Magic Spark

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  March caught my eye in the same kind of look that had passed between she and Brad earlier. The finicky old house probably wasn’t the best place for our college-aged sis, but better she lived there than up and disappear. Again.

  “Okay. Great.” I could hear the forced cheer in March’s words. Apparently Bradley could, too, because she rolled her heavily lined eyes.

  “Seriously you two. I am an adult. I am perfectly fine here by myself,” she insisted.

  Is that why you disappear and then show back up sickly and refusing to talk about it? Because you are capable by yourself, I thought. I opened my mouth to say as much, but decided against it.

  Me and March both let it drop.

  I walked to where the book was still perched open on the saw horse table and began flipping through the pages. It was now or never.

  There were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of pages containing thousands of spells in dozens of different handwritings. It was obvious that it would take me longer than I had right then to find what I needed. Still, I hunched forward, peering closer. I licked my index finger and flipped another page. The paper was vellum against my skin, so delicate that I could almost see through some of the earlier entries.

  “Chill Cheyanne, you are going to break it.” Bradley sidled up next to me. “What are you looking for anyway?”

  I ignored my sister and continued to run a finger down the page, looking for key words that might give me a clue.

  Marchland flanked my other side. “Tell us.” She touched the back of my neck with her index finger, and it sent a shiver down my spine. My muscles relaxed and I felt like I might fold into myself. Marchland’s touch was almost as potent as her ink and I usually avoided it at all cost, however the relief I felt was great and before I could stop myself, everything began pouring out.

  “It’s Brett.” My voice quivered. “He’s cheating.”

  “Good,” Bradley said, not missing a beat. “Maybe you will leave him now.”

  I couldn’t believe she would be so cruel. “Good? Good! Why is that good, Brad? Because I am failing to see anything good about it. I already own the dress. The reception is booked and paid for. We own a house together, for crying out loud. What could possibly be good about him cheating on me? I know you don’t like him—but I love him. I am in love with him. And I thought you loved me. I never imagined you would be happy that this is happening to me. ” I could feel the vein in my neck throb along with my speeding heart. My head felt as if it may disconnect from my body and float away, and I clutched the table to steady myself.

  Marchland chewed her bottom lip while I waited to hear what possible reason my baby sister gave for being happy about my heartbreak.

  “He is bad news. You can do better.” Bradley shrugged again. “Besides. I don’t even know why you want him. His name is Brett for godsakes. Even his name is a jerk.”

  “That is not true, Bradley. You don’t even know him. He is a good person. If you’d ever even once given him a chance then you would see that.”

  “Ha. I don’t need to know him. He bleaches his teeth and arches his eyebrows. His jeans have rhinestones on the ass pockets. And, like I said, name one Brett in the history of ever that wasn’t a total Bro.”

  I seethed, looking from Bradley to Marchland. “Is that how you feel, too?”

  Bradley crossed her arms over her chest, while Marchland looked down at the table.

  No one spoke.

  “I think,” Marchland said finally, her voice dripping with apology, “that if he cheated on you, that kind of proves our point for us.”

  My knees grew week and I crumpled forward onto the table, catching myself with my palms. “But I love him,” I whispered. “Doesn’t that matter to you? Doesn’t my happiness mean anything to anyone? I just want him to stay. To be with me the way we’d always planned. I know you don’t like him, but you love me. So, for my sake, try to understand.”

  Bradley snorted. “Pull yourself together Cheyanne. You sound exactly like Mom.”

  I bristled, raising to my full five foot five and raised my shoulders. “Don’t you say that. You have no right to say that. I spent my life protecting you from her, so don’t you dare make that comparison.” I looked Bradley straight in the eye and held it until she finally lowered her gaze. She knew I was right. I had shielded both of my sisters from the brunt of the storm that was our mother.

  “Fine—I shouldn’t have said that. But do you hear yourself? Do you realize what you are playing with here? You are considering doing a spell to keep Brett. Do you even know what that means?”

  “Of course I do! I am not stupid. I know it’s dangerous. I know as well as you do what the consequences are.”

  This time, Marchland spoke. “And yet you are willing to work the magic? To ask us to help you? You want me and Bradley to make that sacrifice?”

  I swallowed slowly and looked first at March and then at Brad. “I have spent my life protecting you. I have put your safety before mine since I was old enough to understand that we couldn’t depend on our mother.” I looked Bradley in the eye. “Do you remember what I had to do to get you into that fancy private school? What did you think, that we just automatically had the money to make it so?” I shivered remembering the dean of student’s fat, sausage fingers against my skin and his trout mouth gnawing at my lips, my neck, my breasts. Of how I’d cried for a week straight, and then cried some more when I had to further demean myself with the bursar.

  Bradley looked away, twisting her hands in front of her. She knew. She knew because everyone in the whole damn school had somehow found out about her “whore sister.”

  I shifted my gaze to Marchland. “And I know you remember.”

  “Oh, Cheyanne, I do. There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not grateful. Really.” She reached for my wrist but I pulled it away.

  When I was fourteen and March was eleven, Mama had dated Buzz, a man who’d taken too much of a liking to sweet, naïve Marchland. I’d caught him spying on her while she bathed and took my softball bat to his knees. He’d slapped me backwards into the paneling of our rented shit-hole trailer, while I screamed that I was going to tell everything. He must have decided we weren’t worth the risk because he drove off and we never heard from him again.

  Mama had blamed me for ruining “something special” and punished me by locking me outside for two nights. Me and Marchland had never spoken about it, but I knew she’d never be able to forget any more than I would. Still, I’d never regretted it.

  “I am not asking you to love Brett. I am not asking you to like him or even to tolerate him. I am asking, pleading with you, to love me.. Remember what I’ve done for you and please, just this one time, help me.”

  My sisters stared at the book. Marchland blinked fast, and I knew she was working hard at keeping her tears from falling while Bradley’s face screwed into a pinched look of guilt.

  “But Cheyanne,” Marchland peeped. “Don’t you see? Brett is part of the curse. It doesn’t matter what you do… he’s not going to stick around. Look at mom. It’s why—”

  “Don’t you dare make excuses for her. Mom was a piece of shit because she made piece of shit choices and put men before us every single time. You can’t blame that on the curse.”

  Neither of my sisters looked at me. Maybe Mama’s bad luck had started out as part of the curse, but the way she handled it—the decisions she made—that was all on her. And she’d never known love. Not true love like I had. What I had was worth fighting for. It was worth taking on a curse. It was worth an hour of my life. It was worth asking my sisters to do the same. It was worth magic.

  No one spoke for a long while. The only noise was the quiet sounds of the house and the limbs of an old oak scratching against the tin of the back porch roof.

  “Look. Either help me or don’t,” my voice cracked. “But I am going to try to work the spell either way. I have to do something to make him stay.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Marchland reached for my han
d and this time I didn’t move it. Her eyes were puffy and I knew it wasn’t a decision she’d made lightly.

  “Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I guess…”

  Marchland and I turned to Bradley.

  “I guess I have to help, too. There needs to be three.” Bradley took a deep breath and let it out, whistling between her front teeth. “Just don’t go taking the book. Leave it with me. You can’t do anything for three days anyway.”

  “Three days? But that may be too late!” I needed to do something quickly. Everything I’d worked so hard for—the love, the name, the future with a big house and kids who didn’t have to worry about anything—all of that was threatening to unravel because of a gullible man’s wondering eye and a whore in tacky lip stain.

  “Not my fault. The moon has to be right. It won’t be for three days.”

  “But there has to be some sort of work around. Some sort of exception where we can make it work? I know that I am not the only one in the history of our family’s magic that has needed a spell quickly.”

  Bradley gestured to March. “Tell her Marchland.”

  Marchland again sounded genuinely apologetic. “Cheyanne, we need to do it right. We are already taking a risk for you. Please don’t ask us to do it under the wrong moon.”

  I bit my lip, feeling the tiniest bit defeated, but my sisters were right. “Okay. Three days we meet again.”

  I pulled into the driveway and walked into the house. For once, Brett was there. I’d grown so accustomed to what I’d believed to be his late appointments—appointments that I thought he was taking to help us get ahead—that at some point I’d grown to expect him to not arrive until I was already in bed.

  He was in the living room reclined in his leather chair with a bottle of beer balanced between his knees.

  “Hey babe,” he called without glancing away from the television.

  A week ago I would have been glad to have him home early. I’d have thought he worked hard and deserved to veg out in front of one of his favorite shows. Now, all I could think about was, if he wasn’t cheating, how could he come home early and not be excited to see me? Not want to make plans? God, when was the last time we’d had a date night, anyway?

  I tossed my bag onto the kitchen table walked into the living room. Even though I was angry, seeing him reclined in nothing but navy athletic shorts made my heart flutter.

  If I wanted him back, I was going to have to move past feeling hurt. If I was going to win, I had to go all in, and pull out all the stops, just like in college. I had to bury the pain and forge ahead, doing what needed to be done to secure the life I wanted.

  Could I make myself seduce a man I knew was stepping out on me? Was it even worth it?

  “Hey babe, what’s wrong? You are standing there staring at me with a funny look on your face.”

  I snapped from my thoughts. “Nothing.” I smiled and moved closer to Brett’s chair.

  Yes. I would do whatever it took. I wanted the future I’d planned. I wanted Brett.

  “You are home early,” I said softly. I stood between him and the television.

  “Yeah. I had two clients cancel. Parade season, you know? Not great for the real estate business.” He leaned to the side and craned his neck to see the television.

  “Brett?”

  “Yeah?” His eyes never left the screen.

  “I think it’s great you are home. I looped my thumbs under the loose material of my tunic top and lifted it over my head. I tossed it to the side and, as I took a step closer, I unhooked my bra. “Brett…”

  “Yeah, babe?” He glanced at me, then opened his eyes wide. His mouth pulled into a coy smile. “What do we have here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just a little reward for coming home on time.”

  He smirked. “I’ll have to cancel meetings more often.” He reached upwards as I straddled him in the recliner, wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. He laughed mischievously and buried his face between my breasts.

  As he kissed me, I leaned in closer and pressed against him. He worked his mouth from my neck to my chest as I untangled my arms from his neck and ran my hands down his thigh. I could feel him through the thin material of his shorts. At least I knew I could still turn him on.

  He shoved his face into my red ringlets. I began to kiss his neck, when suddenly, the wind was knocked from me.

  Vanilla.

  He smelled like vanilla and sugar and female. Like the sickingly sweet odor of cheap body lotion.

  I didn’t wear vanilla. I didn’t wear cheap lotion.

  My posture stiffened and I let my hands fall.

  “What’s wrong?” He continued to bury his face in my hair, kissing my neck and moving his hands over my body.

  “Nothing. I just… Suddenly I don’t feel so good.” I sat up.

  A look of panic spread over Brett’s face. “Do you think you are getting sick?” He leaned away from me, and covered his mouth and nose with his palm.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I could barely get the words out. I was scared my voice would crack and ruin everything. I wasn’t going to let on about anything—because soon I’d fix this. Soon this would just be a terrible memory. A horrible blip on the radar of an otherwise perfect life together.

  “If you are sick, then you should go lay down. Look, I’m not being mean, but I really can’t afford to get ill right now. I may sleep on the sofa or in my chair.”

  “Okay, Brett.” I slid from his lap and before I’d even gathered my shirt and bra, his eyes were already fixated back on the television screen. When I walked by, he slapped me on the butt. “Feel better babe! I didn’t want to say anything, but you do look kind of rough.”

  I ignored him and walked to my room and lay on my bed. Without changing into pajamas, I burrowed under my down comforter in my jeans and no shirt, and covered my head with a pillow.

  Then, I cried.

  Chapter Four

  My face itched under the two layers of cover-up that DeAndre, the make-up guy, spackled across my complexion to disguise the zits that had popped up overnight from stress. Thanks a lot, Brett, I thought as DeAndre cracked joke after joke about the red craters on my cheeks. For all his crass people skills, the makeup artist was a wizard with a beauty blender and I knew that when I stepped in front of the camera, my skin would appear flawless. Which was important, because I never knew when the burgundy bitch would be watching. I’d woken up rattled from the evening before, but after a shower and three cups of coffee, I’d gotten my edge back. This was war and I had the bigger bomb. Enjoy him while you can, sweetie, because it isn’t going to last long. Cheyanne Murphey doesn’t share. But she does hold a grudge.

  I smiled and preened and hit every mark as I delivered the weather forecast—a forecast I knew was wrong… but I couldn’t really argue with the head meteorologist. It’s not like “but I feel it in my molars” was a good, scientific rebuttal.

  “Looks like sunny skies all weekend! What a great time to catch a parade!” My voice was clear and my accent perfectly hidden thanks to the elocution lessons Brett had suggested. It was sweet how he was always looking out for my career.

  I continued to smile until I received the signal from the crew that I could let my face fall. My cheeks ached and the corners of my lips twitched as I worked through the quick facial exercises to relax the strained muscles. Ask any television person or Beauty Queen, holding a smile for that long is a skill.

  “Um. Hey, Cheyanne?” Steven, the guy who manned camera two’s voice quivered as he waved me over for a chat.

  “Hey, Steve, what’s up?” I always enjoyed talking to Steven—he was harmless in his thick glasses and Chewbacca t-shirt, and was just a genuinely nice guy. I’d even considered setting him up with Marchland, except she’d tower over him.

  Steven looked at his shoes, his cheeks flushed.

  My brow furrowed, before I remembered that it could crack the powder that coated my forehead. I re
laxed my expression. “Dude, is everything okay?”

  Steven peered up into my face with a familiar, groggy expression. Oh no. Steve, don’t do it. I liked him and I didn’t want things to be awkward between us. He knew I was with Brett. Hell, I’d purposely showed off the diamond as much as possible. Not that he’d have ever had a snowballs chance in hell anyway. But still… I didn’t have to hurt his feelings.

  “It’s just that, well. Look. That Brett, he is a real ass-hat if he doesn’t see what he has. You… you are perfect, Cheyanne.” He choked on the last words.

  I drew away. This wasn’t what I’d expected Steven to say. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think you are perfect.”

  “No. Not that. The other thing. About Brett not seeing what he has?”

  Steven’s eyes opened wide and he rocked back and forth on his Vans.

  “Steve! What are you talking about? No back tracking.”

  “It’s just that… well… Are you sure you want me to tell you?” The man still stared down at his shoes, and red creeped up his neck and set his round cheeks aflame.

  “Yes.” I worked hard to keep my voice even.

  “People are saying that Brett is… That Brett was seen out with…”

  “Out with who, Steve?” I leaned closer, and the smell of the man—sweat and fast food—caused me to breathe through my mouth.

  Steven shrugged. “I don’t know. Just some other woman. The receptionists were talking about it with a guy from production who said he was going to see how it played out, then…”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he was going to ask you out. I was hoping that if I talked to you first that maybe… maybe you’d consider… MaybeYou’dConsiderGoingOutWithMe.”

  “Oh.” I exhaled a long breath between my teeth and raked the back of my hand across my forehead, forgetting the hour long makeup job. “Is that all?”

  Steven looked mortified.

  “Oh, no, Steve. No. I’m not. No. It’s not you. Me and Brett are actually doing really well, thanks,” I lied. I was finally moving in the right direction in this city, and I refused to let my reputation take the hit. I was no one’s cheated-on jilted lover. “And you are very sweet to ask me out. I am lucky to have a friend like you.” The statement sounded fake even to my own ears.