Tripping Magic

2.4

A vague geographic locale narrowed the search, but trapezing through a neighborhood with a six mile radius wasn’t the best way to remain covert.

I knew a better solution.

A local beekeeper owed me one after I found an artifact stolen from her possession. The wheat scythe had been in her family for generations, its chine — the curved blade at its base — still as sharp as the day it had been made. A poppy flower motif curled its way around the long hickory snathe. The scythe terrified me. Charged by Demeter herself, it held an inordinate amount of power — I couldn’t give it back quick enough.

Melissa Odell’s hives produced the finest honey in the state. I attributed it to genetics, both the bees’ and hers — the apiary had been passed down, mother to daughter, nearly as long as that scythe.

I drove out to the patch of farmland she owned, the Bronco’s tires leaving a dust trail as I turned onto the rural route that led me to her place. Through the gaps in the trees, I saw the multicolored bee boxes that housed Melissa’s hives. They overlooked fields of wildflowers and clover. Some stands were empty, the hives moved off property to help pollinate other crops.

A giant oak shaded the yellow farmhouse, a tire swing twirling in the soft breeze from one of its lower branches. I parked in the gravel drive and walked across the lawn towards the house. The white porch steps creaked as I climbed them, sand mixed in the paint creating a tread beneath my boots. All it needed was an old coon hound snoozing on a porch swing, and the scene would be more idyllic than I could stand.

When Melissa answered my knock at her door, she drew me into a hug. I barely had the chance to reciprocate before she pushed back to give a moment of study then crush me again. I laughed.

“Alex! How are you?”

“Can’t complain. How are things with you?”

“Good!” She smiled wide once she let me go, licking her lips with excitement. “I can’t keep up with the hives this year.”

“Busy little bees?” I joked.

Melissa smirked and rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

She effervesced. There wasn’t a better way to put it. Even when she thought the scythe was gone for good, Melissa had been happy and encouraging. I wondered if that much positive thinking could wear a person out.

“What can I do for you?” Melissa led me back towards her kitchen. The waft of fresh baked goods made my mouth start to water.

“I need a virgin.”

She snorted a laugh. “You’ve come to the wrong house — I haven’t been one of those in a long time. Certainly not since I married Jim.”

She offered me a cookie from the rack next to the stove. Still warm from the oven, its chocolate chips melted on my tongue. My hand inched forward to steal another.

I told Melissa my plan around mouthfuls of cookie. She scratched her head, loosing a few strands of dark hair from the bun at the nape of her neck.

“You promise no harm will come to her?”

“If she wants to help, its entirely up to her. She’ll get what she needs out of it and I’ll bring her back.”

“Okay. I’ve got one ready to make her flight. She should suffice.”

I left Melissa’s with a caged virgin queen bee, a bottle of honey, and a handful of cookies. The cookies disappeared on the drive, leaving behind smears of chocolate at the corners of my mouth.