Big Witch Energy

by Kelly Jamieson

  My jaw tightens.

  “I’m just saying, that’s how you hurt a woman. Cheat. Lie. Hide things. Don’t do those things.”

  “Sure. Sounds easy.”

  “I’m not saying that. Sometimes being honest is fucking hard. But it’s worth it.”

  “You’re such a wise old man.”

  “Ha ha. You’re supposed to be the wise one. You’re the one with hot powers. Except when it comes to yourself.”

  What the fuck does that mean? “I’m done with this conversation.” I finish my beer. “Come on, Cheddar. Let’s go home.”

  I left my truck here yesterday, too, parked on the street, so I get Cheddar’s bag with her food and water bowls, toys and assorted other necessities, clip her leash on her, and head out.

  17

  Romy

  I had a shit day at work.

  We’re getting pressure from the project sponsor to add a bunch of things that aren’t part of the plan. A bunch of time-consuming, expensive things. It will impact our timeline and budget, and I had a heated discussion with my boss Tom today about how to handle it. I don’t think we should agree to the changes. Scope creep can kill you. Unfortunately, he wants to keep them happy, and apparently even the vice president of that division is on board, so Tom is leaning that way.

  After I already told them no.

  I wish he’d support me. He’s a nice guy, but too often he tries to make everyone happy instead of doing the right thing. Today I feel like I’ve been thrown under a bus. I tried to stand firm, but I’m not being backed up. Goddammit, it’s frustrating.

  As I walk home from the L station, I hear a crying noise. It almost sounds like a child or a baby, and I frown and stop to listen more closely. It’s coming from above me, and I take a few slow steps, peering up into the big maple tree branches above me. Maybe a bird?

  I squint and look higher. Oh! There… a cat. A black-and-white cat sits high in the tree, making that pitiful noise.

  “Are you stuck?” I tip my head back and bite my lip. “Poor baby. Why did you go up so high?”

  Another sad yowl reaches my ears.

  I look around, but I’m alone on the block. Do I call the fire department? Somehow I don’t think they’ll see this as a priority. I can’t climb this tree—the lowest branches are too high for me to reach, and that would be stupid anyway.

  And then I know. I can fix this. With magic.

  At least I hope I can. My spell attempts have been going a little better lately. I think about what I want to do, remembering what I’ve been taught. Then I extend my arm and point my index finger at the cat.

  He lands lightly on his feet at the base of the tree.

  I thrust my arms in the air. “I did it!”

  The cat eyes me, gives me a swish of his tail, and slinks away.

  “You’re welcome,” I murmur, continuing on my way home, feeling lighter and happier. Damn, it feels good to use my magic to help someone! Or something. I like this.

  Is this what I’m supposed to use magic for? Maybe I could use my powers to make Tom do what I want him to do. I still have so many questions about what the purpose of our powers is. I need to talk more to Trace about this.

  Trace, whom I’m having dinner with tonight. After all the time we’ve spent together, alone and with family, this is something new. A date. Aaaaah!

  He told me we’re going to the Grove on North Halsted. I haven’t been there, but it has a reputation for good food and not super pricey. At home, I wash up and change into skinny jeans that hit just above my ankle, a tiered blue camisole top, and heels. I’ve been messing around with my hair lately. In my Pinterest explorations I’ve discovered tutorials for all kinds of styles, and I’ve learned how to flip the ends up and use a texturizer to make it look messy but stylish. At least I hope it looks stylish and not like a bad perm from the 1980s.

  Trace picks me up, and my nerves settle as he takes me in his arms and kisses me. The feel of his mouth on mine in deep, lush kisses scatters every worry from my mind, and I melt against him. He draws back, lips quirked. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  God, I missed him so much the past few days.

  “You look pretty.”

  “Thanks.” I love the admiring heat in his eyes as they move over me.

  We head out. It’s a short drive to the restaurant. On the way, I tell him proudly, “I saved a cat today.”

  “Yeah? How’d you do that?”

  “He was stuck in a tree. I used a spell to get him down.”

  He grins and flashes me a look of genuine admiration. “Good for you.”

  My heart gives a joyful bump. “And I didn’t turn the cat into a cheetah. That would have been a problem.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Trace finds a parking spot on the street about a block past the restaurant. We stroll the sidewalk in the warm summer evening, chatting, then enter the restaurant. Since it’s a nice night, we choose to sit on the patio, and the hostess leads us through the restaurant to big, wide-open doors. The patio’s a courtyard, with brick walls, lots of plants, and party lights strung above us.

  We sit next to a wall and order drinks, then study the menu. Everything is very fresh, and they even list the local farms they buy from. “Hard to decide,” I murmur.

  “Everything is good.”

  “Okay. I think I might have a pizza. The one with prosciutto and egg sounds good.”

  Trace ends up ordering the roasted half chicken.

  When that’s taken care of, our eyes meet across the table. I smile. “How are you? I mean… are you still okay with…” I wave a hand between us. “This?”

  He looks so handsome, also in jeans and a blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled back. He rubs a hand over his stubbled chin. “Yeah.”

  I know he said it’s not me, but it’s hard not to feel slighted at his hesitancy. The last thing I want is for him to be unhappy. But he said… he can’t get enough of me. Can’t stop thinking about me. I’ve replayed that over and over in my head. No one’s ever said anything like that to me.

  I drop my gaze to my wheat ale garnished with a slice of orange.

  Trace reaches across the table and curls his fingers around my hand. “I’m sorry. This is me fucking things up. Like I told you.”

  “Remember the night we met?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “That was fun.”

  “It was.”

  “Can we just do that?”

  He holds my gaze steadily, his eyes warm. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” One corner of his mouth hooks up. “No turtle races here though.”

  I smile. “No. Maybe we’ll have to swing by the Singing Horse.”

  “No. I know where we can go after dinner.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Is it a haunted house?”

  His grin is so damn gorgeous it takes my breath away. “Maybe.”

  I give him side-eye. “Hmm. Okay.” I decide to change the topic. “So did you do much screwing or nailing today?”

  His eyes gleam. “None.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Tell me about it,” he mutters.

  “Maybe later,” I suggest in a flirty tone.

  He lowers his chin, his eyes darkening. “Count on it.”

  I squeeze my thighs. “I am now.”

  He makes a rough sound in his throat. I like it.

  “So what other TV shows do you like?”

  He gives me a blank look.

  “Besides Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

  “Ah.” His forehead smooths. “I really like Justified.”

  I purse my lips. “Haven’t seen it.”

  “Also Chuck.”

  “I haven’t even heard of that one.”

  “What shows do you like?”

  “Bridgerton. The Crown. And that one about the chess player…”

  “The Queen’s Gambit. I liked that too.”

&nb
sp; “Oh whew, we have something in common!” I wipe imaginary sweat off my brow.

  “I’m sure you’d love Justified. Chicks dig Timothy Olyphant.”

  I laugh.

  “We’ll watch it together.”

  My heart bumps. “Okay. How about music? Besides Nickelback.”

  “I like witch rock.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Is that a thing?”

  “No.”

  “Gah.” I shake my head at him, smiling.

  “I’m not as much into music anymore,” he says, dropping his gaze.

  I remember what he said about him and his brother, pretending to play in a rock band. “Did you play guitar too?”

  “Yeah. Not as good as Nathan. I haven’t played in years.”

  My heart squeezes for him. “Tell me about your house. A couple of weeks ago you said you were having the floors redone.”

  “Yeah. That was a pain in the ass, but it’s finished now. They look great.”

  “I’d like to see your house.”

  “It’s a work in progress.” He wrinkles his nose. “It’ll be a while before it’s done.”

  “Are you sure you can’t wave a wand?”

  His lips curve playfully. “Sure, I could. I mean, not a wand, but I could have my house finished in minutes. But where would the satisfaction in that be?”

  “You witches all have such self-discipline,” I complain.

  “You’re learning.”

  “I guess I am.”

  Our server arrives with the appetizer we decided to share, two huge meatballs with marinara sauce, fresh basil leaves strewn atop them. We dig in.

  “What’s your favorite food?” I ask him.

  “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I’m curious about you. You said we’re getting to know each other better.”

  He smiles, his eyes crinkled up. “My favorite food is tacos. I love tacos. But a close second is Cassie’s braised beef ragout.”

  “Apparently she’s a terrible cook.”

  “She is,” he confirms, picking up a piece of meatball on his fork. “But she conjures up amazing dishes. I can’t duplicate them.”

  “I guess that’s a skill… just like cooking.” It never occurred to me that way before. Maybe people have individual magic talents that they can make the best of.

  “Absolutely. She’s very talented with food conjuring.”

  “What am I talented at?”

  “Well, I don’t think you should be a doctor.”

  “Ah! You had to remind me of that.” I smile though, tickled by his teasing.

  “It will be a while before you figure that out.”

  “Okay. What are your magic talents?”

  “I already showed you.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

  I fall back in my chair, laughing. “Oh my god.”

  We laugh and flirt and tease throughout dinner, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in so long. Probably since the night we met at the Singing Horse. We’re not teacher and student or part of a big family, we’re just… a couple. Lovers. On a date.

  Warmth spreads through my chest, a feeling of lightness and well-being shifting inside me.

  After our delicious dinner, we emerge from the restaurant onto the sidewalk. The sun is low in the sky, and the air has cooled a bit, so I slip on my sweater, turning toward Trace’s truck parked down the street.

  He touches my arm. “This way.”

  We head the opposite direction, his hand sliding down my forearm to clasp mine.

  “We’re walking?”

  “Yep. It’s not far.”

  Huh. I’m intrigued. “Ice cream,” I guess.

  “Nope. Although we could get some if you want.” Neither of us had room for dessert at the restaurant.

  “Later?”

  “Sure. Er… can you walk in those heels?”

  “I can walk a bit. I’ll take ’em off if they start hurting.”

  We turn a corner and end up on a path at a park.

  “I had a bad day at work,” I confess.

  “Oh yeah?” His hand squeezes mine. “What happened?”

  I tell him about the confrontation with my boss. “I guess it would be wrong to use magic on him to get him to agree with me, huh?”

  He chuckles. “Well… it could be done. That’s pretty advanced though. I wouldn’t recommend taking a chance with someone you work with.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Following the path, we pass deserted baseball diamonds and trees. Then Trace leads me across grass. This is where I stop to ditch the heels. I hold on to Trace’s arm, but he says, “Wait.”

  With a gesture at my feet, my heels become flip-flops.

  I grin up at him. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t want you going barefoot in the park.”

  A moment later, I exclaim, “Oz Park!”

  “Yeah.”

  “I haven’t been here in years.”

  A mom and dad are leading their kids out of the park as twilight falls, leaving us alone. We walk over to the statue of Dorothy and Toto.

  “I loved this movie as a kid,” I say. “Except it scared the crap out of me.”

  “The witch?”

  “Yes! It was so scary.”

  “But good triumphed over evil.”

  “Mmm. Yes.”

  Dorothy’s red shoes begin to glow and sparkle. My eyes widen. Then Toto barks, bouncing on his back legs to get Dorothy’s attention.

  “What are you doing?” I breathe, pressing my hands together in front of my chest.

  “A little magic.”

  Dorothy picks up Toto and hugs him, beaming, then the statue gradually reverts to its inanimate form.

  Trace leads me over to the Scarecrow and I watch him eagerly. A few seconds later, a big black bird lands on his shoulder.

  “I can’t even scare a crow!” the Scarecrow declares.

  I laugh. “You’re amazing!”

  We visit the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion who each come to life briefly.

  I turn to Trace, shaking my head, smiling. “Okay, that was impressive. And fun.”

  “It’s okay to use magic for fun.” He smiles back at me, touching my hair and stroking a strand off my cheek. We follow the path onto Webster.

  As we pass a trash receptacle, Trace pauses. People have thrown garbage on the ground around it, and I watch as in a flash the litter disappears into the trash can.

  “That was nice.”

  He shrugs. “We all have a responsibility to look after the environment. When I can do something that easy, why not?”

  I nod.

  On the sidewalk as we walk back to his truck I watch for any litter. When I see some kind of wrapper, I focus on it and concentrate. And holy shit! I do it! The trash disappears.

  Trace smiles. “Where did it go?”

  I give him a toothy smile. “Hopefully into a garbage can.”

  He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in for a squeeze. “Good job.”

  My chest puffs with pleasure. Another good thing I can do.

  After ice cream at Happy Cones, back in his truck, Trace turns to me. “Would you like to come see my house?”

  “I would.”

  Trace parks on the street, and we enter his yard through a gate in the white picket fence. The yard is overgrown, to put it nicely… There’s no lawn, just plants—maybe weeds?—and a big tree arching over the cracked sidewalk. In the dark, it’s all shifting shadows.

  The house is a Victorian style with a nice veranda also overgrown with vines. The steps are in the center, as is the door, and closer I can see peeling gray paint.

  Trace slants me a look as he unlocks the front door. “Impressed?”

  “Come on. You could snap your fingers and have this place immaculate.”

  “I could.”

  There’s a light on in the foyer, and he steps inside and holds the door for me. Immediately we’re attacked by a dog. Well, not attacked. At
tacked with love, I guess, as she bounces up and down on short little legs in front of Trace, yipping and crying. I watch in amusement as he bends to pet her and calm her down. “Hey, girl. I’m home. I brought someone to meet you.”

  Cheddar doesn’t give one yip about me, I see, as she licks Trace’s chin in frantic kisses, then does more bouncing. Finally she calms down, and I extend a hand to her to sniff. “Hello, pretty girl.”

  She’s so cute, with a brown-and-white face and big pointy ears and totally friendly, immediately lying on her back in front of me. I laugh and give her a quick tummy rub.

  “Belly rubs are her favorite thing,” Trace says. “Or maybe steak bones.”

  I straighten and follow Trace farther into the grand entrance, observing the wainscoting, the wood staircase, and all the original dark oak trim. He sets his keys on an antique table, the only furniture in the space. “What do you think?”

  “Wow.” I take it all in, then stroll past him into the living room, Cheddar padding behind me. “The floral wallpaper is so you.”

  He grins.

  “But the floors look amazing.” They’ve been refinished to a perfect mocha color.

  He laughs. “Thanks.”

  The room holds a big sectional, a coffee table, and a huge TV. I pause in front of the ornate fireplace to admire it. I run my fingertips over the carved oak. “This is amazing.”

  The living room is actually part of a huge space that stretches to the back of the house. Trace explains how it used to be a formal dining room and smaller kitchen. I can see the walls still need to be fixed up, but when we walk into the kitchen, I’m in awe. “Holy crap. This is gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. It was the first thing that had to be done. The old kitchen was tiny and cramped.”

  The cabinets are all white, the appliances stainless steel, and granite counters add some warmth. There are touches of Victorian style though, with cabinets that look like furniture, a big oak range hood, and gold hardware.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” He’s watching me instead of looking at his kitchen. It makes me tingle everywhere. He opens an oak door. “I added this powder room down here too. Want to see upstairs?”

  Heat expands inside me. “Of course.”

  He leads me up that grand staircase. “There are four bedrooms up here. Three of them are empty.” We peer into them. He shows me the big bathroom, which is atrocious—fake wood paneling on the bottom half of the walls, an ugly blue color above, and beige vinyl tile floors. “Eeek. Someone redid this.”