Bum Magic: A Tale of Sludge and Slime

Mickey and I were starting to become some bad motherfuckers, and that scared me.

My mark hadn’t even progressed halfway across my body yet, but I felt like I could take on every cop in Little Rock at once if I wanted to. My fitness was beyond human now; I was pretty confident that I was stronger than any man alive, and faster than the vast majority of them. My stamina was ridiculous too. My heart beat slowly and deliberately, and it would take a lot to tire me out. I was a goddamn machine.

And that was without taking my fucking magical powers into consideration.

I had always been an insignificant person, just trying to live my life out from under the boot of civilized society. I didn’t want to be stomped on by corporate jobs, or bills, or any of that awful shit most people think are worth dealing with to have a steady stream of food, shelter, and internet access. But after progressing again, I felt like I was the boot — or I was a boot, at least. Nothing was stopping me from doing whatever the fuck I wanted, whenever the fuck I wanted, except for the entire Foot Locker’s-worth of boots that were coming to stomp me out, and the other boot that stood next to me.

Holy shit, this analogy has run its course.

My point was that I was feeling good as we cruised down the country roads in Anita’s minivan, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. I sat in the back next to Mickey this time, and Caleb sat in the passenger seat while Anita drove. For the first time since I’ve known him, Caleb spoke.

“Are we going to Mother Dora’s? I don’t know if it’s safe to go back into Little Rock,” he said to Anita. His voice was much deeper than I expected it to be and didn’t match his rounded baby face.

“We won’t be there long, and she might know something,” Anita said. “It’s worth a shot, at least. You have any better ideas?”

Caleb went back to being silent. He had dealt with Anita long enough to know when she was about to get mad. He was smarter than me though — I used to keep pressing until she domed me with a shoe, but he just stopped talking.

“Know something about what?” I said. “And who is Mother Dora?”

“She’s a psychic,” Caleb said. He turned around to look at me, but I couldn’t see his eyes through his greasy hair. “Mom’s been going to her for years now.”

“You really believe in that shit?” I said.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Anita said. “You can shoot fuckin’ grease out of your hands and you don’t think someone might be able to see the future?”

I didn’t have a response for that.

“C’mon Gus, she might be onto something here,” Mickey chimed in. “Even if this Mother Dora lady’s a fraud, she’s probably into all of that occult shit, and might be able to tell us something about that symbol on the Iron Granny’s back.”

“I think your friend’s weird ass tattoo is making him smarter. Wish it would do the same for you,” Anita said. Mickey snorted.

“You don’t have to blow smoke up his ass just because he agreed with you, you know,” I said. “But fine, let’s go see Her Holiness the Mother Dora. Let’s stop by a creek or something first though. I don’t think she’ll want blood all over her fuckin’ crystal ball or whatever.”

We pulled up to a tiny brick building with a banner hanging over the entrance that said MOTHER DORA’S PSYCHIC READINGS AND HOOKAH LOUNGE and had two logos underneath — one of an open hand with an eye on the palm and another of a hookah pipe. It was close to midnight when we arrived, but the light came from the windows.

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” I said to Anita as the four of us stood in front of the door. Rhythmic music bumped faintly from inside the building.

“Too late to be asking me that now, isn’t it?” Anita said.

She opened the door, and the smell of smoke smacked me in the face. It was overpowering, but sort of pleasant at the same time. There were fruity scents attached to the white smoke that changed depending on which table expelled a fat cloud the most recently. People sat in circles all around the building, puffing smoke and drinking tea under dim string lighting.

Mickey approached a table of young men and asked if he could have a puff of their pipe. They appeared to be drunk, and readily accepted. Mickey took the hose and inhaled deeply. With his marked lungs, he inhaled for a solid twenty seconds and exhaled for another thirty, blowing out so much smoke that the entire room turned a shade of white. The young men all looked at each other for a second and then cheered.

Caleb laughed. I had to admit, Mickey was a fuckin’ idiot, but that was pretty entertaining.

A red curtain separated the lounge from another room. A tan old woman in a purple and white robe came from behind the curtain and gasped when she saw us.

“Annie! I thought you were going to be another fifteen minutes! Very sorry, I will clear the table for you immediately!” She disappeared back behind the curtain.

“Wait, she knew we were coming?” I said.

“Nah, I texted her on the way here,” Anita said.

“You really shouldn’t text and drive,” Mickey said right before burping up a puff of smoke.

After a few seconds, she poked her head from behind the curtain and stuck out a hand to gesture for us to come in. We entered the psychic reading room, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying what a heaping spoonful of bullshit this all was. It was the most stereotypical fortune telling room I could imagine. In the middle of the room, there was a C-shaped table with a crystal ball on top, and a deck of tarot cards off to the left side. Behind the table there was a shelf that reached all the way up to the ceiling, and it was chock full of weird shit — dessicated squirrels, a jar with a hand in it, various tiny skulls that I could only assume used to belong to stray cats, and an assortment of leather bound books with odd symbols etched into their spines. Mother Dora grabbed one of the books — a black one with silver symbols that looked like they were generally used for human sacrifice — and sat down at the table. There were only two chairs on the other side for guests.

”You two — sit,” she said, and pointed to Mickey and I.

“I have consulted the spirits about you two, and they have told me much. I can summarize what the spirits have told me in only two words:”

She paused for dramatic effect.

“You’re fucked.”