a wave of pity through Sebastian, and he stepped toward her to give one of her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

  “I know it’s hard. But the only reason I can go out there and find Lily is because I know you’re here keeping everyone safe. Speaking of everyone, where’s Freddie?” Sebastian asked, remembering the empty room upstairs.

  Mrs. Singer sighed. “He left early this morning before I got home with Ethel. Jamie said he just called a taxi and took off. I suppose he never really believed he was safer here with his aunt.”

  “For once, I think he might be right. Freddie probably isn’t a target anymore now that Roger’s got what he wanted, and Richard too,” he finished, expression turning dark as he imagined Lily in that traitor’s clutches. With the whole situation they were in, he barely had any emotions left to feel betrayed by his brother’s disappearance. It was exactly what he’d come to expect, and he told himself it was better this way: better to have Freddie far away from all of them where he wouldn’t get hurt. “Look, I have to go—”

  “Where are you going?”

  Sebastian hesitated, unsure how much he should say. “I’m, uh, going to downtown Atlanta to meet with someone.”

  The woman gave him a steely-eyed look, the kind only a mother of strong-willed children could give, and for a moment Sebastian was reminded of his own mother. For all his mom’s gentle nature, she could stare down a ten-foot-tall grizzly if the creature refused to eat his vegetables or tried to stay up past his bedtime.

  “Okay, okay, fine. I’m going to see your uncle, Anton Silvester.”

  “Uncle Anton? Goodness, I haven’t thought about him for years! He might know something, certainly, but will he talk to you? You’re not family, and the paranoid old grump is as slippery as a fish.” Cautious hope had rekindled in Mrs. Singer’s eyes, and she chewed her lip as she eyed Sebastian. “Look, maybe I should go with you. He might listen to me, even after all these years.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “You can’t, Mrs. Singer, remember? Who would look after Aunt B and Jamie? I know Roger is probably gone, but we can’t be absolutely sure. Besides, if John Faust is behind Lily’s kidnapping then he might want you, too, or even Jamie. What if someone attacks the house? You have to stay,” he finished, trying to keep his words gentle.

  A fierce struggle played out on Mrs. Singer’s tanned face, the lines of both hardship and laughter around her mouth and eyes growing deeper with each passing moment. Finally, she let out a breath and spoke, her voice low and intense. “I know. I will. And I’ll talk to Ethel about what we can do in the meantime to help out on our end. But you listen to me, Sebastian Blackwell. The moment you find out where my daughter is, you will call me and tell me, and I will be coming to help rescue her. She is my daughter. I gave birth to her. I raised her. I’ve spent my entire life protecting her, hoping I was showing her how to be a kind and strong woman who could one day protect herself. But we all need help sometimes, and woe betide any person—wizard, witch, or mundane—who tries to come between me and my daughter. Do you understand me?”

  Sebastian gulped at the fierce look in the
woman’s eyes, and hoped he never had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of her threats. “Yes, ma’am, I believe I do.”

  “Good. Now promise me.”

  “I—” He hesitated again, unable to get the words past his lips. Were his promises even worth anything anymore? Or would he keep breaking them whenever he thought the circumstances justified it? But this was Lily’s mother. If anyone deserved to be kept in the loop, it was her.

  Taking a deep breath, Sebastian looked into Mrs. Singer’s eyes and gave his words careful thought, making sure he was willing to follow through no matter the price.

  “I promise.”

  She visibly relaxed and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. Then, without warning, she flung her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. “Oh, Sebastian, please bring my Lily back safe,” she whispered into his shirt, her voice catching on a sob.

  Stunned and not sure what to do, Sebastian patted her on the back. “I will, Mrs. Singer, I will.” He prized her gently away, then looked her straight in the eye and added a bit of steel to his voice. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will bring her back.”

  “I—I know you will,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Now get going. We don’t have any time to waste. If Anton gives you trouble, tell him his little Frito said he’d better give you whatever help you need—actually, wait here a moment.”

  With that, she dashed off down the hall. A few moments later she returned with her purse, which she dug furiously through. Finally, her hand emerged with something small and silver in it. “Here. If he gets all stubborn, give him this. Tell him that I knew he’d help then, and I know he’ll help us now.”

  “Uh, okay,” Sebastian said, taking the small object from her. He examined it and realized it was a silver cufflink, dull and scratched as if it had spent many years being banged about in Mrs. Singer’s purse. Shrugging, he stuck it in his pocket with his truth coin, not trusting something that small in one of his jacket pockets where it might fall out. “I’d better get going. Be careful, stay sharp, and let me know if anything happens.”