Rekindled Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  Embarrassment caused a swarm of heat to flood Frankie’s cheeks. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” The woman looked around the interior of their home and raised her brows as if she were impressed. “Nice place.”

  “My mom likes restoring old homes. This is the latest one.” Personally, Frankie hated it. Once her mother was finished with a project, it went on the market and they were moving again. Her mother’s hobby forced Frankie to be homeschooled when all she wanted was to be like normal kids and go to a public school. Heck, she’d even settle for a private school if it meant interacting with other kids her own age. “She intends to put it on the market, and then we’ll be hitting the road again.”

  She wasn’t sure why she said what she did, but the warm understanding and sympathy in the woman’s eyes made her stomach hurt. It was as if she saw through Frankie’s I-don’t-care attitude to the truth.

  “What’s keeping your mom, do you suppose?”

  “Prob’ly didn’t hear me with her earbuds in. I’ll get her.”

  “Francesca, do you like moving as much as you do?”

  “No.” It occurred to her that the woman was fishing, but she saw no point in lying. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

  “That was rude of me, wasn’t it? I’m Autumn Thorne-Carlyle. Otherwise known as your Aunt Autumn.”

  Frankie sat. When her butt hit the hard surface of a chair, she gasped and scrambled up. There hadn’t been a chair behind her when her knees gave way. “What the fuck? Achoo!”

  Autumn clapped her hands and laughed. “Delightful! It happens to you, too.”

  “What does?”

  “You sneeze when you swear—just like your mom.”

  “Mom never swears.”

  “Pfft. That she allows you to hear,” she muttered and waved a hand as if to brush aside that whole topic. “Which room is your mother in? I’ll go find her myself.”

  Frankie pointed and watched the hurricane that was her Aunt Autumn blow through the house. Her long strides ate up the distance. Although Frankie was tall for her age, she had to run to catch up.

  “Holly! Get your ass out here, sister! It’s your moment of reckoning.” Autumn shouted as she sailed through the kitchen toward the back of the house. “Hol! I swear to the Goddess I am going to kick your ass for making me chase you all over hell and back. Get out here, you tool.”

  Frankie couldn’t prevent the grin spreading across her face. She liked the idea of this badass chick as her aunt. “To the right,” she volunteered.

  “Thanks, kid.”

  When they found the room her mother was painting, Frankie paused in the doorway. Autumn, on the other hand, didn’t stop until she stood within a foot of Holly. With one elegant arm, she reached out and smacked Holly on the shoulder.

  Startled, she screamed and flung paint all down the front of Autumn’s designer duds.

  “For the love of…!” Autumn looked fit to be tied, while Frankie’s mother looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Seriously, sister? Manual labor when you could have this done with a snap of your fingers?”

  Holly shot a panicked glance in Frankie’s direction. “Go to your room, Francesca.”

  “But Mom!”

  “Go.”

  Frankie stared, pissed at the unfairness of it all. She was about to open her mouth to argue again when her aunt snapped her fingers. The outfit she was wearing was once more pristine, as if it had never been doused with paint.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Achoo!”

  From behind the two women, a pecking started. Fearful and unable to wrap her mind around what was happening, Frankie eased to her left to stare in open-mouthed wonder at the black bird pecking at the glass. Certain her eyes were bugging from her head, she purposely blinked.

  “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

  Holly tossed the roller down and whirled to face her sister. “Now look what you’ve done! She didn’t know what we are!”

  Auburn brows raised in challenge, Autumn leaned forward to within inches of Frankie’s mom. “What I did? I’m not the one who took off without a word to anyone, cloaked my activities, and pretended my family didn’t exist for thirteen years. Thirteen years, Holly!” Autumn stabbed her in the shoulder with her index finger. “I’m not the one who ran away, denying my sisters and parents the right to know my kid.” The volume of her voice rose with her anger. “I’m not—”

  “I wanted to forget, all right?” Holly shouted. Tears brightened her dark, tortured eyes. “I wanted to forget, Tums,” she cried raggedly. “Everywhere I looked, he was there. I couldn’t stay.”

  Autumn wrapped Frankie’s mom in a tight embrace. “I get it, Hol. I do. But I don’t understand why you didn’t keep in touch.” The raw quality to Autumn’s voice hurt to hear. These sisters had a shared pain that Frankie knew nothing about.

  “Is it about Daddy?” Frankie asked tentatively. “About the way he died?”

  Her mother never spoke of her father. Other than to say he had died before Frankie was born, she wouldn’t talk about him at all. She did allow a single framed photo for Frankie’s nightstand, but other than that, no pictures of him existed in their house. It was as if her mother had turned off that part of her life. A part Frankie desperately wanted to know about. She was certain her father had been a great man. In her mind, he’d have been fun and loving. He had to be to make up for her mother’s lack of emotion, didn’t he?

  Maybe it was because her aunt was in the room, but Frankie hoped this might be the moment her mother opened up. Once again, Holly turned mute on the subject of Quentin Buchanan.

  Years of pent up frustration bubbled up, fueling the anger that was never far from the surface anymore. Why did her mom have to be such a bitch all the time?

  “I’m not a baby. I deserve to know what happened to my dad!” Frankie shouted. “Stop treating me like a child!”

  “Stop acting like one,” her mother snapped back.

  It was their same fight, day in and day out. Her mother was always on a mission to fix up one house or another without caring if Frankie existed. Other than to make sure her daughter was fed, did her schoolwork, and washed behind her ears, Holly didn’t give two shits if Frankie was alive.

  “I wish you were the one who died!” Frankie cried, tears burning her eyes and nasal passages.

  Holly and Autumn sucked in their breaths.

  “I hate you!”

  Frankie ran. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, and she didn’t care. She needed space from her mother. In her flight, her hip caught on the small side table in the hall, knocking it into the wall and dislodging the small globe resting on its stand.

  Instinct kicked in as the globe rolled toward the edge, and Frankie caught it before it hit the ground. She cradled the small sphere to her chest as her tears poured faster.

  “Francesca—”

  “I want my dad,” she sobbed. “I want h-him to be alive. I w-want to talk to him and know that s-someone cares about m-me!”

  “Oh, baby!”

  As her mother reached for her, all Frankie could think was that if only she could talk to her dad one time, then maybe she’d understand why her mother refused to love her.

  The globe in her hand began to warm, almost to the point of burning. The heat caught her attention. Why was it glowing? She glanced up to see terror replace the concern on her mother’s face.

  “Frankie, put the globe down,” she said frantically as she inched closer. “Do it now, baby.”

  The world started to tilt. Frankie’s head felt like it was spinning out of control. The room rocked back and forth, starting slowly and picking up speed at a nauseating pace. Her mom touched her arm as light exploded from the ball through the ceiling. The house fell away. The only sensation Frankie could feel was her mother’s claw-like grasp of her wrist.

  The light died out, and the two of them were alone in a wooded area.

  “What just happened?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sur
e, but I think we teleported,” her mom answered in a hushed tone.

  “Teleported?”

  “Baby, I need you to listen to me like you’ve never listened to me before. This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to believe me.”

  Fear caused her stomach to flip-flop. “Okay.”

  “I come from a long line of—” Her words trailed off. Shock took the place of the intense expression she’d sported a second before. “Quentin?”

  The conversation between a man and woman drifted to them, becoming louder with each passing second.

  “Pie, huh?”

  “Mmm. Cherry with a ton of homemade whipped cream.”

  “I could conjure it for you.”

  “I could conjure it, too, but where’s the fun in that? I thought we were being average mortals today. No magic, no drama.”

  “I need a little magic to boost my energy. I’m working on empty, love.”

  “We can go home if you’d like.”

  “No. If my prickly pear wants pie, she’ll have pie. Come on. Let’s head to town.”

  Frankie spun around and saw a dark-haired man laugh as he hauled a heavily pregnant woman to her feet. He bundled her up in a black and gray checkered blanket.

  As Frankie and Holly watched, he stopped walking and looked in their direction.

  They heard him start to speak, but he was cut off by the woman.

  “Stay here,” the man said.

  “No, Quentin. Don’t go in there alone. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ll be fine, love. But stay here.”

  Frankie looked between her mother and the pregnant woman. “It’s you, Mom. How is that possible? If that’s you, that must be… is that my dad?”

  Holly didn’t answer her. Instead, she stepped forward with her hand raised as if to touch the couple. “How can this be?” Her scream of “Quentin!” caught Frankie off guard. Caught the couple off guard too if the way her father jerked to a stop was any indication.

  Confusion lit his face as he ping-ponged his eyes between the woman behind him and her mother. “Holly?”

  The pregnant woman hollered his name.

  “I’m okay, Hol. I’m fine,” he called back. When he was within a few feet of their location, he stopped. “Holly?”

  “Quentin! Ohmygod, Quentin!”

  He turned to glance behind him once, then swirled his hand over his head. “Celo!”

  “What did you do?” Frankie asked, catching his attention.

  He grinned, and the warmth of his smile healed the cracks in her heart. What did any of this mean? Was she dreaming? Was this all wishful thinking on her part? She feared she was going to wake up with an emotionally distant mother who said things like, “That’s nice, Francesca. Be sure to put your clothes in the hamper.”

  “Magic.” The overly dramatic way he said it was emphasized by the wiggle of his brows. Frankie bit her lip to stem a giggle.

  “I halted time and concealed our little group.” He studied her; a sweeping glance over her dark, wavy hair and down the length of her entire body. Once again, he looked deep into her eyes. Did he see his own brown eyes reflected back? “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Francesca Buchanan. But I like Frankie.”

  “Francesca, huh?” His gaze sharpened on her face before he turned to her mom. He stroked a finger down the bridge of Holly’s nose. “What’s going on, love? I’m guessing it’s a spell to bring you and our daughter from the future. Want to tell me about it?”

  “Oh, Quentin,” Holly whispered. “I…” She shook her head and flung herself into his open arms.

  “It’s all right, Hol. I promise, whatever it is, it’s going to be all right.”

  “But it’s not!” Frankie cried. She wanted to pour out everything, but she didn’t even know how he had died. “You…” She looked to her mom for support.

  “Beau Hill is going to break into our house, Quentin. It’s the morning after we revive my mom.”

  Her father’s face turned whiter than snow. “What are you saying?”

  “He stabbed you. We were unable to save you.” Choked sobs shook her mother’s too-thin frame.

  Why had she not realized her mom was that skinny? Frankie tried to remember the times her mother had eaten over the last two days, and all she could recall was a few bites of a sandwich before her mom tossed the remainder of her food in the trash. Embarrassed by her recent behavior, Frankie rubbed small circles on her mom’s back, wincing when she felt the boney outline of her spine.

  “Jesus!” He drew back slightly when the woman in the clearing called his name. “I have to get back or you’re—uh, she—yeah, this is whack!”

  Her mom clutched his forearms. “Quentin, wait! Before you take me home, ask Aunt GiGi to make the antidote to Lin’s poison. Promise me you will get it and keep it on you. Promise!”

  Frankie’s father never winced as her mother’s tone rose to deafening. He seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary with them showing up like this in the clearing, and Frankie had to believe he was serious when he said all this was magic. What other explanation could there be?

  Quentin’s concerned gaze darted between Frankie and Holly and back again. Suddenly, as if flipping a switch, he smiled and drew her mom back into his arms. With his left arm, he pulled Frankie into their circle. She thought she would suffocate at the tightness of the embrace, but she didn’t care. To be held by her dad—the man she’d always fantasized would love her without question—made her world complete.

  Tears filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. In a jerky gesture, she wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you forever, my prickly pear,” he whispered fiercely to Holly. “Whatever it takes to be with you both,” he added as if he sensed Frankie’s need to be included.

  “I love you, Quentin. And I miss you.”

  “Thanks for coming back for me, love. I promise your efforts won’t be wasted.”

  In a surprise move, Frankie’s mother latched onto her and kissed her brow. “You can thank your headstrong daughter. She’s the one who gave us another chance.”

  He laughed, deep and full of pure delight. “Headstrong? Dare I say a rebel? Yeah, I wonder who she takes after.” His chuckle deepened as he swept her mom into a dancer’s dip. “See ya on the flip side, love. Keep my side of the bed warm. Oh, and eat a cinnamon roll or two. You’re going to need to keep your energy up for when I return.” With a sweet kiss and wink for her mom, Quentin Buchanan, the guy who was better than any dad she could have dreamed up, strode away toward her pregnant mother, who waited impatiently on the dirt path.

  When her mom turned to her and laughed, she realized it was the first time she’d ever seen her mother carefree.

  Frankie’s chest ached to watch her father walk away. She opened her mouth to call out to him and tell him she loved him, but the world tilted on its axis. “Uh, mom?” She lifted the glowing globe to show Holly. “I think it’s happening again.”

  Chapter 27

  Holly woke, heart pounding, and reached toward Quentin’s side of the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch, and the space was empty. She jerked upright and called out, “Quentin?”

  A simple snap of her fingers dressed her in clean jeans and a t-shirt. Anxiety bubbled inside, causing a small knot of emotion in the back of her throat. She had to find her daughter. She had to find Quentin. The dream last night had been heart-wrenching, and she needed to make sure they were both safe and alive.

  The delectable scent of cinnamon rolls and cooked bacon hit her as she reached the hallway leading to the kitchen. She paused to inhale. Surely, the smell meant things were all right in her world?

  She rounded the corner to find father and daughter laughing and running around the large center island.

  “Not cool, Dad! And so not funny!” Frankie hollered as she chased him with a black silicone spatula.

  In an abrupt move, he pivoted and grabbed their daughter in a bear hug
, blowing a loud raspberry against her cheek. “Ah, my heart, you have to admit it was a little funny.”

  Frankie giggled. “Okay, maybe a little. But you’re making the next batch.”

  “The next batch?” Holly asked as she stepped forward.

  “Yeah, Dad—”

  “Hold that thought, Frankie,” Quentin clamped a hand over their daughter’s mouth and whispered in her ear before depositing her onto the counter. “I have to kiss my beautiful wife good morning.”

  “Aw, Dad!”

  The disgusted expression on Frankie’s face set them both to laughing.

  Quentin ignored her and gathered Holly close. “Good morning, my prickly pear.”

  “Good morning, my darling husband.” Their kiss was long and lingering with enough spice to cause her breath to hitch. She bit back a smile at the naughty grin on his face. “Where’s the rest of our troop?”

  “Your dad came by to take the boys fishing.”

  “Fishing, or off to terrorize Nash’s kids?”

  “Probably off to terrorize Nash’s kids,” he agreed with a chuckle and another kiss. “Frankie decided to keep me company and help cook you breakfast in bed. You happened to wake before we were finished.” A soft understanding lit his eyes. “You had the nightmare again?”

  “Yeah. But I’m okay now.” Holly exhaled her stress and eyed the mess they’d made. “You both know I appreciate the effort, but wouldn’t it be easier to conjure everything?”

  They’d had this same argument every Mother’s Day for the last thirteen years. Quentin would insist they should cook the non-magical way to show it was important.

  “Pfft, as if your husband does anything the normal way, sister,” Autumn said from the doorway.

  “Aunt Tums! Chloe!” Frankie jumped from the counter and ran to hug the newcomers.

  Chloe broke free to hug Holly. “You ready for our spa day, Aunt?”

  “I will be after I have a bite of the delicious breakfast my darling daughter and husband made for me.”

  “Quentin, how about the next time you see Keaton, you tell him how you are showing him up with little things like this? Let him know I threatened to run away with you.”