A Taste of Magic (4 page)

“Did you bang your head last night?”

Great, now he was concerned. About my head.

Well, I
was
acting a bit crazy. I tried to look normal. “You know what? Maybe I did. I can’t remember. Anyway, I have to finish my rug.”

“Uncle Nate,” Sam said, back at the door, tugging at his uncle’s pants.

“It’s okay. You know …” I broke off.

Nate nodded. “I know. You have to get back to your… rug, was it? Well, thank you for the muffins.”

“Uh-huh, I hope you like them.” I turned on my heel and tried to walk naturally back to my apartment, which wasn’t that easy on rubbery ankles. Plus, I could feel him watching me.

After I was securely inside my door, I crumpled to my knees in defeat. The pounding of my heart filled my ears. My stomach sloshed with nervous ness. I was
horrible
at flirting. It possibly would be a good plan of action to get some more information—so I’d be better at it next time.

Flirting for Dummies
, perhaps? Did they make a book like that? They had to. I couldn’t be the only woman in the universe who needed it. Other women got divorced. What did they do?

I could stop at the bookstore near A Taste of Magic on my way home on Monday. This was my new plan until the image of purchasing such a book, with such a title, in public, brought me to my senses. Which was when I remembered the Internet was a far better choice. You could buy everything from a toothpick to a new house to “Sultry Lights” online. Gotta love it.

Standing up, I looked—really looked—at my apartment. I didn’t like what I saw. A tiny dining room opened into the living room on one side, the kitchen on the other. A narrow hallway led to my bedroom and the bathroom. My life was encapsulated into less than 800 square feet. And not even an attractively furnished 800 square feet, at that.

When I’d moved out of the house Marc and I shared for so long, I couldn’t have cared less about furnishings. I just wanted it over with, and I didn’t want to drag along any physical reminders. One quick trip to Valu-Mart had done the trick. A cheap black couch set, fake wood end tables, no-frills lamps, a bed minus a headboard, a wood-composite desk, half-opened boxes, and the laundry baskets I kept my clothes in rounded out my furnishings. I hadn’t even bothered to buy a real dresser. I’d been living like this for nearly a year, and it hadn’t bothered me once in that entire time. I mean, I had food, a place to sleep, a roof over my head—what else did I need?

I sat on my bed and hugged a pillow. Why I hadn’t seen this before, I didn’t know. I hadn’t been living. Not really. More like existing: just getting from one day to the next as quickly as possible. My chest grew tight and heavy. The room swam as my eyes filled with tears. It seemed the entire year of misery bombarded me at once.

No. I didn’t want this. I needed to learn how to breathe again. To see in color again. And yes, I had to figure out how to live again. I was ready for a change.

No, more than that. I
needed
a change. Merely existing could kiss my ass.

“I want to dye my hair,” I told Maddie the following Wednesday. We were eating lunch at the deli down the street from A Taste of Magic. Maddie had Wednesdays off. And for me, Wednesdays tended to be slow at the shop, so it was the best day of the workweek for us to meet. Not that we needed to arrange a certain day to see each other. After all, Maddie’s apartment was directly above mine, so we pretty much could visit whenever we wanted. But these lunches had been habit long before my separation from Marc.

“What color?” she said over a bite of her sandwich.

“I’m not sure. What do you think?” Maddie was an expert when it came to flair and fashion. If anyone could help me, she could.

Maddie sat back in her chair and appraised me. She’d pulled her blonde hair up into what appeared to be an effortless style. Tendrils framed her face, making her smoky eyes large and luminous. And, as always, regardless of the time of day, her makeup was perfectly applied. As strange as it sounds, in all the years we’d known each other, I’d never seen her with a bare face.

“Hmm. Well, red highlights would be awesome on you. But everyone does auburn. You have beautiful hair anyway. Why mess with it?”

“I want something different.” I licked the mayonnaise from my chicken salad off my lips. “I’m ready. I want to make a few changes, though nothing drastic.”

“Really? What brought this on?”

“Marc. The wedding. The cake. I don’t know. I’m just ready. But I don’t know what to do.” As much as I trusted Maddie, what occurred in my bedroom was private. Realizing I’d barely been living the past year had startled me, changed me, and it still weighed too heavy inside to share. I felt like someone had erased me and I had to learn to draw myself all over again, only I didn’t know which pencil to use. Or where to begin. And now I was talking like my sister Alice, the artist.

Realizing I wasn’t going to offer up more information, Maddie grinned. “I’d stick close to what you have. Maybe lighten the base shade a couple of degrees and then add some blonde highlights. Not too blonde. Go for a dark honey tone.”

Before I could respond, my cell phone rang. Flipping the cover up, I saw my sister’s name on the Caller ID. “Sec,” I said to Maddie. Speak of the Devil.

Alice rarely called me during the day. Worried, I clicked the button. “Hi, Alice.”

“Oh my God! Elizabeth, I’m so glad you answered. You are not going to believe this. I still can’t believe it, and I heard it with my own ears.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, something is great. I am about to make your day. In fact, this might make your entire year.” The sound of a horn honking came through the connection.

“Are you driving?”
Yes,
I chided. One of my pet peeves was people on the phone when they should be focusing on the road. Especially when that person was my baby sister.

“No. I’m in the parking lot at the club. You need to listen to me.”

The club was the Brookhaven Sports Club, a rather pricey gym that offered racquetball and tennis courts, hot tubs, and both indoor and outdoor swimming pools as added perks for their clientele. I had no idea why, but the club seemed important to Alice. And I knew she gave up on a lot of other extras to fit the fee into her finances, especially since she didn’t even have a real job, just a series of part-time ones that kept her afloat so she could devote her time to painting. “So, tell me already.”

“I was changing into my swimsuit when I heard Ginny Lewis on the other side of the lockers talking to someone. You know Ginny, don’t you?”

“No, Alice, I don’t know Ginny. Who is Ginny?”

“She’s Tiffany’s best friend. She was her maid of honor at the wedding on Saturday.”

Yeah, now I remembered. Not that I’d ever met Ginny, but Alice had talked about her ever since Marc and Tiffany announced their engagement. Apparently, Ginny had made several derogatory comments about Marc, which, for some reason, Alice felt compelled to pass on. I’m sure she thought it made me feel better.

“You know what? If this is another one of those ‘she said this’ things, I’m not interested.” I couldn’t talk about Marc anymore.

“I promise you will want to hear this. You have to let me tell you, Elizabeth.”

I sighed. I knew better, but time was running short and I still wanted to chat with Maddie before getting back to work. Probably easier to give in, listen, and then forget about whatever the newest gossip was.

I hate gossip. It always finds a way to wrap itself around you and cause you, or someone else, pain.

Relenting, I said, “Fine. If you’re going to freak out, just tell me and get it over with.”

“Good. So, anyway, apparently Tiffany called Ginny at, like, two in the morning last night.
From her honeymoon
.”

This piqued my curiosity. Who called their best friend from their honeymoon? Aren’t there, well, more exciting things to be doing? I could think of a few.

“This part may sting. Tiffany is pregnant. She just found out before the wedding, so she’s kind of frantic.” Alice rushed the last sentence out, as if the momentum would gloss over the impact.

It failed, by the way.

Marc had refused to have children with me. His excuses about the timing not being right still rang clearly in my memory. It never mattered to him what I wanted; it was always about him. This was more than a sore spot. It was pure agony. I tried to breathe, tried to stop the pain from bubbling over. This was not the time for it.

“Are you there? Did you hear? Tiffany is pregnant.” “Stop. I don’t need this. I really don’t.”

“You stop. I told you that part may sting. But listen to the rest. Marc couldn’t get it up. Not on their wedding night, not at all so far. And they’re on their honeymoon! Tiffany thinks it’s because he’s upset about the baby, but the important part is—he
couldn’t get it up
. Isn’t that awesome? I think it’s perfect. The perfect payback for that asshole.”

Her words forced themselves through the haze of shock. As soon as they did, goose bumps sheathed my skin and my breathing hitched. I think I mumbled I had to go, but I know for sure I disconnected the call. Staring at the phone, I sat there and rehashed the conversation.

Holy crap.

The perfect payback
.

All that weird stuff that had recently been happening dashed through my head. You know, the glowing and the buzzing and the static electricity. Then, my mind centered on the birthday card from my grandmother and the message that I swear had sparkled. What had it said? Something about believing in magic … or something about it being the time for magic? I wasn’t sure. Not exactly. But then, I thought of the last thing Grandma Verda said to me in the living room at my parents’ house right before going on her date.

“Have fun, but be careful,” I murmured, repeating it.

Next, the magic moments from childhood tumbled into my memory. Grandma Verda had been in the center of every unexplained incident.

My heart rate jumped a zillion notches as the unbelievable, the entirely ridiculous yet somehow right pieces floated together. “Crap. No way.” Had I somehow caused this to happen?

“What? You’re white as a ghost. Drink some water.” Maddie offered me my glass, but I shooed it away.

“Tiffany’s pregnant,” I mumbled.

“Oh, honey. Why did Alice tell you that?”

“And Marc … he couldn’t—”

“Marc couldn’t? What’s going on?”

I cycled through the conversation again. “I have to find her. Now.” Standing up, I shoved my cell phone into my purse and snatched my jacket.

“Who? What? Where are you going? You’re too upset, sit back down.”

A new thought occurred to me:
Oh, no. The muffins
.
Nate
. What had I said? I closed my eyes, trying to think. I didn’t recall the words, but I did remember my mood, the want, the desire. Any semblance of calmness I may have had skittered away. Bam. Gone.

“I have to go, Maddie. I’ll explain later.” Not waiting for a response, I left the deli, the cold air biting my skin, and aimed toward A Taste of Magic. I needed to see my grandma’s card again—it was still on my desk. I had to ask Jon to handle the afternoon business, and then I had to search the entire Chicago area for a crazy old lady who believed in magic.

“Grandma Verda, what have you done?”

I was an emotional woman with practical beliefs. But somehow, somewhere inside, a click had fallen squarely into place. It didn’t matter if the click made sense (it didn’t), because I knew some freaky stuff was going on. Either I was the loony one or Grandma Verda had cast some sort of a spell on me.

Chapter Four

I rested my chin on my steering wheel and stared at Grandma Verda’s Shady Pines condominium. Not only was my grandmother absent, but there weren’t any shady pine trees, either. This, I guessed, was an example of marketing. Make something sound more attractive than it is and someone will buy into it.

My stomach rumbled, a not so gentle reminder that it was almost dinner time. I’d left A Taste of Magic almost four hours ago and headed straight to Grandma’s, only she wasn’t home. When I called my parents and siblings to see if they knew where she was, no dice.

Unclenching my hands, I flexed my fingers to try to work out my nerves. This was crazy. Even if my imaginings from earlier were right on, waiting around wasn’t giving me any answers. I fastened my seatbelt and headed out. Surely she’d be home later. I’d try calling. Until then, I pushed the questions away.

Keys in hand (no more window climbing for me), I unlocked the door to my building, stopped to grab the mail, and beelined it for my apartment. A bright yellow Post-it was stuck to my door. Written in a nearly illegible scrawl were directions to go to Nate’s place.

A shiver rolled down my spine. Interesting, but also a little unexpected, especially after my weird day. What did he want? And … what if it had something to do with magic-spiked muffins? Could he arrest me for that? If he could, would it be considered a crime of passion?

I laughed. This must be what losing your mind felt like. I looked at the Post-it again and another shiver hit me. Who knew paper could be so alarming? Ripping it off, I marched to Nate’s and knocked on the door. Easier to get it over with than just stand and fret.

The door opened almost immediately. Nate held a can of soda and smiled. Somehow, he was even better-looking than I’d remembered. Romance novel heroes had nothing on him. As an added bonus, he still smelled terrific.

“There you are. We were beginning to wonder,” he said, motioning for me to come in.

“We?” Hesitantly, I entered the lair of the cop, stopping on the threshold. Nate’s apartment was the same as mine, except in reverse. Only, for someone who’d moved in less than a week ago, his place appeared lived-in. Actual pictures graced his walls, and not one unpacked box anywhere.

“She should be out soon.” Nate nodded toward the hallway. I assumed he meant the bathroom. He wore another pair of sweats (red) and a T-shirt (black). No grape juice stain this time.

“We must be talking in different languages. I have no idea who ‘she’ is.” I edged over by the table, taking cover behind a chair.

He grinned, and my heart tumbled. “Your grandmother. She’s been hanging out with me until you got home.”

Grandma Verda was here? I’d been searching for her for hours, and she’d been tucked up with Nate? Little spiders crawled across my skin at the thought of what she may have said to him. After all, with Grandma Verda, you really never knew. “How did she end up here?”

“We walked in together. It’s cold in the hallway, so I invited her in.” Nate set the soda can down and stepped toward me. “Let me take your coat. Sit down. Relax. We can talk while we wait.”

I slipped my coat off, switching the mail from one hand to the other while I did. Part of me thought it was chivalrous he’d saved my elderly grandmother from standing around in a breezy hallway. Another part of me wondered why she’d come into a stranger’s home. “That was nice of you. I’m just shocked she agreed.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Why?”

“She doesn’t know you. You could be a madman.” I wasn’t really worried about that, but come on—Grandma Verda wouldn’t have known. I needed to give her the strangers talk.

“Ah, you’re a worrywart. That’s kind of cute.” He reached over, his fingers brushed across mine as he took the mail out of my grasp. Setting the stack on the table, he said, “Sit down, Elizabeth.”

“It’s not cute, it’s common sense,” I blurted, still recovering from his touch. “There are crazy people in this world. As a cop, you should know that.”

“But your grandmother and I know each other. No reason to worry.”

They knew each other? I wanted to ask him how, but I kept the question to myself. I’d ask Grandma Verda later. In private. “What’s taking her so long? You sure she’s okay?”

“I’m swell. I’ve been eavesdropping. It’s one of the few perks of being old.” Grandma Verda waltzed into the room as if she were a queen—which isn’t easy in fluorescent sneakers, but she pulled it off. “Glad to see you, Lizzie. We were just talking about you.”

“We should get going.” I wanted to get her to my place so I could question her about the birthday card. Then, what she said hit me full force. “Talking about me? What do you mean, talking about me?” I saw a twinkle dance into Nate’s eyes. The cop seemed to be enjoying my torment.

A frisson of something passed between us. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but it could have been attraction. Maybe. Or not. I was pretty clueless on that stuff.

“Nothing to concern yourself over,” Grandma said, pulling the recliner up and out and leaning back. As if she planned on staying awhile.

Not if I could help it.

“She asked me if I was a lemon, an orange, or a pomegranate. But she didn’t tell me how I should know,” Nate said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Or why it was important. Why don’t you explain it to me, Elizabeth?”

My face flushed. I stayed behind the chair. “I don’t understand Grandma’s fruit versus men comparisons, either. So I wouldn’t be much help.”

“It’s important to know before you start dating again,” Grandma said.

I needed to get her out of there. Now. “I’m sure Nate has better things to do, Grandma.” I looked to Nate for confirmation.

“Nope. You’re welcome to stay. I’m enjoying myself.”

I frowned at him. “Don’t you have unpacking to do?” He couldn’t be completely done. I mean, there had to be boxes to be dealt with—somewhere.

“Nope,” he said again. “All done.”

“You moved in less than a week ago. You can’t be done.”

“I am. I’m organized that way,” he teased.

“Organization is a mighty fine trait in a man,” Grandma piped in.

Nate nodded. “It is.”

I was being double teamed.

“Quit standing there with your mouth hanging open.” This came from Grandma Verda, who, honestly, appeared as comfortable as a cat on a sunny windowsill.

I snapped my mouth shut. I wanted to learn how to flirt. And I wanted to flirt with Nate, but not with my grandmother in the room. “I’m going home. I’d like it if you came with me, Grandma, because I need to talk to you.”

“Can I stay for dinner?” she asked.

“Sure. What do you want?” Anything to get her out of that chair.

“I don’t care. Nate, do you want to join us?”

Had she just invited him to my place for dinner? My brain scanned the contents of my freezer. I thought there were a couple of frozen burritos left. I could feed him those and my decade-old wedding cake for dessert.

Nate laughed but shook his head. “Thanks for the invite, Verda, but I work the late shift tonight. I should take a nap soon.”

Okay, so he’d let me off the hook. Good. Except I was disappointed. So yeah, I guess I’d wanted to feed him a meal. Another time, perhaps. Without Grandma and when my questions were answered. Preferably before I committed any further culinary crimes.

My mind went back to those muffins, and I relaxed slightly. After all, if they’d been magical, I’d have noticed something— wouldn’t I? Probably.

But then Nate winked at me, and I felt it. Electricity. Attraction. Interest. Oh, hell. I stepped backward and bumped against the wall.

“Maybe another time, Nate,” said Grandma Verda, pushing herself to her feet. “Be careful tonight. There are a lot of bad folks out there.”

Nate opened the door. “I’ll be careful.” He raised a brow at me. (How did he do that? I couldn’t raise an eyebrow. I knew this because I’d tried.) “I even found someone trying to crawl through an apartment window the other night.”

The brat. I grabbed my coat and mail. Scowling at him, I pulled Grandma’s sleeve. “Come on, Grandma, let’s go.”

“I’m coming. What’s your hurry?” she complained. But at least she followed.

“Thanks for taking care of my grandmother, Nate. I appreciate it,” I said. Grandma and I stepped into the hallway.

“You’re welcome, Lizzie,” he replied.

Ah, so he’d figured out one of my nicknames. Better that than any of the names my brothers used to call me.

In my apartment, I deposited my stuff before making a quick meal of soup and sandwiches for me and Grandma. Afterward, we sat at my dining room table. I tried to think of how to ask about the possibility of my wreaking havoc with Marc’s sexual prowess on his honeymoon. Nothing I thought of sounded right. I mean, while it certainly had a cool factor, it was still just a little too out there for me to comprehend.

But because I needed to understand, and because I knew deep inside that something had happened—was happening— I had to ask. “I want to talk about the birthday card you gave me.”

Her blue eyes went opaque, and her gaze hit the wall behind me. “I don’t think so. I told you I wasn’t going to say anything more about it. At least, not yet.”

“But you haven’t said anything at all.”

“I said a lot. You just weren’t listening. Think about it, Lizzie-girl, and then trust your instincts. You’ll know the truth, and when you do… we can talk then.” She twisted her wedding band, a gesture I recognized as nervous ness.

I weighed her words and decided to forge ahead. “Something has happened. And I think I do know the truth. But I need to hear it from you.”

A tremble passed through her. She shifted her gaze so it rested on me. But she stayed quiet.

“I think I did something that interfered—changed— someone. I’m not sure, though, which is why I need you to explain that card to me,” I said.

“Tell me exactly what happened.” Her voice was soft but insistent.

I crossed my arms. I knew my grandmother well enough to know I’d have to act tough to get the information I wanted. “Not until you tell me everything.”

Indecision played over her face. A current of energy passed between us. She wanted to tell me; the truth of that was in her eyes, in her expression. At that moment, I knew I wasn’t crazy.

My arms shook, just a little, as I reached across the table to grasp her hand. “Come on, Grandma. Spill the beans. What did you do?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions. It’s not what I did— it’s what
you
can do and
why
you can do it.” She pulled her hand out of mine. “I don’t know. When I told your mother, she didn’t take it very well. This time, I decided to take it slow. I really want it to work for you.”

“My mother?” What did she have to do with this?

“Do you promise to consider everything I say? And to not make any rash decisions?”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“Say it.” Her chin was set.

I sighed. Semantics, you know? “Yes, Grandma. I promise I will think it through and not make any rash decisions.”

She wagged a finger at me. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.” She waited a beat, probably to be sure her words had meaning to me, and then continued. “How much do you know about your great-great-great-grandmother? Her name was Miranda Ayres.”

“I know nothing. You talked about her once, a long time ago, when I was little, but I don’t remember anything but her name. Why?”

“It started with her. It’s because of her. So you need to understand who she was and what kind of woman she was before you can understand the answers to your questions.”

“Fair enough.”

“Miranda’s family came from Romania, but she was born in this country. She was a gypsy. And I mean a
real
gypsy, Elizabeth. Complete with magic, curses, and trickery.”

“Magic isn’t real,” I blurted.

“You’re wrong. But you already know that, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She had a point, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. But come on—magic?

“So, my great-great-great-grandmother was a gypsy. Go on.”

“Miranda and her mother traveled with a large group of other gypsies. Some were blood family, others weren’t. It was a tough life back then. When Miranda was a teenager, her mother passed away. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but it left Miranda in a precarious situation. A lot of the other gypsies were envious of her—of her power.”

“How old was she when her mother died?”

“Sixteen or seventeen, I think. But she was young. Too young.”

“Did she have any brothers or sisters?” My heart went out to the young girl who’d lived so many years before. I hoped she’d had someone on her side. Someone who loved her.

“None. She was surrounded by people who should have been her family. Who should have protected her and watched out for her. Instead, she was alone.”

“I know that feeling,” I mumbled.

Grandma Verda frowned. “You have family and friends who want the best for you. You’ve felt alone, but you really aren’t. There’s a difference.”