Subversive (Clandestine Magic #1)

Chapter 1

Wizards never came to Ellicott Mills anymore. Beatrix stared at the contrary specimen striding toward her and had a fleeting thought—more of a hope, really—that he simply needed directions to some other place.

Then the man said, “I must speak with the mayor,” and her heart sank. What if this was the town’s new omnimancer? After so long without one, she’d assumed that Washington would never appoint a replacement. It did not bode well if they thought now was the time.

“Well?” The wizard leaned into the counter separating them, frowning at her. “Don’t gawp at me. Is the mayor here or not? This is his store, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid he’s at lunch,” she said, aiming for polite but hitting just shy of the mark. Gawping, indeed.

“I’ll wait.” He turned down the nearest aisle, looking at spices.

He hadn’t introduced himself as a wizard—hadn’t introduced himself at all—but his appearance spoke for him.

Though he couldn’t have been much older than thirty, every hair on his head was silver, pulled into a queue that hung halfway down his back.

Even Ellicott Mills residents knew what that meant.

Beatrix stared at his profile with disfavor and then surprised recognition. Sharp nose, pointed chin, thin mouth: Peter Blackwell, native son.

She unclenched her teeth. The idea of Blackwell as the omnimancer of any place, let alone a small town, was ridiculous.

For all that omnimancers lorded it over the masses, they were the bottom rung of the wizarding power structure.

Blackwell had bypassed that rung from the start, and the town gossips claimed he did important, hush-hush work for the Department of Defense.

Just a visit home, perhaps. For the first time in twenty years.

“You don’t have fresh ginger,” he said, returning to the counter.

“I’m afraid not—no reason to carry it. Our customers who cook with ginger use it dried.” She unbent so far as to grin. “And of course we have no wizards to brew with it.”

“Starting today, you do. Order me five pounds. Mature, not young.”

Beatrix supposed she truly was gawping this time. “You can’t mean you’re to be our—our—”

“Omnimancer? Yes, and as such I need a ready supply of ginger. Also,” he said in the tone of a man used to giving commands, “get me fresh horseradish, garlic and rosemary. What you have in stock is atrocious. Tell your husband not to pinch pennies by leaving items on the shelves after they go bad, would you?”

Perhaps he ended up back in Ellicott Mills by insulting the wrong person.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Wizard Blackwell,” she said.

“Madam—”

“Miss. I can’t pass a message to a nonexistent person, you see. I am the mayor’s employee, not his wife.”

He looked at her, really looked, for the first time since setting foot in the store. “I do apologize,” he said, not sounding particularly apologetic, “if I’ve hit on a sore subject.”

Honestly. She cleared her throat to cover up laughter. “Not at all—I enjoy being in control of my life and finances.”

“A shopkeeper revolutionist.” His lips curved into an ironic smile. “Equal rights for all.”

Now that was an insult she took more personally. She knew she shouldn’t rise to the bait, but she couldn’t help herself.

“We’ve already had two revolutions over the idea,” she said, stabbing a loose hairpin back into her bun. “It ought to be self-evident without launching a third that women aren’t meant to be treated differently than men.”

“You see no distinction?”

“Anyone with sense knows a woman can do anything a man—” She caught herself, but it was too late.

“Except, of course,” Blackwell said, “for magic.”

The front door opened, bell tinkling. In strolled Sam Croft, part-time mayor, full-time general store owner.

“Your turn for lunch,” he called out. “Weather’s beautiful, so don’t spend the whole time with your nose in a—”

Croft stopped, mouth open, as he caught sight of their visitor. Then he offered a “hello” that sounded one part wary and two parts impressed.

“Mayor Croft, Wizard Blackwell would like to have a word,” Beatrix said, trying to avoid sounding as if she wanted to throttle said wizard. “Should I handle the counter for you in the meantime?”

Croft made shooing gestures. “No, no, you go have your lunch.”

But Blackwell positioned himself where the counter opened, blocking her escape. “I don’t believe you introduced yourself. Miss.”

The old superstition about the power of names, and never telling yours to a magic-user, crossed her mind. Not that he didn’t know it already, if he bothered to think back to his pre-wizard days.

Croft cleared his throat. “My assistant, Beatrix Harper.”

As she left with her lunch pail and book, she heard her boss ask Blackwell anxiously, “I trust you were … treated well?”

Blackwell gave a sharp laugh. The closing door cut off the rest of his response.

She spent her break unable to concentrate on her book, her food or the fine weather. Had she just gotten herself fired? What had she been thinking? Not of her responsibilities, that was clear. She put her sandwich away half-eaten and resolved to go back and beg.

The moment she stepped into the shop, Blackwell emerged from an aisle.

“Ah, Miss Harper,” he said. “I’m in need of a full-time assistant, and I’ve chosen you. Come with me.”

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

“Thank you,” she managed, “but I already have a job.”

“Not anymore,” he said.

Croft—half-hiding behind a cereal display—did not contradict this statement.

She found she could not beg in front of Blackwell. She struggled with herself for a moment before giving in to recalcitrance. “I will find employment elsewhere, then.”

The wizard shrugged. “I doubt it.”

She had a mental image of going from shop to shop on Main Street and finding all the owners cowering behind displays.

For a wild moment she thought of getting work in Baltimore—somehow.

But the delusion passed. Her budget could not accommodate daily train tickets, and her car couldn’t take even a month of that commute.

“I’ll pay you the same rate,” Blackwell added. “I presume you need every cent, if you’re covering your sister’s tuition bills.”

Croft inched further behind the cereal boxes.

In desperation, Beatrix said, “I’m the last person you want assisting you! I’m the county chapter president of the Women’s League for the Prohibition of Magic!”

“Yes. No doubt your membership will ask you to step down.”

Blackwell walked past her and held the door open. Feeling more powerless than ever before, she followed him out of Croft’s Goods—her face hot, her hands shaking—and toward the long-empty omnimancer’s mansion.