A. L. Kaplan

Tag: magic

  • PURSE SNATCHER

    “Don’t just stand there! Go after him.”

    Concerned tourists gathered around the old woman. Purse snatching isn’t on my list of things to witness while vacationing, but hey, I’m a cop. I looked up the flight of marble stairs. The punk that grabbed her bag must have been part monkey. If I tried running him down I’d be clutching my chest like the old lady. I was a lot older than monkey kid and my daily donuts hung around my waist like banana custard. Good think I didn’t need to.

    “Don’t worry. He’ll be right down,” I said. “Those upper steps are slick.”

    No one noticed my fingers wiggle as I helped the woman stand. A thin glaze of ice formed on the steps. Not an easy feat to do in Southern California. But hey, I’m talented.

    Just my luck, monkey kid must have been part cat. He stumbled on the ice, then leaped past. I muttered an oath. At least I had one more ace up my sleeve. My little friend popped up to the top of the stairs just as the kid reached the uppermost step. By little I mean huge. Anyone but me saw Clyde as heat rising in the distance…Unless, of course, you ran into him.

    Monkey kid shrieked, then tumbled backwards down the steps. I couldn’t help but smile. Any mention of what he saw would be attributed to the huge crack on his skull. Score one for me and Clyde.

  • FLOWERS

    Tears stained her face as she slipped from the car. A loud snore made her jump and cringe. Last night’s beating marred her face. He never let her stop here, the one place that made her happy. If he woke….She didn’t breathe until she was sure he still slept.

    Bright yellow flowers stretched as far as she could see. They called to her, singing, swaying in the sun; a peaceful contrast to her turbulent life. She pushed through thick stems to take a picture.

    Flower heads pressed against her. Their bright yellow faces bent and swiveled like no plant should. Sweet perfume filled her nostrils. Fear and pain vanished. Sunshine kissed her lips. When she opened her eyes thousands of yellow faces beamed at her as she hovered above the field. She smiled back. What a beautiful place to rest. No pain. No tension. Far from his reach.

    A patrol spotted her car later that day with her husband still passed out in his seat. Searchers followed a wide trail to the center of the field where they found her battered body under a blanket of flowers. Amongst the bruises a peaceful smile graced her face.

    Denials were useless. The officers were as moved by her husband’s tears as he had been to hers. Those same fists that had hit her so brutally shook when they cuffed him. They hauled him away, far from the beauty he denied her. Forever locked in shadows while she soared free.

  • Cheloniidae’s Revenge

    “Observe only. Don’t interfere.”

    Those words rung in my head as another baby sea turtle lost its race to the ocean. I bit back the bile in my throat. Waves of seagulls had descended this peaceful beach at dawn, feasting on newly hatched turtles. If it weren’t for the professor and my fellow students behind me, I would have scooped up hatchlings until my arms were full.

    Instead I stood frozen in place. My eyes burned with unshed tears. Poachers we were allowed to stop, but these squawking demons were off limits. One single baby flopped toward the crashing waves. Hope rose in my heart only to be dashed as it was snatched into the air inches from the water. Not a single turtle had made it to the water.

    My eyes clouded over and it felt as though fire burned through my veins. This had to stop. It had to end. Energy twisted inside me, then surged through my bare feet into the sand.

    The gull’s frenzied pitch changed tone within seconds. What had been a turtle massacre changed to a seagull stampede. The flock swooped away from the beach. Their voices seemed to cry out in unison: “Flee! Flee! Flee!”

    Behind me I heard panicked exclamations from the others. I didn’t need to look to know what chased the gulls, but I turned anyway. A smile split my face as a giant flying sea turtle snapped up seagulls in midair. This circle of life was biting back.

  • WATCHER

    “Margaret!

    “Goodness, Charles. You nearly broke the door slamming it open like that.”

    “To hell with the door. We have to leave. They found us.”

    Are you certain? It’s been years. Surely they’ve given up by now.

    Well, they haven’t. Damned robotic hawk’s been watching me plow for weeks. I was just too stupid to realize it until now. Where’s Peter?”

    “Oh, God. Not now. He’s out with Suzy.

    “Again? He spends more time with her than us these days.”

    “He’s in love, Charles. They’re in love. I’ll text him to come home.”

    Are you insane? They sent a robotic bird to spy on us, Margaret. Hacking a phone is child’s play to them. Pack our things. I’ll get Peter’s. We’ll pop to the theater for him.

    What about Suzy? He won’t leave her behind.

    “Bad enough we have to look over our shoulders all the time, and with Peter’s abilities, it’s his fate as well. That’s no life for a country girl like Suzy.

    Don’t you think that’s her choice?

    We don’t have time for this.

    Make time. Peter plans to marry her, with or without your approval.

    And if she freaks out when we tell her about us, about our magic?

    We do a memory spell and leave. But it won’t come to that. Suzy is stronger than you think. I think she has latent spell abilities.

    If they find out they’ll make her life hell. Damn techies. Wish they’d leave us mages alone. Let’s go welcome the girl to the family.

  • THE DONKEY CURSE

    Incessant braying rouses me from slumber. Hot smelly breath wafts over my face. Waving at the offending odor earns another head splitting shriek. I pry open my eyes and stare at a pair of mournful brown globes on a long gray furry face. Nonsensical images flash through my mind as my head smacks the roof of the pickup. Another plaintive bray sends goose bumps up my spine…a very naked spine. Memories of last night escape me.

    An old gypsy shoves the donkey away. Her bony fingers clench the edge of the car. The look in her eyes makes me shiver. Even the jingle of the silver bangles, that hang from her ears and arms, makes my skin crawl. I break from her gaze and watch a bronze medallion sway across her chest.

    “You soulless wretch. You’ll pay for what you did.”

    “I didn’t do anything.” At least that’s what I try to say. The words come out garbled.

    The crone laughs and steps back. I jump from the car and run. Within three steps I trip over my own legs…all four of them. Head spinning, I lay on the sandy ground. I’m a donkey, a god damn donkey.

    “You treated my granddaughter poorly last night. I gave you a body to fit your actions. You’ll need to earn your way back to human form.”

    A coarse rope pulls me to my feet and down the road to a raven haired woman. Bruises model one side of her face and nail gouges mar both arms. Memories return. I did that. I back away and pray for escape, for another glass of whiskey. All I find is the crack of a whip.

  • That Which Awaits

    The first animal seen after your first battle is your totem spirit. At least that’s what I’ve been told all my life. Now my friends all boast of the animals they saw and the good omens they portend. My experience was different. I should be joyful. My totem is the bearer of magic, wisdom, and messages from beyond. Yet happiness eludes me.

    Juices run down my hand from the fresh roasted meat I hold, but it feels dry in my mouth. It’s not the cool night air that sends shivers down my back, it’s the vision I saw as the fighting ended, right after I saw my totem. I edge closer to the fire, hoping its warmth will drive away my chills.

    I don’t fear death. Never have. Never will. Perhaps that’s why this totem chose me. With my free hand I clutch the pouch that hangs from my neck and close my eyes. Images from the battle replay in my mind, each detail, clearer by the second. The end never changes.

    A loud caw caw and the flutter of wings. A lone black feather swirls to my feet. I watch the raven as it circles three times then flies east. Wind tugs at my hair.  Sand and dirt blind me, yet my sight is true. I look down. The raven feather still rests at my feet.

    It’s a new beginning for me, a vision of the future….but none of my friends or family are in it.

  • The Golden Castle

    “Get in there, English scum,” said the guard as he shoved John into the tiny stone cell of El Castillo de Oro, or as the inmates called it, The Place of Bones. “I don’t care how many prisons you’ve escaped from, you’re not leaving here until you’re rotted bones.”

    John held out his hands. “My good man, you seem to have forgotten to remove my shackles.”

    “You want them off so bad, start chewing.” The guard slammed the door shut and left.

    Unfazed, John smiled at the man across the hall. “Greetings. To whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”

    “Only the gentleman pirate, John Deane, talks like that. Paul’s me name. You done gotten in too deep this time, Mr. Deane. There’s no escapin’ this place.”

    “Don’t be so sure, Paul.”

    John knew the history of this prison and the English translation. There was far more to the Golden Castle’s name than the stones, which shimmered gold in the setting sun. He extracted a pencil sized cylinder from its hiding place and gave it a few twists. Off popped the shackles, then the door lock clicked open. Casually, he stepped into the hallway and walked deeper into the prison. At each cell he released prisoners by pointing the cylinder.

    “You’re going the wrong way,” said Paul.

    “You can continue to the traditional exit and die,” said John. “Or you may come with me and walk away with as much Spanish gold as you can carry.”

    Paul glanced at the prisoners who ran for the exit, then back at John. “Gold?”

    John knew the lure of gold would do its trick. He smiled as Paul and a few others followed him into the bowels of El Castillo de Oro. Escaping the prison and finding the gold was easy. Convincing his new crew to go through the portal would be the challenge.

  • THE DIG

    Lush green covered the banks of the river. It would have been beautiful were not for the scull in my hand. Finding bones on an archaeological dig wasn’t unusual, but his one was different. Caucasian, male, one gold tooth, just like Brendan Harper, one of the students who disappeared three years ago.

    The university didn’t seem to notice how many students dropped Professor Hamilton’s classes or simply vanished over the years. And I mean years, as in decades. My boss red flagged the case and I’d spent two years undercover waiting for him to slip up.

    “Are you ready to join your classmates, Miss Van?”

    Icy fingers touched my shoulder and the scull crashed to the ground. It felt as though the temperature dropped fifty degrees. I could feel a tug on my soul, feel my life force drain away even through the protections. Panic closed in. If I didn’t act soon I’d be nothing but a withered corpse for some future victim to find.

    A twist of my wrist slipped the magic dagger into my hand as I spun around. I plunged the weapon deep into the lich’s emaciated chest. His red glowing eyes widened in their dark sockets. Bony hands clenched my neck even as his body disintegrated.

    “You can’t destroy me,” he hissed. “I’ll be back within a week. Your soul will be mine.”

    “Not this time, Lich. I destroyed your phylactery this morning. Oh, and my name isn’t Miss Van. It’s Miss Van Helsing.

  • Wish Pond

    Magic is finicky. I’d seen it work before, but not too reliably and there were many charlatans around. But I trusted Damien, loved him. Still, this was one of his wackier ideas, crazier than their hasty marriage three weeks ago.

    “You want to jump into that scuzzy water, be my guest. There’s no way I am.”

    A frown creased his brow. “We’ve been over this. If you don’t jump in after tossing the coin the magic won’t work. I can’t swim.”

    He massaged his head, revealing dark green marks on his arm.

    “What’s that green smudge?”

    Damien snapped his sleeve down, covering the splotches. He seemed unusually irritated. “Nothing, just some paint.”

    I shrugged. He was the magic expert. With a flick I tossed the copper coin in the air. It arced high, then dove strait for the wish pond. Instead of a splash, I heard thump.

    Curious, I leaned over to look, but a flicker of movement made me turn. Arms extended, Damien charged, the green ‘paint’ on his arms clearly textured like alligator skin. Yellow reptilian eyes shone with soulless intensity.

    My heart shattered with understanding. Damien was a Gator Shaman, bound to the creatures by blood… and I was his next sacrifice. No wonder he knew so much magic. But he didn’t count on my reflexes. Damien tumbled into the water. He cried once before the alligator bit.

    I guess he really couldn’t swim. At least I’d inherit his gold.  Some wishes do come true.

  • Stained

    Ropes dug into Calynn’s wrists, her hands long since numb from their prolonged bondage. Small, superstitious people, the villagers feared her. She was different, marked with the violet eyes of legends. For sixteen years she’d lived with these people, laughed, cried, and worked besides them. Only once did she fail to stain her eyes dark. Now they sought her death.

    It took four days for the priests to ‘examine’ her, another two to march to the killing circle with a parade of witnesses. Each step left a numb hole in her heart. Children she had once played with taunted as she was dragged to the chopping block. Of all she had endured, the look in Daniel’s eyes hurt the most. How quickly love had turned to hate.

    Hands forced her head onto the block and her nostrils flared. The scent of blood, soaked deep into the ancient wooden rings, was still strong even after nearly fifty year. Something pulled at Calynn, pulsing, calling her name. Hundreds had died on this stump, all of them guilty only in looking different.

    Visions of deaths long past surged through her mind as they tied her down. Her heart quickened. Only one had escaped the slaughter. It wasn’t until now that Calynn understood Nana’s dying words or the pain in her dark-stained violet eyes. Voices fluttered in the wind, calling, straining for release.

    “It’s time, Calynn.”

    Lighting burst from Calynn’s hands, breaking her bonds and releasing the slaughtered souls. It was time.