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There's No "I" in "Coven"

Jody Lynn Nye

Jody Lynn Nye lists her main career activity as "spoiling cats." She lives northwest of Chicago with two of the above and her husband, author and packager Bill Fawcett. She has published more than thirty-five books, including six contemporary fantasies, four SF novels, four novels in collaboration with Anne McCaffrey, including The Ship Who Won; edited a humorous anthology about mothers, Don't Forget Your Spacesuit, Dear!; and written over a hundred short stories. Her latest books are An Unexpected Apprentice (TOR Books), and Myth-Chief, co-written with Robert Asprin (Wildside Press). And, yes, she does believe in magic.

 

The whining from the rear seat of the station wagon was enough to make any mother lose her equilibrium. Ceridwen Locke Shapiro leveled one baleful eye on her two children by way of the rearview mirror.

"If I have to pull this vehicle over, you two will lose privileges for a week!" she exclaimed.

"Mom, he's leaning over onto my side!" wailed Angelica, a stony-faced nine-year-old who was looking as unlike her name as possible at that moment.

"Mom, her homunculus is trying to eat my homework!" shouted Heimdall, trying to remain on his twelve-year-old dignity.

"He keeps poking at Albiades's cage. He broke the rune seal himself."

Heimdall looked indignant and guilty at the same time. "I did not!"

Angelica was adamant. "If I can't turn him in today for Conjuration, I'm going to get an F, and it will be all his fault!"

Ceri groaned and pulled the wheel hard right, bringing the Dodge Runemaster into the nearest open parking space on the main road of Mystic, Massachusetts. There was a snort from under the hood as the wyrm that ran the gears braked hard. Any moment it would unwind itself from the mechanism and go off to socialize with others of its kind in nearby vehicles or seek out a feeding station, leaving the family vehicle stranded. Her husband had warned her it needed fresh bespelling at the dealership. Between the kids' school, lessons, team sports, play dates, shopping and everything, she had had little time to take care of anything else. She turned around in the front seat and frowned at her children.

Both children had hazel eyes, dark brown hair, freckles and matching pouts and firmly folded arms. The one unmatching piece in the back seat was the homunculus, a foot tall demon-lite with red skin, a gargoyle's face, pointed tail and cloven feet. It was on Heimdall's side of the seat.

"Make her lock it up, Mom!" he said.

"Come on, honey, put him back in his cage."

Angelica frowned and pointed at the manikin. "Tie the imp, bind him fast, hold him while the spell do last!"

The homunculus stuck out its tongue at her and danced up the inside of the car door until it was standing upside down on the ceiling.

"If you can't order around a miserable little hobgoblin, how are you supposed to play defense in Pentackle?" Heimdall fleered.

"Mom!"

Ceri sighed. She clenched her hand to gather up power and threw it toward the little creature.

"Imis incarceratus bos ipso," she said.

"No!" squeaked the homunculus as a tiny whirlwind formed in the opening of the cage. The mouth of the funnel cloud reached out like a vacuum cleaner hose. The sprite ran all over the car, scrambling over their heads and under the seats to get away from it. The spell was relentless, though. A loud pop! sounded behind the rear seat, and a lump traveled down the writhing gray tube. It spat the homunculus into the cage. Angelica clapped it shut and put her thumb on the wax seal of the lock. The miniature demon danced his fury.

"There," Angelica said. "Now, hurry up, Mom, or we'll be late!"

Ceri paused for a moment to glance at her son. "You know that spell. You could have helped her."

Heimdall grimaced. She knew he was trying to find a way to justify letting Angelica squirm. "I know. Sorry. But she has to learn to do it herself!"

"Yes, and until she can, it would be nice if you'd remember that karma cuts both ways." She turned back and nudged the accelerator. The wyrm started its eternal lemniscate again around the mechanism, and the car rolled.

He knew what she was talking about. In an ordinary family, arguably a minority in Mystic, karma meant that an action rebounded upon the one who did it. Rob someone, and you will lose something of value. Behave in a selfish manner, and you'd come to need help. For witching families, karma had a threefold return. Wrong someone, and three times the wrong would strike back. See wrong being done and do nothing, and you'd find yourself in a bad situation three times worse. Heimdall ought to have remembered that. Children with talent had to learn the lesson early. To their credit and their parents', most of them did. There was less bullying in Mystic than in many places that Ceri had visited, especially while playing in Pentackle tournaments as a youth and a teen player.

While soccer, baseball, swimming and countless other sports appealed to athletic children, Pentackle was her favorite. She came from a long line of famous players. She could have gone pro, but decided in favor of a career and a family instead. Ceri had cherished secret hopes that her own offspring would share in the talent of their ancestors, and was openly delighted when Heimdall started to play in the Amulet League (ages 6–7), and Angie had followed as soon as she could cast a spell.

Ceri recognized that many of the coaches thought that her children would have greater ability at Pentackle than other children without such an illustrious history. It was tough on them having to live up to her reputation. She knew that added extra pressure to a very complicated game. So far, they had done her credit. Heimdall was already a star player. Ceri had concerns about Angie and her tendency to panic on the field.

She pulled into the semicircular drive at the front of Oculus Elementary, where hosts of other children were milling around waiting for the doors to open. The kids were almost bouncing up and down in their seats in impatience.

"All right, give me a kiss!" she ordered. Angelica, homunculus cage in hand, slid over to peck her hastily on the cheek. Heimie took a look around to make sure none of his friends were watching. "I'll be at the game later on. Do you both have your grounding shoes?" They nodded. "Don't forget: keep back your best group-spell for the clinch. Keep your eyes on your teammates and your energy up. Defend each other. Remember, there's no 'I' in 'coven.' You're all working together for a harmonious win."

"Mooo-oom!" the children protested in chorus. Ceri smiled. She knew they were thinking that Mom was an unrepentant jock. They were right. She didn't mind.

"Go on! Have a good day!"

"Bye, Mom," Heimie said, finally seeing an opening to give his mother a quick kiss. He bounded out of the car, yelling, toward his friends. Angelica got out more carefully, and carried the cage up to the school doors, where her friends were waiting with their homework assignments. The brother and sister did love each other, but they would never let that show to anyone, least of all their mother.

Ceri started to pull out, then realized the kids' lunch boxes were still on the front seat beside her. She opened the window and sent the containers floating out after them. She didn't mind a little forgetfulness, as long as it didn't interfere with their studies—or Pentackle.

 

"Students, parents, teachers and guests!" the principal, Omar Geraldius, bellowed, his voice amplified by a triton's seashell. "Welcome to today's match! Today the Oculus Genies face off against the Sempster Dragons!"

On her bleacher seat in the brilliant sunshine of a late April day, Ceri cheered loudly. Most of the parents around her were old friends she had known since before Heimie had started school. She and her husband Jim, when he could get away from his demanding job at the state's Weather Station, joined them in tailgate parties and after-game celebrations, whether the Genies won or lost. On rainy or snowy days they collaborated on anti-weather spells that protected the whole bleachers. Nothing stopped them coming to enjoy their children's game—ever!

Before the cabal hut on each side of the field, the mascots for each team paced back and forth. Most genies that Ceri had seen in the past were sullen and resentful. The Oculus genie was a huge sports fan. He loved everything about Pentackle, and had not missed a game since 1765. He knew statistics about every famous player, both professional and amateur, since the game began. The coach often asked him for advice. His huge muscular torso floated on a trail of smoke emanating from his bottle, green and gold like the Oculus banner, and the silk of his turban matched the children's uniforms. He waved to the audience. Ceri and her friends cheered him, too. He couldn't have been a better mascot. Once a year he generously granted one wish to the Oculus Player of the Year. Heimie was doing so well that he might be up for the honor that season. Ceri was keeping her fingers crossed for him.

The Sempster dragon lunged out to the length of its chain, snorting hot steam from its nostrils. The single eye in the middle of its forehead, bright gold like an owl's, glared at the opposing team. The cheerleaders, dressed in abbreviated silver outfits simulating suits of armor with blue jupons, bounded athletically just out of reach of the dragon's jaws.

"A game in the treasure chest for Sempster! One point, two points, three points, four! Five points victory! Score, team, score!"

In response, a trio of witches in Ceri's section started a chant in three-part harmony.

"Oculus, oculus, oculus! Third eye bright! Genie, grant our wish, to win tonight!"

One of the visiting parents, a man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt with a dragon pattern, shouted out a jeering chant.

"Oculus, octopus, ignoramus! Third eye blind! Think you're gonna win? Well, you're out of your mind!" Other visitors picked it up, and repeated it, grinning.

Ceri didn't get upset about a little trash talk. She laughed at them.

"Third eye blind?" she snorted. "Oh, sparks! Can't you lizards think of anything more original than that?"

The man in the dragon shirt sneered at her. "Genies are losers! Genies are losers! How about that? Is that original enough for you?"

Ceri shrugged. It might have stung if the Genies lost frequently, but they didn't. The coach was so confident that he could maintain the winning average that he put in players who were marginal or actually blew scores, in the fervent belief (often justified), that they would become more confident later, and win games instead of losing them. They have to play to learn, he had pointed out. Ceri figured his attitude was grounds for some seriously good karma, if she had anything to say about it. It was certainly good news for Angie, who had a way to go before she would be the first picked for any side, even in the junior league.

The referees gathered at the sidelines on their magic carpets, small and streamlined so they could get into the midst of the action from any angle. The seven officials would confer if any conflict arose, and their decision was final.

Practicing at home had brought out the problems each child had in the game. Heimie was a very serious player, and could be a little stiff at the start of the round. Angie had not yet shown the same amazing talent, but she had more personality, and was better liked by their teammates, if Ceri had to admit such a thing. Angie had just the one good spell—she'd get the hang of more later on—but as such, Sticky-Foot could be vital in a close game. Still, she had the younger-sister habit of taking out her shortcomings on her brother. More than once at home she had deliberately bollixed up one of Heimie's spells. Ceri reproved her, but she didn't always stop her: Heimie could expect such a play from an opponent. Better that he was prepared for anything.

School teams, like the professionals, were made up of both boys and girls. Pentackle was not entirely reliant upon upper body strength or superior speed, so it didn't put girls at a disadvantage. Team captains were also more likely to choose a witch with great magical chops over a boy who could maneuver through the opposing team's defenses.

The coaches brought their teams out onto the five-sided field to choose the lineup for the opening play. The parents began to murmur among themselves. Ceri crossed fingers on both hands, hoping that Angie and Heimie would be picked. Parents were strictly forbidden, on pain of ejection and exclusion from future games, from using magic to make sure their child was included. Each coach threw seven feathers into the air. Ceri held her breath, aware that every parent around her was doing the same thing. Each of the narrow slips of color swirled around and landed in the hand of a child, who held it up in triumph. Heimie had one—and, yes, Angie did, too!

"Yay!" Ceri shouted, then hastily fumbled for her handbag. Her husband, Jim, couldn't miss a game that both of their children were playing in! She drew out a rectangular mirror and hurried to chant the requisite spell. She frowned as her reflection grew hazy and disappeared in a swirl.

"Hurry, darn it!" she admonished it. The picture cleared at last. Around her, other parents were casting spells to record the game, using mirrors, rolls of parchment or blank books, even a camera or two (not every magical child had two witch parents). It was one of the few permitted enchantments they could use. Burke Deesey and Barbara Wencel released faceted floating crystals. The glittering globes took off and zipped along to the sidelines. Ceri envied them. They got wonderful shots of the child they were assigned to follow. Her mirror only picked up the big picture.

The first referee sailed out onto the center of the field and blew his whistle. The players who had not been chosen ran back to the cabal hut, in case they were needed as substitutes. The cheerleaders gave them a rousing hurrah! The day's teams lined up and faced each other. Ceri felt the familiar rush of energy rising in her. She longed to be out there, ready to duel for the glory of the school.

The rules, handed down since the sixth century, were simple. Each team had to get at least one player into each of the five bases set around the perimeter of the field, known as the points, Head, Right Hand, Left Hand, Right Foot and Left Foot. Players used spells to drive back their opponents and defend against the other team's magic. Strict guidelines prevented any spell from killing or directly injuring another player, but pretty much anything else went. Illusions, particularly intimidating ones, were popular, as were minor cantrips that caused a player to trip, stumble or run in the wrong direction. Group-effect spells, such as bindings, could tie up a number of players at the same time. Once a player stood on a point, he or she could no longer cast spells to help his or her side. In teams that were closely matched, the endgame consisted of two players setting spells against one another in a magical duel. At other times, a lone player might have to face all his opponents. The first team that cleared all its players off the field with all five points filled was the winner.

The captains, or Elders, traditionally the oldest player, shook hands. Ceri knew the girl who was the Oculus Elder, Mavis Shenanadoah. The ninth grader was very slim, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. She was nearly as tall as her opposite number. The Dragons' captain was a big, dark-skinned boy with a mat of tightly curled hair and black eyes. He winked at Mavis as they bowed and stepped away from one another.

A strand of gleaming blue light stretched out between the captains' hands. Mavis and the other captain snapped their hands back. The strand broke and recoiled. The largest ball of light was in Mavis's hand. The Genies would start. The referee threw three Casting Orbs to each Elder. Only players holding the orbs could throw spells. Once you cast an enchantment, you had to pass the orb off to another player. Spells only lasted as long as you were holding an orb. Each team had three in the first third of the game, two in the second, and only one in the third, which meant timing was all-important. Mavis leaped up to catch them, tossed two to her teammates, and flew off across the field toward the Head Point with Angie tearing along the ground at her heels. The Dragons dashed after them. The spectators exclaimed to one another. The gambit had caught the visiting captain off guard. He was probably expecting an offensive spell of some kind. Was Mavis going to take the Head Point first thing, and leave the younger, possibly weaker players on their own?

Ceri cast a professional eye on the Genie team. Heimie, of course, as one of the two designated Mages, was a primary defender. The other Mage, a girl named Gloria Wasson, who had transferred to Oculus only that year from the Pacific Northwest, was a good player but far too nervous about her skills. Ceri had watched her several times. She was very competitive. If she could only get outside her own head and just play, she'd be wonderful. The three Journeymen—and all efforts to find a non-gender specific translation of the name had failed heretofore—acted as offense. They would drive in among the opposite team and cast spells intended to disrupt its defense. The last player, Angie, was the Apprentice. Her job was to shadow the Elder and defend her back. In return, the Elder would see her safely into a point before entering one herself.

The Dragon Mages, a couple of lanky boys, one with long red hair and one with a black buzz cut, put on a burst of magically-enhanced speed to catch up with Mavis. Angie, with admirable instincts, spun on her heel as they approached. She threw out her arms and screwed up her face in concentration. Ceri held her breath and crossed both sets of fingers. Would Angie's spell work?

From the girl's fingertips, loops of yellow energy spread out underneath the Mages' feet. The redhead actually laughed. He and his partner eluded the snares with no trouble at all. Angie screeched in frustration.

"Mavis, look out!" Elmo Wasson shouted at his daughter's back. The Mages had almost reached her, but she had almost made it to the Head Point.

Ceri should have trusted Mavis. The girl flitted neatly to the side, and the Mages went hurtling past her and out of bounds. Two referees on flying carpets blew on their conch shells. Play halted briefly as the Mages returned sheepishly to the pitch and penalty points were assigned.

The dragon on the sidelines roared, and the coach called his team together for a conference.

"Look!" Mimi Sanremo leaned close to Ceri to show her the book in which her son's play was being recorded by a quill dancing over the page. "It can hear what the other coach is saying!"

"Hey, you can't do that!" the man with black hair shouted. "Hey, ref! They're eavesdropping over here!"

A referee on a carpet whisked up to hover over the two women.

"Mrs. Sanremo, turn it off."

"But Lucia is playing!"

"Then, change the spell. Now, please. The timeout is almost over. Ten seconds. Nine. . . ."

"Arrgh!" Mimi groaned. She flipped to the back of the book and scanned through the index.

The whistle blew again. Ceri looked up. The Oculus Mages, Heimie and Gloria, tossed one Casting Orb between them, daring the Dragon Journeymen to guess which one of them was going to throw the next spell. Enchantments flew between the players holding orbs. Boxing gloves pummeled Heimie, while his lightning spell made another Dragon player dance to avoid the little bolts.

A bright golden flash and a wild yell distracted her attention to the other side of the field. The Dragon Elder had blinded the Oculus Journeyman holding the third orb, and his Apprentice, a skinny boy with brown skin and sleek black hair, darted in to take it. The Apprentice spun on his heel and flared out his fingertips. Ropes of power hurtled toward the Journeyman and tied up her feet.

"Good job, Miguel," muttered the man on the bench with Ceri and her friends. "Now, pitch it back to Siggy and get out of the way." His voice seemed to echo, and he glanced around guiltily. The boy flipped the orb to the Elder and ran around behind one of the Mages for safety.

"You're coaching him!" Ceri declared. "I saw it. He just did what you told him to. You can't do that! You know what kind of bad karma you're invoking?"

"Mind your own business!" the man snarled.

"I am minding my own business," Ceri insisted. "You must not come to a lot of games. The power that builds up inside the wards on the field is like a big balloon. Anything can set it off. When it goes POP! it won't just be your kid caught in the backwash. We've had everything from confetti to a crater the size of a house. Now, please stop it."

With bad grace, the man flicked his fingers. Ceri watched as he put a little silver shell in his pocket. He crossed his arms and pointedly ignored the two women. Ceri didn't care as long as she didn't have to disenchant the kids on the way home.

She felt a little guilty when she noticed Miguel looking confused, but he had to learn to play the game without having his father hovering over him the whole time.

Speaking of hovering, that couldn't be Jacob Olmstetter again! Talk about your helicopter parents. He always started out on the bleachers with everybody else, then gradually sneaked closer and closer with his box camera until he was on the sidelines. The referees ignored him unless he got in the way. His daughter Beth, playing Journeyman position, found him absolutely embarrassing—true, everything parents did was embarrassing, but even Ceri found Jacob over the top, this time literally. He came in closer and closer, then crept out into the airspace above the playing field. He was too low. Ceri could see it. She and Mimi stood up.

"Look out!"

Everyone shouted as the big Dragon Elder came hurtling down the field, hands out to catch an orb pitched by one of his Mages. Beth Olmstetter dashed after him in pursuit, and stopped, mouth open in horror, as the Elder crashed into her father. The camera flew up. A referee on his flying carpet caught it in midair. He blew his conch shell.

"Parental interference! Substitute! Three game suspension for Olmstetter."

Beth was stricken. The Dragon Elder extricated himself from the tangle of arms and legs on the field and helped Jacob Olmstetter to his feet.

Jacob shook himself free of the big youth's grasp and glared at the official. "Three games? How dare you?"

The referee was patient. "You know the rules of karma, Mr. Olmstetter. Threefold shall be the penalty for any voluntary infringement."

"It's just a game!"

"Exactly," the Genie intoned in his deep voice, coming to float beside the referee. "As is life. I mind me when I used to chat with Confucius about life, that celestial sage had many observations upon games . . ."

"Not now, please, Genie," the lead referee said, very politely. The Genie's stories tended to go on long into the night if unchecked. "Substitute, please!" Lancelot Cabot jumped off the bench and trotted onto the field.

Ceri felt sorry for Beth Olmstetter, but her attention came right back to the game.

Heimie was blocking well. Every time he got hold of an orb he threw distracting spells that set the Dragons running around in circles. Ceri wanted to cheer at the clarity of his illusions. Twice the opposing players fell into a mud puddle he had created because they couldn't tell the difference between the real ones and the mirages.

"That's my boy!" she shouted. "Keep 'em guessing!" He was a natural.

Gloria, a few yards away, didn't look happy. Ceri knew she was desperate to make her mark on the team. She wanted to be Player of the Year, but it looked as though Heimie really might make the title this time. Gloria looked upset. She heaved an orb back toward him. He just caught it with the tips of his fingers. That fumble centered the attention of the Dragon Journeymen on him. Heimie flung a handful of energy at the three which became a saw horse. The first Journeyman, heading for the Left Hand point, tripped over it. Their center player countered with a barrage of wet gumdrops at Heimie. He withstood the rain of sticky treats, but he couldn't return fire, since the globe had to go over to Gloria. He dashed downfield, hoping to draw them with him. They weren't fooled by the ploy; instead, they concentrated on the Oculus Mage. Gloria concentrated hard on the globe in her palm.

To Ceri's admiration, the Dragons began to slow down. One of the Journeymen threw a tripwire spell, but the magical line appeared too far away to catch the feet of any of the Genies. Smokescreen cantrips blossomed over the heads of Oculus players instead of around them. The Dragons' spells seemed ineffective, not what Ceri would have expected from such a highly rated team. They all looked as confused as little Miguel had when Ceri shamed his father into stopping the long-distance coaching. Their hesitation gave the third Oculus Journeyman an unobstructed run for the Left Foot point. Safe! Good for Gloria. That was world-class Pentackle!

But Gloria was still hanging onto the orb. She hadn't cast the befuddlement enchantment. Ceri shook her head. Whose spell was it?

Out of the corner of her eye, Ceri caught a glimpse of Gloria's mother, Anitra, muttering to herself. She couldn't be interfering with a whole team . . . but Ceri could just see her lips form the word 'confundus' and knew she was doing it.

Ceri was upset. What was Anitra thinking? The kids could get hurt! She couldn't want Gloria to win the Genie's wish that badly.

The referees were downfield, hovering over a battle going on between the two Elders, with the Apprentices and Mages running around. Little Miguel threw a spider-web spell at Angelica. With a globe in hand, she had no trouble turning it back toward him. Whether from inexperience or confusion he didn't jump out of the way, and ended up flat on his back. The bigger children weren't paying attention to him. He was going to get trampled.

Ceri stood up and waved both hands at the Genie. His attention was fixed on the melee. She had to do something!

"What's the matter?" Mimi asked.

Confundus spells fanned out in a cone shape from the caster. Almost without thinking, Ceri dashed toward Anitra along the bounding boards of the bleachers. She launched herself into the path of the enchantment, at the same time throwing her own counterspell to undo the charm so it would stop working.

It had been at least fifteen years since her last championship game when she had done a dive-and-dispell to help win the national league title for the Massachusetts Coveners. So close to the source, she felt the full wave of bewilderment and apprehension hit her. Her muscles, receiving no clear orders from her brain, went unexpectedly slack. Ceri got just one glimpse of Anitra's horrified face before she went tumbling head over heels off the end of the bleachers. The ground bodyslammed her, and she rolled over onto her back, groaning. The sky was a dot of blue, surrounded by a ring of red pain.

In moments, the air was full of uniformed referees and the irate coaches from both teams.

"Mrs. Shapiro, what's the matter with you?" the lead referee demanded. "Are you all right?"

"I'm a little sore," Ceri tried to say, but she couldn't exactly remember how her mouth worked. What came out was "Mwah mvba."

The league nurse shoved her way in between the hovering carpets. "Move!" she ordered. The referees retreated a foot or two, letting in some light. The nurse opened her bag and took out a gleaming lens. She ran it up and down Ceri's body. "Nothing broken, but it hurts a handful. Here." She took her wand out of the case and touched it to the middle of Ceri's forehead. Thankfully, the pain receded.

"She just jumped at that woman and threw some kind of spell on her!" the dark-haired man announced.

"That's right," Mrs. Wasson said, arms crossed indignantly over her chest.

Ceri groaned. She couldn't understand everything said, but she did comprehend that the visiting dad had just ratted on her and Anitra Wasson was pretending not to be involved. She was outraged, or thought she might be. She just wasn't sure. But when she could talk again she was going to have a lot to say to both of them.

"I think it's pretty obvious what happened," said the coach of the Dragons. "Mrs. Shapiro here confoozled my kids. You saw them out there, knocking into each other like bumper cars. Then she ensorcelled this other lady, probably to keep her from telling anyone about it."

The lead referee was a fair man. He studied Mrs. Wasson. "She looks all right. But there it is, Mrs. Shapiro. You were seen to commit an act of aggressive magic that interfered with a game in progress."

"Omf munv!" Ceri protested, struggling to stand up.

"No one saw that," Mimi said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "We saw her jump over Anitra, that's all."

"That's bad, too," the referee said. "Parents using magic on each other on the sidelines is also forbidden. Your children will be out for three games. Each."

The shock brought Ceri's faculties back to her with a rush. She understood. For the good of the team as a whole, she had to accept the punishment. The game had to be played fairly. She couldn't let the other mother make it happen.

Heimie and Angie appeared at her side.

"Mother, how could you?" Angie demanded. "I was going great! And now I will be out for the rest of the month! It's the end of my life!"

Heimie said nothing, but Ceri could read the despair on his face.

"Time out," said Mimi, holding up her hands in a T-shape. "Am I the only one who thinks this doesn't make any sense? Nobody sticks closer to the rules than Ceri does. She never does anything without a reason. You of all people . . . er, beings, ought to know that," she added, appealing to the Genie.

"Indeed I do," the turbaned spirit said, crossing his arms. "I remember you well, Miss Locke. Your playing stats were most impressive. I enjoyed watching you play. What happened?"

"Well," Ceri began. Anitra Wasson gave her a panicky look. Ceri didn't want to tattle on her. The damage was done, and undone. "Everyone saw it. I don't want to belabor it. Let's just get on with the game."

"Moooo-oom!" Heimie moaned. His perfect record would be ruined. Ceri touched his shoulder apologetically. He shifted away. Ceri felt her heart sink. One day he might understand.

The Genie shook his great, bearded head. "I do not believe it. Let us look at the record."

He reached into the air and removed from it an enormous scroll. A quill pen was busy writing on it. Annals of the great game of Pentackle had been recorded in this fashion for sixteen hundred years. Ceri treasured a copy of the illumination of her making a great save in her varsity year against the Rhode Island Wayfarers.

The Genie unfurled the upper roll of parchment and held it out for the judges to see. "Ah, very interesting." He pointed past the field of play illuminated in the center of the page to the line drawings of the parents in the bleachers. "Do you see? There is mystical energy around the head of not Miss Locke, but Mrs. Wasson. She is the one who interfered. She confounded the entire visiting team. Miss Locke undid it. Though she did bespell another parent, I do not believe she should also be punished. She prevented a default of the entire game."

The Genie's word was always final. The lead referee turned to Anitra. "Your daughter is out for three games. I know it's hard to watch your kid struggle, but you have to let her do it herself. Your job is to watch and cheer. Substitute!"

Head high, Anitra Wasson cocked a finger at her picnic basket, her crystal ball, and her daughter's gym bag. The objects lifted themselves up and floated toward the parking lot. Without looking back, she marched to the family's vehicle. Gloria gave Heimie an apologetic glance and ran to catch up with her. Ceri felt sorry for her.

A second substitute went in. Heimie slapped hands with the new Mage, Dana Ingleworth, an old friend of his.

"Thanks," Ceri said to Mimi. It was inadequate for the gratitude she felt for her friend for defending her, but Mimi made a self-deprecating face.

"I just told the truth," Mimi said. She nudged Ceri in the side. "Come on, it's starting again."

Play in the last third of the game moved so fast that even Ceri was amazed. Each team was down to only one orb each. One by one the other players made it into points, until only Heimie, Dana and Angie were left defending against five of the Dragons. The Dragon Elder wound his hands in a complicated pattern, creating a web of blue and scarlet lines of force. His Journeymen moved to surround the two Mages. Ceri could tell he was prepared to make a grand play, possibly taking out all of them at once. Dana was in position to get into the Left Foot point if there was a distraction. Heimie saw the opening, too, and grinned. Without hesitation he threw the orb right across the field between the legs of the Elder and straight into Angie's hands.

The big youth jumped. He spun, undecided now as to where to throw his spell. He ended up facing Angie.

Angie's eyes went wide. She hesitated for a moment as the five big players turned and charged at her.

"Bind them!" Heimie yelled. "Come on, Ange! You can do it!"

Bind them? Ceri saw her mouth move. She clenched her fists and hoped. Would Angie remember?

"Imis incarceratus bos ipso!" Angie shrieked out. Blue fire welled out of the globe in the Elder's hand. He tried to shake it off, but the ribbons of light grew outward until they grasped all five of the Dragon players. With a loud POP! they all vanished. The orb dropped to the ground. Ceri screamed herself hoarse. She was so proud of Angie doing something so far beyond the simple spell she had trouble with that morning.

"Good move!" Dana cheered, and made a dash for the Left Foot point.

Looking stunned but pleased, Angie threw the orb back toward Heimie. The second the crystal left her hand, the five Dragon players exploded out of the globe, falling in a heap. The Elder recovered his wits first. Dana was hit by a barrage of cream pies that blinded her, but she stumbled into the empty haven on her hands and knees.

That left only Angie and Heimie. With the globe, Heimie caused a pit of mud to appear one step ahead of the pursuing Dragons. The Journeymen without orbs stumbled into it, giving Heimie a few more yards on them. The little Apprentice dashed around behind him, and gave him a spaghetti shampoo. Heimie had to stop to dash the noodles out of his eyes. He ringed Miguel with an inner tube, then tossed his orb back to Angie. The Dragon Apprentice struggled, but did not get out of the way of the point. It was against the rules for Heimie to push or lift him physically. He ran for an opening around the field. He could dive in if he could get past the defenders, but that would leave Angie alone on the field. She could use only one spell, then she would have to abandon the orb. The Dragons could win. Ceri refused to allow herself to think it could happen.

The Elder signed to his people to spread out, blocking Heimie from getting into the points. Angie stood with the orb in her palm. Ceri knew how she would solve the conundrum herself. But would a junior-league Pentackle witch figure it out? Her two children would have to work together, something they were not good at yet.

Angie stood in the middle of the field. Ceri could tell her dander was up by the mulish look on her face. She tossed the orb up and down in her hand. Halfway between the Left Foot and Right Foot, Heimie signaled for it. The other players already in the points shouted encouragement. Angie shook her head at Heimie.

"Come on!" he yelled. "Don't be a pig."

"I'm not a pig!" she yelled back.

Ceri almost stood up and told them not to bicker. Not in the middle of a game!

But it was a ruse. As soon as Heimie had dashed past the Right Foot point, Angie pivoted on one foot and tossed the little globe directly at him without casting a spell of her own.

The Dragons, taken by surprise, rushed away from the points they were guarding to intercept Heimie. One of the Journeymen had the single enemy orb. Heimie was ready for them. With a wave of his hand he filled the air with purple smoke. The Elder retreated, gagging. Ceri caught a whiff of the smoke before it dissipated, and choked, her eyes watering. Skunk!

Angie was far enough away from the action to see Heimie's actions but not get caught in the stink. The orb came hurtling out of the air and smacked into her palms. She didn't even look down at it. Before the Dragons could draw a breath, she threw her best spell, the Sticky-Foot.

This time it worked. The Dragons hadn't enough time to turn around before they tripped on their own feet. Heimie jumped over the body of the nearest Journeyman and hurtled into the Right Hand point.

Angie was alone on the field. Ceri leaped to her feet, screaming encouragement. The Journeyman crawled toward her. She ran like a rabbit toward the nearest point, the Head. The Journeyman hit her solidly in the back with a dodgeball. Angie fell down. Ceri gasped. Angie rose to knees, then feet, and stolidly made a dash for the Left Hand point. The players inside it reached out to her. She made it just as the stream from a magical fire hose appeared at the entrance. It washed the grass sideways. Angie jumped up and down, cheering. The referee blew his conch shell. The game was over. Oculus won!

The Genie floated over to hover beside Ceri. "Some very fine playing by your children," he said pleasantly.

Ceri smiled at him proudly. "Yes, indeed," she said. "And maybe two most valuable players in one season?"

The Genie chuckled, well, genially. "We shall see," he said. "They play excellently well as a team. It must be the Locke genes."

"Maybe," Ceri said, with a rueful grin. She rubbed her ribs, though they were no longer sore. "I prefer to think that it's karma. They've seen what happens if they don't pay attention to it."

THE END

 

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