Back Door Magic Read Free

books, dipped it into the steaming mess and
began painting the wound with it.
    Edward's eyes came open. Deep pools of
sapphire agony.
    He screamed. Brenda screamed.
    The flesh beneath her potion curled, smoked,
and then wove together the cuts and tears of flesh into a garish,
puckered line. She blinked several times as Edward relaxed back, is
eyes closed, and the wound…
    Brenda put her hand to her lips. The wound
was little more than a white, aged scar.
     
    <><><>
     
    Light came into her bedroom from the dingy
window facing Abercorn Street. Brenda blinked slowly and noticed
the oak next door still had its leaves. Orange, yellow, red, and
brown. And as she watched, several of those leaves came off in the
gentle wind and spiraled around her window.
    She took in a deep breath.
    And smelled bacon.
    Bacon?
    And she heard voices downstairs as well.
    Och—was Jackie in?
    Brenda stretched as she moved about her
room, pulling on her socks, her jeans, shuffling into the bathroom
to brush her teeth—and it was at that moment, staring at her
reflection in the mirror, that she remembered puckered flesh.
    Smoke.
    Blue eyes.
    Edward.
    After choking on toothpaste, she rinsed and
ran downstairs—
    — and stopped just inside
the shop.
    People. There were people inside. Customers,
taking a look at tings and then actually picking them up! Carrying
them to the counter—and handing out cast to—Edward!
    She shuffled forward, pausing once to avoid
walking into two gossiping little goth girls. Edward was grinning,
his color radiant, and his smile—intoxicating.
    When the paying customers were gone, he
turned that smile on Brenda. "Hullo, sleepyhead. You made it up.
Cup o' tea?" He raised his eyebrows. "Or I've made bacon and
biscuits—real English biscuits, though." He frowned. "so I'm not
sure if they're what you're accustomed to."
    It was at that moment she
caught the fluid movement of a brown feather duster cleaning off ht
bookshelves behind the counter. She blinked. There wasn't anybody
actually holding the duster—it was just cleaning things itself.
    With a slow pivot in her house slippers
Brenda saw several other things moving on their own about the room.
Window cleaner and a rag moved in perfect counterclockwise circles
on the front window. A second duster moved with precision over ht
rows of skulls, which now looked as if they were grinning at her,
happy to be given some attention.
    And in the corner a broom swept several
tumbling little mousey things about. They twittered and
chattered—reminding Brenda of finches. She moved closer and
narrowed her eyes down at them.
    "Dust bunnies," Edward said beside her.
"Nasty little buggers. They're all over this room. Hiding in the
cracks and crevices." He said crevice an "a" sound, much like
cre-vace.
    She looked up at him. His eyes sparkled as
he handed her a white mug. "Tea?"
    "We have tea?" Brenda looked at the amber
liquid inside. "And bacon?"
    "Well, you have an assortment of things—" He
winced. "I'm not they'd all qualify for tea—and the bacon came from
your neighbor, two doors down. He needed a poultice but didn't have
his wallet with him. Oddly enough, his wife returned with a pound
of bacon." The grin returned. "Interesting isn't it? But I did find
some commercial bags in that little workroom in the corner."
    She took the tea. It did smell normal. She
sipped it. Mmm. And it tasted normal. Nice and sweet. "Honey?"
    "Well, I'm not sure our relationship calls
for terms of endearment yet—seeing as how we just met and—oh," he
beamed again as comprehension dawned. "Sorry. Yes. I used honey.
Don't have much use for sugar—toddles about with the magical
lines." He put a hand to his side—the damaged one. "Oh, and nice
job you did. Hurt like all rot, but look," he held up his dark
shirt, no longer soaked or stained with blood she noted, and
revealed a perfectly smooth side.
    Pale. But smooth.
    She also noticed how nicely lean and muscled
he was.
    Edward pulled his shirt back