Sly changed the subject. “So, if you don’t mind my asking—how old are you?”
“About six hundred,” Mikhail answered, casually.
“Six hundred! I can’t fathom six hundred years on earth. Think of the changes you must have witnessed over the centuries.”
Mikhail swirled the wine in his glass. “The last century was the most impressive as far as change, but people are the same.”
Sly tipped his head. “How so?”
“Greedy, acquisitive, then surprised when all that doesn’t make them happy. But technology has certainly changed. We used to need a horse for transportation. Now we have trains, planes, and automobiles.”
“Not to mention the communication devices,” Sly added.
Mikhail chuckled. “So little to say; so many ways to say it. I think I was content as soon as we had the telephone.”
“Seriously?”
"All right, maybe the cell phones, email and ATMs weren't bad, but don't talk to me about half the crap on TV and the Internet."
Morgaine nodded her head emphatically, then mumbled around her bite of roll. "'at's right." After gulping down the mouthful, she continued. "There's so much misinformation about magic, it makes me nuts. If you don't have proper training, you're asking for trouble."
Mikhail leaned closer. "Speaking of which, do you know what to do about my little problem?"
"I want to see the space and I still need to write the spell, but I'll do that after you fill me in on the specifics. I brought the ingredients I'll need. It sounded as if you knew the identity of the evil magician."
"Oh, yes."
"Good. That will help. You don't happen to know what kind of hex he used, do you?"
"I'm sorry, no. But I know he brought in some kind of paper and left without it. We caught him on security cameras."
“He may have burned it. That’s what witches usually do with spells.”
"Could he have planted it somewhere?"
Morgaine thought briefly. "He could have left it. Or he could have tucked it in his pocket before he left. What did it look like?”
“It looked like a small scroll. Unfortunately, our cameras only cover certain areas. There were places he could have left it without our knowing."
"Okay. I can make the wording pretty general and still break almost any curse. However, if he left an object behind, we should try to find it. Then we'll bury it in the earth and neutralize it."
Sly couldn't help being impressed. She was so knowledgeable and didn't hesitate to share that knowledge with others. It was a shame her friend didn't feel he could return the favor. Or maybe he could. Perhaps he just needed a bit of convincing.
Sly cleared his throat. "Mikhail. My lady here is being very generous with her skills, knowledge, and information. I wonder if you could share with us a little something about the special product you make. At least tell uswhyit works. It seems only fair."
Mikhail sighed. "It is, but even if I tell you what's in it, you'd never find it again in a million years."
"I'm awfully curious, Mikhail," Morgaine said.
Mikhail straightened as if gearing up for a long lecture. "You've heard of the stigmata, right?"
They nodded. Sly couldn’t help wondering where this conversation was going.
Mikhail continued. "Well, Joan of Arc, while in prison, received the mysterious wounds on her hands and feet where Christ was nailed to the cross. The rags used to bandage the wounds and stanch the flow of blood were saved by one of the guards who believed in her sainthood long before she was canonized. He sold them as souvenirs after she was burned at the stake."
"That seems crass," Sly said. “But enterprising.”
"Whether it was or not, if I hadn't obtained a small sample of her blood, you and I wouldn't be drinking this now." He raised his glass of wine and swirled the red liquid.
