THE NEXT DAY, as the sun peeked out from the clouds and promised warmth and sunshine for the afternoon, Max and Sandra drove to the O. Henry Hotel. After dealing with Mrs. Porter all morning — she insisted that they should not have gone out and left her alone — Max and Sandra played out the possibilities of their future. The car ride felt longer and longer with each negative outcome they envisioned. Everything from death to being cursed eternally to being forced out of the state to losing the boys to social services. By the time they reached the hotel, they had no idea better than to keep their heads down and hope the witches destroyed each other without causing too much collateral damage. Max would have appreciated Drummond’s input, but the ghost had spent the evening with his new buddy, Irene Beck, and had yet to return.
Max peered up at the hotel. A ten story box of brick and granite that he always thought looked appropriate for a boutique hotel in a New York City suburb. But here, in the middle of a Greensboro parking lot near the Friendly Shopping Center, it stood out as both odd and curious. Thankfully, the police no longer surrounded the place. Max imagined they had been there for hours with their flashing lights and repetitive questions. He wondered if any of the police had stumbled upon the hotel’s biggest secret — that Mother Hope ran all of the Magi operations from private floors at the top of this building as well as several secret floors beneath.
As he and Sandra entered, Max inhaled the earthy wood of the fireplace and enjoyed the old library feel of the lobby. Everything about the place called out its old-style elegance — from the heavy furniture to the classical music playing softly in the background to the brass elevator doors. It was a small pleasure, but he wanted every little bit he could take before all of North Carolina burned in a witch war.
They walked by the reception desk and toward the open sitting area. The ceiling stretched three stories above, and at the top, the words of O. Henry’s most famous story, The Gift of the Magi, spiraled down in an artistic flourish. In truth, though, the words hid an incantation that protected the hotel and the Magi.
Didn’t protect two of the Magi, Max thought.
They knew the routine. All visitors to the hotel were monitored by surveillance cameras and, most likely, a spell or two. If they waited around long enough, somebody would come for them. Before they reached an overstuffed sofa, however, a large woman with close-cropped hair approached. “You Mr. and Mrs. Porter?”
Max nodded. She motioned with her head the way all bodyguards and bouncers seem to do — an implied demand to be followed. As they set off behind the woman’s lead, Max wondered if there was a special school that taught the move.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said. “You new? Or just new to this particular part of the job?”
The woman did not answer.
“Only reason I’m asking is because we’re regulars when it comes to visiting Mother Hope. I figure if I’m going to be bumping into you a lot, it might be nice to know your name, at the least.”
The woman stopped. She turned her head back. “Annie.” She headed off again.
She led them to an elevator bank that Max had never seen before. They waited to the soft yet haunting sounds of one of Chopin’s nocturnes. Max opened his mouth to engage with Annie some more, but Sandra poked him in the side. He held back and listened to the gentle music.
They rode up to the top floor, and Annie led them to the end of the hall. A man slightly larger than Annie stood at the door. He wore a black suit, black tie, and had a bulge under his arm. Max put out his arms, expecting to be frisked.
The man shifted closer as if imparting a secret. “No need, Mr. Porter. I know you can’t do anything to her without getting yourself hurt. Go on in.”
Without intending to do so, Max rubbed the area of his chest where Mother Hope had cursed him. The man opened the door, and Max and Sandra walked in. Annie whispered something to the man before following behind them.
Max had been in Mother Hope’s apartment before. It amazed him how modern and sterile the place looked. Mostly white, hard furniture that had a plastic appearance though he imagined it was actually some expensive material. The place reminded him of what filmmakers in the 60s thought the future might be like. But rather than a hopeful, utopian sensation, the room left Max more aware than ever of the darkness underneath. Mother Hope could be cruel, vindictive, and powerfully vicious. No amount of artistic furniture could fool him into thinking otherwise.
“This way,” Annie said, guiding them toward the back.
With her colossal footsteps bumping the ground, Annie brought Max and Sandra down a narrow corridor that ended with a glass door. She slid open the door and stood aside, gesturing for them to enter.
They stepped into a garden that should not have been. They were not on the roof, there was no skylight, yet a lush utopia spread out before them. Magic, of course. Magic had caused the sunlight. Magic had transformed a basic hotel room into a garden paradise. Magic had cut the supports from under reality.
Trees from all over the world reached impossibly high. A kaleidoscope of flowers perfumed the air. Two yellow swallowtails fluttered by while somewhere hidden in the canopy above, birds played out their musical call and response.
Max could not tell which parts were illusions and which parts were real. He guessed that was the intention. Sandra’s awed gasp reminded him how much her appreciation of magic had grown with her studies. Even when that magic came from the hands of a witch like Mother Hope, Sandra still found it within herself to be impressed.
They strolled down a short path that opened into a wide, precise circle surrounded by stones. In the middle, sitting cross-legged on a wooden platform, Mother Hope meditated. It was Max’s turn for an awed gasp.
The old woman’s eyes fluttered open. She lifted her head, the jangling of her coin-lined scarf blended with the birds singing above. She often dressed like an old gypsy out of the movies, but the costume did not look outlandish on her. If anything, Max found her more intimidating.
“Really, Mr. Porter, meditation is very good for centering oneself. And especially good for a witch.” She arched her head to focus on Sandra. “Especially if you want to perform difficult or complex spells. Meditation is often the overlooked ingredient.”
“I’ll remember that,” Sandra said.
Max stepped forward. “I apologize for disturbing your centering then. We only came here to pay our respects. We heard last night on the radio about the deaths.”
Mother Hope set her feet on the ground and groaned as she stood. A bit shorter than Max’s mother, Mother Hope intimidated him far worse. “Pay respects. Like you did for the Mobleys?”
Hoping he did not hesitate, he said, “That shouldn’t surprise you. We worked for them once before. It was the decent thing to do.”
“You work for me.”
“And I won’t forget it.”
She ambled close to Max and tapped his chest — the exact spot of the curse. “I know you won’t.”
“I thought I was doing a good thing for the Magi. Since your mission is to quell magic, to make sure it does not get abused, then it seemed to me that having good relations with one of the most powerful covens in the area was a smart approach.”
Puffing up her cheeks, she acted as if she gave his word serious consideration. But Max knew it was an act. “You are intelligent enough to know that it was the Mobley coven who flayed two of our people,” she said. “Do those seem like the kinds of witches we want to befriend?”
“Perhaps they were retaliating against who they thought had killed two of their own. Of course, I’m sure you were not responsible. After all, though heated at times, things between these two groups had seemed to reach a bit of a stasis. Why would you want to go ruin that?”
“Careful, Mr. Porter. Never trust a witch. When things seem stable and at peace, that is when they are most dangerous. The Mobley coven has always been about power. They use witchcraft as a method to manipulate people in an effort to gain power — over people’s lives, over control of land, even as a way to influence our government. They are evil, deadly women.”
“Yet you’ve never made a move against them before.”
With a knowing grin, Mother Hope said, “Don’t try to verbally spar with me. You’ll always lose. You’re far better at smartass comments then thoughtful slights.” With two fingers gently pressing against his chest, she pushed Max to the side. Stepping closer to Sandra, she said, “I’ve had my eye on you. You’ve become quite skilled at witchcraft.”
Reddening, Sandra nodded. “Thank you.”
“There are rough times ahead. You and your husband spend your days investigating ghosts and fighting witches, and as I’ve often told him, that’s exactly the sort of work the Magi group is all about. We make a good team together. We can, anyway. Perhaps you will be the more sensible of your agency. Whenever you’re ready, you only need to come here. I can teach you so much.”
“Thank you for your time,” Max said, rushing to Sandra’s side. “Like I said, we came to pay our respects. We’re sorry for your loss. We’ll be on our way now.”
Escorting Sandra out of the garden, he could feel the old woman’s eyes burning through his back. With one side blatantly acknowledging a war, and now this other side being coy about what was obvious, Max suspected matters would only get worse. But he knew he had to take it one step further.
Pausing to turn back, he said, “Quick question, here. Do you know anything about a man named Wilburn Walker? Or perhaps William Crutchfield?”
He saw the recognition on her face. He couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not, but deep down, he had expected as much.
“I’ve been alive a long time,” she said, her words pleasantly covering up all the dark malice he saw flashing in her eyes. “I’ve met a lot of people. I think perhaps the names sound familiar, but I’d have to give it some time to remember.”
“No problem. Just a thought. Again, our condolences.”
As before, Annie provided an escort to the elevator. But this time, she did not ride with them. Once Max and Sandra boarded the elevator, Annie leaned in, pressed the lobby button and let the door close on them alone.
Taking Max’s hand, Sandra said, “I guess that could have gone worse.”
“Definitely. After all, I’m still alive.”
Neither of them managed even a chuckle.
As if the day could not get weirder, when the elevator doors opened, an old, familiar face greeted them — Leon Moore.
“I warned you this was coming,” Leon said. “You need to follow me so we can talk.”