Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

17

Despite Phoebe’spromise that one couldn’t learn witchcraft from books, Morgen was absorbing a lot as she inventoried Grandma’s root cellar and created entries in a database she’d made for everything from civet paste to dogbane fiber to dried mugwort to sea urchin spines to coffin nails. What she couldn’t find was much on bones. The internet promised her they played a role in some types of witchcraft, but in all of Grandma’s odd collections, bones didn’t make an appearance, and few of her books mentioned them.

“Teeth are where it’s at,” Morgen muttered, closing a grimoire that touted their natural affinity for magic.

Fossilized teeth, in particular, supposedly had inherent power, with great value being placed on those from the repeated glaciations of the Pleistocene epoch. According to the text, magic had been more concentrated among the fewer species that had lived in those difficult times. Some of the tusks and teeth from animals such as mammoths and cave bears were supposed to lend themselves well to curses, luck charms, and even tokens that could increase one’s charisma or sex appeal.

It sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo. Nonetheless, unlike with the bones she’d hunted for and not found, Morgen discovered a couple of boxes of yellowed teeth on Grandma’s shelves. The origins of most were unidentifiable, the choppers simply dumped together like bottle caps in a kid’s shoebox collection, and it set Morgen’s organization-loving jaws to clenching. But there was one neatly segmented plastic crafting container of twelve large teeth, each labeled in faded pencil. Perhaps those were more valuable—more magical?—than the others?

If the labels could be believed, the box contained a dire-wolf fang, parts of several mammoth tusks and woolly-rhinoceros horns, and two giant ground-sloth teeth.

“Funny how giant ground sloths never came up in the Bewitched reruns I saw as a girl,” Morgen muttered as she pulled out her phone and read an online article on the extinct creatures. “Though there was a lot of nose crinkling in that show. Maybe it was inspired by the prehensile lips of the ground sloth.”

Rustling and scraping came from the back of the root cellar. If Lucky hadn’t been down there with her, Morgen would have expected rats. Instead, she suspected Lucky smelled a rat.

“Don’t knock anything over back there,” she said. “I haven’t gotten to those boxes yet.”

She set down the container of teeth and looked around. There were a lot of boxes she hadn’t gotten to yet. Inventorying the contents of the cellar could take months, especially since she wanted to record what everything was and what it did, not simply stack things neatly on shelves. Maybe she should have remained focused on bones, but she kept getting distracted by all the things she could find down there. Even though she never would have considered witchery and all of its paraphernalia a passion, or even a vague interest, she had to admit that all the quirky old stuff was kind of cool. Who else’s grandmother had dire-wolf fangs in the basement?

“Wait,” Morgen breathed as Lucky’s tail thwackedagainst something. “What if that magical clip from the motorcycle isn’t made from bone? What if it’s part of a tooth?”

She pulled it from the drawer where she’d tucked it for safekeeping. Even though the root-cellar doors only opened for her if she had the amulet, she wouldn’t put it past other witches to know how to get in, and since they’d been skulking around the property and setting things on fire, robbery might be right up their alley.

With the amulet on, the magical clip didn’t buzz her, so she examined it from all sides, holding it up to the light from the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. If it had been in its original state, she trusted she would have been able to tell if it was a tooth or a bone, but it had been carved from a larger piece and polished, so she had no idea. An archaeologist might be able to tell, but what were the odds of finding one in town, wandering around with an RV Life T-shirt on?

“Maybe a werewolf would know.” Morgen thought of the tooth that Amar wore on a thong around his neck.

That didn’t necessarily make him an aficionado, but who knew. Maybe ancient teeth smelled different from ancient bones.

The rumble of a car sounded as Morgen climbed the steps to the yard, and a sedan with Soto Real Estate Photography on the side rolled into view.

Morgen swore and checked the time on her phone. She’d only meant to spend a couple of hours that morning organizing and then tidy up the house before the photographer arrived.

Admittedly, she didn’t want to sell the property—and she suspected whoever put in an offer would care a lot more about the woods than the presence or absence of tidiness—but she always kept things back home neat and clutter-free, so it felt like a failing not to have properly prepared the house.

Sawing noises came from the top of the barn, along with the sounds of nails being ripped free. Amar sat astraddle a truss, pulling off burned wood and tossing it into a growing pile in the grass below.

The photographer, a middle-aged woman in a dress and heels, stepped out of the car and frowned at the charred barn.

“You can leave that out of the pictures,” Morgen said, waving to her.

Realizing she didn’t want anyone taking photos of the root cellar, she whistled for Lucky so she could close and lock the doors.

He bounded up the stairs with something that looked like a wig clenched between his teeth. Morgen hoped that was what it was, not that he’d found a dead gopher or raccoon in the root cellar. Surely, she would have smelled something like that, right? Unfortunately, his bounding took him straight toward the photographer.

She shrieked when he dropped his find at her feet. He wagged his tail and sat, as he’d been taught, for petting.

“What is that?” The woman pointed at the furry thing, horror contorting her face.

“Something I haven’t inventoried yet,” Morgen muttered and firmly closed the root-cellar doors.

The good news was that Lucky hadn’t found a dead animal. The bad news was that it was some kind of fur hide from what had previously been an animal. Later, Morgen would have to look up hair and fur as it related to witchcraft, though she was far more interested in teeth at the moment.

“Hi, I’m Morgen. That’s Lucky. He’s friendly.”

“And what is that?” The woman was still pointing at the fur.

“Something he found in the root cellar. This was my grandmother’s house. You know how it is when you clean out a relative’s home. I’m finding all sorts of quirky stuff.” Like giant ground-sloth teeth.

“Yes. Ah.” The photographer made a point of taking several steps from the lump of fur. She didn’t pat Lucky, which confused him, since he adored all people and assumed they would adore and pet him. “I’m Joyce Soto. This should take about a half hour.”

“Great.” Morgen petted Lucky so he wouldn’t feel bereft and waved for the photographer to head to the house. “I’d suggest taking more pictures of the woods and the property than the house, but you do whatever you think is best.”

“What happened to the barn?” Joyce gazed up at Amar.

“We’re remodeling.”

“Do you want… pictures of it?”

“Maybe one from a distance that doesn’t show the burned side. Sides. There’s some cool artwork on the door that you could take a picture of.” Morgen hadn’t yet asked Amar how he’d done that. With the blowtorch? It looked burned into the wood rather than carved.

“Perhaps just the door.”

Morgen let Joyce into the house, then trotted to the barn. “Amar? Can you come down for a minute? I have a question about the clip.”

If it turned out to be made from tooth and she could figure out what kind of animal it had come from, she might have more of a lead than she’d had earlier that morning. She wondered if Phoebe sold teeth in her store and if she knew anything about them. Or maybe someone else in town sold them. And remembered who’d wandered in a couple of months earlier to buy one?

Amar ripped off a few more burned pieces of wood before sliding across a creaking beam toward the edge of the roof. Morgen held her breath as he swung over the side and jumped down without a ladder, landing in a deep crouch. If she tried that, she would break both legs.

“You didn’t bring me more food, did you?” Amar stopped in front of her and eyed her warily.

“No, I’ve been working in the cellar. And you said you liked the cantaloupe.”

“It was edible. The faux meat products were disgusting. If you’re a vegetarian, why don’t you just eat vegetables?”

“Vegetables don’t have protein.”

“I thought the watermelon seeds did.”

“Those do, but it’s nice to eat something warm and kind of similar to things I used to enjoy.”

“You used to enjoy meat?”

“I used to enjoy bacon cheeseburgers from Wendy’s.”

His lip curled, as if he put that in the same category as her quasi-sausage patties. “I will bring you delicious elk steaks one day. That is meat.”

“Thanks, but I’m trying to cut back on elk too. Here’s my question.” Morgen held up the clip. “I should have asked before. Can you tell if this is made from bone, which I assumed, or was it a tooth?”

“It’s a tusk,” Amar said, barely glancing at it. “Ivory.”

“You’re sure? It’s been carved and polished so much. How can you tell?” She held it up to the wan sunlight filtering through the clouds.

“Bones have tiny pores where blood vessels ran through them when the animal was alive. Ivory is dead matter that grows on the outside of the animal, like fingernails. Bones taste better.”

Morgen blinked at that addendum. “Got a nice crunch, do they? Like popcorn?”

He grinned at her, showing off his teeth. “The marrow is the best. You crack open the bone and lick it out.”

“Are you purposely trying to disgust me?”

“You brought up fast-food cheeseburgers. I assumed that was to disgust me. No real predator would eat such mutilated, unappealing dreck.”

“Lucky likes them.”

Amar gazed toward the lawn where Lucky was rolling on his back in the grass—no, he was rolling on that awful hide. “That is not a real predator. That is a pet.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that. Is there any chance you can tell what kind of animal this tusk came from? The teeth from different animals apparently have different inherent magic. Also, maybe I could figure out if someone in town sells them.” Not that she’d seen any signs on Main Street that said mastodon tusks, inquire within.

“The crystal witch sells many things.” Amar took the clip from her and sniffed it but shook his head. “It is very old. Any scent that would have come from the animal has long faded and been covered by the polishing process. Perhaps, with a microscope, it would be possible to tell. Or you could cut it open and get a sample to examine.”

Considering the thing had zapped her when she’d touched it, she couldn’t imagine what it might do if she tried to drill a hole in it.

“I’ll show Phoebe and see if she knows.”

Morgen kept herself from saying that she was heading back to her shop this afternoon. Amar had made it clear that he didn’t think she should associate herself with the witch. But Phoebe had answers, and Morgen wanted them.

“She may be the one who sold it to the murderer.” His eyes narrowed. “Or she may have done it herself. If so, she will not answer you truthfully.”

“Maybe I won’t bring it up until I inventory everything in her store and see if I find any tusks for sale. I’ll have to do that anyway to get her online store set up.”

“Most people would find such a task onerous, but you sound excited.”

Yes, because the idea of solving crimes through examining evidence was a hell of a lot more appealing than asking strangers questions and risking getting into confrontations.

“One of my passions is wrangling data into easily searchable databases, and nothing gets me excited like figuring out how to provide a tidy way to access sequestered silos of information.” Morgen realized from his forehead crinkle that her explanation may have sounded a tad… nerdy. “I like helping people keep track of their stuff,” she clarified. “You can’t run an efficient business if you don’t know what you have.”

Lucky trotted over to them with his prize clutched in his teeth again. Morgen grimaced and wondered how offended he would be if she tossed that in the trash.

He always approached warily when she was with Amar, and he did so now, dropping low to his belly to slink closer and deposit it at his feet.

“He’s willing to give you gifts, even though you insulted his culinary tastes,” Morgen said.

“He recognizes a superior predator and is acting with proper submissive behavior.”

“By giving you an old hide?”

“It’s a beaver pelt.”

“Hm. Do you think it has magical properties? My grandmother must have kept it for a reason, right?” Morgen jogged to the truck. She’d taken most of the groceries into the house, but there was one item she’d left outside, because she’d known she would use it in the root cellar. “Here we are.”

She tore it free of its packaging—frustration-free, yeah, right—and returned to Amar. Lucky was now lying on his back with his legs in the air. Amar deigned to pat his belly, though Morgen didn’t think that was a wolf thing. Maybe it was an I’m-a-bit-of-a-softy-under-my-grumpy-predator-mien thing.

Using the label maker, she typed out beaver pelt and stuck it to the clump of fur. While Lucky was distracted, she returned it to the root cellar.

“I’m all done,” the photographer was reporting to Amar when Morgen returned. “I’ll send the pictures over to Mr. Christian as soon as I have some wifi. I know he’s eager to get this property on the market.”

Even though Morgen had explained her ruse to Amar, he glared at the poor woman.

“Thank you,” Morgen said, hurrying to step between them. She doubted Amar would do anything more threatening than glaring, but there was no need to tempt fate. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here.”

Joyce grimaced at the mud spattered on the sides of her sedan. “Mr. Christian paid me a bonus.” She eyed the charred barn and glanced back toward where the beaver pelt had been before Morgen put it away. “I should have asked for more.”

“Tell him he’ll have to pay double if he wants the really good pictures.”

“Really good pictures?” Joyce glanced skeptically back at the house.

“Or for you to withhold the really bad pictures?” Morgen suggested.

Joyce snorted. “That’s closer to the truth.”

“I’m going to run into town,” Morgen told Amar once the photographer left. “Do you need anything to help with the rebuild?”

She waved at the barn, though she had no idea what she could have picked up if he asked. As far as she’d seen, there wasn’t a hardware store in Bellrock, and she was only going as far as the Crystal Parlor.

“Such as geodes, crystals, and polished carvings?” Apparently, Amar knew exactly where Morgen was going.

“Yes. I saw a pretty amethyst heart that would go great over the door.”

“I was thinking of putting the beaver pelt up there.” He pantomimed nailing something to a wall. “Since it was a gift from your dog.”

“Your decorating tastes are as questionable as your food tastes.”

“Do you want me to go with you to town?”

“That’s all right. I’ll probably be there a while, and I’m sure you would rather be working on something than loitering against the wall outside.”

“Stay away from the Timber Wolf.”

“Oh, trust me. The meat trolley isn’t calling me back.”

“And take a weapon,” he said.

A weapon? Like what? “Are you offering your blowtorch?”

“Since you aren’t interested in crossbows, perhaps a witchweapon.” His lips twisted, but he didn’t take back the suggestion. “Aren’t there wands in that cellar?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t know what to do with one.” Morgen thought of the witches who had forced Amar to his knees with wands and wasn’t sure she wanted to know how to use one. Such power would be handy if one were attacked by enemies, but she didn’t want to hurt people.

“My experience is that you say supercilious things about how much better than a werewolf you are, point it, mutter something arcane, and zap your target.”

“I would guess that first part is optional.”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” he said glumly.

She had the urge to hug him, but just because he’d deigned to touch her the night before didn’t mean he wanted frequent physical contact from her. “I suppose I could take one and ask Phoebe how to work it.”

She expected him to object, since he objected to everything about her.

“Yes,” was what he said. “It’s good to be able to defend yourself.”

“Right.” Once more, she returned to the root cellar. She eyed the three wands she’d found so far, two made from wood and one from silver, but opted for a much larger weapon. The staff with the antler horns attached to the top. If she couldn’t learn how to summon its magic, she could prong enemies with the points.

Amar watched blandly as she marched past with it and tried several different angles before managing to fit it in the car around the dog crate.

Lucky, refusing to be left in the house this time, hopped into the back with it. Since Morgen worried the property might be in further danger, and that something could happen to her dog if she left him alone, she didn’t mind. But she gave him the squinty eye when he sniffed the antlers with interest.

“Those aren’t chew toys,” she said. “No noshing.”

That earned her a whine of protest. It only lasted until she turned the car on and rolled down the window so he could stick his head out.

“Good luck.” Amar grabbed his hammer and returned to the barn roof.

As Morgen drove off, she wondered if she should have asked him to come along after all. She’d been thinking about defending herself in town, but if those three witches returned to the property, he might need protection.

But as long as the barn wasn’t burning, and he wasn’t distracted by trying to put it out, she doubted they would be able to sneak up on him again. She hoped.