Dime Store Magic (19 page)
"There weren't any charges," I corrected quickly. "The police didn't charge me."
"That's wonderful," Abby said. "We're just so glad to see you're okay."
She turned to the others. "Aren't we, everyone?"
A few murmured noises of assent answered. Not exactly a deafening show of support but, right now, it was good enough.
Abby hugged me again, and used the embrace to whisper in my ear.
"Just go sit down, Paige. You belong here. Don't let them say otherwise."
Victoria glared at me, then swept to her place at the front of the room. I followed and took my seat in my mother's chair. And the meeting began.
After discussing Tina Moss's new pregnancy and eight-year-old Emma Alden's nasty case of chicken pox, Victoria finally deigned to acknowledge my problem. And she made it clear that this was indeed
my
problem.
They'd argued against letting me take custody of Savannah from the start and this only confirmed their fears. Their biggest concern now was not that I'd lose Savannah, but that I'd expose the Coven. It all came back to fear. I was to handle this on my own. In handling it, I was not to involve any other Coven witch. I was forbidden to even ask Abby for help baby-sitting Savannah, because it created a public link between us.
When Victoria finished, I stormed out of the building, undoing the door lock spell, then crashing through the security perimeter and hoping the mental alarm gave the Elders a collective migraine. How dare they! The Coven existed for two purposes, to regulate and to help witches. They'd all but abdicated the first role to the interracial council. Now they were denying responsibility for the second. What the hell were we becoming?
A social club for witches? Maybe we should become a real book club. At least then we might have some hope of intelligent conversation.
I strode across the empty baseball field, fuming but knowing I couldn't leave. Savannah was still inside. The Elders wouldn't allow her or anyone else to come after me. Like a child throwing a tantrum, I was expected to walk it off and return.
"May I assume it's not going well?"
I wheeled to see Cortez behind me. Before I could blast him, he continued, "Yesterday I noted a seven-thirty book club appointment on your calendar, which I feared you might be obstinate enough to attend, despite the danger inherent in pursuing regular activities—"
"Speak English," I snapped.
He continued, unperturbed. "However, I now realize that you were not acting rashly in attending a mere book club but, instead, wisely conferring with your Coven and enlisting their help implementing our plan. As you may recall, step three of the initial list requires enlisting the members of your Coven to discreetly support you—"
"Forget it, Counselor. They aren't going to be supporting me, discreetly or otherwise. I am hereby forbidden to impose my problem—
my
problem—on any member of the Coven."
I regretted the words as they left my mouth. Before I could backtrack, though, Cortez murmured, "I'll handle this," and strode off, leaving me trapped in a split second of blind panic, as I realized what he was about to do. By the time I tore after him, he was at the community center doors. He gestured sharply, undoing any spells, and marched through.
Fox in the Henhouse
I GOT TO THE MEETING ROOM DOOR AS CORTEZ STARTED
TO SPEAK.
"Ladies," he said. "I apologize for interrupting your meeting."
A collective gasp drowned him out as eighteen witches realized they had a sorcerer in their midst. And what did they do? Hex him? Cast repelling spells? To my embarrassment—to my shame—they drew back, gasping and chattering, like a bunch of chickens seeing a fox in the henhouse. Witches in their prime, witches with fifty years of spell-casting experience, cowering before a twenty-five-year-old sorcerer. Only Savannah stayed where she was, perched on the pastry table.
"You again?" she said. "You don't take a hint, do you?"
"He's—" Therese stammered. "He's a—"
"A sorcerer," Savannah said. "Get over it."
"Lucas Cortez," he said, striding to the front of the room. "As you know, Paige is undergoing a custody challenge and, as a result, has now been implicated in a murder investigation. In order to prevent further legal proceedings and protect Paige's reputation, there are several actions I will require from each of you."
At this point, I could have jumped in and explained that he wasn't my lawyer. But I didn't. I was still smarting from the Coven's rejection.
Maybe if they thought I was forced to accept outside help—from a sorcerer, no less—they'd change their minds. And maybe, yes, maybe a small part of me liked watching the Elders squirm.
Cortez hefted his satchel onto the front table. "I don't suppose you have access to an overhead projector."
No one answered. No one even moved. Savannah jumped off the table, crossed the room, handed him a marker, and pointed to the flip-chart.
Then she sauntered back to the pastry table, grinning, and winked at me before resuming her perch.
I'd have to speak to Savannah about taking pleasure in the discomfort of others. Still, it was kind of funny, Cortez standing up there, writing down his list, explaining each point, so serious and intent, as the Coven
sat and gawked, each one of them hearing nothing but the endless loop of an internal voice, repeating "A sorcerer? Is that really a sorcerer?"
"Are there any questions?" Cortez said after his presentation.
Silence.
Eleven-year-old Megan, the youngest neophyte, raised her hand. "Are you a bad sorcerer?"
"I lack some proficiency in the higher-order spells but, at the risk of sounding overconfident, I must say there are worse sorcerers."
I sputtered a laugh, covering it with a cough.
"Mr. Cortez is right," Abby said. "We all need to come together and help Paige in any way we can."
Silence.
"And on that note," I muttered under my breath.
"Cortez," murmured Sophie Moss who, at ninety-three, was the oldest witch in the Coven and fast succumbing to Alzheimer's. "I knew a Cortez once. Benicio Cortez. Back in '72, no, '79. The Miami affair. Horrible—"
She stopped, blinked, frowned, then looked at Cortez. "Who are you, boy?
This is a private meeting."
On that fitting note of mental acuity, the meeting ended.
After the meeting adjourned, Savannah walked over to Cortez as every other witch practically tripped over her own feet getting as far from him as possible. I was heading to the front of the room to join Savannah and Cortez when the Elders waylaid me.
"Now I have seen everything," Victoria said. "Your mother must be rolling in her grave. Hiring a sorcerer—"
"I haven't hired him," I said. "But I have to admit, I'm considering it. At least someone is offering to help me."
"A sorcerer, Paige?" Margaret said. "Really, I can't help but wonder if you're doing this to spite us. Even speaking to a sorcerer is against Coven policy, and you've obviously been doing that." She glanced toward the front of the room, where Savannah was chatting with Cortez. "And allowing my niece to do the same."
"Only because your niece is getting zero help from her aunt," I said.
Therese motioned for me to lower my voice. I didn't.
"Yes, I've talked to him. Why? Because he is the only person who's offered to help me. He got me out of jail today. You three couldn't even bother sending Margaret to the police station to make sure Savannah was safe. You guys don't seem to get it. You know I'm not the type who likes to ask for help, but I'm asking now."
"You don't need a sorcerer."
"No, I need my Coven."
"Get rid of the sorcerer," Victoria said.
"And then you'll help me?"
"I'm not making a deal," she said. "I'm giving an order. Get rid of him.
Now."
With that, she turned and left, the other two trailing in her wake.
Cortez materialized at my shoulder.
"Perhaps you'd care to reconsider my offer?" he murmured.
I saw the Elders watching us. Victoria's glare ordered me to get rid of Cortez. The urge to flip her the finger was almost overwhelming. Instead, I did the figurative equivalent.
"You're right," I said to Cortez, voice raised. "We should talk.
Savannah, come on. We're going."
I motioned for Cortez to lead the way.
We drove to Starbucks in Belham—taking separate cars, of course.
After I'd parked, Cortez took the spot in front of me and still managed to be standing beside my door before I pulled my keys from the ignition. He didn't try to open the door for me but, once I pushed it open, he held it steady while I got out of the car.
Once inside, I ordered Savannah a child-sized hot chocolate. She changed it to a venti caffé mocha. I downsized that to a small decaf caffé mocha. She negotiated a chocolate chip brownie and we settled. Here this stuff was finally getting easier for me and Kristof Nast wanted to spoil it all. Very unfair.
Although the place wasn't exactly booming at nine-thirty on a Sunday night, Cortez opted for a side room where the staff had already put the chairs upside down on the tables. As we headed in, the cashier leaned over the counter, a half-pound of necklaces and amulets clanging against the laminate.
"That section's closed," she said.
"We'll tidy up when we're done," Cortez replied, and nudged us back to the farthest table. Once we were seated, he turned to Savannah. "I'm afraid this is going to be another of those very boring conversations.
There's a magazine stand over there." He reached for his wallet. "May I buy you something to read?"
"Nice try," she said and slurped a mouthful of whipped cream.
"All right, then. Let's review that list I gave you."
"Didn't bring it."
"That's quite all right." He hoisted his satchel to the table. "I have extra copies."
"Fine," she said, taking the five-dollar bill from his hand. "I don't know why you're bothering. We aren't going to hire you. If we wanted a sorcerer lawyer, I could get someone a whole lot older and more experienced than you."
"I'll remember that."
