The Dream Catcher's Daughter Read Free

bad?”
    “It’s not my birthday yet.”
    “Well, your dad is his old
apprentice.”
    Nodding, Jason looked at Trevor and wished
he could smile at his old mentee. “I’ll be around tomorrow,” he said.
“Promise.” The boy smiled, and Jason walked away with Darlene.
    They moved past the cash registers, down
the pop aisle. They walked slowly, taking their time. Jason told her what
happened by the garage. Darlene’s mouth came unhinged like a broken gate. “I
think I’ll tell my dad. I’d feel bad for having Ronnie and Boone fired. Okay,
not really. But I feel like it’s a waste of Dad’s time.”
    “They broke the rules—the ones your dad wrote. I don’t think it’s a waste of time. What if they messed up an
enchantment and got us all exposed?”
    “True. I just don’t like being the
tattletale.”
    “’ Fraid they’ll
come after ya ?”
    “Not really. You’d pound them into pulp.”
    They high-fived each other, and Darlene
turned back to head up front. Jason turned to the doors leading to the back
room, beyond which lay his father’s office. The Guardian’s here, he
thought. It’s not even my birthday yet.
    Jason pushed past the swinging doors. He
weaved his way through a maze of grocery palettes and stacks of milk crates.
His father’s office was at the back of the store in case any
normies—non-magical folk—haplessly wandered in. You needed to know the way,
otherwise you’d magically find yourself at the fire exit, nowhere near Mr.
McKinney’s office. Jason learned this the hard way when he started working more
than two years ago. Since then, he has mastered the backroom route.
    There, to his left, wedged between damaged
goods and diapers, stood the entrance. Jason poked his head through the slight
crevice, which was barely wider than him, hoping he’d successfully navigated
the maze. For a moment, he saw nothing but thick blackness. Then he spotted it,
to the right—a red, pulsating beacon. Jason pushed himself farther into the
gap. As he pushed himself in, the space stretched around him, encasing him like
a latex glove.
    Up ahead, the darkness lifted: The real
Silver Moon Grocery bustled with its true patrons. Several wooden stands with
shelves were set up in a long stretch of alley. Each stand was stocked with
glass jars of floating eyes and pots heavy with pixie dust. Several customers
glanced at Jason. If he’d been in his street clothes, he may have had a
problem. Even in the midst of modernity, magi preferred traditional robes and
cloaks to t-shirts and jeans. Jason didn’t see what was so special about
musty-looking capes and ratty, moth-eaten hoods. Some were nice, sewn with
star-like patterns that glimmered like diamonds, but most were plain, holey
robes.
    Jason greeted the customers, as his father
would have him do, then slipped away. The cobblestone floor stretched on for
what seemed like a mile, and along the way Jason observed the magi as they
pondered Mr. McKinney’s wares. There were mason jars and cauldrons filled with
green and white powders and purple liquids. Jason walked briskly, hoping to
avoid the eyes of customers in need of help. Despite explanation by his father,
Jason had little to no idea about his father’s magical wares.
    The alley ended with a sign that hung
above a door decorated with iron-wrought gargoyles. The sign read: “Have a
complaint? Let me fix it for you!”
    As he stepped up to the door, a chill fell
upon his body. He recognized the feeling. And he hated it. He hated it because,
as every mage knew, only people who couldn’t use magic would feel a chill in
the Guardian’s presence.
    He opened the door, and shadows billowed
out like a black fog. Looking up, he saw his father’s office first—the
immaculate array of magical objects with normie things. Jason would always
remember the day Mr. McKinney attended a major-league baseball game and caught a
foul ball. He had the ball signed—“It’s something you always do when you get a
piece of