Chapter Two
Red Hook, Brooklyn
The cavernous building was covered corner to corner with corrugated shipping containers. They were stacked on top of one another, high enough that some grazed the ceiling. They were brand-new and painted with a logo known to most women throughout the world. Pendragon Cosmetics was a lower-end cosmetic brand found in most drugstores. Heavily advertised on both radio and television, the products promised youth and beauty at a price that made them veritable household items.
A squat woman wearing a polyester skirt and a vest-like apron covered in shamrocks walked down an alley of containers, a clipboard under her arm and a pen designed to look like a tree branch in her gnarled hand. She had unkempt, mousy hair, with a tortoiseshell barrette holding it back from her pallid cheeks. Puffy, purple-colored bags stretched the skin under her eyes. Spider veins created a road map on her flabby face, and most would call her ugly. Junie “Bags” Meadows didn’t mind. She had a magic mirror at home, so it didn’t matter. Walking confidently toward a milling group, she handed out sheaves of papers to each one of them. Some had questions that she answered patiently, while others stopped to talk office chitchat. The loudspeaker squawked, interrupting conversations.
“Junie. My office, now!”
“Dominic,” Junie muttered, exchanging glances with her colleague.
“He sounds pissed,” the other woman offered.
Junie shrugged indifferently. “He’s a pain in my ass.”
Junie walked slowly toward the metal steps leading to the boss’s office on the mezzanine. She rushed for no one, man or beast. She rested her hand on the railing and looked up the sixteen steps to the office with a sigh, wondering what the hell he wanted from her. He knew she hated climbing those steps. Looking longingly at a push broom in the corner, she dismissed using magic. Too many workers here today. Makes them crazy when I do a little something to make my life easier. Upsets the dockworkers, they didn’t understand magic—superstitious morons. She’d been told to keep her powers to herself, anyway. Pendragon was firm about that. While Dominic knew she was a witch, it didn’t mean it was public knowledge. Wearily, she climbed the steps, not even her misshapen orthopedic shoes easing her way. “This better be good, Dominic,” she muttered as she entered the office. “Whatsamatter, Dominic? The Panama shipments just came in.” She slammed the door behind her so hard that the glass windows rattled.
“Why were you going through the Pendragon Cosmetics order?” Dominic demanded. He was forty-four, with a potbelly and dyed black hair with a matching mustache under his very long, cucumber-shaped nose. His gray had come in, so it looked like both his scalp and ’stache had a thin ring of white outlining their shape.
Junie looked at him insolently one hand on her hip. “Because that’s my job.”
Dominic held up a handful of timecards, waving them around, his face mottled. A little too choleric before ten in the morning, Junie observed.
“You called in extra office staff for the export order without asking? That’s gotta be canceled.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s four hundred million units. I can’t process that order by myself.”
“Well, you better. That’s what we pay you for.” He threw the cards at her. They fluttered around the office, wafting to the floor like helicopter seeds falling from maple trees. Junie narrowed her eyes at him, her face darkening. “Send ’em home. Did you share this information with anyone?”
“I was in the process of giving it out.” She kicked a timecard that landed on her foot. “Why?”
“Go get the manifests back, and I hope for your sake that none of this information gets out.” Dominic pounded the desk.
“Why?” Junie repeated, her voice steely.
“Because they don’t want it shared with anyone. And it better not have left the building. If it did, there’s gonna be some serious consequences.”
“You threatening me?” Junie touched the reassuring surface of her pen. It hummed to life, glowing faintly and warming the palm of her hand. She slid it under the chrome clip of the clipboard.
Dominic walked around the desk, bending down to angrily pick up the timecards. He shoved them onto her clipboard, his face close to hers. His fingertips came in contact with her vibrating wand. He brushed together his hands dismissively. “Yeah,” he said, his beady eyes holding hers. “I ain’t afraid of you or one of your stupid spells, Bags, and neither is Pendragon. You can wind up your magic pen all you want. You got nuthin’ against them. You hear me? Nuthin’” His ferret nose quivered with anger as he gave her a final push toward the door. He stopped, abruptly adding, “Yeah, and by the way, they called earlier and said you better have the galley’s victuals and water stocked by Friday.”
“I’ve got a week to get that done!” Junie retorted.
“No, you don’t. They want it now, so you got forty-eight hours, you hear me?” He finished with a menacing glare.
“Forty-eight hours?” Junie sputtered, holding up her hand in defeat. “Whoever heard of such a thing? Food’s gonna spoil.”
“Not your business. Don’t make me come and check on you.”
Junie nodded, her gaze never leaving his. She walked down the steps, pausing to look up at him watching her intently like an angry vulture. Looking down at her wand, she felt it pulse weakly, knowing her brand of magic was nothing against a giant like Pendragon. Suddenly, Junie was afraid—very afraid. Shivering involuntarily, she went to send her staff home.