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Mattie woke up to another new voicemail from Craig. She listened to it as she wandered out into the kitchen. His messages had gotten less angry and more worried.
Trevor looked up from his book and coffee. “You gotta call him back, Matts.”
She sighed. “Must I?”
“He’s just going to keep calling you. Think about how worried we’ve been because Tillie wasn’t calling us back. You’re inflicting the same pain on him.”
“I know.” Mattie poured herself a cup of coffee, idly dumping in three spoonfuls of sugar, and took it out to the living room for a modicum of privacy. She hit the return call button.
It rang once and then Craig picked up. “Mattie?”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Thank God! Are you okay? Where the hell are you?”
She sipped her coffee. “St. Louis.”
“You went back to St. Louis? Why? You hate it there.”
Mattie rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate it here. Anyway. Tillie’s missing.”
Craig paused. “Missing? What happened? How long?”
She shrugged, sipping her coffee again. “A little over a week. Trevor called me and I told him I’d come and help him look.”
“Why can’t the police handle it? What are you doing there?” He sounded genuinely baffled. He had never understood that sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands.
“They’re not handling it. They don’t give a fuck. Anyway, this is where I am. Stop calling me and mind your own business.”
“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry. I thought you had more money.”
Mattie scowled, glowering at a poster of the Eiffel Tower drawn in cheery teals and turquoises. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Craig. I’ve told you a million times. I don’t hide money from you. I have one account. It’s all I fucking have. Had.”
“I get that now. I thought I was proving my point. I didn’t know you’d get evicted.”
She counted to ten. “Well, I did. So fuck you.”
“I deserve that. Look.”
Mattie waited for a follow-up.
“Look,” he said again. “I put the money back. You can pay your rent. They probably haven’t found your note yet – their letter said you had until Tuesday, and that’s today.”
“Thank you. I probably won’t bother. But thank you. That will help me with Tillie’s situation here.”
“Mattie, you know that Tillie’s job isn’t safe. Disappearing is a professional hazard, and if she’s been killed, and you poke your nose into it, you’re just going to get killed too.”
Mattie inhaled sharply. “You fucking prick.”
“I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.”
“Then what’s the point of saying it? You condescending shit.” Mattie hung up and stormed back into the kitchen.
Trevor looked up. “How did it go?”
“He returned the money.”
“And yet, you seem oddly angry.”
“I don’t like that guy.”
Trevor smiled. “Neither do I.”
Mattie collapsed into a chair with a rueful grin. She reached out and tore a piece off Trevor’s croissant, popping it into her mouth and letting it melt over her tongue. “Mmm. Yeah, but you never liked him. It’s worse when you used to like someone and now you don’t.”
“Sure. That makes sense.”
“What are you reading?” Mattie peered at the cover and Trevor closed to book to give her a better look.
“‘A Stitch in Time,’” she read. “Learning about your destiny?”
“I guess so. It’s fascinating, actually. I haven’t tried anything in here, but some of the stuff it’s saying I should be able to do is, well, really exciting.”
Mattie stared at him. “You’re thinking about trying it?”
“Well, yeah. You’re not a little bit curious about casting spells?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, except in the abstract. I guess I could be a speller, huh? Wow.” Mattie glanced at the cover of The Speller’s Primer, which was sitting on the top of the stack of books beside her. “I haven’t even cracked this open. You read it, right? Do you think I could actually do any spells?”
“Presumably. Do you want to try?”
Mattie reached for the book and stared at the cover. She turned it over in her hands and an address caught her eye. She sat upright.
“Hey! The publisher of this book is right here in St. Louis.”
“Yeah? Let me see that.” Trevor grabbed it and looked at the address. “I wonder if we could talk to them. This might be a chance to discuss magic with someone who might not connect us to Tillie.”
“If they’ve ever met her, they’ll recognize me,” Mattie objected.
“Let’s email them,” suggested Trevor. He picked up his phone and opened his email app. Checking the book cover again, he typed in their email address and then looked at Mattie expectantly.
“What?” She tore off another piece of croissant.
“What should we say?”
“Oh. Um. Let’s see. ‘Dear magic people, we’re new to magic. Help us, so we don’t kill ourselves.’”
“‘Dear Magpie Press,’” Trevor spoke aloud as he typed. “‘My name is Trevor Harper and I have recently been introduced to the existence of magic. I believe I am a stitcher and would like to learn more about it. I live in St. Louis. Can you point me in the direction of an appropriate mentor?’”
“Oh, that’s good!”
“Thank you. Anything else?”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t say anything about Tillie?”
“Maybe I could meet with them first and see if they’re involved with these Auditors.”
“Good call. Send it.”
Trevor hit send. “And stop eating my croissant. There’s more in the pantry.”
***
Mattie finished reading another chapter of The Speller’s Primer and closed the book with an exhausted sigh. Trevor glanced up from his own book with a sympathetic look.
“Any word?” she asked.
Trevor’s phone lay on the table in front of him. He didn’t bother to pick it up – just punched in his lock screen code. He sat up abruptly as his email app came up on the screen. “Yes! Finally!”
He opened the missive and read aloud. “‘Trevor, thank you for reaching out. I always love to help out any newly initiated mage. I am a speller, but if you would like to come by the shop, I would be delighted to meet with you, and once we get to know each other better, I’m sure I can recommend a mentor for you. In the meantime, I can absolutely answer any questions you have about magic in general. Yours, Stephanie Bing, Magpie Magic.’”
“Well,” said Mattie. “Doesn’t she sound peppy? But isn’t a magic shop a little conspicuous?”
“Not really. I mean, anyone not involved in actual magic would just assume it was either a New Age hippy kind of place or a store that served stage magicians. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve walked past this place a million times and never gave it a second glance. Magpie Magic. It’s in the Central West End.”
Mattie leaped to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “Let’s go!”
“Not so fast. I thought we didn’t want her to see you. In case she’s one of the people after Tillie. I’d better go alone.”
Mattie stuck out her tongue at him. “You should just thank your lucky stars I don’t know how to do any spells yet, mister.”
Trevor glanced down at his phone again. “It’s 11:00. I’m sure the shop will be open. Do you think I should just go over there now?”
“Of course! Get moving!”
“All right, all right.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Don’t burn the house down, okay?”
“I’ll try.” Mattie rolled her eyes and sat back down to read some more.
***
Mattie stared at the page – she’d been staring at the same page without reading it for what felt like hours. She looked over at the glowing clock on the stove. It had been ten minutes.
She sighed and slammed the book shut, tossing it aside. It slid across the table and tumbled to the floor with a thud.
“Fuck it,” she muttered. She stood up abruptly and marched into her bedroom, grabbing a hoodie and her purse.
As she strode out the door, Mattie typed Magpie Magic into her maps app, clicking on public transit directions. Halfway up the walkway, she paused.
“I should lock the door,” she mumbled. She turned back, opened the door, and twisted the lock on the doorknob before closing it firmly behind her again.
She trotted down the steps and then paused again. “Wait. Do I have bus fare?” She rifled through her wallet. “Hmm. No ones,” she murmured. She turned back, jogging up the steps again. “Oh, crap!”
She had just locked herself out.
Mattie scampered back down the steps and around to the side of the house, looking up at the spare bedroom window just above her head. She glanced around for something to stand on and found a rickety ladder. “Jackpot!”
She leaned it against the house and stepped on the bottom rung.
It broke immediately and she landed jarringly on the ground, her knees complaining vigorously.
“Nope. Not that way.” Mattie shook out each leg absently, working out the kinks in her knees, as she tried to think of a new course of action. “Can I walk there?”
She looked it up, leaning against the house as she clicked over to walking directions. “Forty-nine minutes. Maybe not.”
Sighing, Mattie rubbed her forehead. A headache was starting to form.
A motherly voice came from the direction of the sidewalk, and she whipped her head toward it, startled.
“Is everything okay, dear?”
“Yeah, hi.” Mattie recovered her wits quickly and walked back out toward the small, straight-backed elderly woman who stood there in an orange and blue floral housecoat. The woman was walking a white terrier on a pink leash.
“I’m just staying with Trevor right now, and I managed to lock myself out.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Are you having more work done on your place?” the neighbor asked. “My house has been the same since 1975, and I like it that way, but I suppose you young people have to get all the latest looks. I used to be the same, but now I’m set in my ways, I suppose. It’s all about your time of life, I always say.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m remodeling my kitchen.”
“Again?” the woman frowned. “Didn’t you just have that done?”
With a start, Mattie realized that the woman thought she was Tillie, who had, in fact, had her kitchen redone just last month. “I mean bathroom. Sorry. I got used to saying kitchen,” she backpedaled.
“Your hair looks nice like that, dear. Growing it out, are you? You can’t go wrong with long hair, I always say, and it looks better without all that gunk you always put in it,” said the woman. Her own iron-colored hair was pulled back into a braid that trailed halfway down her back. She didn’t wait for a response. “I’m heading back to my house if you’d like to come in for some tea and cookies and wait for Trevor to come home. You youngsters usually drink coffee, I suppose, but tea is what I’ve got and a good cup of tea does anyone good, I always say.”
Mattie was tempted – she was absolutely in agreement regarding the universal benefits of tea. Regretfully, she shook her head. She wasn’t confident she could act like Tillie for much longer. “I really need to get going. I just forgot my bus fare inside.”
“Well, then I’ll lend you a couple of dollars,” said the neighbor, firmly. “No problem at all. Come along, dear.”
Mattie found herself drawn inexorably toward the house next door by sheer force of its owner’s personality.
“You’re taking the bus today, hmm? Don’t you usually take those newfangled ride share things that my son keeps insisting are not taxis?” asked the woman as they walked. Once again, she continued chattering without waiting for a response. “I’m glad you’ve switched to the bus. Why pay extra to be alone with a stranger who’s probably a serial killer or worse, I always say. At least on the bus, you’ve got extra people around. Safety in crowds, I always say. What is the fare these days? $2.50? $3? You’ll want to get a pass like I’ve got if you’re taking the bus now, dear. You’ll save more money. But I hope you’re not going to take those newfangled trains they’ve got now. No driver around to prevent people from assaulting you. Steer clear of the trains, and stick to the busses, I always say.”
Mattie stepped into the house and found herself in a room that could only be described as a parlor. She wasn’t sure exactly what quality made a room a parlor and not a living room, but this room absolutely had it. It was decorated to within an inch of its life with doilies, figurines, and teddy bears on each of the many surfaces. Much of the décor was in various shades of pink.
The woman unhooked the dog’s leash and the terrier trotted away down a hallway.
Mattie leaned her butt against the arm of a slip-covered couch and watched as the woman rummaged in an enormous orange canvas purse that matched her housecoat.
“I really appreciate this,” Mattie said.
“Absolutely,” said the woman. “What are neighbors for, I always say. Of course, so many people these days don’t have the time to be neighborly, or the inclination, I suppose, but I’m old-fashioned.”
Mattie smiled warmly. “Me too.”
The woman turned for a moment, raising an eyebrow and peering quizzically at Mattie. “Are you? I’ve never thought you were, dear.”
Mattie winced. Of course, Tillie wasn’t even remotely old-fashioned. “At least in terms of neighborliness,” she amended.
“Well, you are a nice girl, I’ve always said,” conceded the woman, returning to her bag. “Even if you are a seer.”
Mattie froze. “You’re not a fan of seers?” she said, carefully.
“Oh, I’ve put my foot in it now,” the woman laughed. “I wouldn’t say that exactly, I suppose.”
She finally pulled out a brown leather wallet and waved it triumphantly over her head. “Found it! I have so much stuff in this bag, it’s a wonder it doesn’t have its own gravitational pull. No, I don’t dislike all seers, and I hope you don’t take offense, dear, but it’s just that some of you have a tendency toward arrogance, and I don’t think you personally do at all, but, well, we all have our tendencies, I suppose. I know I just can’t seem to make myself think anything through and it’s just my speller character, I suppose, and I don’t know what else to say about it, because I’m certainly not going to change, and – you look like you’ve seen a ghost, dear. Whatever is the matter? Sit down, sit down.”
Mattie allowed herself to be led to an overstuffed pale pink armchair, dazedly picking up a magenta cushion and holding it against her stomach. The woman pulled a white lace throw off another chair and tucked it around Mattie.
“Now, you’ll have that tea, and I won’t take no, dear,” she said, hands on her hips, leveling a firm stare at her visitor.
“Okay,” said Mattie, weakly. “Thank you. Cream, please, if you have it.”
“Of course I do.” The woman bustled out of the room.
Mattie leaned back, her breath whooshing out of her. She tossed her cushion aside and lowered her head to her knees, burying her hands in her thick hair.
This woman was a mage? A speller, like she could be. She tried to formulate a plan in her mind. She needed information. How could she get more information without revealing her true identity?
The woman breezed back into the room carrying a wooden tray on which sat a white ceramic teapot, a cow-shaped cream pitcher, and two slightly mismatched pink-and-white teacups. Each cup had a matching saucer.
“Wow, that was fast,” remarked Mattie, straightening up and focusing on keeping her voice calm and even.
“Well, you know me,” began the woman.
“Actually, I don’t,” Mattie interrupted. She’d never been good at lying, so why bother? It was going to be a lot easier if she could just be honest, and her gut told her that this woman was to be trusted. “I’m sorry for not coming clean sooner, but I’m not Tillie. Tillie is my twin sister.”
“Ah, of course,” said the woman, setting down the tea service on a delicate white-painted coffee table, one of the few tables in the room with any space on it. “So you must be Mattie, then.”
“Yes!” Mattie leaned forward. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“Well, now that I think about it, your hair did grow awfully fast, I suppose,” the woman said with a smile. She picked up the teapot and began pouring. “And you were acting a little bit odd. I just don’t ever pay as close attention to my surroundings as I should, I suppose. Another speller tendency. I should introduce myself. I’m Ida Garaveldi – you’ll call me Ida; none of this Miss Garaveldi nonsense. But why were you being so secretive, dear? Never pretend to be someone you’re not, I always say, or you’ll just end up hurt. That’s usually meant in more of a metaphorical sense of being true to yourself, but it applies to mistaken identity too, I suppose.”
“Well, the reason I’m in town is that Tillie’s missing,” said Mattie.
Ida’s hand jerked, spilling tea all over the tray.
Mattie jumped to her feet as Ida hastily set down the pot, murmuring apologies.
“I’ll grab you a towel,” said Mattie.
“Thank you, dear. There’s one on the countertop.” Ida pointed toward the doorway to the kitchen.
“Sure.” Mattie followed Ida’s finger, finding a kitchen just as frilly as the parlor. She spotted a blue waffled towel beside the stove, so she grabbed it and rushed back to help Ida sop up the tea. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“No, it’s not your fault, dear,” said Ida, taking the towel firmly from Mattie’s hands and dabbing at the table. “I just wasn’t prepared, I suppose. She’s missing, you say? How terrible.”
“Yes. It’s been a little over a week,” said Mattie. “She disappeared last Sunday.”
“Disappeared,” Ida repeated. “You have no idea where she went?”
“Well,” Mattie hesitated.
Ida leaned forward, setting aside the towel. “Have you had any word from her?”
“Not from her,” said Mattie. “But we were attacked by these crazy assassin-type people. It was like something out of a movie. They thought I was Tillie too, and they appeared out of nowhere.”
“They were mages?” Ida sounded shocked. “And they just appeared out of nowhere?”
“Yes,” said Mattie. “Two of them. They attacked us and said they were after Tillie, that she was, um, dabbling or something. And what did they call themselves? It was the strangest term.”
Ida raised an eyebrow. “Was it ‘stitchers?’”
“No,” said Mattie. She thought hard, trying to remember. “I’ve read about stitchers and spellers and seers. It wasn’t anything that was in the books we found in Tillie’s condo.”
“Was it one of the mage clubs, maybe?” suggested Ida. There was an odd note in her voice. “Let’s see, maybe Hermits or Sphynxes?”
Mattie shook her head.
“I think there’s a chapter of Templars in town,” said Ida. “Or maybe the Gryphons or Cobras? Maybe it was the Piranhas. They’re very secretive.”
“No, they made it sound like they were some kind of police force,” said Mattie. She picked up the towel again, fidgeting with it as wracked her brain. “Enforcers, maybe? No....”
“I’ll take that, dear,” said Ida.
Mattie handed her the rag and the old woman strode back into the kitchen with it.
“It couldn’t have been Auditors, I suppose?” Ida called from the other room. Her voice still sounded odd. Strained, maybe, or like she was forcing a cheerful casualness into it.
“Yes!” exclaimed Mattie. “That was it!”
Ida reappeared in the doorway, all the color drained from her face. She stared at Mattie with wide, frightened eyes, all pretense of joviality gone. “They called themselves Auditors?” she whispered.
Mattie rushed to Ida’s side, taking her arm and guiding her back to the chair. “Sit down! Yes, I think they did. Why? What’s wrong? Who are the Auditors?”
Ida sat down heavily, suddenly frail. “The Auditors are a myth. Hardly anyone believes they exist.”
“Oh, well, maybe it wasn’t Auditors, then,” said Mattie. “I mean, I think that’s what she said, but it all happened so fast.”
“No, you heard what you heard,” said Ida. “If something’s right in front of you, there’s no point in denying it, I always say. Like I said, hardly anyone believes they exist. But I do.”
The old woman looked up at Mattie, locking eyes with her.
Mattie took an involuntary step back at the intensity of her stare. “You– you do?”
“This isn’t the first time someone I know has disappeared,” Ida said. “But it will be the last. You’re going to need all the help you can get, dear. I’m in.”