That Touch of Magic (18 page)

“Hey, Henry.”

He looked at me. “Yeah?”

“I’m gonna let you in on something, and I want you to listen to me, because I know what I’m talking about, okay?”

He nodded.

“When I was your age, I had a Karl, and I had a Henry. I ended up picking the Henry, and it was the smartest thing I ever did. If Clementine is smart, she’ll pick you, and if she’s not, you don’t want her. Just keep your grades up and get into a good school where there are smarter girls.”

He stared at me. “You picked the Henry? Really?”

“Yeah, I really did.” I remembered Leo at that age. So smart, so awkward, so sweet and vulnerable and goofy. I have never in my life loved anyone more, not even Nick.

Henry gave a little half smile and began stocking again, this time with a straighter posture. I didn’t know if I was doing him any favors giving him hope about Clementine—if she really liked Karl, she had some serious problems—but it felt good that I’d made him feel better.

I patted him on the shoulder and stood up to walk away, then turned around, as if it were a last-minute thought. “Hey, did Clementine seem strange or different to you at all yesterday? You know, before this whole thing happened?”

He looked up at me, hesitating while he thought. “Well … there was one thing.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It might have been my imagination.”

Bingo.
“What was it?”

“She was moving really … well, fast. No one else seemed to notice, but when she was ringing Karl up the items were coming at me so fast I could barely keep up. Clementine is usually real careful about things. Not slow, just careful. But yesterday, she was flying. Then again, Karl was really being a jerk. And then…”

“And then you got your head stuck in a watermelon.”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Thanks, Henry.” I turned to walk out for real then, and then turned back for real. “Hey, Henry?”

He looked up.

“You don’t happen to know Clementine’s home address, do you?”

*   *   *

As a woman who lives in a Winnebago, I don’t place judgment on trailer parks. People do the best they can, and some of those homes can be kind of nice. I was surprised to find Clementine living in Findley Pines, though. Based on her preppy-on-steroids fashion sense, I expected her to be the kid of college professors, living in one of those planned neighborhoods where every house looks the same and no one drives a car that’s more than four years old. I knocked on the rickety front door and a minute later, a tall red-headed woman in a diner waitress uniform with a name tag that read
BECKY
answered.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for … does Clementine Klosterman live here?” I was kind of hoping she’d say no, that Henry had somehow screwed up the address. Instead, she gave me a confused look.

“Who are you?” she asked. “One of her teachers or something? She didn’t get in trouble, did she?”

I went blank for a moment, then said, “I’m a customer at the IGA.”

In the empty space where I tried to think of a reasonable excuse why a customer at the IGA would stop by the home of one of its cashiers, Becky leaned her head back and hollered, “Clem! Someone’s at the door for you!”

Becky riffled through her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, holding it out to me. “You want?”

“No,” I said. “Thanks.”

She lit up, and then Clementine showed up behind her mother, dressed much the way she’d been dressed every time I’d seen her: a long-sleeved, buttondown shirt that had been ironed within an inch of its life and impeccably tucked into a pair of mom jeans with ironed creases in the knees. Holy crap, did this apple fall far from that tree.

“I have to get to work,” Becky said to Clementine without looking at her. “You handle whatever this is about. As long as I don’t have to deal with it, you’re not in trouble.”

And with that, Becky headed out, hopped into a rickety Dodge Dart, and backed up out of the one-car parking space in front of the trailer, driving over the corner of the anemic patch of grass that passed for their lawn.

I turned to look at Clementine, whose eyes were wide.

“You look mad,” she said.

“Smart kid.” I pushed my way into her trailer. It was small, but cozy. The walls were white, textured and thin, with join lines every four feet or so. The living room and kitchen were open, with a little island separating them, and the place was clean, if infused with cigarette stink. Clementine stood stiffly at the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back, watching me with a tense look on her face as I moved around inside.

“Um, can I get you something to drink? We have Diet Coke and…” She hesitated a moment. “We have Diet Coke.”

I leaned my butt against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms over my stomach, giving her the stink eye.

“I’d like a big tall glass of
What the hell were you thinking?
You got some of that?”

She lowered her head, her red hair hanging long around her face. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, hell.” I walked over to her, put my index finger under her chin, and raised her face until her eyes met mine. “It’s really hard to yell at you if you just fold like that.”

Clementine stared at me, eyes wide. “I’m not sure … I don’t know … what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I’m new at this. I don’t get the chance to yell at kids very often.” I stood back and looked at her. “Let’s try it again.” I took a breath, released it, and said, “Do you have any idea how dangerous magic like that is?”

She lowered her head again. “I know. I’m sorry.” Then, remembering, she raised her head and said, “I mean … I didn’t … Um.” Her brows knit. “Are you sure you don’t want a Diet Coke?”

“Will you feel better if I have one?” I asked.

She nodded.

I shrugged. “Fine, then.”

She rushed around to the fridge, got the Coke, filled a glass with ice, poured the Coke in, and handed it to me. I took it, set it on the counter, and said, “Clementine, seriously. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I … I … I…” She looked like a robot on one of those bad sci-fi shows from the sixties.
Does not compute. Does not compute.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. Am I supposed to say I’m sorry, or defend myself, or … what?”

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “You could say that you came to me, and I wouldn’t help you, so you went to someone else, and if I was so concerned about your safety, maybe I should have helped you when I had the chance.” I waved a hand at her. “Go ahead.”

She stared at me, wide-eyed. “I don’t … I’m not … I mean … what?”

“Oh, hell.” I ran my hand over my forehead. “This is exhausting.”

“I’m sorry.” She motioned toward the fridge. “Would you like some pie? Mom brought some home from work last night.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “How did you even get to Desmond so fast? He’s only been here two days.”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “No, no, he came to
me,
I swear it. He told me you sent him, and I saw him with you yesterday, so, I thought, you know, that made sense. I thought you’d changed your mind.”

My stomach turned. “The son of a bitch,” I said under my breath. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“He just … he seemed so nice, with that British accent … He reminded me of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?” I said. “Sherlock Holmes is not a nice man.”

She blinked. “He’s not?”

“No. He’d walk over your dead body in a heartbeat if it served his purposes, kid. You gotta grow some balls before you can mess with a Sherlock Holmes, or a Desmond Lamb.” I let out a frustrated sigh. He must have gone to find Clementine right after leaving me yesterday. But how could he have gone back to his place in Canada, made the stuff, and gotten back in time to…?

And then I remembered my missing Erlenmeyer flask. He must have waited for me to leave, then broken in and used
my
equipment and supplies.

Bastard.

“Never,
ever
sleep with Sherlock Holmes,” I said pointing a finger at her. “No matter how much you want to forget the other guy.”

“Um … o-okay?” she said.

I let out a breath. Back on track. “So, what was the potion for? Was it a love potion? Because you know that messes with free will, right? You know that’s dangerous right?”

“He said it would be okay,” she said.

“He
lied,
” I said. “I told you it wouldn’t be okay, and who’s scarier? Me or him?”

“Right now?” she said, and swallowed visibly. “Definitely you.”

“Okay.” I let out a breath. “So he gave you a love potion. Was it the kind you take, or the kind you dump in someone else’s drink?”

“Oh, the kind I take,” she said quickly, then hesitated. “Um … is that better?”

“Marginally,” I said. “But still bad, because you’re still messing with free will.”

“Right, right.” She nodded so emphatically that her glasses shimmied down her nose, and she had to push them back up. I sighed; I just couldn’t beat this kid up, no matter how much she needed a good beating. I leaned against the counter and shook my head.

“Here’s what I don’t get. Why Karl? You don’t seem like a dumb girl to me, and Karl is a walking box of rocks. What’s that about?”

She blinked. “Karl?”

“Yeah, Karl. I mean, I get he’s on the football team and sometimes that’s a draw for the dumb girls, but you’re not a dumb girl, Clementine.”

She smiled a bit. “Thank you.”

“You’re also not off the hook yet.”

Her smile faded. “Okay.” Then she shook her head, her face so earnest it was almost painful. “I didn’t take the potion for Karl. I was supposed to take it right before seeing”—she flushed bright red—“the guy I was taking it for, so I snuck into the alley behind the store so I could go straight to the stockroom but then Karl was in the alley smoking a cigarette and he saw me first and…” She sighed. “It didn’t work, anyway. Karl was super mean to me. Does that make it any better?”

I shook my head and stared at her, my heart softening to the point where yelling at her was going to be useless. “No, honey. It doesn’t. First of all, your intention was in violation of free will, and intention matters.”

She hung her head. “Oh. Right. Okay.”

“And second of all, it
did
work.”

Her brows knit. “But … Karl was really mean to me.”

“Yes,” I said, “because Karl’s still eight years old inside.”

She sighed. “Oh.”

We stood in silence for a little while, Clementine nibbling her lip in anxiety, me wondering how the hell I was going to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. The effects of most potions were temporary, and she hadn’t dosed Karl with anything, thank God. Aside from the magic she was displaying, most of this was going to go away. Still, I needed to know exactly what Desmond had given her if I was going to figure out what the hell he was doing, and how the hell I was going to reverse it all.

“Hey,” I said. “Do you still have the potion vial Desmond gave you?”

“Oh,” she said, “it won’t work anymore. He said it would only last twenty-four hours.”

I gave her a flat look. “What in the world makes you think I would want to use a love potion?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, right. Yes. I have it.” She went under the sink, pulled out a can of Comet, flipped off the top, and dumped the contents onto the counter. There was a big wad of cash, some old jewelry that looked like it had probably been in that can for a while, and a little purple vial.

I reached for the vial, whipped it open, and sniffed; it was empty, but the pungent scent of star anise was still strong enough to punch me in the face. Unfortunately, that was so strong that it masked the scent of anything else. I examined the inside and the underside of the cap, but I didn’t see anything special about the vial. He had done something to the vials, I knew that, because the vial was the only common factor in the potions that had caused trouble, but what exactly he’d done … that was still a mystery.

I put the cap back on and tucked the vial in my front pocket, then watched as Clementine put everything back into the can and set it under the sink with the rest of the cleaning supplies.

“Aren’t you afraid your mother is going to find all that stuff?”

“No,” Clementine said, her voice sharp as she carefully closed the cabinet door. “She doesn’t do a lot of cleaning.”

“You know, your mom is probably doing the best she can,” I said lamely, and for the first time, I saw a glint of anger in Clementine’s eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “She is.” And in that moment, I could see that she knew full well that her mother’s best wasn’t good enough, and that she deserved better. At that moment, my heart cracked open and offered Clementine Klosterman a comfy place to curl up inside. I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms over my chest, in a moot attempt to keep her out.

“Okay. First things first.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card for her. “The effect on Karl shouldn’t happen again, but if he keeps acting weird around you, you call me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Clementine said.

“Good. Now, tell me about the pink light,” I said. “Has it happened again?”

Her body stiffened, and she kept her eyes lowered as she spoke. “Um, I’m sorry, what?”

I put my finger under her chin and lifted until she had no choice but to look me in the eye. “The pink light, on your hands. It makes you super fast, right?”

She nodded. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”

“I think it’s exactly what Desmond meant to happen. I’m just not sure why, or what it is, or how long it’s going to last. It happened during the day, though, right?”

“Yes.”

“That means you have day magic. At night, it shouldn’t happen. During the day, though, you’re gonna want to steer clear of your trigger, which is usually some kind of strong emotion. Can you tell me what you were feeling when you started moving so fast?”

She blushed a bit, but to her credit, she met my eyes as she talked. “I was ringing Karl up, and he was being really mean to me, and then Henry told him to shut up and…” Her face broke out in a huge smile.