Laced with Magic

by Barbara Bretton

  I got it.

  But when it came to my daughter, the little girl we had buried, the unexplained was more than I could deal with. I’d been running from her death from the moment the EMT pulled me away from her and said it was too late. Karen’s wild story about otherworldly phone calls and ghostly play-ground visits had been strangely easy for me to block. I could accept the fact that Chloe could turn me into a Ken Doll, then back again to human size with nothing more than a passing thought, but I still refused to believe my daughter’s spirit needed me.

  I was a cop. I needed proof.

  Proof that wasn’t likely to find me on the highway, a few miles from the New Hampshire state line.

  “Come on,” I muttered. “Gimme a sign, a smoking gun, something I can hang on to. Call me, Steffie . . . I’m here waiting . . . Call me—”

  The shock of the ringtone almost blew me off the road. A cross between Brahms’ Lullaby and the old Barney theme song, it filled the cabin with an unfamiliar melody that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I grabbed for the phone and flipped it open.

  “MacKenzie.”

  The song didn’t stop.

  I clicked the ON button.

  “MacKenzie here.”

  Not only did the song not stop, it got louder.

  I started to sweat.

  “Say something, goddamn it.”

  But the song kept on playing, an endless loop that made me want to drive into a brick wall if that was the only way to get it to shut the hell up.

  And then without warning, Steffie’s voice spilled from the phone with the music and I flung the cell down like it was on fire. What the hell was happening?

  I skidded to a stop on the shoulder. Steffie’s voice, sweet and babyish, blended with the ringtone’s music. I couldn’t make out the words to the song but her voice—Jesus, her voice was unmistakable.

  I felt like she was dying all over again, like she was slipping away from me, limp in my arms like a discarded doll, and this pain made the pain I felt the first time seem like a warm hug.

  And something inside me finally broke and I howled her name, louder and louder, the sound tearing up from my gut, ripping my throat, as I tried to send my guilt up into the somewhere so she would know I loved her and would trade places with her in a heartbeat but the fucking song wouldn’t stop and my little girl kept singing singing singing and I knew there wasn’t one goddamn thing I could do that would ever make this better.

  At least not in this world.

  Maybe it was time I found out what Sugar Maple had to offer.

  CHLOE

  By the time noon rolled around, the ex, Penny the cat, and I were the only ones left in the shop.

  Penny slept soundly in the self-replenishing basket of roving I’d inherited from my mother while Karen worked on a gorgeous cabled knee sock. There was still no sign of Luke, and we were both moving from anxious to worried.

  “I ordered out for sandwiches,” I told her. “Hope you like tuna.”

  “Whatever,” she said, looking at me over her sock. “Thanks.”

  I knew what she was thinking: See? I was right. I told you he would disappear. But she didn’t say it and neither did I. We really hadn’t said too much to each other since her unexpected outburst at the worktable.

  I sneaked into the bathroom once and dialed Luke’s cell, but it rang through without even flipping to voice mail. Something that didn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  As it turned out, the fun was just beginning.

  Luke didn’t show up but everyone else in town did. Now, I know Sticks & Strings is a world-class yarn shop, but even I didn’t believe the entire female population of Sugar Maple suddenly had an overwhelming need for sock yarn. The chance to check out Luke’s ex-wife up close and personal proved impossible to resist.

  “Is it always this busy in here?” Karen asked after Clara Bains from the children’s day care center bustled out clutching her new two-dollar plastic crochet hook.

  “No,” I said. “I think they’re coming to see you.”

  “Typical small town,” she said with a quick smile. “They probably want to check out the bitch who embarrassed you this morning.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond so, for a change, I said nothing.

  “Sorry about that,” she went on. “My social skills have eroded the last few months.”

  I nodded my acceptance of her apology but I wasn’t really feeling the love. She had meant every word she said at the worktable. Even worse, she might have been telling the truth.

  Shelly, the pretty werecat who worked at the Assisted Living facility, pushed open the front door. “Hi, everyone!” she trilled, pointedly not looking at Karen. “Time for a new project.”

  Shelly wanted yarn about as much as I wanted moths, but I waited patiently while she checked out every skein of Manos del Uruguay in the store and pretended she wasn’t really checking out the ex.

  When it came time to pay, she made a big production of checking her watch. “Oops! Coffee break’s over. Gotta run.” She dashed toward the door. “Hold that pretty pink for me, would you?”

  Verna Griggs was next in the parade. It was a known fact that Verna would rather sit naked on an iceberg than fiddle with sticks and string.

  “You too, Verna?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Please don’t pretend you’re here to buy yarn.”

  Verna gave me a wink. “Why would I pretend I’m here to buy yarn when we both know I wanted a look at Luke’s ex?”

  “Tell that to the rest of the villagers,” I said. “I almost sold more yarn today than I actually sold last year.”

  “How’re you handling”—she paused with atypical delicacy—“this new development?”

  “I know you’re too polite to ask, but Luke plans to drive her back to Boston later today. Feel free to pass the news along.”

  The lines of worry on her forehead eased dramatically. “That should help.”

  I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. Everyone in town had made it crystal clear that the addition of one more human into our mix would send us spinning straight into Isadora’s grasp.

  It was hard to believe a ninety-pound woman could throw a town into a frenzy but she had.

  Phil from the sub shop dropped off a bag of tuna salad sandwiches and some diet soda while we were talking to Verna and, fates love him, he didn’t even glance in Karen’s direction. I was saying goodbye to both of them at the door when I glanced up the street and saw Beansie from the farmer’s market marching a brigade of quilters toward Sticks & Strings.

  Enough already. I had to draw the line somewhere.

  I darted back into the store, locked the door, then posted the CLOSED sign. No more trotting busybodies through the shop like we were an exhibit in the Museum of Lost Humans. They could pretend to buy yarn someplace else for a while.

  “I should have done it hours ago,” I said over my shoulder as I double-checked the lock. “Now we can eat in—”

  I didn’t mean to scream, but when you turn around and see your boyfriend’s ex-wife floating toward you in a giant transparent bubble, screaming seems like a pretty reasonable option.

  “Don’t panic!” I ordered her even though I was doing a pretty good job of panicking myself. “You’re fine! Just calm down and I’ll figure out how to get you out of there.”

  I guess you wouldn’t be surprised to know that the first thing I did was check for purple glitter. The second thing I did was start breathing again when I didn’t find any.

  I was glad I couldn’t read lips. The hand gestures, however, were self-explanatory.

  She kicked at the pliable membrane of the bubble like a crazed soccer player. The more she kicked, the more the bubble bounced around the room, careening off walls, tumbling over the back of the sofa, shooting up to the ceiling, then down to the floor like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

  “Stop fighting it,” I yelled, not sure if she could hear me in there. “You’re ma
king things worse.”

  Which, all things considered, was hard to imagine.

  I tried to grab the giant bubble but it was like clutching at quicksilver. The thing had a mind of its own.

  And quite possibly a gyroscope, because no matter how crazy its trajectory, Karen remained upright through it all.

  Seriously pissed, but upright.

  Had I caused this to happen? I tried to reconstruct my thoughts seconds before she got gobbled up by the bubble, but I’d been more fixated on my nosy neighbors than on Luke’s ex-wife. If I suddenly had bubble powers, I would have encased the Sugar Maple Garden Club, not Karen MacKenzie.

  But if I wasn’t responsible, who was? There were no signs of Isadora anywhere, no smears of purple glitter. No glitter of any color that I could see, which pretty much ruled out Fae intervention, but there was always the possibility. Vampires? It was still too sunny out for most of them. The bubble was too ephemeral for the earthier trolls among us. Mountain giants lean more toward smash-and-grab. We had a large shapeshifter population, but they usually liked to be right in the middle of things, not watching from—

  “Holy crap!”

  I jumped at the sound of Janice’s voice behind me. “How did you get in? I locked the doors.”

  She offered me a bite of her slice of pizza but I shook my head. “Not the back one,” she said. “You always forget to lock the back one. I was cutting through on my way back to the shop.” She gestured toward Karen, who was glaring daggers at both of us. “I have to admit that’s one way to keep things under control.”

  “Which would be terrific if I had anything to do with this.”

  “You didn’t pop her into that bubble?”

  “Nope,” I said as Karen drifted past us. “And I don’t know how to pop her out.” I tore my eyes away from the sight of Luke’s ex-wife dancing on the ceiling. “You’ve seen this before, right? Please tell me you’ve seen it.”

  “Only on Seinfeld and it didn’t end well.” Janice took a bite of pizza. “Did you try poking it?”

  “It’s like poking a jellyfish.”

  Karen glared out at me, and I made an I-wish-I-could-help kind of gesture, which only seemed to make her angrier.

  “Dude is seriously pissed off,” Janice observed. “Guess the magickal cat’s out of the bag now.”

  “Oh God,” I moaned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You’d better start thinking of it. She’s going to have questions when you get her out of that thing.”

  “Assuming I can. Remember I’m not the one who turned her into Bubble Girl.”

  “I’m thinking Midge,” Janice said. “She’s been dying to know what goes on with you and your hunky cop.”

  I shook my head. “It’s daylight,” I reminded her. “Midge doesn’t get rolling until after dark.”

  “Maybe she preprogrammed her prank.”

  “And miss the payoff? Definitely not Midge Stallworth.” Midge loved nothing more than a good practical joke that wasn’t aimed in her direction.

  Vampire humor is to Sugar Maple what bathroom humor is to the human world. Classless, embarrassing, and sometimes very funny as long as it wasn’t at your expense.

  “Luke isn’t back yet,” I said as we kept our eyes locked on Karen. “I called his cell but it rang through.”

  “You know what it’s like up here in the mountains. The signals get lost when you turn a corner.”

  “He left before dawn, Jan. He should have been back hours ago. What if—”

  “You worry too much,” Janice said. “If Luke was in trouble, every busybody in this town would be lined up to be first to tell you. Around here bad news travels faster than it happens.”

  “You’re making my head hurt.”

  “Sit down,” Janice advised. “Pour yourself some red. Maybe the Book of Spells has a bubble antidote.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  Janice shrugged. “Then you pour yourself another glass of red and wait.”

  12

  LUKE

  Chloe’s Buick was parked at the door of Sticks & Strings, its right front passenger wheel up on the curb. It was only four in the afternoon and the CLOSED sign was in place.

  I tapped on the glass. Seconds later Chloe flipped the dead bolt, then opened the door a crack.

  “This isn’t a good time,” she said.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I left you alone with Karen. I shouldn’t have stormed out this morning.”

  “Luke, I’m not kidding. Go home. We’ll talk later.”

  She made to close the door but I stuck my foot in the opening. Sometimes size twelves came in handy.

  “I know you’re pissed. I should have called. Things got away from me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. “I’m over it.”

  “So let me in.”

  “Luke—” She groaned. “Oh damn.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She pushed on the door. “Will you just go home and let me finish up?”

  “Is Karen with you?”

  “She’s with me.”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “So she’s pissed too.”

  “It’s not all about you, Luke.”

  “I’m the one who should be pissed,” I reminded her. “You turned me into a Ken Doll.”

  “I told you it was an accident.” She didn’t look even a little apologetic. “Could we talk about this later?”

  I wasn’t big on strong-arm tactics, but sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

  I expected her to turn me into a garden slug but she didn’t. I took it as a good sign and stepped into the shop.

  “Chloe, we—holy shit!”

  My ex-wife was floating three feet above the ground in the bottom of a giant soap bubble.

  “Oh Jesus,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight. “Tell me she isn’t dead.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  The holy-shit aspect was gaining momentum. “Is she in a coma?”

  She hesitated a second. “She’s sleeping.” A pause. “At least, I think she’s sleeping.”

  “But you can wake her up.”

  She hesitated again. “I don’t know.”

  I watched as the bubble floated past us, gently tapped against the far wall, then began floating back toward the other side of the room. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She was starting to sound pissed again. “In case you’ve forgotten, this hasn’t exactly been a great day for me. Watching your ex-wife float around my shop in a soap bubble wasn’t way up on my to-do list.”

  “What the hell has been going on around here?”

  “Other than the fact that every fake knitter in town walked through the store so they could take a good look at my competition?”

  It was going downhill faster than I could stop it.

  And I didn’t try to stop it.

  “And how about the fact that when I figure out how to break her out of the bubble, I’m going to have to explain how she ended up inside a bubble in the first place without mentioning the words magic, spell, or deep shit.”

  How many holy-shit moments could you handle in one day? “So that’s why you stuffed her in a bubble.”

  “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

  “A woman with magical powers she can’t always control.” And a temper I wasn’t going to bring up right now.

  “I didn’t put her in that bubble.”

  “She didn’t jump in herself, did she?”

  All around the shop, lightbulbs shattered in a hailstorm of glass. Like I said, she has a temper.

  “Okay,” I said, backing up a step or three. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”

  “You’re the detective,” she snapped. “You tell me.” Her cheeks reddened noticeably. “Sorry. It’s been a bad day.”

  I knew I was walking out onto thin ice
but what the hell. I’d been there before. “Are you sure you didn’t do it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I waited.

  “Well, almost positive.”

  I waited some more.

  “If I did, it was involuntary.”

  “Like turning me into Barbie’s boy toy.”

  “You really need to let that go, Luke. It’s getting old.”

  “It happened yesterday.”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I know weird things happen when you get pissed off.”

  “I’m not pissed off.”

  I mimed extreme relief. “Good to know. That last trip to miniature land knocked me on my ass.”

  I expected a laugh or at least a bare-minimum smile but I got nothing. Our eyes met and the truth hit me hard. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t pissed off. She was hurting and hurting bad.

  “She said you don’t want another child. Is that true?” Pure Chloe. Straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Yes.” No point playing word games. This was too important. “I’m not saying things won’t change but right now it’s true.”

  “I guess your ex-wife knows you better than I do.”

  “We’re still new to each other.” I reached for her hand. The sparks were there same as always but she didn’t respond. “We’ll get there.”

  “She said you were a lousy husband.”

  “She’s right about that too.”

  “She said you buried yourself in work whenever things got tough at home.”

  “I guess it seemed that way to her.”

  She met my eyes. “Is that why you stayed away today? Things were getting tough here and you took off.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Where were you, Luke? Why didn’t you call? I mean, did you have to turn off your voice mail?”

  This was as good a time as any. If we were meant to get through this, I’d find out now.

  “I need your help.” The words felt strange and unfamiliar to me. Cops were supposed to make things better for other people, not go around asking for help.

  Next to me, she grew very still. “What kind of help?”