Witches Protection Program by Michael Phillip Cash

other had the dark hair and olive skin of the Mediterranean. Both were dressed in black leather. They took up spots on either side of the room like silent sentinels. Morgan knew them both and disliked them equally. Wu came from China and consequently dealt with the factories in Asia. She was her aunt’s liaison with the production centers. Proud and hawkish, she refused to exchange pleasantries, no matter how anyone tried. She had a superior air that kept people at a distance, including Morgan. Vincenza had started as an exchange student from Italy and somehow never left. She had predatory eyes and a sneaky countenance. She worked as an errand girl for her aunt, and many times Morgan and Vincenza were thrown together while waiting for Bernadette. Once, her aunt had sent the two of them to the Bronx Zoo, and Vincenza had creeped her out with her fascination in the reptile house. Somehow, she’d found a way inside to lay down with a python, and Morgan had to call her aunt to order her out before the zookeeper found her. Morgan nodded to both of them.
    “There’s been a problem with the shipment,” Scarlett told Bernadette as she approached the desk.
    “Not now, Scarlett.” She looked at Morgan, her gaze warning her. “Sign the papers today.” Her voice was quiet.
    “Or what?” Morgan asked defiantly.
    “You don’t want to know.”
    * * *
    Jasmine sat at her desk, a pile of papers three inches thick in front of her.
    “Do you want to sit here?” Jasmine said, apologetically holding out a pen.
    Morgan moved to leave. Jasmine smiled sadly. “I have to have those papers signed. I’m sorry, Morgan.”
    Morgan sighed gustily. If her aunt insisted she embrace her inner witch, then the old bat was going to have to deal with the consequences. Reaching into her hobo bag, she moved the contents around. “I only use my own pen.”
    “Excuse me,” Jasmine said playfully. “Is it special?”
    “It was my mom’s.” Morgan continued searching the voluminous bag. Her short fingers found the cylindrical shape of her willow wand, and she closed her eyes with regret. Saying a silent apology to Jasmine, she whispered, “They never saw me leave. I’m getting off the hook. Place these stupid papers in a place no one will ever look.”
    Jasmine’s eyes glazed as she took the pile of papers, putting them in a cabinet in the corner of her office. Morgan said a breezy good -bye as the elevator doors closed. Jasmine blinked rapidly, looked distractedly around, and then sat down to type a memo.

CHAPTER FIVE
    S unlight bleached the pavement an ivory white. Wes sat in Alastair’s SUV. There were two half -filled coffee cups and a half dozen doughnuts between them. The morning rush swirled around them. New York City in the morning had a special, infectious energy. People jogged in shorts and tank tops; women wore skirts, their feet in comfortable sneakers, their high heels hanging from the openings of their purses. Men in business suits, swinging briefcases, rushed past the car, sometimes holding the hands of the small children they escorted to school before work.
    The two agents watched as the March winds stirred the brisk air, making people walk with a snap in their step.
    Wes felt something weighty bounce in his lap and fall to the floor of the car. He turned to Alastair. “What was that?”
    “Pick it up.”
    Squeezing his large shoulders between the dash and the floor, he combed the floor mat until his hands closed on a cold metal object. Picking it up, he held a badge pinned to a leather patch held by a long chain.
    “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Wes said.
    His thumb caressed the embossed shield, which displayed two crossed broomsticks and the name Witches Protection Program . His eyes rested on the bottom of the shield where the motto announced “Defenders of the Craft” in bold letters.
    He turned to Alastair. “Defenders of the craft?”
    Alastair replied, “Indeed.”
    Wes dropped the badge negligently into his