By Magic Alone

by Tracy Madison

  “‘Nothing comes closer to home,’” Scot said. “You okay?”

  I wiped another tear off my cheek. “Reebok?”

  “Julia? What’s going on?”

  “Reebok,” I repeated, swallowing the stupid bubble of emotion in my throat.

  “‘Because life is not a spectator sport.’” The thumb tapping started. “Where are you?”

  More tears fell. I swiped those away, too. “Wind Song. Do you know that one?”

  He was silent. His breaths were slow and deep, and I could almost see those sexy, dark eyes of his crinkled in thought. “I can’t”—he coughed—“I can’t seem . . . I can’t seem to think of it. You got me, Julia.”

  “One question?” Now, I whispered. “I get one question?”

  “That was the deal. One question.”

  “Do you—” Fuck these tears! I wiped them away again. “Do you really think there isn’t a man alive who’s right for me?”

  His intake of breath was swift and harsh. I huddled, pulling every ounce of strength I had together, and waited for the response that would surely do me in. Why’d I ask that? All the questions in the world, all the things I wanted to know, and I wasted it on something I already knew the freaking answer to? Stupid. So, so stupid.

  “No, I don’t think that.” The tapping got louder. “I should never have said that. I was angry . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

  “You didn’t! I’m cold and heartless and have no feelings.” A sob burst out from a raw place deep within. I tried to cover it with a round of coughs. “Sorry! Guess I’m not better yet. You . . . ah . . . you really think there’s someone out there for me?”

  You, Scot? Could it be you? my heart asked. At the same time, my mind screamed, Jameson. You belong with Jameson. Or someone like Jameson.

  “Of course I do. You’re smart, beaut—pretty, easy to talk to. Of course there is.”

  “Okay. Well.” Tell me it’s you. Tell me it could be you. “I should . . . um . . . probably go. I . . . Thanks for playing!” I said in an overly bright voice.

  “Julia,” Scot said, his tone rough and perhaps concerned. Nah. No way. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Has something happened?”

  The yearning to open up, to tell him where I was and how lost and unsure and afraid and stupidly lonely I was came over me. I wanted to lean on him. How dumb was that? I had never needed anyone to lean on, to kiss my boo-boos and make them all better. “A bad day. That’s all. I’m fine, Scot. I’m always fine.”

  “Why was it a bad day? Talk to me. I’m right here.”

  He sounded like he cared. Obviously, my one drink had been one too many. Even so, the calmness of his voice pushed me forward. I pressed the fingers of my free hand to my temples.

  “My—”

  “There you are, Julia! We’re so sorry we’re late, darling,” my mother said, dashing into the living room. “We got caught up at the dealership. Why everything always takes so long is beyond me. I swear they do it on purpose.”

  My tears disappeared in a rush of relief. Shock came next. My jaw dropped open. Susanna Marie Kaiser-Collins was dressed in . . . jeans? And a T-shirt—one of my gag gifts—that depicted a fifties-era housewife holding a vacuum cleaner. Written in hot pink letters in a lipstick type slash across the front was the message THIS REALLY SUCKS!

  “Scot?” I sort of gasped into the phone. “I . . . ah . . . I need to go. Something’s come up.”

  “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  I tried to respond, but my mouth refused to work. What with my fixation on seeing my mother in jeans. Jeans! Sneakers, too. When had she gotten those? Noticing my appraisal, she waggled her fingers at me and did a little hip swish.

  “Julia?” Scot said, louder this time. “Are. You. All. Right? Do you need me to come get you? Just tell me where you are.”

  “No. I’m . . . yeah, Scot, I’m okay. Just need to go.”

  “Call me later.” Again, a demand. It should’ve ticked me off, but a warm glow suffused me. “And just so you know, you didn’t get me. The Wind Song slogan is ‘I can’t seem to forget you, your Wind Song stays on my mind.’”

  With that bit of surprising information, delivered in more of a growl than anything else, he hung up. And I was left staring at the alien who’d taken over my mother’s body.

  I replaced the phone in my purse and kept my focus on my mother. Her blue eyes shone with excitement and her cheeks were apple-blossom pink. “Hi, Mom,” I said carefully. “You seem . . . happy?”

  “Oh, I am! Your father is bringing dinner in.” She saw the gifts I’d deposited on the coffee table. “Are these for me?”

  “Yeah. Well, one is. The other . . .” I squinted my eyes. “Is Helen still employed here?”

  “Yes! She’s working out marvelously!”

  Wow. Kudos to Helen. I reached for the second gift I’d purchased. “This one is for a . . . friend. But the other is yours.”

  “Wonderful! I love your gifts. They show what a great sense of humor you have.” Mom settled herself on the chair. “You weren’t waiting long, were you, darling?”

  Darling. Twice in the same conversation. And since when did my mother offer me a compliment? “Not too long. But I was worried.”

  “Whatever for?” Surprise glimmered in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was honestly confused or if she was faking me out. Believe it or not, I kind of hoped for the latter.

  “You weren’t here. You’re always here. And where are Rosalie and Helen?”

  “I gave them the rest of the week off.” My mother the alien picked up my gift and shook it. “I’m going to take this with us. It’ll be nice to have something from you to open at such a special moment.”

  “Take it where?” Was it me, or was she not making a heck of a lot of sense?

  “Your father and I are going to Las Vegas tomorrow morning. We haven’t been in years.”

  I didn’t know they’d ever been. “And why are you going?”

  “We’re celebrating our anniversary,” she explained, as if that made perfect sense. It didn’t. Their anniversary wasn’t for three months. “We’re going to exchange our vows again!”

  “You did that five years ago,” I pointed out. “Remember? At the country club? I was your maid of honor. You made me wear that hideous peach dress.”

  My mother’s lips turned downward in a scowl. Ha. She was still in there. Somewhere. “Of course I remember. What a tedious affair that was. This ceremony will be intimate.” A weird, gushy sigh floated out of her. “Just like the first time.”

  I propelled myself to the drink cart and poured another drink. I was pretty sure I was going to need fortification. “What first time, Mother?” I asked when I returned.

  “We were married in Las Vegas three months before our formal ceremony. It was one of those wonderful spur-of-the-moment decisions, after we found out about you.” My mother winked. “We were going to invite you to join us this time, since you were there then, but we assumed this would be too last-minute.”

  Oh! Oh. My. God. “You had a shotgun wedding? Because you were pregnant with me? How have I never heard of this before?”

  “Have you told her, Susanna?” My father walked in with an armful of stapled brown paper bags. “And do we want to eat here or in the dining room?”

  “Let’s eat here! And yes, Gregory, Julia knows we’re renewing our vows.”

  “Good. But I meant the RV.” Dad deposited the bags on the coffee table. I was pleased to see he wore his normal suit and tie. “I hope you still like Chinese, sweetheart. We were in a hurry to get back here.”

  Darling. Sweetheart. I started to down my drink but had second thoughts. Probably best to stay clearheaded. Had my—Verda’s, I mean—magic done this? Of course it had. What else could it be? “Guys? You’re sort of scaring me here.”

  “Why don’t you fill her in on the RV, Gregory, and I’ll get us some plates and silverware.” Mom stood and took a couple of steps toward
the kitchen.

  “No!” Whoa. Too loud. I lowered my volume a notch, and said, “Mom. Please tell me about your first wedding.”

  “Haven’t I ever told you this story?”

  “No, Mom, you haven’t. I’d love to hear it now, though.”

  She shrugged and returned to her chair. “My parents wanted me to marry Skippy Peterson.” A shudder rolled through her, shaking her slim shoulders. “Skippy! A ridiculous name for a squirmy little man who couldn’t keep his hands where they belonged. But I was in love with Gregory, so when we discovered I was pregnant, we went to Vegas and tied the knot. It was the most romantic week of my life.”

  My dad strode over to her, leaned down, and kissed her. On her mouth. Not on her forehead, on her mouth. Standing straight, he said, “Me too, cupcake. I’ll grab the plates.”

  Cupcake? My eyes stung. My brain hurt. The only time I’d ever seen them lip to lip was during their second—er, third, I guess—wedding. And they did not call each other by terms of endearment. Ever.

  I had second thoughts again and swallowed a large portion of my drink. This metamorphosis was, perhaps, more than I’d planned on. “I take it Grandma and Granddad weren’t too happy with your . . . er . . . running off to Vegas?”

  “Not at all. They so disliked Gregory, you see.” Mom started opening the bags. “But once they found out about you, they gave up on the idea of an annulment, and Gregory and I were married properly posthaste.”

  I wasn’t completely stupid. I’d done the math. I’d already assumed the honeymoon had happened before the wedding. But wow. My parents . . . running away to be married to ensure they would be together? Wow.

  Dad returned and handed me a plate. “Dig in. You used to love almond chicken when you were little. I hope you still do.”

  “Yeah. Fine.” Then, what he’d said earlier sifted into the fog. “You mentioned an RV?”

  My mother clapped her hands. “Oh, do tell her, Gregory!”

  “Yes. Do.”

  “We just bought a gorgeous, state-of-the-art RV. Ordered it, actually. We won’t take possession until spring.” He spooned rice on his plate. “You’re going to take over the business, I’m retiring, and your mother and I are going to travel the country.”

  “We’re going to be vagabonds, darling!” My mother enthused. “This place is going on the market right after Christmas, and come June, we’re off!”

  My ears buzzed with the words You’re going to take over the business, pretty much overriding everything else. My spell had worked, all right. Too well. And it had bitten me in the ass. Talk about a side effect.

  “I expect great things from you, Julia,” my dad said. “We’ll need to get together soon so we can decide when you can come on officially. Lots to do to get you up to speed. We’ll make it as smooth a transition as possible.”

  “Wait. Just wait.” I lifted my gaze to his. “What about Introductions?”

  “It takes a strong person to admit failure. You’ve worked hard, but your business is not going to recover. You’d need a miracle.” Dad’s blue eyes darkened with emotion. I could tell he really felt bad. “This is a hard lesson to learn, and I’m sorry you’ve had to learn it. But our agreement was, if Introductions failed—”

  “Mom said I had a month or so to pull things together! Last week!” No. No way. I didn’t need a miracle. I had magic. This spell worked. That one would too. Eventually. Wouldn’t it? “That was a verbal agreement and is just as binding.”

  “She’s right, Gregory.” Mom patted his knee. “Give her another month.”

  He nodded—a tight, small movement that expressed his complete faith that another month wasn’t going to make a bit of a difference. “An agreement is an agreement. Thirty more days, then, Julia, and we’ll begin the transition.”

  It was enough time. It had to be. After all, the kiss and the pizza happened almost immediately after the wishes were cast. Granted, I didn’t have a timeline for the changes in my parents, but at most, three days. So really, there was no reason to believe that the influx of new business wouldn’t start soon. “Thanks, Dad. I think a month will be all I need.”

  Another nod, but a bewildered haze clouded his features. Confused by the level of confidence in my voice, I’d wager. Of course, it was fake bravado. “I wish you success,” he said in a soft, firm tone. “I’ve always wished you success.”

  Wow. One newsflash after another. “That means a lot to me,” I said. And it did. But I wondered if his statement was true or if it was just another magical side effect.

  Probably a side effect. But I wanted it to be real. More than I can say.

  Chapter Twelve

  I drove home, fretting the entire way. I passed the bank of elevators in my building, hitting the stairs instead, and fretted some more. All of this—my parents’ magically enhanced behavior, the cutsie names, the doe-eyed looks, their all-of-a-sudden trip to Vegas—had me feeling like I’d eaten an extra-large wand of cotton candy on an empty stomach and then hopped onto a roller-coaster.

  I didn’t hate the image of my folks being so in love that they ran off and tied the knot; it just didn’t add up. It wasn’t them. I huffed out a breath and stopped at the top of the second flight of stairs and admitted, well, it was them—thirty plus years ago. But it wasn’t them now.

  And what the hell was up with the vagabond thing? I started up the stairs again, going slower now, trying to imagine my mom living out of an RV. I couldn’t. It was incomprehensible on every level. My father only slightly less so. He, at least, enjoyed the outdoors. And they were going to sell the mausoleum? Mind-boggling. All of it.

  Apprehension slowed my steps further. I should have been excited. My wish had come true. Magic was real. But it hadn’t altered my parents’ focus on the role they thought I should take in my father’s company. If anything, that aspect was worse. My father was a major workaholic, and I was fairly sure he hadn’t planned on retiring for years. Now, thanks to me and that journal, he’d relaxed enough that he wanted to travel the country in a freaking RV.

  I stopped again and dropped to a sit. My muscles were itchy and tight and my breaths came short and fast. Myriad emotions clogged my throat. This was not the time to let emotion rule. I needed to be my old self: practical, rational, play-by-the-rules Julia Collins. She would be able to figure this out.

  Okay, then. I had the journal. I had magic. I had power at my fingertips. My job was figuring out the best way to use it. What were my choices? Well, there was the obvious: do nothing and wait for the Introductions wish to come true. Once it did, the business side of my problems would disappear in a snap.

  But what about my parents? It was cool, sort of, seeing this other side of Gregory and Susanna. I just didn’t know if that side was real. Were the changes in their behavior their true selves coming to the surface because of magic, or had I magically altered who they were? The former, while perplexing, I could live with. The latter brought a shiver.

  I hated not knowing the rules. Could I wish away my wish? Could I wish for Dad to let me out of my bargain? Could I reverse the first wish so that my folks returned to normal, and did I even want that? Would they want that? A new round of tears popped into my eyes. More stupid emotion. Instead of being excited or enchanted or even happy, I felt defeated and deflated. Lost, even.

  The same engulfing loneliness from earlier sank in. At that moment, all I wanted was to return to my old life. To go to bed and wake up tomorrow as the Julia I was before the madness started. No more magic. No more unexplainable rose-scented breezes. No more nutty old ladies—okay, one nutty old lady—filling my head with the idea of soul mates and the vision of three someday sons and . . . and . . . Oh, God.

  No more Scot. Loss pinged through me, quick and sharp.

  Jameson! I’d still have him. I was sure to appreciate him a hell of a lot more without the ongoing commentary of comparisons running through my brain. And Leslie. I wouldn’t have to deal with the Leslie and Scot dilemma, because if I worded th
e wish right, assuming success, I wouldn’t have this foolish longing for him. Or the ridiculous desire to see if Verda was right, to discover if Scot and I were meant to be together.

  Did the journal have that power? Somehow, I doubted it. I probably couldn’t erase the past week. That whole changing-history thing. But I might be able to . . . Pain shattered through me at the idea that flooded in. My eyes filled with more tears. My heart grew heavier, thudding against my breastbone like a fist. Yeah. That wish might work. And if so, it would solve the personal side of my problems. Kind of, anyway.

  I gave myself another minute to regain my balance. For now, I’d let the Mom and Dad wish stand—mostly because I was afraid of worsening the situation, but also because I wanted more time to get to know the new, hopefully improved versions. So much so, I decided to go to Vegas. Not only would that give me the ability to see how my spell was affecting them, but the days away would offer some much-wanted distance.

  I also put Introductions into the wait-and-see category. I had a month, so plenty of time to cast another wish if I needed to. But the rest of it required action. The sooner, the better.

  Now. I should do it now.

  I pulled myself upright and trudged up the remaining steps, my legs weak and unsubstantial. My heart even more so. Focus, I told myself. Focus on why this is the smart, the only, way to go. By the time I reached my floor, hot tears gushed down the sides of my face. I, having learned something, didn’t bother brushing them away. They’d just keep coming back. Even if I didn’t understand why.

  Before I turned the key in my lock, I heard Kara and Leslie’s door open behind me. My spine straightened in defense. I so didn’t need company tonight. Especially in my current sappy condition.

  I unlocked my door and pushed it open. “Hey!” I said without turning around, in as chipper a tone as I could pull off. “I’m exhausted. Going to take a hot bath and go to bed.”

  Hands landed on my shoulders. Large hands. Heavy hands. Not Leslie’s or Kara’s. The very weight of them offered a strange sort of comfort. My throat squeezed tight and a raspy, wheezy breath emerged. Scot’s scent—that earthy, wholesome, male fragrance—filled the air. I shivered again as relief and awe and happiness shuddered through me.