A Spoonful of Magic

by Irene Radford

  “As if Mom would let us do anything else,” Jason grumbled. “BJ has a later bedtime than I do, and you know how strict his parents are. They don’t even have cable or satellite and only watch the news on local TV.”

  “Your mother is formidable in many ways. Listen to her,” G said emphatically. “Shara, please retrieve your pages from the printer. I want to be here while you go over my outline.”

  Daffy had done such a good job raising these precious children that they obeyed. Why was he surprised?

  Because when he was a teen, he’d considered it part of his job to defy, rebel, and do everything his own way. He learned better by making mistakes and having to correct them. Like the rewiring.

  Jason stood on his portion of the curved bench and proceeded to leap over their heads, using his arms to propel himself along the ceiling and drop in front of the refrigerator. He landed without a sound or vibration, arms descending in a graceful curve. Everything about him shouted a lithe grace that defied straight lines.

  “Show-off,” Belle sneered.

  “What? I’m hungry, and it was easier than asking everyone to move out of the way.”

  Seven

  DINNER WAS A SILENT, contemplative affair. I wondered what the kids would have to say when they’d digested what their father had told them. Jason, at least, ate every bite on his plate and half of my serving. Belle toyed with her food, pushing it into neat geometric patterns on her plate more than eating. Only Shara acted normal. She picked the peas out of her mixed vegetables—from the garden and the greenhouse—scarfed the garlic mashed potatoes, and cut her meat into tiny bits, chewing each one carefully eight times before swallowing. She approached her food in much the same way she solved a puzzle or ferreted out a password, one section of variables at a time.

  G ate. But he spent long moments staring at each of his children.

  Finally, I set them to clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen. G settled in to the family room, playing with the TV remote.

  “I don’t recall inviting you to stay.” I grabbed the remote from him and turned off all the electronics. No games system, no high-tech music, and definitely no TV or movies.

  “An invitation to dinner usually includes . . .”

  “An invitation to dinner was just that. I provided fuel after what must have been a grueling afternoon of heartfelt discussion. Now you must need rest. I know the children do. They are still children and still growing.” A vision of Jason’s socks and how high on his ankles his jeans rode meant a trip to the clothing store sooner rather than later.

  “I need to monitor . . .”

  “They can call you if they have questions. Or, better yet, you can take them to the mall tomorrow. I’ll give you a list of what clothing your children have outgrown. School starts in ten days.”

  “Ah yes, I remember the mad scurry of every parent in town taking the kids to the mall for complete new wardrobes. I’ll leave the girls to you. They both show signs of maturation, and they’ll need things that will embarrass them if purchased by their father.”

  “Jason is the one who worries me. He acts confused. This talent thingy won’t interfere with his dancing, will it?”

  “It shouldn’t. If we monitor him closely and channel his training properly.” He paused, frowning and working his throat as if he needed to speak but was afraid to. Then his face cleared, and he looked me in the eye. “Actually, dancing in an international company might be a great cover story for him if he should be able to follow in my footsteps.” G puffed out his chest with pride.

  “Just go. Go do whatever it is you do on a Saturday night now that you are single again.”

  “Not totally. The divorce won’t be final for another two weeks.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down beside him. One arm draped across my shoulders, the other crossed in front of me. “We can still call it off.”

  The warmth of his body next to mine felt so very familiar, comfortable. My face grew hot, and tiny shivers shot through me with fire and ice. He lowered his face, inches from mine. There he paused, licking his lips. His eyes half-closed and . . .

  He paused a fraction of a second before I lost my will to resist.

  “We’re good together, Daffy. We belong together. We need each other, now more than ever, dealing with the children.”

  “The children.” I sank away from him, sober and outside his influence. “You have lied to them and to me for a long time. How can I be sure you aren’t lying to me now?”

  His arms fell away. “I have told you all my secrets. I no longer have a reason to lie to you.”

  “The evidence safe in the greenhouse.”

  “What about it?”

  “Shara found the safe and wanted to know what is in it.”

  “She didn’t tell me that. How did she find the damn thing? You’ve got planters and bags of potting soil, pots, and stray tools resting atop it. I have a hard time getting into it.”

  “She said something in the safe called to her. The safe needed her to find it.”

  He flopped back on the sofa. But one arm rested on the back, within easy dropping distance to my shoulders.

  I scooted away.

  “Next week, before school starts, I’ll take her out for the day, a picnic, shopping, something. I’ll talk to her.”

  “She’s been bugging me to go to the antique mall.”

  His eyes opened wide, and his body grew rigid.

  “What?” I asked, a bit confused by the intensity of his reaction.

  “Which antique mall?”

  “She didn’t specify.”

  He relaxed a little.

  “What about the antique mall has set you on edge?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re lying. I can tell when you lie now.”

  He heaved a sigh. I watched resolution smooth his face.

  “My colleagues and I sometimes find magical artifacts at yard sales or collectible stores. People clean out grandma’s attic and find bits of old jade jewelry that are really amulets and talismans. They find planters that are really cauldrons. Sometimes they’ll find an old diary that’s more a grimoire than memoir.”

  “Why does that alarm you? Maybe Shara wants an old Rubik’s Cube, another puzzle to solve.”

  “She’s seeking a wand.”

  “I thought she’s too young.”

  “She is.”

  “Mom, I don’t get it,” Belle said at five thirty the next morning.

  It might be Sunday and my day off, but my body clock didn’t know the difference.

  “Don’t get what?” I gestured toward the bench in the breakfast nook across from me. I had the greenhouse schematics spread out before me, planning the autumnal plantings.

  “This whole magic thing. I mean, when school let out in June, all of the cool kids laughed at my clumsiness, they ridiculed my brains, and they made jokes about how ugly I am.” She ducked her head and blinked rapidly to hide her tears.

  “Were BJ, Mike, and Billy among the cool kids who were afraid that you are smarter than them and that very shortly you are going to be so beautiful you will outshine the most glamorous of the cheerleaders and prom queens?”

  “Yeah.” She sounded discouraged. Then her head reared up and she stared at me in wonder. “Am I really going to be pretty?”

  “You already are. For now, the braces and glasses get in the way. But the braces come off next spring, and your ophthalmologist says your eyes should be mature enough for contacts about the same time. Possibly Lasix surgery when you’re eighteen. I’m afraid your clumsiness is not something you’ll outgrow. You refused ballet classes that might have helped.”

  “But Jason fell in love with dance at my first and only class, so not all was lost.” She flashed me one of her wily grins that used to melt my heart and manipulate me.

  “Yes, your brother
does love dancing more than anything else. So what bothers you about going from pariah to the most popular kid in school?”

  “It just doesn’t seem right that because I hold up my hair with antique sticks, suddenly I’m a people magnet. Those boys only came to the chess tournament in the park because they wanted to cause trouble, break things, prove that they are cooler because they can intimidate other people.”

  “BJ, too?” I had to wonder at that. The boy had been in and out of my house almost as an extra child since preschool. He and Jason had bonded the first day and never looked back. They shared everything, especially the stuff they wanted to keep secret from their moms. If he was finding new friends among the rougher type of school kids, I’d have to look at him differently. Deal with it differently. I truly wanted this to be a temporary aberration. Not . . . not . . .

  “Bullies,” Belle confirmed. “He’s been different this summer.”

  “Do I need to talk to his mother?” Gossipy and judgmental Flora Chambers was not my favorite person, but she was an ally in the battle that resembled parenthood these days.

  “I dunno.” She shrugged just like Shara and her father when they didn’t want to say what was really on their minds. “So what about those sticks turned them into sheep, and me the shepherd?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve been reading a lot since I found out that magic is real—real magic, not minor talent and sleight of hand—and your dad is part of it. He says that Coyote Blood Moon is the real thing, not some wannabe like so many in this town.”

  “I’ve heard of him. He’s local. Do you know the flute and drum shop two blocks east and three north of your shop?” Belle asked, eagerness back in her eyes and in her posture. “It seems really cool.”

  “I’ve seen the shop. Never thought to stop in.”

  “Coyote Blood Moon owns it. If Dad vouches for him, maybe I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Take your father with you. And read the book. I’ve got a copy up in my bedroom.”

  “And the hair sticks?”

  “From what I’ve read and what your father has said, I think those sticks are your magic wand. You need to keep them with you at all times. What made you buy them anyway?”

  “I was walking through the antique mall with the chess club kids one day. Jimmy thought he might find an old chess set. I saw the sticks and just needed to touch them. Did you notice that the agates are carved like chess pieces? The queen and the bishop—power pieces. They just seemed to say they were mine, and I had to buy them. But I didn’t have enough money with me. The clerk said they’d been sitting there for ages and she’d give me a discount. Like seventy-five percent off. Which was precisely the amount of money I had in my wallet. No one does that. So I bought them before she could change her mind. Or the sticks could.”

  “May I examine the sticks a little closer?”

  She looked appalled and started to shake her head.

  “I just want to look. I don’t have to touch them. Before long, when you’ve had them longer, no one but you will be able to touch them.”

  “Okay.” She scampered off.

  I took a long drink of coffee while I gathered my thoughts. The greenhouse could wait until daylight.

  Belle returned a few moments later, hair sticks in hand. She’d taken the time to pull on shorts and a tank top and brush her hair. Carefully, she placed her wands on the table and lined them up, precisely parallel, level with the table edge, the charm end of one beside the pointed end of the other.

  She was a mathematics genius after all, taking senior classes in eighth grade. Logical and organized to a fault.

  With my hands in my lap, I leaned over to inspect the ivory. They had the speckled cream color of aged ivory, not plastic, and not harvested recently. The points were a bit blunted but not broken. The rounded and knobbed end had tiny drill holes for a silk thread. Again, the material had the rough texture gained only with years of wear and tear. I saved examination of the charms for last. For weeks, I’d seen them only in passing and from a distance. Belle was most defensive and territorial about her wands. As she should be.

  The tiny bits of carved stone, each about an inch high, had a clarity of color in the cream-and-green streaks I didn’t expect. Agates should be mottled with irregular veins of different minerals, or shades of the same primary color. And cheap, easily found. These charms, a chess queen and a bishop, had some variation in color but remained a dominant green.

  Precious Jade green was worth much, much more than her allowance. Seventy-five percent off hinted at manipulation. From Belle? Or the shop owner?

  Eight

  TWO GIRLS TURNED LOOSE on the mall on a Sunday afternoon should have been full of energy and excitement. New clothes, new school year, new classes, and classmates. For Belle, this represented an advancement to the top of middle school, from the middle of an arcane hierarchy unique to ’tweens. Next year she’d advance to the bottom of the high school hierarchy, leaving childhood behind. For Shara, this was stepping up from the height of elementary to the bottom of middle school, a year ahead of her age group.

  But nothing satisfied my youngest. Clothes and shoes decisions, she left to me. She tossed school supplies into our cart willy-nilly without looking at them. She was restless and cranky with fatigue.

  Belle attacked the clothes and shoes with enthusiasm, looking to transform herself into the butterfly waiting within the chrysalis of her braces and thick glasses. Lunch at the food court, however, was a grand experiment in seeing who she could attract simply by wearing the magical hair sticks.

  “Mom, do we have to put up with her?” Shara demanded. “She’s being obnoxious.” She and I sat at a separate table a scant two yards from Belle. In teen parameters, sitting with family members, especially a mother and younger sister, was not cool.

  I masked my smile by sucking up raspberry iced tea through a straw. I swallowed as much as I could without choking. “Actually, she needs to do this while she has the safety net of family to intervene if she goes too far.”

  “I call that going too far,” Shara sneered.

  “I think you’re right.” I pushed back my chair and stood. Then I noticed G and Jason sitting on the opposite side of Belle. They’d just settled trays of food and drink, Jason’s piled considerably higher to fuel his growing body. G stood up again, gesturing Jason to remain seated. He approached Belle’s table where two tall, blonde girls with the perky personalities and slim figures of cheerleaders sat with Belle, and two athletically large, and hulking boys wearing fashionably casual grunge clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in a month and never pressed, slouched against a support pillar. Those clothes probably cost as much as the six outfits combined I’d bought for Belle.

  The cool kids, and upper classmates at that, had suddenly discovered that Belle, a mere middle schooler and a geek, was the center of their universe.

  But they’d discovered this through magic; as soon as the magic went away, so would they.

  “Belle,” G said, looming tall and awesome over the table. His suave sophistication and the silver wings of gray at his temple against his dark hair marked him as the ideal older man personified in romance novels. But he rubbed the wooden fountain pen in his breast pocket. His jaw worked as if he subvocalized something. A spell, I was willing to bet.

  “Introduce me to your friends, Belle.”

  “Not now, Daddy.”

  “Now, Annabelle.”

  She blinked rapidly several times. “Dad, this is Jessica and Marilee.” She nodded toward the two blondes. They simpered and squirmed as they scanned his left hand for a wedding ring. Then, as I expected, they smiled and extended hands for shaking while thrusting out their bosoms for his inspection.

  Much to my surprise, G acknowledged their presence but shifted his focus immediately to the two boys. He hadn’t admired the girls’ offering.

  The
boys cringed back and slumped, to make themselves appear smaller and less important.

  Classic beta behavior in the face of an alpha wolf. A very alpha wolf.

  “I’ve met Billy and Mike,” G said with careful scrutiny. He did not offer to shake hands. “I hope you have a good football season. Now, Belle, you need to join your mother and get home. I believe you have Math Olympics to study for.”

  “But, Da . . . ad!”

  “Calculus and the mystery of quantum physics,” he said as if he savored the finest dark chocolate from Belgium.

  Belle’s face brightened with enthusiasm. Then she looked at her companions as if seeing them for the first time. “Calculus this year, and tutoring the jocks who have to keep up their grades in algebra to stay on the team.” She looked pointedly at her companions. “I don’t get to play with quantum physics until next year, and I have to go over to the U to take that class.” She scooted her chair back, gathered her packages, dropped one, dropped another trying to pick it up, then stumbled over them on her way over to me. The cool kids ignored her clumsiness, not cracking jokes about it or sneering as they had done last year. Belle paused and looked over her shoulder at her father, then her companions who stared after her as if starving for her friendship. “Bye, guys. You can go now.”

  When she turned her back on them, they slumped as if a puppet master had just cut the strings holding them upright. Surprised they could still move, they looked at each other, bewildered, then left to go about their day impressing real people with their coolness.

  But their spines lacked the starch of youthful confidence and arrogance.

  “We will talk later, Belle,” G said. Then he approached me.

  At the end of the day, with rain drenching us between the mall and our parking space, I ended up with Belle and Jason in the van while G took Shara off to the antique mall. “We’ll see if we can find a cure for her restlessness,” he said and whisked her away.