Page 267 of Sigils & Spells

“René listed them as the number one suspect.”

“Mages?” Harvey’s whiskers twitched.

“You already said that. What’s your point?”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Do I need to remind you, that you have history with them?”

“All the more reason to check them out.”

“They twitter about you every day.”

I shrugged.

“They hold demonstrations on our grounds.” Harvey pointed to the window. “They even set bombs.”

“Protest is legal in a democracy.” I said.

“They have it in for your whole family.”

I nodded. “Well, yes, but what would a small town be without a family feud or two.”

Harvey’s nose crinkled. “And … they have magic.”

My fingers trembled. “You’re not helping.”

An hour later, decked in black yoga pants, a black turtle, and a black cape, I sauntered down Main Street toward the mage headquarters housed in a dilapidated warehouse at the north end. I had tied my hair back into a low ponytail, pulled the hood of my cloak over my head, and shadowed my jaw with makeup so I appeared to have facial scruff. Large Harry Potter glasses completed my disguise as a young mage. The only thing I lacked was a large pendant with the gold emblem of their guild on it. I’d steal one the first chance I got.

It didn’t take me long to arrive at the front door of the Mage Guild. It was an ugly brick albatross of a building, created during the height of the industrial revolution, a time when efficiency far outweighed aesthetics. To my mind, it was an eyesore in the quaint seaside town.

The Guild headquarters had a storied past. It had once been owned by a successful yuppie who turned it into a fleece making factory. After five successful years, the man’s tech-stocks took a dive, and he jumped from the top floor. Before him, the structure had been a youth hostel. Countless backpackers exploring the beauty of the Pacific Northwest coast visited there until a guest started a fire. There were several casualties. That owner collected the insurance money and ran saying the place had too many ghosts for him. Or so goes the local legends. The place was not only ugly, it had bad mojo. When I heard the Mage Guild bought it, I grinned from ear to ear.

I don’t have anything against mages, per se. Some of them are my friends. Well, I have coffee with one … maybe once a year, standing up.

It’s the local Guild, that’s the problem. They meddle in everyone’s business, as if they have the right to interfere and manipulate the lives of others, as if they are superior, as if they know what’s best. Did I mention they were mostly men and that they hate witches? That too, is a problem.

In the spring sunshine, the bricks chipped and stained by salt and age made the building look old and neglected. The air around it reeked of mages—a disgusting mixture of garlic, body odor, and weak magic.

I readied my magical power allowing it to rise to my fingertips. If the mages recognized me as an outsider, they’d act defensively. I wasn’t sure what they would do, but it wouldn’t be nice. While the average mage possessed no more power than I did, a group could take me down in an instant. My witch senses warned me that there were at least twenty roaming inside the meeting house.

I lifted my chin and took a deep breath as I entered their domain. Unfortunately, my plan didn’t go any farther than opening the door. I trusted luck and the universe for the rest. I swallowed. Maybe my plan wasn’t so great. Who did I think I was? Indiana Jones with a broom?

I exhaled slowly as I gazed around the rectangular room. Cubicles lined two sides leaving a large space in the middle, and a food station at the end. The smell of mage sorcery and stale coffee hung in the air. A group of nine stood in a circle around a cauldron in the back-corner chanting in an ancient language. Others worked in their cubicles. A few lounged on sofas near the food chatting. I spied a staircase beside them and a rear exit door I could use to escape.

A large banner hung on the back wall: Mage Guild of Mystic Keep. In us, we trust.

Humble as always, I thought.

As no one looked my way, I walked slowly along the side of a bank of cubicles filled with mages working on laptops. Probably tweeting, I thought. Not one of them looked up. But then, there were enough cameras on the walls and ceilings to protect a NASA institution.

I sucked on my lower lip. My gut swirled with acid. If they hid a secret, it probably wouldn’t be in this front room. Maybe there would be private offices with safes upstairs or in the basement.

“Stop! Who goes there?” A man’s voice came from behind me.

Without hesitation, I walked on, as if he couldn’t possibly be talking to me.

“I said stop!” The man barked. “Where is your pendant?”

I winced as a bony hand grabbed my bicep. He squeezed hard and spun me around. I found myself face to face with Egor Lugnut, the leader of the Guild whose official title was Sir Regal, Honor of Mages. In my family, we called him the Head Twit.

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