You might as well get a look at Cyn

You lay out all the things you need for the spell on the table. “So, you say Cyn is hot? I think I’ll take a look at her. Maybe I’ll see something that I can use to convince her that I can do magic. What’s her full name? I need to name her or describe her for the spell to work.”

“It’s Cynthia Baker. She’s got a red mohawk, if that helps,” Abbie tells you.

“It might. I never tried the spell before. I don’t know if it would find just any Cynthia Baker if I just used her name,” you admit. You light the candle, draw the symbol, ring the bell, lie on the bed with the paper over your face and start chanting. In the chant, you specify that the Cynthia Baker you want to see is your sister’s friend and has a red mohawk.

Nothing happens. You are still just lying on the bed with a piece of paper on your face, not in a trance or having a vision. “It didn’t work. I must have done something wrong.” You grab the phone and read over all the steps again. You did everything it says.

“Weird,” you mutter, frowning at the spell description. Even when you missed an important detail like having the subject’s hair in the enchantment spell, it still did something.

Abbie lays down on the bed next to you and strokes your chest. “Try it again, Daddy. Maybe it would be easier if you look for someone you know and have a good idea where they are?”

It’s worth a try. You know that your mother would be at work now, and it wouldn’t hurt to check on her. You repeat the spell, this time naming your mother. As you finish the chant, you find yourself standing in her office. You’re startled for a second, thinking that she’ll see you and know you’re casting a spell on her. Then you see she’s totally unaware of you.

Your mom is sitting at her desk, speaking into her cellphone in a hushed voice. “…never wanted to see or even talk about either of them ever again, but I have to get in touch with them. It’s important. I’m worried about Dave. Martin owes me. That fucker did nothing to help raise his children, the least he can do is help me with his son now.”

Steven? That must be your father’s name. You wonder why your mom is trying to contact him. She seemed to hate him even after all these years. It’s clearly about you. Mom probably knows more about magic and what your father can do with it than she told you, and she’s dead set against you using it. Is there a way your father could stop you, take away your powers, or undo your spells?

After a pause, listening to whoever is on the other line, your mom continues. “I’ve been calling everyone who knew them back then. Do you know anything? Anything you remember could help. Did Eloise say anything to you about where they were planning to go? Maybe she slipped and said something about new names? You worked with her, is there any way to get into the DMV records and track the licenses she made?”

She scribbles something on a notepad. “Thanks, Tess, at least it’s something to go on. You’re the best,” she says, then ends the call.

You move closer and lean over her desk to see what’s written on the notepad. It’s a date from almost 19 years ago, the name Morris Tomlin, and a phone number. You stare at them and repeat them to yourself over and over.

You concentrate on ending the spell and going back to your body, and you open your eyes in the motel room. There’s a dull ache behind your eyes.

Abbie is pressed tight against your side with her arm over your chest. “It worked that time, didn’t it? You saw Mom?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah, and she’s trying to find our dad. I think she’s going to ask him to stop me from doing magic.”