by Hero Bowen
I knew you couldn’t be that cold. You give out tough love like nobody’s business, but you’ve got a heart that cares. If you could just swallow your pride and admit that you were wrong, you’d save yourself—and everyone else—from so much pain. Nadia wished she was physically in the room so she could say that to her grandmother. Being inside Basha’s body wasn’t a heal-all salve to the wounds she’d inflicted on the family, but it allowed Nadia into a carefully hidden part of her grandmother: the remorseful, vulnerable side.
“There is no time for this,” Basha muttered to herself in Polish. “I can’t fix what is broken now. Focus, Basha. Be stronger than this.”
Pushing away from the door, she hobbled over to the bedside table, which was adorned with ornate jewelry boxes and a bronzed lamp shaped like a hunched monkey. The silken, amethyst-colored lampshade muted the bulb’s glow to a moody red. Basha pulled out the top drawer—the same one Nadia had tried to steal matches from—and tiptoed her fingers to the very back, pressing down until Nadia heard an unusual click. A false bottom slid back into the bedside table, revealing a box of matches and a series of keys nesting in a row of square organizers.
So that’s why I couldn’t find the damn matches! Nadia supposed she ought to have known Basha would have some tricks up her sleeve.
Basha plucked up the smallest key and shuffled over to the closet on the far side of the room: an antique armoire with intricate black vines carved across the varnished surface of the weighty double doors. Nadia and Kaleena used to hide in there as children, when their grandmother was busy, and pretend it was a gateway to Narnia, complete with the silky fur coats that Basha hadn’t been able to resist at the thrift store—and that Kaleena had always yelled at her for buying. Even now, whenever Nadia smelled mothballs, it reminded her of being tucked away in that closet, listening to the hushed sound of her and her sister’s breathing in the darkness.
Opening the closet doors wide, Basha disappeared inside, pushing away sparkly evening dresses that hadn’t been worn in decades. Nadia felt the rise in her grandmother’s heart rate as she slotted the small key into a tiny indent in the back of the armoire—the kind that a person would only know was there if they’d had it designed themselves.
Basha removed the key and wedged her thin, gnarled fingers into a crevice in the wood, huffing and puffing as she slid a secret panel backward. A damp wheeze of stale air gusted out, but Basha wafted it away with her heavily ringed hand and proceeded through the gap, her bones creaking as she bent to get through.
Are you kidding me? All those years Nadia had spent pretending this was a gateway of some kind, only to find out that it literally was.
Beyond the gap lay a cramped nook, with a structurally questionable set of stairs leading up into the attic. Panting hard, Basha gripped the pale banister and hauled herself up every dusty step until she reached a doorway. She might not have been able to feel pain, but she hadn’t wished for good cardio. Nadia was terrified that her grandmother might fall and break her neck, or plummet straight through the rickety stairs. But Basha made it, grunting the whole way.
Turning a ceramic knob decorated with periwinkle flowers, she pushed through into a small attic space, which was stuffed to the rafters with the spoils of Basha’s hoarding endeavors. Nadia gasped inside her mental hideaway, marveling at the treasure trove of handwoven rugs, oil paintings, and wooden furniture. How had she never found this place, after all the exploring she’d done as a kid? It made her feel like she’d lost out somehow.
“Now, where are you?” Basha paused to catch her breath. “I know you are here.”
Nadia’s astral heart jumped for a second, thinking her grandmother was talking to her.
A moment later, Basha limped over to an old briefcase perilously balanced on top of a stack of ancient side tables that were missing a variety of legs. With trembling muscles, she tugged the briefcase off the tower of tables and set it down on top of a derelict dollhouse that looked remarkably like the Kaminski Mansion. There, she rolled the dials of a combination lock: 1-7-0-1-4-5. Nadia quickly memorized it and figured it might be the European way of representing January 17, 1945, a date that was no doubt significant to her grandmother and the world’s history.
Basha pushed open the briefcase clasps and lifted the lid. If Nadia had had her own eyes, they would’ve been wide as saucers, unabashedly excited to find out what was inside. She spied a worn leather-bound journal; various coiled necklaces, with rings cushioned on top like jeweled eggs; and a square wooden box. The box was crafted from the same rust-colored heartwood as the box Nadia had broken at Bonaventure, with a wishbone flower burned into the lid and twisting fronds curling down the sides. It had to be the wish trap Nadia had been sent here to find.
What’s so special about this one, sis? She’d assumed the Wishmaster had an abundance of traps to call her own, but it seemed Kaleena had a personal connection to this particular one.
“Lying wężowej!” Basha muttered, slamming the briefcase lid shut and rolling the dials back into a random sequence.
All the way back out of the attic, down the stairs, through the closet, and into the bedroom, Nadia could feel Basha’s prickles of anger. She didn’t like to be hoodwinked, though Nadia wasn’t sure who her grandmother had meant to call a lying snake. If Basha suspected her of being on Kaleena’s team, it would mean a one-way ticket out of the house—for good this time.
What did you expect, Babcia? You made Kaleena use a wish she’d saved for almost two decades. Did you think she’d take that lying down? You know her better than that. Nadia’s thoughts warred with one another, flitting from understanding to bitterness to sorrow to betrayal to hurt to forgiveness, then all the way back around again in a never-ending carousel of emotion.
She watched as Basha returned the key to the hidden compartment, where she picked up another key. With it, she shuffled over to her private stash of tea supplies and opened the jade-green safe, taking in a deep breath as the pungent aroma of spices, tea leaves, and herbal infusions washed over them both. Apparently deciding it was too early for her nightly ritual, Basha closed the safe again, settling down into her chair instead.
You won’t find a fix for this in the bottom of a teacup, anyway, Babcia. Reluctantly, Nadia concentrated on her own body and jumped ship. After she twisted through the black vortex, her vision soon cleared on the chalkboard. It seemed her autopilot body had behaved itself and stayed put.
“Sorry, did I drift off?” Nadia contrived another loud yawn. “I must be more tired than I thought. I feel like I just went off to some other place entirely.”
Grace refilled her own glass. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Miles and I have been having ourselves a fine old time while you’ve been snoozing.”
“Your mom was just telling me what she likes to get up to on Tybee Island.” Miles gulped, flashing major help-me eyes at Nadia.
“Oh, come now, when did I go back to being Nadia’s mom? I like it when you call me by my name.” Grace giggled, clearly a few sheets to the wind.
Nadia patted herself down, hoping she wasn’t veering into melodrama territory. “Crap, I think I left my phone at your house, Miles. I was supposed to call the bank before closing to get them to approve my new card. Damn it. I’ll have to do it tomorrow.”
It might’ve sounded like an inane anecdote, but there was a secret code in those words that Miles knew to expect. “Approving the new card” meant the box had been found, while “calling the bank” meant they were ready to move on to phase two. Fortunately, Grace was too lost in Miles’s startled eyes to realize there was something fishy going on.
“I’d lend you mine, but I’ve got a bunch of VIPs on here,” Miles said. “And I ain’t risking any of my DMs getting leaked.” He used the excuse to take out the phone that he’d borrowed from Kaleena, tucking it right up to his chin so Grace couldn’t snatch a peek. “Speaking of which, I should give my housekeeper the heads-up about where I am. She’ll worry her sweet self sick if I don’
t turn up at home tonight.”
Grace sat back, her mouth pursing in displeasure. “This housekeeper lives with you? How old is she?”
“A few years older than you, I reckon, and she lives at my place. Her grandkids stay over a lot too.” Miles typed hurriedly, sending word to the head honcho.
Grace paled. “Are you saying I’m old enough to be someone’s grandma?”
“You are, Mom,” Nadia interjected sharply, feeling a little insulted by her mom’s obvious horror. If things had panned out the way they were supposed to, Grace might’ve been a grandma by now.
Miles slid the phone back into his pocket. Nadia waited for the next part to play out, tapping her foot in agitation.
Grace’s phone buzzed, prompting her to almost upend what was left of her margarita onto poor Miles. He dodged the green spray while Grace fumbled around one-handed for the phone. She pulled it out and gasped as her eyes fixed on the name that flashed on the screen. Even without seeing it, Nadia knew it read “Wishmaster.” It used to be “Kaleena,” but that got changed under Basha’s insistence.
“What’s wrong?” Nadia asked, knowing full well what was happening.
Grace set down her drink and clutched the phone with both hands like she had a live bomb in her palms. “It’s your sister.” She gulped. “I should answer it, shouldn’t I?”
“That’s up to you,” Nadia replied, praying she did.
Grace twisted her neck back and looked at the kitchen door. “I should ask your babcia first. She’ll know what to do.” Without waiting for further advice, she sprinted to the entrance hall. “Mama? Mama, can you come down here a sec?”
“What you yell for? Is no need!” Basha shouted back a few seconds later.
“The Wishmaster is calling, and . . . Mama, I don’t know what to do!” Grace answered, pacing back and forth between the kitchen island and the doorway.
Basha thudded down the stairs, and Nadia shared an anxious glance with Miles.
“Answer phone!” her grandmother barked. “Don’t hop like frog in hot water. If she is calling, we get these terms over with, then be done with her! Good riddance!”
Grace hesitated, her fingertip poised over the screen.
“Answer it!” Basha snapped again, appearing on the threshold. Her eyes were ringed with red.
Grace swiped her finger in a sharp jolt, as though the screen might singe her. Rather than hold the phone up to her ear, however, she tapped the Speaker button and skimmed the device onto the center island, as if trying to put some distance between herself and her eldest daughter’s voice.
“It’s not wise to keep me waiting.” Kaleena’s mocking tone breezed through the speakers. “The two of you are already on thin ice, given your recent behavior.”
Basha clacked over to the island. “What behavior? We do nothing.”
“Come now, you know that’s not true,” Kaleena replied. “Do you expect me to believe that Nadia acted alone, considering our delightfully fucked-up history? You made me use a wish. Why not her?”
Basha straightened, hands clasped on her cane. “She is bad as you! Is not my fault you are both wild and disrespectful!”
“As bad as me?” Kaleena choked out a cold laugh. “You need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Basha. I think you’ll find that you’re the common denominator, while the rest of us got caught in your—”
Her last words were smothered by an earth-shaking blast that made Grace drop to the ground, while Nadia’s hands flew to her ears. Miles, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. Clearly, the years of thunderous drum solos and heavy guitar had made him immune.
“The boiler!” Grace yelped. “Is it the boiler? Or are we under attack? Was that a bomb? What’s going on! Kaleena, did you do this?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounded pretty loud,” she replied casually. “That almost burst my eardrums.”
“You make threat?” Basha shrieked, her cheeks turning red with fury. “As if you could do anything while we are in house!”
Kaleena laughed. “No, there go my eardrums.”
That was Nadia’s cue, though her hearing had taken on an underwater fuzziness. “I’ll go and check the damage,” she shouted, probably too loud.
With Grace still huddled on the floor and Basha about ready to take her cane to the phone screen, neither of them responded to Nadia as she rushed away from the kitchen. She hoped Miles would ensure that Basha and Grace stayed put as planned.
Nadia bounded up the stairs. Her shoes screeched to a halt outside Basha’s room, and she darted through the door, making straight for the bedside table. Her fingernails scrabbled along the back of the top drawer until she found something smooth and metallic. She pressed down and was rewarded with a click that allowed her to slide the false bottom back to reveal the nesting keys. Nadia reached for the smallest one, just as Basha had done without knowing she was being watched, and sprinted for the vintage armoire.
She threw open the door and slotted the key straight into that tiny opening to the far-left side, which was hidden behind a forest of dusty fur. Turning the key in a full circle, she dug her fingers into the hair-thin crack down the side of the closet’s back until it rolled away, opening up the passage to the attic stairwell.
After she bounded the final stretch upward, she burst into the house’s last mystery, seeking out the briefcase that Basha had left on the old dollhouse. With shaky hands, she turned the combination lock and popped open the surprisingly well-preserved clasps.
This isn’t yours, Babcia. It was the only comfort Nadia could take. Sure, her grandmother had royally screwed her over since the car accident, but robbing an old woman—and family, no less—would never sit well with her.
Nadia grabbed the wish trap and tucked it under her arm, then closed the briefcase and turned the combination lock back to the numbers Basha had left it on. She might’ve stopped to open the box if Kaleena hadn’t explicitly instructed her, before they left, not to do so if she didn’t want to turn her debt into a lifetime one.
She barreled out of the attic room and down the stairs, before slipping through the secret door and closing it behind her. It took some juggling skill to get the small key out of her pocket so she could lock up again.
With frantic breaths, she emerged from the closet and immediately froze. A faint knocking permeated the silence. Her eyes flitted toward the half-closed bedroom door, but if Basha or Grace wanted to step inside, they wouldn’t bother to knock. So where was the sound coming from?
“You try to blow hole in my house? You think you can do as you please?” Basha howled from downstairs. “I never allow you inside!”
Nadia frowned as the knocking continued. She shut the armoire doors and scanned the bedroom, noticing a strange shadow stretching across the patchwork of brightly patterned rugs. Another knock made her twist her head toward the window, and a yelp of alarm escaped her throat.
Kaleena waited on the other side, perched at the top of a ladder, knuckles raised to the pane.
Nadia froze. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nadia crept toward the window and mouthed, “What are you doing?”
“Open up,” Kaleena replied, pointing to the curved handle inside.
Nadia did so, edging the window wide. “How are you here when you’re on the phone with—” She stopped short as understanding dawned. Val was the one talking to Basha, using Kaleena’s voice, while the real Kaleena had scaled a ladder to retrieve her beloved wish trap. “Are you coming inside, or are you going to hover out there like a Peeping Tom?”
“Give it to me.” Kaleena eyed the rust-colored box under Nadia’s arm. No pleases, thank-yous, or gratitude whatsoever. Just a hunger that Nadia hadn’t seen before.
After a moment’s hesitation, Nadia handed the box over, validating the exchange with thoughts of getting her own wishes, bringing Nick back, and teaching Basha that she couldn’t manipulate everyone and not bear any of th
e responsibility. A hard life didn’t give you the right to mess with everyone around you, consequence free.
“Hello, my friend,” Kaleena cooed to the box, before returning her attention to Nadia. “Where did you find it?”
Nadia furrowed her brow. “Is that important?” She didn’t know why, but the thought of telling Kaleena about all of Basha’s secret hideaways seemed tantamount to telling her the color of their grandmother’s lingerie.
“It is if you want to bring your debt down to two jobs,” Kaleena replied, her hair uncharacteristically disheveled from the wind.
Nadia looked back over her shoulder. “She’s got a secret drawer full of keys. This one”—she dangled the small key off her little finger—“opens up a false panel in the back of the closet. There’s a staircase up to the attic, where Babcia has a locked briefcase. The wish trap was inside it.”
Kaleena leaned forward on the ladder, using both hands to open the wooden box as her arms hung over the ledge. Resting the base on the windowsill, she dipped her hand inside and took out a folded piece of silver wishery paper. She smiled to herself, then replaced the slip of paper and closed the lid tight. In that moment, Nadia cursed herself for not checking the contents before Kaleena came a-knocking, regardless of the threat of an endless debt. What was written on that paper that the Wishmaster wanted so badly? A wish, obviously, but what kind? And whose?
Nadia opened her mouth to interrogate right as a cry went up.
“Where is worthless dziecko?” Basha’s voice bellowed through the house.
“My Polish is rusty these days, but I think she’s talking to you.” Kaleena waved a hand at the door. “You should get back downstairs before she comes looking for you. With her creaky legs, I’d say you’ve got a couple of minutes.”
“Then you should get your ass off this ladder!” Nadia hissed, tugging at the curtains.
