Sail On, Silver Girl

I was still mad about it, all these years later.

I was barely an adult, and only thinking about boys, partying, and occasionally studying. I know, quite a change, isn’t it? I swear, the universe laughs, and the Deity feeds and thrives on the irony produced by our efforts.

I know, I look like a demented Goth librarian. It’s okay. The look throws people off, and gives me time to throw a spell or two. The trade is worth it, even if I have to suffer old friends from my past collapsing on the ground and laughing helplessly when we bump into each other. It’s in the contract; I have to put up with it.

But there was this one time…

I came to The Craft later in life. I didn’t need it before, honestly. Life was good, decent home life and two cats and a decent job that pays the bills and a nice boyfriend. Who could ask for more?

Except that last one, apparently. Nice Boyfriend was code for Crouching Douche. He left my cats, and that’s what allowed him to live. But he took a lot of my stuff, just because he wanted to hurt me.

One of those things was my CD collection, the bastard.

I have a buddy in the industry, so he helped replace most of it. The obscure stuff, the indie stuff, that hurt the most. The memories, meeting the singer, the bands…

Well. We all have our moments, whether it’s the Threefold Rule, or the Road to Damascus.

My one cat got tired of seeing me cry every night when that time should have been reserved for pettins, or treats, or cuddles. So he spoke sharply to me, told me to get my head out of my butthole, and go about living my best life without a bloodsucking leech taking my life away. And more treats, because he deserved them.

My cat talked. And I heard him. And just like that, I learned familiars are real, and I had one, and I was launched into the world of magic.

Did I want revenge? Of course. But Threefold Rules are rather strict, without much wiggle room. But “much wiggle room” can be changed to “mush wiggle room” by the stroke of a pen when casting a spell, especially if one is prone to swishing serifs on any surface that looks like it may need them.

I asked for a Righting of Wrongs.

And I waited.

And waited.

And I got tired of waiting, said screw it, and went back to making a difference in the world.

Justice can be delayed, or busy, but She takes notice eventually.

My job sent me to a remote site for some install, and I had down time. I decided to peruse the local music swap store, just to see what I could find.

You can see where this is going…

My music. The ones I was missing, all those years. Each scuff, each ding on the cases, each crease. Not just copies, but my own, come back to me somehow.

Not the popular stuff, that was missing. I checked. But the ones I couldn’t replace? Right there, huddled together, spilling over into other sections. It was like they were hiding, waiting for me.

And they were on sale.

I squealed and bought them all.

The poor proprietor was baffled, until I explained the situation. He had some amazing eyebrows, incredibly expressive, and they came down like two woolly bear caterpillars kissing. “You know,” he rumbled, “I never liked his look. Arrogant little turd. Comes in regularly, always looks at the indie section, and smirks. Now I know why. Don’t like it, not at all. How long are you in town? Want a call when he comes back in?”

“Not a bad idea, actually. Here’s my number…”

Don’t you Facey-Time with your familiar?

We had a chat, that night. About what I can, and can’t, do to a cheating thieving weasel. And that’s an insult to weasels.

We didn’t have to wait long.

I got the call when I was leaving work the very next day, and I drove straight over. Sure enough, there he was, looking a bit sad as he stared at an empty indie CD bin.

He looked terrible. Like a haunted tweaker. Like The Furies existed, and had been visiting on the regular.

I spritzed myself down with patchouli and sage perfume, the final component of a passive spell.

And I quietly walked up behind him. “Looking for something? Regret, perhaps?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Sam? I… I…”

“Save it, asshole. And I don’t go by that name anymore. What’s a cheating weasel like you doing in a nice, respectable establishment like this, skulking around the indie bin? They’re back in my possession, like they should always have been, and you won’t get another chance to steal them back.”

He sniffled, wiped his nose. Caught ya, sucker. “I… Yeah. Well. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not. You kept coming back here to gloat. Game over, cheater, you’ve lost. And dude do you look horrid. Glad I got out when I did.”

“You… you look fantastic.”

“I know. I leveled up. You didn’t. How many other trophies have you collected, over the years? From other women? Maybe even some men? That could come back to bite you hard, you know.”

A shadow passed over his face, and he sniffled again. Yeah, you’re gonna be busted, asshole. You’ve inhaled enough perfume to complete the spell.

I blew him a kiss. “I know you still have some my stuff, and I hope you choke on it. Or something worse. Come clean to your other victims, or suffer. Get lost, loser.” I turned in a swirl of sage, and walked out of his life.

Me and my treasures left the next day, once my remote was done. My familiar and other cats were very happy to see me.

I didn’t get the call from the shop owner for about a week. When I picked up, he was laughing already. “Did you hex him, or something? I know witchcraft exists, but you don’t look like a typical practitioner, but wow that was fast!”

“Hunh?” I hadn’t had the morning magic elixir yet, so I was more than a bit sleep-stupid.

“Have you checked our local news? Never mind, I’ll text you a link. So, um, I hope your ex had a good life insurance policy?”

“What happened?”

“Well, seems he went a bit nuts, started throwing stuff about in his apartment, raging. We think. Well, anyway, the Gramarye Police say that he’s missing, and can’t be retrieved. Seems he was flinging stuff, and the rest of the CDs he stole from you, and a few other people, formed a perfect circle, and activated a portal into another plane of existence. They’re not sure which one, and they’re not gonna investigate, because they could smell the Justice when they walked into the room. They also say it’s a permanent one-way trip, and he might be almost immortal over there, so that’s a long, long time for a comeuppance. They’re doing careful divinations on everything, and will be returning stuff to rightful owners. I already contacted them, they interviewed me, and I’ll ship your stuff to you when they’re done. Just text me an address when you’re ready, and remind me not to piss you off, okay?”

“Wow. Um, okay, that’s… wow. That’s something else. Yeah, I’ll do that, when I’ve got some caffeine in me? I think I need some more sleep before I can process it all.”

“Like I said, I don’t wanna piss you off, sweet dreams, text me later?”

“Yeah, sure.” I stared at the phone, trying to process what I just heard. A ting showed a URL on the screen.

My familiar purred from around my stomach area. “Told you,” he rumbled. My fur babies stared at me from various bed positions, wondering why the phone was more important than sleep.

I chuckled, and settled back under the covers.

Hunh.

I did catch a glimpse of my old stacks of CDs across the room. I hadn’t been able to properly put them away, and I wanted to put some magical tracers on them anyway. I swear, just before I closed my eyes, that I saw a sparkling image smile at me, and swish off towards the window, into the rising sun.

Lady Justice, where have you gone...