Natural Mage (Page 26)

A thrill ran through me as I wondered who he could be. A drug dealer sounded about right, with his rough look and the hours he kept.

Then again, would Reagan put up with that kind of thing across from her house?

I doubted it.

So then what? A thief, maybe? A guy casing houses?

Whatever he was, I knew what he was not. He was certainly not a mage. He didn’t have the satchel, for one, or the pompous strut that said he was somebody. Even Callie and Dizzy, lovely people, had a certain lift to their shoulders and height to their chins.

This character stooped, and not because he was trying to be sneaky, but because he didn’t want to be noticed.

I knew that posture well.

I watched him…watching me.

The scene should’ve been awkward, yet as I stared, and he stared back, I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to see if he did something fantastical that identified him as a magical person of some kind.

And strangely…it seemed like he was waiting for the same thing.

A car rolled by at the end of the street, the engine clunking badly.

The man’s head turned slightly, catching the motion, but it immediately snapped back, like he expected to catch me sprinting away.

That was when I felt something drift toward me along the air currents. It felt…welcoming, almost. A come-hither sort of invitation.

Wisps of colorful magic wafted up over the walls of the cemetery, curling into the air. Light and playful. They fizzled out at a certain distance before more, stronger streams of magic blossomed.

The man near the cemetery didn’t turn around. He didn’t so much as glance up at the sky. If I didn’t know better, and I really didn’t, I would say he couldn’t feel the magic going on behind him.

Unable to help myself, I leaned forward and pointed. “Do you feel that?”

He didn’t start, or jerk, or do any of the things I would have expected from a stranger with whom I’d engaged in an impromptu stare-off. He merely shifted one shoulder toward the cemetery.

“No,” he said. “Is it bad or good?”

I frowned at him. I’d expected him to say “yes,” or ask “what?” Instead, he’d asked about the danger level of something he could neither see nor feel. That spoke of a magical creature. Or…maybe just the sketchiness of the neighborhood.

“It’s good, I think. Done by people.” I braced my elbows on my knees. “Am I allowed to ask what you are?”

“Yes. Am I allowed to ask what you are?”

“Um…that depends.”

Joy and light and radiance flowered in my middle as I continued to watch the colorful display in the cemetery. Nature danced and sang and asked to be pulled into spells. I closed my eyes so I could savor the delightful feeling of it.

This—this was what I loved about magic.

“I’m human,” he said. “But…” He looked around before slowly crossing the street at an angle, heading for the neighbor’s house on my right. Once outside, he turned to face the street again. “I know what goes on in that house. Mostly.”

“Which house? This house?”

“Yes. Reagan and I are friendly. I know her…friends.”

The way he said friends left no doubt he knew they were vampires, or at least not human. It seemed the rule of not allowing humans to know about the magical world wasn’t followed as closely as I’d been led to believe.

“I watch over things,” the man said, his gruff voice low as he scanned the street. “I make sure all is calm in the neighborhood. You’re new here. Reagan hasn’t mentioned you.”

“Oh.” Magic drifted into the organized mass above me and my fingers longed to weave spells to add to the glory of whatever was happening in the cemetery. “I’m kind of…”

I stopped myself.

Great, Penny, nearly tell a creepy stranger that you’re hiding out.

He nodded like he’d heard my thought. “You’re in a good place,” he said. “A safe place. She has things pretty well tied down.”

“Right, yeah.” I frowned at him again, wondering how much he knew about Reagan. And if he’d be willing to fill me in.

“Are you…of her kind?” he asked.

“I don’t even know what her kind is, honestly,” I said without thinking, feeling a strong pull toward the cemetery. Almost like, if I didn’t show up, I’d miss out on a truly startling awakening. “I am of a magical kind, though you’re not supposed to know that.”

“I hear you loud and clear.” He touched a gnarled finger to his nose. “What did you say you felt over there?”

I stood, impatient, and rapped on the banister softly. “Wholeness. Unity. Nature. Everything that is good and right with the world. It’s really hard to explain—”

“That must be the Ladies of the Light. They’re the nice witches. We’ve got some bad ones that come through here, trying to call Satan and what not. I don’t mess with them. Reagan or No Good Mikey always chase them out. But if it’s the Ladies of the Light, they won’t hurt anything. They come here every so often to call the corners. They don’t get too loud or anything.” The man’s head turned toward the left and he looked down the sidewalk.

When he didn’t look away, I followed his gaze. A large, slope-shouldered man, thick from head to toe, ambled down the street looking at his phone. I straightened and stepped closer to the house, not trusting the sheer size of the guy. He looked like he could do some damage.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s a resident,” the creepy guy said. “Keep your mouth shut about what you are, though. He doesn’t know about any of that.”

A human…warning me not to talk about magic…to another human. What a strange neighborhood. Then again, Reagan chose to live here—of course it was strange.

“Hey, Smokey,” the newcomer said as he got close. Seeing me, he startled, his body jerking, and his phone sailed out of his hands. He grabbed for it, hitting it with a finger and then the back of his hand. It struck the ground with a hard plastic cack.

This man had no problem with swearing.

Phone back in his possession, he looked over the screen to make sure there were no cracks before finally straightening up and looking at me a second time. He exhaled in relief, one foot on the street and one foot on the sidewalk, leaning away from the house. “Oh, thank God. You don’t look like no serial killer.”

“She’s Reagan’s friend,” Smokey said.

“She’s on Reagan’s front porch. They better be friends, or this lady here would find herself in a bad situation.” The newcomer slipped his phone into his pocket. “Who’re you?” he asked me.

“I said, she’s—”

“I know she’s Reagan’s friend,” the newcomer said, palming his chest. “I heard that. What I’m asking is, what’s her name?”

“You should make yourself clearer,” Smokey said.

“You should mind your business,” the newcomer shot back. He raised his eyebrows at me. “What’s your name?”

“Penny,” I said before I could stop myself. I wasn’t used to hiding my identity in normal—well, normal-ish—settings. “But don’t blab that around.”

The man took a step back, all the way into the street now, and showed me his palms. He looked incredulous. “Do I look crazy to you? I’m not about to go talkin’ about Reagan’s business. I got enough problems.”

Smokey nodded in approval.

“I’m Jerome, but people call me Mince,” phone guy said. He crossed the threshold of the property and stepped onto the lawn, clearly coming forward to shake my hand.

“No, no, you—” I said as Smokey stuck out a hand in warning.

Mince’s fingertips hit the invisible barrier at the edge of the porch, far enough back that a regular Joe wouldn’t reach it unless he was trespassing. A flare of light preceded a loud zinging noise. Mince’s body rocketed backward, hitting the sidewalk before rolling into the street.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” I asked, coming around the banister of the porch and stopping at the top of the steps. I didn’t want to break the barrier in case he was pissed.

“Huuuuuugh.” Mince shook like he’d just been fried with electricity. Which, magically speaking, he had been. “Huuuuughnga.”

“I can’t… I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said apologetically.

“Hung nafunga. Uuuuugh.” He convulsed to his side and then rolled over onto his stomach before lying there for a moment.

“Should you help him up?” I asked Smokey.

“Reagan told everyone to stay off her lawn. He shoulda known better,” Smokey said without remorse.

“I mean…” I looked down at the little manicured patch of grass, the only one on the block. “Grass is made to be walked on.”

“When it comes to Reagan, you do what she says, or you get an awful surprise. Mince just got an awful surprise. He should’ve known better.”

Mince stiffly pushed up to his hands and knees, groaning. “She…looks…innocent. Uuuugh.”

“The most dangerous ones always do.” Smokey glanced in the other direction as the sound of a car going too fast barreled down the street. “The best assassins are the sexy, manicured ones, aren’t they? You shouldn’t let appearances deceive you.”