The next day, he knocked at her door in the middle of the morning. Marfa had not expected to see him again so soon. She had been scrubbing the floors, pausing now and then to flick soapy water at Katzy, who perched, fastidious, on her windowsill.
When she answered the door, she saw that something had changed.
“Hi, babushka,” he began as usual, but his shoulders were hunched, and his eyes had regained their old wariness. Silently, she opened the door wider, inviting him in.
“I don’t want to mess up your floor,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. Come in, you.”
For a moment, she thought Michael would refuse, but then he shrugged and stepped across the threshold. Katzy sat in her place on the windowsill, glaring at him, but he ignored her. Marfa went to the kitchen, ladled soup into bowls.
“You’re too thin, like you got a tapeworm. Come and have some borscht.” She placed the bowls on the table and gestured for him to sit.
“It looks like blood!” he said, fascinated, and reached out a finger to touch the viscous red liquid.
“No, it’s beets.” She eyed him. “So, tell me what’s the matter.”
His eyes shifted away and he picked up the spoon.
“I met this guy, last night. At a bar. I had a gig with this band and we went out drinking, after, and this guy came up and started talking to me. He said he’d been watching me and he could see I had a talent for magic.”
Marfa nodded. It was true.
“So, anyway, he said he would teach me some things, if I wanted him to.”
“Some things,” Marfa repeated. “And what did you think of him, this ‘guy’?”
“I don’t know,” Michael answered. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were cold. A subdued thump came from the domovoi in the bathroom.
“He scared you,” Marfa observed.
“Yeah, a little. He seemed really powerful. In a different way from you.”
“What’s his name?”
“X,” he replied.
Marfa snorted. “X? What kind of govn’uk name is X?”
“It’s short for Alexander,” he said, and put down his spoon, the soup untasted. “He’s a warlock. He said he’ll teach me magic.” His gaze flicked to the skeins of herbs hanging from the ceiling. “Real magic.”
“Real magic,” she echoed. “And what is it that I practice, eh?”
“X says it’s old woman magic, not very powerful.”
“Mmm-hmmm. And what is it that he’s going to teach you?”
“He says magic should be used to change the world.”
“Give me an example.” She crossed her arms.
“All right,” Michael answered angrily. “I had a … friend, in L.A. He got sick, and then he died. He was only twenty-three.”
“And this X says he can cure this sickness?”
Michael nodded.
Abruptly, Marfa stood. “Stay away from him.”
Michael looked up at her, startled. “What?”
“You heard me, boy.”
“Then you’ll teach me?” Hope bloomed in his eyes, but it quickly faded when he saw Marfa’s uncharacteristically stern face. “You won’t.” He frowned. “I just want to do something about all of the—” he gestured with his hands. “The wrong things that happen.” He stood up, slender musician’s hands braced against the table. “X doesn’t want me to talk to you anymore.”
Marfa stepped over to him and looked up into his dark, unhappy eyes. “Magic can’t be used to change the world, Michael; you should have learned that much from me.” She reached out and grasped his arms. “If this govn’uk X tells you otherwise, he’s lying.”
His troubled eyes grew angry, and he pulled away from her touch. “Yeah, but at least he’ll teach me. You won’t even do that.”
“I have my reasons,” Marfa said.
“I know. Witches teach girls, warlocks teach boys. What if I want to learn witch magic? Why can’t you just teach me?”
She shook her head. The mistake was made, and past fixing. Especially now that he’d taken up with this X fellow.
Michael’s anger turned to resignation. “It doesn’t seem like a very good reason to me. I’d better get going.”
“You’re going to this X?” Marfa asked.
He nodded.
“I warn you, Michael Damson, this is not a good man. You should stay away from him.”
Michael didn’t answer. He took a step toward the door. Marfa shifted to let him pass.
He stood with his hand on the doorknob, shifting uncomfortably. “Thanks for all the tea and cookies, though.”
“Huh,” Marfa said. With gimlet eyes, she watched him open the door. “Bring this friend of yours to visit some time,” she said. “I’ll make him some tea and cookies, too.”
Michael nodded, and fled.
“Tea and cookies,” Marfa muttered, dumping borscht into the sink. “Old woman magic. Huh.”
* * * *
Sooner than she expected, Michael brought his new friend to meet her.
She and Katzy had been listening to the radio, hearing the weather forecasters talking about the first big storm of the season, how it might be the storm of the century, the storm of a lifetime, and how it was heading straight toward Miami Beach. Twenty-four hours, and it would be upon them with all its transformative power. This wasn’t news to Marfa, who could feel the elemental forces building in the air, swirling around the city like a great, invisible river, but she listened to the news reports anyway. Suddenly, Katzy leapt from her lap and stalked to the door, her fur raised. A moment later came the knock.
Marfa answered the door, Katzy twining nervously around her ankles. The two men filled the doorway like shadows; they both wore black overcoats and heavy, studded boots. Without a word, Marfa stood aside for them to enter. Michael stepped inside, then hesitated, his nervous glance flicking between Marfa and X. His friend stood as if rooted in the hallway outside.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” X asked, his smile like a shark’s. He was as tall as Michael, but heavier, older, with a round moon face, round spectacles, thinning blond hair, blank eyes. Instantly, Marfa was on her guard; something about him was—not right. Maybe asking Michael to bring him hadn’t been such a good idea.
“Come on in, X,” Michael said. Freed by the invitation, the big man stepped across the threshold and into her apartment, smiling widely. As his studded boot touched the rug, the domovoi in the bathroom banged twice, shivering the walls.
“Mike told me about your plumbing problem, Mrs. Kopelnikova,” X said, gesturing toward the bathroom door, his expressionless eyes taking in the room in one sweeping glance. Marfa looked at Michael, but he seemed to be mesmerized by a hole in his sleeve and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“He also told me you practice witchcraft,” X went on. “It must keep you busy.”
Marfa ignored him and went to the table. She lifted the teapot. “Tea.” She pointed to a plate of cookies. “Cookies.” He wouldn’t take one, she knew, for to accept her hospitality would be to declare truce between them.
Without being asked, X took a seat at the table. Michael hovered in the background.
Marfa sat in her rocking chair next to the window and folded her hands, ready to listen.
X began to speak, his oily voice mesmerizing. “Now, Mrs. Kopelnikova, as I’ve explained to Mike, here, your magic is what they call ‘traditional.’” Marfa heard the sneer in his voice as he pronounced the word. “You do a lot of stuff with herbs and spells, right?”
Marfa inclined her head.
X snorted. “Such a waste. You old witches think channeling the element is so great. But magic is there to be manipulated by those with the strength and the power. We practice the magic of blood and sinew; magic as we deploy it is unopposable. Our warlocks are the chosen few, and we will use our talents to change the city. Maybe someday we’ll change the world!” He paused. “Go ahead and shake your head, witch, but wait’ll you hear this. We’ve spent the last few months building a system of conduction rods around the city. When this storm hits, we’ll harness the element and force it to do our bidding. We’ll make the city into a paradise! No more refugees, no more damaged people, no more of those pathetic boat people from Haiti or Cuba. Only the strong and the whole will live here. It will be a brave new world with men such as us in it. Don’t you think, Mrs. K.?”
Marfa shuddered and shook herself.
“What’s the matter, witch?” X grinned. “We just want to make the world a better place; what’s so bad about that?”
Katzy leaped from Marfa’s lap and arched her back, hissing at the men. “It is time for you to leave,” Marfa said, standing and pointing toward the door.
Grinning, X rose from his seat and prepared to go. “Come on, Mike, we’ve got work to do.” He strode from the room, his overcoat fluttering behind him like black wings.