She huffs and fluffs her feathers. “Tina’s a sweet girl, but let’s just say that her porch light is on but no one’s home. She’s a whiz with numbers, but that’s pretty much it. I just about concussed myself trying to get her to pull down the Scrabble board so we could talk that first night. And that was after me screeching, ‘No Rhea!’ a hundred times, and every time, she said, ‘I don’t have Blu-ray, just VHS.’ Anyway, I reckon it’s good to be home.” She flutters into her cage and drinks water like everything is back to normal.
I watch her for a moment, but I’m not interested in waiting around anymore. “So I know you messed up everybody’s grimoires so they couldn’t do magic—at least all the grimoires except yours and the McGowans’—but what I can’t figure out is why.”
A martyred sigh. “Do we have to do this?”
“Yes. Just tell me the truth, and I’ll stop asking. You’ll stop running away. No more secrets.”
Maggie hops onto her perch and cleans her feathers. I give her time.
Finally, she says, “It’s because of what happened with your mama.”
It feels like being slapped in the face. “What do you mean?”
She keeps her back to me, her voice in my head soft with old regret. “After she caused the tornado, I felt responsible. I’d pushed her, and she nearly destroyed the whole town, the whole mountain. Our family farm—our home—was gone. And then she ran away. So I decided I needed to find a way to make the magic less easily abused. I couldn’t let something like that happen again. I worked up from a small spell to a bigger one, practicing, and then I invited everyone over, and…” She runs a feather through herbeak. “Sounds like you know what happened after that. It worked. No more catastrophes.”
I want to argue, attack, blame, but I know that none of those things has worked so far.
“Why’d you let some people keep their magic, though?”
She briefly eyes me and returns to preening. “The people who kept their magic didn’t have much power. The McGowans couldn’t start a stiff breeze with all three of ’em working together. And Farrah…” She barks a parrot laugh. “She can talk to animals, but she can’t do much harm with that sort of knack. And she never trusted me. She didn’t come to the potluck, so I reckon her grimoire still works. Anyway, what’s done is done, and it can’t be undone.”
“I think maybe it could be if I found your grimoire.”
Maggie bobs her head in annoyance. “Well, it can’t, and you won’t. So let’s put it behind us and move forward. I can give you a few spells that I remember. The dust spell, the light spell. I’ve got a good one that can help you fall asleep.”
“But without your grimoire—” I start.
She blows a parrot raspberry. “I know a few by heart. You can write them down. Start a grimoire of your own. That’s how it was for your mama and me, all the Kirkwoods down the line. Can’t imagine how far back we must’ve learned those spells, and then they were taught, parent to child, for centuries. I always liked how they made me feel connected to our history. You’re a part of that, you know. Our legacy.”
It’s a peace offering, but it’s not nearly enough. Fortunately, she has accidentally confirmed that her grimoire still exists. That just means I need to find it. I’ve torn this apartment apart, and the old video store has been stripped to the bone, but that stillleaves the hardware store, the theater, the antiques market, and the spaces above them. Plus the storage area, which is currently ghost country. Oh! And the candy store. Maggie told me the owner’s name once, but I’ve forgotten it. He must’ve known Maggie, and she must’ve trusted him, if she sold property to him when she won’t sell it to anyone else. The fact that there’s candy involved only makes it sweeter.
“I’ll definitely take you up on that later, but I’ve got some errands to run. You should have everything you need here. You want me to put on a movie for you?”
Maggie happily fluffs her crest. “Finally you’re talking sense. That is very thoughtful. Please put in9 to 5.It’s in the VHS stack.”
I get her movie going and move the bird backpack directly in front of her old, cubical TV so she can sit on the perch if she likes. She has food and water and 109 minutes of Dolly, so it’s time for my next fact-finding mission.
The candy store is just a few doors down from the bookstore. I haven’t stopped in here before and don’t know much about it, other than the fact that the owner probably loves the Grateful Dead. Most of the downtown businesses have a homey mountain vibe, brick and burgundy and gingham and bear paw prints, but this place looks like fairy folk raving at Woodstock. There are brightly painted concrete statues outside, bearded gnomes with sunglasses and frogs on red mushrooms with white spots, and the windows are nicely painted with spring flowers.Big Rock Candy Mountain,the sign reads.
As I get up my gumption, Shelby appears as if by magic. “You got a hankering for candy, girl? Was my mama’s chocolate pie not enough?”
“More like a hankering for information. What’s up?”
She holds out a white paper bag. “I was bringing you goodies to apologize for my mama’s deviant behavior. So, you know, more sugar.”
“Apology unnecessary but happily accepted.” My eyes rove over the candy store’s magenta walls painted with rainbows. “Do you know who owns this place? Are they in the Chamber?”
Shelby rolls her eyes. “A crusty old hippie guy named Smokey. He’s from here but not magic—I’ve known him all my life, and I don’t even know his last name. He doesn’t believe in government or taxes or civic responsibility, so he won’t pay Chamber dues.”
“So he’s pretty chill?”
“Not when you want him to stop playing the damn drums at three in the morning. Seriously, everyone on the square hates it. What kind of information are you looking for?”
I’m not sure how much to tell her. “Oh, just more questions about Maggie.”
She shakes her head in sympathy. “She sure left things a mess, huh?”
“Understatement of the year.”
