Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2)

by Melinda Kucsera

  She looked down at her hamsters, then back at me with a smile. “I’ll give it a try, but maybe I need a braveness stone. Will you be open tomorrow, if I can’t do it?”

  “If you can’t do it, find me and I’ll get you something, whether I’m open or not.”

  With a nod, she took off, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I should take my own advice about braveness. I took a deep breath, straightening my shoulders and standing tall like Roman had done when he faced his father. “We’d be happy to have your help,” I said with a big smile, waving Brittany down from the top of her stairs.

  I didn’t miss the look she gave me, but she joined the crowd on the sidewalk, muttering to me, “It’s good for the church.”

  Of course it was. When I turned away to let her jump into helping the next customer, I spun around to an older, gray-haired man I recognized as one of the citizens who turned their backs to me at the charity ball.

  “Did I hear right?” he asked. “Ettie’s is still closed?”

  I nodded. “Closed until the health inspector returns.”

  He smiled. “Well, I can wait with my trouble. It’s awfully nice of you to find homes for all these little guys. I imagine exterminating them would have been a lot easier.”

  “It would have, but I’ve never been the kind of witch to take the easy way out.”

  “I’m starting to notice that about you…and so is this town, I think. Keep being strong. We’ll all come around.”

  “I hope so,” I said, taking a quick glance over my shoulder at Brittany. “Did you want a hamster?”

  He laughed. “Nah, I already have a few at home. Got them from Natalia.”

  “Natalia Young? The reporter…err…ex-reporter?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, she had one she didn’t want. A big fat bugger with long hair.”

  My hands fisted. How many hamsters did Natalia have? Was it her who had had my store shut down? I forced myself to unclench my hands. His description of his hamster didn’t seem to match any of mine. Maybe it was just a coincidence and Natalia wasn’t behind the hamster epidemic, but I knew I’d be calling Officer Gates with this new information as soon as I adopted out the rest of the critters.

  Joe, Roman, and I finished out the day, adopting most of the hamsters out. Brittany had disappeared after a few of our busiest hours, but I was grateful we had had her extra hands. There were a dozen or so hamsters left, but I was certain they’d go tomorrow.

  “Thanks for your help, Dad.” Roman patted his father on the shoulder.

  “It was the least I could do after all the confusion,” Joe said.

  “Yeah, lots of assumptions.” Roman ran a hand through his dark hair. “We have to stop doing that.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe we should stop jumping to conclusions, but there’s still a big mystery to solve. Someone is obviously out to shut Ettie’s down, and if it wasn’t you, Joe, who called in all these hamsters? How’d they get into Ettie’s walls?”

  “That’s a problem to solve another day,” Joe said, taking an empty cage and carrying it through Ettie’s front door. “Right now, Penelope is waiting for me, and I want to make sure our relationship works out.”

  When we gave him a go-ahead nod, he snapped his fingers and disappeared into a fine shimmer.

  “So, it’s just you and me,” I said to Roman.

  “Alone, huh? At least we will be alone when we get home tonight.” A sly smile curled his lips and showed off his dimples. “What do you want to do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I looked away, trying hard to be nonchalant. “I haven’t watched an action-flick in a long time.”

  “Is that all you want to do?” Roman ran a finger up my arm, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “No,” I teased. “Maybe we could play with Alvin, Simon, and Theodore, too.”

  Roman groaned, dropping his hand. “Just my luck. I trade my father for three new males in your life.”

  “Three new females, too,” I corrected. “I kept Brittany, Jeannette, and Eleanor.”

  He laughed. “I’m surprised you named one Brittany…after the neighbor.” He pointed to the Church of the Saved next door.

  “Well, if there’s one thing I learned these past few days, it’s that holding a grudge is not worth it. Your father has been prejudiced about witch-mortal interactions his whole life, and I forgave him. Why should my treatment of Brittany be any different?”

  “Because she might be sabotaging your store.”

  “Or she might not. I’m happy she came to help today.”

  “You forced her hand.”

  “Sometimes, we all need a bit of a push. Also, we don’t have concrete evidence on anything yet, but we still need to be on our toes. I don’t think this is over.”

  Roman bopped my nose with his index finger. “Not over yet, but I looked back at my life before I met you, and I realized how boring it had been. It’s amazing how I didn’t even know what I was missing until I got it.”

  I smiled. “Like alone time?”

  He nodded, taking my hand in his, and, with his new-found magical strength, shimmered us back to our house for our much-needed husband-and-wife bonding.

  “The Mail-Order Witch” series is not over yet. Help Ettie and Roman solve the mystery of who is sabotaging their enchanted objects shop in the exciting conclusion to this series, titled “The Mail-Order Witch, Episode 3,” available exclusively in Forgotten Magic.

  About the Author

  Joynell Schultz manages the family zoo (literally!) and writes paranormal fantasy, mystery, and science fiction in her (nearly non-existent) free time. She's a pharmacist by training (boring!) but prefers to hang out with zebras and bears or some imaginary characters. Oh, and she (finally!) hit the USA Today Bestsellers list.

  Grab the FREE pilot episode to The Mail-Order Witch (showcasing how Ettie & Roman met) or learn more about the author’s other books on her webpage:

  http://www.joynellschultz.com

  Don't forget to grab your copy of next anthology, Forgotten Magic!

  The Rebellion

  Gwendolyn Woodschild

  Brandur’s life took an unexpected turn when he woke up dead. In “The Rebellion” the retired Viking who had once defined himself as a husband, warrior, and fisherman found himself needing to define who he is and what he stands for as a ghost. To make matters worse, he is under the sway of the power-hungry, insatiably curious, and fickle old man who killed Brandur. Never one to take confinement well, Brandur is driven to revenge, but first must figure out the new rules of his new wayward existence.

  What do you do when you finally reach your breaking point? How far are you willing to go to rebel against your circumstances? What are the consequences of finally getting a taste of revenge against the one who put you in your situation? Those questions inspired “The Rebellion,” where the Viking Brandur finds himself facing those and more as he tries to get his afterlife back on track.

  Gwendolyn Woodschild

  Brandur finds himself not only dead, but under the power of the man who killed him. Anger and defiance don’t earn Brandur the information he needs or the freedom he craves, so he must steel himself to do what is necessary to get his revenge if he can’t achieve his freedom.

  “Where is my wife?!”

  “Your who?” the old man me giggled.

  “My wife! This is my home that you have invaded,” I accused the stranger. “Where is my wife, Torhild? How are you in my home without the whole village in an uproar? And what do you mean that I’m your ‘ghost’ now? What is a ghost?”

  So much had changed in such a short amount of time. I needed answers, and I was determined to drag the information out of this crazy old man with the messy, frazzled salt and pepper hair perched on top of his high forehead. Sharp cheekbones knifed out above his unkempt beard that matched his wild hair. His long, baggy brown tunic waved loosely on his bony frame underneath as he twitched about, always in motion.

  This was the man that, when I was
alive, I thought would help me. I had been stabbed by a dagger; a chance of fate that weakened the rings of my chainmail allowed for a lucky thrust to penetrate my guts. I survived that, only to be found by this man who dealt me the killing blow.

  “You don’t know, oh this is delicious! You do talk too much for my taste, I wonder if I can solve that,” he said. The old man still had my Damascus steel valknut, the pendant I wore in life and the symbol that was supposed to signal the Valkyries to me in death so I might feast in Valhalla, in his long, skeletal hand. He idly played with the chain with his empty hand as pushed his sickly yellow energy into my valknut again, but I didn’t feel the stab of pain like I did the first time.

  I felt pressed, compressed as if the dwarf Brokkr was forging me into a smaller, denser form like he forged Thor’s Mjölnir. I pushed back against the force to little avail and soon found myself on my hands and knees somehow smaller than I should have been. I remembered then how I had pushed the spirits away in the gully and the clearing, how it felt to have my aura expand and pushed back against the man’s attempt to crush me. I channeled my confusion, my rage, my love, out of myself and roared.

  The man fell with a hard thud against the wall next to the bedroom door, his arms and legs hilariously askew in odd angles, and laughed as he laid there. I felt my whole body expand like a deep breath in, the tightness stretched and pulled until I felt like I was my proper size again. I wanted to pant with effort, but I didn’t breathe anymore. The sensation disoriented me along with the feeling of being stretched and the exertion.

  “Oh, I’m so excited!” the old man laughed with glee while he untangled cloth and limbs to sit up in a crossed-legged position. “What is your name?”

  “Brandur Berkson,” I said hesitantly. I leaned myself back into a kneeling position to keep the man in my line of sight. “What is your name, old man?”

  “I am the great, wise, and powerful Heliodoro Delgado!” the old man said with a flourish as he waved his hands about in circles above his head. “This opportunity is so wonderful, my family and I homed in on this little village because it had a very high concentration of magic, and while our divinations in the past have proven untrue --divination can be such a fickle thing, especially in the hands of the unskilled, but they need to learn sometime--” He leaned in toward me and whispered behind his hand, as if he was sharing a secret with me, “This time it was my workings that lead us all the way to this far-out country to you! And all of the others that have proven useful.”

  “Others that have proven useful?” I growled with a glare.

  “Yes, yes, quite useful! I’m not sure what it is about this village, but there was a concentration of people like yourself, very powerful! Lots of magic!”

  Who?

  I leaped up and launched myself towards the door. I stopped at the door and struggled with the latch; my hand kept passing through it as I screamed in frustration. Wait, if my hand passes through and Heliodoro passed through me... I steeled myself and stepped through the door. My spirit felt pulled and overstretched, but I didn’t feel I needed to vomit like I did when Heliodoro walked through me.

  It was dark, the moon was high in the sky and framed by stars. Everything looked different, but the same. Trees and grass had their own energy, a gentle haze that surrounded each blade, leaf, and trunk. I halted three strides away from my door and stared at the moon. It was a waxing crescent before... before I died. Now it is full. I lost so much time! I started to run towards the next house. Young Hilda lived there, the frail of body but sharp of mind and steel of will, with her parents Reidun and Steinar. Childhood friends of mine. I went straight for the closest wall and ran through it. The lack of smoke coming from the roof outside told me what I would find inside.

  Cold and darkness.

  I continued to storm through the room in search of any clues that would help me and hit a wall. Or at least, what felt like a wall. In the middle of the hut I felt an unseen barrier, as solid as a stone wall was to me in life. My rage bubbled up again and I assaulted the wall in a blind fury with my axes, but the unseen wall held firm.

  Wait, how do I have my axes?

  My confusion gave me pause and helped to get my head back in the right place. For some reason, I was able to go into a berserker’s fury without the aid of the herbs that in life brought forth the blind frenzy, but the downside was having a hard time staying in control. How did I have my axes though? These aren’t my real, physical ones, but they are an exact replica. They were the weapon I had the most experience with, though I was almost as deadly with a sword, and I felt better with their heft in my hands.

  I ran my axes down barrier as far as I could reach, but from the floor to as high as I could reach to where I stopped at either wall inside the hut, the unseen barrier blocked me. I went through the physical wall with no effort and followed the one that blocked me until I found myself walking in a circle with my home and that madman as the center point. Each one of the homes I went through was either empty or the few that weren’t had one or two strangers in them. The strangers in the otherwise empty homes have a similar look to Heliodoro; lean, darker-toned wavy to wild hair, and angular features.

  Darlthveit was dead. Everyone that had breathed life into it was gone. I’m not sure if it was that realization or something else, but my axes started feeling very heavy and I felt a wave of exhaustion pour over me. The more I tried to keep the grasp of my axes the more I shook with the effort. With a sharp pang of regret mixed with the confusion I dropped my axes and watched them dissolve as soon as they left my hands. The exhaustion lifted and if I still breathed it felt as if I could take a deep breath again. That was almost comparable to when I was first in training with a sword and shield, I mused. Could I manage to pull them up again?

  A sharp tug started to pull my midsection before I could try, and I finally noticed a line that led from my stomach back towards the direction of my home. I could see the next thrum of energy pulse through the line and when it reached me, I was pulled a step forward towards my home. The next pulse yanked me five strides forward. Each pulse dragged me faster and further until I felt my... edges? Definition? Boundaries? Dissolve and blur until I found myself in my home again, in front of Heliodoro.

  The crazed grin seemed to be a permanent feature of his face. Would his face break if he stopped grinning? I felt my essence flowing and remodeling itself into my body’s form, gently oozing into place, similar in feel to blood oozing out of the flesh. It was a very disconcerting feeling, flesh doesn’t flow and if that much blood flowed out of the body, a person would be dead in an instant. The feeling neither hurt nor felt good, just... was. Being dissolved into a glob of essence felt much the same. In the length of a breath, I was again standing and saw the cord come out of my center and was attached to my valknut in Heliodoro’s hand. He panted and his thin, sticky yellow aura seemed even less than it was originally; it barely registered as a film over his skin. At his side was a middle-aged woman whose round face was pinched in concern.

  “You should not exhaust yourself like this, Master Heliodoro. Don’t use your own strength, pull from his soul through his patra, the strange interlaced triangle pendant he wore. If the ghost is unruly it will both exhaust them and rein them in,” she admonished the old man gently as she led him to my chair. “Oh, it’s this one! Please, as a gift and condolence for my husband, give this ghost to me! He killed my Quinto in life, your own grandson, and I wish to make this ghost regret his actions in his death.”

  Heliodoro ignored the dumpy woman’s pleas and maintained eye contact with me, then looked me up and down, his grin just grew and grew until I thought his face would split.

  “Brandur, answer me this,” he asked excitedly. “How did you don that bear pelt and armor?”

  All of my senses screamed to get out of this trap, yet I knew there was no escape. I didn’t even know what the old man meant. I looked at my arms and sure enough, the arms of my bear berserker pelt covered them and when I reached up, I coul
d feel the bear’s head hooked into the notches on my helm designed to hold it into place. As I shifted, I could feel the chain mail slide over the padded undershirt, my boiled leather war skirt I traded for when I started to become successful in my vikings, and my greaves shift on my lower legs over my boots.

  “Earlier, when you first manifested, you wore a blue silk undershirt and an embroidered green tunic with brown trousers.” Heliodoro giggled maniacally and waved his arms at me. “Now you appear in full armor, and not even the armor you died in. Oh, this is so exciting! Dolores, you are much studied on ghosts! Almost as much as the most experienced blooded member of my family. Have you ever seen anything so exciting or wonderful?

  “Yes, once, but never in a ghost that was created through a sambadda ritual.” Dolores glared at me and fingered the blue stone pendant whose aura was a tight, powerful blue glow through her own grassy green aura shimmering from her heart. “I don’t like this, I don’t like him, Master Heliodoro. He should be quiet, weak outside of his patra. Did the ritual that changed him from a living man into a ghost locked in a vessel fail in some way?”

  “Oh, don’t let your bias over your dead husband cloud your eyes! This is the single most powerful ghost we have ever captured! “

  “What does ‘ghost’ mean? And I have no idea how my clothes have changed.” Though I knew exactly the clothing he described me in. That was what I wore to my wedding to Torhild, and I currently wore the same armor that I had gone viking in so many times that it felt like a second skin. From what Heliodoro said, being able to change what I’m wearing is strange. I’ll keep my axes to myself, hopefully, no one noticed me when I was going through the houses earlier.

  “You! You are a ghost!” Heliodoro exclaimed. “You are the essence, the soul, of a dead man that still is on this level of existence. How this level of existence lines up with others, which faith is right or wrong, and where the dead go when they don’t stay here, no one knows! But why waste good, vibrant energy and let is pass on to wherever, if it even does? Why waste the lives of stupid and uneducated barbarians? We can use them; I can use them! You’re so uneducated, you don’t even know what ‘ghost’ means. I might have been born with egeospiritus, but I refuse to let that stop me from finding out how to better harness the world.”