The Problem With Black Magic (6 page)

When Cassie woke up on Saturday morning, the buzzing that she felt between her shoulder blades-- so normal for her now, she barely noticed it anymore-- had turned up in intensity. She figured it was probably some sort of magic indicator; now that Sam had done the protection spell, she could feel it. She wasn’t sure if that was a consequence of being his familiar, or just the advantage of having a lot of latent magic that was virtually useless to her.

She grimaced, pulling the covers over her head. What was up with that, anyway? How unfair was it that she had magic, but only someone else-
- and someone she didn’t particularly care for-- could use it? Maybe there was something she could do about that.

It was easy enough to convince Annette to let her spend all weekend at home; all she had to do was mutter a
bout doing a few more practice SATS, and her mother was pacified. Cassie’s grades were good, but not Harvard-tier good, and Annette was hoping against hope that Cassie would pull her scores up and become eligible for the best universities. Up until a week ago, Cassie had been very interested in the question of where she was going to college, but right now, it seemed kind of remote.

She actually did start a practice test, snacking on cinnamon toaster cakes and trying to
think of geometry and latin-derived terms instead of magic. After she found that she was re-reading the questions multiple times because her mind refused to focus, she gave up and pulled out her laptop. Maybe the internet would yield some answers to her demon-related problems.

As she expected, her preliminary searches turned up a lot of nonsense: people nattering on about Satan-worship, and other things that didn’t jibe with her
recent experience of actual magic. She also browsed witchcraft and Wicca sites, hoping to find something that would convince her she could one day use magic like self-proclaimed witches, but most of the more reputable sites seemed to treat the idea of magic as more of a kind of new-aged religion then well, actual magic.

It wasn’t that she didn’t see the value of modern-day witchcraft as a belief system; she could believe that performing a “positive affirmation spell” could affect one’s confidence and thus generate results, but she’d seen a man freeze
time; she wasn’t interested in the kind of magic that could largely be explained as a placebo effect.

She did find some accounts of powerful magic, but in general, the more spectacular the magic, the more disreputable the source. She tried to keep an open mind, but after the fifteenth blog post somewhere along the lines of “I turned my cat Snuffles into a person and now he’s my friend! We go to school together, but he still
likes catnip!” she had pretty much given up on finding anything of value.

Just when she was about to give up on the internet and retur
n to the entertaining world of SAT vocab and Spanish irregular verbs, she found a forum that appeared to be devoted to demon familiars. At first, she thought it was more of the same, but she noticed something curious: for all the ridiculous posts, there were several she deemed credible, followed by a message from a moderator for the poster to check their private messages, or their e-mail.

Cassie clicked on a thread entitled “What to do When You’ve Become a Familiar?” with a
frowny-face icon:

Hi guys, I know this is going to sound crazy but I’m hoping someone can help me. This guy I know, I think he must be a demon (he has these eyes!) did this thing to me-
- can’t explain it-- and I’ve been feeling weird. Like, it’s hard to explain but my body feels different now. Now, he says I’m his familiar, and I should be happy because I’m poor and he can help me. I am 11, no one believes me and I don’t know what to do! How do I stop being a familiar!-Ethan.

A few of the responses were mocking, telling Ethan that he should be happy that a demon had Chosen him; others explained elaborate “cleansing” rituals that Cassie was quite sure weren’t safe or hygienic. The last message was from a moderator “Demon’s Bane,” who told Ethan to check the email account he had used to sign up for the forum.

Cassie sat back from her laptop and exhaled; assuming her situation wasn’t unique, some of what was on this forum was probably real, like poor Ethan. Even if a solid 95 percent of it was all made up nonsense, this “Demon’s Bane” person apparently used the forum to sniff out real familiars and contact them. But for what purpose?

Whoever he or she was, she hoped they could be trusted for poor Ethan’s sake. Assuming his story was even legitimate, she had no way to help him, but she hoped someone could.

Cassie shut her laptop closed. She was tempted to keep poking around the forum, looking for more information about the whole familiar situation that Sam had yet to share with her, but how could she tell what was real? For every post that was obviously trolling or just plain made up, there were several that her recent experience wouldn’t allow her to completely dismiss. Trying to separate the wheat from the chaff would drive her crazy.

She finished another toaster pastry, deciding not to worry about undoing her short-lived weight loss when she had this much homework to do. She would finish the practice test, finish all her homework,
then read some of Annette’s stupid mystery novels for the rest of the weekend. By all means, she would not go on the internet again until she knew what to look for.

***

By eleven p.m. that night, she was in the middle of her third pulpy mystery novel, frustrated that she probably wasn’t going to guess who the murderer was yet again. Cassie wasn’t sure if the fact that she could never guess the bad guy before the reveal was due to some deficiency on her part, or if mystery novels just worked on their own twisted logic.

She looked at her laptop, tempting in its deep purple case, then quickly looked back to her book. No, she would not invite insanity by searching the internet for demons again, and it was pointless to try to go online if she wasn’t going to allow herself to do that.

At least I have some self-control
, she thought as she ate her eighth toaster pastry; yeah, she’d kind of messed up on the nutrition angle today. Somehow, she couldn’t be mad at herself for it.

Hunter had periodically come upstairs and asked her to play his racing game with him, and she kept saying no; sometimes, she agreed to play his games with him if she had n
othing better to do, but right now, she felt like she was better off keeping her distance from her brother. Whether she was legitimately concerned about his safety, or just making excuses so she could hide in her room with trashy novels and junk food, she wasn’t sure.

She sat up and rubbed her back. T
he buzzing in her shoulder blades was getting stronger, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe the magic strengthened later in the day, or maybe she was just imagining things now that her book was boring her.

When she settled back to read again, Cassie heard a rustling on the grass outside; for a moment, she wondered if her parents were coming home from a movie, only to remember that Jon and Annette were both curled up in front of
the television in the living room the last time she went downstairs for snacks. No, whoever was out there wasn’t a member of her family.

She stood to go to the window, the first icy tendrils
of fear unfurling in her gut. When she was almost to the window, she fell to her knees as a sudden burst of pressure erupted next to her spine. A sensation like a fingernails scraping across her brain ripped a scream from her throat, and she collapsed completely on the floor.

When she came to, Jon was cradling her in his arms, while Annette was screaming into the phone. Hunter was standing in the doorway of her room, looking white as a sheet.

“Mom, Dad,” she gurgled. “Get him out of here,” she said, gesturing weakly to Hunter.

“Cassie
!” Annette screamed, taking the phone from her ear. “Oh my God, honey, what happened! You just screamed out of nowhere!”

“Just breathe, Cassie,” said her father gently. “Everything’s alright now.”

“No,” Cassie said catching her breath. “No, it’s not. You have to call the police. Someone outside is dead.”

The silver-haired police detective was doing a better job calming Annette down than Cassie would have expected.

“Ma’am, normally I wouldn’t tell you this-
- and we won’t know anything for sure until the medical examiners are through-- but I’ll tell you right now, because children are involved: I don’t see how any of you could be suspects,” he said, drinking Annette’s too-strong coffee. “For the bodies to be in that…condition,” he said, faltering only slightly, “there would have to have been some kind of struggle. Instead, it’s like they just appeared on your front lawn a few hours ago, already in that state. I would be very surprised if the autopsy doesn’t confirm that they were killed elsewhere and just dropped off in front of your house.”

Cassie hugged her knees to her chest; apparently, she had been deemed old enough to sit in on the detective’s comments. Hunter had been whisked upstairs, despite his protests, by her father, and she could hea
r the distant warble of an animated movie coming from his bedroom. They had managed to keep the 10-year-old boy from seeing the bodies, meaning that he still saw the sudden police activity at their house as “cool” instead of terrifying and traumatizing for life; Cassie hadn’t been so lucky.

“But who would do such a thing? Why? I swear to God, we’re not involved with the mob or anything like that!” said Annette for what must have been the fifth time.

“Maybe not, but everybody has enemies, ma’am; can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you or your family? Don’t try to think about who might be capable of it, because I can tell you that everyone’s capable.”

Annette snorted; Cassie marveled at her mother’s self-possession in this situation. She’d thought Annette was crazy for a long time, but apparently, it was a kind of crazy that allowed her to stay remarkably calm in situations that would drive other people legitimately crazy. “I have enemies in the PTA, detective; they can be bitchy, but this is a bit much.”

The two bodies, both men (from what they could tell) had been found on their front lawn, not far from where Sam had been standing a few hours ago; apparently, the spell hadn’t been about protection so much as it was about brutally dismembering anyone who wasn’t welcome.

Cassie shivered as she remembered giving Sam a few strands of her hair last night, asking herself over and over again why she hadn’t asked him what he was going to use them to do. If she’d known, she never would have agreed to it; nothing that could do that to a human being should ever be used.

But then what,
she thought,
I just let them take me?
She knew the men had been there for her, as sure as she’d known that someone was dead once she’d regained consciousness.

The detective looked at Cassie and she felt a small surge of fear; what could she do if he asked her what she knew? She knew everything, didn’t think she could lie to his face convincingly, and telling the truth would only make things ten times worse. Annette followed his gaze and put her coffee cup on the table with a loud bang.

“Detective Cavello, Cassie is a minor,” said Annette. “I didn’t ask for a lawyer before questioning because, like I said, we have nothing to do with this, but if you want to question her, I will have to ask for it to be in the presence of a lawyer.”

Cassie exhaled:
Yaaay for maternal overprotectiveness! She didn’t know if being in front of a lawyer would help matters, but at least it would give her some time to think up what she would say.

The detective shook his head sadly and went to stand. “Ma’am, I’ll let you know if the investigation requires your further participation, but as of right now I’d just as soon let your little girl forget this ever happened,” he said, giving Cassie a weak smile.

As Annette went to walk the detective out, Cassie scratched between her shoulder blades. The spell was still active, dammit, and for all she knew it might kill more people before the weekend was over. She didn’t think demons would send more people to snatch her now that the most recent pair had met with such a horrific end, but she hadn’t thought it likely that they would try to snatch her in the first place; obviously, the way these people operated was alien to her.

She frowned; she needed to talk to Sam, and she didn
’t see how it was possible. He had to know the spell had activated, but he couldn’t come near the house without Annette going on the offensive, and that had been true even before dead bodies had started turning up. Actually, it was kind of darkly humorous how right Annette had been about him, in a way; she’d known he was dangerous for her daughter, just had no idea what order of magnitude the danger was.

She passed her father on the way up the stairs.

“He’s fast asleep, bless him,” said her father. “I’m going to have to tell him tomorrow some of what happened, but for now he just thinks the police came for a visit. You going to be okay, sweetheart?”

She looked at him; her friendly neighborhood demon was blowing people up on her lawn, and he was asking if she was okay? Granted, he didn’t really know about the first part, but it still seemed like a ridiculous question.

“I mean, for tonight,” said her father, backpedaling. “I know it’s hard, but the best thing is to try to get some sleep.”

“Oh,” said Cassie sheepishly. “I’m so
tired, I think I’ll sleep okay. I just hope I don’t have nightmares.”

Her father winced. “Cass
, normally I wouldn’t allow this, but you know your mother keeps her pills on the third shelf of the--“

“Dad, I’m fine!
And if I wake up from a bad dream, I’ll take the pill, okay?” she said when the look of naked concern on her father’s face made her feel strangely guilty.

“Okay. We’ll get through this,” he said, pulling her into one of his big bear hugs that used to make her feel so secure.

***

Once again, Cassie found herself at her grandparent’s home upstate, only this time, she was wearing the t-shirt and sweats that she’d gone to sleep in. After a few minutes of disorientation, she remembered that she had gone to sleep a short while ago: that meant she must be dreaming, or something akin to it.

“Finally getting used to it, I see,” said Sam, standing above her.

Cassie looked up at him. “Why are we here again? I thought the last time it was because my brain was going crazy.”

Sam sat on the far edge of her chair. “I needed to talk to you, but there’s no way I could physically go to you, especially not now. So we’re meeting in a kind of dream state
-- one of the benefits of our familiar bond.”

“Yeah, it’s really beneficial for me,” Cassie mumbled, still feeling uncomfortable in the real-yet-not atmosphere of the dream. She knew she had to tell him something, but couldn’t remember what it was. She was also distracted by him sitting so close to her; she knew it was all a mental projection and their bodies weren’t involved, but it still seemed awfully familiar of him to just plunk down on the edge of her chair like that.

Sam looked out at the horizon behind her grandparent’s house; since the last time they were here, the fall foliage had started to become noticeable, making some of the trees look like a mix of spun gold and cotton candy. “If I thought they would trigger it, I never would have made the spell work like that; I purposely made it so gruesome so they would stay away from it,” he said, anger obvious in his voice.

Cassie tilted her head to the side. “Oh right, I remember now: you’re a murderer.”

Sam jerked back as though he’d been slapped. “I’m telling you, they never should have triggered it. Lethal magic is kind of like nuclear weapons; you point it at everyone in the hopes that the threat of using it will be enough,” he explained. “I never planned for that spell to activate.”

Cassie leaned back in her chair and considered that. She supposed it was better that he hadn’t meant to kill anyone, but something about his logic didn’t add up to her. “Why make a spell if you didn’t want to use it?” she asked. “I mean, couldn’t you make it so that trying to get into the house would just make them go unconscious or something? Then you would have known who it was afterwards, because they’d still be in one piece.”

A look flickered over Sam’s face briefly that she couldn’t identify, and he looked away. “I could have, but that’s very…delicate. Doing it this way was…more efficient.”

Cassie sat up in her chair, pulling her legs up and away from him. “You mean
, you suck at magic, so you made the spell killer because it was easier for you.”

“Cassie!” he said, snapping his head around to look at her in outrage.

She shrugged. “I don’t know if I get this because you’re in my head now so I understand you better, or if it’s just that obvious. But you have like, zero control over magic, right? That’s why you didn’t use magic on Serenus even when you were really pissed, because you would have killed him.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and stood up, pacing. She noticed he was wearing his typical work outfit: black pants, and an immaculate white button down shirt with the collar of a black undershirt peeking out at his throat.

“You also have zero imagination, because you can probably look like whatever you want in a dream and you’re still dressed like we’re at work,” said Cassie, yawning.

He turned to face her, hands balled into fists at his side. “What do you want from me,” he said quietly. “I came to tell you what happened now that y
ou have dead people in front of your house, and all you do is insult me.”

Cassie stood and stretched, finally feeling at home in the murky feeling of the dream world. “What do I want from you? Hmm, let’s see. First, I’d like you to stop killing people because you’re too lazy to do proper magic. Second, I’d like it if you killed people away from where my little brother might see them,” and a properly guilty look came over his face at that. “Three,” she said walking closer to him, gratified when he took a small step back, “Don’t come into my head for any reason, ever again. I’d rather have nightmares like a normal person.”

He sneered, looking as close to ugly as she’d ever seen him. “Are you sure? I passed some amazing nightmares on my way over here. Want to see them? I may “suck” at magic, but I think I can manage that.”

Cassie went to slap him, and started when he seemed to disappear under her fingers. Well, it wasn’t real; she supposed he could be wherever he wanted. She probably could too once she got used to navigating this plane, not like it would help much. “I hate you!” she yelled. “I hate your stupid attitude and your stupid powers and the fact that you wear the same stupid outfit every day! I hate everything about you!”

“Cassie, I--“ she heard him start behind her, sounding remorseful. She turned and connected with the palm of her hand, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that it was possible to slap him in her dreams.

He stumbled back, looking stunned. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you. I’m not really like that.”

“Don’t invade my head and then tell me what you’re like!” she shouted, balling her fists. “What part of ‘get out’ do you not understand?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, seemingly melting away into the mist. The next thing she knew, her father was shaking her awake.

“Cassie! Shhhh, shhhh it’s okay sweetheart-- it’s not real. You’re safe; it’s not real.”

Cassie hugged her father and cried. Now her nightmares could be real, and she wasn’t safe at all.