False Magic

False Magic

by

J M Brown

***

Copyright (c) 2011 by J M Brown

ISBN: 978-0-9838705-0-0

Published by graMix Publishing at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication:

Tina Andriamamenosoa

Tamiko Moore

Teresa Smith

Karen Zhang

and always, to H.T.T.M.

Also in respectful memory of Michael Stern Hart (March 8, 1947 - September 6, 2011), inventor of the eBook and founder of Project Gutenberg.

Acknowledgements:

I gratefully acknowledge the many helpful critiques from my generous beta-readers:

Karen Bradwell

Tim B. and Kris M.

Clayton Fan

Ally Medvec

T. Moore

Kate S.

Jennifer Sutton

Also in grateful recognition of the support and friendship of:

C. Dimmick

Brian Ampolsk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Table of Contents

1. Amor Omnes, Fide Nemo - Brenda

2. Lost - Amy

3. Inquisition - Brenda

4. Ninth Circle - Amy

5. Bloody Drill - Amy

6. Impressions - Amy

7. Foul - Amy

8. Perfect English - Amy

9. All Blondes are Sluts - Amy

10. Candy - Amy

11. Failing - Amy

12. The Jeffersons - Amy

13. Hood Rats

14. Lacrosse - Amy

15. Ostriches - Amy

16. Harvey Hospital - Amy

17. Poetry of the Foot - Amy

18. Wash Whites Separately – Amy

19. Proud Fall – Amy

20. Princesses – Amy

21. The Raven - Amy

22. Pillow Talk - Brenda

23. Sweet Sixteen - Amy

24. Burn Witch Burn - Brenda

25. Magical Mystery Tour - Amy

26. Spark - Amy

27. Coven

28. Thanksgiving - Brenda

29. Voices - Amy

30. Yellow Peril - Brenda

31. First Date - Amy

32. Stranger than We Can Imagine - Amy

33. Green-Eyed Monster - Amy

34. Holiday - Brenda

35. Resolutions - Amy

36. Devil’s Bargain - Amy

37. The Man in Black - Amy

38. Year of the Dragon - Brenda

39. Bad Mouth - Amy

40. Scarface – Amy

41. Snomageddon - Amy

42. Sororocide - Amy

43. Wedge of Doubt - Brenda

44. Girlfriends - Brenda

45. The Putnam Plan

46. Third Time the Charm - Amy

47. Thief - Brenda

48. Safe or Sorry - Brenda

49. Easter Ball - Brenda

50. Vespers

51. Sacrifice - Amy

52. Changes - Amy

53. Last Weekend - Brenda

54. Kandake

55. Commencement - Amy

Witch Magic Excerpt

Story Notes

About the Author

1. Amor Omnes, Fide Nemo (Brenda)

There is not nearly enough love in this world, but there is far too much trust.

I was just a little girl when my daddy told me that.

Whenever someone asks you to trust them, they're either a used car salesman, a politician, or some other kind of con man, he said.

"Most people say that you can't have love without trust, but that is wrong, and I'll tell you why.

"I used to have a dog named Ralph, a beautiful golden-haired shepherd-collie mix, and he was my best friend for many years. I loved him. But he got older, and he got sick. He developed arthritis in his hip and couldn't run or jump like he used to. When he would lift his leg to pee, he would sometimes fall over because it hurt too much to keep his leg lifted. He would look embarrassed when he'd lose his balance like that. Some people say that dogs don't have the same feelings that humans do, but if you've ever lived with a dog, and looked him in the eye, you'd know that's wrong too. He got worse. Near the end, he hurt all the time, and sometimes he cried, or seemed to. The vet couldn't do anything for him. I couldn't do anything for him. I couldn't even explain to him why I couldn't make him better. His last night, I fixed him a big steak for dinner and sat with him while he chewed the bone, eventually crushing it in his jaws. I slept on the floor next to him that night. In the morning, we went for our last ride in the car together, down to the animal shelter.

"He must have sensed something was wrong when we entered the little room in the back because he growled at the vet. The vet had a rope with a noose on one end. He slipped this around Ralph's neck, and wound the slack of the rope around his snout a couple of times. 'They bite, sometimes,' the vet said. I could tell Ralph was frightened, so, against the vet's advice, I removed the rope, and lifted Ralph onto the table myself, laid him down and held him. With hair clippers, the vet shaved a patch of fur from his foreleg to expose the vein. Ralph struggled a little bit at that but I calmed him and held him tighter. 'Don't let him bite you,' the vet reminded me.

I put my hand over his snout. I knew he could easily bite me, and I knew how strong his jaws were, but my hand was better than the noose. Now, the question is, did I trust him not to bite me?

That was just what I was wondering too.

"No. I didn't 'trust' him. He was a dog. It would be natural for him to bite when he felt the sting of the needle. I expected him to bite me.

"Let him bite, I thought. If biting my hand made him feel easier then let him bite it clean off. He was my friend. I loved him."

My dad paused his story there.

So, daddy, I asked, did he bite you?

Dad smiled and looked me straight in the eye. What do you think, Brenda? he asked.

"The vet eased the needle into the vein and pushed the plunger in slowly. The prick of the needle startled Ralph, but he relaxed in my arms right away, and slumped down. He blinked once, and then closed his eyes. I could feel all his muscles relax more and more until he was completely limp. It took less than ten seconds. I was a grown man by then, but when I got back in my car, I cried like a little boy.

No, Ralph didn't bite me. Of course he didn't. He was my friend, but I was his friend too. He trusted me.

I've never forgotten my dad's story. There is nothing simple about simple friendship.

Today, everyone thinks I am such a nice person, but really, I'm not.

I am someone who never forgives an injury or forgets a slight. I know this is probably a character flaw, but in my defense, I never forget a kindness either. And while I may not repay every injury done to me, I always repay every kindness.

I believe children feel things much more intensely than adults. For a little kid, every small misfortune is an inconsolable tragedy.

I was in first grade, and somehow, I had lost the lunch my dad had packed. I probably left it on the school bus. Everyone else had their lunch, but I was empty-handed. I was ashamed that I'd lost it, and I was feeling alone and abandoned. My stomach was growling and I remember the tightness in my chest, my face hot with embarrassment, and the moistness in the corner of my eyes. But just before I burst out sobbing, Amy put her hand on my shoulder and said, It's ok, Brenda. We can share my lunch! You like peanut butter! We have a cookie, too!

She gave me half her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, half of the slices of the orange her mom had peeled and packed for her, and broke her cookie in half, giving me the bigger half. We shared the same straw in her juice-box.

We'd been casual friends in pre-school and kindergarten, but for the first time, I understood what it was like to have someone I could count on, a real friend. Nothing in the years since has convinced me otherwise. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal. Amy just shared what she had because she thought it was the right thing to do. It was just one lunch box. I'm sure it didn't mean anything to her at the time. But to a six year old Brenda on the verge of bitter tears, it meant absolutely everything. None of my other friends offered to share; Amy was my life-saver when I needed one.

Amy would never do anything to hurt me.

The cookie was oatmeal-raisin.

2. Lost (Amy)

I was looking all over for Brenda.

Of all the things I hated about this school, the uniforms were at the top of my list. White blouse and stupid striped school tie under a dark blazer with a plaid skirt and long socks that made me look like some cloyingly cute Japanese schoolgirl with a blonde wig in some kind of teen porn movie... Well, at least my skirt was a little longer. By early September there was already a fall nip in the air and if the winters in Baltimore were anything like the winters back home in St. Louis... I was dreading the wind swirling up under the outfit. At least Catonsville was a boarding school, so I wouldn't have to appear in public wearing the damn thing.

Still, nobody else was complaining. It wouldn't do to whine too much. My folks had sacrificed a lot to get me in the same school as Brenda, and it really was a good school. Or so they said. Brenda had her heart set on Catonsville for years, it seemed, and she had made it a part of our Plan. We'd been here most of the summer already, since as new students, we had to start near the end of July. The skirt was not too bad when it was hot, but...

I still hadn't decided if the fact that there were no boys was a good thing or not. They might be jerks most of the time but not having them around at all was just plain weird, and getting weirder as the weeks passed by.

Brenda's aunt was supposed to come pick us up to stay with her for the weekend, and maybe take us shopping, so I was looking all over campus for her. That was another thing that was embarrassing. Neither Brenda's family nor mine had ever had much money, and even now, we were both on tight allowances, but after every visit with Aunt Diane, we would find twenty bucks or so had magically appeared in our purse or pocket. Brenda's aunt was a big-name doctor at Johns Hopkins and she and her husband didn't have kids of their own, so they were always spoiling us.

I crossed the quad to the library, passing a couple of seniors with their luggage, moving in. They looked so much older to me. Seniors had a dress code, but except for special events, they didn't have to wear the uniforms. They smiled at me as they passed. Probably laughing at my silly skirt.

Bitches.

The school library worked on the honor system - we scanned our card and books ourselves and did our own checkout. Brenda said this was more about the school saving money on a librarian's salary than it was about demonstrating trust in the students. Brenda had said she planned to stop here, but I didn't see her, so I sat down across from Cleo to wait. She gave me a smile and returned to her reading. The words on the spine of her book were Malleus Maleficarum.

Catonsville International Academy made all the girls work as part of the curriculum. Brenda and I didn't know any better when we arrived, and we got stuck in the laundry room two evenings a week, but Cleo worked as the library aide. She was there nearly any time she wasn't in class, and seemed to know the library even better than Professor Ross, our English teacher. Everybody knew that Cleo was our go-to girl whenever we wanted to find anything, whether it was a book or something on the web. Since I was trying to find my BFF, I asked her.

Have you seen Brenda?

Cleo looked up and smiled again. She was sitting in your chair two minutes ago, waiting for you. She went to go pee. She'll be back in another minute.

I looked around. The library was empty except for the two of us and a couple of older girls, surfing on their tablets at the far end of the room. I took a deep breath.

Cleo, can I ask you something?

Sure, Amy, her voice dropped to a fake conspiratorial whisper, sounds serious.

Well, I said, I guess. I worry about Brenda a little. If she is really comfortable here.

Is this about race? It was a little scary how quick Cleo was to catch on.

I nodded. Do you mind me asking you?

No, Amy, not at all. But you and Brenda have been buddies since pre-school. Why can't you talk to her directly?

"I did ask her. She says I'm being silly, but I'm not sure she's being honest with me, or with herself, maybe."

And you think that because Brenda and I are both black, she might be more forthright with me? Cleo's face adopted an expression of indignation. I knew she was just teasing me, but my ears burned all the same. I took another deep breath.

All through grade school, I said, since at least first grade, I was the minority, one of the few white girls. Lots of times, I was the only white kid. I was fine with that. It's the way school has always been. It's always seemed normal to me. But when I got here, it was just plain freaky to be surrounded by all these other white faces, and I found myself looking around for the normal dark faces, and they're missing, and it's been very... discomforting for me. Now I'm thinking the shock must be greater for her. Am I crazy?

Crazy? Well, maybe not for that reason. Cleo chuckled. Look, I can tell you not to worry about it, but I know you will. I've watched the two of you together. Your bond is stronger than that of most lovers.

She held up her hand to ward off any protest before continuing. I know you're both straight. We often say people are 'just' friends, adding the 'just' as if to indicate a kind of love that is somehow 'less'. It's not. True friendship isn't anything 'less'. It can be as fundamental as that of a mother for her child, as fierce as that between a boy and his dog, as powerful as the romance between true lovers, as solid as the bond between soldiers in combat, or as strong as any other kind of love.

Sometimes, when Cleo was serious, she seemed much older than the sixteen years she claimed.

You may not have noticed it at the time, Cleo continued, but your bond was one of the things that sustained you both back when you were the freakish color. Now, it can be one of the things to help sustain her, not that I think she needs it. You needn't and really shouldn't do anything different. Just continue being her friend and the rest will take care of itself. Besides; Brenda's cute, she's smart, and she's tough. That, and a little bit of luck, is all that a woman needs to make it in this world. Don't worry about her.

3. Inquisition (Brenda)

My three inquisitors frowned at me from behind the big desk while I sat alone in the chair in the middle of the room. Their faces told me my fate had already been sealed.

For a moment, I wished Amy was beside me, but I dismissed that idea right away. I sure didn't want her mixed up in this. It was all over for me now, but at least, maybe I could keep Amy out of it.

It had been a long school year and I was weary. My mouth was dry and my heart beat slow and heavy. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep.

I thought back to how excited Amy and I had both been when we started at this school last summer, nearly a year ago now. We'd been through a lot since then. It was already May, with the end of the school year only two weeks away.

We'd had high hopes. We knew we'd be challenged academically like never before, but we were both fine with that. Only the hard things are worthwhile, my dad used to say. Amy and I had each other and we had The Plan, and for the first time, we had the chance to measure ourselves against some really smart girls. We had our fears, of course, but we thought we had the confidence to match those. I guess I'd misjudged what the challenges would be and how big the obstacles.

A year of hard work, the toughest year of my life, and now, all down the crapper. I'd worked so hard. I'd come so close.

Catonsville was the finest high school in the country, or at least the finest girl's school, and certainly the toughest. My grades had been good, and despite what everyone now thought, my conduct impeccable, but none of that mattered now. We all make plans, but I guess the universe has its own plan and doesn't care about ours. This school had been my dream, but now the universe was slapping me awake.

This crap was going to break my mom's heart. Chuck and Di's too. I wondered if anyone would even believe my side of the story. Not that the truth matters much in this world.

I could feel the rage building inside me. No one was listening to me, and no one cared that I was being treated unfairly.

Any temptation to lie down and take it evaporated right then. If they were going to burn me, I wouldn't make it easy for them. I was tired, but I was going to fight.

The door opened up behind me.

4. Ninth Circle (Amy)

The Way of the Warrior has been misunderstood. It is not a means to kill and destroy others. Those who seek to compete and better one another are making a terrible mistake. To smash, injure, or destroy is the worst thing a human being can do. The real Way of a Warrior is to prevent such slaughter - it is the Art of Peace, the power of love. - Osensei Morihei Ueshiba, Kaiso Aikido

Brenda’s parents and mine talked about us a lot. I think it was in the summer just before third grade that they presented us with a choice. They wanted us to take up some after-school activity.

Our moms wanted us to take up ballet, their heads no doubt filled with images of us prancing around in precious pink tutus, but our dads were more practical. They suggested we take Tae Kwon Do at the community center. The picture of us in pink tutus filled Brenda and I with absolute horror, and since Brenda could always be counted on to agree with her dad, we chose to break our mother's hearts instead.

So, our dads signed us up, but for Aikido instead of Tae Kwon Do. I think Harvey was convinced of this when he learned that Aikido had been founded by a pacifist.

Within the heart of each of one of us is a reservoir of rage, added to by each injury or injustice we suffer in life. I think my own reservoir is more like a shallow pool that bubbles up and vents a little steam from time to time. But Brenda's reservoir is more like a deep ocean of molten magma, which, if ever released, could consume the world. And while I may vent a little, I have never known Brenda to unleash her anger, except maybe that one time.

I also believe that these reservoirs are not fed by the hurts and injustices themselves, but by our sensitivity to them. Brenda has always been much more sensitive than I, and she has always had much better control. Only a very few have sensed the potential danger in her. When we went to Riverplace JHS, the gang leaders clearly sensed it, and gave her the proper respect and care in dealing with her. But most people are just blissfully ignorant of what lies behind Brenda's calm and sweet and smiling face.

I've often wondered if her dad had sensed it and if that was why he wanted her to study Aikido. Certainly, Aikido stressed restraint and peace, and it had to have benefited her. We stopped going in seventh grade, it was not part of The Plan, and that is when we both started studying in school with a real purpose. Her rage was an inexhaustible fire that fueled her to work with a fiendish passion that swept me up in her wake. So rage can be a valuable tool, if channeled properly.

We were half way through seventh grade when we started to think about college. I don't remember which of us thought about it first--probably Brenda, and probably not our parents. The idea grew on us gradually. We had no idea what it would cost except that it would probably be more than we could afford.

At the time, we didn't even realize that our families were poor.

I remember when we talked about it with one of our guidance counselors, he told us not to worry about it until we got into high school. If we graduated from high school, he told us, then maybe we could get into community college later.

He'd been completely useless.

Brenda and I both figured out that if we did get into college, we would have to do it on our own. Nobody was going to help us.

Seventh and eighth grades were good for us academically. We studied like demons, delighting a few of our teachers, confusing most, and astonishing all of them.

Brenda even started studying Chinese. Three evenings a week, after school, she would ride the bus all the way out to Laoshi Sun's house in Clayton for private lessons. She tried to talk me into joining her, but after the first two sessions, even though Mrs. Sun seemed nice, I decided it was way too hard for me. I wasn't even sure my folks could afford it. I'd