Back Door Magic Read Free Page B

tease a fire spark."
    "Why would you want too? They'll start a
real fire if you bend them round the twist, you know."
    "Edward."
    "Brenda," he smiled, and a small bit of her
ire vanished. "Not all wizards and witches can do the same thing.
If they were all the same, there would be fewer of you. "Granny
Pollsocks—she was the best at what?"
    "Well, curses really. Getting rid of them.
And amulets. Tokens."
    He held up a long, think index finger.
"Right. But she couldn't mix potions—just look at her shelves. At
her stores of things. Even if you had to have noticed how out of
shape everything was."
    Brenda took a step back. "Yeah…"
    "I'm here to tell you that your strength is
in potions. You can heal, Brenda."
    "Heal?"
    He nodded. And there was an excitement
around him that buzzed and sparkled. "Yes. You can heal. I came to
you because I knew you'd heal me. You have the gift. You knew what
to do with those items. I didn't. Anyone can bake a cake, Brenda.
But you—you can make it into a Bavarian crème masterpiece with
chocolate sprinkles." He nodded. "Eh?"
    She took another step back. Something in
what he said rang true—she'd always known how to teat injuries to
her pets, to her mother on really bad cases, and even to her
friends. She'd even considered going into medical school before
Granny chose her to inherit the shop.
    "Are you saying that if I change a little of
what Granny did—make it my own—I can make this place work?"
    He nodded. "And I'll help. It's what I'm
here for."
    It was right then she knew
that Edward wasn't really what he appeared to be—a youngish
Englishman with electric eyes and a rather melodic voice. No—he was
more, much more. "Edward—what are you?"
    He put a hand on each of her shoulders, and
Brenda could feel the heat from his skin through her clothing. "I'm
here for you, Brenda." He frowned. "Don't you know?" His smile
returned with a radiance to block out the sun. "I'm your
Familiar."
     
    <><><>
     
    Edward seemed to know what he was doing—in a
sort of ordered chaos. He moved about with a catlike grace, and yet
still managed to break a few things. It was like grace, charm, and
newborn enthusiasm all rolled up in a very neat and somewhat gangly
package. Together—with the aid of the magically touched broom and
dusters—they cleaned out the corners, the cabinets, and the
shelves.
    Tuesday and Wednesday passed with the
ever-present ding of the cash register—even as the two of them
tidied up. Men and women, old and young, familiar and new, all of
them came back to the shop and asked for remedies.
    Aches, pains, cuts, bruises, colds.
    And it seemed that Brenda could look into
the their eyes, into each of them, and know if the remedy was for
them personally, or for a friend or loved one. She knew what to do.
Brenda had always known what to do.
    Late in the evening on Wednesday, and after
a rousingly well done day at selling and doling out advice, Brenda
settled at the table with one of Edward's cups of tea—apparently
the man kept a kettle warm all day.
    And without a hot plate.
    He stood at the register, tallying up the
day and announcing that—as of five—they had two thirds of the money
needed to satisfy the creditors. "Ah—so bank that, you scoundrels.
One more day and you should be caught up."
    "How?"
    He frowned at her as he bagged the money.
"How what?"
    "How is that possible? I mean, as of two
days ago, no one would come in here. Suddenly they're all in the
out of the woodwork. Did you do something?"
    "Well, yeah," and his grin widened. "I sort
of spread the word. Offered many of them a back door. Did a bit of
advertising. Sort of my job—it's what I do to help you."
    "Back door?"
    He put the money into a box on the counter
and put his hands on the counter, palms down. "Back door—it's what
I tried to tell you on Monday. Hrm. Or was it Tuesday. Oh, can't
remember. But you have to look at the analogy. A back door means
what?"
    Going with the first thought in her head
Brenda