by Hero Bowen
Nadia rolled the mechanism again and waited for it to sputter into life before touching it to the wick. As it caught, she rattled a different variation of the wish off her tongue at lightning speed, hoping it might skirt the Wishing Tree “rules.”
“I wish I had a shortcut to pay off my debt to the Wishmaster, where no one gets hurt,” she said. After all, she wanted to resolve this family feud peaceably. Kaleena might’ve abandoned her and burdened her with this debt, but she was still Nadia’s sister.
But just as Nadia moved to blow out the flame, a splintering pain forked through her entire body.
She hissed sharply through her teeth, wanting to scream, but aware that anything above a whimper would bring someone running. All she could do was hope the blinding pulse subsided. Through blurry eyes, she saw that the candle had extinguished itself.
“I guess you really didn’t like that, huh?”
She needed to switch up the wording, since this was going down like a lead balloon.
Once the pain had ebbed, she rolled the sparking mechanism a fourth time—but nothing happened. She tried again, wondering if the Wishing Tree had the ability to screw with lighters as well as candles. Still nothing.
Frustrated, she held it to the light, then groaned. Out of fuel. Cursing under her breath, she hurled the lighter into the trash can.
She wasn’t giving up. There were candles, matches, and lighters all over the house, which seemed a lot like mockery to her formerly wishless state. The problem was, she could hardly retrieve a lighter without tipping her mother off that something was happening. Grace had already remarked on Nadia’s mood, after all. Plus, her mother likely still had the compass coin. One false move and the opportunity would slip away—and Grace and Basha’s surveillance would no doubt become even more oppressive.
A thought lit her mind like a camera flash. Basha kept matches in her bedside table, and she was fast asleep. Over the years, Nadia had seen her grandmother sleep through Fourth of July firework extravaganzas and Kaleena’s emo phase that had zero volume control.
Nadia hurried back out into the hallway, pushed Basha’s door open as slowly as she could, and slid through.
“Where did you go?” Basha mumbled in her sleep, the Polish words dulled by dreams. “I thought I knew where you were, but . . . and then the wasps came.”
On the bedside table, an empty cup of tea with leaves crusted on the bottom explained why Basha had drifted off so quickly—part of her nightly ritual. Nadia crept the rest of the way to the bedside table and eked open the drawer. She had just opened the drawer wide enough to slot her hand inside when a shrill scream from downstairs echoed through the house.
For a second, Nadia’s nerves unraveled. Then she reminded herself that the last time Grace had screamed like that, The Bachelor’s controversial final choice had been the root cause, and her heart slowed a bit. If her mom screamed again, then she’d start panicking.
“Is it Nazis? Is it Resistance?” Basha awoke with a start, still speaking her mother tongue.
Nadia closed the drawer as discreetly as she could and rushed over to her grandmother. The deceit struck a chord of guilt in her chest, even though she was doing this to benefit all three of them, not just herself.
“Nadia?” Basha’s confusion faded. “What was that sound?”
“It’s Mom,” she replied. “She screamed. I was running past your door, on my way to check on her, when I heard you wake up.”
Basha grabbed her cane and stuck out a hand. “Help me up. We go see what problem is. Is likely spider, but I deal with it. I do not mind spider, as long as is not too big.”
Nadia helped Basha to her feet, and together they headed out to investigate.
“Mom? Mom, what’s up?” Nadia called.
Grace stood at the foot of the staircase, in front of the window beside the front door. She was rigid with fear, eyes fixed on the front yard. Night had fallen, and the usual spotlight from the streetlamp outside was nowhere to be found, blanketing the garden in darkness.
Grace turned slowly, eyes wide. “I think someone was trying to look in through the window! They were just outside.”
“The house won’t let them in,” Basha pointed out. “You think is Peeping Tom? Why? Surely all boys have seen what you have to offer.” She snorted.
Grace ignored the gibe. “Maybe Croak has come back for another visit.”
“What should we do?” Nadia asked, her mouth suddenly dry. If one of the Wishmaster’s people had found out about her stolen wish, she was done for.
Grace stormed out through the front door, apparently unafraid of the potential danger. Nadia was about to follow, to talk some sense into her mother, when Basha’s perpetually furnace-temperature hand wrapped around her forearm.
“Stay here, dziecko. I protect you from in here, she protect you from out there.”
I don’t need protecting. It sounded too childish to say out loud, so she bit it back. Instead, she stepped closer to the window and looked out, squinting into the darkness. A figure stood just past the gate, near Nadia’s car. Grace approached the figure with her phone’s flashlight raised, and as the light caught the turning face of the creepy shadow, Nadia’s heart plummeted. With dawning horror, she realized who he was and why he was here.
After all, he had told her that his second wish had been to always find what he was looking for.
Frozen, mouth agape, Nadia frantically tried to decide what to do. At the same time, Grace and Miles started walking up the garden path, toward the door. Nadia needed to spend her wish now, but she still hadn’t figured out the best wish to make, or the phrasing, or—
“Guess who just showed up on our doorstep, out of the blue!” Grace burst through the front door with a relieved grin on her face. “It’s only Miles Hunter! Can you believe it? He says he’s thinking about moving into the neighborhood because he wants a house with good bones and plenty of character.” She flashed Miles a mortifying wink. “As it happens, I have both.”
As Miles stepped into the foyer, Grace mouthed a dramatic “Oh my God” to Nadia behind his back. Saucy eye roll and everything.
“He’s been looking at the Georgian Revival style to see if it’s the right kind of old and reliable. On that one, I’m not sure I’m either, depending on the context.” Grace exploded in a wild cackle as she pawed Miles’s muscular arms. “I told him we’d give him the grand tour.”
“Appreciate the hospitality,” Miles said oh so casually.
As per the house’s protective defenses, no one could enter without an invitation, but Grace had clearly extended one when she’d dragged him across the threshold. Nadia almost would’ve preferred to face Croak or Black Hat, rather than the man whose stolen wish was still burning a hole in her chest.
“This is Nadia, my daughter,” Grace said perfunctorily.
The icy pit in Nadia’s stomach grew even colder. Now Miles knew that she had even lied about her name.
“Surely you don’t have a daughter that old?” Miles made a clear dig at Nadia as he complimented Grace. “I’d have thought you were sisters.”
Grace beamed from ear to ear. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“It’s so nice to meet you . . . Nadia.” Miles smiled, but the hard glint in his eyes said: gotcha.
Chapter Nine
“Do you drink?” Grace cooed. “Tell me you drink. I’m sure I can find a bottle of something spicy and expensive with our names on it. Or do you prefer something light and a bit fruity?” She fawned over Miles like she’d been starved of male company—something Nadia knew for damn sure couldn’t be further from the truth.
Basha leaned on her cane. “Let the man get inside properly. You suffocate him!”
“As long as it’s not Madeira, I’ll have a glass,” Miles said.
He seemed to be in the mood to appease everyone but Nadia. Had he somehow guessed that the other two women weren’t in on her thievery?
“That stuff is too sweet for me,” he continued.
“It’s like someone just thinned out some syrup and called it wine.”
Grace erupted with laughter. “Say things like that, Miles—may I call you Miles?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving Nadia’s face. “Say things like that, Miles, and the old money will faint right off their high horses.”
“My daughter—she never speaks simple. Red or white?” Basha appeared equally taken by the musician as she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him farther into the foyer. Grace was dragged along with him, not quite ready to relinquish him from her clutches.
Miles shrugged. “White works for me, if it’s dry.”
“White wine it is. Surely the only dry thing in this house right now,” Grace quipped as she reluctantly released her hold of Miles and hurried off to the kitchen to ransack the wine fridge.
Nadia cringed. She wouldn’t have minded the house hurling Grace out into the front yard, for the sake of protecting Nadia’s ears.
Miles stared at her, equal parts hurt and anger in his eyes. “Upset your mom is muscling in on your game? Nothing worse than someone taking what’s yours, you know?” he muttered icily.
“Ah.” Nadia wanted to reply with something more coherent, but really, what was there to say?
She thought of the wooden jar tucked under the driver’s seat of the Chevy and hoped he couldn’t read her face. Then again, with his ability to find whatever he was looking for, what difference did it make? He must’ve known where the jar was but figured out that Nadia had already absorbed his wish. Which was, of course, why he was standing in her house, staring at her like he wanted her to spontaneously combust. The wish was what he was really looking for.
Anger burned in her chest. She should’ve just bought the damn candles and a new lighter on the way home. It would’ve been easier. Basha had turned out to be fine, anyway. She wanted to blame Grace’s frantic phone call, but there were bigger blockades at play. Namely, the Wishing Tree wasn’t cooperating, and her wish phrasings were likely all duds. She needed time to think of something better, but time wasn’t really on her side with Miles here. If she tried to sneak off upstairs, he’d call her out for sure.
“I should go and help my mom.” Nadia shot Miles a tight smile and sprinted from the room before he could protest, leaving him in Basha’s tender mercies.
In the kitchen, Grace clutched an armful of bottles. “Ah, perfect timing! Which do you think he’ll like?”
“This is a bad idea, Mom.” Nadia lowered her voice. “We can’t put on some wine-tasting evening with a celebrity. If he stays here too long, the paparazzi might get interested in our ‘barrier.’ Some try-hard with a long lens probably followed him here.”
Grace snorted. “I didn’t see anyone, and I can sniff out a camera like a pig after truffles. Besides, it gives me time to show my best angle.”
“And if you end up in the tabloids tomorrow, with the papers calling you Miles Hunter’s new cougar?” Nadia blurted out, desperate to get that man out of the house as soon as possible.
Grace sighed wistfully, doing her best lovestruck debutante impression. “If only. I’d be swatting men away like mosquitos if I got a headline with that rock god.”
“Have you ever heard a single song of his?” Nadia pointed out.
Grace tilted her head. “Does it matter?” She set the bottles down. “Anyway, I’m not saying I want him to play me like his guitar, but he can tune my pegs whenever he feels like it.”
Nadia’s gaze fixed on the wine for a moment. Miles must’ve been even more ignorant about the wishing world than she’d thought, since most wishers knew it was downright stupid to accept drinks from someone else. Although it could be put in any type of drink, Alexander’s Tea was the proper name for the wishing bark infusion that diminished the abilities of a wisher. People often combined it with cinnamon to mask the bitter taste. The story went that Alexander the Great made a wish to be invulnerable, but someone slipped wishing bark into his tea, causing him to die young at the height of his powers. Nowadays, paranoia was the cornerstone of the wish-hunting world, and even Nadia’s grandmother kept her tea-making supplies under lock and key up in her bedroom.
Nadia cast her mother a sly smile. Grace was thinking ahead more than Nadia gave her credit for. After all, she was the one who’d offered the drink, to see if he’d take it. If he hadn’t accepted, sirens would’ve sounded in her mother’s head about him being here on wish-related business.
“I’d go with the pinot grigio.” Nadia gestured to a pale green bottle at the end of the row. “If he likes it dry, you might as well pucker his lips with that.”
Grace covered her heart with her hand. “Stop—you’re going to give a girl palpitations.”
“How is that even remotely dirty?” Nadia frowned. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll never understand the way your mind works, and I don’t want to.”
Grace uncorked the pinot grigio—no screwcaps here—and reached into the back of the cabinet for a small black bottle that contained the wishing bark infusion. As her mother dosed the musician’s drink, Nadia turned on her heel and went back into the foyer.
“Where’s my babcia?” Nadia scanned the foyer, but Basha had gone. Evidently, Miles wasn’t as riveting as he thought he was.
He pointed up to the landing. “She said she felt tired, she was sorry she couldn’t stay to shoot the breeze, and went off. I offered to help, but she refused.”
“Maybe she knows you’re a wolf in Louis Vuitton clothing,” Nadia hissed. It was a hypocritical complaint, but she had to vent her frustration somewhere.
Miles patted his hoodie. “It’s Fendi, actually, but I wouldn’t expect you to know that. Thieves tend to be more into bootleg versions and don’t really pay attention to who they’re ripping off.”
“Look, you need to leave,” she said coolly. “Be pissed at me, fine, but you don’t get to walk into my house and play nice with my mom and babcia. You’re not welcome, and if this house had any sense, it would boot you out.”
Miles moved closer, until they were almost nose to nose. “And you don’t get to lay down the law to me after what you did. You’re not the front man here. You’re not even the bass player. So, give back what you took, or I’ll go to Black Hat and rat you the hell out.”
“I don’t have your jar.” She took a step back, the miasma of his cologne making her feel dizzy.
“You think I’m stupid?” He glared at her. “I know the wish isn’t in the jar anymore. It’s in you, and you’re just buying time until you can use it. I bet you’d have done it already, if I hadn’t shown up.”
Nadia patted her chest. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t think that’s going to matter to Black Hat and company when I tell them you kept a wish you only got because they got screwed out of one.” His lips curled into a grimace. “No honor among wish thieves, huh?”
He stepped back from her a second before Grace strolled into the room, which seemed ten degrees chillier than it had a moment ago.
“Here you go.” Grace handed him a generous glass of white wine. “I hope Nadia is making you feel welcome?” She cast her daughter a warning look as if to say, Don’t you block me, girl.
Miles transformed into a vision of charm. “Thank you, Grace. Just what I needed.”
“Long day, huh?” Grace said, eyes glittering.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Miles replied. He turned his attention to the room. “You’ve got a nice place here. But me, with a house this old, I’d be worried it might have some rot somewhere. You know, the kind that’s really hard to scrape out.”
Nadia took her glass from her mother. “No, I don’t think there is. Since you’re a musician, I wouldn’t think you’d know too much about the business of old houses.”
“In a house like this, the foundations are solid, and we’ve never had a problem with anything like that,” Grace added obliviously, downing half of her glass while Miles sipped his politely. “Though it can get a bit damp—”
; “I thought you were giving him a tour?” Nadia said, gripping the stem of her wine glass.
Grace grinned mischievously. “You’re right, I was.” She looped her arm through Miles’s. “Let’s start here. This is the entrance hall, as you can see.” She led him to the staircase, and Nadia had a sudden fear that Grace intended to drag him to her bedroom, like a cavewoman.
“Are these Ukrainian?” Miles pulled back slightly, noting the Polish wood carvings and blue-and-white ceramics that littered every available space in the house.
Ukrainian? Which hole did you pull that one from?
Miles knew Nadia was Polish. She’d told him. Either he hadn’t listened, or he was keeping up the innocent stranger act.
Grace smacked him lightly on the arm. “Lord, no, and don’t let my mom hear you say that. We’re Kaminskis, which admittedly sounds like it’s from that sort of way, but it’s actually Polish.”
“I kind of guessed from your mother’s accent that you weren’t Old South.” Miles smiled affably. “But Polish is cool, and ‘Kaminski’ is more interesting than ‘Hunter,’ that’s for sure.”
Grace urged him farther up the stairs. “My grandparents immigrated to the States after World War II, and we’ve been here ever since, adding some Polish flavor to Savannah.”
Nadia waited for her mom to elaborate on what that Polish flavor might taste like, but to her relief, Grace let that one slide. As for the tale that Grace had skimmed over, there was a lot of missing narrative. Nadia’s great-grandparents had moved to Savannah after running from rival wishmongers in Pennsylvania. Her great-grandmother was the one to establish the Kaminski Wishery as a family business, so Nadia supposed she had her to blame for her lifelong servitude.
She trailed the linked pair upstairs, where, to her further irritation, Grace insisted on leading Miles to Nadia’s private sanctuary—the place where zero magic happened, including the wishing kind. Apparently.
