Right Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins Page A

Two?”
    “Number One,” Mr. Ottershaw said as he glanced at me, a look of utter humiliation in his eyes. Admitting to wetting yourself in front of an attractive young woman is the last thing any man wants to do—unless he’s into that kind of thing; but that’s a whole other story.
    “I see,” Hexe said as he jotted something down on a notepad. “So, what makes you think this condition is supernatural in origin?”
    “As long as I’m not wearing trousers, I’m fine. But the moment I pull up a zipper—bam! Just like Old Faithful. I’ve ruined every pair of pants I own! Business, casual, formal, jeans, shorts . . . all of them, completely destroyed! You can’t tell me this is natural!”
    “I agree. It sounds to me that someone has inflicted micturition upon you.”
    “Mickey-what?”
    “It means that you have been cursed so that you will urinate while wearing pants.”
    “Ugh! That’s disgusting !” I exclaimed, forgetting my role as silent observer.
    “Tell me about it,” Mr. Ottershaw grumbled.
    “Be grateful for small favors—at least you weren’t inflicted with imbulbitation. That involves Number Two,” Hexe explained, seeing the blank look on his client’s face. “Still, let’s not be too hasty—I said it sounded like micturition. I need to confirm if that is, indeed, the case.”
    He opened a drawer in the desk and removed a large crystal the size and shape of a goose egg. Stepping forward, he motioned for Ottershaw to stand up. Holding the crystal between his thumb and first forefinger, Hexe squinted through the scrying egg as he passed it up and down the length of his client’s body.
    “Hmm. Very interesting. Yes, I was correct—you have been crossed. Luckily, the curse is a relatively simple one to turn widdershins.”
    “Widder-what?”
    “It’ll be easy to reverse.” Hexe sighed. “Tell me, Mr. Ottershaw. Do you know of any reason why someone might want to inflict a curse upon you?”
    “No, of course not,” Mr. Ottershaw said indignantly.
    “No troubles at home, I take it?” Hexe prodded.
    “I’m not married,” Mr. Ottershaw replied.
    “I see. How about your place of employment? Any friction with your coworkers?”
    Mr. Ottershaw thought for a moment. Suddenly a light came on in his eyes. “Wait a minute! I’m supposed to give a presentation to the shareholders later today. If it goes well, I’ll be promoted. You don’t think that has anything to do with this, do you?”
    “It’s very likely. Workplace rivalries are the second-highest cause of curses, right after sexual jealousy.”
    “Of all the underhanded, sneaky, backstabbing ...” Mr. Ottershaw’s eyes flashed with anger. “Can you tell who did this to me?”
    Hexe shook his head. “I can only identify the type of spell, and who might have cast it. Some wizards have more distinctive means of spellcasting than others. However, I cannot see who paid to have it done.”
    “Do you know who cast the spell on Mr. Ottershaw?” I asked; utterly fascinated by what I was hearing.
    “I recognize the signature as belonging to a juggler by the name of Bozz who slings spells out of Witch Alley. He does slapdash work that tends to be crude but effective.”
    “I bet Boyland’s behind this,” Mr. Ottershaw muttered. He seemed to be paying more attention to his own thoughts than to what Hexe was saying. “That two-faced bastard! I wouldn’t put it past him to try and scuttle my promotion!” He scowled at his bare knees and then looked up at Hexe. “I want you to get back at the asshole who did this to me. Give him really bad flop sweat, or make him fart really loud every time he sees a pretty girl. ...”
    Whatever sympathy I felt for Mr. Ottershaw abruptly evaporated. I was creeped out by how, within the space of a few heartbeats, the cursed businessman had gone from comical milquetoast to someone bent on revenge. “But you don’t even know who’s responsible for laying the curse on you!” I