Chapter One

Life is the ordinary expression of magic, and much of what gets called magic is simply an unexpected expression of life. Before I caught on to that concept, the great adventurers who filled my boyhood reading and dreaming hours were magic-seeking archaeologists. I wanted to be one so badly, I stepped out onto the back stoop on a bitter-cold starry night and offered my soul for the chance.

Aunt Bella rushed out and swung a soup ladle at me, screaming at me to cancel the trade subito! Before some power agreed to it!

I grinned, ducked the arc of dishwater, and skipped out of reach.
Aunt Bella had come to stay with us the week her son and my dad and all their stockbroker buddies jumped out of the top windows of the Empire State Building. She spent her hoarded dimes on the books I begged for, jackanapes that I was. Adoring her did not keep me from trying her temper at frequent intervals. Usually, I got away with it.
Not this time. She chased me down and locked a sudsy hand on my collar. Despite both of us being coatless in the snow, she dragged me to the church on the corner, where she begged red-faced Father Patrick to explain my peril.

“You again, Dickins?” He boxed my ear, not quite hard enough to knock me down.

I dropped anyway, to get the sympathy. No dice. In mid-drop, pinching fingers caught my ear. (continue reading…)