Owen shoved Dean down to sit on a wooden crate inside the barn, looming over him. “What were you trying to pull? Did you really think you could get away with it?” he yelled. I couldn’t help but wince and take a step backward. Owen almost never raised his voice.
“Get away with what?” Dean asked, trying—and failing—to look innocent. I recognized the tactic from childhood. He wanted to make sure he knew what our parents thought he’d done so he wouldn’t accidentally admit to something they didn’t know about yet.
I was about to list his crimes when Daisy, our old mare, stuck her head into the barn to see what the commotion was. Dean patted his leg in what I knew was a signal for her to come to him. He’d always been her favorite, and I guessed he thought he’d found an escape route. But Daisy went straight to Owen, nuzzling his neck in a way that made me just a little jealous. Dean took advantage of the distraction and jumped off the crate, running for the door on the side of the barn closest to the house.
Owen barely jerked his head and that door slammed shut. Before Dean could run for the other exit, Owen gave a hand signal and Daisy went to stand blocking the barn entrance. She pawed at the ground with a foreleg and her ears flattened against her head when Dean moved as though to run in her direction. Dean’s eyes bugged out, and I could see it dawning on him exactly what he might be dealing with in Owen.
He went back to the crate and took a seat, as though that had been what he had planned to do all along. “So, what is it you think I’ve been doing?” he asked.
I took a deep breath, then shouted, “What have you been doing? For starters, you’ve been freaking Mom out. What was up with all that dancing on the square wearing Teddy’s old Jedi robes?” I’d finally recognized the robes and realized where they must have gone. “And then panhandling?
Really? That was so tacky. Oh yeah, and the window at the motel. What was up with that?”
“But those are all minor,” Owen put in. “Pickpocketing and burglary, however, took things a step too far. Magic used to commit crime is automatically classified as dark magic, regardless of which forces you channel to carry it out. Influencing people to your benefit, as you were doing while panhandling, is more of a gray area, but crime is definitely over the line.”
All the color drained from Dean’s face. “How—how did you know?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“I watched you dancing around the courthouse,” I said. “And to think you were going to let them lock Mom up in the loony bin for reporting what she saw, when you knew all along that what she saw was for real. That was really low.”