Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,35

nice.”

“It’s the same for all magical humans. Gypsies, mediums, fae and witches. All of the most prominent are women.”

“Wait, did you say ‘fae’?” he asked. I nodded. He continued. “As in faeries?”

“Yep.” I took a sip of my iced tea. “Sometimes you’ll get a warlock like Merlin who shows serious talent, but usually men can only do parlor tricks if they inherit magic at all.”

Marty was squinting at me, face screwed up in that polite but inflexible mask people adopted when they didn’t agree with you or thought you were slightly batty.

“So you’re saying you can do magic?” Marty asked.

“A little,” I said, dropping my eyes to the roll of silverware on the table and then the coasters. They were patterned with a silhouette of a wolf howling at a crescent moon.

“Could you do some magic right now?” Marty asked.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, heat flushing my face. I hated that question. Hated the looks I got when I gave an honest answer. It was always at this point in the conversation that eyes glazed over and I was given a vaguely condescending smile, like I was a stupid little girl telling tall tales.

“No, I can’t. I don’t do the sort of magic you’re thinking of—like conjuring up stuff from thin air.”

“Mom is still powerful, though,” Finn added, not bothering to look up from his game.

“I don’t brew or cast spells like a witch. My magic is more... based on my intention.”

“Your intention?”

I nodded. “My magic is all in the blending of the oils I work with and the phases of the moon. Sometimes I infuse salts or crystals, as well.”

I braced for the smirk, the brushoff, for something to change in his expression. Marty still looked a little skeptical, but then he shrugged. “Until I see a witch, I think I’ll remain a cynic on that subject,” he added.

“You have a right to your opinion.”

He nodded and wore a big smile. Even though we didn’t agree on the topic, he was respectful and I appreciated that.

Marty looked at Finn. “So your mom’s magic skipped you?”

I glanced over at Finn, surprised at the direction the conversation had taken. I hadn’t planned to talk about witches or gypsy magic. I’d hoped we could talk marketing. At this point, though, I wondered if that would happen tonight.

“No, Finn has a gift,” I answered.

Finn tore his gaze away from his Gameboy just long enough to show a sullen pout. “If you can call it a gift.”

“Hey, just remember, it’s better than Great-Uncle Joey’s gift!” I said with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the ability to find mushrooms is pretty lame. But Great-Uncle Tobias’ gift is way cooler than mine.”

“What can Uncle Tobias do?” Marty asked, leaning in with a wide grin. Seemed the skeptic was gone. Or, at the very least, this story was too interesting for him to stop himself.

“He can burp fire,” Finn said.

“Smoke,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Either way, I bet he’s great at birthday parties,” Marty said with a chuckle.

“It’s cool,” Finn said with a nod. “Cooler than my gift.”

“Your gift will get you further in life,” I argued.

“What is your gift? What can you do?” Marty asked him.

“I’m like a lie detector,” Finn answered with a shrug. “I know when people aren’t telling the truth or if they’re like… pretending to be something they aren’t.”

Marty looked confused. “How do you mean?”

Finn shrugged. “Like our waitress.”

“Fifi?” I asked.

Finn nodded. “There’s something… off with her. And the bartender, too. And the hostess was keeping something about her family to herself.”

I waited for Marty to don the dubious mask again, to tell Finn he was imagining things, and change the subject. Instead, he nodded.

“The Haven Hollow cult,” he said sagely.

“Cult?” I repeated. “As in... devil worshipers or something?”

Wouldn’t that be just my luck? Come to a town to escape ghosts and witches and accidentally stumble across a hotbed of occult activity. I already had my hands full with the non-corporeal beings in my life. I didn’t need to add vengeful demons to the mix.

Marty read the expression on my face and began to laugh. He actually snorted his iced tea back into his glass, choking for a few seconds until Finn thumped him on the back. I didn’t think my reaction was that funny.

“Sorry,” he wheezed. “I shouldn’t laugh. You just looked so horrified. ‘Cult’ is probably too strong a word. It’s more like a... secret society or something. Like the Freemasons or the Illuminati, but bite-sized. So far