BACK DOOR MAGIC
Phaedra Weldon
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by Phaedra Weldon
originally appeared in the DAW Anthology
Wizards, Inc. 2007
BACK DOOR MAGIC
Phaedra Weldon
The fire spark blew her a raspberry before
vanishing in a black puff of sooty smoke.
Brenda blinked a few times
in the abrupt darkness before grabbing up at the flashlight perched
handle up on the table. Since when did
elementals have a sense of humor?
The evening shadows, elongated at that
moment, stretching their hollow limbs into the crevices of the
store's tall shelves. A row of authentic skulls, nestled among a
neglected Halloween decoration of dried autumn leaves and miniature
pumpkins, all illuminated by the streetlight outside, peered down
at her from the top shelf near the cash register.
I never asked Granny to whom those
belonged—maybe those are the skulls of hapless idiots like myself
who thought they could make money at magic.
They starved to death.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing—sitting
here in the dark. At last she couldn’t see the deed of sale spread
out on the table in front of her. She didn't really need to see it
to know what it said. The deadline to pay the back taxes and over
due mortgage on the shop was Friday, less then four days away.
With renewed anger (masquerading as
determination), Brenda attempted again to conjure another fire
spark. Nothing answered her call. Empty space and the faint smell
of sulfur.
Could it get any worse?
Granny Pollsocks had lit fire with a snap of
her fingers—sometimes with only a glare. One look from her violet
eyes, and all the fire sparks in the room jumped to do her bidding.
Of the six grandchildren, Granny had declared Brenda to the be the
one gifted to carry on the tradition of magic in the family. None
of the others had been interested—or really believed in it.
And before granny died, Brenda had shown
some aptitude for a few spells and potions. Flash powders were a
sore subject. She'd managed to blind a store full of patrons one
summer afternoon by accident. Granny had made sure Brenda practiced
upstairs after that.
But then she died, and left "Back Door
Magic" to Brenda. Books, supplies, scrolls, amulets, bills and debt
included. The steady customers, the ones who'd depended on Granny
for years came to Brenda at first, hoping she had even the
slightest peep of the talent Granny had had. But after six
months—the customers dwindled away.
The money dried up. And no matter how hard
Brenda tried—she couldn't turn lead into gold.
Just yesterday they'd turned off the power.
And now she shivered in the November evening, unable to light a
simple candle. She couldn't find the matches—but Granny had never
needed them.
She heard the familiar backfire of her
mother's car outside the door, pulling up along the curve in the
street outside the shop. Detective Jackie Grafton always parked on
the street, in a no-parking zone. Married wealthy, widowed wealthy
once, never sick, never injured, always in a good mood. Of course,
the widowed wealthy had come after Brenda's father had died, with
husband number two.
Another noise came just as Brenda stood. She
stopped and pivoted slowly on her worn sneakers. Most of the shop
was dark and scary.
Just the way Granny liked it.
Well, I don't like it that way. And that
noise sounded like it came from the stairwell.
Four steps that led to a back door that
opened to a brick wall.
Brenda figured Mom could get in on her
own—she had a key. She switched on the flashlight and took several
cautious steps to the back of the room, closer to the stairs.
"Hello? Is there someone down there?" Her voice echoed in the empty
shop.
She aimed the beam down the stairwell—
— and a pair of electric
blue eyes looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain.
It was a man!
The front door opened. "Brenda? You in here?
Oh, gawd—where are the lights, child? There are a enough candles in
here—hell—light up one of those
Phaedra Weldon
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 by Phaedra Weldon
originally appeared in the DAW Anthology
Wizards, Inc. 2007
BACK DOOR MAGIC
Phaedra Weldon
The fire spark blew her a raspberry before
vanishing in a black puff of sooty smoke.
Brenda blinked a few times
in the abrupt darkness before grabbing up at the flashlight perched
handle up on the table. Since when did
elementals have a sense of humor?
The evening shadows, elongated at that
moment, stretching their hollow limbs into the crevices of the
store's tall shelves. A row of authentic skulls, nestled among a
neglected Halloween decoration of dried autumn leaves and miniature
pumpkins, all illuminated by the streetlight outside, peered down
at her from the top shelf near the cash register.
I never asked Granny to whom those
belonged—maybe those are the skulls of hapless idiots like myself
who thought they could make money at magic.
They starved to death.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing—sitting
here in the dark. At last she couldn’t see the deed of sale spread
out on the table in front of her. She didn't really need to see it
to know what it said. The deadline to pay the back taxes and over
due mortgage on the shop was Friday, less then four days away.
With renewed anger (masquerading as
determination), Brenda attempted again to conjure another fire
spark. Nothing answered her call. Empty space and the faint smell
of sulfur.
Could it get any worse?
Granny Pollsocks had lit fire with a snap of
her fingers—sometimes with only a glare. One look from her violet
eyes, and all the fire sparks in the room jumped to do her bidding.
Of the six grandchildren, Granny had declared Brenda to the be the
one gifted to carry on the tradition of magic in the family. None
of the others had been interested—or really believed in it.
And before granny died, Brenda had shown
some aptitude for a few spells and potions. Flash powders were a
sore subject. She'd managed to blind a store full of patrons one
summer afternoon by accident. Granny had made sure Brenda practiced
upstairs after that.
But then she died, and left "Back Door
Magic" to Brenda. Books, supplies, scrolls, amulets, bills and debt
included. The steady customers, the ones who'd depended on Granny
for years came to Brenda at first, hoping she had even the
slightest peep of the talent Granny had had. But after six
months—the customers dwindled away.
The money dried up. And no matter how hard
Brenda tried—she couldn't turn lead into gold.
Just yesterday they'd turned off the power.
And now she shivered in the November evening, unable to light a
simple candle. She couldn't find the matches—but Granny had never
needed them.
She heard the familiar backfire of her
mother's car outside the door, pulling up along the curve in the
street outside the shop. Detective Jackie Grafton always parked on
the street, in a no-parking zone. Married wealthy, widowed wealthy
once, never sick, never injured, always in a good mood. Of course,
the widowed wealthy had come after Brenda's father had died, with
husband number two.
Another noise came just as Brenda stood. She
stopped and pivoted slowly on her worn sneakers. Most of the shop
was dark and scary.
Just the way Granny liked it.
Well, I don't like it that way. And that
noise sounded like it came from the stairwell.
Four steps that led to a back door that
opened to a brick wall.
Brenda figured Mom could get in on her
own—she had a key. She switched on the flashlight and took several
cautious steps to the back of the room, closer to the stairs.
"Hello? Is there someone down there?" Her voice echoed in the empty
shop.
She aimed the beam down the stairwell—
— and a pair of electric
blue eyes looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain.
It was a man!
The front door opened. "Brenda? You in here?
Oh, gawd—where are the lights, child? There are a enough candles in
here—hell—light up one of those
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