Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

18

“You don’t mindif I take a core sample?” Phoebe asked.

Two hours into setting up the new computer and organizing the store, Morgen had casually brought out the bone—tusk—clip and asked her opinion on it.

“Not at all,” Morgen said. “I’d like to know what animal it came from, and why it’s oozing menacing magic.”

“Menacing magic? Magic isn’t good or evil. This has innate magic, but hm, there is something else.”

“Yeah, menace.”

Morgen expected a frown, but Phoebe only cocked her head as she rubbed the clip between her fingers and examined it.

“It’s… almost familiar.”

“Do you sell any ivory?” Morgen had searched every square foot of the store as part of her inventory, and she hadn’t seen any, but maybe the Crystal Parlor had secret niches.

“Oh, not anymore. We used to sell a few pieces here and there, but the tourists were always asking us if we’d imported it illegally and how many elephants had been poached to finance our operation. They were fossilized tusks, mind you, and from mammoths and other prehistoric animals. Poaching was presumably at a minimum back then. But the tourists didn’t get it, and it was annoying to deal with their accusations. The fossils weren’t for them anyway. I’ll happily sell crystals to all, but certain items are only intended as ingredients and only for our kind.”

Even though Phoebe didn’t give Morgen a significant look, she seemed to include her in that our kind category. It felt odd, since Morgen had spent all of her life not fitting into any categories, at least not those created by normal people. She and her sister—both awkward, bookish introverts, who got along better with animals than humans—had always struggled to gain friends and feel wanted.

If Morgen learned more about her blood, would she get along with—be accepted by—witches? Did she even want that?

Witches hated werewolves, three of them had half-burned down her grandmother’s barn, and Phoebe was only helping her because she had been able to come up with a way to help her first.

“What happened to the ones you didn’t sell?” Morgen asked.

“Oh, I’m not even sure. My sister was the one who set up and took down the display case.” Phoebe shook her head sadly. “She was always more of a crafter of talismans, idols, and tools than I. Potions and tinctures are more my specialty.” She held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe stepped over Lucky, who had grown bored with the inventory process, and was snoozing in the doorway between the front room and the back room, but only frowned briefly down at him. Morgen was glad Phoebe had let her bring him in. She hadn’t wanted to leave him in the car where he might be too warm—or where werewolves might target him to get at her. The thought made her shiver with dread.

Phoebe returned to the front room with something that looked like a microscope, though the blue and purple crystals embedded all over the casing were atypical for scientific equipment. She also carried an electric jewelry drill, something that looked out of place in the shop full of rocks and powders.

“Are you sure it won’t zap you?” Morgen asked as Phoebe bent over the clip to take a sample.

“I’m protected from magic by numerous amulets and talismans.”

“But are you sure it won’t zap you?”

“Mostly.”

“Reassuring.”

Phoebe thumbed on the drill and applied it to one of the fatter parts of the tusk clip. Morgen held her breath, certain the thing would zap one or both of them. Or cause the ceiling to fall, the street to flood, and an earthquake to swallow the town.

Nothing happened. Phoebe took the sample and put it on a slide to examine.

“I was reading about those prehistoric tusks and teeth,” Morgen said, “and how some of them are ideal for certain types of magic, such as luck charms, and others have a propensity toward other types. Such as curses.”

Curses that caused brakes on a motorcycle to fail?

“That is what many of the grimoires suggest,” Phoebe said. “As I said, I’m not a crafter myself, so I couldn’t tell you much, but I do know that saber-toothed tiger and dire-wolf fangs are very desirable in the crafter community.”

“The, uh, witch crafter community?”

“Yes. Mammoth tusks are popular too. I believe you can make charisma charms out of those. Who doesn’t like being more charismatic?”

“My sister.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s kind of aloof. Except with orangutans.”

Phoebe peered at her.

“Never mind. My family is just a bit eccentric. Let me know if you find anything, please. And thanks.”

As Phoebe focused again on the sample she’d taken, Morgen returned to the computer and entering inventory into the new system, using a few of her favorite programs to make the process quicker. More quirky information on gems, crystals, and rocks than she would have guessed existed popped up.

Her phone buzzed while she was photographing and labeling chunks of amber.

“Hi, Zoe,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“You listed the house?”

“Ah, you saw that? From Seattle?”

“I’ve been monitoring Whatcom County listings to get comps. Just in case. Morgen. You said you weren’t going to list it and that if you did, you’d use me. I already did research for you.”

“I know.” Morgen lowered her voice so Phoebe wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not going to sell it. I’m just hoping to get offers and that one of them will be…” She remembered that she hadn’t shared with her cousin that Grandma might have been murdered. “There’s been some hinky stuff going on here. Someone lit the barn on fire last night. I want to know who’s behind trying to get Grandma’s property and why.”

“So… you hired an agent, got him to do a bunch of work and pay for photos, and you’re not planning to sell? You know he only makes money if a deal closes, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s a dick. He deserves getting shafted.”

“That’s evil, Morgen.”

“He was trying to talk Grandma into going into an old-folks home and listing the property for months before her crash.”

“Really? Okay, he’s a dick. Now I’m glad you didn’t have me do the listing.”

“I thought you might be.”

“Hey, do you think…” Zoe also lowered her voice. “Do you think Grandma’s crash maybe wasn’t an accident? Or have I been watching too many crime shows?”

“Well, the barn being lit on fire wasn’t an accident, so who knows? I’ll let you know what I find.”

“You’re not in danger, are you?”

Morgen snorted. She was in so much danger that she was not only worrying about herself but about the brawny killer werewolf she’d left working on the barn. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped seeming strange.

“I’m serious,” Zoe said. “Maybe you should talk to the police.”

Morgen had spent an hour talking to the authorities the night before, describing the three women she’d told them she’d seen running into the woods. She’d been reluctant to share that they’d been witches—not wanting to be dragged off to a mental institution by people who hadn’t heard the news that witches and werewolves were lurking all over Bellrock—and that they’d threatened her werewolf friend. But she had described them in detail. A female deputy had written everything down, but Morgen doubted anything would come of it.

“I’ve already talked with the sheriff, three deputies, the fire marshal, and a first responder who insisted on taking my blood pressure and checking my oxygen levels because I looked stressed. I was more frazzled than stressed by that point.” She’d also been worried about Amar being singed since he’d been firefighting naked after his failed attempt to shift forms.

“I wish Jun were there with you.”

“Why, because he’s such a big and intimidating man? I used to beat him at arm wrestling.”

“Strange that it didn’t work out.”

“Ha ha. Do you want anything else?”

“Just be careful. Did you really say the barn burned down? Do you want me to come up this weekend?”

“No, thanks.”

A part of Morgenwouldn’t have minded if some of her family came up, but as far as she knew, none of them knew anything about grandmother’s secret retirement career, nor how weird this town was. She didn’t want to get them in trouble.

Another call came in, a familiar local number. Magnus Christian.

“I’ve got to go. Bye.”

Zoe made a disgruntled noise as she hung up.

“Hello, Mr. Christian,” Morgen said after she switched over.

“Please, call me Magnus. I’ve already received an offer on the property.”

“Oh? That was fast.”

Way too fast. She’d assumed prospective buyers would come out to see the house and that she, Lucky, and Amar could scope them out, those two with their superior canine senses, and her with the intelligent and probing questions she would casually ask while standing back and acting like a wallflower.

“Yes. It’s wonderful when it works out that way. Mind if I come up to the house in person to present it to you? I’ll be in the neighborhood later.”

“Uh, I’m in town. Maybe we could meet at that coffee shop that you spoke so highly of.”

The one he’d called froufrou and flavor-free.

“The coffee shop closes at four. I’m down in Sedro-Woolley, so it would be closer for me to meet you at the house. I’ve got a bottle of celebratory wine and some cinnamon rolls from the bakery here that I’d love to share with you. Not that you have to take this first offer, mind you. You might want to wait and see what else comes in, but it’s all cash, which is amazing on an estate that size. The seller is giving you twenty-four hours to respond.”

“Isn’t it unusual for the potential buyer not to come out to see the house before making an offer?”

Unless this person had already been to the house and knew all about the property. Just how long had those three witches been snooping around inside and locking Lucky in the library before lighting the barn on fire? They’d said they didn’t want the land sold, but it wasn’t as if Morgen could trust arsonists.

“It’s not that rare in a hot market and when they’re more interested in developing the land than in the house. I’m sure they’re just planning to tear it down. They didn’t even care that the barn had recently caught fire.”

How handy.

“Can you give me their name?” Morgen’s fingers twitched. She was ready to do research.

“I’ll get everything together for you and bring it over for you to look at. Meet you at your place at five? The seller did have one contingency, and I’d like to verify it for myself in case you decide to accept the offer.”

“What contingency?”

“Something about a pond.”

“A pond?” Morgen thought of the little spring that Amar had shown her—and the blue magical mushrooms growing beside it.

“Yes. I did think it odd, but I’ve learned to accept the eccentricities of buyers and sellers without judging them. You don’t even need to worry about it. I’ll take a look if I get there before you.”

“All right. I’ll meet you up there, but wait before wandering around, please. My… handyman is there, and he’s protective of the place.” She wondered if Christian had crossed paths with Amar before. Amar had been around during that first conversation between her and Christian, but she didn’t think they’d interacted. “You might want to stay in your truck until I get there. Just to be safe.”

“Because of your… handyman?”

“Yes. He was living in the barn, and he’s a little grumpy that it was almost burned down.”

“Ah. Understandable.”

Never mind that Amar had been a little grumpy before it was burned too.

“I’m finishing up here, and I’ll be on my way. Thanks.” Morgen hung up and debated if she should head straight up to the house, but she wanted to hear the results of Phoebe’s investigation.

She was about to check on her when two women in their mid-twenties walked into the shop. They wore black dresses, studded black-leather collars, dark lipstick and eye shadow, and had pierced noses and eyebrows.

“Trying a little hard, aren’t we?” Morgen muttered.

They frowned at her and glanced around, no doubt looking for Phoebe.

“Who are you?” one asked, sniffing dismissively at Morgen’s jeans and hoodie.

Clearly not appropriate attire for a witch.

“Tech support,” Morgen said.

“There’s tech here?”

Lucky bounded down the aisle, thwacking display racks with his tail, to greet the newcomers. One pulled back in horror, as if he were a rabid wolf. The other cooed and bent down to pet him. He accommodated by rearing up on his hind legs and planting his paws on her shoulders.

Morgen snapped her fingers and pointed at the ground. “Sit for petting,” she whispered to him.

He dropped down into a sit, his tail swishing back and forth across the floor.

“There’s tech and a new shop dog,” Morgen told them. “I’m bringing the Crystal Parlor into the modern computer- and canine-loving age. Can I help you find something?”

They glanced at each other, the one who thought Lucky was a leper shifting to stand behind her friend.

“I’m sure you can’t help,” she said. “We need certain special powders from the back room.”

“Uh huh. In stock, we’ve got banishing powder, pestilence powder, hexing powder, numerous dried herbs, witch salt, and cascarilla eggshell powder—only one ounce left of that.” Since Morgen had just entered those items, it was easy to remember the list. “I believe Phoebe can do custom blends too.”

“We’ll take a bag of the hexing powder. Oh, and do you have anything to drive away annoying men who won’t leave you alone?”

“You’ll want to try the hot-foot powder for that,” Morgen said. “The instructions are included in the jar.”

“Two, please.”

When Morgen headed toward the back to get the jars, she found Phoebe watching from the doorway as she tapped the tusk clip to her chin. Morgen hoped that meant she’d learned something about it.

“Are you sure you don’t want a job working here?” Phoebe asked with amusement after Morgen bagged up the powders and took the women’s payment. The Goth look was somewhat diminished by the perky pink Hello Kitty case that one carried her credit cards in.

“Though I’m sure it would be an excellent use of my database-management degree, I’ve got enough on my plate.”

“Are you positive? You seem to be a quick study. You might not be too old to learn after all. I could teach you quite a bit if you stuck around for the summer.”

Morgen thought of Amar’s warning that she had better watch out for Phoebe and that he would prefer she not become a witch. “Let me think about it. Did you, by chance, learn anything about the tusk?”

“I did. It’s a saber-tooth tiger tusk. And there’s curse magic embedded in it.”

“The kind of curse that could cause someone’s motorcycle brakes to fail at an inopportune time?”

Phoebe frowned. “I can’t tell, but witches are supposed to use their magic only to protect themselves and others, not to kill. We’re a peaceful people unless we’re driven to violence by those persecuting us. Even then, we prefer to use guile and wit over violence.”

“Uh huh. Three witches came out of the woods and lit my barn on fire last night. Without guile.”

Phoebe spread a hand. “I can’t defend the actions of the younger generation. Know only that I don’t teach such methods myself.”

“Do you have any idea who made the tusk clip? And put a curse on it?”

Phoebe hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

Morgen, certain she was lying, was tempted to question her further, to try to wheedle the information out, but her face had grown tight, her eyes hard with disapproval. Morgen doubted she would get answers, not if Phoebe was protecting someone she knew. And she probably knew all of the witches in the area.

But would a witch have done it? Cursed Grandma’s bike so she would die? If the three witches who’d shown up the night before could be believed, they wanted Wolf Wood preserved, not sold, so they should have wanted Grandma to continue living there.

“Would anyone besides a witch be able to put a curse on a tusk?” Morgen asked.

“Perhaps. There are others who practice magic in the world.” Phoebe seemed happy to deflect the onus onto someone else.

Which made Morgen more and more sure it had been a witch. But why?

“Perhaps a werewolf was responsible,” Phoebe said.

“I thought they were shaped by magic but couldn’t perform it themselves.”

“A strong werewolf might force a witch to do something for him. If we are prepared, we can handle their kind, but if we are unprepared when they come upon us, we are as mortal as the next woman.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Amar about it,” Morgen said, though she knew he hadn’t had anything to do with the clip.

“Yes, but be careful when confronting their kind.” Phoebe held up a finger, then retrieved a pen and a piece of paper. “This is a more advanced incantation and usually takes a trained witch to succeed, but perhaps if you practice…”

“Practice what?”

“Make sure to wear your grandmother’s amulet. You have the right blood, but that amplifies and enhances abilities that it would otherwise take years to learn to draw out.” Phoebe wrote a sentence on a piece of paper. An incantation.

Under the moon’s magic, turn the snarling hound from angry foe to witch bound.

“Hound?” Morgen asked.

“Our ancient brethren probably struggled to find a rhyme for wolf.” Phoebe offered her the paper. “With this incantation, you may be able to control a werewolf, but be very careful. If your magic isn’t greater than their innate power, you won’t be able to take control. And they tend to get furious and kill you when you try.”

Morgen lifted a hand, not wanting it. “That sounds like a good reason not to use it.”

She couldn’t imagine what Amar would think if she sauntered out with the paper in hand, mumbling as she memorized the words.

“Take it.” Phoebe kept her hand out. “Memorize it. You may need it for self-defense, if a werewolf comes after you. Or, if someone else is threatening you, you can force a nearby werewolf to defend you.”

“Amar would defend me without a spell.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “He’s not the only werewolf in town, and even if that were true, he can’t be around you all the time. Besides, it’s entirely possible that he was the one to force a witch to craft that clip. Who besides he would have had an easier time getting close to your grandmother—and her motorcycle—to place it?”

Morgen shook her head. “He didn’t do it.”

“Don’t be naive. You’ve only known him for a few days. There’s a reason his pack kicked him out.”

She hesitated. “What reason?”

“He’s an outcast. I’m sure there’s a reason.”

Meaning she didn’t know. Morgen set her jaw, unwilling to believe Amar was the troublemaker. He’d helped her too many times.

“Take it,” Phoebe said softly, shaking the paper. “Just in case. You don’t want your life in some furry man’s hands.”

Morgen stared at the paper, again thinking how furious Amar would be if he learned she’d accepted it. But the phrase was short. She could easily memorize it and get rid of the paper. Then he’d never know. Unless she one day had to use it around him.

Or on him? Was it possible he’d lied to her and truly was a danger?

Reluctantly, she took it and stuck it in her pocket. “In case I have a run-in with the Loups again.”

“Good.” Phoebe nodded curtly. “And here’s your clip. It won’t work as well now that I’ve drilled a hole in it, but it should still have some power.”

“The power to curse people?”

“Yes.”

Morgen was as reluctant to take that as she had been the paper, but it would be better to get rid of it or at least hide it away than to leave it where it might be used for evil again.

“I better go. I have to meet—” Morgen caught herself before saying Christian’s name. Since nobody wanted her to sell that property, she had better not let the word get out any more than it already had. “Someone.”

“Just be wary of the werewolves,” Phoebe said, as if she was sure that was who Morgen was on the way to meet. “They resent us because we can control them, but many of them are brutes, bullies, and savages. They need controlling.”

“Not all of them are like that.” Morgen realized that her experience with werewolves was very recent and very limited, but she wanted to believe that Amar was a good person. She wished Grandma were still alive so she could consult her. And… just because.

“Don’t be too certain.”