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  Kane believed that this was the only way to avoid becoming the wasteland that Europe had become after the chanters rose up and tried to wrestle control from the government. The extreme use of magic had destroyed much of the land there, and now it could no longer grow even the hardiest of plants. The following famine had turned much of the old country into a third world nation.

  Kane thought the barren lands around the cities in the United Americas were proof that the Chanters were trying to do the same thing here, and he used that artificial truth to whip the magical temperance movement into a frenzy. From his position of power in the Philadelphia capital, Kane sought to control all magic.

  Winnie thought he was quite possibly the most evil man in the country, probably because he made everything he proposed for the control of magic seem so harmless and downright logical.

  The gentleman at the counter cleared his throat to pull Winnie’s attention away from the TV. He was holding a bicycle pump in his hand, and shaking it in front of her face.

  “How can I help you, sir?”

  “The description on the shelf says this will pump up a bicycle tire in thirty seconds. Will it work on a car?”

  “Yes, sir, though it will take a bit longer than thirty seconds,” Winnie explained. “Just attach the air hose and raise and lower the pump handle once. It will keep going on its own until the proper inflation pressure is reached. We promise that it will never overinflate.”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “How does it know?”

  “How does it know what?”

  “How does it know when the tire is inflated to the right pressure?”

  “Ah, now that’s the magic,” Winnie said with a smile. “Take it home and try — if you’re not satisfied then bring it back and I’ll refund your money. Everything in Charmed comes with a 100 percent money back guarantee.”

  “Fat lot of good that will do me when you’re out of business tomorrow morning.”

  “Too many people like you use magic safely every day for them to turn us all into outlaws overnight.”

  “So you say.” The man dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, withdrew a few bills, then handed them to Winnie and waited for change.

  “I’d stake my business on it.” Winnie handed him a handful of coins. “Have a good day, sir. And please, come back soon.”

  The man muttered something she couldn’t hear, grabbed his pump from the counter, and walked to the door.

  The line had tripled in length, and more customers were flooding the store. She’d have to stay open late. Winnie hoped her mother didn’t need anything at home. Her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis made it so she could no longer work in the shop, so she stayed home most of the time, sitting in her chair with her eyes bolted to the TV. She could still see the flows as well any chanter, but her twisted, aching hands could now only manipulate them for the simplest tasks.

  Winnie thought about how she’d support her mother if the insanity of Resolution 84 came to pass. Her medicine was expensive, especially since her position as a single, self-employed shop owner turned health insurance into a mandatory luxury. She had to pay for the medicine out of pocket at full cost. It was their greatest expense each month, higher than even the rent.

  Winnie continued waiting on her customers, going faster, saving her small talk only for her best regulars, but still reassuring everyone that she’d be open tomorrow while the hearings brayed on the TV behind her.

  Resolution 84 would reach the Assembly for a vote in the next few days.

  Chapter 2

  It passed.

  How in God’s holy name had it passed?

  Winnie shook her head, trying to make sense of the impossible thoughts still rolling through her head. The shop was packed with people, all trying to buy the last available magical housewares before midnight.

  Winnie had extended her shop hours, hoping to keep people civil while customers fought over charmed items they thought they couldn’t live without after the ban. People were buying things she had never thought would sell — like that banana stand that kept the fruit at a perfect state of ripeness. People crowded the aisles like there was no tomorrow, which was true as far as magical sales were concerned. Any magical item not on the proscribed list legally purchased before midnight could be owned by a private citizen. That citizen must be prepared to provide proof of the date of purchase to the Red Legs, a detail that only added to Winnie’s workload. Everyone wanted a dated receipt from her.

  She knew there’d be trouble after showing up to work with a line outside Charmed that stretched down the block in the small shopping district near the Enclave. The other stores here were owned by middlings selling mundane goods and services. Hers was the only licensed business selling charmed items in that part of the city, and it had brought in throngs of people she’d never seen before.

  It was difficult. She and her mother had always served a local clientele and Winnie knew most of her regulars. This new mob of customers didn’t know her, and seemed to have little respect — most of them looked down their mundane middling noses on the chanter girl who sold them whatever magicked item they just had to have. On a normal day, she would’ve shown them the door. Mother had raised Winnie to respect herself, and to be proud of her heritage. Tolerating such prejudice now, just to tally the maximum sales before midnight, chewed at her pride like a mongrel dog with a year-old bone.

  “Winnie,” a voice called from across the store. “I need you over here.”

  She turned toward the sales counter and saw her friend Tris holding up a pair of salt and pepper shakers. She looked confused, and a bit haggard by the press of customers before her. Tristan’s usually neat curtain of chestnut hair was a sweaty mop across her brow. She hated crowds and preferred her day job working as a Charm Tech maintaining the old, massive buildings in the city’s center. Tris would trade this press of humanity for a nice and quiet magic HVAC system control panel anytime.

  Winnie had known she couldn’t manage the crowd of last-minute customers on her own the minute she’d seen the waiting line, and had immediately called up every available friend. All showed to lend their aid, one right after the other. Tris had been the first arrival, telling Winnie she took the day off her own job as soon as she got the message. Normally shy, she had taken over the register work so that Winnie could focus on answering the inexhaustible barrage of questions from the endless press of customers.

  Cait showed up next. Cait’s commanding presence with her short cropped blonde hair, broad shoulders, and steady glare atop a tall, five foot eleven inch frame made her ideal to manage the crowd. She had just returned from a two-year tour in the military’s Chanter Unit, where she’d received the best combat training the government could provide while honing her offensive magic. Added attention from the temperance movement had caused the government to disband the long-standing unit and let the newly-trained chanter soldiers return to their enclaves with little more than a last-minute severance check for time served.

  Though she was two years older than Winnie, they had been close friends since childhood, probably because their mothers were practically sisters.

  Winnie reached the counter to find her half-sister, Morgan, helping Tris, bagging items for people as they checked out. She and Morgan didn’t always get along. Their father had had his affair with Winnie’s mother about the same time as Morgan’s mom had been pregnant with her.

  Her father had insisted that his daughters grow up knowing each other, despite the awkwardness. The relationship had a contentious history, but lately, Morgan and Winnie had grown closer. Still, Winnie was surprised when she showed up to help.

  “What’s up, Tris?” Winnie asked, stepping behind the counter.

  “I can’t read the charm on these salt and pepper shakers. It seems like a version of the never-ending stream charm but I couldn’t explain it to this woman.”

  “They go with a matching sugar bowl and bulk canister set that should have been boxed with them. I don’t know wh
y they’re separated from the set,” Winnie replied. “They’ll refill themselves, as will the sugar bowl, as long as the matched canisters are filled in the pantry nearby.”

  “Ooh, that is handy,” cooed a woman at the counter. “Do you have the other items that go with it?”

  “I’ll grab them,” Morgan offered. “I know where she got them.”

  Winnie watched her sister head off into the bustling store, thankful again that she’d come to help. Morgan was a middling, like their father and her own mom, so she was helpless with most of the magical questions. Still, she seemed happy enough to assist with the busy work that came with any retail operation.

  While Morgan fetched the rest of the kitchen canister set, Winnie looked around the shop. Cait was standing by the door to the street with her arms crossed, wearing a black sleeveless tee, fingerless black gloves, and her new — and ever-present — wireless headphones. The former soldier was making sure no one decided to walk off with any merchandise without paying, and she looked like a sentinel on guard.

  Cait was bobbing her head in time to some song bleating through her headphones. She’d purchased the luxury with her severance, then had them magicked with access to every song ever recorded, so Cait could summon anything she wanted. Winnie wondered what she was listening to now.

  Morgan returned, worming her way through the crowd with a box containing the missing canister set and sugar bowl. “I found it, Winnie. It was the last one on the shelf.”

  “Thanks, sis.” Winnie took the box from her sister and handed it to Tris so she could read the price sticker and ring it up on the archaic register. “Morgan, can you go check in the back and see if there are any more sets like this? If there are, I’ll cast the charm on them, then you can put them out for someone else.”

  “Sure thing,” Morgan said. “I think you’re going to sell out of everything well before midnight. The shelves are all half-full at most, even with your weird cousin Joey trying to keep them stocked.”

  “Joey’s here, too?” Winnie looked around for her cousin. He was a bit of a screw up and she was a little nervous to have him here. He didn’t always show the best of judgment as a chanter. She didn’t want him casting an illegal charm to make a few dollars on the side.

  Tris tapped Winnie on the shoulder. “Maybe you should stop doing customized charms when customers can’t find exactly what they’re looking for. I can help some, but I’m not as talented with the detail work you learned from your mom.”

  “We’ll see,” Winnie said. “I hate to turn anyone away, or sell them something that doesn’t do what they want it to. I have some energy left. Do what you can and call me over if you can’t figure out what to do. I’ll try talking you through it. I’m just glad I was able to convince Mom to stay home. She would’ve tried to help and ended up hurting herself, or worse, miscasting a charm and injuring a customer in some way.”

  “She’s going to wonder why you’re not home soon. You didn’t tell her you were staying open until midnight.” Tris looked concerned. “Will she come looking for you?”

  “I hope not.”

  The Enclave, where all chanters were forced to live, was a rough sort of place. Most people could fend for themselves well enough, but Mom’s arthritis made her vulnerable to those who might want to take advantage. She could barely walk most days, and her hands were so terribly gnarled that she would’ve a hard time even opening a door to leave their apartment. Winnie hated to think of her mother getting mugged by some thug on the street while out looking for her daughter.

  “I’ll call and tell her I’m doing an inventory to comply with Resolution 84. Cait can ask her mom to pop over and check on her, too.” Winnie walked out from behind the counter and walked to her imposing friend by the door.

  Cait stopped her head bobbing and slipped an earphone off one ear when Winnie walked up.

  “How’s it going?” Winnie asked.

  Cait looked up. “Not too bad. I caught a few people trying to help themselves to some of your necessaries. But fortunately, middlings are idiots. I guess they don’t realize the spell you cast on the doorway won’t let them leave with something that isn’t paid for.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re the ones who voted in the Assembly that passed this stupid law,” Winnie replied. “Hey, can you send a message to your mom and ask her to check in on mine? I’m afraid she might try to come down here tonight on her own.”

  Cait pulled out her phone and tapped a message. Winnie thought it was strange how Cait had become attached to middling technology during her time in the service. She supposed it had something to do with being ordered to abstain from magic unless commanded to do so.

  Cait finished the message and dropped the phone back in her pocket. “Done.” She resumed her watch by the door, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room for trouble, eyeing the horde of frantic customers trying to buy the final magic items they would probably ever get to purchase. “So, what are you going to do after tonight?”

  Winnie sighed. She’d been trying not to think about that. The insane surge of customers had been enough to distract her until now. She looked around the shop — the business her mother had started, that Winnie had taken over at only fifteen, after Mom became too sick to manage on her own. She’d seen herself growing old here, running the business until she retired. But Resolution 84 changed her dream, and now she was going to lose it all. After tonight, if she tried to keep the shop open, Red Legs would come and lock her up. Then who would support her mother?

  “I don’t know.” Winnie shook her head, scanning the room.

  The shelves were nearly empty, with plenty of time before midnight to see them fully bare. Every tradesman in this part of Baltimore had cleaned out her tool section first thing in the morning. The nearby neighborhood housewives had done much the same with her kitchen supplies and appliances. There just wasn’t much left.

  “I figure with what I’ve sold so far tonight, I’ve made enough to buy us a couple of months, maybe a little more.” Winnie shrugged. “After that, I’ll have to figure something out.”

  The girls stopped talking as a tall, dark-haired boy came through the door. Winnie had never seen him before; she would have remembered the guy. He appeared around her age: eighteen or maybe slightly older. He nodded to them both before stepping fully inside the store. They tracked his smooth movements. He was dressed well, way better than most denizens of the neighborhood. He wore dark denim, a pressed white button-down shirt, and a black vest, fully buttoned. His shoes looked like they could’ve paid for a month of Mom’s medicine.

  “Excuse me, Cait,” Winnie said. “I have a customer.”

  “Not if I get to him first.”

  “Hey, I saw him first. Besides, this is my shop.”

  “Fair enough, but if you can’t close the deal, he’s all mine.”

  Winnie followed the boy down the nearest aisle. Maybe the night wouldn’t be a total bummer.

  Chapter 3

  Danny Barber had never been in this part of town, and he’d be willing to bet none of his friends at the Parker School had either. He looked around, searching for the destination that he’d heard about plenty, but had never seen. The storefronts didn’t look shabby exactly, they just didn’t look new, or maybe as polished as he was used to seeing in his Assembly Hill neighborhood. Of course, most folks from the Assembly Hill community would not be caught dead slumming this close to the Enclave. Even if they wanted magic for themselves, they’d get it delivered.

  He knew his parents would crap themselves if they knew he was so close to the Enclave. Their stories of atrocities waged by chanters against those who ventured too near their ghetto were tired from use. He knew it was mostly made up. He checked his pocket again for the pistol he’d swiped from his father’s study. The old man never took it out anymore, just like he never told stories of the European war, when the expeditionary forces from the United Americas had tried to rescue the last of the middling holdouts from the coast of France. This pistol
was his only legacy of that brief, failed war to prevent the old country’s collapse.

  Some people had wanted magic use ended in the Americas, too, following Europe’s fall. They’d blamed chanters for the barren wasteland that spread for miles around the continent’s greatest metropolises. Others thought it was the increased dependence on technology and byproducts of manufacturing that scarred the land. A few in the Green Party thought it was the combination of both, as insane as that sounded.

  Danny didn’t care. Like most twenty-year-olds, he was self-centered enough to think the world shaped itself to his view rather than the other way around. That was how he found himself alone, traipsing in the shadows on the nighttime streets edging the Chanter Enclave, searching for a certain shop that might supply him with a particular charmed item. He had to hurry. It was only a short time until midnight, when the Assembly’s Resolution 84 would pass.

  Danny was about to give up on his search and turn back when he saw one of the shops ahead pouring light onto the sidewalk. People were exiting the storefront and hurrying on their way. That had to be it: Charmed.

  Danny approached the door and stepped inside as another couple left with packages practically falling out of their arms. He glanced around, not failing to notice the scary Amazon standing just inside the entrance, or the pretty, brown-haired girl standing next to her.

  She wasn’t his usual type, but there was something about her. Maybe the way she smiled at him as he passed, or the cute way she tilted her head to one side when looking his way. Perhaps in another time and place, if she wasn’t a chanter, he’d offer his number. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Danny was on a mission.

  His friends all had a charmed toiletry set, including a razor, shaving mug and soap, along with a comb and hairbrush. The razor never needed sharpening or replacement, nor did it nick the skin, saving the blood of a conventional blade. When you brushed or combed your hair with the charmed set, your hair never got mussed, no matter how the wind blew.