A Slice of Christmas Magic

by A. G. Mayes

  “I’ll come by after everyone’s in bed,” he said.

  “Great, see you at eight thirty.” She got up with a swish of her hips and walked away.

  My mouth dropped open and I turned back to Bernie. I could see her lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear her. I felt panicked. Did I do the spell wrong? Had I lost my hearing? She reached over and pulled my fingers off my earlobe and I let out a breath of relief when I could hear her voice again.

  “Pretty neat, isn’t it?” she asked with a mischievous wiggle of her eyebrows.

  I laughed and nodded, giddy with my new power. I’d completely forgotten about my original intention for coming here.

  “I like to keep apprised of the goings-on here,” she said.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Aunt Erma asking when I’d be back.

  “I better get going,” I said, reluctantly standing.

  She grabbed my hand tightly.

  “Let the chopsticks fall,” she said in the low voice she used when making a proclamation.

  “What?” This was even stranger than, “Dust the cat.”

  “Let the chopsticks fall,” she repeated, with no further helpful information.

  “I don’t understand what that means.”

  She looked at me, blinking a few times, and shrugged. “That’s all I got, kid.”

  My phone buzzed again. This time it was my mother.

  “It’s busy here.” I could hear her annoyed tone just in those three words. I sighed.

  “Thanks, Bernie. I have to get going.”

  She waved and opened up her book again, but I saw her put her fingers to her ear and murmur to herself before I left. She would probably be reading that book for a while if she spent all her time eavesdropping.

  During my walk back to the pie shop, I tried to figure out what Bernie had meant. How was what she said going to help me decide where to live? I’d been hoping for more specific help, even though I knew that wasn’t exactly how it worked.

  I tried to remember the last time I’d used chopsticks. Maybe there was a clue there. But I couldn’t remember. I was the person who usually stabbed at her food until someone brought her a fork. Maybe it would come to me at the perfect moment if I was just patient. I wasn’t feeling particularly patient though.

  ***

  Later that night in the apartment, I was decorating the Christmas tree with my mom and Aunt Erma. As was to be expected, Aunt Erma had boxes and boxes of decorations. She was a little short on the tree though. The tree stood only about shoulder height to me.

  “How are we going to fit all these decorations on that tiny thing?” my mother asked.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll fit,” Aunt Erma said. She disappeared into the kitchen.

  “So, Josh is back,” my mother said, unwrapping the first ornament. It was a Christmas fairy with a red sparkly dress and gold wings.

  “Yes,” I said. I focused all my attention on opening a box of silver and red shiny ornaments. I could feel my mother’s eyes boring into me, but I kept my head down and examined the baubles with more enthusiasm than I’d ever examined any Christmas decoration before.

  I screeched and threw the red ball I had been holding onto the ground. It shattered, and pieces flew across the wood floor. Mitzy came running over to see what was wrong.

  “No, Mitzy,” I cried, picking her up so she didn’t cut her paws on the sharp bits.

  “What’s wrong?” my mom asked. Aunt Erma rushed in from the kitchen.

  “I saw. I saw …” I pointed to the broken pieces, clutching Mitzy so tightly she began to squirm in my arms. I couldn’t say it out loud. It sounded absolutely insane.

  “What did you see?” Aunt Erma asked. She put her arm around me and led me over to the sofa.

  “I saw Brenda’s face in the reflection of the ball,” I said. Yup, it sounded crazy. My heart was pounding from my chest to my ears. “It had to be my imagination, right?” I looked to my mother and Aunt Erma for reassurance, but instead of giving it to me they were exchanging concerned glances. “That’s not possible, right?” I asked again.

  “It’s possible,” Aunt Erma said.

  “But it’s not good,” my mom said.

  “She was actually looking at me?” I asked. My voice was getting higher, almost reaching a hysterical pitch now. Mitzy finally squirmed her way out of my arms and onto the floor in front of me. She gave me an indignant sigh before trotting off to her bed in the corner.

  “I’m afraid so,” Aunt Erma said. “It’s a very powerful magic. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of special ingredients that I don’t know where she would have gotten. I’m worried she might have more help than we thought.”

  “Didn’t you say that their son … what was his name? Flan? Dan?” My mother snapped her fingers.

  “Stan,” I said.

  “Right,” she said, pointing at me. “Didn’t you say that Stan was a delivery man? Maybe he became a delivery man wherever they’re living now. Or maybe he stocked up on ingredients while he was traveling around town here. A delivery man gets a fair amount of access.”

  I remembered Stan looking in the cupboards of the kitchen when he was trying to find Aunt Erma’s secret spices last month. I shuddered a little when I thought about how often he and I had been in the kitchen alone.

  “It’s okay,” Aunt Erma said, patting my arm. “She’s gone now.”

  I went over to the boxes of decorations and examined anything with a reflective surface. The only thing I saw was my own round face and curly hair as I stared intently, waiting for her face to appear.

  “She’s not there,” my mother said.

  “She probably focused all of her magic on that ball. Now that it’s broken she won’t have a way in for a while,” Aunt Erma said.

  I wanted to believe her, but I put the boxes of baubles in the back of the closet, jamming them behind all the jackets and sweaters. I pushed a chair in front of the door too, just in case.

  “Here, have some hot chocolate.” Aunt Erma disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray of red mugs full of steaming liquid. I took a mug and felt the heat on my hands. I inhaled the hot chocolate. The peppermint smell made my nose tingle. The first sip warmed me all the way to my toes.

  “I put a little something in there,” Aunt Erma said.

  “A special spice?” I asked.

  “No, a special schnapps,” she said.

  Staring at the beautifully decorated Christmas tree just didn’t give me the usual joy. Aunt Erma set the lights to sparkle in time to the Christmas music we had playing, but even that didn’t make me feel better.

  Chapter 5

  Dear Elodie,

  I recently got married and discovered that my wife reuses coffee grounds. It would be bad enough if she did it just when she made coffee for us because ew, gross, right? But she also does it when she makes coffee for company. I’m all for recycling, but we have the money to use fresh coffee grounds every time we make a pot of coffee. I’ve tried talking to her about it, and she laughs it off. But I’ve seen the repulsed looks from our company, and I’m afraid people won’t come to our house anymore.

  Sincerely,

  Grossed-out Grounds

  Dear Grossed-out Grounds,

  You’re right, ew. If talking to your wife didn’t work, my best recommendation is to make the coffee yourself. Congratulations on your recent marriage!

  Ask and I’ll Answer,

  Elodie

  “Do you want another magic lesson?” Aunt Erma asked.

  It had been quiet for awhile, with no magical attacks and no faces appearing where they shouldn’t, but there was still a strange energy in the air. We clung to our normal routines and tried not to jump any time the phone rang.

  “Yes, please,” I said. I hopped up off the sofa and sent Holly a quick message. “Gotta run. Got some pie learning to do.” She and I had been texting each other while we watched the same reality show. As usual, the word “reality” was used loosely here,
but, after only a few weeks of watching, I found myself far too involved in the lives of the contestants to care. “Tell me how it ends,” I couldn’t help but add.

  With everything going on, the more magic I knew, the better. We’d been trying to sneak in as many magic lessons as possible, but it was hard to work them in when we were so busy with holiday orders.

  “Will you teach me how to do an attack spell?” I asked.

  Aunt Erma pursed her lips together. “That’s not the kind of magic we do.”

  “But we might need it.”

  “I am teaching you pie magic,” she said.

  “Can’t you put something magical to knock out your enemies in a pie?”

  “There will be no baking with hate in my pie shop.” She turned on her heel and marched off. I sighed and followed her downstairs.

  With my mother here, time for magic lessons was even more scarce. She loudly sighed and banged dishes around in the kitchen whenever Aunt Erma or I brought up the topic. Her palpable disapproval made for a tough learning environment.

  Aunt Erma told me that my mother used to practice magic regularly, but I never saw that side of her. Even after we reconnected with Aunt Erma, she was still reluctant to embrace magic again. I think she blamed magic for failing her when my dad was sick. She’d wanted Aunt Erma, who had always been the most powerful one in the family, to help my dad, but she’d refused. She’d said the magic for that was too dangerous. My mother had cut her out of our lives after my dad died, and neither of us saw Aunt Erma for over twenty years. Now we were trying to piece our family back together. As often was the case with family matters, we were taking steps forwards and backwards, but at least we were doing it together now.

  Aunt Erma and I were both in our pajamas. She wore a rainbow-striped fleece onesie, and I had on red flannel pants and a white T-shirt that said, “Bring me coffee, or else …” My dark curly hair was piled on my head and Aunt Erma’s gray curls hung loose around her shoulders. She made both of us put on hair nets and aprons before she pulled a ball of pie-crust dough out of the fridge. Many times she’d assured me that there was a huge difference between the taste of a well-chilled pie crust and a room-temperature pie crust. A few times when Aunt Erma wasn’t watching, though, I’d made pies without chilling the crust thoroughly. I couldn’t tell the difference, but she always noticed and then she would proceed to lecture me for ten minutes on the importance of keeping up standards at Erma’s Pie Shop.

  “Erma is not only my name, it’s my brand.” She always began the lectures the same way. “If our standards slip, our customers will split. We don’t want to leave any room for a new dessert establishment to open up in town. No more cookie shops.” She would shake her head emphatically, and I’d promise to chill the crust ingredients next time.

  “Let’s make a banana cream tonight. Doesn’t that sound good?” she asked, handing me the pie crust. I agreed and got to work rolling the crust out while she gathered the rest of the ingredients. I never ceased to be amazed by how many recipes she had memorized. I was lucky if I could remember two ingredients before I had to check a written recipe. Aunt Erma assured me that I would get the hang of it eventually, but I often just felt incompetent next to her in the kitchen.

  As she disappeared into the pantry, my phone beeped with a text message. I couldn’t help but glance at the screen. That was another one of Aunt Erma’s rules. No technology while baking because it might distract you from the magic.

  It was from Josh. “Are you around?”

  I peeked around the corner to the front of the pie shop. Through the darkness I could make out his curly-haired silhouette standing by the door.

  “Um, my friend Josh is here,” I said.

  Aunt Erma stuck her head out of the pantry with her eyebrows raised. “Well, you’d better let him in and see what he wants.”

  I flicked the light switch, startling Josh, who looked up from his phone. His face lit up when he saw me coming towards the door. I couldn’t help but smile even though a knot was forming in my stomach. Was he back to profess his love for me? I wasn’t ready for this conversation yet.

  I unlocked the door and held it open.

  “Hey.” He hesitated, studying my face.

  “Come in, it’s cold,” I said.

  Once inside he became very interested in looking at a picture of the Morning Pie Crew that hung on the wall.

  “What’s up?” I asked after the silence had dragged on too long.

  Aunt Erma began to hum Christmas songs from the kitchen.

  Josh finally looked at me. “Nice outfit,” he said.

  I looked down at my pajamas and purple sparkly apron and struck a pose. “You know me, I’m such a fashion icon.” He let out a breath and smiled, looking relieved. It felt as if we’d made an unspoken agreement to ignore our earlier conversation for the time being.

  “I’m running into a bit of a problem with the light fixtures.”

  “What?”

  “On the project. The owner wants these antique fixtures put in. The wiring’s weird. The mounting is weird. No one can get it right, but I know you’d be able to.”

  I looked into his eyes, searching for an ulterior motive, but I didn’t see one.

  “Isn’t there an electrician on the job?” I asked.

  “He’s on another project and doesn’t come until next week. The owners are breathing down my neck. Could you come take a look at it?” He batted his eyelashes at me. “Please Z?” I froze. Josh was the only person who ever called me Z. I used to tease him that Susie was too much of a mouthful for him. Something about the way he said it now felt more intimate than it used to. I glanced toward the kitchen. Aunt Erma was humming louder.

  As though sensing my hesitation he told me more about the project. I began to imagine different possibilities for hanging the light fixtures, and I longed for the satisfaction I got from doing a job that came so naturally to me.

  I threw my hands up in surrender. “Yeah, I’ll stop by. Quit begging.”

  He beamed and gave me directions to the job site.

  On his way out the door, Josh turned towards me and opened his mouth. Then he glanced over my shoulder. I followed his gaze and saw Aunt Erma openly staring from the kitchen.

  “Well, goodnight. Sorry to intrude.” He nodded to Aunt Erma and was gone. I let out a breath.

  I smiled at Aunt Erma. “Were you listening in?”

  “Well, I never!” She put her hand to her chest as though appalled at my accusations. “I didn’t hear a single word you two said.” And then without missing a beat, she added, “So you’re going to his job site tomorrow?”

  I shrugged and went back to the half-rolled-out pie crust in the kitchen. “He needs my help.”

  “He needs something all right,” she grumbled, and I shot her a look.

  “I won’t be gone long,” I promised.

  I heard her muttering as she retrieved her box of magic spices from its hiding place behind a secret trapdoor in the back of the pantry. She had put even more protection spells on them to keep them safe from the IMPs. She hadn’t replaced the latest two bottles that Brenda had stolen.

  She caught me staring at the empty slots where number seven and number nine used to sit in the box.

  “They’re not going to get any more. I just haven’t gotten around to making new batches.”

  My stomach flipped when I realized she was lying to me.

  She pulled out a bottle and distracted me with a quiz.

  “What does this one do?”

  She went through the bottles, and I was getting most of them right. Laughter, encouragement, helpfulness, relaxation, love.

  She was holding up spice number eight now. I wrinkled my nose as I tried to remember what that one did.

  “Honesty,” she said when it became apparent I didn’t have the answer.

  “Right,” I said, slapping my hand against the kitchen island. “That one can get you into trouble.”

  “Yes, you have to use
it very carefully and in very small amounts. It’s good for people who need to stand up to someone or get in touch with their feelings,” she said.

  I nodded as I put the pie crust in the oven to bake.

  “Tonight, I think we should try mixing two spices together. That really takes some artistry.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Which two should we try?”

  I picked laughter and encouragement. I felt as if we could use both of those things right now.

  We used instant pudding mix to make the filling of the banana cream tonight. Aunt Erma usually turned her nose up at such a shortcut, but she made an exception because it was late, and we were hungry.

  “Here, put one dash of each spice in the filling,” Aunt Erma said, handing me the two bottles. “Remember, your intention as you add the spice is just as important as the spice you use.” There was a knock at the back door and Aunt Erma went to answer it.

  We had talked about the importance of intention before, so I focused all my energy on laughter and encouragement as I sprinkled the spices into the filling.

  “I heard rumors there might be some pie to try in here?” I heard Holly’s voice.

  “Almost ready,” I called.

  “I considered your text to be an invitation.” She took off her coat, which she had thrown on over her purple silk pajama set, and surveyed the work we’d done. Her wild frizzy blonde hair was pulled back by a thick purple headband. “I’ll make the whipped cream,” she offered, washing her hands.

  “Who ended up together?” I asked. I was dying to hear what had happened next on the reality show we had been watching.

  “Ben kissed Cici even though Matt is clearly in love with her, and Eddie asked Julie out on a date, but the show ended before she answered.”

  “No!” I said. “I can’t wait a whole week to find out!”

  Aunt Erma watched this exchange with raised eyebrows.

  “Trust me, it’s an addictive show,” Holly told her. “You should watch next week.”

  “I’m probably going to be busy,” Aunt Erma said.

  As we let the pie chill in the fridge, Holly told us about some of her early magic memories. She had a slow, thoughtful way of talking. “My mother always taught me growing magic because she likes to grow fresh herbs and vegetables. Our garden always grew so many vegetables, and she would send me to school with bagged lunches packed full of green things. I would con my friends out of pieces of candy, and then I would use the growing magic to make the pieces of candy ever so slightly bigger.” She gave a satisfied nod. “I was quite the rebel.”