Modern Magic

Modern Magic

Copyright © 2022 Knight Writing Press

Additional copyright information for individual works provided at the end of this publication.

Enrapturing Tales is an imprint of:

Knight Writing Press

PMB # 162

13009 S. Parker Rd.

Parker CO 80134

knightwritingpress.com

KnightWritingPress@gmail.com

Cover Art and Cover Design © 2022 Knight Writing Press and © 2022 LB Hayden

Interior Art © 2022 Knight Writing Press

Interior Book Design and eBook Design by Knight Writing Press

Editor Sam Knight

Additional Copyright Information:

Broken Things © 2022 Damien Mckeating

Sphere of Falling © 2013 Stace Johnson

Eternally Shackled © 2022 Stephanie Daich

Something Else To Do © 2022 Steven D. Brewer

The Sight © 2022 Darby Cox

Rainstorm © 2022 Judith Pratt

Melting Snow © 2022 Joanna Z. Weston

How the King of New Orleans Lost His Hat © 2022 J Layne Nelson

The Mirror © 2022 Annie Percik

Some Kind of Magic © 2022 Jackie Ross Flaum

Coffee Break © 2019 W.O. Hemsath, originally published in The Wand that Rocks the Cradle: Magical Stories of Family edited by Oren Litwin.

Fortunes © 2022 Monica Wenzel

Dealer’s Choice © 2022 Manfred Gabriel

The Dragon Pen © 2022 Julie Day

Window © 2022 Darren Todd

Mervin’s Wand © 2022 James Rumpel

Worry Dolls © 2022 Carla Ward

The Mystical Rock © 2022 Peggy Gerber

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, with the exception of brief quotations within critical articles and reviews or as permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, places, or events are coincidental, the work of the authors’ imagination, or used fictitiously.

Electronic versions of this work are licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only and may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this work with another person, please purchase a physical copy or purchase an additional electronic copy for that person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors and publishers by doing so.

First Publication November 2022

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-62869-060-6

eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-62869-059-0

A Note from the Editor

I have always felt the world was full of magic. From the magic words I would say in my head when I shot a basketball at the hoop on my grandparent’s garage, to the strange things I’ve seen that I couldn’t explain, to the feelings I get when the smells of the holidays fill the house.

How can the smell of cinnamon and cloves make you feel warm, happy, and safe if magic is not involved somehow? How is it the whole world so often goes still and quiet in that golden hour before sunset if there’s no magic? How can squiggly lines of black ink on a page in a book make words that can, years later, teach you something, change the way you feel, think, and live, if there is no such thing as magic?

In today’s world, magic can seem a little hard to come by. Which is really too bad. I think it probably needs magic more than ever. Even the youngest children seem jaded to the world around them.

As you read our stories of people who found magic, keep in mind the places you once found magic in your life. Maybe you’ll remember where, and how, to look for it. Maybe, just by looking, you’ll alert the magic to your presence, and it will come looking for you.

But even so, some magic you still have to make for yourself. Don’t be afraid to put in a little elbow grease, either, because that’s definitely a key ingredient. Right up there with rainbows and shooting stars.

And for sure don’t be afraid to try to make magic yourself. Everything starts somewhere. It might as well start with you. Right here, right now, and with this book.

-Sam Knight

October 4th, 2022

Broken Things

by

Damien Mckeating

THERE’S THIS TRICK THAT I CAN DO; MY ONE TRUE TALENT. But, I tell you now, it is not quick thinking.

Daisy stomped through the living room, a delirious blur of rainbow-coloured hair, piercings and leather. She sobbed and pounded up the stairs in her big boots. I stood with my mouth open, a mug of tea halfway to it. I couldn’t remember if I was going to drink it or say something to her. Something suitably parental like, Take your boots off, or What’s the matter, love?

Didn’t, though. Just stood there like a hedgehog who’s realised he’s on a main road.

Should I? I half-asked, nodding towards the stairs.

No, Ellie said. She stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across her chest, looking tired.

Bad one? I asked.

She and Jesse broke up.

Aw, man.

I put the mug down and, in the absence of Daisy, hugged Ellie. We look odd together. I’m tall and broad and quiet, she’s short and slim and a firecracker. Somehow, we’ve always fit together.

She’ll be okay. Give her some time. We all get our heart broken at some point.

We didn’t, I said.

I was heart-broken when I met you, she said, looking up at me.

The first thing I fixed, I smiled and kissed her.

Not quite, she smiled back and slipped away. I’ve got to pick up a few things. Are you staying here?

Yeah. For a while. I’ll hang around, just in case she needs someone. I finished with a shrug.

I watched Ellie leave and thought about how she’d been when we first met, thirty-something years ago. We weren’t much different, even then. She was a lean tomboy with scuffed knees and a wicked punch. I was a tubby kid who’d rather be neither seen nor heard.

She was sitting in the dirt, sniffling, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand, a threadbare teddy in two pieces in front of her. Someone had ripped its head off. A little cloud of white stuffing stuck out from the neck.

Are you okay? I asked, immediately wanting the sky to fall in and bury me.

Sam broke my Ted, she said.

Oh. I shuffled my feet and looked to the horizon for inspiration. Should we tell someone?

No, she sniffed. I think I broke his nose. She shrugged.

I was in love. I decided to show her the trick that I could do. I’d never shown anyone else. I knew, just knew, that it wasn’t something everyone could do, and if they knew I could do it then I would…stand out. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

I took hold of the two halves of Ted in my hands. I gently placed the head back onto the neck and covered the join with my palms.

Now, I don’t know how it works, not really. Never did, never have done, probably never will. I just know that I can do it. I can feel how things should fit together. The stitches and tears in the bear’s neck seemed to appear in my mind’s eye and then slot together—like a laser light show across the night sky.

I moved my hands away and Ted was whole again.

You fixed him, she said, stating the obvious only because it was so unbelievable. How did you do that?

I shrugged. Embarrassment washed over me. If the sky wasn’t going to fall down and crush me, maybe I could dig my way into the ground and bury myself alive.

Ellie hugged me. It was wonderful. She was strong and wiry. I could smell the soil on her skin, the perfume sting of her soap, feel her soft hair against my face, and the breath of her words against my ear.

Thank you, she said.

It was love and I fell hard. Never had the guts to think she might feel the same. Took me a few more years to figure that out.

Maybe I was still figuring it out. Think maybe that’s what love is, really: figuring it out new each day.

From upstairs came the sound of thudding punk rock. Loud and aggressive. Full of fire and life. I’d always liked to drown in music, so I could understand that. When you don’t have the words, let someone else sing or scream them for you.

I decided to give Daisy some space. I went out to the garden, easing the pain out of my dodgy leg with each step, hauled open the garage door and set to work.

I fix things. Not just in that special way, but in the everyday kind of way. I think one led to the other. I wanted to know how things went together, so I ended up studying mechanics and engineering. Now I fix pretty much everything. Everyone around town knows who I am and sends me things, and I do a good mail-order business around the country, even a few international orders.

The garage is an orderly mess. There are two long workbenches with the tools arranged and stored just how I want them. Then there are rows, stacks, and boxes of works-in-progress. Years ago, Ellie hit upon the idea of bargain hunting in antique stores, charity shops, auctions, and car boot sales. We were buying the broken stuff cheap, fixing it up, and turning a good profit. So now there were paintings, books, toys, mirrors, and clothes in amongst the usual furniture, machinery and electronics.

I can lose hours at a time when I start working. It draws me in and the world fades away. It’s soothing; like a good yoga session, or meditation. I imagine. Never been much good at yoga or meditation, but I’ve heard people talk about it.

I work with my hands, feeling wood, metal and plastic beneath my fingers. I manipulate the pieces with my flesh and my mind. Each time there’s that laser show behind my eyes where the strands of energy, of molecules, knit together. Just like magic. Or chemistry. I can never decide what it is I actually do.

When I stop there’s still loud music thudding out of the upstairs room. I message Ellie, tell her I’m going for a walk, and give Daisy some more space. Good thing there are no neighbours nearby for her to annoy; and it also means plenty of space for me to walk. I like to walk. It gives me time to think, and it eases the pain in my leg. After a few miles my limp usually starts to ease up.

We live in an old farmhouse, surrounded by a good stretch of land. The house was a wreck when we found it and optimistically sold as a fixer-upper. As luck would have it, that kind of thing was no problem for me. We got a dream house for a dream price, and the space and quiet I’d been craving since I was a kid.

Recent storms had kicked up leaves and deadfall across the track from our house. There’s a patch of woodland nearby with a dirt track cutting through it, and a main road into town that cuts close to it and then follows the river. It’s a thirty-minute walk into town, if you walk like you mean it.

Today I didn’t mean it at all. I meandered. I felt the wind on my face, heard the rustle of birds in the branches, and wondered if the greying clouds meant rain.

A tree by the path had lost a branch. I picked it up and felt the rough bark against my rough palms. I turned the branch in my hands and held it up to the trunk of the tree. It was a living thing, not like the materials I usually worked with. I wondered if I could do it. I’d done something like it, once…

Bobby Fenn had fallen out of a tree. We were just daft teenagers, messing around and building a rope swing too high on a branch too weak to support us. Should have known better, but we didn’t, and the inevitable happened.

I remember the sounds. Two cracks. The branch and his leg. There was a silence afterwards like the world had ended. I’d have sworn it lasted forever, but then suddenly Bobby was screaming.

I looked at his leg and saw how bad it was. It was…bad. Then Bobby stopped screaming, and that was worse. His face was pale and drenched in sweat. Pain, shock, or something had knocked him out. I sat on the ground next to him, relieved to see that he was still breathing, and wondered what the hell to do.

We were too far from anywhere for me to carry him, or drag him, and neither seemed like a good idea anyway. No one was likely to find us. We were alone. Bobby was probably dying. I vomited and then decided there was only one thing to do.

It’s the only time I’ve ever done it: fixed living matter. I placed my hands on his leg and let the magic flow…

I don’t remember much about it, truth be told. My jaw snapped shut and I thought my teeth might grind themselves to dust. There was a pain behind my eyes like a nail had been driven through my skull. The lights I saw…lines and patterns, the intricate weft and weave that bound bone to bone and flesh to flesh.

Turns out, somebody did find us. We were both unconscious. I had dried blood over my face from a nosebleed and Bobby had blood all over his leg, but no wound. Not a single trace of his broken leg.

The only thing that changed that day is I now walk with a limp. I guess there’s a cost to something like what I can do.

The dull ache in my leg reminded me that I’d stopped walking. I put down the tree branch, letting go of it and the memory of Bobby Fenn. I turned towards home and wondered how Daisy was doing. I wanted to do something. I’d make her pain my own, if I could. I remember nursing her as a kid, every time she was sick, and praying that I could take away everything that was hurting her and carry it myself.

We all get our heart broken at some point, Ellie’s words echoed back to me.

But how do you fix a broken heart?

I stopped.

Like I said, I’m not known for my quick thinking. The idea must have been knocking around in the twilight of my subconscious for hours, but now it had stepped out into the daylight.

I can fix things.

Could I fix a broken heart?

What would it cost me?

Did it matter? I’d do anything for Daisy. I’d bear any pain. I’d die for her, without question or hesitation.

I kicked the idea around as I walked. I could fix small things, things that weren’t alive, and it didn’t seem to cost me anything. Nothing that I’d noticed, anyway. Sometimes I wondered if a debt was building: maybe there was a cancer growing in me, or I was chipping away at the hours and days of my life. But Bobby’s leg had cost me, and a broken heart felt bigger than a broken leg.

The house was quiet when I got home. I lingered outside the garage. The world felt like it was slipping around me, like reality had shaken itself loose. The idea that had taken hold of me was too big: I was sure people could see it radiating off me.

I made my way to Daisy’s room and knocked on the door.

You okay, Day? I said.

Yeah, she replied after a while. There was weight in that one word. I could feel the effort it had taken for her to say even that much.

Get you anything?

No. I’m tired.

Get some sleep, love. I’ll be downstairs.

What had I expected to do? To tell her my plan? To just burst in and lay hands on her, like some crazed healer?

I was standing in the kitchen, holding a mug of tea, and gazing out across the garden when Ellie came home, hauling two shopping bags with her.

Huh? I said when I realised she was talking to me.

What’s going on? she asked.

Oh. Nothing. I sipped my tea, gagged at how cold it was, and put it on the counter.

Right, Ellie said. Nothing at all. How’s Daisy? She started unloading the bags and packing things away into the cupboards.

Said she was tired.

You spoke to her?

Only a little. Did some work. Went for a walk. Been thinking.

I know.

You know?

She smiled. You’ve got a thousand-yard stare going on. You look like your brain might melt out of your ears.

I gave a small laugh and felt my cheeks flush a little. It’s a big thought, I admitted.

Something in my tone caught her attention. She stopped what she was doing and took hold of my hands. What is it? she asked.

You said she was heart-broken, I said. I turned my hands over in hers so I was looking down at my palms.

She is.

Could I fix her?

I looked up and locked eyes with Ellie, so I felt the full force of her rage. Her eyes went wide as she turned ashen.

No.

Just a thought, I said.

No, she repeated, bringing a hand up to slap my arm. She stepped away from me, her body rigid with fury. Did you hit your head when you went walking?

No. I was thinking about Bobby and his leg.

Fixing Bobby’s leg almost killed you.

It’s just a limp.

They found you unconscious, covered in blood, lucky that the bleeding had stopped before your brains oozed out through your nose.

I shuffled my feet and shrugged my shoulders. I hadn’t moved, penned into my corner of the kitchen while Ellie stalked the room.

I don’t want anything to hurt her, I said. I clasped my hands and interlocked my fingers. I can put things back together.

A broken heart isn’t a literal thing. Ellie said. She sighed, her shoulders dropping, her voice quieter. Even if…even if it was something you could do, how do we know it’s a clean break? Does a broken heart feel broken or does it feel shattered?

Yeah, I agreed, my chin down on my chest, my voice down in my shoes.

Ellie placed her palms on my chest. Don’t, she said. Don’t even think about it. Some things just have to heal themselves.

Is it… I struggled to organise my thoughts, to make sense of something that was unsaid. But I’m not the quickest of thinkers. I didn’t know how important it was. To you.

Honey, you’d be… Now she struggled for the words. You’d be changing someone against their will. Imposing your own ideal onto them. Controlling them.

No.

Not cruelly, she said, holding my gaze and stroking my cheek. But you’d still be manipulating them. And…I couldn’t bear that. If you could do it to them, could you do it to me? Love only means anything when it’s free.

We held each other. I cried and there was a release in it. A weight I hadn’t known was there lifted from my chest. Ellie was right, of course. She’d seen something here that I hadn’t. What would be the cost of fixing