Dime Store Magic
Page 34
"Lies? Was there any lie in particular?"
Savannah shook her head.
I hesitated, then forced myself to press on. "It might be tempting, to be offered a place in a Cabal. Money, power they probably have a lot to offer."
"Not to a witch. A Cabal witch is strictly an employee. You get a paycheck, but no perks."
"But what if you did get the perks? What if they offered you more than the standard package?"
"I'm not dumb, Paige. Whatever they offered me, I'd know they were lying. No matter how good a witch I might be, to them, I'm still only a witch."
Such a chillingly accurate answer, so easily given. What was it like, to be so young, and yet so keenly aware of your place in the world?
"It's funny, you know," she continued. "All those times my mom warned me and I barely listened. I thought, Why is she telling me this? If they come after me, she'll be here. She'll always be here. You just figure that. You don't think maybe she won't. Did you ever think-with your mom-that something like that could happen? That one day, she'd be there, and then she wouldn't?"
I shook my head.
Savannah continued, "Sometimes sometimes I have these dreams. Mom's shaking me and I wake up and I tell her what happened, and she laughs and tells me I was just having a nightmare, and everything's okay, but then I really wake up, and she's not there."
"I've had those."
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
"More than I ever imagined."
We drove a few miles in silence. Then Savannah shifted in her seat and cleared her throat.
"So, are you hiring Lucas?"
I managed a forced laugh. "It's 'Lucas' now?"
"It suits him. So are you hiring him or what?"
My natural inclination, as always, was to give her a simple, pat answer, but I'd felt as if in these past few days we'd cracked open the door between us, and I didn't want to slam it shut now. So I told her Cortez's alleged motivation for taking the case, then went a step farther and asked her opinion of it.
"Makes sense," she said. "He's right. With the Cabals, either you're for them or against them. Especially if you're a sorcerer. Those lawyers my mom knew, the ones I said might help you, they do the same thing Lucas is doing. They take cases against the Cabals."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not really. It's weird that way. If a supernatural goes up against the Cabals, they'll squash him like a bug. But if he's a lawyer whose client went against the Cabals, or a doctor who fixed up a supernatural attacked by the Cabals, they leave him alone. Mom says the Cabals are pretty fair that way. You don't bother them, they don't bother you."
"Well, Ididn't bother them, and they sure are bothering me."
"But you're only a witch. Lucas is a sorcerer. Makes a difference, you know. So, are you hiring him?"
"Maybe. Probably." I glanced over at her. "What do you think?"
"I think you should. He seems all right. For a sorcerer."
There were people outside my house. More than a few. When I neared the house, no one turned, probably not recognizing my car-yet. From twenty feet away, I hit the garage door opener and zoomed inside before anyone could stop me. We went in through the little-used door linking the garage to the front hall, avoiding any potential confrontations.
After sending Savannah to bed, I faced down the dreaded answering machine. The display flashed "34". Thirty-four messages? My God, how many did the thing hold?
Fortunately most calls only required an intro. This is Chris Walters from KZET-delete. Marcia Lu from World Weekly News-delete. Jessie Lake from Channel 7-delete. Of the first twelve calls, seven were media, including three from the same radio station, probably trying to land an impromptu interview on their show.
Of the nonmedia calls, one was an ex-boyfriend and one was a friend I hadn't seen since she moved to Maine in the seventh grade. Both were calling to see how I was doing. That was nice. Really nice. Better than the other two. The first began (extreme profanity omitted) "You're a lying, murdering *bleep*. Just wait you *bleep*ing *bleep*. You'll get yours. Maybe the *bleep*ing cops don't-"
My finger trembled as I hit the Delete button. I cranked down the volume before going on to the next call. Savannah didn't need to hear that crap. I didn't need to hear it, either, but I told myself I'd have to get used to it, grow a thicker skin.
The next call was more of the same, so I deleted it after the first expletive. Then came a message that I listened to all the way through, one that began "Ms. Winterbourne, you don't know me, but I'm so sorry to hear what's happening to you out there," and went on to dispense more sympathy and a promise to pray for me. I needed that. I really did.
A scan through the next nine messages revealed seven media persons, one irate woman damning my soul to eternal fire, and one really sweet Wiccan from Salem offering moral support. See? Not so bad. Only sixty percent of strangers were calling for my corpse on a pyre.
I fast-forwarded through four more media calls, then heard one that jolted my spirits.
"Paige? Paige? Come on, pick up!" a familiar voice bellowed over loud rock music and high-decibel chatter. "I know you're there! It's eight o'clock at night. Where else would you be? On a date?"
A whoop of laughter, then an ear-piercing whistle to catch my attention from whatever corner of the house I might be lurking in.
Savannah shook her head.
I hesitated, then forced myself to press on. "It might be tempting, to be offered a place in a Cabal. Money, power they probably have a lot to offer."
"Not to a witch. A Cabal witch is strictly an employee. You get a paycheck, but no perks."
"But what if you did get the perks? What if they offered you more than the standard package?"
"I'm not dumb, Paige. Whatever they offered me, I'd know they were lying. No matter how good a witch I might be, to them, I'm still only a witch."
Such a chillingly accurate answer, so easily given. What was it like, to be so young, and yet so keenly aware of your place in the world?
"It's funny, you know," she continued. "All those times my mom warned me and I barely listened. I thought, Why is she telling me this? If they come after me, she'll be here. She'll always be here. You just figure that. You don't think maybe she won't. Did you ever think-with your mom-that something like that could happen? That one day, she'd be there, and then she wouldn't?"
I shook my head.
Savannah continued, "Sometimes sometimes I have these dreams. Mom's shaking me and I wake up and I tell her what happened, and she laughs and tells me I was just having a nightmare, and everything's okay, but then I really wake up, and she's not there."
"I've had those."
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
"More than I ever imagined."
We drove a few miles in silence. Then Savannah shifted in her seat and cleared her throat.
"So, are you hiring Lucas?"
I managed a forced laugh. "It's 'Lucas' now?"
"It suits him. So are you hiring him or what?"
My natural inclination, as always, was to give her a simple, pat answer, but I'd felt as if in these past few days we'd cracked open the door between us, and I didn't want to slam it shut now. So I told her Cortez's alleged motivation for taking the case, then went a step farther and asked her opinion of it.
"Makes sense," she said. "He's right. With the Cabals, either you're for them or against them. Especially if you're a sorcerer. Those lawyers my mom knew, the ones I said might help you, they do the same thing Lucas is doing. They take cases against the Cabals."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not really. It's weird that way. If a supernatural goes up against the Cabals, they'll squash him like a bug. But if he's a lawyer whose client went against the Cabals, or a doctor who fixed up a supernatural attacked by the Cabals, they leave him alone. Mom says the Cabals are pretty fair that way. You don't bother them, they don't bother you."
"Well, Ididn't bother them, and they sure are bothering me."
"But you're only a witch. Lucas is a sorcerer. Makes a difference, you know. So, are you hiring him?"
"Maybe. Probably." I glanced over at her. "What do you think?"
"I think you should. He seems all right. For a sorcerer."
There were people outside my house. More than a few. When I neared the house, no one turned, probably not recognizing my car-yet. From twenty feet away, I hit the garage door opener and zoomed inside before anyone could stop me. We went in through the little-used door linking the garage to the front hall, avoiding any potential confrontations.
After sending Savannah to bed, I faced down the dreaded answering machine. The display flashed "34". Thirty-four messages? My God, how many did the thing hold?
Fortunately most calls only required an intro. This is Chris Walters from KZET-delete. Marcia Lu from World Weekly News-delete. Jessie Lake from Channel 7-delete. Of the first twelve calls, seven were media, including three from the same radio station, probably trying to land an impromptu interview on their show.
Of the nonmedia calls, one was an ex-boyfriend and one was a friend I hadn't seen since she moved to Maine in the seventh grade. Both were calling to see how I was doing. That was nice. Really nice. Better than the other two. The first began (extreme profanity omitted) "You're a lying, murdering *bleep*. Just wait you *bleep*ing *bleep*. You'll get yours. Maybe the *bleep*ing cops don't-"
My finger trembled as I hit the Delete button. I cranked down the volume before going on to the next call. Savannah didn't need to hear that crap. I didn't need to hear it, either, but I told myself I'd have to get used to it, grow a thicker skin.
The next call was more of the same, so I deleted it after the first expletive. Then came a message that I listened to all the way through, one that began "Ms. Winterbourne, you don't know me, but I'm so sorry to hear what's happening to you out there," and went on to dispense more sympathy and a promise to pray for me. I needed that. I really did.
A scan through the next nine messages revealed seven media persons, one irate woman damning my soul to eternal fire, and one really sweet Wiccan from Salem offering moral support. See? Not so bad. Only sixty percent of strangers were calling for my corpse on a pyre.
I fast-forwarded through four more media calls, then heard one that jolted my spirits.
"Paige? Paige? Come on, pick up!" a familiar voice bellowed over loud rock music and high-decibel chatter. "I know you're there! It's eight o'clock at night. Where else would you be? On a date?"
A whoop of laughter, then an ear-piercing whistle to catch my attention from whatever corner of the house I might be lurking in.
