Free Shifty Magic by Judy Teel Page A

this
close would be nearly immobilized by it.
    Whoever had constructed the barrier not only
knew what they were doing, but had some serious magical firepower
to draw on. With a running start, a paranormal attacker might
manage to dive through the protection, but they'd land on the other
side a smoking, charred pile of bones. I bet the same spell was on
the barbed wire. Probably explained the bored lack of concern of
the guard.
    I walked through, feeling nothing more than
a warm brush of power across my skin and arrived on the other side.
"Take one of the bikes," the guard called from the open window that
faced the property. "Go to the left. Turn right at the crossroads.
The house you want is down on the right."
    Several colorful 1950s-styled bicycles lined
the wall on this side. I picked a red and silver number with
Schwinn painted on it, turned on its fender light and mounted
up.
    The sky arched above me bigger than in the
city and dense with glittering stars. Dark groves of fruit trees
and fields with cows cluttering around their shelters marked the
way. A serene atmosphere that I never felt in town seemed to
overlay the entire property.
    I was beginning to see the appeal of living
in a place like this when I passed a pile of rubble set back from
the road. A historic landmark sign was planted in front declaring
that in 2024 the unprovoked attack by the Fifth Parish Vampire Unit
had resulted in the deaths of Senator Tarson and his family. The
sign finished up by reporting that the attackers were heroically
corralled by neighboring families and captured. Tragically, when
Were reinforcements arrived, the terrified community slaughtered
them.
    Beside the rubble under the gloomy darkness
of an old tree, I saw a dozen grave markers with crescent moons
carved on them, identifying the Were graves. A shadow of regret
brushed across my heart at the sight. I continued on, not nearly as
enchanted by my surroundings as I had been.
    A sweaty ten minutes later, I propped the
bike against one of the white columns of an enormous colonial style
mansion, climbed the steps to the front door and pushed the
intercom for apartment two, the number indicated on the note. "Lord
Bellmonte's secretary sent me," I announced on a hunch when a woman
answered.
    "Oh, thank God," she whispered as she buzzed
open the door. "I'd given up hope."
     
    * * *
    Laiyla Billings was a tall, willowy woman with
shoulder-length, wavy, cinnamon-colored hair peppered with gray as
if it was considering the wisdom of taking the plunge. Her
complexion was flawless, her average blue eyes bright with anxiety.
I put her age at anywhere between thirty-five and fifty.
    She offered me tea in a delicate porcelain
cup with tiny yellow birds painted on it. Her hand trembled
slightly as she handed the cup to me across the coffee table
scattered with magazines that sat between us.
    "I'm so relieved the Church is finally
taking this seriously," she said as I took the cup. Her voice was
smooth and gentle, a perfect reflection of her appearance. "I'd
concluded they didn't care as long as it was only renegades."
    "Why do you live with people who hate
paranormals?" I asked, setting the cup down on the table.
    Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
    "You're a practitioner." I nodded to the
ring on her left hand. "Moon and sun symbols woven together on a
silver band on your ring finger and a fairy star necklace with
what's probably a spelled ruby for protection." I glanced at the
gem softly glowing with power.
    Her expression remained guileless and full
of curiosity as she waited for me to continue. I made a show of
pulling in a deep breath. A faint scent like ancient, dark soil
that had been soaked with vinegar and set on fire still clung to
the apartment. "But it was the smell of a Cupid Spell cooking in
the kitchen that really tipped me off."
    Six months ago at a certain department
Christmas party, I'd had an accidental encounter with that
particular potion. Sadly, I knew what I was talking