Mrs. Moloi had found that dreaming of her son gave her solace. It wasn't much, but at least it was something. Trouble was; said solace could only be attained at the bottom of a bottle.
And so she drank.
She drank and drank herself to sleep and dreamt of her beautiful baby boy, alive and safe in her fiercely protective maternal arms.
Anything to see Thami again.
She put it her coffee in the mornings. She drank it directly from the bottle in her lonesome. She watered it down and pretended it was just that; water. And, when she was at her lowest point, she even replaced the milk with the booze when she ate cereal.
Her words had taken the form of lazy slurs over the past couple of months and yet, even in this constant tipsy state of being, she found herself wondering if they could tell. Hoping that her family didn't know.
But they did.
...Did they?
They couldn't. She kept it well hidden, after all.
They didn't. She shrugged after mulling on this, looking into space with a deeply fixated stare at nothing in particular but her own scattered thoughts.
She'd been slaving over the stove for the past half hour now. Today her hangover must have been forgiving because she had woken up extra early to make breakfast for her family.
She took a sip of her 'special' brew of coffee from the mug Thami had gifted her on her forty-fifth while the sausages sizzled in the pan. "World's Best Mom", the mug read. Everything reminded her of Thami. Everything made her want to break down and cry. Everything made her want to numb the pain, and with every sip, she did just that.
Mrs. Moloi was just about to yell for Maeve to come join them for breakfast when the girl descended the stairs, sporting her work uniform. She seemed ready to take on the day. She seemed put together, just like her father. Everyone had moved on but her, apparently. Was Thami so forgettable? Did they even realise he was gone?
"Keep at this and you won't have a job, missy," she said dishing up the eggs and bacon.
"It's fine, mom." Maeve shoved her phone in her pocket and felt the other one to see if her secret rod was still in there. It was. "It's not like everyone is expecting me to be back any time soon. I was just in an explosion," she elaborated and then in a much lower voice, low enough to evade her mother's hearing, she said, "not that you'd know."
That made Mr. Moloi unbury his nose from the newspaper to give her a stern look.
Maeve finally took her seat before noticing that there were four plates at the table. One for her, one for her father and one for her mother...but who was the other one for? Mahogany wasn't coming over for breakfast, was he?
Maeve looked at the plate questioningly. There was a glass full of pulpy orange juice next to it and the toast was in the shape of hearts. She opened her mouth to ask but Mr. Moloi gave her one of his looks and then she knew.
She knew just then who the extra plate of food was for.
She sighed. The food would never be eaten. It would just sit there atop the kitchen dining table, collecting dust before eventually rotting and stinking up the place.
Mrs. Moloi finished up and dished out the entirety of the meal: A failed attempt at an English breakfast. The bangers were far too crispy and the beans were practically charred. Maeve grimaced, fighting the urge to blurt out a quip about the food.
Mr. Moloi cleared his throat, as though trying to gag Maeve from saying anything. "Did you know that magic is apparently good for the environment?" he said with feigned enthusiasm.
Maeve shrugged, an utter lack of enthusiasm on her part.
"Yeah," he continued, "these scientists in Belgium discovered it by accident at a facility that researches magic's effects on cellular regeneration or something fancy like that. Apparently, every time you cast a spell, small nitrogen charges are released from your body via the soles of your feet and into the ground and that's good for the soil or something."
"Well, hooray for the soil." Maeve took a bite of the crunchy bacon and a sip of the freshly squished orange juice as her mother joined them.
The woman smiled, looking around the table. Looking at her family. Maeve and her father exchanged a look, confused by her sudden sunny disposition. "Look at us," she said, "one big happy family."
Maeve shifted in her seat to listen attentively. This would be good.
"You know; we've had a rough couple of months but if we stick together, if we stay strong, we'll get through this eventually."
Maeve stared, surprised. That was the most motherly thing her mother had said for a long time now. The corners of her lips tugged up and she reached to hold her hand.
Mrs. Moloi encased her hands in Maeve's and kissed them. Then she caught herself before her emotions got the best of her. "So what're you guys up to today? Any plans after work?" she asked, digging into her food.
"I'm probably just gonna come straight home," her husband said.
She nodded.
"Me, too," Maeve chimed in. "Although, Mahogany might wanna see a movie or something. Also he's been trying to get me to go down to this new tattoo place with him to check out some runes and I—"
"Tattoo?" Mr. Moloi raised a brow.
"Don't worry, Dad," she assured. "I probably won't get one."
"That's nice, sweetie." Mrs. Moloi beamed a smile. Her eyes seemed...off. They were wide and hollow. Something wasn't quite right. There was a crazy look in them.
Maeve ignored the slightly alarming look in her mother's eyes and nodded, finally feeling a sense of calm, a sense of content for the first time in a while. Though, with one of them absent for good now, that feeling would never quite be the same.
"And what about you, Thami?" Mrs. Moloi lifted her head from the plate of food and placed her gaze on the empty seat across the table from her. "What're you going to be up to today, my boy?"
Maeve's fork fell from her mouth. That sudden allude at joy disappeared. Her eyes found her father's, he was just as stunned as she was. And her shoulders fell with surrender.
"Are you going to be getting into a little trouble today?" she continued to converse with the empty air in front of her; with the unseen ghost of her departed son. She laughed. "You're such a fire-brand. That's why I love you so much. So passionate. So loud. So unafraid and—"
"Mom!" Maeve shouted, banging her fists against the table and bursting from the chair.
Mrs. Moloi's head snapped to look at Maeve. She was genuinely puzzled. "What?! What's wrong?"
"Maeve, please calm down," her father begged calmly.
"No!" Maeve declared, "No, I won't calm down! She's not right, Dad! She needs help."
"Maeve..." Mr. Moloi begged some more.
"What're you talking about, baby?" Mrs. Moloi wanted to know, her eyes glimmering with an innocent confusion. Disbelief. Denial. Hope. Madness, too, probably.
"What am I talking about?!" the daughter's voice reeked of incredulity. "You can't seriously be asking me that right now."
"Maeve!" Her father, whose voice had been restricted and calm, was now loud and demanding submission. Announcing his authority. Maeve paused to look at him. "Let's not let our emotions get the best of us. We're all grieving. We're all shaken by Thami's death and—"
"Clearly some of us more than others."
"As I was saying; we're all shaken and, naturally, we're going to process all that in our own special ways, Maeve."
"There's a fine line between processing loss and being delusional, Dad. You of all people should know that! You have a degree in psychology. Use it, for God's sake!" These were Maeve's final words. She snatched her jacket from the coat rack and stormed out the door, shutting it with a force strong enough to shatter the sound barrier.
Mr. Moloi sighed.
"What's gotten into her?" Mrs. Moloi asked, dumbfounded.
He looked at his wife. Maybe Maeve was right. Maybe she needed help. Whatever the case may be, however it turned out, he was well equipped to deliver said help. There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to be alarmed about. The mantra rang in his head but did nothing to wane his worries this time. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be alarmed about.
He took a large gulp of his beverage, defeated.
Outside, Maeve stomped her feet on the side walk, fuming. Seething was an understatement. First her brother had died on the day of her high school graduation, then her boyfriend had left her for a more wealthier girl, after that she'd been kidnapped and almost killed in an epic, Hollywood blockbuster scale car explosion. And now her mother was losing it!
Sometimes she found herself thinking that this family was cursed. Hexed. She scoffed wryly. "That's funny because that statement actually carries some weight now after that whole Vatican debacle," she said to no one in particular.
Maybe it was all that booze her mother was poisoning herself with. Maybe that's what was messing with her head. Maeve wasn't clueless. She could clearly make out the regretful stench of whisky on her mother's breath. For how long would the woman pretend like her family didn't know? Deep down she knew. She had to know. Or was she so deep in that her awareness of self and others had been completely dissolved by the very spirits she drowned herself in?
She fingered her phone in her pocket, wanting to call a cab when a black car pulled up next to her. She eyed it, pursing her lips in vexation, as the back tinted window rolled down to reveal Mahogany's bright, ever jovial face. "Get in, loser! We're going shopping!" he shouted theatrically, taking off his stylish shades.
Maeve stopped and stared in confusion.
Mahogany heaved a sigh. "I swear to all three Fates; I'm surrounded by uncultured whores. That's a Mean Girls reference!"
Maeve complied and entered the vehicle. First thing she noticed was the fancy suit in her cousin's hands. She asked about it, to which his answer was, "We're dropping this off at the dry cleaners first."
"Why?"
"Haven't you heard?" Mahogany said, "Sabbath is coming out of retirement for one last show."
Maeve raised a questioning brow. "Lustblood?"
"Who else?"
She knew very little about the renowned magician. As did everyone else. Every couple of years, the man would emerge from obscurity and capture the world's attention with his over-the-top, awe-inspiring magical extravaganza for one night only. And the next day he would seemingly vanish yet again from the face of the earth. 'Retired'...but never for long.
She surmised that Lustblood's upcoming show would be unlike anything he'd ever done before since now magic had become an everyday thing especially here in Franciscity.
"How do you know where he's going to perform? Isn't it always some huge secret or something?"
"Well, home girl, unlike the rest of you dimwits out in these streets, I'm actually something of a detective myself," Mahogany began proudly, boasting, "you see, I worked it out: Sabbath Lustblood only ever performs for the rich, famous and elite. And the only place where the rich, famous and elite tend to flock around these parts is the Hotel Chastain. One plus one equals two. Sabbath Lustblood's show is going to be at the Hotel Chastain and you can go ahead and quote me on that. The two of us happen to work at the Hotel Chastain, there go getting in will be a cake walk."
"Getting in as the staff. Not as the audience," Maeve contradicted.
"Don't be a Debby-downer, home girl. It doesn't look good on you."
Maeve chuckled. "I gotta say; for a brilliant detective like yourself, your plan has got some pretty big holes in it."
The second thing she noticed was that the car lacked one very important thing— a driver.
"Mind explaining to me why our Uber is driving itself?" Maeve asked, eyes glued to the seemingly sentient steering wheel. It turned, manoeuvring the urban street as though an efficiently dextrous invisible driver was behind the wheel, operating it.
"Ew. Who even Ubers anymore? It's 2024, home girl. We 'Broome' now, sweetie," Mahogany elaborated. "Get with the program."
"Broom?"
"Yeah, with an 'E' at the end for, like, a fancy effect, I guess. Self-driving enchanted cars that know where you're going even if you don't say it. They read your mind; which is kind of creepy but cool. Plus, there's no driver, which means no awkward silent rides. It's pretty Fetch." He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for concentration, and the Oliver remix of "Dangerous" by BIG DATA started playing on the radio. "I did that! The freaking car read my mind because it's enchanted!" Mahogany said with enthusiasm beyond control, "We live in beautiful times, I tell ya!"
"Fetch?" Maeve asked for clarification, completely uninterested by the revolutionary mind-reading car.
"That's another Mean Girls reference! Seriously, do you live under a rock, Patrick Starfish??!"
A lot was changing, Maeve thought. A lot had already changed. New magic stores lined the streets. She spotted a Hex Removals clinic, a Potions and Elixirs outlet and an Adult Pleasure Magic store decorated with almost lewd imagery that would've been otherwise banned in a much nicer neighbourhood. Even retailers that didn't have anything to do with magic had at least a few magical items in them. Like a nearby boutique which was having a mantle sale. She peered out the window, dazzled, and noticed that a few shops had been closed down during the time that she was in hospital.
"There used to be a coffee shop there." She pointed to a vacant building with a 'sold' sign slapped on one of its wide windows.
"Yeah," Mahogany said. "Some rich person is buying off all the stores in the area and turning them into magical emporiums and stuff like that. Nobody knows who they are. But whoever it is, I bet they're loaded."
"Yeah, I bet," Maeve agreed, spotting a very attractive witch perched atop a flying broom as though it were a skateboard, while the two of them alighted the car. The broom floated a few feet above the ground, and the girl balanced her lithe figure on the length of the stick with surprising agility as she spray-painted witchy symbols and a few sigils on Maeve and Mahogany's destination: Titubah's Dry Cleaning Service and Herb Shop.
The witch was gorgeous. Maeve found it hard to keep her eyes off her. She had raven black hair, just like Maeve's, but hers was cut and styled into an edgy pixie cut which demanded the attention of everyone who walked by her. She showed off her lean, flat belly in a black turtleneck crop-top and her long, hairless legs were exposed by women's khaki shorts that flaunted her firm backside. Maeve registered the girl's fashion sense upon seeing her daring camouflage boots. She was a book of a thousand pages, daring to be read. Crying to be discovered by anyone confident enough to walk up to her.
She was a vision.
The witch—whose name was Trix —locked eyes with Maeve from way up there and the other girl averted her gaze shyly as she and Mahogany entered the shop.
Inside, another witch was behind the counter, burning incense and smoking while she flipped through the pages of a dilapidated spell book. There was a lazy look in her eyes, a 'resting bitch face' as Mahogany would put it from time to time, and her wild, shiny, jet black curls were all over the place.
"Hello, Schmitty." Mahogany plopped his suit on the counter and the girl—Schmitty—put out her blunt on an ashtray that was levitating beside her.
She looked up, the bags under her eyes now revealing themselves to be much darker. "How the hell do you know my name?" Schmitty demanded lazily, her airy voice droning, "are you a mind-reader? 'Cause that's, like, illegal, man."
Mahogany lifted his finger to point at something on her bosom. "Name tag, duh."
Shmitty looked down at it. "Oh." She paused to stare between the two customers, then the suit, and sighed for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Finally, she said, "What do you want?"
"I need you to clean this suit for me," the blue haired boy began, "now as you can see, these are very delicate fabrics so be extremely cautious with it. Oh! And the lining is made of the finest silks and cottons from Cairo. I basically had to sell my soul to Mephistopheles to get enough money to purchase this. Cost me an arm, a leg and you don't want to know what else. So no magic! I cannot stress this enough, Schmitty: No. Magic! Don't cast any cleaning spells on it, don't douse it in any potions of any kind and don't even so much as think about ironing it with a heat spell."
Schmitty stared blankly at him, obviously vexed to her limit.
He continued, "now, you're a witch so you're obviously aware of the fact that magic tends to wear stuff out. So, please, no magic on my suit. Just wash it the old fashioned way. Thank you."
"You know that's just a common misconception, right?" the girl behind the counter countered. "Magic doesn't actually have any long lasting negative effects on your clothes. I mean, sure, you might get the occasional botched potion dousing which leads to itchiness. But that goes away in a day or two."
"Yeah, I'm not taking any chances."
"Okay, how soon do you want your fancy Egyptian suit then?" Schmitty asked, typing away at the computer on the counter.
"As soon as possible would be nice."
"Name?" she asked, bored.
"Mahogany Moloi," He answered, smiling widely and exposing his adorable tooth-gap.
She entered his name and the rest of the details into the computer and, when she was done, gave him a claim check. She proceeded to attach a small label on the item at hand and hung it on the rack behind her among the other unwashed clothes.
When she turned around she stared blankly at the pair and asked, "What're you still doing here?"
"Whatever, just don't use magic on my shit, Schmitty," Mahogany said half way to the exit, "And what the hell kind of a name is 'Schmitty', anyway?"
That earned him an eye roll and the finger from Schmitty just as the little bell above the door jiggled while Mahogany walked out. "Hey!" Schmitty called out and Maeve turned on her heels to face her. "If you see a really sexy bitch floating around a broom and spray painting sigils on the walls out there, could you tell her to, like, not do that and come in here 'cause I can't do all this work alone?"
"You got it, Schmitty!" Mahogany's muffled voice sounded from outside. Maeve turned around and saw him stick his thumbs out with mock-enthusiasm through the storefront window.
Schmitty faked a smile and that was the last thing Maeve saw her do before stepping outside.
They traced the pavement, almost at a sauntering pace, trying to locate the girl they'd been sent to deliver a message to.
"Well, Schmitty was nice, huh?" Mahogany joked.
Maeve huffed a breath out her nostrils, slightly amused as the two of them walked under a marquee sign with the words; 'Tempest Magic Adult Shop: Experience All Your Wildest Fantasies', on it.
An impossibly attractive—even more so than Trix—young woman with ram horns and silky blonde hair emerged from the shop. Her garments left little to the imagination and she smelled of a scent which set fire to all their senses. Mahogany was the first to stop dead in his tracks.
The young woman whipped her lion's tail seductively as she approached Mahogany and began softly caressing his cheeks. "Hey, big boy," she said in a whispering tone, "how's about you and me walk into my little shop here and have some fun?"
Mahogany swallowed hard, unapologetically aroused, knees weak and heart beating with longing and desire. "S-sure!"
She took his hand in hers and began leading him to the shop's entrance.
But not if Maeve could help it. She grabbed her cousin by the shoulder and reminded him, "It's a trick, Mahogany."
"A beautiful trick," he said without a care in the world, eyes on the foxy woman in front of him. "A very beautiful trick."
He seemed entranced by the creature. Maeve took her attention off Mahogany and placed it on the appealing woman. She couldn't blame Mahogany. In any other situation, she would've probably fallen for the seductress' stimulating wiles herself. But Maeve was smarter than that. "You know; you're legally obligated to let us know if you're wearing a glamour." She said to the siren.
"Ain't no glamour, baby doll," the young woman said proudly, motioning at her own body to present its supposed genuineness. "I'm the real deal."
Maeve narrowed her eyes, glaring. In this moment, something whispered in her ear. She felt it in her bones. Somehow she knew what to say next. What to do. She couldn't explain it, but she had to do it. Maeve raised her right hand in front of her, exposing her palm, and in a firm, demanding voice, she spoke; "Esto quod es!" and the temptress' façade, her alluring ruse, melted away to reveal that she was actually an old, half naked man with loose skin and grey hair. Nothing like his glamour— not even close!
"Ew!!" Mahogany backed away, aversion in his voice and his face.
The old man scurried back into his shop, tail between his legs...though not quite literally as he would have done in his other, more beautiful form.
Maeve laughed while she and Mahogany started walking again. "You need to keep it in your pants, Mahogany," she said with dying laughter, "could've slept with an old guy."
"Could've paid him, too." He shivered, disgusted by the image of him and the almost nude, crusty old man in bed together, engaging in coitus.
And that's when they spotted Trix on her flying broom, suspended in mid-air and spray painting an abstract, psychedelic mural of the Mother Goddess and her Horned God. They stepped closer so that they were standing directly beneath her.
"Hey!" Mahogany called out to her from below and she stopped painting to look down. "You're Trix, right?"
The broom then hovered down slowly until her eyesight was aligned and levelled with theirs. "Last time I checked, yes." Maeve's stomach filled with fluttering butterflies at the sound of Trix's voice. It matched her face, her body, her essence. The idea of her.
"Well, sunny Schmitty says to tell you that she needs your help with something," Mahogany said, causing the girl to smirk lopsidedly, which in turn gave Maeve an allude to just how pretty her full smile was.
"Thanks," she said to Mahogany. And to Maeve she said, "I saw what you did to that guy."
Maeve's eyes widened. "You did? I—"
"Yeah, it was pretty wicked cool."
She tried to say "Thank you", but what came out was a mixture of gibberish and strange moaning sounds. Trix ogled her, both amused and confused.
"A 'be in your nature' incantation," Trix said, "powerful stuff, man."
Mahogany turned to face his cousin. "Yeah, how did you know how to do that?"
Maeve shrugged, cheeks reddening and her eyes avoiding Trix's as she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "I— I don't know. I just did, I guess."
"Well, it was cool," Mahogany commended. "Those shimmering lights when the magic manifested were pretty dope."
"He's right, you know. I've never seen a witchling do something like that before." Trix reached into her backpack where she tried to place the can of spray paint, but something slipped and her bag fell, spilling out the contents in the process and revealing her belongings as well as a few posters and flyers for the annual Wiccan Fair.
They each knelt down to help gather the things and, in the process, Trix's delicately soft hand grazed over Maeve's. She gasped suddenly, drawing a sharp breath as her eyes glazed over—It looked like a fog had suddenly entered them—and she stumbled back with a wild look about her.
"Are you okay?" Maeve and Mahogany questioned in unison, reaching to help her up.
She clasped to Maeve's hands tightly, trying to hang onto whatever it was that she was seeing. "You're being followed," she said gravely.
"What?" Maeve was confused. Less by the situation, and more by how in the world this girl knew.
"You're being followed," Trix echoed herself, the cloudy white smoke, still in her eyes, now swirling like a hurricane, "I can't— I can't make out who it is. They have a cloaking spell or something. But whoever's following you, they're a force to be reckoned with. Trust me. They're dangerous! Their magic is...is...amplified? ...By something. It's all over the place. I—"
"Hey, Trix!" Schmitty's shrill voice boomed from somewhere nearby and the three turned in its direction to see her head poking out the door of the dry cleaners. "Quit slacking or I'm gonna tell Titubah!"
Maeve ignored her and turned back to look at Trix again, but Schmitty's warning must have interrupted her trance because her eyes were back to normal again.
Trix gathered her things quickly, bewildered.
"Hey!" Maeve snapped but that did nothing to grab her attention. "Hey! What do you mean 'I'm being followed'?"
The witch rose. "I mean exactly that," she said plainly, reeling from her vision. "Look, I have to go...and you— you need to be careful from now on. Keep an eye out. Lock your doors and shut your windows. Because I smell trouble on you and whoever it is that has their sights on you." She mounted her broom and it whisked her away towards the store.
"How do you know all this?!" Maeve shouted.
Trix's broom spun around and she bent her knees to keep her balance on the floating skateboard. "I'm a soothsayer!" and then she was gone.
There was a minute of silence between the two before Mahogany said, "Okay...uhm...what just happened?"
But Maeve couldn't answer that question. She didn't know any more than he did.