Magical Influence Book One

  Chapter 7

  By the time I made it home, I was ready to pop. I'd made a quick call to my boss, intending to let him know what had happened. But my conversation hadn't gone quite according to plan.

  I’d been fired.

  Yes, that's right, fired. Yesterday I had spent several hours in a police station, today I’d been in a robbery, and this afternoon I’d been sacked.

  But I wasn't done with the trouble.

  As I pulled up outside my house, I sat there for a few minutes, staring at my steering wheel glumly.

  I needed to find another job as soon as possible; we already lived beyond our means. I didn't relish the opportunity of job hunting though.

  I also didn't relish having to tell my grandmother. Because she was going to say one thing; The Tower. I had created this mess, now I was reaping the rewards. I had never liked my life, and I had been undermining it for weeks and weeks now with my constant whingeing. Well, I had successfully attacked the foundations, so now the house was falling.

  Leaning back in my seat, closing my eyes, I indulged in covering my face with my hands. The slight smell of my perfume still lingered.

  It was an orange, rose blossom mix, and it had always been my favorite.

  I felt it summed me up perfectly: a little bit sweet, a little bit delicate, but not too showy.

  After almost a minute of hiding, I finally opened the car door and got out.

  That's when I saw the house.

  Or rather, I saw the tree. One of the oaks had lost a branch, and that branch was now lodged in the roof.

  I winced.

  Then I snapped my eyes open.

  My grandmother was smart, she was powerful, she was a witch; but she was still old.

  Leaving the car door open, the keys in the ignition, my bag on the front seat, I sprinted towards the house. “Mary, Mary, are you okay?”

  Nobody answered; nobody could hear me. The gusts of wind that had been tearing through the city were only growing more powerful. My hair was whipping around my face like a fan, and twigs and leaves were picking up along the garden path, slamming into my legs and feet.

  The front door was open.

  I rushed in, heart suddenly in my mouth.

  “Mary, Mary?” My shoes squeaked on the once beautifully polished floorboards of the hall as I headed for the kitchen.

  If I was any judge, the branch had fallen into the roof just above it.

  I had a horrible flash of my grandmother lying underneath it, pinned down, and possibly covered in the dirty dishes that kept unpacking themselves from the dishwasher.

  I had to grab hold of the doorframe as I sprinted into the kitchen, just to stop myself from slamming into the wall.

  I didn't, however, stop myself in time before I slammed into someone’s back.

  “Hey,” that someone snapped. It was a man. A man in a suit.

  As I stumbled and righted myself by grabbing at the kitchen bench, he turned.

  I almost fell over, despite the fact I now had two hands clutching onto the side of the kitchen bench.

  Agent bloody Fairweather.

  For a second the fact that he was in my kitchen and I'd run into his back was all I could think of, then the urgency caught up with me again.

  I snapped my head to the side.

  Mary, my grandmother, was sitting at the kitchen bench, staring up at the branch that was lodged in the wall.

  “There you are, dear, look what happened? A branch came down. What a storm we've got out there.”

  I stared at my grandmother, over to the branch, then back to Fairweather.

  There were a lot of questions to be answered here.

  “Is everybody okay?” I asked quickly, swallowing loudly as I did. Though I'd said everybody, I didn't mean it. I meant my grandmother and the house; Fairweather could go hang for all I cared.

  He straightened up, patting down on his tie again; he did that a lot, perhaps it was his little way of neatening up the world. He did seem to be the kind of fellow that would be obsessed with ordering things, cleaning them up, keeping them on the straight and narrow. He was a Federal Police Officer, after all, or an Agent as he so liked to insist.

  “I'm fine,” Mary said with a smile, “Agent Fairweather here seems suspicious of us, and as for the house... it looks as if you're going to have to pick up another job to pay for the repairs. I called our builder friend, it’s going to be costly.”

  I nodded my head, then shook it. I understood the bit about the house and my grandmother, but as for the statement about Fairweather, it was probably bang on the mark, but it wasn't comforting.

  I narrowed my eyes as I slid my gaze over to him. “I see, and why exactly are you here, Agent Fairweather?”

  “I was on business in the local vicinity. I was just outside when the branch fell. I heard your grandmother call for help, and I came to assist.”

  A likely story. The man had probably been parked out front, sipping on a coffee, just waiting for me to come home so he could harass me again.

  I nodded, keeping my smile as pleasant as I could. “I guess I should thank you then.”

  “I suppose you should,” he agreed.

  We stared at each other for slightly too long.

  Granny cleared her throat. “Would you like a cup of tea, or a biscuit?”

  Fairweather looked over at the kitchen table.

  It was covered in dishes. In fact, you couldn't see the lovely wood underneath; all you could see were mugs and plates and pots and pans.

  He looked back at me. I got the picture. He couldn't blame my dear old grandma; she was clearly demented. He could, however, cast judgment on the crazy lady who seemed to allow her to collect federal offences and live in squalor.

  “Did you unstack the dishwasher again before it was done?” I asked very softly, glancing towards my grandmother.

  I knew fully well that she hadn’t been the one to unstack the dishwasher; I'd been a witch and had lived in this house long enough to understand its quirks.

  She crumpled her brow and looked at me suspiciously as if I'd suddenly lost my mind. “It unstacked itself.”

  Fairweather just nodded. “I'm fine, I don’t need a cup of tea or a biscuit,” he assured me, that tone of his bottoming out as it always did, making me feel as if he was dragging me down to hell.

  “Okay then, I guess you'll be leaving,” I said pointedly.

  I wasn’t usually this rude. If we had guests, I was a very obliging host. I'd be the one to pull the chair out for you, to ensure your glass was always full, to make you special food if you had any allergies. But here I was practically telling Fairweather his stay was up.

  “Esmerelda, how very rude. You must forgive her, Jacob, she has always been a bit funny around attractive men. A little self-conscious, you know what I mean? Doesn't know what to say, gets awkward,” my grandmother said plainly as if I wasn't in the room.

  I choked. Fairweather swallowed a snigger.

  I was going to kill her. I was going to kill my grandmother, but I was going to bloody well wait until Fairweather was gone.

  Feeling my cheeks turn a furious red, I blinked hard, patted down on my pants, and walked over to the kitchen sink just to get away. I poured myself a glass of water, and drank it as I stared concertedly out the window, feeling the breeze that was pushing its way past the branch lodged in the opposite wall.

  “Jacob, I simply insist. I'll have Esme here make you a cup of tea, and I'm sure we've got some biscuits or cake lodged in the fridge somewhere. You’ve been such a dear coming to my aid. Stay for a bit.”

  Such a dear?

  This was the same man that had dragged her in for questioning a little over 24 hours ago.

  “Well, if you insist,” as Agent Fairweather, or Jacob as I had just learnt, spoke, he stared right at me.

  “Let me make a space for you,” I said through gritted teeth as I walked over to the kitchen table, brought out a chair, grabbed the mugs and bowls off it, and took them
over to the dishwasher. As I stacked them in, I was sure to glare at it.

  “So, Jacob, tell me some more about yourself. How long have you been a Federal Agent for? And I must say, you’re the first Federal Agent I've ever met, unless you count the ones I've seen on TV or in movies,” my grandmother said in her usual scatty tone as she sat at one of the other kitchen chairs, apparently not caring that there was a dirty plate underneath her.

  “About two years now,” he answered, and as he did, I swear he kept his attention firmly locked on me.

  “What did you do before that?” My grandmother smiled at him invitingly.

  “I was in the Army for a short stint. “

  “The Army, how exciting. What an action man you are. They should make a figurine of you,” my grandmother said, in a completely straight tone, with a completely straight face, because she was completely serious.

  I managed to swallow my laugh, and to Jacob's credit, he simply tapped his hand on his knee and mumbled that he didn't think so.

  As I hurriedly cleaned the table, stacked the dishwasher, set the kettle on, and prepared some cake from the fridge, I started to get an itchy feeling along the back of my shoulders and arms.

  I dismissed it.

  A mistake.

  As my grandmother continued to ask Jacob Fairweather the strangest and most awkward questions, she suddenly stopped. She turned her head towards the window, narrowed her eyes, and sniffed. “How is your car, dear?”

  She was talking to me.

  And then I remembered. I remembered the fact I had left the keys in the ignition, the door open, and my bag on the front seat.

  Swearing loudly, I dropped what I was doing, ran out the door, and sprinted down the garden path as fast as I could.

  I needn't have bothered.

  Because it was gone.

  Seriously, my car was gone.

  I had lost my job that day, and now to top it all off I had lost my car too and my bag and purse.

  Fantastic. Bloody fantastic.

  As I stood there on the curb where my car should have been, I closed my eyes and covered my mouth, breathing a silent scream into it.

  I heard footsteps behind me.

  “What are you doing?” It was Jacob.

  “I have no idea,” I answered honestly as I brought my arms out expressively.

  No, that wasn't fair, I knew exactly what I was doing; I was ruining my life, one mishap at a time.

  “Where is your car?”

  I couldn't turn to him. Eventually I shrugged my shoulders. “I'm not sure.”

  “What do you mean you're not sure?”

  “Oh dear,” I heard my grandmother call out, “shouldn't you call the police?”

  “Are you telling your car has been stolen?” Jacob insisted.

  I wanted to cry. And scream and shout, and generally make a scene. I managed to hold onto my dignity though, but only just.

  “Oh, I forgot, Jacob's a policeman, how useful. You can let him know that you left your keys in the ignition, the door open, and walked away from your car, practically inviting it to be stolen,” my grandmother walked up behind me.

  “Is she serious?” Jacob looked at me pointedly.

  I grit my teeth, pulling my lips around them in the world's most nervous, fearful, crazed smile.

  “When I pulled up, I saw the branch lodged in the roof, and I just ran to check my grandmother was okay,” I pushed my hand into my fringe as I spoke, feeling how sweaty and hot my brow had become.

  Really? Could this day get any worse? I felt like facing the clouds above and shouting at them: “Enough already, I get the picture’. I was a very bad witch who had been far too whingey and was now paying the consequences.

  “You left the keys in the ignition and the door open,” Jacob tried to clarify.

  “And my handbag on the front seat,” I added, teeth still clenched.

  “It really was an invitation for someone to steal it, wasn't it, dear?” My grandmother patted a hand on my back.” You should have known better.”

  I really was about to pop.

  “Can I just ascertain that you are serious? Your car has been stolen?” Jacob looked from me to the curb then back at me.

  I shrugged my shoulders and nodded. “I got held up this morning, lost my job this afternoon, and five minutes ago, my car got stolen,” my voice was unnaturally singsong.

  “You lost your job, oh, how unfortunate, how are we going to pay for all the damage? Also, how am I going to pay for my new shipment? I ordered something fantastic off the Internet last night,” my grandmother pointed out with a smile.

  I choked. Wrong time to talk about the weird and wonderful things she was going to have shipped from other countries; Agent Jacob Fairweather was still standing right there to my left.

  “You realize under most insurance policies leaving the keys in the ignition and the door open will invalidate the terms?” he pointed out.

  What a comforting thing to say.

  “Oh dear, I think we should get back in the house before the rain starts,” Granny removed the hand from my back and pointed up to the sky.

  The clouds were still racing, but if I were any judge, it wasn't going to start raining any time soon.

  Well I was wrong, and my grandmother was right; she was a far more powerful witch, after all, and she had seen her fair share of weather spells. The exact hue to the laden grey and blue clouds in the sky, the pace of the wind, and the general ambience of the air suggested one thing; a downpour.

  By the time we made it back to the house, there was a clap of thunder, seconds later the rain began.

  I caught a glimpse of Fairweather glancing out the window and up at the clouds, a confused look on his face. “That was quick,” he said under his breath.

  “Come in and sit down, Jacob, I'm very sorry you've been distracted. Now where were we?”

  He’d been distracted? Was my car being stolen nothing more than a simple little distraction? Was the fact I had just lost my job nothing more than a mild inconvenience?

  I crossed my arms and frowned deeply as I followed the two of them back into the kitchen.

  The second I reached it, I realized just how damaged the roof was. A gale was blowing through the hole the branch had wrought, and as the rain slammed down, it fell onto the floor, soon to ruin one of my favorite rugs.

  “It's a bit draughty in here, Jacob, how about we move into the drawing room? Esme, be a good girl and fix up the tea and cake, would you?”

  I didn't want to be a good girl. I wanted to kick Jacob out and have a tantrum. I had just enough self-control not to do that though. I busied myself trying to clean up my kitchen instead. Once I had delivered the tea and cake to my grandmother and her thoroughly unwanted guest, I set about trying to figure out a way to get the branch out of the wall, and some kind of shield up so my kitchen wasn't completely ruined in the storm.

  Clambering into a thick jacket and gumboots and fixing my hair into a tight bun, I waded out into the darkening day to see what I could do.

  “I hate you, day,” I said petulantly as I sloshed over to the oak tree that had lost its branch, planting my hands on my hips as I leant back to survey the damage.

  If I were a different kind of which, I would have tried to talk the wood into pulling itself out of the wall and the wall into stacking up its bricks, strengthening its mortar, and fixing its plaster back into place.

  Unfortunately I had to deal with what I had, so I splashed over to the shed looking for the chainsaw I knew was still in there.

  I hauled it back to the oak tree, then spent a few frustrated moments trying to get it to start.

  “You are seriously going chainsaw in this weather, are you?” I heard Jacob ask from behind me.

  Not expecting it, I gave a jump, starting the chainsaw at that exact moment.

  “Dammit, be careful, you could take my leg off with that,” he scolded as I turned around with the chainsaw in hand, the chain turning around as the machine
groaned from years of misuse.

  I turned it off, dropping it to my side. “It's not like I have much of a choice. There's a sodding great branch in my kitchen,” I pointed to it needlessly as a gust of wind plastered my hair into my face, the rain managing to seep its cold touch down the back of my jacket.

  “Just leave it, call someone in the morning,” he suggested.

  I frowned at him, turned my back, started the chainsaw, and muscled it over to the tree.

  And that would be when I felt it.

  Another snaking, twisting spike of precognition.

  There was a crack from behind me. From the same mutinous oak tree that had already dropped a branch onto my already decrepit house.

  I had the presence of mind to drop the chainsaw, and without my hand on the trigger, thankfully it stopped before I could take my foot off.

  Half a second later, a branch came swinging my way like a dark shadow from a nightmare.

  It didn't squish me; it didn't get the chance.

  Jacob slammed into my side, pulling me to the left just as the branch fell exactly where I’d been standing.

  His arm around my middle, his weight pressing into my back, I fell face first into the mud. I breathed in the wet dirt, and I started to choke wildly.

  But the weather and the day were not over yet. There was another crack from above us. Jacob hauled me up by the collar of my jacket, and pushed me to the side again.

  The whole tree was about to go.

  “Get back,” he commanded needlessly. It was needless because I could already see I didn't want to stand anywhere near that tree, and because he had an arm around my middle and was dragging me away as fast as he could.

  With another almighty snapping sound, the whole trunk sliced in two and the rest of the branches fell over with a groan.

  It was a spectacular sight. Made all the more frantic by the sudden clap of thunder and the slice of lightning far off down the street.

  Even though it was only relatively early in the evening, the sudden approach of the storm had sucked the remaining light out of the dusk.

  Jacob let out a soft swearword from behind me, eventually letting his arm drop from my side. “You okay?”

  No, I really wasn't. My life was falling apart.

  Lightning. And trees falling over. It was most definitely The Tower card. Bugger. Because that card never left the job half finished. The tower would come down, everything crumbling with it.

  My life was undoubtedly falling apart, but judging by how screwed up the situation was, I knew it wasn't finished yet.

  “Are you okay?” He walked around me, staring down into my face as he did.

  I think my bottom lip wobbled at that moment. I was getting ready to cry. Who cared if I did? It was raining, and it wasn't as if Jacob Fairweather was a friend or anyone I held in particularly high esteem; I didn't have to keep my dignity around him. And maybe if I burst into tears it would finally chase him away.

  “Get inside,” he said. And surprisingly, his tone was soft. The rumble and baritone was still there, but the sharp edge was gone.

  By the time we made it to the front door, my grandmother was standing there, two towels in her hand. “Get inside before you all catch colds,” she squeaked.

  And then she stopped. She dropped the act. The scatty, mad, crazy woman act.

  The woman with authority, the witch of old, took hold.

  With a quick glance, she saw the broken oak tree, her lips parted, she ushered us in, and she slammed the door.

  Her countenance had changed in an instant.

  “Perhaps it’s time to leave us, Jacob Fairweather; it seems we’ve got a little bit of the situation here, I wouldn't want to hold you up,” she suggested.

  Her tone was different, her choice of words was different, her entire manner was completely at odds with what she had shown before. She seemed competent, clever, smart, and in control.

  I caught Jacob staring at her askance as he dabbed at his face and hair with the towel. “Sorry?”

  “Thank you very much for your assistance, Agent, but we simply can't take up any more of your time,” she said again, a note of insistence rippling through her voice.

  I had lived with my grandmother long enough to know what she was doing here. Though she seemed to enjoy spending most of her time as the town's craziest woman, she was still powerful underneath all of that bizarre behavior. And the powerful witch understood what had just occurred.

  Slowly I began to catch up with the situation too.

  One of our oak trees was down. That wasn't just an inconvenience, it was perhaps one of the greatest portents of doom you could get.

  The two old trees that stood either side of the house were a little bit more than decoration. They were guards, sentinels. They stood at either side, blocking the house from attack.

  Now one of them was down.

  No, it had been split in half, it had burst, it had broken in a spectacular display of power.

  It wasn't just the weather, it wasn't an artefact of the storm; it was a sign.

  The safety and security this house had once given us, was now gone.

  I backed off a little, swallowing uncomfortably, holding onto my towel until my knuckles turned white.

  Losing my job was one thing, losing my car equally as disturbing, but it was nowhere near as bad as this.

  “Thank you again,” my grandmother said as she ushered Jacob to the door, one hand firmly pushing against his back.

  He seemed flustered, and rightly so. One minute my grandmother was acting like a total loon, the next she was perfectly in control.

  He shot a look my way. All he would've seen was my pale face, my bedraggled form, and the no doubt distinct look of dismay on my crumpled expression.

  He opened his mouth, eyes still locked on me, the once stern look gone as it gave way to a far more compassionate one. I knew he was about to ask if I was okay; he didn't get the opportunity though.

  My gran practically shoved him out the door. “Keep the towel, thanks again, goodbye.”

  With that she closed the door.

  She locked it.

  She turned around and she stared at me.

  A lot was exchanged in that simple look.

  “Go upstairs, go to your room, lock the door. Get out your sacred books, put them by each window, make sure they are locked,” my grandmother marched past me, heading towards the kitchen.

  I knew what she was about to do. She really was far more powerful than I was, perhaps more powerful than I ever would be. And now she was momentarily disengaging from her crazy side, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  I didn't need to ask her why the sudden change in temperance.

  We were under attack.

  Or at least we would be.

  First the storm, then... who knew? But as we looked at each other as she headed to the kitchen, one thing could not be doubted; this day was only going to lead to a far worse night.

  Danger was in the air.

  “Lock your windows,” my grandmother repeated one last time as she entered the kitchen and disappeared from view.

  I raced up the stairs.