Free Your Magic or Mine? by Ann Macela

a chance of success. Smiling, he picked up the pace homeward. He had to arrange a meeting with Morgan. No matter his attraction to the woman and her lack of the same for him. He could control his body and his mind. He’d worry about his subconscious later. The little itch over his magic center returned, and he ignored it again. First he had to find the folder Ed had given them with the contact information.

     
    Although he called Morgan’s office and left messages Thursday night and off and on the next day, Marcus wasn’t able to get her on the phone. On Friday afternoon he called Ed to see if the editor had her personal numbers since she wasn’t listed in the phone book. Ed supplied several numbers—a cell phone, a number in Austin for her condo, and another number for her farm phone.
    Farm phone? Where did the woman live?
    “Idiot, you should have done this earlier,” he muttered to himself as he sat down at his computer and signed on to the private practitioner Web site. A banner headline on the home page told him to click on the button for the latest in the discussion over spell-casting. Not what he needed to read. He went straight to the registry.
    There she was: Gloriana Violet Morgan, twelfth level, associate professor, botanist, biological scientist, with all her degrees and achievements. A color photo showed off her curly dark-chocolate hair and emerald green eyes. He stared at the picture for a few seconds, then read her impressive curriculum vitae.
    “You might be a level greater than I am,” he couldn’t help saying to the picture, “but I made professor first.” The knowledge brought him scant pleasure. He clicked on the contact-information button. The displayed data included the Austin condo address and phone number and the same for the Morgan Plant and Herb Farm. She must spend part of the week in the city and the rest on the farm. Probably did some research there also.
    He clicked on the link for the farm. The home page introduction told him he was viewing the practitioner version; for customers with non-practitioner needs, he could click on another link. He perused the magic information. The Morgans grew certain plants to meet the exacting needs of their clients—for potions, salves, and certain spell requirements. They also offered a line of herbs, both fresh and dried, for chefs. He looked at the prices. They seemed steep to him, but what did he know about making potions? Or cooking, for that matter?
    He looked at his watch. Six o’clock. Maybe he could catch her before dinner. He flipped open his phone and punched the numbers for her cell.
    “Hello?” she answered, with a lot of noise in the background.
    “This is Marcus Forscher,” he said.
    “Who? Oh, wait a minute.” The noise got louder and sounded like the evening news, then faded. “Sorry about that. I had to turn the TV down. Who is this?”
    “Marcus Forscher,” he repeated.
    “Oh. Yes. What can I do for you?” Her voice went flat with the question. She didn’t seem pleased that he was her caller.
    “I’ve been thinking about our situation with regard to Ed’s plans,” he stated. “From your expression yesterday, I gather you aren’t looking forward to the crazy circus either.”
    He heard her sigh. “No, I’m not. I have research plans for the summer, and I’m sure you have the same. But I don’t see how we can call off the debates. The subject matter is too important.”
    “I agree. However, I’d like to minimize the impact on us and exert some control over the process.”
    “How can we do that?”
    “Let’s meet tomorrow, come up with our own schedule, and present Ed with a fait accompli.”
    “We can certainly try. Where do you want to meet? I’m out at the farm and wasn’t planning on coming back to Austin until Monday morning.”
    She didn’t sound too happy about his suggestion—or it could simply be the idea of coming back to town. He could be accommodating—especially if it would influence her