Mulberry Wands (31 page)

A man jangled keys and walked towards him. He
had a beer gut and a mesh ball cap, with a metal chain that went
from his front belt loop to what was probably a wallet in his back
pocket. “Can I help you?” he said, though by the way he said it he
really meant “What the hell are you doing looking into my
truck?”

Paul picked the owl up. She didn’t weigh
much, and when he lifted her by the leg, the rest of her didn’t
move, as though she’d been frozen in ice.

The man’s hostility faded. “Shit. How’d that
get in there?”

“Don’t know. I just saw her. I’m going to
take her to the vet,” Paul said.

“You think it’s bird flu?” The man asked,
slowing down.

“Yeah, could be,” Paul agreed, trying not to
smirk. Bird flu. Who’d ever heard of bird flu? Sounded like brain
fever or some other bullshit disease.

“Keep it away from me then,” the man said. He
got into his truck and turned the engine on, narrowly missing Paul
as he drove off.

Paul smelled pot and patchouli. He turned and
saw the woman who must have been Maggie Stillwater. She had the
same thick bushy curls as Susan had, though her hair was darker.
She was wearing a loose purple caftan and Birkenstocks, and as she
leaned into her trailer to adjust the stereo, her ankle lifted the
hem of her dress, showing a thick leg with a slim macramé ankle
bracelet.

Music began, the Beatles’ “All My Loving.”
The music, and the smell of pot and patchouli took him back to when
he was just out of high school, working with Carlos at a farm in
what was now Chandler. A group of hippies had gotten a job picking
melons to tide them over while they hitchhiked their way to San
Francisco. There had been one girl, who went by “Sunshine”, who
braided macramé jewelry for everyone. Normally the Mexicans shunned
the hippies and vice versa, but Sunshine had managed to get
everyone to love her, even the old caballeros (as Paul called them)
because she was so sweet and kind. She could kiss a bull and make
it stop charging, they said. She had an ankle bracelet just like
that.

By the time the melon season was over and the
hippies had gotten enough money to fix their van, she’d slept with
every man who’d asked her. She was good at macramé, but she was
even better in the sack. She’d given Paul an ankle bracelet like
that too, and he’d worn it for a year before the hemp wore through.
Good times.

“I love this album,” he said, with
feeling.

Maggie turned. She didn’t look like a flower
child, she looked like a bad stretch of road. She had some of
Susan’s features. Paul cringed, freaked out, as though he’d just
seen his mom wearing his girlfriend’s clothes.

“Do I know you?” she asked, giving him time
to recover.

“You must be Maggie. I’m Paul,” he said,
stifling his grimace. “Came to talk to you about the owls. How many
did they send?”

“About thirty, I guess.”

“Wow. You really pissed them off.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Lucky for me I had
enough warning to make this twinge trap. You shoulda seen it, stiff
owls dropping like rain. Some news crew came to see it, did a story
like it was one of those whale beachings or something. They asked
if I knew what caused it, but of course I pretended I had no
idea.”

“Twinge trap, huh?” he said. “Looks pretty
strong. I guess you have a ward too, since you haven’t invited me
to sit.”

She set a plastic chair on the asphalt and
then kicked it over. “Ward ends right there. Have a seat.”

He yawned around his thanks, and moved the
chair back so he could sit. He would have liked to sit in the
shade, but it was almost noon and there wasn’t much. He set the owl
under the seat. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to unpetrify
them?”

“Not on your life, bub. Those birds are
trying to kill me.” Maggie took a drag, eyes narrowing. She
breathed out the smoke, hissing it through her teeth. “You with
them?”

Paul looked down. He had become translucent.
If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have remembered his umbrella.
“Yeah. They want you to stop making wands.”

“The wands? That’s why they’re after me?”

He nodded.

“Is that why no one else makes wands? Because
you people kill them?”

“I came to ask you to stop.” He was too
sleepy to come up with another answer. He hadn’t gotten home from
work until seven thirty that morning, hadn’t fallen asleep until
almost nine. He needed some coffee or sleep if he was going to have
to think clearly.

“Why would I do that? I’m making good money
off them.”

“Please.”

She laughed. “Now that’s rich. First you try
to kill me, then you ask nicely. You got that in the wrong
order.”

“You don’t get to make demands. Let them go
or—”

“Or what? You’ll send owls to try to kill
me?” she glared at him, which made her look even more like Susan.
“Tell that goddess you work for that only if she shows up
personally, apologizes, and assures me that we’re all kosher will I
consider undoing the twinge trap.”

Only a Raylight could speak for the lady, and
he didn’t know if he could convince Xochitl to bargain. The owls
were not hip to the idea of forgiveness. But Maggie had the upper
hand here. There was no way he was going to be able to get her to
leave her ward.

“I only saw two owls. Where are the other
ones?”

“The wildlife rehabilitationists and the news
crew got most of them,” she said. “There might be one or two more
around here. Take ‘em if you want. I don’t care. They’re all gonna
die anyway.”

He leaned under the chair and put his hand on
the owl. She was still breathing, but he could feel she was very
thirsty. Hungry too. She was also angry, but more scared than
angry. He had to get her unpetrified. Then she could talk to the
parliament and see if someone could petition to become Raylight so
she could speak for the lady. He was only a human. They’d never
grant him that authority.

“I’ll be back,” he said, picking up the owl.
He gathered the one in the bushes too, then set off to find a
translator. He needed to find the Encanto mage.

***

Four cups of coffee and a cab ride later,
Paul pulled up in front of the house of the best mage in Phoenix.
Andrea V., also known as the Encanto mage, lived in a tiny little
stucco house in the Encanto park area of Phoenix. The house was
beige with blue trim, a bed of cannas in the front, and decorative
iron bars covering the window. It had a tiny parking lot in the
back and credit card stickers on the window as if she operated a
business out of her home, but he wasn’t sure what kind of business
it was because when she opened the door he didn’t see any wares.
Mage-craft maybe.

Andrea was almost six feet tall. She had a
mass of curly black hair, and her eyebrows had been plucked almost
entirely off and drawn back in with a pencil, thin and high. She
had thick eyeliner, and any blemishes on her tan skin had been
covered by make up. Her lips were painted, outlined in reddish
brown, and her manicured nails had tiny jewels at the ends of
them.

“Are you my one thirty appointment?” she
asked.

“I called about the owls,” he said, holding
up the box that contained three parliament members.

It was the biggest box he could find, but it
was still hard to fit them all in there on account of their odd
positions. Most of a speckled wing stuck out of the top of the box,
and a claw had torn a hole in the lower corner.

She waved him in to what looked like a
waiting room. “I don’t have much time, but I’ll see what I can
do.”

Low suede couches surrounded a large coffee
table, and a television hung in the corner of the room. He set the
box on the table, not bothering to push the magazines off first.
Andrea pulled the shade cord, and stripes of sunlight fell across
the owls. They didn’t vanish.

“A twinge trap.”

“I know,” she said.

“Can you undo it?”

“I can, but it would take me longer than they
have.”

“Will this kill them?”

“No, but not eating or drinking will. They’re
thirsty. You have to get some water into them.” She stood,
gracefully, and went down the hall. When she came back, she was
carrying a paper cone of water. She held the largest bird and
poured a trickle of water down her beak. “I don’t know how long
they can go without food, but most creatures can’t live very long
without water. Who did this?”

“Maggie Stillwater.” Paul looked at Andrea’s
face, trying to figure out what it was about her that didn’t sit
right. She was very tall for a Hispanic woman. Maybe that was
it.

Andrea nodded. She was still cradling the owl
like a baby, trying to pour water in her mouth. She had very large
hands; they dwarfed the paper cup. “I’ve heard of her. The
Stillwaters are an old mage family. No wonder this twinge trap is
so strong.”

“They’d probably be okay if they could fade,
but when I put them in sunlight nothing happened.”

Andrea looked at him as though she didn’t
understand.

“These aren’t normal owls,” he said. “These
are Sunwards. I thought I mentioned that.”

“I see.” She set the owl back in the box and
took a seat opposite the table from him. She folded her hands in
her lap and pressed her knees together.

“I was told you had a relationship with the
Sunwards,” he said. “You owed them a favor.”

“At one point,” she said primly.

“You going to tell me more about it?”

“The Sunwards have long lives, but not long
memories, and the circumstances that led me to an alliance with the
parliament are none of your concern, and if they are, the
parliament can tell you.”

“The parliament is close with information,
even to other Sunwards.” The parliament was comprised of one
hundred owls, usually the oldest, though sometimes they made
exceptions for owls of great talent. Non-owls need not apply. He
knew that even if he lived to be a thousand, he would never be
offered a perch in the parliament. He also knew that if he didn’t
act fast, there would be thirty vacant perches in the
parliament.

“The best thing you can do with these owls is
keep giving them water until you can negotiate with the mage who
did this. Try offering her money.” Andrea kept her hands very still
in her lap. There was something about her hands that didn’t quite
fit either, and he wasn’t sure what it was.

“I haven’t got much money.” He stared at
Andrea’s face. Something about her jawline, or her neck. What was
it?

“Well, then the parliament will have to offer
something in exchange for releasing the owls. But it won’t matter
anyway.”

“So you can’t do it?”

“Not quickly enough.” She shook her head. Her
throat had a strange shape; that was it. “It will take me two weeks
to fully negate this. Maggie could undo her own spell in moments,
because she knew how the energies are layered, but for another mage
it takes days to puzzle it out.”

“I see. I don’t know what I’m going to do
then, because I don’t have the authority to negotiate with
her.”

“What exactly is your relationship with the
Sunwards?” she asked.

“I’m—” He stopped, as he suddenly figured out
what was bothering him about her. Andrea was a man. She, he, was a
man, dressed as a woman. “You’re, um …” he swallowed. He didn’t
know what to say. He backed towards the window. “I uh, lost my
train of thought. What did you ask me?”

“Why are you working for the Sunwards?” she
said, slower, as though he were stupid.

“I, uh, that is, I’m uh …” He was still
staring at her face. His face. Her face. Andrea was a man, passing
as a woman. Now that he figured it out, it was obvious. Whoa. She
was a he.

The warm sunlight hitting his arm made him
turn translucent.

“You’re a Sunward?” Andrea said, thin
eyebrows raising. “I’m impressed. I thought you were both human and
male, you had me completely convinced.”

“Ah, thank you,” he said. Her hands were
large. He should have noticed that. But she had breasts, and a
waist. She was kind of a doll, actually. Did that make him gay?
Paul cleared his throat and picked up the box of owls. “I’d better
go see if I can get Maggie to release this. Thanks for your
time.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

“Wait,” he stopped before he pushed open the
door. “I have one more question. There’s a human woman living with
the translators.”

“Ah, her.”

“The translators bargained with you for a
spell to make the woman small. Did they bargain for the spell to
make her big again?”

She laughed quickly, but there wasn’t much
mirth in it. “No, but I won’t charge her much to undo it. If the
mage living with them doesn’t become big again, it might be because
she prefers life among the translators to life among the humans.
It’s happened before.”

Paul felt the sick worm of jealousy turn
within him. He changed the subject to avoid thinking about it. “Can
you make wands that anyone can use?”

“That’s the holy grail of all mages trying to
make a living as a mage. I can do it, but that sort of magic
involves taking the life of an animal, so I’ve lost the taste for
it.”

“Does the animal have to die?”

“If you take its magic, whatever that is that
makes it useful for spells, it doesn’t quite have all it needs to
survive. It’s like pulling the wings off a beetle.” She tilted her
head, but kept her hands folded on her lap. “It’s just a shame for
the garden fey that they, like elephants with their tusks, have
something that another species wants.”

Paul nodded.

“And besides,” she said, “the spells don’t
last very long when they’re bound into a wand. Even mine
didn’t.”

“Did the parliament get on your case about
that? About you taking rumblers? Is that why they got you to work
for us?”

She didn’t answer, but by the way she looked
away, Paul figured he’d hit upon it.