That Touch of Magic (7 page)

“It’s like a game to me, Widow!” I hollered to be heard through the window. “Keep fighting. I enjoy it!”

She threw herself back into the passenger seat and glared at me.

“Maybe I should talk to her,” Peach said.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea.”

The Widow had managed to unlock the passenger-side door and I felt it push open slightly behind me. I held up one finger for Peach to wait, then turned and wrenched the door open, sticking my index finger into my mother’s expertly preserved face.

“Lady, the only thing keeping me from killing you and burying your body where no one will ever find you is Nick, but if you scratch my car, even my love for him won’t save you.” She recoiled in horror and I slammed the door, getting the skirt of her dress caught in it this time. I leaned against the door and clicked the fob again, ignoring the rocking of the car as she tried to yank her dress free.

“She’s a hellbitch, Peach,” I said, “and she’s never going to change.”

Peach’s lower lip trembled. “Maybe if we just talked, you know … got to know each other a little better…”

“There’s no good to come from knowing Lillith Easter better. Trust me.”

Peach sighed. “I just … I don’t want my wedding to be ruined because my mother-in-law hates me.” Her eyes filled with tears. I leaned forward to put my arms around her, being careful to keep my butt pressed against the door in case the Widow attempted another escape. She had seemed to go quiet, but I knew better than to ever turn my back on her for long.

“Don’t worry about the wedding,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

Peach pulled back a bit, eyeing me suspiciously. “You’re not going to do anything … magic with her, are you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just know that I got it covered, and relax. Consider it a wedding gift.”

Peach sighed, leaning over to look at my mother in the car, who was yanking fruitlessly on the skirt of her dress. Peach straightened and said, her voice quiet, “She’s agreed to take a potion?”

I took a moment too long trying to formulate a noncommittal answer to that, and Peach gasped.

“You can’t give it to her against her free will! Aren’t there consequences for that?”

I shrugged. “There won’t be consequences. Pinkie swear. Your only job is to have a wonderful wedding, and to make my brother happy.” I hugged her, patting her on the back as I said, “How you make him happy is entirely up to you, just promise you’ll never give me the details.”

Peach watched me with a worried expression, then sighed and pulled on a wan smile. “Okay.”

She stepped back from the car, and I pushed away from the passenger-side door. Within a heartbeat, there was the click of the lock as the Widow made another attempt, and I hit the key fob fast, enjoying the sound of her frustrated scream through the glass.

I put my arm around Peach, turned us both sideways where the Widow could see us clearly, and said loudly, “If it doesn’t work out with Nick, give me a call.”

And I planted a smack right on her lips. The Widow went still in the car, and I could hear her gasp in horror.

Peach laughed and hit me on the arm. “Geez, Stacy! She already hates me!”

“I just need to stun her enough to keep her in the car until I can get in.” I waved Peach away. “Go on. Have fun. Love you.”

Peach giggled and said, “Love you, too.”

I watched as Peach went back inside CCB’s, waiting to take my butt off the passenger-side door until the bells had stopped jangling again. I was about to walk around to the driver’s side when I felt eyes on me. I glanced around and saw Leo watching through the plate-glass window. Our eyes met, and locked. This time, there was no pain, just that wild rush as we smiled at each other and all the years of separation, the hurt, the anger … it all just seemed to melt away. We were on the same side, the way we had always been, and for that moment, I felt that connection between us, as strong as it had ever been. It felt good.

Too good. Dangerous good.

I gave a short wave, and he waved back, hesitated a moment, then disappeared back to the party. My heart rose, flipped, and dove down into my stomach, where it whirled playfully around a tightening knot of panic.

Tomorrow’s problem,
I thought, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. The Widow gaped at me in horror. I started the car, putting one arm around her seat as I reversed out of my parking spot.

“You are going to hell,” she spat. “You are absolutely, beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, going to hell.”

“It was never gonna end any other way,” I said, and started what I knew would be a very long drive home.

*   *   *

I banged on my mother’s door at seven the next morning. The wedding wasn’t until two thirty, but I didn’t want to take the chance of her making contact with either Peach or Nick before I’d had a chance to work my magic on her. When she didn’t answer, I walked in and shouted, “Hey! Widow! Coffee time!”

She appeared at the top of the steps dressed, of course, in black. Considering that she had no other color in her wardrobe, it wasn’t that much of an insult. I had more than once suspected that she’d faked my father’s death partially for the excuse to always wear her favorite absence of color.

I held up the Starbucks containers. “I brought coffee!”

Her face brightened, her lips already pulled into a pseudo-smile by the tightness of the blond bun on top of her head. I led the way to her dining room table and set the drink carrier on the table.

“Skinny soy vanilla latte, bitter and fake, just the way you like it.” I grinned as I set her cup down in front of her.

“Well, isn’t this … nice,” she said, a heavy note of suspicion in her voice. “What do you want?”

I sat down and took a sip of my full-fat mocha. “I want to talk to you about last night.”

Her face shifted into a smile; it wasn’t real, she didn’t own a real one, but it was what she had, and I appreciated the effort. “Apology accepted.”

“Let me know when one is offered,” I said. “You acted like a wild animal, and ruined it for everyone.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Oh, please! It was fine, and Peach was so…” Her rictus tightened. “… lovely.”

I had to smile. No matter how many times the woman did the gaslighting thing, it always amazed me. “You don’t recall me having to haul you bodily out to my car?”

“I recall you being inappropriately pushy, yes. But as I said, apology accepted. Bygones, et cetera.” And with a magnanimous wave of her hand, she absolved me.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, and left it at that. It was still early, but it was going to be a busy day, and I was pressed for time. I reached into my purse and took out two vials with dropper caps in them. One was purple, and the other was a reused clear white one. Technically, you’re not supposed to reuse vials, but since it was the only clear one I had handy and there was only harmless green tea inside each of the vials, I wasn’t too concerned.

“You know what I do, right?”

She waved a hand at me. “Of course. You’re a librarian.”

“I
was
a librarian, until they closed it down and I got laid off. Thanks for paying attention.”

She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I remember that, of course.”

“Of course. Anyway, I sell magic potions now. You know this. I know you know this. Greta at the salon is one of my biggest customers.”

The Widow’s right eye twitched, and I could see the darkness shade her eyes. My mother had about five minutes’ worth of fake congeniality in her on any given day, and I’d used them up. Which was okay.

I had a plan.

I nudged the purple vial toward her, and she flinched away, and spoke in the kind of low, dangerous tones I remember so well from my childhood. “I don’t know what kind of Satan-worshipping nonsense you’ve gotten yourself involved in, Stacy, but I will have none of it.”

“Really? Oh. Okay.” I picked up the purple vial and held it in my hand. “That’s too bad. It’s a beauty potion.”

“I don’t really care what…” She trailed off, right at the point when her mind processed the key word. “Beauty potions aren’t real.” There was just enough wistfulness in her voice to let me know I had her firmly on the line.

“Oh, sure they are. You know how there’s a way you see yourself, and then there’s how you really look when you pass by the mirror and you see yourself,
really
see yourself? It’s kind of a disappointment, you know?”

She slid her hand along her tight-bunned hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I kept my eyes on her face as I talked. “Oh, you know. You remember yourself in your twenties, with bright, clear skin, and then you see yourself in a mirror and there are those wrinkles … the papery texture … lips kind of no color at all.”

I took a moment examining her features, then made eye contact and shrugged. “Well, if you don’t know what I mean…”

Her posture straightened and she tapped perfectly manicured nails on the table. “I don’t, but I’m sure some other women do.”

“Oh. Sure.
Other
women, we know how hard it is for
them.
” I laughed.

She didn’t laugh, just lasered her eyes in on the vial in my hand.

“So, what does it … do?” she asked, making a vague motion.

“Oh? This? Nothing, it just creates a … I don’t know what they call it. A glamour, I guess, that makes everyone see you the way you see yourself. Younger, prettier, thinner…” I shot an appraising look at my mother. “Well, not thinner necessarily. You might put on a few pounds, you know, so people can still see you when you turn sideways.”

She rolled her eyes and gave me a disapproving smirk, but then her focus landed back where I wanted it: on the purple vial.

“It all depends on how your beauty manifests for you. I figured with all the pictures that were going to be taken today, you might want it. But silly me, I keep forgetting about how much you love Jesus and hate Satan.”

I dropped the purple vial back into my purse, pretending not to notice her talons making an instinctive grab for it before she pulled herself back.

“That’s all right,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just give it to Mrs. Peach. The mother of the bride should be the most beautiful at a wedding right? I mean, besides the actual bride herself, but it’s not like anyone can give Peach a run for her money in the beauty race anyway, right? Even you in your heyday had nothing on Peach. I mean that girl is…” I sighed and stared off a bit into the middle distance, putting a dreamy expression on my face. “… so beautiful.”

“Oh, Stacy.” The Widow frowned. “I know you do that just to upset me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

I dropped the dreamy expression and looked at her, then pointed a finger at the space between her brows. “Wow. You remember when I was a kid, and you said if I made a face, it would stay that way?”

“Yes,” she said. A beat passed, then she gasped and flew her fingers to her forehead. She kept her composure for a minute, then got up and went to the kitchen cabinet door she’d installed a mirror inside of, taking inspiration from the lockers of teenage girls. She checked herself out, smoothing the space between her brows, then cursed under her breath and sat down again.

“I suppose…,” she said, maintaining an expression of feigned disinterest, “that I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t look into what you’re doing, make absolute sure that it’s not devil’s work.”

“Yeah,” I said, and reached into my purse. “Failing to do that is what would make you a bad mother.”

She was just reaching out for the vial when I snatched it back.

“There’s a catch,” I said.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of course there is. I should have known.”

“You will behave today,” I said. “And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. Don’t look for loopholes. You will be actually nice to Peach. You will speak only when spoken to, and then with a smile and as few words as possible. Are we clear?”

She rolled her eyes. “You talk as if I’m such a monster. If I’m such a bad mother, how did Nick turn out so well?”

“Because he’s Nick, and he was born a better person than either of us will ever live to be.” I leaned forward. “Are we clear?”

She screwed up her lips to the side, thinking, then held her hand out. I set the vial out of her reach, opened her coffee, and dumped the ounce of green tea in. She grabbed the cup and swirled it, then took a sip and ran to the mirror again to examine herself.

“Why … wow! I think … I think it’s working!”

“Of course it is. I’m very good at what I do.” I smiled and held up the clear vial. “Don’t you want to know what this is for?”

She glanced back at me for a moment, saw the clear vial, and then looked back at herself in the mirror. “Should I care?”

“Yes, you should. This is the antidote.”

She pressed her fingers against her face and giggled. “My skin actually feels softer!”

Of course it does,
I thought.
Your delusion is more powerful than anything I could have made.

“You’re gonna want to listen to this, Widow. If I hear one word from anyone about you being a bitch to
anyone,
not just Peach … if I see one expression on your face that isn’t kindness and delight, all I have to do is get a drop of this on your skin, a single drop, and your face will break out in wrinkles they can see from space.”

Magically, of course, that was impossible, hence the green tea. But the Widow didn’t know that.

She gasped and turned to me, one bony hand going protectively to her face. “What kind of person would even
think
of doing such a thing?”

“Hey, you raised me, lady.” I leaned my elbows on the table and played with the clear vial, enjoying the way my mother tensed up every time it moved. “It only works in conjunction with what you’ve already taken. So if you splash it back on me or anyone else, it won’t do anything.”

I smiled, appreciating my own genius. No actual magic, hence no violation of free will and no consequences. Sometimes I really loved me.

Her eyes widened. “I knew it! I knew you couldn’t do anything just to be nice!”

“Of course I wasn’t doing it just to be nice.” I tucked the clear vial into my purse, stood up, and walked over to her. “Behave, or they’ll be talking about you in hushed tones at the salon for years.”