Magic Spark

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  “Bradley, you coming back?” I was ready to get on with the skyclad part of the ritual. No one wanted to see their sister naked, but the spell required it, under no uncertain terms. “What is taking you so long? We all got the same things.”

  A moment later, Bradley emerged, her arms folded tightly over her small chest. Her mouth was squeezed closed and she looked like she’d rather have been anywhere else.

  “About time. I don’t know what you are so nervous over—if I was young and thin like you, I’d run around half naked all the time.”

  “Cheyanne, you run around half naked all the time anyway.” Bradley hugged herself tighter and lifted her pointed chin to the air.

  That’s what I got for trying to pay a compliment to Brad. “Have you ever heard of a spray tan? You are so pale that the starlight reflecting off of your skin is blinding me. I’ll give you the name of the girl I use—she will come to your house and everything.”

  Bradley narrowed her eyes and looked down her nose at me. “No one uses self tanner anymore except cougars and past-their-prime strippers… and apparently second-rate weather girls.”

  My mouth dropped open at the low remark and my mind raced to think of a snarky reply, but before I could respond, Marchland—always the peace keeper—interrupted.

  “Come on you two. Be nice. You are both beautiful just the way you are.” Marchland’s lips pursed as she squinted over the list again, one hand on her hip and her shoulders rolled slightly forward with the weight of her D cups. She scratched an itch underneath her left breast without looking up.

  “No one needs any critical judgment. That is partly the point. Honesty. Acceptance. So keep your judgments to yourself.”

  I held my hands up in front of me. “No judgment here. Just observation.”

  “Yes.” Bradley smiled, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth, as sharp as the bones that jutted from her hips and shoulders. “Just observations. Like, March, would it kill you to buy a razor? Your bush is making the azaleas jealous.”

  Even though the same thought had crossed my mind when March had disrobed, the insult made me wince. I could never be mean to Marchland—it was too much like kicking a puppy. At least Bradley was an equal opportunity smart ass.

  “Some people prefer the natural look.” Marchland’s voice remained neutral.

  A mosquito landed on my hip and I smacked it, leaving behind a tiny corpse and a red smudge. “Let’s get this show on the road.” I turned to the fire that was beginning to dwindle.

  The last thing we needed was for the divine fire to burn out before the spell was complete—starting the damn thing had proven to be not an easy task and we were out of Zebrawood so re-working it wasn’t an option.

  Marchland had arranged the wood: Apple, Dog, Blood, Poculi, and Zebrawood in the correct formation—a pentagram base that stacked upward into a pyramid. We’d spoken the enchantment, but no matter how long I held the lighter close to the stack, it refused to catch flame, much less blaze with our intention.

  Fifteen minutes later, when we’d yet to produce a fire—divine or otherwise—I’d grabbed lighter fluid from the garden shed. We’d gathered some leaves and Spanish moss from the yard, doused the wood, and threw a lit paper towel onto the concoction. It flamed instantly. It wasn’t perfect but at least now there was something to work with. I believed it had to be better than leaving a spell open, no matter what Bradley said.

  “Let’s see.” Marchland ran her index finger down the paper. “We invoked the Mother. We implored the Father. We called the smoke. We stated our intentions. Now we clear our minds and dance.”

  “We dance? That’s it? There isn’t any other instructions? In the stories Granny told, nudity always served a purpose.” Bradley paused, her discomfort spilled across her face. “We just… dance?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  Bradley grumbled under her breath.

  “I’m sorry Brad, what was that?” My little sister’s attitude was beginning to really wear on me.

  “I just said that in the family tales, skyclad had always sounded exotic, you know?” Suddenly Bradley looked much younger than her almost twenty-two years. “The women who danced in skyclad rituals always sounded so mystical. So powerful. The rituals were revered as spiritual and the witches took it seriously. I always figured that one day I’d participate in a skyclad dance, but I never imagined it like this…. I can’t help but feel like we are screwing it up.” She sighed. “Reality is definitely not living up to the legend.”

  I put a hand on my baby sister’s shoulder. “It rarely does,” I said.

  We stared into the fire for a minute more, before I broke the silence. “Y’all ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Bradley mumbled.

  Marchland was still squinting over the list. “Oh. Ew. There is one other thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “In three days, the spell is sealed and you have to dig up the jar and make tea. Then Brett needs to drink it.”

  I grimaced, the disgust over drinking frog swill making my tongue grow thick. “With a rotten frog heart?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “That’s so gross.” Bradley whispered, shaking her head.

  The silence that again lapsed over us was the kind that was heavy and nervous and made my heart speed.

  “Let’s do this.” I threw my hands above my head a spun around the fire until I reached March. I grabbed her hands and pulled her into the ritual dance. She leaned her head back, her face looking to the dark, moonless night and giggled. We spun in circles until we reached Bradley who still stood hugging herself pensively. “Come on sister. The faster we do this the faster you can get dressed.”

  Bradley, who always looked frail and small, appeared even more so in the firelight—a tiny number eleven was etched between her furrowed brows and the hollows of her face deepened where the shadows licked across her skin.

  She closed her mouth tightly and shook her head, her face scrunched in a way that told me she was doing her best to keep tears at bay. She’d always been a nervous crier—every time we moved schools, every time Mama brought us around a new loser, every time she was expected to talk in front of strangers, her eyes would glisten and her shoulders would heave as she did her best to keep the tears at bay.

  I knew better than to mention it—Bradley hated that about herself. The way to comfort her was to not comfort her at all, but instead make her laugh. And the quickest way to make her laugh was act a fool.

  “It’s okay if you are nervous. I know you wish you could move like this.”

  Bradley scowled at me.

  I ignored her hateful look as I dropped Marchland’s hand. I bent my knees and dropped my ass to the ground, then popped my hips as I straightened my legs. I swung my head, tossing my long red hair wildly as I gyrated.

  Bradley sniffed. “Good god, Cheyanne. Are you trying to twerk?” She pressed her palms into her eyes, but a moment later she was laughing.

  I stopped moving, out of breath. “I am trying to lighten the mood. Look, I know we bicker and fight—I think that is required of sisters—but I am grateful that y’all are making this sacrifice for me. For Brett… I don’t know what I would do…” My voice fell away as I imagined being powerless to stop the future I craved from disappearing into a set of willing burgundy lips and open thighs.

  Bradley nodded, her palms still covering her eye sockets. “Okay. Well. Thanks for saying that. Really. But let’s get this over with. Please.”

  “Aw! Look at you guys, acting like friends! Sister hug,” Marchland threw her arms open wide. I met Bradley’s eye, and we side stepped out of the way.

  “No way am I hugging you naked.”

  Bradley slid backwards. “Yeah. Too far, March.”

  Marchland smirked. “Nudity is natural. Men have sexualized our bodies and made our form into something gross. But that’s not true. This,” she gestured down the length of her torso, “This is the most natural you can b
e.”

  Bradley snorted. “With that bush, I believe you.”

  “Seriously, March,” I said, “Do you go naked a lot? You are way too comfortable.”

  “If you really want to know, I am a member of a group. We go on retreats. It is very freeing.” Marchland straightened her back, causing her ample breasts to pop forward.

  I tried to bite back a giggle, but Bradley fell to the ground, belly laughs rumbling from deep inside. Her ribs shook, and her bones stretched her pale skin like leather stretched over a drum. Her laughter made it impossible to hold back my own. I leaned forward, my hands on my knees, and laughed so hard that no sound escaped. Tears spilled down my cheeks and I felt truly free for the first time since finding Brett’s secret.

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” Brad wheezed between guffaws. “That’s just… just TM… TMI.”

  March shook her head, as if she were dealing with children instead of her adult sisters. “Alright. Alright. You’ve had your laugh. The fire is shrinking so let’s finish and seal this spell.”

  I sucked in deep breaths and avoided eye contact with Bradley until I was sure the laughter was gone.

  When we were again serious, Marchland continued. “Focus your minds on the intention. Let the thought flow through you.”

  We quieted, and I cleared my mind, and for the second time that night, focused my thoughts on Brett and our future.

  Make Brett stay. Make him never leave. Make him put down roots and stop wandering. Make him need me. Make him stay with me forever. I love him. Make him stay.

  Magic whispered across my flesh, gathering strength as I began to twist and twirl around the flame. The smoke carried my intentions into the atmosphere, mingling with the lightless purple sky of a dark moon.

  Chapter Seven

  When I arrived home, Brett was already asleep. I changed into my sexiest gown—pale blue gossamer with matching nylons, I brushed my teeth, and curled up next to him, certain that by morning things would be better. They had to be.

  When I awoke, I rolled to face his side of the bed, and before opening my eyes, threw an arm over, expecting to feel him next to me.

  Instead, the bed was empty. There was dip in the mattress that was still warm, but his covers were pulled neatly over the bed and his pillows were arranged rumpled free.

  For all his faults, no one could call Brett Alexandra a slob. In fact, it was one of the things I loved most about him, but that morning the tidy sheets and perfectly straightened duvet made my blood boil.

  He was supposed to be here. I was supposed to roll over and kiss him. To climb on top of him. I’d been so sure of what was going to happen it had leaked into my dreams. Brett was supposed to tear my expensive gown from my body and we’d get back what we’d lost.

  What the burgundy bitch stole.

  But he was already gone.

  “Ahhh!” I screamed, my voice still crackling with the static of early morning. I punched Brett’s pillow, tearing it from its case and pummeling it until tiny feathers floated through the air. I ripped at the expensive fabric until there was a hole, and I swung the pillow in the air, making soft white goose down rain over bed. Another scream tore from my throat as I threw back Brett’s covers, then stood and jumped on his side of the bed until pearls of sweat glistened across my cheeks.

  I collapsed back into the covers in an explosion of feathers, and pulled my pillow over my face and moaned. “I just want to stay home today.”

  The eager look on Steven’s face, and the judgmental eyes that had followed me as I stomped from the newsroom were still fresh in my memory. If I didn’t show up today, after the spectacle from yesterday, it would only feed the rumors, and if people were going to gossip about me, I wanted it to be from jealousy, not pity.

  With that thought, I mustered every ounce of energy I could manage, and headed to the shower.

  I gestured to the top right corner of the green board. “Blue skies for the remainder of the weekend,” I said, even though I could feel the lie in my teeth. I crossed the blank screen, where there’d be a map on the television of everyone who tuned in to get their daily forecast, and pointed to the opposite side. “Expect some nice breezes, and clear skies on into the weekend. If you haven’t gotten your tickets to the king cake festival, there is still time!” I beamed at camera two, then turned to Arnold, the sports reporter. “Are you and the family going this year?” Arnold gave his own toothy smile into the camera and we continued the banter until we were given the signal to break.

  I turned away from the news desk and slipped out of my heels to give my feet a brief break. I massaged the apples of my cheeks with my fingertips. “Little Latin leopards licked luscious lollipops. Mee Moo Mee Moo.” I said the words softly to myself, making my voice rise and fall with each word. I smiled then frowned, and then made my face completely neutral. It was the same exercises I’d used since college.

  People who thought my job was easy had never had to smile through pain for hours at a time.

  I felt the pull of another person’s eyes on my back. “Steve? What’s up” The camera man’s eyes darted away.

  “It’s nothing.” His smile was tight. I may not have Bradley’s ability to read people or Marchland’s uncanny skill at seeing underlying emotion, but it didn’t take magic to know Steve was hiding something.

  “Yeah, right. We both know you are going to tell me, and I am really tired, so if you could save me the trouble of having to dig it out of you then I’d greatly appreciate it.” I met Steven’s eyes and he immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. “Steve… out with it.”

  He sighed. “I heard the girls talking again.” His eyes darted around the room, shifty, more like a jewel thief talking about a caper than a pudgy camera man sharing gossip.

  My heart raced, but I waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Those catty bitches are jealous. What did they say this time?” It took all of my reserve to sound cheerful.

  “It’s probably just gossip. You don’t want to hear it.”

  I inhaled, hoping the air would calm my heart and keep the slight tremor in my hands from becoming noticeable. “Just for fun, why don’t you tell me what is going around.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Steven. Spill.”

  “One of the girl’s in accounting is supposed to have lunch with him. Today. But they knew I was listening and they know we are friends—so they could have just been being bitchy, like you said.” Steven tried to force a smile, but when the corners of his lips lifted, the expression was a grimace.

  “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  I grabbed Steven’s arm, the points of my navy nails digging into his soft, ruddy flesh. He looked down at where I was holding him, and I again took a breath and released my grasp. “Sorry. Just… Where are they having lunch?”

  “Oh. Café Adelaide on Poydras. It’s where all the cool kids hang out after work sometimes. Or so I’ve heard. You are the only one who ever invites me to anything.”

  I spun on the soles of my stockings, and jogged back to where my heels were waiting near the green screen. I stuffed them onto my feet and hurried toward the exit. I knew exactly where Café Adelaide was—I’d met Brett there for drinks just last week. I’d been happy, hoping the impromptu date was a sign that things were turning around. Now I wondered if he’d dialed me by mistake and hadn’t realised until it until it was too late.

  “Wait! Cheyanne? Where are you going? You have one more set and then you are scheduled to work on your promo reel. Cheyanne?” Steven called after me. I didn’t bother turning. As I closed the studio door, Steven called, “If it doesn’t work with him, I would treat you right! Cheyanne? Think about it, okay?”

  Poor Steven. It would be a miracle if he ever found anyone. It’s not attractive to be that obviously desperate. I can’t believe I’d considered introducing him to Marchland.

  Chapter Eight

  “Why would he do this?” I spoke the words aloud. “Doesn’t he know what we ha
ve?”

  I idled at a red light a bit too long. A cabdriver blared his horn yanking me from my thoughts. “Hold your damn horses,” I screamed. I rolled down my window and flipped the bird, instantly feeling better. Damn cabdrivers… I counted to five slowly before pulling away while a chorus of horns and obscenities sounded from the cars behind me.

  On the pavement next to me, a sidewalk preacher was set up in front of a daiquiri shop with an amp and microphone. He had the nerve to turn to me as he delivered his sermon. “Blessed are the meek!”

  “Oh for shit’s sake,” I hissed, “Today is not the day and I am not the woman!” I stuck my arm out the window and shook my middle finger as I passed at a sloth’s pace.

  The outburst lanced some of the hurt that had begun festering like puss in an infected wound the day I discovered Brett’s cheating.

  “Eff it.” I reached into my purse that sat in the passenger seat, and slid out a menthol. With a talent left over from college, I lit it with one hand while driving with the other. In an act of defiance, I raised the windows. Brett will have a fit the next time he rides in my car. I could practically hear him, What were you thinking, Cheyanne? You’ll never get that odor out your leather seats!

  “Well Brett,” I snapped, “What were you thinking? You’ll never get that whore’s lipstick out of your shirt!” I took a puff, exhaling the dark smoke in an angry stream. “What were you thinking when you cheated—but even worse—made me look like a doormat to everyone! Even the cameraman pities me! Dammit! What were you thinking, huh Brett?”

  I eased to a stop at another red light and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill every crevice of my lungs. I closed my eyes and leaned my head into the supple, tan leather of the Audi’s head rest, and this time slowly exhaled, letting the smoke bounce off of the closed sunroof.

  I took one more puff and finished the cigarette off. I opened my eyes, then let down my window to toss the butt from the car, when a couple sitting at an outdoor café caught my eye.