Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched

by Daisy Prescott

  “Oh, I was reading Wharton. No offense to her, but she’s the perfect precursor to an afternoon nap.” He brushes some crumbs from his shirt and sweeps his arm behind him. “Come in, come in.”

  With a deep inhale, I prepare myself. I need to tighten the leash on my anger.

  “I’m so glad you could join me today.” His voice is welcoming as if he’s invited us out for pizza.

  Now I want pizza and a pitcher of beer. I wonder if Madison’s ever been to The Grub.

  Hamilton probably hangs out there all the time.

  I scowl.

  Madison elbows me when Philips turns his back to close his door. “Stop making that face.”

  I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue, speaking at the same time. The words come out mumbled. “Is this better?”

  “Your face may freeze in that position, Mr. Wildes.”

  Madison giggles at me being busted.

  “Miss Bradbury, I asked you to join Andrew for this meeting today as a secondary source of research.”

  “Am I being studied?” I return my face to its normal placid expression and push up my glasses.

  “I’m curious to what I witnessed yesterday on the steps and your apparent shift in mood today in class.”

  I scroll through my memory of class. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

  “You didn’t contribute other than to snarl at Mr. Hamilton and claim Miss Bradbury by touching her continually throughout the discussion.”

  I stare at Madison, chagrined. “I did that?”

  She nods and glances out the window. “At first you had your arm on the back of my chair, but the hair petting became distracting.”

  “I’m certain that if Miss Bradbury were a cat, she would’ve been purring.”

  “Ugh.” Shifting around in the uncomfortable wood chair, I cross my arms over my chest.

  “While I can understand the tsunami of young love, I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from acting on your urges while we’re discussing the Transcendentalists.”

  “I completely agree.”

  “Now I asked for this meeting not because you are suffering in my class. Hardly. The two of you are my best students. However, I have a theory about Andrew’s behavior and I need more information before I can test it.”

  “Why do I feel like a rat in a lab?”

  Ignoring me, Philips asks, “Did you notice any change in Mr. Hamilton’s participating in class discussion today?”

  “He didn’t sound like a barbarian,” Madison replies. “He didn’t slut shame anyone or make inappropriate innuendos.”

  “I agree. Along that line of observation, any difference in Mr. Wildes’ behavior? Other than the touching?”

  “You didn’t say anything.” Madison faces me. “Nothing.”

  “How could I when Hamilton had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room with his constant talking?”

  “Normally, you have astute observations that enhance the discussion. I shouldn’t disparage one of my students, but Hamilton rarely adds anything of substance to class. He’s close to failing and his papers are atrociously written, inaccurate, and insulting.”

  “So why the sudden change?” I ask.

  “Exactly why I have you here today. Have you ever seen a movie called Freaky Friday? I believe it’s been remade during your lifetime.”

  “Where two people switch bodies?” Madison’s eyes widen with horror. “Are you suggesting that Andrew is really Luke in Andrew’s body?”

  “I’m still me.” I sit up straighter and reach for her hand, but she shifts away from me. “Can Hamilton quote Shakespeare?”

  “Can you?” Dr. Philips asks.

  “Of course.” I push my glasses up my nose and open my mouth to speak. “A …”

  Nothing comes out.

  I try again. “My …”

  For me, reciting Shakespeare’s sonnets is like recalling a phone number—I don’t have to think about the next line because I see the whole poem in my mind. Only not today. Today my mind is blank.

  “Interesting.” Philips steeples his fingers underneath his chin.

  I spit out the first words which come to mind,

  “And nothing can or shall content my soul

  Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife,

  Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor

  At least into a jealousy so strong

  That judgment cannot cure.”

  “A quote about jealousy and suspicion from Othello. Not the romantic choice I expected from you.” Philips frowns.

  “It’s the first thing to come to mind.”

  “It sounds almost like a spell.” Madison quietly observes our exchange. “Maybe we need to talk to your mother.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Philips agrees with her. “Sarah always brings a certain insight to a problem.”

  I begrudgingly admit they’re probably right. “What if no one can help? What if this is all me?”

  Time to bring in the big witch.

  Six

  A string of bells on the handle jingle when I open the door to the Spelling B, my mother’s shop. Seemingly aimed at the tourist crowd, this store is the center of Salem’s witch community. Among the souvenirs and “spell” packets hide the true tools of the trade for the learning and execution of magic.

  Runes, herbs, Tarot cards, and old books cover every flat surface. Dust motes shimmer in the warm afternoon light from the windows. When I was a little boy, I’d come here after school and do my homework sitting on a stool next to Mom as she worked.

  Inside this tiny shop I learned I could do things most people don’t think are possible.

  Like concentrating hard enough to make objects move. Or cease moving.

  Peeking over the tall counter, I spy a familiar dark bun stuffed with two pencils and a red chopstick.

  “Hiding?” I ask.

  Mom pops up and peers at us through her reading glasses for a few seconds before she blinks and stands, shoving the glasses into her hair.

  “Hello, stranger.” She steps around the counter and stands on her tiptoes for me to give her a kiss.

  “Madison!” Mom shoves me out of the way like a shopper on Black Friday trying to get to a bargain. She gives Madison a big hug and from the expression in Madison’s eyes, she’s squeezing a little too tight. Sometimes when Mom hugs people, she gets a reading from them.

  “Mom,” I say to draw her attention. “Ahem.”

  Her eyes open and focus on me. “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do a reading on Madison ever since she visited the shop.”

  With a pat to Madison’s shoulder, Mom releases her. Both women appear a little dazed.

  I tug Madison closer to my side. “You could’ve simply asked us.”

  Mom flutters her hands around her head. “Boring and basic.”

  I lift my eyebrow. “Basic?”

  “It’s slang.” Madison giggles.

  “I know what it means. My mother using it is what surprises me.”

  “I’m hip.”

  “Of course.” I pull a pencil from her hair. “All the cool girls use pencils these days.”

  “If vinyl is cool, good old-fashioned, lead-lined wood should be next.”

  “After too many elementary school cases of pencil-stabbing related lead poisonings, they removed the lead. Carbon only now,” Madison explains.

  Mom frowns. “I didn’t know that. What a shame.”

  With Sarah Wildes, the disappointment could be over the lack of lead or the reduction in lead poisonings. It’s often difficult to tell how far her dark sense of humor extends. She’s not a fan of small children; a fact she reminded me of when I was little. She loved to read me all the fairy tales about witches. I think the witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel appealed to her sweet tooth.

  To be clear, I’m not saying my mother would bake children in a big oven.

  However, she does have a sign in the shop about unattended children being fed to the dragon in the basement.


  You’d be surprised how many people ask to see the dragon.

  “Something’s wrong.” Mom studies my face. “Your energy is all spiky. Both of you. I got a visual of Andrew snarling and showing his teeth like a starved dog protecting a bone. Should I make some calming tea while you tell me what’s going on?”

  I know better than to refuse her. Shrugging off my jacket, I jump up and sit on the counter.

  Both women stare at me.

  “I’m getting comfortable. If tea is being made, this is going to take a while.” I point at the stool at the end of the counter to my left. “Have a seat.”

  Mom’s cat hops on the stool before Madison can sit. His yellow eyes stare at me, daring me to move him out of the way for the newcomer.

  “Oh!” Madison recovers from her shock. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Mistoffelees.” I reach to scratch his ears and he hisses at me.

  “The demon from Faust?”

  “Nothing that sinister. My mother is a huge fan of the musical Cats.” I snicker at my lie.

  Mom freezes with a scoop of herbs in her hand. “Andrew loves to tease me, but he forgets the musical is based on T.S. Eliot’s poetry.”

  “I forgot you said you also had Professor Philips as an undergrad. Did you major in English?” Madison asks.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Mom ended up majoring in MRS when she met my father.” I don’t sugarcoat the truth. “Despite being the human equivalents of the North and South Poles, somehow they fell in love and conceived me.”

  “An attraction of opposites. A love story for the ages it was not, nor did it end well. I think my magical heritage intrigued and terrified him. What he fell in love with at the beginning, he hated at the end.” Mom presses her lips together as she dumps herbs into a mixing bowl. “Speaking of great romances, tell me what’s going on between the two of you.”

  Given my recent terrible mood, the mention of love should send me into a tantrum, but it doesn’t. Mom lifts her eyebrow in the same gesture I’ve mastered. She’s waiting for me to deny the possibility. It’s too soon. Madison and I don’t know each other. Instant love only exists in fiction. Look how well that worked out for Romeo and Juliet.

  While I’m lost in my head, Madison is speaking to my mom, “Hamilton found the heart and ribbon from the love spell you gave me.”

  “Oh, that. It’s harmless.” Mom flips on her electric kettle. “More positive thinking than any actual magic goes into those spells. Visualization is a powerful trick. If you’re brain sees something, it can be confused into believing its real. I’m not saying to imagine yourself in an expensive car and next thing you know, you’re driving a Mercedes. That’s a bunch of hooey.”

  “Then why do you sell the spells?” Madison asks.

  “Everyone wants to believe in magic. Sure, they may call it something else, but magic and miracles give us hope. We want to experience the unexplainable good in the world. We want to be special unicorns. Why do you think there’s the expression about leading a charmed life? Magic is powerful and if someone thinks a little magic can make their dreams come true, who am I to deny them?”

  “Even if they don’t work?”

  “Illusion, my dear.”

  “Illusion or not, he’s wearing her heart around his wrist like a promise,” I add, my voice flat.

  “Is he? That’s interesting,” Mom says, giving nothing away.

  “Interesting how?”

  “Could explain why your aura is the color of pond scum. Don’t even get me started about your heart chakra.”

  “My mother is a new age witch,” I explain to Madison while teasing my mother.

  “I believe in a lot of things. Except organized religions run by white men.” Mom removes a pencil and scribbles something on a moon chart she keeps by her workstation. “Madison, when is your birthday?”

  “November twentieth.”

  “Do you happen to know what time you were born?”

  Madison scrunches up her forehead. “My mother always calls me around seven in the morning to remind me of my arrival after nineteen hours of labor.”

  “That’s helpful. See if you can get the exact time. Were you born in Boston?”

  “No, in Worcester.”

  Mom takes notes in her tight handwriting. “Tell me more about Andrew’s bad mood. What do you think is behind it?”

  “I’m standing right here.” Even I can hear the whine in my voice.

  “I see you, my dear. You can’t fade into the wallpaper around me. However, it’s better if Madison tells me her side of events.” She lovingly pats me on my shoulder.

  Mistoffelees hops on the counter next to me. If cats could frown, he’d be frowning in disgust. Sitting on his haunches, he stares at me. I silently ask him if it was him by the memorial. I tell him to blink twice if it was him. He blinks once, then winks. I’m left wondering if he’s messing with me or doesn’t understand English.

  Madison pets the cat. “Instead of kissing one of the toad boys and having him turn into a prince, I’ve kissed my prince and turned him into a frog.”

  I preen at the word prince before bristling at being compared to an amphibian. No offense to salamanders. They’re cool.

  “This could explain the muddy shade to his aura. I was right to call it pond scum.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ignoring me, Mom directs her question at Madison. “Was this your first kiss?”

  Awkward barely touches the sensation of listening while my girlfriend and mother talk about details of my relationship in front of me.

  “No.” Madison catches my eye and mouths ‘help.’

  “We’ve only kissed, my sweet, prying mother.” I want to put a stop to any further questioning. Not that there’s really anything to share. It’s been two weeks and I’ve been an asshole for half the time.

  “But you kissed at midnight on Halloween? After casting a love spell on Mabon?” Mom clarifies.

  Madison nods.

  Frowning, my mother reaches for one of her dusty leather-bound books on the shelf behind the register. “Hmm.”

  “Can you give us more than a hum, Mom?” My frustrated exhale lifts the hair off of my forehead. I’m reverting to toddler style pouting.

  “This is …” She trails off as she opens up the book. A few dried flower petals and a faded blue ribbon slide out from the spine when she turns the pages. “Unexpected.”

  “Were you anticipating something?” Madison’s voice sounds uncertain.

  Mom’s clear eyes scan her face. “Not something, someone. You.”

  I told Madison as much on Halloween. My mother did a reading for me on my sixteenth birthday and again when I turned eighteen. In both she saw a dark-haired girl, but the second reading produced a last name.

  Bradbury.

  A name linked forever with my family because of the witch trials in 1692.

  My ancestor, Sarah, was hung while Mary Bradbury survived.

  Only one of them was a witch according to our history. In spite of her protested innocence, Sarah had the Gift. Some might call it second sight or downgrade it to empathy. My mother carries not only her name, but the same abilities.

  However, rumors and testimony did have Mary shifting into various animal forms. If Madison carries such genes, I wonder what animal familiar she would assume.

  A napping calico cat in a library with bright green eyes would be my first guess. Mistoffelees brushes my side as if in agreement. I’m almost certain he is only a cat, but he’s been around for most of my life, making him a very old cat. At least seventeen, although he doesn’t look old.

  “How old is the cat?” I ask out of nowhere.

  Mom gives me a sidelong look. “I have no idea. He showed up one day and never left. I’ve never asked him his age. Like I never ask him where he goes at night when I let him out. His business is his own.”

  Madison stares at me.

  “Mom can do readings on animals as well as humans.�
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  Mom scratches the cat between his ears and he leans into her touch. “We all have souls. This shouldn’t be surprising.”

  “Do toads have souls?” Madison asks.

  Mom thinks about it for a minute. “I suppose they do. If you believe in reincarnation, then they do, but they are underdeveloped and not fully formed.”

  “That explains a lot.” Madison accepts this information with a nod. “I think Luke Hamilton has the soul of a toad.”

  Mom flips a few pages in her dusty book. “Luke’s involvement seems to complicate things between the two of you.”

  “Do you think somehow the love spell worked?” Doubt and annoyance fill my voice. “A fake spell in the wrong hands?”

  “I followed the instructions. I even used the peppercorns.” Madison defends herself.

  “It’s nothing you’ve done, sweetheart.” Mom opens a cupboard door and reaches behind a row of glass bottles. “I wish the same could be said for my impatient son.”

  She places three crystals on the wood countertop.

  “I’m probably overreacting, but these will help us find the truth.”

  “Overreacting how?” I ask.

  “It’s possible it’s nothing.”

  “Or?”

  “You may have triggered a reverse love spell.”

  “What does that mean?” Madison’s eyes widen. “Like a hate spell?”

  “Andrew’s cursed himself.”

  “Great,” I mumble.

  “You’re the most powerful witch in Salem, Sarah. Can you reverse it?”

  Mom arranges the crystals by color. The clear one sits on the right, the amethyst in the middle and the smoky quartz on the left. If this didn’t possibly have to do with my future, I’d make a joke about hippie three-card monty. The prospect of being cursed, and possibly an amphibian, dulls a man’s sense of humor.

  “Pick one, Madison.”

  Madison chooses the amethyst.

  “The protector. A wise choice.” Mom scoops up the other crystals and returns them to their cabinet. “Keep it with you. Hopefully this means you’ll be immune to whatever magic is being used on Andrew.”