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  It was the simplest of magical items; most kids had some version before they had two digits to their birthday, even if they weren’t allowed to talk about it out loud. Danny had wanted one for himself, and had for years.

  His parents forbade it, of course, as they did any magic in the home. Danny’s father was the chairman of the magical temperance front in Baltimore and his mother led the ladies’ auxiliary. They would never buy him a set, and would burn his to ash if they found he had purchased one on his own.

  Danny didn’t care. He’d already purchased several magical items through the Parker School’s black-market trade in charmed items. He had the battery pack for his phone that recharged itself automatically every 24 hours, a pen set that never ran out of ink, and even a pair of track shoes that enabled him to run twice as fast as his middling legs should be able to go.

  Those last items were of the Sable trade, forbidden even before the passage of Resolution 84. Not that Danny cared much. He was only interested in what made his life easier and earned him respect among his peers. That was why he had to have that shaving kit.

  He walked down the first aisle, searching the nearly empty shelves. A pleasant voice piped behind him: “Hello, may I help you find something in particular?”

  Danny turned to see the pretty girl from the entrance walking up the aisle behind him. Her smile was infectious; he couldn’t help but smile back.

  “I’m not sure if you can or not. I’m looking for a razor and hair brush set?” He looked around, trying to gather his bearings. “Would you direct me to the correct aisle? I’m sure I can help myself after that. You must have more important things to do than helping me.”

  “What kind of shop owner would I be if I didn’t help you find what you want?” She held out her hand. “I’m Winnie.”

  He took it, nodding, still smiling. She was the shop owner? “I’m Danny, Danny Barber.”

  She dropped his hand after a moment of possible lingering. “Well, Danny Barber, let’s get you set up with a razor and shaving kit. I wouldn’t want you scraping your face with a mundane middling blade when we can get you a charmed one.”

  She turned and led him over two aisles to a set of shelves on the wall, mostly empty. A few isolated items remained like leaves on a winter tree.

  “I don’t see any shaving kits,” he said. “You sure you’re not just using this as an excuse to talk to me?”

  She laughed and he smiled. Her laughter was music. “I think I still have at least one more back in the stock room. I might need help reaching it, if you don’t mind.”

  Winnie led Danny toward the back of Charmed. He followed behind, eyeing the many barren shelves until she stopped and pointed to the top shelf along a rear wall.

  He looked up, following her finger to see a weathered leather shaving bag with bright brass trim resting on the top shelf.

  Winnie said, “If you can reach that, I can cast a charm on it. You’ll get the closest, safest shave of your life. You’ll be the envy of your friends, and your girlfriend will love it.”

  “Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Danny blurted, not knowing if he should feel embarrassed. He reached up to retrieve the black leather bag then handed it down to Winnie.

  She set the shaving kit on the counter, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a gold trimmed safety razor with a top that unscrewed upward from the handle. A razor blade rested inside the head. She muttered something under her breath and Danny thought she was talking to him for a moment before he realized she was casting a charm.

  He’d never seen magic worked in person, and it wasn’t what he expected. There were no flashing lights or dinging bells. Winnie sort of sang to the razor while waving the fingers of her free hand across it in intricate motions. After about thirty seconds, she screwed the head closed over the blade and replaced it in the kit, then pulled out the brush and comb inside and repeated what she’d done with the razor, though the song sounded different the second time.

  Winnie replaced the brush and comb, then zipped the bag shut, handing it to him. “There you go. You’re all set.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I cast an ever-sharp charm and added a no-nicks component to the razor blade and handle. You still need to be careful. It will only work if you take your time. Try to rush it, and you’ll overpower the charm and cut yourself.” She smiled. “Trust me. I shaved my legs once when I was late for a date and regretted it all night.”

  Turnabout was fair play. “So you have a boyfriend?”

  “No, it was a one-time thing. I’m not seeing anyone right now. Too busy running the shop.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said, taking the shaving kit. “I’d like a woman’s opinion after I try this out. I thought you might like to see how your merchandise works in the field.”

  “Nice try, but I’m not sure that would be a good idea. A chanter girl and a nice boy from … ?” She eyed him then guessed: “Mount Vernon? Canton?”

  “I’m from Assembly Hill, actually.”

  “Oh, you really are slumming, aren’t you? What would your neighbors think if they knew you were here?”

  “They’re hypocrites who decry the use of magic in public while secretly using it behind locked doors. Most of them are like that. There are a few who are true believers. My parents are in with that last group. Totally temperance-obsessed.”

  They fell into an uncertain silence, until they were interrupted by a commotion from the shop’s front room — shouts and a few yelps as if someone was being struck. A voice called back to them from the doorway.

  “Winnie, you’d better get out here! It looks like trouble!”

  Danny followed her into the store’s front and saw men in uniforms pushing and shoving their way through the crowded store, working their way to the counter.

  The Red Legs were here, red trousers like blood beneath their navy-blue tunics. He looked down at his watch: 11:30 p.m. — a half-hour early.

  One of the men pushed his way to the counter and shouted for silence. “Where’s the owner of this Godforsaken shop?”

  “Constable Holmes … ” Winnie stepped toward the counter and confronted the uniformed man. “What can I do for you? If you’re here to shut me down, I believe you’re early. I’m breaking no laws.”

  The Red Leg constable raised his hand to strike at Winnie, presumably for correcting him. A teen boy Danny didn’t know ran in shouting, grabbing at the constable’s hand to stop his swing.

  “Joey. No!” Winnie shouted, too late. The damage was done.

  The constable rounded on the boy as another two Red Legs grabbed him from either side, lifting him up so that his legs dangled inches from the floor. The boy — Joey — fruitlessly struggled against his captors. Danny looked closer at the struggling youth. He looked familiar, though he couldn’t place where he had seen him before.

  “Boy,” the constable said in an angry rumble, “you chanter scum are never to lay hands on me or my officers. I’ll have you stripped of your magic.”

  “Now, Constable, there’s no need for that,” Danny said stepping forward. “I know my father would not like it if there were unnecessary acts of violence just before the difficult time that approaches at midnight.”

  Constable Holmes looked confused, though Danny could see him taking in his attire and air of superiority: the newcomer didn’t belong here. Danny’s father had always taught him that if you assumed control and leadership in a difficult situation, others would accept that leadership.

  “And who, may I ask, is your father?” The constable waved a hand at his officers and they lowered Joey so his feet rested back on the ground, though they didn’t let go of him.

  “I’m Danny Barber. My father is Councilman Barber.”

  Holmes paused. The room seemed to grow warmer. Then his mouth curled in what Danny thought of as a satisfied snarl. “I’m surprised to find you here, Master Barber. I didn’t expect you of all people to be here, especially at this hour.”

  “I’m pickin
g up one final gift for my father, while it’s still legal.” Danny held up the bag, wanting to shake it in the constable’s face. “While he is against magic use in general, no man can argue with a perfect shave. I’d hate to have an unlucky tale surrounding my purchase. Don’t you agree that would be unfortunate?”

  The constable nodded and waved a hand at his officers. They released Joey, who stepped away rubbing his arms where the Red Legs had held him.

  “Miss Durham, you have until midnight to comply with the initial portions of Resolution 84. I trust you will close the shop on time without my intervention?”

  Winnie nodded, and the constable continued.

  “I’ll return in the morning to meet with you and go over your plan to transition your business according to the Resolution’s provisions. Shall we say nine a.m.?”

  “That will be acceptable,” Winnie said. “Until then, Constable?”

  The Red Leg leader nodded, gathered his men, then walked to the other end of the shop and left through the front door, followed by most of the remaining customers — scared, like most, by any confrontation with the Division of Human Safety.

  The store was mostly empty when Danny broke the tension. “That was exciting. I suppose I should pay for this and be on my way.” He held up the shaving kit.

  “Please, accept it as my gift for helping my cousin,” Winnie said. “I insist.”

  “As you wish,” Danny said. “But I’ll have to come back and repay the favor.”

  Chapter 4

  Victor Holmes hissed as the razor blade nicked his neck on the upstroke. He pressed his finger against the growing red droplet of blood and glared at his reflection in the mirror. It would have been so easy to finally give in and purchase one of the ensorcelled razor blades long ago, but that would have shown frailty in the face of his belief. Magic was evil, and Victor knew that deep in his soul. No matter how harmless a charmed device or magical spell might seem, it scarred the user’s heart. He’d seen what casting Sable magic did to chanters over the course of their lives. If the darkest magic caused the wasting addiction to chanters and users alike, how could any magic be safe?

  He tore off a bit of toilet paper from the roll behind him and applied it to the cut on his neck, sopping the blood until the flow stopped. The white square stood in stark contrast to his black skin, reminding him that he was not weak and would not succumb to the temptation and damnation that magic offered to those craven enough to use it. That was why he’d soared to the position of Constable in the Division of Human Safety. Director Nilrem Kane himself had pinned Victor’s new gold badge on his tunic during the ceremony. The Director practically was the magical temperance movement, and everything that Victor aspired to be.

  The Director wouldn’t succumb to temptation, or resort to the use of charmed items in his home. He would hold himself to no lesser standard. Victor picked up a hand towel from the sink, wiped the remainder of the shaving cream away, then sprinkled some aftershave into his hand and applied the alcohol-laced liquid to his face. He relished the burn as he applied it — yet another reminder that he refused to be owned by popular conventions.

  Today was a glorious day. Resolution 84 was now in effect. Over the last fifty years, the series of Resolutions passed by the Assembly had taken power from the chanters, relegating them to second-class citizenship as their middling neighbors realized their dangerous position. Now, finally, the chanters had been put in their place. All magical trade was forbidden. The land could heal so that the United Americas would never become the uncivilized wasteland that had claimed so much of the world.

  Director Kane as the head of the Department of Magical Containment had realized the value in the temperance movement. They had won, and now, Victor’s heart swelled with pride for being a part of that as he enforced Resolutions on the chanter community.

  Now he could start his real work and root out the Sable trade. No more would he have to deal with distractions from the small magical vendors who had previously been allowed to ply their trade. He could focus on chanter leaders in Baltimore like Artos Merrilyn, who skirted the law and used their positions of power to sell forbidden magic to the highest bidder.

  Merrilyn was the ultimate target. He had friends in high places and had been untouchable before the Resolution’s passage. Now he was just another mender, a magical healer who treated those who had become addicted to the use of dark magic sold by the Sable traders. Everyone knew Merrilyn was behind the Sable trade in Baltimore and beyond. It gouged at Victor’s sense of honor that everyone turned a blind eye to what he represented.

  As leader of the city’s Chanter Enclave, he controlled the only legal use of magic left to the world. The magically maintained buildings and structures at the heart of the city still relied on the accursed magical power to function. Even the plumbing and air-conditioning in the skyscrapers was enhanced by magically fashioned pumps and blowers. Until they could divest themselves from magic entirely, middlings controlling the city and country required chanters to maintain their livelihoods and public works.

  Which was why it was important to pull Artos Merrilyn down from his high perch in the city’s leadership. Merrilyn controlled the chanters. If he said they shouldn’t go to work one day, then they stayed home. The city’s financial centers, hospitals, even the Red Legs’ own headquarters building all depended on chanter magic to function. Yet another abomination tolerated in the name of civilization. Artos Merrilyn held sway over the city through his powerful position.

  Victor growled, thinking about him. He couldn’t let that smiling chanter leader get under his skin. Soon, Merrilyn’s world would come tumbling down. Victor would see to it.

  In the meantime, he had other business. This was a happy day for his Red Legs. They would shutter the shops and businesses around the city that had once sold magic openly. Now they would have to compete for sales like their middling neighbors.

  Victor would start first thing this morning by making an example of that girl who owned Charmed.

  He was still angry at the way the Barber boy had dressed him down in front of her the night before. He’d had been forced to back down in front of his men. It had been humiliating. He couldn’t touch the Barbers. They were leaders of the Baltimore Temperance Movement. Drawing attention to their son’s presence in a magic shop would embarrass them and draw their ire. Vance Barber, the boy’s father, was a personal friend of Director Kane. It would be political suicide to vent his anger there.

  The girl was a much easier target.

  Victor slipped on his navy-blue tunic and buttoned it, making sure each of the brass buttons was polished and bright against the dark blue on his chest. He settled in front of the mirror once more to make sure that everything was perfect. He reached up and flicked the white square of tissue away from his neck. The bleeding had stopped. With a final nod of approval, Victor turned and left his apartment for headquarters, where he would address his men and women and explain the day’s assignments.

  At headquarters, after he sent the men out to their duties, he and the two officers assigned to accompany him got in their car and drove toward the Chanter Enclave. He had an appointment to keep.

  The men had brought their recently acquired flow cameras — a new technology that operated using a spectrum of light that usually only chanters could see. The cameras had a pistol grip with a small four-inch color view screen mounted above it. The lens extended beyond the screen, pointing forward so the operator holding the grip could aim the lens at any object and see it if was surrounded by a magical field.

  The new technology was integral to the Department’s ability to root out illegal magical items. WORM cameras, or Weave Optics for Recognition of Magic, could also see the flows of active magic cast by a chanter if the camera was close enough. There had even been talk of installing security cameras with the new functionality around the city to catch Sable traders selling their forbidden dark magic on the streets.

  Today would be the first day he and his Red L
egs would get to use the new devices. Victor was looking forward to seeing them in action. Traffic was heavy, but the officer driving the marked Red Legs car navigated her way through town towards the Enclave without incident. Traffic lights served their purpose, managing the lanes of cars with their magically enhanced sensors and communicating with every other traffic light in the city to keep gridlock from forming. A necessary evil, at least for the time being.

  They soon arrived at the Enclave’s outskirts. The driver pulled up to the curb in front of the small shop — their first stop that morning. Victor glanced at his watch. It was exactly nine a.m. He stepped out, waited for his officers to join him, then looked at the man and woman standing beside him.

  “When we get inside, I will have a talk with the owner. Use the new WORM cameras to identify and tag all items that are enchanted in any way. Understood?”

  “Yes, Constable Holmes,” they replied as one.

  Victor wouldn’t let his smile show, but he was pleased with their discipline and deference to his position. “Very well. Follow me.”

  He turned and led his officers into the shop. Like always, there was work to do.

  His first impression was that a wind storm had swept through the small store’s chaotic aisles. The shelves were mostly bare. His officers wouldn’t have much to catalog this morning, at least not in front of the store. He would make sure they were thorough in their search of the rear storage areas, though. Surely this chanter, like others of her ilk, was a criminal at heart and would have a hiding place to store her Sable items, keeping them from the eyes of casual buyers and Red Leg inspectors. Victor would like nothing more than to lock Miss Winnie Durham up for illegal trade of harmful magics. An example must be made.