by Hero Bowen
“We can come up with something. We can fix this,” Grace pleaded. “But if you kick Nadia out, you’re sentencing her to a life without wishes—and that’s at the very least. We need her to stay protected here until we can strike another deal.”
Basha scoffed. “She is dead to me anyway. Why should I care what happens, eh?”
Nadia wasn’t even angry anymore; she was just bitterly, bitterly sad that her once-vibrant grandmother had turned into this. “Once upon a time, I thought you were queen of this household, Babcia. And you are. A tyrant queen.”
“Will you stop winding each other up!” Grace begged, her harried gaze flitting between them.
“Wind up? I am not one bringing stranger to house,” Basha said, and Nadia stiffened. “Yes, I know. I always know.”
The door opened, and Miles stood just outside it, looking shocked and sheepish.
Basha rounded on him. “This is no your place, musician! Is no your home. Keep your nose out of family business.”
Nadia waited for her to shoo him away or go into a meltdown about an “outsider” being privy to a wish-hunting conversation, but Basha didn’t seem surprised at all.
“If you put your fingers in fire, you get burned,” Basha continued, eyes narrowed at Nadia and speaking as if Miles wasn’t standing right there. “Wishing world is no for you. I can see you are no prepared for such things.”
“I wouldn’t be in this mess if she hadn’t stolen my wish!” Miles said. “That’s some bullshit right there. I’m not ‘keeping my nose out’ until I get back what’s mine.”
Basha glared at him. “Then you are bad as Nadia. You no listen, and so you get in trouble. No one listens to Basha, and then cry when all goes wrong. If you steal unsanctioned wish, you find yourself in debt too.”
“But it was my wish! I can’t steal back what was already mine!”
Basha snorted. “You will see. Basha is always right. Wishmaster rules prevail.”
Nadia shook her head. It was always the same with her. Basha couldn’t even entertain the possibility she might be wrong.
“Not all of the rules are beyond compromise,” Nadia said. “Not everything has to end with a debt, if it can be ironed out. Miles is a first-time offender, so he might just get a warning, or a suggestion that he leave town.”
“I’m not leaving because some Wishmaster says I have to, and I’m not paying back a debt I don’t owe,” Miles shot back. “I haven’t done anything wrong! You’re all out of your damn minds if you think this makes any kind of sense. How can I steal my own wish? It’s mine!”
Basha banged her cane on the ground, sending a shudder through the floorboards. “I have enough of this. Kick both out, now. I am tired of explaining rules to blockheads who no listen.”
“Who are you talking to?” Miles asked, frowning in confusion.
Nadia groaned. “It’s a long—”
A violent gust of wind pushed Nadia and Miles out through the living room door, their arms flailing. Grace howled for Basha to stop, but the sound got lost in the gale as the pair staggered back across the entrance hall, unable to fight the house’s ejection. The front door swung open of its own accord a second before they would’ve been smashed against it, and with one last blast of Basha’s anger, the house belched them out onto the porch.
The tornado winds ceased, and the door slammed back into the jamb. Thrown off balance, Nadia teetered on the top step of the porch, narrowly avoiding tumbling down the rest of them by grabbing the nearest column. Miles, on the other hand, had already landed on his back, half waterfalling down the steps.
“Ow! God, that hurts,” he rasped, rolling onto his belly and pushing himself back onto his haunches. He arched his spine to a good ninety degrees, his hands splayed on his waist.
Nadia leaned into the pillar. “Anything broken?”
“I’m figuring that out.” He twisted from side to side, the way she’d seen her mother do when Nadia was a kid, back in the days of spandex and aerobics.
She stared at the house, blinking back tears before turning her gaze toward the darkened street. Usually, occurrences that were considered “magic” manifested as something that could be logically explained: a door swinging back in someone’s face, a freak lightning strike, a hint of déjà vu. The Wishing Tree relied on the brain’s capacity to fill in blanks with a more believable explanation. If there were any paparazzi lurking in the shadows, Nadia figured they’d do exactly that and convince themselves that someone had shoved them both out of the door instead.
“So that’s really it?” Miles asked as he rose unsteadily to his feet.
Nadia nodded. “The house won’t let me back in now. Or you.” She rubbed her eyes, pretending she was trying to dislodge some dust while discreetly soaking up a stray tear.
He laughed nervously. “The house has a mind of its own?”
“It’s not the house, really—it’s Basha. As long as she’s in there, it’s like she’s one with the place, although they act independently.” Nadia gestured back at the house. “I got mad once as a kid and tried to break a vase, but it just kept bouncing off the floor until Basha pushed me out the door. Back then, I’d beg to be let back in because I had nowhere else to go.”
“She doesn’t like to be challenged, I see,” Miles noted wryly.
How much had he overheard in there about Nick? She tried to think if she’d even used the word “resurrection,” but the hurt and frustration muddled her memory. At least Miles was polite enough not to pry into her personal drama.
Nadia followed him down the garden path. “I knew she’d be mad, but . . . I don’t even want to talk about it right now. It’ll just get me pissed off again.”
“Is the Wishmaster really coming for me?” Miles asked.
“It’s definitely possible. But, like I said, you might get let off for being a first-time offender.” She frowned. “Although, knowing the way the Wishmaster handles things, I wouldn’t count on it.”
She took out her phone and checked for any threatening voice mails, but her mailbox was empty. With no safe house and no car, she wasn’t sure where to head next. Her insides tightened with a strange, clenching loss as she remembered the taunting jangle of her keys. Nick’s Chevy was probably gone for good now.
Sure, to most people, it was just a car, and it wasn’t like she had no insurance to cover the theft. But it wasn’t just a car to her. It was a well of memories: road trips across the state and that satisfying crunch of gravel when they arrived at their B and B or campsite for the night. Parking up on a grassy roadside for no other reason than to take in a beautiful view, or to paw over each other like they were teenagers, fogging up the windows. And the late-night snack runs to the store, asking what the other wanted. It was like that woman had driven off with a box full of Nadia’s most precious possessions.
Nadia stared at the sidewalk. “I guess we’ll just have to walk to the nearest street corner and figure out what to do next.”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff, Nads? I’m set. I texted my ride while you were all in there yelling at each other.” Miles nodded to the side of the road opposite the house, where a black Mercedes with tinted windows waited, its headlights on. Maybe he’d been too distracted talking to his chauffer to listen to much of the conversation after all. He spread his arms wide. “Now, are you gonna come along or what?”
“How come I get an invite now?” she said suspiciously, eyeing the ride. “Not that long ago, you were going to call your publicist and say I’d abducted you. Why the sudden change of heart? Don’t tell me you’ve taken pity on me after hearing that screaming match?”
Miles snorted. “For someone with an advanced degree, you’re not so sharp.”
“Well?”
“You figure it out.”
She thought through it, although the pounding in her head didn’t make it easy. What did he have to gain from this arrangement?
“You’re okay with me tagging along now because you realize you need my expertise. Is
that it?” Nadia said. “You could find your wish again, but you don’t know shit about the way the business works, so you know that if you want to have any hope of getting your wish back—and not having your fingers broken—you need me along.”
He smirked. “Fine, you got it. I need your help with this whole wish trap thing, even if I know you’re just going to try to do me dirty again in the end. But we’ll see.”
“Lucky for you, I have a heart of gold,” she replied with a straight face.
“Ha! You ever thought about comedy? I know what’s in it for you—you want me to use my finding powers to help you out. I didn’t want to have to offer something I know you wouldn’t have been able to resist.”
Nadia snorted. “Oh yeah, what’s that? I’m not my mom, remember.”
Miles chuckled. “Obviously. A private concert was what I was talking about. What were you thinking?”
Nadia felt color rising in her cheeks, and the fact that Miles stared at her intently only made it worse.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’d have considered it, if that’s what it took.” He flashed her his best deep, troubled rock-poet look. “I could’ve made you believe in love again. Even if it was just until the sun came up.”
Nadia faked a mini vomit. “Does that really work on women?”
Miles laughed. “More than you’d think.”
An idea struck her as he moved to cross the road. A wish trap was her only means of getting another wish to help her escape this whole mess. Or at least a way to resurrect Nick, if she had to run out of Savannah and start someplace new, away from her family’s constant judgment and threat of punishment. Maybe it was time to make a deal.
“I’ve got a proposition for you.” Remembering his earlier words about a night with him, she hastened to add, “A real proposition.”
“Okay, shoot.”
She took a deep breath. “If I help you get your wish back and I promise not to steal it again, then you’ll help me ‘find’ a way to escape punishment from the Wishmaster.”
He turned to her, his eyebrows arched. “I thought that was a given. What’s the catch? What else do you get out of it? ’Cause I don’t buy you suddenly turning into Mother Teresa.”
She nodded to the pregnant-esque bulge in his hoodie pocket. “I get to keep your wishing jar.”
He frowned. “You want this jar? My jar?”
Nadia understood his skepticism, but it truly was a genuine offer. Given that Miles could easily find her whenever he wanted, there was no point in gunning for his wish again. But she might as well try to gain something of value from this exchange that would last her beyond their reluctant partnership.
“My wishing box is broken, remember?” she explained, eager to strike a deal before she got into his car. “And once you have your wish back, you won’t have any need for your jar. But it’ll give me a shot at getting my two remaining wishes.”
His nose crinkled. “Now it sounds like you’re just trying to convince me not to trust you.”
“How can anybody trust anyone?” she answered, employing some of her marriage counselor expertise in framing questions. “But we have to. When there’s a lion around, the antelopes have to stick together.”
Miles eyed her curiously. “I get I’m supposed to be the antelope in that little bit of poetry, but what does that make you, then?”
“We’re both antelopes, fighting a mutual lion—the Wishmaster who stole our wish.” She put on a rehearsed smile, hoping it would make him more open.
“Sounds exactly like what a lion would say. Open up that mouth. I want to see those fangs. Besides, it’s my wish. Not ours.”
She nodded guiltily. “As I said, I promise I won’t steal that wish from you again, since it’s your last. I . . . I’ve been dishonest and unfair toward you, and I’m sorry. I’m trying to make it up to you.” The admission was harder than she’d expected. She’d encouraged similar words from her clients many times, but it was easier to encourage someone else to apologize than to do it herself. “Believe it or not, that’s not the sort of person I am. Sure, I’ll lose the space your wish would’ve filled, but I’ll still have two more wishing slots left.”
Miles looked at her, skepticism still written across his face.
She sighed. “Fine, how about this: it’ll be easier for me to find a second wish if you aren’t tailing me indefinitely, trying to get revenge because I stole your wish. This way, we both get a clean break.”
After a moment of staring at her without speaking, Miles patted his jar-shaped tummy. “I’m probably a sucker, but for some reason, I believe you. You’d better not be lying again.” He turned his head sharply, his eyes creasing. “But I’ve got an additional rider on this contract.”
“Which is?”
“You tell me how the jar works before I give it to you—which isn’t happening until I get my wish back and spend it so I know you can’t steal it again, by the way—and maybe we can go our separate ways . . . on friendlier terms. But first, we need to stop yapping and hitch our wagons to this ride, and fast. Feels like I’m losing the thief’s trail already.”
Nadia shrugged. “Deal.”
As they finally crossed toward the Mercedes, the burly beefcake who got out of the driver’s side looked like a bouncer told he was attending a wedding on short notice. His suit was at least two sizes too small for his gym-pumped body, and the collar looked like it was about to burst from trying to contain his thick neck. He had a kind—albeit overly tanned—face and a friendly smile.
“So, you need me after all? I thought you said you were good tonight, man,” the driver joked. “I was about to crack open a cold one.”
Miles went in for a bear hug, with a resounding back clap. “Sorry to drag you out, Jack. Things changed. You know how it is.”
“I do. That’s why I’m always ready to run to your beck and call.” Jack smirked, and Miles laughed, but Nadia heard a note of irritation in the driver’s voice. Jack eyed her. “And who’s this? I’d guess supermodel, but that’s not your type these days. You still got a type? It’s been a while.”
Jack turned to Nadia and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s a goddamn tragedy. Used to be the best part of my day, drivin’ home Victoria’s Secret angels and famous actresses. Can’t name any names, of course. These days, though? Nobody.”
Nadia stuck out her hand. “I’m Nadia. Not a supermodel. More the thorn in Miles’s side.”
“Not the first one I’ve met.” Jack laughed brightly and turned to Miles. “Ain’t that the truth?”
Miles grimaced. “This is a different kind of situation.”
“That’s what you always say.” Jack opened the back door of the Mercedes, then nodded perfunctorily at Nadia. “Ma’am.” She climbed inside. “Sir,” he said with exaggerated politeness to Miles.
Miles shook his head as he slid onto the cool leather seats, but he waited until Jack was in the driver’s seat before he spoke. “C’mon, how many years have you been driving me? You know I hate that ‘sir’ shit.”
Jack’s laugh sounded forced again. “Fine, Miles. You’re the boss after all.”
“Anyway, don’t worry. You’ll be home again in no time. Not gonna be an all-nighter.”
“You always say that too.” Jack rolled his eyes. The poor guy had probably been looking forward to his night off, though Miles didn’t seem to notice his annoyance.
“Got a favorite song of his you want to hear?” Jack asked Nadia, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
She shook her head. “Nah. Not sure I know any of them. I’m more of a country fan.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the withering glare Miles gave her was worth it.
Jack laughed. “Oh man, I like you.”
“All right, everybody done trying to clown on the guy who owns the car?” Miles snapped. “Just get going. I’ll let you know where to turn.”
Jack sighed. “This again?”
As the car accelerated smoothly down the street, Nadia watched the childhood hom
e from which she’d been cast out recede into the night. That was the past, it seemed. Now, she was completely alone.
Miles humming a tune to himself as he stared out the window offered a correction: she wasn’t completely alone. She had one person in her corner.
Maybe.
Chapter Thirteen
Leaning up against the tinted window, Nadia peered out as the car sailed down East Broad Street, passing Mother Mathilda Beasley Park. It wasn’t as well-known to outsiders as places like Forsyth Park or Bonaventure, but it ought to have been. It was named after Mother Beasley, the first African American nun in the state of Georgia, and that fact alone made it one of her favorite parks.
On a normal day, the park made her smile, but not tonight. It reminded her of so many Saturday mornings with her mom, grandma, and sister, where hours flew by like minutes while they conjured up stories across the two playgrounds. The jungle gyms would transform into castles, Nadia defending one while Kaleena defended the other. Sometimes, they were ships, or fortresses in the sky, or stables for the imaginary horses they rode around the park’s trails. And sometimes, they were just jungle gyms.
Growing up ruins everything. She’d heard about mother birds kicking their chicks out of the nest as a fly-or-fall test. But no documentary had ever warned her that you could fly away from the nest, only to return as a grown bird years later and get hoofed out when the grizzled old hen didn’t like how you behaved.
It hurt to get thrown out of the house like that, with no attempt at compromise or understanding. Finally, her worst fear had come true: she was truly alone, with nobody to turn to. And that loneliness was a peach pit in her stomach—spiky and rough, and sprouting fronds of fear that slithered up into her ribs, squeezing her chest until she couldn’t take a full breath. It felt a lot like grief, but of a very different kind. Perhaps it would be even harder to resurrect her dead relationships than it would be to revive Nick.
Nadia concentrated on Miles as a distraction and lowered her voice so Jack wouldn’t hear. “Can you still sense the thief? How does this finding thing work, anyway?”
