One Good Wand

by Grace McGuiness

  I felt myself grin. “My stepdad’s a recovering alcoholic, so the sober part wouldn’t be a problem. And you could bring Dave. My mom has a weird dog, too. They might hit it off.”

  Those brown eyes pinned me—Nicky’s brown eyes, not the dog’s, though he had returned with the disc and was patiently sitting at our feet. A heat I hadn’t felt in years curled through my lower belly and quickened my heartbeat. “I think they would,” he agreed.

  He held me that way, trapped in delicious warmth, until Dave whined. Then Nicky cleared his throat and said, “But I need to be close to home. This weekend, I mean. Another weekend, maybe we could grab a drink at Peppy Poppy’s and catch up?”

  I tried to moderate my automatic grin, but probably only made myself look like an idiot. “That would be nice.”

  He handed me his phone, a sleek, smart thing that made my cheap dumbphone look…well, cheap and dumb. I stared at it, a little overwhelmed by all the app buttons and lack of an interface I recognized. We had been too broke to keep up with technology for years. Now, Kyle probably had an apartment that talked to him filled with Google Glass. I wanted to play with Google Glass so badly, I yearned after every photo I could find like I was fifteen and it was Leonardo DiCaprio. Kyle probably knew Leonardo DiCaprio now, too.

  “If you add your number, I’ll text you this week some time, see when you’re free,” Nicky said, breaking my geek-trance.

  I blushed. “Right. My number. Because that’s what you do with a phone.” Now I really did look like an idiot. And sounded like one. Clearly, it had been way too long since I did this ‘meet and get to know a nice guy’ thing. I mean, technically I already knew Nicky. But the Nicky I had known was a fringe-sitter, best friend of the class clown. Neither of them had ever been absorbed into a bigger group. Oh, except for a brief month when Dave had dated Amber. Or was it Lorie? Or had it been both, in different years? I couldn’t keep their boys straight back then, let alone fifteen years later.

  I triple-checked to make sure I’d given him the right number before handing his phone back. “I should get home. My mom is probably freaking out that I’m not back yet.”

  “I didn’t mean to keep you.” He slid his phone into its roost on his upper arm. His biceps bulged for a moment, clearing my brain of thought.

  “What? Oh, uh…it wasn’t you. It’s just been one of those days. But it was nice running into you.” I added the last just in case it sounded like I included him in ‘one of those days.’

  “You mean getting hit in the head with a badly-thrown disc by me.” He gave me a smile that brought out the adorable dimples in his cheeks. My stomach gremlin sighed dreamily. At least, I hoped it was my stomach gremlin, and not actually me…out loud. “Sorry about that, again. If you have any dizziness or vision issues, make sure you see a doctor, okay?”

  Did it count if I’d already been having dizziness and vision issues? “I will,” I promised.

  Dave butted into Nicky’s knees again, almost making him fall over. “Jeez, Dave, it’s like you’re part goat. Chill, okay?”

  I gave a little laugh and said, “Go play. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Text ya later, Tessa,” he said, then ducked his head and threw the neon orange disc again.

  The walk home was a perfect time to reflect on what the old man, Harry, had said. He’d been right, after all—the day wasn’t over yet. Being knocked over wasn’t exactly being swept off my feet, but I’d take it. I might have to do my hair differently to cover up the bruise, but oh well. Mom had been pestering me to change my look the whole time I’d been home.

  “It really makes a difference,” she kept saying. “I did it after your father left, and it was like magic for my self-image.”

  Maybe she was right. Maybe I did need to change my image. Then again, Nicky hadn’t seemed to think I looked like the frumpy, down-on-her-luck, poverty-stricken divorcée I was. That was something.

  I was all grins and internal giggles when I walked into the house. Sure, my life might suck. I might have no money, no job, and no friends, but that might not be forever. All I had to do was get through the mourning period, the transition between my shitty life with Kyle and my better life ahead. Whatever that might look like…

  A single honeycomb candle burned in the kitchen. The otherwise spotless kitchen that looked like no one had been baking anything in it, maybe ever. Guilt swam through me. I must’ve taken too long. Mom no doubt decided to cut her losses and go with what cinnamon she already had. What a bad daughter I was.

  “Mom?” I called, tucking the paper bag and its broken contents into a cupboard where guests wouldn’t find it.

  Destiny barked at me from behind a baby gate in the laundry room. Otherwise, the house was silent.

  “They outside, dog?” I asked her. She woofed softly and whined, her bobbed tail wiggling along with her entire back end.

  Outside I went.

  I came back in not even two seconds later, wishing to every holy being that ever existed that I didn’t have eyes.

  My mom stumbled through the door while I was bent over the counter, inhaling the aroma of a freshly baked pie, trying not to be sick. “Oh, sweetie, I’m…I’m mortified. I can’t even—”

  Bob stepped inside, too, still without pants, but at least wearing boxers. “She’s a grown woman, Dory. She was married.”

  “Shh, Bob. It’s not the same thing.” She slid up next to me and tried to pat my back. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Nope, nope. Nope. Sorry, Mom, I just…” I couldn’t look her in the eye. I couldn’t look at Bob at all. “Is that science washing station still in the garage? The one that came with Danny’s chemistry set?”

  “If it is, it’s almost thirty years old.”

  “Excellent. Maybe the chemicals will make me go blind. I mean, the image is already in there, but…” I shuddered as the sight resurfaced, of all the arms and legs, the hands, the rocking…

  “Tereza, don’t even joke!” She took a step toward me, so I backed up against the fridge. “And, really, we are newlyweds, and this is our house…”

  “But the backyard, Mom?” I glanced at the oven clock. “It’s only half an hour before people get here!”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Bob said, grinning from ear to ear.

  I did my best to ignore him and not vomit all over my mom’s freshly cleaned counter. “And what about the kids next door? What if they’d heard you? Sounds like that travel really well, you know.”

  “We always check to make sure we’re alone. And you were gone so long, we thought maybe you’d stopped to get breakfast.”

  “Always?” My eyes went wide. “Oh, God, Mom. Is that what you’ve been doing out there all summer? I wondered why the backyard never looked any different. And the whole time I was in here, minding my own business as my life fell down around my ears? You’ve been listening to me talk about Kyle and…everything, and almost every day, you’ve been out there making like a pair of teenage rabbits?”

  “Your mom is a beautiful woman, Tess,” Bob started, but my mom cut him off with a well-timed, “Shut up, Bob.”

  My stomach gremlin burst into flame. “I’ll just leave you two to your Tantric sex and your cinnamon party. Soon as I find a job, you can have your privacy back. Sorry I’ve invaded and made it hard—” I bit my tongue, “—difficult to find time alone.”

  I practically flew down the stairs, slamming my door once in my room. Yeah, it was childish…but it felt so darn good. I fell onto the bed, forcing myself not to think about Bob throwing my mom onto it, and buried my head under a pile of pillows.

  I laid there for a long time, breathing stale air from a fetal position and trying to quell the disgust coiling in my stomach. The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of my mom’s guests.

  “Oh, please,” I muttered sarcastically into the pillows. “Come in. But oops, let me make sure there’s no one having sex in the backyard first! Everybody got their pants on?” Was that why Bob never wore pants?
I always figured he was just one of those men averse to anything that might cut off belly circulation. Like Uncle Fred, who had no problem at all unzipping after Thanksgiving dinner no matter who might be in attendance.

  And here I thought my luck had finally changed. Getting hit in the head hadn’t been great, but meeting Nicky after all these years? That felt like a big hurray from the universe. Clearly, I was stupid to think it all might change in an afternoon. Especially a day that included such a horrible morning.

  I had no idea where my life was going or how in the world I was going to get there from here, but I knew I couldn’t stay. My mom would never tell me I was imposing; as far as my mom was concerned, I could live with her forever and life would be one big joy. But she had her empty nest, and she clearly wanted to put it to good use. More than that, she deserved the chance. I was standing in the way of that, and that made me feel so much worse than seeing Bob’s naked ass waving in the wind.

  A deep, depressed sigh wooshed out of me, and I rolled over, knocking the pillows out of the way, to stare at the ceiling. Shoot for the stars should have been there, reminding me how annoying and loving my mom was. Its absence only underlined how much had changed around me while I had been busy standing still.

  I flung out an arm, groping for the box of tissues on my bedside table. Instead, I found a thorn. It left a thin line of blood up the entire length of my forearm before I realized it hurt. Then I hissed, clutched my arm to my stomach, and pulled the rose from its rumpled cover. I’d been intending to give it to my mom. Now, I thought it would better serve to remind me of the good parts of my day (and heaven help me, it was only noon!). It was the perfect height for the thin silver vase on the dresser, and it filled the room with its sweet if overwhelming perfume. I lay back down, arm snuggled close, and felt my eyelids droop.

  I was trapped. I couldn’t leave without a job, but I didn’t feel right staying. Ninety percent of the jobs I applied for went unremarked upon, and the remaining ten percent only made it through the first interview. No doubt my desperation showed, even when I tried to hide it. Maybe especially when I tried to hide it. I had my camera, but I didn’t know if I could survive pregnancy shoots and more children’s parties, or, in a few months, the inevitable onslaught of ‘perfect family’ Christmas card sessions. I wasn’t sure I had the emotional wherewithal to live through that and come out the other side able to smile ever again. My friends’ parties for their three-year-olds had been bad enough; but if that was all I ever got to see? If I had to make my living on other people’s happiness? I knew myself well enough to foresee the jaded, stone-cold cliche I would become.

  Just as I was finally sinking into the short respite of a nap, I idly noticed a square on the newspaper I’d left on the bed.

  WANTED: TEMPORARY FILE CLERK. 6-8 MOS, GOOD PAY. CALL 555-FAIRIES.

  The phone number alone was enough to interest me. I dialed it into my cell, my brain suddenly alert.

  An older woman answered. “Fairytale Endings, where dreams are made. This is Maysie. What magic can I make for you today?”

  “Yeah, hi,” I said lamely, trying to regroup after a sudden lurch from my stomach gremlin. “My name is Tessa. I just saw your newspaper ad for a file clerk. Are you still hiring?”

  “My ad?” Maysie said, sounding confused. “What paper would that be in?”

  I unfolded and smoothed the paper. Frowning at it dubiously, I said, “The Bubble Bulletin.” That was a real paper?

  “May I ask where you’re calling from, dear?”

  “Trapperstown.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “In Colorado. You’re not in another state, are you?”

  She gave an amused little laugh, almost like a wind chime. “Not exactly. We’re a good forty-five-minute drive to the east, though.”

  “That’s fine.” Mom wouldn’t mind letting me have the car, I was sure. Bob had one if they needed to go anywhere, which they rarely did. And as soon as I could afford a down payment, I could buy one of my own. “Could you tell me, what sort of business are you, exactly?”

  “We’re a small manufacturer of fairytale toys and other accoutrements.”

  “Sounds great,” I said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. “Are you still hiring?”

  Maysie gave a little hum. “You say you found that paper in Trapperstown, did you?”

  “Yes. Well, it was given to me.”

  “By whom, if I may ask?”

  This was possibly the weirdest phone interview I’d ever experienced. “Harry Roundtop.”

  A long pause. “Are you well acquainted with Mr. Roundtop?”

  “I only met him today. I ran into him in town.” Literally.

  Another pause. “Very well. Can you be here Monday morning at eleven?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What was your name again, dear?”

  “Tessa Hargitay.”

  “Very well, Tessa. I will see you at eleven o’clock on Monday. Head straight out the 86 and follow the signs. You can’t miss us.”

  “Thank you, Maysie. I look forward to meeting you.”

  “Have a magical day, Miss Hargitay.” She hung up.

  Yep. Definitely the weirdest job inquiry ever. But if I let weird get in my way, I wouldn’t have much of a life. Oh, wait. I still didn’t.

  But maybe that was all about to change. I jotted the information on the back of a rumpled old business card. The front read:

  MISTY MEMORIES, CAPTURING MAGIC IN THE EVERYDAY

  TEREZA CHANNING, PHOTOGRAPHER

  A company devoted to making magic happen? That was promising, no matter the strangeness of a single phone call.

  Chapter 5

  Monday morning didn’t arrive fast enough, instead taking its merry old time slow-dancing with Sunday. For the first time in months, I felt a ray of hope shining on my face. And then came the interminable drive out Route 86. I passed cows, barns, donkeys, a llama herd, and one sad, lonely horse, and still I kept driving. At the forty-five-minute mark, I found nothing but a giant, empty field stretching over both sides of the likewise empty road. Just me, the wide open Colorado sky, and prairie grass already yellowed in the heat. An extra fifteen minutes didn’t change the scenery one bit.

  “Please tell me I didn’t miss it,” I whined to the dancing troll doll on my mom’s dashboard. Dancing Troll Doll just smiled at me and kept on dancing.

  I flipped a U-turn and headed back. Nothing like being late for an interview because you couldn’t find a building that was supposed to be impossible miss…

  For five minutes, I hunched over the steering wheel, my eyes glued to the side of the road. Maybe I had missed a marker, or been distracted by the vast emptiness of the plains (or, more likely, zoned out due to a night of stressful sleep and a never-changing road). I probably looked like a serial killer just escaped from an insane asylum. With my luck, I should have nearly run over my prospective employer in those five minutes. Especially when, out of nowhere, my left arm seared with sudden heat and made me stop staring at the road like I was looking for my next victim.

  It wasn’t pain, exactly. More like a pinched nerve, a la a good counter corner to the funny bone. Except the electric fire ran along the inside of my arm. Right under the long scratch left by the rose thorn. Based only on sensation, it should have looked like a neon casino sign pointing directly to the throbbing finger that had been the rose’s first victim. But it didn’t. It looked like a normal household injury, barely noticeable at all.

  When I focused on the road again, my mind filled with every horrible picture of an infected wound I’d ever seen online, it wasn’t my prospective employer I ran into (thankfully). It was a sign as wide as my mom’s SUV.

  The moment I saw it, I gasped and slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed and the smell of hot brakes assailed my nose. I tried to steer around it, but the car seemed to be in a rut, the tires refusing to budge.

  Wham!

  Thankfully, the car stopped as soon as I hit the sign.
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br />   I sat in my seat, adrenaline zooming through my system like a kid hopped up on too much birthday cake, my eyes as wide as saucers. Well, she was right. I hadn’t missed it.

  Welcome to Mayfair! Home of the Fairytale Endings Factory of Dreams!

  Turn right ahead!

  A very helpful arrow decorated the fanciful sign, just in case I wasn’t certain which direction right was.

  Technically, I’d been in a car accident. Technically, I was driving my mom’s car and should probably report it. But the clock under the troll’s feet told me I had seven minutes to be on time for my interview, and I needed a job. Especially if I now had damages to pay or insurance fees to reimburse my mom for.

  I put the car in reverse, got back on the dead-empty highway, and made the appropriate turn with more than a twinge of guilt. A glance in my rear view mirror proved that the sign was little worse for the wear, in spite of the size of my mom’s SUV. It leaned a little to one side but otherwise remained intact. That was something, at least.

  Mayfair proved to be something like a smaller, sweeter version of Trapperstown. Where my hometown played up its mountain man ruggedness with log accents (log benches, log chairs, log facades), Mayfair looked more like a child’s dream. More specifically, it looked like a gingerbread village. The lampposts were swirled red and white with hooked tops like candy canes. The windows were all frosted in what looked like lead panes. Every shop boasted real, working shutters on the windows in a variety of pastels. Where Trapperstown used antlers, Mayfair used lacy gables and dormers and under-eave decorations. Where Trapperstown felt heavy and prepped for winter hibernation all year round, Mayfair felt ready for a festival. Probably one that involved lots of cookies and icing and pulled taffy.

  At the end of its main street (named Mane Street, for the cute play on words) was a sign directing me another two miles to my destination. The giant Fairytale Endings Factory loomed on the horizon, beckoning me closer. Its architectural style was less dainty but just as whimsical as the town. For starters, it was pink. Not Barbie pink or baby pink, but a red-pink that came from the faded bricks used to construct it. Its sky-touching roof was gabled in some places and rounded in others, giving it an historical feel that was part manor house and part Victorian dollhouse. Except it was huge, and several of its smokestacks puffed with pale, lazy clouds that made the sky above hazy.