Black Magic by Russell James

away and Autumn turned to face Oscar, who was still in the car window. “And what’s with Mr. Anti-Social being so friendly all of a sudden?”
    Oscar managed a small exculpatory meow.
    She turned and watched the truck drive off. “And what’s with a guy who can reference Peter Pan off the cuff?”  
    It might be time to spend more time in town.

Chapter Nineteen
    Mayor Flora Diaz was sure the latest addition to Citrus Glade was a good thing. Reverend Rusty Wright of the First Baptist Church was certainly no fan. But Flora wasn’t one to look at any new business in her withered town with too jaundiced an eye. Other than Vicente Ferrer’s car business, Citrus Glade had the commercial traffic of a ghost town. After the minor orange and grapefruit harvests, everyone kind of hunkered down for the rest of the year. This could be the first of dozens of shops that refill the shuttered stores on Main Street, the start of a regular renaissance after the NSA embarrassment.
    And that return to small town greatness was her dream. She had been raised here, back when Apex money sloshed around town like swirling water in a bucket. She missed the place when she lived in Coral Gables. When she inherited her mother’s house, she moved back and friends convinced her to run for mayor. The job was mostly PR and she didn’t mind the tiny pay to do her part to try and resuscitate her hometown.  
    She and Reverend Wright stood outside the refurbished Magic Shop. Reverend Wright was a good half-foot taller than the mayor. He had thin angular features with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. His full head of silver hair was all that kept him from looking cadaverous. He wore a shiny light gray suit with a bright yellow tie. Reverend Rusty was always dressed like the TV preacher he’d longed to be, no matter what the weather dictated. He pointed a long finger at the Magic Shop window.
    “That there is the work of Satan,” he said. He spit the last word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Witchcraft has come to town and we need to crush it before it spreads.”
    Flora looked at him askance. She had the elected political power, but Reverend Rusty had an hour-long weekly conduit to most of the townspeople. She had learned how willing he was to fan the flames of public opinion when something ran afoul of one of his Biblical interpretations. When he’d called her about the “abomination” in the center of town, she knew better than to ignore him.  
    “Reverend,” she said. “It’s a magic shop. Kids’ toys.”
    “A conduit to the Devil himself,” the Reverend said. He clutched a black leather-bound Bible to his chest.
    The excess drama made Flora sigh. “Now, Rusty. He’s just a normal shop owner. He did a benefit show at the retirement home for Pete’s sake. We’ll talk to the man.”
    They entered the store with the ring of a bell. A big brass cash register from the 1920s sat on the end of a poorly stocked display counter. There wasn’t much inventory on display elsewhere either. A set of shelves along the back wall held boxed kids’ magic sets and several different books on stage craft. A mannequin stood in the corner wearing a black silk top hat and a short black cape with a bright red lining. Lyle Miller stepped out from the back room, artificial smile already in place, hand extended.
    “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “I’m Lyle Miller.”
    “Mayor Flora Diaz,” Flora said as she shook his hand. “And Reverend Rusty Wright.”
    The Reverend shunned Lyle’s proffered handshake. The magician’s eyes narrowed and he pulled back his hand.
    “What can I do for you this morning, Mayor?”
    “We’re just checking out your store,” she said. “The opening was kind of a surprise.”
    “Yes, well, I did all the paperwork over the phone. The owner was happy to find a tenant.”
    Flora didn’t doubt it. The buildings on both sides of the street were mostly vacant.  
    “The Reverend here has some concerns,”