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I folded my arms across my chest and sat back, leaning against the seat. I almost expected them to throw a bag over my head so I wouldn’t know where they were taking me, but they made no move to do anything like that. I wondered what kind of clubhouse an anti-magic cult would have. Probably nothing nearly as interesting as a pro-magic cult.
I was rather disappointed when the car finally stopped in front of the same church where the other group had met. Did this church market to crackpot groups as a meeting location, or what? The driver kept the car running while the bridal sale lady hopped out and opened the back door for Abigail and me. She reached in and caught my wrist to pull me out of the car, and Abigail took my other arm as soon as she was out. The car took off, and they hustled me into the building and down the stairs into the basement.
We didn’t head for the larger hall where the other group had met, but rather to one of the small Sunday school classrooms, where folding chairs were arranged in a rough circle around the perimeter of the room. About half the chairs were occupied. I forced myself not to react when I saw the guy I’d thought of as the “puppy” who’d been pretending (I was sure) to investigate that bus incident. I wondered if they’d ever tested their magic detector on him.
We took seats—Abigail keeping me next to her—and sat in silence as a few more people trickled in. When it seemed the gang was all there, there were ten people. “We’re glad to have a newcomer with us tonight,” Abigail began. “Kathleen is pure of magic, like me. She can see and speak the truth.”
“Welcome, Kathleen,” the rest of the group intoned.
“We gather to share information on magic we’ve seen,” Abigail explained. “The rest of the city hasn’t noticed, or refuses to see. We’re amassing information so that one day we can prove to everyone w
hat’s really happening. We’ll be at the forefront of revealing the truth and exposing the evil.”
“It’s evil magic?” I asked. “You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely. The very nature of magic is evil, drawing upon dark forces, and it’s used for the good of the magic users, which is often to the detriment of everyone else. It happens to everyone, every day.” She turned from me to address the group. “Now, how have we been harmed by magic since we last met?”
People in the group glanced uncomfortably at one another until one man across the circle from me spoke up. “A crooked shopkeeper used magic to force me to buy liquor I didn’t want,” he said. I thought that sounded like a weak excuse. While I knew influence spells existed, and I’d even seen them in use, it was more likely that he’d overridden his own judgment and bought alcohol that he really did want and was blaming it on someone else.
A woman to my right timidly raised her hand. “I got the last packet of the good chips at the deli at lunch yesterday, and they disappeared right from my hand.” That sounded a little more plausible. There might or might not have been a nonmagical explanation. But it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to make anyone worried about wizards taking over the world.
The rest of the complaints were along those lines, either someone blaming magic for making them do something they probably really wanted to do or someone feeling victimized by petty injustices. In this setting, with typical Sunday school posters on the walls—maps of Biblical lands, that creepy portrait of a blond Jesus—it reminded me of people who would go on and on in church groups asking for prayers for their neighbor’s cousin’s friend’s hangnail, just because they wanted to be heard. It made me wonder where these people came from. Did they feel lost and invisible in this city, and being in the know about magic and having magical experiences to relate gave them something they could speak out about?
Finally, the complaint time ended, and I snapped myself back to paying attention. Abigail got up and went to the man “forced” to buy liquor. She put her hand on top of his head, closed her eyes, and said, “Ah, I sense the taint of magic on you.” I forced myself to keep a straight face when all I really wanted to do was smirk. I’d never thought to try to sense magic on someone who’d been under a spell, but I seriously doubted that this guy had been whammied, unless it was for some other reason.
She went around the room, resting her hands on each person, but not saying anything, then she gestured for me to join her. “Let’s see if you can feel the magic.”
I started with the woman to my right. I was wearing the necklace Owen gave me that magnified the sense of magic, and I hoped it would help in this case. Much to my surprise, I did detect a slight sense of magic around her. “It’s kind of tingly,” I said.
Abigail nodded. “Good. Now go on.”
I worked my way around the room the way she had done, calling out when I sensed magic. I must have been on track—or else she had no clue what she was talking about and was just agreeing with me—until I got to that first guy. “He’s been nowhere near magic,” I said, shaking my head.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You must not be sensing accurately.”
“He feels different than the others.”
The man squirmed in his seat, and he couldn’t meet my eyes, even when I stared at him.
“You are new at this,” Abigail said dismissively.
“That’s probably it,” I said with a shrug.
I moved on to the guy I thought of as “puppy,” and I was fairly certain there would be enough magic around him to make my hair stand on end. Much to my surprise, he was no different from anyone else. There must have been a difference between someone who used magic and someone who had magic used on him. He looked up at me, the picture of innocence, and it was enough to make me doubt my suspicions about him. Maybe I’d been wrong about seeing him at the magical nightclub. He did look like the kind of generic young white guy you saw all over the city. Or maybe he was like Marcia and Gemma, in on the secret and at the club with a magical friend.
He showed no sign of recognizing me, even though he’d spoken to me on the bus. True, I’d worn my hair a different way that day, had put on more makeup, and I’d worn a hat, but I’d have hoped there would have been at least a flicker of recognition. Either he was very good at hiding his feelings and wasn’t letting anything show in this group, or I’d been so nondescript that I hadn’t even registered on him.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Good,” Abigail said approvingly. “You only missed one.”
“I’m still not sure what this has to do with magic,” I said. “It’s just kind of like a vibe.”
“You’ll see a demonstration soon enough,” she promised.
The door to the room burst open, and a man I recognized as our driver came in, dragging a woman who looked vaguely familiar. I recognized her from work, but I didn’t know her name. When she glanced at me, I kept my face stony, hoping she wouldn’t bust me. “A witch!” the driver cried out. “I caught her changing the streetlight.”
This was getting serious if they were dragging people in for investigations. I thought we’d moved past this sort of thing centuries ago. The bridal sale lady waved the wand over the suspected witch, and the needle went all the way to the right. “Aha! A witch!” Abigail said. “What do you have to say for yourself, witch?”
