ABCs of Spellcraft #11
Uncle Fonzo has always been cagey about what his duties as Hand of the Penn family actually entail. Dixon figures they mainly involve playing poker with other middle-aged Scriveners, while Yuri suspects there are semi-legal dealings under the poker table as well.
Whatever his typical responsibilities might be, Fonzo’s got his hands full with a new grandchild on the way. So when he’s tasked by the head of circuit to find Pinyin Bay’s next mayor, he passes on the burden—er, opportunity—to his favorite nephew.
No problem! Dixon doesn’t know much about Handless politics, but he’s sure he’s acquainted with plenty of folks who’d make a fine public official (meaning, someone who won’t obstruct Scrivener interests.) But when he and Yuri get to know the potential candidates a bit better, they discover each one is stranger than the last.
Can the boys find a Scrivener-friendly mayor before time runs out? Or will the worst possible candidate in Pinyin Bay win simply by default?
The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where you’d expect.
I have loved this series from the very first entry, Quill Me Now and not to give anything away but there are a few elements that make Dixon and Yuri recall that first meeting and the situation surrounding it. Not spoiling anything of the plot aside, I just want to add that this pair of unique and intriguing gentlemen never fails to delight and Mayor May Not is no exception. Tack on a baby on the way, a mayoral(as if you couldn't tell from the title) election, a new Hand-job up for grabs(and yes that is what Dixon's parents call it and frankly I'm laughing too much to try and go into details), and Uncle Fonzo asking Dixon and Yuri to find a proper mayor candidate and what you have is a recipe for . . . well for fun.
As with the previous entry, Forging Ahead, Yuri further finds himself a true part of the Penn family. Truth is he probably has been for a very long time but it's just been the last couple of installments that he begins to feel it and I found that element quite heartwarming and gave an extra level of depth to the story and their journey together. There has never been doubt that Dixon and Yuri were in love but seeing the family chemistry deepen adds so much to the enjoyment.
As another story arc comes to a close in The ABCs of Spellcraft in the most deliciously way that only the brilliant Jordan Castillo Price could create, I am already anxiously awaiting the next round of mischief the men find themselves facing.
RATING:
1
Dixon
Who can resist a piping hot churro straight from the deep fryer? Or a golden brown, deep-fried funnel cake? Or a melty, chocolatey fried Snickers bar? Or a thick, chewy slab of fried dough covered in frosting and cinnamon and colorful candy sprinkles? Not me.
And judging by the fact that he was currently covered in powdered sugar, not Yuri.
A-dorable.
“Say, Yuri,” I ventured, as the mineral-seaweed scent of the water cut through the olfactory wall of fried food. “Isn’t it funny that of the million and one places each of us could be, we both ended up in Pinyin Bay?”
He scowled as if to say, Hardly funny when I was lured here against my will and bound by Spellcraft to serve a Handless tyrant…but he didn’t go so far as to actually speak the words. Because while that might’ve been technically true, no one would argue that things had totally turned out for the best.
It was the perfect day for a fundraiser. The Pinyin Bay boardwalk creaked beneath our feet. Though it was still patchy in some places and completely blown up in others, with any luck, repairs could begin soon. And in the meantime, no one complained about our festivities spilling out into the asphalt lot of the municipal salt pile. I worked my hand into the crook of Yuri’s elbow, enjoying the bulge of his biceps in a way that never got old, then gave his arm a squeeze and said, “Even the boardwalk will be back to normal before you know it.”
Yuri eyed the crowd. “I am not so sure. Turnout is not as good as we had hoped.”
“Really?” I took a better look around. “Come to think of it, there was an awful lot of elbow room at the urinal—”
“We live ten minutes away, could you not have waited?”
“Anyhoo, Drew’s going to be phenomenally upset if we don’t make our numbers.”
Drew Draws was the driving force behind the Rebuild the Boardwalk Extravaganza…if by driving, you meant blustering around with lots of big hand gestures in a glittery visor and lamenting that a creative’s work is never done. Drew had been selling tourist caricatures from a stall on the boardwalk for more than twenty years, though late last summer we discovered there was more to his talent than just making his subjects’ hair look big.
Of course, Yuri and I helped wherever we could. Yuri with Seer advice, and me insisting on adding the word Extravaganza to his fundraiser’s title—because who doesn’t love an extravaganza?
Through nippy fall days and long winter nights, Drew had split his time between learning the Seer craft and making the extravaganza a reality. He’d been planning to use the big event to announce his “retirement” from caricature and become a full-fledged Seer. It was perfect timing. He could make the announcement when he turned over a big novelty check to the contractors who’d won the bid to restore the boardwalk to its former glory…or at least its former garish kitschiness. That check couldn’t be paltry, though, not when the numbers would be big enough for everyone to see—even in the blurry, weirdly-framed shots they published in the Pinyin Bay Journal.
The fundraiser had been months in the making. If it flopped, we’d never hear the end of it. Not because we were personally responsible, but because the new Seer spent so much time with my uncle, and the attic floor isn’t very well insulated. And Drew can be pretty darned loud when he gets excited.
“Word of mouth is what we need,” I decided.
“Where else would words come from?” Yuri wondered. “Or do I really want to know?”
“Just another charming expression in English. It means we need to get these people hyped up so they let all their friends know how much fun they’re having.” I grabbed the nearest stranger, a sunburned guy wearing socks with sandals, and asked, “Isn’t this the coolest extravaganza you’ve ever attended?”
The great thing about questions is that they’re not just for finding answers. In this case, I was hoping to help this guy realize exactly how much fun he was having. I knew for a fact there hadn’t been an “extravaganza” in Pinyin Bay’s recorded history (I’d even looked it up!). So, even if he was just having an okay time—by sheer default, Rebuild the Boardwalk would still be the coolest.
Strangers usually agree with me—especially when I startle them—but instead of just saying whatever it might take to disengage, the pink-nosed guy took in all the festivities and said, “The games are rigged, the food is cold, and the only ride is the Ferris wheel. And I could ride that anytime.”
“There’s a bouncy castle right over there.”
“With a weight limit of a hundred pounds. I’d hardly call this an extravaganza. A fair, maybe. Or even a festivity. But extravaganza is really pushing it.”
Far be it from me to get involved in a discussion about vocabulary with someone so pedantic. I knew full well how important it was to be accurate with my word choices. How could I not, with all the vocabulary Spellcraft tutors had drilled into my young, impressionable brain?
Turning away, I scoped out a woman in big sunglasses and bright pink lip gloss. She probably had a whole bunch of friends on Friendlike! Plus, she was tiny enough that she could hop around in the bouncy castle if the mood took her. I plastered on a big, non-threatening smile, trotted up to her, and said, “Could there possibly be a more perfect day for an extravaganza?”
Hooking a finger over the arm of her sunglasses, the woman slid them down her nose, scanned the bay, and said with a shrug, “I guess it’s fine.”
There’s just no pleasing some people! But there were dozens of folks milling listlessly around…or maybe they were just relaxed. Surely there’d be a potential influencer somewhere in the crowd. It was just a matter of finding someone suitably enthused to take my message to the people—
“Dixon Penn!” boomed a familiar voice, startling me so badly I nearly ended up wearing Yuri’s funnel cake. Ladin Silver peeled out from behind a concession stand belly-first, brandishing a Technicolor snow cone in each hand. I was hardly surprised to see him there, as Ladin had a particular knack for games of chance. Rumor has it his old trailer was raided for suspicion of illegal gambling—stoat racing, to be exact—but he’s never confirmed or denied that allegation.
“Just the person I wanted to see!” Ladin boomed at me.
“Wow. Uh…really?”
“Hasn’t Drew Draws been spending all his free time over at your uncle’s place?”
It was no secret among the circuit that Uncle Fonzo was training a new Seer. In fact, it was pretty big news within our Spellcraft circuit. “That’s right.”
“Good. Then you’re sure to run into him at some point. Hold this.” He shoved a snow cone at me, and reflexively, my hand came up to grab the paper holder. The ball of ice on top was a bright green so electric it couldn’t possibly be found in nature, and it smelled like a confusing melange of coconut and oregano. Once Ladin had a free hand, he dug an envelope out from his Sansabelt slacks and thrust it toward me. I grabbed it as reflexively as I’d grabbed the snow cone. “See that Drew gets this.” He patted me on the head with a sticky palm. “There’s a good boy.”
I gave back the green snow cone and he ambled off, pausing every few steps to lick one, then the other, until eventually he meandered behind the listlessly capering Pinyin Bay Perch, and I lost sight of him.
Yuri scowled down at the envelope in my hands. “What is it?”
“Maybe it’s a bribe. Local businesses donated all kinds of interesting stuff for the big raffle—and you know how easy it is to rig those things.” I held the envelope up to the light, but unfortunately the paper was too thick for me to see though. “What do you suppose the going rate might be to fix a local raffle? There were some really cute curtain rods in one of the gift baskets—”
“We only have one window,” Yuri reminded me. “And it has shutters.”
I tucked the envelope into my messenger bag. “True. But things are always better when they’re free.”
“But it is not free if a bribe is involved.”
I was about to say we’d have to agree to disagree when we came upon the bandstand. Normally, this was where Pinyin Bay Elementary held their graduation ceremony and the civic orchestra played rousing marches on the Fourth of July. The crowd was thicker here, and everyone was abuzz.
I craned my neck to see what they were all so excited about, but the guy in front of me was particularly tall.
But not taller than my grown man friend.
“Hot dog eating contest?” Yuri said incredulously.
“Only in America!” I declared. While that probably wasn’t the case…I was sure he’d been thinking it. And I never like to disagree with him for long.
“Excuse me…pardon me,” I said as I squeezed my way to the front of the crowd, while Yuri strode in behind me with significantly more force and fewer apologies. I’d never seen a real, live competitive eating event, and I had so many questions. Were the hot dogs boiled or grilled? How much mustard was involved? And could anyone actually say the word wiener without tittering?
I was nearly to the edge of the bandstand when someone snapped, “Watch it, buddy, I’m standing here,” and I found myself elbow to elbow with my cousin.
“Sabina!” I said enthusiastically. And, “Vano…” less so. He’d been stuck to my cousin like glue ever since he put her in the family way. While I was used to having him around nowadays, he still managed to outdo me at every turn. Granted, I’d really upped my flourishing game lately in the face of such stiff competition. What stuck in my craw was the fact that Vano was anything but competitive. Currently, he was fanning Sabina with a map from the tourism kiosk, and he was going at it so earnestly that he’d worked up a sweat…which made his hair fall into an effortlessly attractive tousle.
Of course it did.
Self-consciously, I smoothed the sides of my hair and checked for any wayward strays. I supposed that the important thing was that Vano was willing to take the brunt of my cousin’s mood swings. I’ve heard that some women get a certain glow about them when they’re pregnant. Sabina’s glow was more of a glower.
“Where’ve you guys been?” my cousin said. “This sun is brutal. I need Yuri to cast a shadow.”
Without missing a beat, Yuri glanced up at the sky and positioned himself to block the sun from landing directly on her.
I said, “It seems like you’ve been pregnant forever. How much longer until the baby is due?”
Sabina shrugged. “Hard to say. Depends on whether I got knocked up on the davenport, or under the boardwalk, or in the back of the Buick.”
Vano smiled to himself. “I still say it was on the circular staircase in the solarium at Nana’s house.”
“Forget I asked,” I said weakly.
“Can the doctors not give you a due date?” Yuri wondered.
“Doctor!” Sabina scoffed. “Who has time for all the ridiculous hoops a doctor would make me jump through? Tests and sonograms and prenatal vitamins and whatnot. It’s all just a racket to pad their bills.”
Beneath the burgeoning sunburn on his nose, Yuri went pale. “I thought Americans had programs for things like this. What about insurance?”
“Insurance is a sucker’s bet,” Sabina said dismissively.
I patted Yuri on the arm. “It’s fine. There’s a midwife in our circuit who handles these sorts of things.”
Yuri narrowed his eyes at my cousin. “And when was the last time you saw this midwife?”
“I’ve been meaning to get around to it. But things have been so busy, what with the new Seer and the festival….”
“Extravaganza,” I reminded her.
Ignoring me, Sabina grabbed the brochure out of Vano’s hands and began fanning herself harder. “I’ve had all I can take of this weather. If they don’t start the contest soon, I’ll need to forfeit.”
“Hold on,” I said. “You entered?”
“Drew needed more bodies to make it look good, so he waived my entry fee. I figured, free hot dogs, why not?”
Who doesn’t love a good hot dog? Other than a vegetarian. And probably a pig…although they do say pigs are notoriously omnivorous. At any rate, even though hot dogs were as American as apple pie and sky-high health insurance, Yuri—who can be surprisingly picky—was happy to demolish half a pack at a sitting.
Sabina fanned herself harder as some helpers wheeled a groaning covered cart onto the bandstand to some hoots and cheers from the swelling crowd. Through the ancient, crackly PA system, Drew’s voice announced: “Folks, our big event will start in five minutes. Now it’s time for the contestants to gather backstage.”
I expected my cousin to waddle toward the starting gate at full speed, but surprisingly enough, she turned on her heel and started pushing through the crowd in the opposite direction. “Sabina!” I called out. “Where ya going?”
“Can’t you smell that?” she demanded. I smelled nothing but the ambient marine funk of the bay. “Hot dog water! Gross! It’s enough to make me hurl!”
The crowd in front of her thinned out in a real hurry.
“But wait,” I said, “what about your spot in the eating contest?”
“One of you will have to fill it. I’m outta here.”
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
SMASHWORDS / LIVEJOURNAL / B&N
EMAILS: jordan@psycop.com
jcp.heat@gmail.com
Series
The Complete Collection Volume 2
