First off, Happy April Fools Day. Have no fear, I will not prank today. Mainly because my brain is so befuddled I can’t think of any that are funny and cool. In other news…

So, no writing of note last week, not even my piddly 250 words for Thursday Threads, reason being was that I was the honorary judge last week. And dang but I did like the prompt. A lot! I copied it and pasted on the page containing last week’s entry on chaos because…questions. Then it sat there. Staring at me when I’d open Scriverer, thinking I had a moment to challenge myself. Then, Monday afternoon, with the house quiet and most of my tech issues conquored–at least for now, I had a thought. And things just kind of developed. Y’all get an extra long snippet today. This scene takes place right after Sade lands in Rochester and is picked up by a local FBI agent. And before I forget, the prompt is: *“Is this a philosophical question?”*

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Marcella had started punching in numbers on the vehicles GPS system but paused, glancing over at Sade. “You want the quick way by interstate or the scenic route.”

“Let’s take the scenic route. I like to get a feel for what I’m getting in to.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes then Sade opened up the discussion. “How do you feel about Magicks?”

Paused at a stoplight, the other agent cut her eyes to Sade. “Is this a philosophical question?”

“Not really. I know how your boss feels. I’m just wondering who I’m working with, that’s all.”

Marcella snorted. “Yeah, right.” The light changed so she eased the vehicle forward with traffic. “I’m going to tell you a story not many people know.”

“Shoot. I’m all ears.”

“When I was growing up, there was this old woman.”

“Did she live in a shoe?”

Shooting Sade a glare, Marcella bit back a snide response. “No. It was a little house and she had no kids. My mom, she was sick a lot. My father wasn’t around much so it was just Mom’n me and my little brother and sister. Everyone called her Baba Jeza. She lived alone. Well, no humans lived with her. Every cat in the neighborhood hung out there. Anyway, all the kids thought she was a witch and that if she caught any of us, she’d cook us up and eat us.”

Sade snorted softly. “Shades of Hansel and Gretal.” She did not mention that Baba Jeza was another name for Baba Yaga because…yeah. That was one witch she never wanted to tangle with. “Does this story have a point?”

“Yeah. Like I said, my mom would get sick and there’d be a knock on the door. Nobody there when we opened it but we’d find a basket of food and a jar of nasty looking liquid. The note said to tell our mom to drink it. She would and would get better for awhile. The year before the Rip, some thugs got together on Devil’s Night.”

“Ah, you grew up in Detroit.”

“Yeah. I did. Do you want to hear the story or not.”

“Sure. Go on.”

“In the middle of the night, they did stuff to all the doors and windows so she couldn’t get out.” Marcella swallowed hard. “Then they set the house on fire. They all stood around laughing and chanting ‘The witch is dead.’ Nobody did anything. Not to try to save her, not to fight the fire, and nothing to those thugs. They never found her body.”

When the other woman remained silent for several blocks, Sade spoke up. “And?”

“And?”

“Yeah. And. It was implied there at the end of your story. Time to make your point, beyond the fact that an old woman people thought was a witch who helped your family and was murdered.”

“When no one was arrested, I decided then and there that I was going to be someone who could get that justice.”

“Okay. And?”

Marcella slowed the car and eased to a stop at a red light. “And every last one of those thugs is dead. Cancer. Car wreck. Drowning. Fall off a roof. Auto-ped. One guy choked on a chicken nugget. Then shit got weird. The ringleader and the DA who refused to bring charges were found sitting next to each other on a park bench. They each held a pistol that had been fired one time. They each died of one gunshot to the head. And there was a black cat sitting on the back of bench, right smack dab between them.”

Sade didn’t roll her eyes. The old woman might not have been the Baba Yaga, but she was likely kin. “So, you’re a believer?”

“In justice? Sure. The woo-woo stuff? Talk to my boss.”

“Yeah, about that. Your boss says Rochester is null space and magic free.”

Marcella made a sound very similar to Sade’s previous snort. “There’s magic here.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.” Marcella glanced over. “Can’t you?”

“No comment.” Sade did feel it. Acutely. But the magic here was unlike any she’d ever encountered before. Her partner wouldn’t be happy that she was cutting his vacation short but it was time to call in the big guns.
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Wow. I have to admit. It felt good to get the idea for this scene and then to have a peaceful bit of time to flesh it out, write it, and do a little editing on it. I think I caught all the typos. Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, progress! So, writers, grab the prompt and go. Readers, how do you feel about philosophical questions? Or rhetorical ones, for that matter. 😉