Dime Store Magic (49 page)
We tramped into a field.
"Do you do this a lot, Lucas?" Savannah asked. "Car chases and evading the cops and stuff?"
"On occasion, though I would hesitate to say it qualified as 'often.' "
"The real question is: How often do you have to do it this often?" I said.
He smiled. "Not often."
"So, we're special?" Savannah said.
"Very special."
"I don't think that's good," I said.
I transferred the knapsack to my other shoulder. Cortez reached to take it from me, but I waved him back.
Savannah tripped in a groundhog hole, then jogged up beside Cortez.
"So what kind of case is this? Compared to your other ones?"
"Frenetic."
She glanced at me for clarification.
"He means we're keeping him busy," I said. "Mainly because we're causing half the trouble ourselves."
Cortez smiled. "I must admit, you two do have a unique predilection for creating new challenges."
"Unique," Savannah said. "He means we're special."
"Uh-huh."
We reentered the house the same way we'd left, coming through the woods, then darting across the yard and in the back door. A quick peek out the front confirmed that such caution was still warranted. There were still three or four people camped out on my lawn. One of them had even erected a pup tent. Maybe I should have started charging site rental fees.
After sending Savannah off to bed, I called Margaret.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: Ummm, we had a problem with your car…
Her: An accident! Oh, dear, no. My insurance rates—
Me: Not an accident. We're all fine, including the car.
We just had to ditch it.
Her: You drove it into the ditch?
Me: Sorry, I meant "abandon." The police saw the license number and—
Her: Police?
Me: Everything's fine, but when the police find it, say it was stolen.
Her: Stolen?
Me: Right. Say it was in the driveway when you went to bed and you never saw it again. Don't mention the keys.
And if the police say anything about the cemetery—
Her: Cemetery?
Me: Tell them you don't know anything about it.
Her: But I don't!
Me: Good. Whatever they say, you know nothing. You haven't seen me in days. If they find my prints in your car, it's because I borrowed it last month, okay?
Her: Prints? Do you mean fingerprints? What on earth have you—
Me: Gotta go. Thanks for letting us borrow the car. I'll make it up to you. Bye.
When I walked into the living room, Cortez was standing in front of the television, flipping through channels.
"TV," I said as I collapsed onto the sofa. "Great invention. The perfect mindless antidote for a hellish day. So what's on?"
"Night of the Living Dead."
"Ha-ha."
"I'm quite serious."
He turned back a few channels and stopped on a black-and-white image of the moaning undead lurching around a farmhouse.
"Kinda looks familiar," I said. "Haven't I seen this before?"
"Yesterday," he said. "In the funeral home."
"No, that's not it. Those undead were much scarier. And they didn't lurch. Well, Cary did, but only 'cause he was kind of squashed. Hmmm, where have I seen this?
Ghouls surrounding a house, trapping the inhabitants within, refusing to leave. Wait! That's my front lawn. Look, there's a naked woman! Bet she's a Wiccan."
Cortez chuckled. "I'm glad you can laugh about it."
I hesitated, then glanced over at him. "You know, if this gets to be too much… I mean, this isn't quite the nice, easy court case you probably imagined. I'd understand if you wanted to back out."
"And miss all the fun?" He shot a crooked grin my way. "Never."
We looked at each other a moment, then he quickly turned to the TV
and started channel-surfing.
"No, wait," I said. "Go back to the movie. I could use some light entertainment. Flesh-eating zombies might be just the ticket."
He returned to the old movie, then glanced from the recliner to the couch, as if trying to decide where to sit. I gestured at the other end of the sofa. He nodded and sat beside me.
"What're we watching?" Savannah said, bouncing into the room wearing her nightgown.
"Paige and I are watching
Night of the Living Dead
. You are going to bed."
"I just conjured a cemetery full of spirits. I think I'm old enough to watch a horror movie." She plopped into the recliner. "Do we have chips or anything?"
"You think I've been shopping lately?" I said. "Pretty soon we'll be down to pickles and preserves."
"Are those the zombies?" she said. "Talk about lame."
"It's an old film," I said. "The special effects aren't very advanced."
"What special effects? That's a guy with mascara smeared under his eyes. I've seen scarier people at the mall."
"Did Paige tell you to go to bed, Savannah?" Cortez said.
"Oh, fine," she said. "It's a dumb movie anyway."
She flounced from the room. A few minutes later, I sighed.
"It is a pretty dumb movie," I said. "But I'm too wired to sleep."
"I, uh, believe you mentioned something about new grimoires?"
I sat up. "Geez, that's right. I almost forgot. I wanted to try them out tonight."
"You were, I believe, going to tell me…" He let the sentence fade out.
I grinned. "I was going to tell you about them, wasn't I?"
So I did.
Pressure Valve
"IT'S POSSIBLE," HE SAID WHEN I FINISHED TELLING HIM
about the grimoires.
"Possible? Are you saying my logic is flawed?"
"I wouldn't dare. I'm simply saying that it makes sense and, therefore, it's possible. Non-Coven witches have been using sorcerer magic for generations. It would be good to see them get their own back."
I smiled. "Would it? You know what it would mean, don't you? These spells could level the playing field."
"As it should be."
I leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Is this the same guy who made a crack about the 'hereditary limitations' of witch powers?"
"I affected the persona with which I thought you'd be most comfortable. I've dealt with enough witches not to underestimate their abilities. Not every sorcerer hates or even dislikes witches. Many do, though, even those who'd be considered decent, moral men."
"Decent moral sorcerers?"
"No, that's not an oxymoron. Not every sorcerer is evil. To say that would be akin to saying that every witch is weak and fearful, which I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate. A stereotype becomes a stereotype when a significant percentage of a population appears to conform to it. Unlike some stereotypes, that of the morally corrupt sorcerer is, unfortunately, valid."
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
"Exactly. Those who chase the dream of absolute power, as many sorcerers do, find themselves obsessed by it."
"So you don't crave stronger powers?"
He met my gaze. "What I crave, as I believe you do, is stronger knowledge. The best possible repertoire of spells and the power to do my best with them. When I say I'm pleased that you found these grimoires, I must admit, I can't help but see it as an opportunity to acquire new spells."
"Can't blame you for that." I shifted and turned toward him. "Don't you think maybe we're being naive? Believing that we'll never be corrupted by our own quest for power?"
"Perhaps."
"There's a definitive answer."
"Wouldn't it be naive of me to think I couldn't possibly be naive?"
"Enough," I said. "You're making my head spin. Time to try out a new spell."
He shifted forward. "Would you… object to an audience?"
I grinned. "Not at all."
I gathered my books and we went down to the basement. When I said I hoped to learn a new spell, I meant exactly that: one new spell. As much as I longed to test-drive the whole book, even hoping to learn one spell might be pushing it. To cast a spell from the tertiary level grimoires, I first had to master a new one from the secondary spellbook, which would take time.
I further dampened my own enthusiasm by insisting on proceeding in a logical fashion. Tonight I wanted not only to learn something new, but to test my theory. Was it necessary to learn the corresponding secondary spell before one could cast the tertiary?
To test this, I selected the suffocation spell. Since I'd practiced it already for hours without success, it was the perfect choice. If I could cast it after learning the secondary spell, it would support my hypothesis. The suffocation spell was classified as an air elemental, class five.
The corresponding air spell was one that caused hiccups. Maybe in grade school that would have been fun, but for anyone over the age of ten, it was a pretty silly spell. Logically, though, it made sense. Both hiccups and suffocation are interruptions to breathing.
When I'd run through these grimoires the first time, I'd tried this spell, just for fun, but stopped before mastering it. If my theory was right, that might explain why the suffocation spell had shown some signs that it might eventually work—because I'd partially learned the secondary spell.
Struck by a thought, I dug out my Coven-sanctioned grimoire and flipped to a page near the end. A spell to cure hiccups, which I'd learned years ago. That one was an air elemental spell, class five. The primary