Mercy's Magic (4 page)

“I don’t know. I can do the footwork; I think I can probably find him on my own. This case is very dear to my heart, it’s personal. Perhaps that’s what’s wrong...what’s clouding everything for me at the moment.”

“But perhaps not. I can feel your unease though.”

“Right. I just have this feeling, this isn’t going to be an ordinary case. But I can’t pinpoint why. I sense...”

“Danger,” Itzel finished. She scrutinized Mercy further. “Show me what you’ve brought,” she told her. “And bring me the black candle.”

Mercy was shocked. “We never use the black ones,
Tía
.”

“Never say never, Mercy. They do serve a purpose. Sometimes we have to use different realms, even if we would rather not. Remember, I can handle the candle. You can’t, at least not yet, but I can.”

Mercy crossed to the old hutch containing all kinds of bottled herbs and liquids, talismans, and candles. A lone black candle stared her in the face. It’s rich, oily wax forbade touch. She hesitated just a second before grabbing it off the shelf and handing it to Itzel.

Itzel closed her eyes and uttered something Mercy couldn’t understand. The old woman slowed her breathing. Mercy waited patiently, nervously.

When Itzel opened her eyes again, they shone with a supernatural brilliance. If Mercy hadn’t been Itzel’s favorite niece, she would have been deathly afraid.

Itzel struck a match, lit the candle, and motioned for Mercy to sit at her feet. Mercy complied. The energy in the room had shifted, and Mercy felt as if she were surrounded by some kind of shield. The simplest of words could have broken the spell Itzel had conjured, as it felt oddly protective yet fragile at the same time. Her aunt silently held her palm out to Mercy; Mercy set Javier’s talisman into it.

She remained quiet but gazed up at her aunt. Aunt Itzy had never done anything like this before. She closed her eyes again, holding the charm with both hands. She focused; her breathing was now very slow.

She’s trancing.
Mercy realized.
She’s not here right now. That’s what the protective shield is for.

Mercy kneeled at her aunt’s feet and tried to keep clear of the energy now encompassing her old aunt. She didn’t understand what her aunt was doing, but Mercy focused on clearing her mind so as not to interrupt the powerful magic now at work in the tiny home.

She didn’t know how long they stayed that way. Perhaps minutes, perhaps a half-hour.

Suddenly a strong, cold wind blew through the room, and the candle blew out. Itzel opened her eyes and regarded her niece. Mercy looked up at her Aunt Itzy with wide eyes.

Then Itzel laughed; a true hag’s cackle. “What are you afraid of, Mercedes Cruz?” She asked, point blank.

“Well...you’ve never done this with me before...”

“I never felt it necessary,” her aunt countered. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you fear?”

Mercy bent her head and contemplated the question, her hands resting on her thighs. She could fool a lot of people, but not Aunt Itzy. She’d never even tried.

“I’m afraid of the unknown. I’m afraid that my instincts might be right, and that this isn’t just any ordinary case.”

“Your instincts are true, as always,” Itzel answered. “Child, I have a few things to tell you, important things,” she reconsidered. “You need to listen to me carefully. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“What would you hear first?”

“Well, I guess about the case,” Mercy answered doubtfully. “Whatever you think wisest,
Tia
.”

“Alright. I saw your friend Javier. He is being held, and enslaved for work. He is not happy, and he feels helpless. He fears for his family. He loves his family. He is probably being drugged to work long and hard hours and it will not be easy to find, or free him.”

“If you gained all that knowledge,” Mercy ventured. “How can you not know where he is?”

Itzel remained quiet and caressed Mercy’s cheek as if to ease some pain. “I might have gained this information. But there are forces at work here that you are not prepared for,
mi amor.”

Mercy’s eyebrows bunched together with confusion. “What sort of forces?”

“I could not determine,” Itzel said. “That is the challenge here. The fact that I couldn’t see what I wanted is indeed a rare thing, and it tells me there is someone or something with much power at work here. I know you hold Javier and his family in high regard, but you may pay a high price for saving him. Are you prepared to do that?”

“I see,” Mercy whispered.

“See?” Itzel interrupted. “Do you really see now that you have done yourself a disservice by not becoming who you really are? Because, my child, you’re going to have to draw all of your strength for this one. And then some.”

“But I have to,
Tía
.
I promised his wife. I may not have all my power and strength as I should...”  

Itzel sat back in her rocking chair, folded her arms and glared down at Mercy. She loved her niece, but Mercy might have to learn this lesson the hard way. The outcome of this endeavor was, even for Itzel, hard to tell, too early to know.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Itzy.” Mercy was ashamed now; she felt as though she’d let her aunt down. All the opportunities she missed while visiting Itzy in Mexico, like the meditating, and the potions her aunt had taught her; she hadn’t taken this tutelage seriously as a child and now she was sorry for it. Her aunt was a certified
grade A
Bruja
, a most powerful witch, and so was Mercy’s potential...and now Terra, if Mercy got her act together. It was time to get to work, in more ways than one. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

Itzel took a pad of paper and a pen from the end table, and wrote something on it.

“Go to Lily,” Itzel ordered. “Go to her and get some King Solomon oil.”

“What?!” Mercy couldn’t help herself. “Why? I have strong mental powers, and I consider myself a wise decision-maker already. You gave me all the information I need to continue the lead. Why do I need the Solomon oil?”

“Just do it, Mercy. I know your powers better than you do. You’re no master. And it couldn’t hurt to have a little protection.”

Mercy took the paper and shoved into her back jeans pocket and blew a deep breath through her nose. “Of course, Aunt Itzy. I trust you completely.”

“Be wise, my child, about those you give your trust to. I will say no more.”

Chapter Eight

“I’m sorry, but can you please put out that incense?” Mercy asked her precocious friend of many years. “You know it gives me a headache.”

Lily rolled her eyes, but complied with her Mercy’s request. “It’s supposed to calm you, darling,” she said in defense.

“Well, it doesn’t. It stinks.” Mercy waved her hand to blow the smoke away from her face. “It’s just one of your marketing tricks, so you could get people to buy your junk and you know it.”

“Tsk, tsk, what’s eating you?” Lily moved the incense and its little ashtray that rested on the counter away from Mercedes. “Come on, spit it out.”

Lily owned a
botánica
—
a small shop which sold religious candles, herbal remedies, and incense
—
off a narrow, sketchy street in Downtown Santa Ana.
The two of them had been friends for years, but they couldn’t have been more different. Mercy, single mother that she was, made every effort to be responsible, to lead by example for Terra. She was a good, hard working mother.

As for Lilly, despite being just as much a hard worker as Mercy when it came to running the shop, she never knew what it felt like to abruptly end a work day to attend to a child. To deal with the surprise and worry of a sudden fever after nap time, or be called into school by the school nurse because of a welt on the back of your child’s head has mysteriously appeared after recess.

Lily was an outgoing barfly who enjoyed concerts, the Hollywood Bowl in the summers, and other venues whose patrons never had to worry about hiring a babysitter at the last minute. Lily was also an avid dater, and Mercy seldom dated, and when she did, it was guardedly. Lily enjoyed a vast and colorful wardrobe, while Mercy limited hers to simple, efficient clothing that suited working mostly from home, or appropriate business attire. She had to. If she showed up at the police department dressed like Lily did, they’d ask her if she would able to post bail that evening.

The two women had completely different looks, too. Mercy’s wild hair, tamed only with a ponytail or braid, contrasted Lily’s long curly locks which women envied and men found irresistible.  Lily had the brightest blue eyes which always accompanied the most mischievous smile, while Mercy’s set, a twinkling brown, were more mysterious and fleeting.

Supremely intuitive, Lily tapped her fingers on the counter and waited for Mercy to reply. “Well? What’s up? I’ll bet it has something to do with your Aunt, or a case. Or both?”

The women shared a supernatural bond with one another. It was as if their friendship were held together by the sturdiest and most magical of thread, where they discussed each other’s powers, potential, ideas, and above all else, romance, or in Mercy’s case, avoidance.

“Yes, it’s both,” Mercy admitted. She took a glance around the store and made sure the lady browsing the saint candles wasn’t listening in on their conversation. “Aunt Itzy told me to get some King Solomon from you, but she wouldn’t say why.”

“Ha!” Lily laughed. “You don’t need that.”

“I know. But I don’t dare disobey her.” Mercy giggled as well. “She might end up turning me into a salamander or a bat or something.”

“King Solomon is next to nothing in the way of protection,” Lily said quietly, and it was information she’d never dare share with any of the customers that came into her store. “If you need clear thinking and protection, I can conjure up something special just for you.”

“No, I better take the King,” Mercy said.

“Alright,” Lily answered, drawing a small vial from a shelf. “But how about I come over tonight? After Terra goes to bed? We can share a bottle of wine.”

“Terra’s spending the weekend with her dad,” Mercy said mournfully.

“Great! Then we can go see this great band, it’s not far. You’ll love it!”

“We’ll see. I think I’d like to talk about the case.”

“You know, we could actually do both, you old maid,” Lily teased. “I’ll be over around seven.”

Chapter Nine

“Thank you, Julia, I’ll be in touch.” Mercy ended the call before Julia could say more. It was perhaps rude, but while Mercy cared about the woman, her job was to find Javier.

Mercy knew that if you wanted to find out about someone, one of the best places to go was their neighbors. In this case, print shops. She’d asked Julia if she remembered how long Javier’s commute was from his second job. Julia informed Mercy it took no longer than five minutes, based on Javier’s calls whenever he’d let his wife know he was ready to leave work.

Still, Mercy was very careful, as she stretched the investigative perimeter from a measly five miles to ten.

Mercy spent the next three to four hours scoping out all the printing companies within the established perimeter, with no luck. They all tended to be small-time print shops, mostly mom and pop and family owned. Mercy didn’t bother with the larger Kinkos or similar corporate establishments that wouldn’t risk the ire of the Feds by hiring undocumented workers.

She finally came across a location on the border of the City of Orange and Santa Ana. A large business building with a vague sign on its traffic-facing façade that read,
Professional Printing
.

Mercy parked in the mostly empty lot. The only cars surrounding hers were two large Escalades,
familiar black Escalades
, and a Dodge Challenger, all of them with heavily tinted windows. The windows to the outside had been darkened as well, making Mercy wonder what kind of operation took place beyond the front door.

Before entering, Mercy re-ponied her unpresentable head of frizzy hair. She entered the building and was greeted by a blinding fluorescent glow. Her eyes adjusted and noticed a couple of simple, black leather couches sitting in the lobby with a plain black marble coffee table between them. Mercy approached the young receptionist, who regarded Mercy skeptically.

“Good afternoon,” Mercy said, friendly-like. “I’m looking to print a vast amount of pre-typed letters and business card sheets. Do you do that kind of thing?” She scanned the premises while she talked. Mercy heard the sounds of what she perceived as dozens of print machines clicking in unison. It seemed as if the mechanical sounds came from behind the wall that separated the lobby and the rest of the building.

“How’d you hear about us?” the young woman asked. “Or were you just driving by?”

Mercy stuck out her hand, thinking something about getting more bees with honey than vinegar. “I’m Mercedes Cruz.” She smiled, keeping her hand out until the young woman shook it reluctantly. “And your name is...?”

The young woman rose with a bit of hesitation. “Cassi.”

“Well, Cassi,” Mercy said pleasantly. “I’ve been all over the place, looking for someone who can make something really special for me. You know how it is,” she continued, rolling her eyes with a bit of exaggeration. “I can’t find anything but the most generic, run of the mill cards that use cheesy stock graphics and designs. Is there someone here who can help me? A manager, perhaps?”

Cassi returned Mercy’s smile with a stoic gaze. “We’re here to...we only print large quantities for large corporations. We’re talking thousands of dollars’ worth of print jobs. I wish I could help you. You might want to continue looking online or maybe the yellow pages,” she suggested.

Mercy narrowed her eyes at Cassi, as soon as the young receptionist throated a slight vibrato. A weird feeling overcame the perceptive investigator, a familiar sensation, one that witches get, no matter the experience level, when subtle vibrations tickle the nerves leading up through the neck and head, signaling pessimism, or worst, a nefarious presence.