by Cate Lawley
Prologue
Glenda sat at her dressing table looking into the mirror, staring beyond her own reflection. The surface shimmered and rippled, then flattened out.
"How do you feel about breaking a curse?" she asked the mirror.
"Completely uninterested,” Bedivere’s disembodied voice replied. “No, actively opposed." The mirror rippled, but not with the vehemence of strong emotion.
"And if we're discussing the Sherwood boy?"
The glass brightened, then returned to its normal, silvery flatness. "Now that, my darling, is another question entirely. The timing could be better, but…perhaps. You've devised a reasonable solution?"
Glenda smiled. "I have a spell, some favorable predictions, and a girl. I need a potion. A mild compulsion potion. Nothing too terribly complex for you, of course. But it’s vital, and with compulsion…"
"That pesky free-will concern. Mustn’t make the mortals work against their natural inclinations, must we?” A sigh rippled across the glass. A rather dramatic sigh. “Your mathematical predictions aside, you've personally vetted the girl?"
"Naturally. Even the best magical math can only predict the probable future," Glenda said. She stared into the depths of the glass, looking for some sign. Without the potion, without his potion, her chances of success decreased significantly. Compulsion potions needed a very practiced hand. Time ticked by.
"I assume you have an appropriate item upon which to apply the potion?” When she murmured an assent, he said, “I’ll do it."
She swallowed the triumphant smile that threatened to break free, certain he’d hear it in her voice. "Let's break this curse, shall we?"
Chapter 1
Hillary wanted to be happy for her best bud. That wasn’t fair—she was happy for Beth. She could do without the envy, though. Her skin practically illuminated the kitchen with its greenish glow, she was that disgustingly jealous.
“Have you guys set a date yet?” Hillary retrieved the wine bottle from the island and refilled her glass.
“We’re not engaged—not yet.” Beth shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “He wants to get settled into his apartment, get the basics for his new business rolling, and then he’s going to ask—when the time is right.”
And just like that, Hillary’s nasty green monster melted. She adored Beth, and Beth deserved this. “Only you would think that’s romantic. Edward doesn’t actually have to work. He does understand that, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. He’s got a very good head for money. But he’s convinced that normal people work in this day, so he’s going to work.” Beth’s lips quirked in amusement. “He’s just lucky he can pick something he enjoys. You wouldn’t believe how excited he was to find out he could sketch pictures all day long and people would pay for them. Big surprise to me: there’s actually a market for what he does. One of my friends has already commissioned him to illustrate her new children’s book.”
“One with lots of animals, I’ll bet.” Hillary had seen several of Edward’s critter drawings. Apparently, being an amateur naturalist back in the Victorian era meant an eye for detail. But she couldn’t imagine that his level of artistic talent had been common. She’d seen his artwork, and he was truly fabulous. “I’d think the current market would be more fanciful.”
“Yes and no. There’s a market for his realistic renditions—but he’s also exploring a more child-friendly, fantastic style, hence the book illustrations. He’s having a blast.” Beth grinned. “And, it doesn’t hurt that a slow build to the business isn’t a problem.”
“Well, his monkeying about—personally fulfilling or not—means that your wedding is delayed. Which also means that Mr. Conservative Victorian Gentleman won’t be moving in with you for ages. How long is that lease he signed again?” Hillary swallowed a good gulp of red wine. “I don’t see how you find the patience.”
“Only six months, but renewable month-to-month. But it’s not a problem. If it was, he’d have already proposed, whisked me off to the registrar’s office, and moved in.” Beth grabbed the wine off the island and took a drink straight from the bottle. “Besides, it’s not like we don’t spend time alone. He’s not that conservative.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but spare me the details. And put the wine bottle down, wild woman.”
The doorbell rang before Hillary could give Beth any more grief over loose morals and rude table manners. Beth left to answer the door, but was only gone a minute.
“Hillary, you won’t believe who’s stopped by—Glenda!”
A woman stepped into the kitchen. She’d coiled her tawny golden hair into a chignon that managed to look elegant without pretension and avoided the dated feel of some up-dos. With its excellent cut and tailored fit, her dress flattered a trim figure but wasn’t revealing. A fine silver chain, strong but thin, hung around her neck. And attached to that pretty piece of jewelry were the gaudiest vintage cat-eyed reading glasses Hillary had ever seen. Encrusted with crystals, they looked like they’d been bedazzled by an overzealous twelve-year old—and Hillary absolutely adored them.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Hillary offered her hand. “I never seem to be at the shop when you’re in town.”
Glenda shook her hand and then smiled, meeting her gaze directly. “Yes, I do travel quite a bit. You’re one of several regular buyers I’ve managed to miss over the last few years. I’m rarely in one place for long, first with one thing and then another. Work…” Glenda fluttered her hands helplessly.
And if that wasn’t suspicious, Hillary didn’t know what was. This woman couldn’t be less helpless, and while she certainly traveled for work—she owned several vintage stores in different cities—Hillary suspected “one thing and then another” was code for her magical machinations.
“Glenda stopped by to drop off my birthday present for you, which has already been safely secured in the hall closet. No peeking, no touching, no shaking.” Beth pivoted to Glenda and, not allowing Hillary any time to argue, asked Glenda, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I have to be going—but, Hillary?” Glenda turned brilliant green eyes on Hillary.
“Yes?” Looking at those eyes, Hillary wondered if their witchy acquaintance wore colored contacts or if her intensely colored eyes might be an indication of her magical powers. Hillary had to choke back a snort at her overactive imagination. The woman probably just had exceptionally attractive eyes further enhanced by cosmetics.
Glenda pulled the silver chain and reading glasses over her head, deftly avoiding mussing her hair. “I noticed you admiring my glasses, and they don’t quite suit me, much as they originally caught my fancy. I hope you’ll give them a good home?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…” Hillary hadn’t realized she‘d been quite so obvious—but the glasses had certainly caught her attention.
“An early birthday present.” Glenda flashed a charming smile. “I insist.”
Hillary closed her fingers around the spectacles. “Thank you.”
To deny the offered gift a second time would be rude, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t until Beth had escorted Glenda out and Hillary stood in the kitchen holding her recent acquisition that she realized: she’d just received a gift from a witch.
Beth walked in and eyed the glasses suspiciously. “You remember the journal she wanted me to buy? And how I bought it, even though my initial inclination was to pass? That book seemed innocuous enough, but it turned out to be magically booby trapped.”
“Ugh. Why didn’t you say something before I took them? The thought didn’t even cross my mind until she’d left.”
“I doubt she’d actually say. She’s secretive that way.” Beth tipped her head. “Maybe not secretive, but she’s certainly not straightforward. And definitely working on her own timeline.”
“Ha! Says the girl with the time-traveling boyfriend.” Hillary inspected the glasses, looking for some sign that they were other than they appeared.
“I’m surprised you accepted them.”
“Well I didn’t think they were cursed, magicked, or enchanted when I took them, did I? And you know how much I love presents.” Hillary ran her finger over the crystals. “They’re deliciously obvious, aren’t they?”
Beth shook her head. “Not really my style, but I’m glad you like them.”
“Well, truth be told, I give her business, The Goode Witch, a lot of money, so I don’t feel bad.” Hillary grabbed her phone from the kitchen island and scrolled through her contacts. “But I do want to know if these are going to send me back to the fifties.” She tapped the screen and assumed her bubbly buyer persona. “Hi! This is Hillary Barrett. No, that’s fine, I wasn’t calling about that. Actually, I wanted to chat with Glenda. You don’t happen to have a direct number for her that I can try, do you? That’s all right—no message. Thank you.”
“Uh-oh. What’s up?” Beth asked.
“Our witch is fleeing the country, and sales lady Tyfany—who I know and don’t think would lie outright to me—says that Glenda doesn’t have a cell phone.”
Beth’s eyebrows rose. “Really? That’s weird.”
“No, her being a witch is weird. Not having a cell phone is antiquated, inconvenient, annoying—but worst of all, so 1990s.”
“We keep calling her a witch, but what exactly does that mean? Maybe she doesn’t need a phone like you and I do.”
“No cell? Magic doesn’t preclude the need for normal human communication—and that means a cell. That’s especially true if she’s scattering magical items around like candy. Did it occur to you that if these glasses are enchanted in some way, our witch has targeted me for some magical nonsense?” Hillary couldn’t keep a grin from spreading. “Which is kinda cool.”
Beth eyed her askance and took a swig of wine from the bottle. “Sorry, I think. Hey, why the 50s? You said you could end up in the fifties.”
“Yeah. These are vintage, circa mid-50s. Your journal was from the late 1800s and you ended up in Victorian England. So—maybe I’ll end up in 1950s Hollywood.”
“Or, you know, 1950s Iowa.” Beth’s lips twitched. “Just saying.”
“Give a girl a break. And while I’m thrilled that you’ve found your long lost soul mate and you guys can geek out reading old books together for the rest of your lives, I doubt I’ll actually go anywhere—or when. But, if I did, it better darn well be Hollywood and not Iowa.” And she had commitments here, and time travel was crazy. But…it would certainly be something different.
Chapter 2
So she’d uncovered a little bitterness earlier. Just a wee, tiny bit. Hillary sighed. Beth would forgive her because her best bud was clever, and she’d know how hard it was to be left behind. And there was no question—Beth knew how happy Hillary was for her.
Hillary picked up the sparkly glasses from the passenger seat of her little Fiat. With one hand on the steering wheel, she ran the fingers of her free hand along the faceted stones. Now she had the possibility—however unlikely—of her own adventure. A daring little sprint back into a decade that had a flair for fashion and an appreciation of glamour. So they had some backward ideas about women—but it wasn’t like she was moving there. She’d be visiting—probably. And, really, what were the chances of anything at all happening? Let alone getting stranded…eek. Living indefinitely in the 1950s was a less-than-thrilling prospect. No gel manicures, no cell phones, no extensions, the potential for very bad color jobs. Hm.
She checked the time. Still on track to arrive promptly at her Gramps’ place. Oh, yeah—and then there was that: she had people who needed her in the present. Well, one person, at least. What would her grandfather do without her? Actually, it wasn’t her grandpa who was the problem. The question was: what would her sneaky, conniving aunt and uncle do? The plotting duo would have a field day if Hillary disappeared from the scene. Gramps might have faith in his kids’ good intentions; Hillary did not.
“Easy come.” Hillary chucked the offending glasses on the passenger seat. “Easy go.”
If Glenda used the same tactics as before, Hillary would probably have to wear the glasses to trigger her trip to the fifties. Piece of cake. She wouldn’t put them on. She raised a haughty eyebrow at the glasses. “No. I won’t.”
She turned into her grandpa’s neighborhood. If she didn’t check on him at least two or three times a week, she worried that something might happen. Not that Gramps wasn’t completely capable of caring for himself. Just the opposite. He walked a mile twice a day, had better eyesight than most seventy-five year olds, and cooked a much meaner meal than Hillary. No, it was her evil, overbearing family she was worried about.
After she pulled into Gramps’ driveway and parked, she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. If the décor-challenged house wasn’t worth so much, if her aunt and uncle only spent a little more time with him, if everyone would just accept that the house meant much more to him than it did to everyone else, if everyone would stop for a moment to consider what the loss of his independence would do to Gramps… Who was she kidding? Even if all those things were true, that didn’t take care of Brad.
Hillary pressed at the inside corners of her eyes with her forefingers. Gramps would spot red or over-bright eyes in a heartbeat; he had exceptional eyesight.
The business with Brad started about seven years ago. Every once in a while, Gramps would mention his buddy Brad. At first, the family thought he’d made a friend in the neighborhood. It didn’t take long for Hillary to realize that Brad was a figment of a lonely widower’s overactive imagination. She wasn’t concerned, because he was lucid—sharp even—in every other way. So what if he was a little lonely and made up a cool guy to keep him company? But she didn’t think the family would be so generous, so she discouraged him from speaking about Brad with the rest of the family.
Mom and Dad weren’t a problem. They lived out of state, so just about everything to do with Gramps flew over their heads. But Aunt Carol and Uncle Tim lived locally. Maybe she judged them too harshly, but Hillary thought the steadily increasing value of Gramps’ old house had something to do with Carol and Tim’s recent escalating interest in placing him in a home. Of course, they didn’t call it a home. And they swore he’d love living there. Right. Just like he’d love it when they demolished the house he’d lived in all of his adult life. Unfortunately, it was the property that was valuable, because renovating a dated three thousand square foot house from the fifties would cost much more than tearing it down and throwing up a box mansion twice that size.
A tap on her window startled her out of her thoughts. She smiled and rolled her window down. “Sorry, Gramps. Lost in admiration of my new nail color. What do you think?” She flashed him what was actually a three-day old manicure.
He squinted—a sure sign of an attempt to think of something positive—then said, “Very shiny. How about a little dinner? That is why you’re here, isn’t it? So I can feed you.” He started back inside the house without waiting for a response.
She rolled up her window, checked her mascara and eye liner surreptitiously for smearing in the rear view mirror, and then hopped out of the car. Jogging up behind him, she said, “You know me too well. I’m always interested in a free meal.”
Once they were inside, Gramps gave her a big hug. “Always good to see you, peanut.”
Gramps waited until they’d finished their meal and were having an after dinner espresso—his espresso machine only one of several surprisingly modern gadgets he’d picked up in the last few years—to spring his bad news. “I’ve got an appointment with some lady doctor next week.”
Hillary tapped a nail on the table. “A lady doctor, huh? Not just a doctor?” As modern as he could be, in some ways her Gramps was a stodgy old dude. But regardless, his GP was a man. “Why the new doctor?”
“Tim and Carol thought—”
“Stop there. Tim and Carol? Is your new lady doctor a psychiatrist?” Hillary flipped her
hair behind her ear and leaned forward.
“Calm down. Hey, put that phone away. It was either go voluntarily or have the court require an evaluation. We don’t want that, do we? It’s better this way.”
Hillary stopped mid-dial. “Is it better? Do you know that for sure? I think we should hire you an attorney.”
Grandpa leaned back in his 1976 kitchen chair and crossed his arms. “No.”
Hillary sighed. They’d had this conversation—or at least one like it—before. Tim and Carol were family, he loved them, they loved him, they certainly didn’t mean any harm, blah, blah, blah. Her well-shaped tush they didn’t mean him harm. What else was tossing him in an old folks’ home but harm? An active, healthy, with-it guy like Gramps should only move to a retirement community if he wanted to. And who was she kidding? Tim and Carol had picked out an old folks’ home, not a retirement community.
“Stop,” Walter said. “Whatever you’re thinking or scheming, just stop. I’m doing the evaluation. It’s no problem, because I’m not crazy.”
“It’s not about crazy or not. It’s about whether you can make responsible financial decisions for yourself, Gramps.” Hillary hated to say it out loud, but… “I’m afraid they’ll trick you.”
He uncrossed his arms, and his eyes softened. “Am I so gullible?”
Hillary groaned. “You’re terrible. You couldn’t even tell me my nail polish looks nice. You’re honest to a fault. And any mention of Brad will put your credibility in doubt.” She had an unpleasant thought. “Your new phone, the one with all the bells and whistles…Brad?”
Grandpa shrugged. “He’s better with the online research. He said it was the best one. But I find all the YouTube videos with the people who tell you how to do everything. Brad can’t work the mouse thing or the keyboard on the computer.”
“Oh, Gramps.” Hillary was sick. How could he not see it? “Your imaginary friend tells you to buy things. You know and I know that you’re not going to spend all your money on some pyramid scheme or some other scam—but do you understand how listening to the advice of a guy who doesn’t exist might be a red flag for a psychiatrist who’s evaluating your ability to make responsible financial choices?
