“It’s a spell to dissolve the stone and cause the mind to forget. With any luck, these unfortunate ladies will have no troubling memories of this incident.”
“I hope you’re right.” Crushing guilt crept up on her. Thank Goddess Miss Dahlia was here to contain the worst of the damage. What if she had been here by herself? All these women would be lawn ornaments. “Won’t they wonder where the time went?”
Miss Dahlia shook her head. “Let me set the record straight. A typical trip to a hair salon is a black hole of missing time on the best days. No one will question an extra half hour. Trust me.”
The women’s ashy exteriors crumbled away. They began to stir, blink, and cough up little puffs of soot.
“We have a lot of cleaning up to do!” Miss Dahlia waved her hand over the women who were struggling to their feet. “Abluo, oblitus! Cleanse and forget!”
Magically everyone’s clothing came clean and the piles of ash evaporated into the next dimension, but their hair was damp and lank.
“Gloriously pathetic!” Griselda cheered. “They look like flea-dipped kittens. No one will believe they spent the morning at a beauty school getting their hair done.”
“I’ll take care of this.” Looking agitated, Miss Dahlia motioned for Estele to take hold of Griselda’s hand. “Would you be so kind as to take our headmistress outside and get her a snack from the food truck?” Behind Griselda’s back, she mouthed, “I need a moment alone.”
“Sure.” Obviously, she couldn’t be of much help in this situation. Maybe someday that would change. Hooking her arm through Griselda’s, Estele steered the old woman toward the front door. “Come along, Grissy, we’re stepping out to get something to eat.”
“From where?” Griselda struck a bug-eyed attitude that made her look completely insane.
“Food truck, Aunty.” She used the most polite tone she could manage with the sole member of the Master Mage Magic Academy who saw her potential.
The old witch banged her staff on the ground as she walked. “I hope they have pickled pigs’ feet.”
Estele pushed the door open. A fresh ocean breeze bathed her face. “Best to have a second choice in mind, so you won’t be disappointed.”
The parking lot was full of people, mostly strangers who appeared to have arrived from nowhere. The usual nondescript white food truck that showed up during lunch breaks to serve soggy sandwiches mummified in yards of cellophane was missing. In its place was a massive, chrome-trimmed, tricked-out truck with a bright mural depicting psychedelic cacti and wild-eyed coyotes. The words “BRUJO TACOS” were painted across the front in vibrant shades of orange and purple. Lively salsa music and wonderful aromas floated in the air.
“Holy Hecate!” Estele cried. “Who are these folks?”
Griselda tapped the staff faster as she hobbled. “I don’t know and I don’t care. The food smells fabulous.” She squinted. “Am I reading the signage properly? Does it really say ‘brujo’? When I was a girl I was once smitten with a dashing brujo. He was a versatile wizard from the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. His name was Santi—such a handsome devil, with soul-piercing black eyes. He taught me to enjoy chapulines, fried crickets. They were quite tasty, more so than you might imagine. I fancied him and hoped we would marry, but Santi rode off with Pancho Villa and that was the end of that.”
Estele felt a frown pinching her brows together like a vise. “Typical brujo. Here today, revolution tomorrow.” She paused. “Grissy, how old are you?”
Griselda stared at the mural on the food truck. “To be honest, I don’t remember.”
They came to the tail end of a long line of people waiting to order food. The earthy scent of chilies and green onions roasting over an open flame enticed her senses. “Wow, something smells great.”
A student from the Master Mage Academy turned to face her. The usually taciturn Emily shoveled food into her mouth while attempting to speak. “The dishes are amazing!” she mumbled. “This is my third time in line. I started with the shrimp Veracruz soft tacos, wrapped in blue corn tortillas with mango salsa, and wolfed them down. For the second round, I ordered the shredded carnitas in molé verte with grilled green tomatillos and cilantro-lime rice. So delicious, and it smelled like a meaty margarita. I think I’ll get the chicken chipotle enchilada with the red molé and garlic Cuban black beans next. Everything is so fresh and full of flavor!” She fell silent as she licked a bit of spilled sauce off her sleeve with a look of rapture.
Estele’s empty tummy rumbled. “What a novel idea. Someone’s finally done it. They’re serving real food from a food truck.”
Another classmate, a dour young warlock named Hector, stood at the front of the line. When he heard Estele behind him, he turned. “Hey, Estele!” He broke into an uncharacteristic smile along with some fancy footwork. “Wanna dance?”
She waved him off. “Not now.” When she’d first met Hector at the start of the summer semester, he had impressed her as being the sullen stalker type, but smiling and animated he was cute in a Goth boy sort of way. “I think I’ll eat first.”
Emily darted out of line. “I’ll dance with you, Hector!” The two of them twirled to the side of the line and broke into an odd hybrid of salsa dance and shuffling Goth postures choreography.
Glancing at Griselda, Estele grinned. “Two less bodies in line. Good for us. I’m starving.”
People filed past holding heaped plates of delicious-looking food so colorful they resembled mosaic art. Everywhere, people were laughing, talking, eating, and dancing, which was not how the LuLu Beauty Academy parking lot looked on a typical weekday. Something was up. “Aside from being edible, I wonder what the big attraction is with the food.”
The front doors of the beauty academy opened and one by one Estele’s former victims staggered dazed and confused into the noon sunlight.
“Look!” Estele prodded Griselda. “Miss Dahlia is finished doing whatever it was she did.”
In complete silence the women congregated near the back of the line, looking vacant and not altogether free of whatever spell of forgetfulness had been cast upon them. They huddled together like glassy-eyed sheep.
Estele whispered to Griselda. “Are they going to be okay to drive? I feel terrible about what I did to them. Maybe I should treat them to a cab ride home?” Each woman’s hair was coiffed bouffant-style and sprayed stiff with flammable amounts of lacquer. “They all look like Miss Dahlia’s 1962 yearbook photo.” Her nostrils flared. “There’s enough Aquanet in the air to punch a hole through the ozone. They’re probably hallucinating from the fumes. I think I should call a cab company right now.”
Griselda sneered. “Who cares about the hair spray! At least they don’t have death-ray eyes and live reptiles sprouting from their scalps.”
“Shush, Grissy.”
“I know!” Griselda pounded her staff on the warm asphalt. “We shall tell all the students of the beauty academy they passed their retro hairdo exams with flying colors.”
Customers at the front of the line were served and walked by holding various tantalizing delicacies garnished with wedges of fragrant lime or dusted with golden sunflower petals.
Estele stepped closer to a chalkboard to read the dizzying array of choices. Everything sounded interesting, but she was in the mood for something hearty and simple. When she reached the front of the line, a striking man in his late fifties with a cloud of silvery hair drawn back in a ponytail leaned out the window. He had glittering up-tipped eyes so pale a shade of hazel they appeared a faint gray.
“You look like a wild coyote,” Griselda blurted.
The man had a broad smile that beamed joy. “Thank you.”
Griselda’s hunched posture straightened to a surprising height. “I’ll bet you’re full of all sorts of mischief.” For a fleeting moment an enchanted veil of glamour shimmered around her and a bit of her former Hell-wrath beauty shone through. She appeared majestic and elegant with flowing red hair.
Seemingly dazzled, th
e silver-haired man stammered, “Señora, w-what can I get you?”
Griselda pointed at a plate of stacked items set near the man’s elbow. “I want one of those gift-wrapped green packages.”
The gentleman nodded. “These are Oaxaca tamales. Sweet corn masa wrapped in banana leaves, stuffed with garlic carnitas, black beans, and red molé.” He smiled, making the corners of his eyes fan. “Moist and full of flavor. Very popular.”
“They’re huge!” Griselda squealed. “I like packages that are long and thick. I’ll take one.”
He deftly assembled the tamale on a plate heaped with black beans, a scoop of confetti-like corn, and pineapple salsa, ending with a beautiful purple orchid set atop the glossy green banana leaf. He presented the plate to Griselda. “Enjoy.”
Griselda slid a large-denomination bill across the counter with a wink. “Keep the change, honey cake.”
Just as Estele’s turn at the window arrived, the man raised his palm. “Excuse me. I’m due for my break.” He turned and disappeared from sight.
“Wait!” she cried. “Come back. I’m not picky. I’ll take anything. Dang it!”
Another man appeared at the window. This one was in his twenties with wavy black hair pulled away from his rugged face. Sweeping brows framed warm, up-tipped eyes that had the same spicy sparkle as root beer. He flashed a brilliant smile that revealed a fetching dimple. “Hi, cutie, what can I get for you?”
Her jaw dropped. No words came out. The guy was her idea of a stunner. Tall, dark, and dreamy, complete with lots of artistic ink on his heavy forearms. She was left mute.
While he waited, he rubbed his hand against the rakish black beard stubble on his jaw that brought the word “pirate” to mind. “Do you need a minute, or do you know want you want?”
“I want you.” Estele clamped her hand over her mouth in horror at the uncensored moment of honesty. “To recommend something.”
“We just got slammed.” His voice was as deep and gritty as brown sugar. “Most of the specials sold out.” He looked her over. “But I think I know what you would love.”
She’d already mentally unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the ground. “You’re not a mind reader, are you?”
He offered another blinding smile. “No. I just meant I can make you something delicious that I’m 99.9 percent certain you’ll enjoy.”
“Phew!” A nervous giggle burst free. “You know we do have some actual mind readers around here.” She pointed a thumb at Emily, who was dancing up a storm with Hector. “I’m pretty sure she can, but she’s the type who’d never come clean about it.” Estele lowered her voice. “She’s a psychic lurker.”
He stepped away from the window and set a large tortilla on a round iron. “I know what you want.”
Estele craned her neck to peer into the truck. “What are you making for me?”
“Do you like zucchini?”
“Yes.”
“I’m making you a squash blossom quesadilla.” He held up a fistful of saffron-gold star-shaped flowers. “Have you ever had these grilled in food? They have a very delicate flavor. I only have a few, and I was saving them for someone special.”
“And I get them?” She squealed. “I’m honored.”
Picking up a short, curved blade, he sliced slender chunks off what appeared to be a huge ivory coil of cheese.
“That’s a big old hunk of mozzarella.”
Looking amused, he continued to work. “This is quesillo from Oaxaca. The flavor is buttery, and the texture has more bite than mozzarella.”
The cheese was placed on half the warm tortilla, the squash blossoms arranged on top in a fan pattern. He folded the tortilla and brought the top of the iron grill down. After a minute, he opened the grill to brush a little butter on one side and flipped it. The cheese bubbled. The grill was brought down again to finish the job. A luscious fried zucchini-like smell rolled off the truck. When he opened the grill, the quesadilla was golden brown with toasted cheese rimming the edges and crispy bits of orange squash blossom peeking through. Using a cleaver, he chopped it into easy-to-manage wedges. The whole thing was loaded onto a plate heaped with cool green guacamole, a dark roasted chipotle salsa, and a big fresh squash blossom sitting atop all of it like the golden star on a Christmas tree. He handed it over with a look of pride.
She salivated. “It’s beautiful! I can’t wait to taste it.”
His eyes gleamed. “That will be six dollars, please. Five if you tell me your name.”
She was flabbergasted. “Me?”
A hearty laugh burst free of him. “Yes, you.”
Holding up the squash blossom, she grinned. “My name is like this.”
His gaze narrowed as if deep in concentration. “Your name is Squash? That’s sort of sad.”
She laughed. “No. Look at the shape. My name is this shape.”
His brows knit. “Flower?”
“No. Look at the perfect five-point pattern. My name is Estele—it means star.”
“Pretty name.” Leaning out of the truck to make sure no one was within earshot, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a delicately inked gray-work portrait of the classic 1950s pinup Betty Page. “Estele, you look just like my fantasy girl.”
Looking closely, she marveled at the artist’s skill. The tattoo was so well executed it looked like a black-and-white photograph. It was retro and true to raven-haired Betty’s look in every way, except the tiny Betty wore the same sort of chunky combat boots Estele preferred to wear on weekdays. “Hey, she stole my Doc Martins.”
“Yes, she sure did.” His gaze locked on hers, and for a few breathless moments he stared. Neither dared to move or speak.
She was the first to break the gaze, lifting the plate. “Thanks. This looks really good.” Taking long strides, she headed toward the front steps to sit down and eat.
“Estele!” He leaned onto the counter and called out to her. “Did you forget something?”
She searched her thoughts. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep, I’m sure.”
“Okay. Let’s do it this way. When you finish your lunch, come back. I’ll have a treat ready for you.”
“What kind of treat?”
“I’m not telling.” He laughed. “You’ll have to come back.”
Poor guy, he was flirting with her and didn’t know what was good for him. Maybe she should wear a warning sign. Object is more dangerous than it appears in your rearview mirror. After the harm she’d done this morning, she had to take measures to avoid a repeat of today’s disaster. Never again should others suffer because she was such a ditz.
Sitting on the front steps, Estele was cautious about not choosing an unfortunate angle that would provide everyone with a clear view up her short skirt. More than once on these very steps, she’d unwitting played Sharon Stone, providing passersby with a Basic Instinct moment. “Maybe my brain is defective,” she muttered.
She picked up a wedge of quesadilla. It was still molten hot, and she dunked it in salsa to cool it down before taking a bite. The cheese was crispy at the edges and gooey rich at the same time. The squash blossom was tender and tasted like a summer garden, and a tortilla toasted with butter was never a wrong idea. The entire thing culminated in one rocketing moment of delicious sensory overload. “Blazing broomsticks! This is awesome!”
A lady with a towering beehive hairdo appeared startled when Estele shouted. Her hands flew into the air and she shrieked as her magically induced stupor broke. “Oh my!” She turned to confront Estele. “I know you. I remember you.” A look of terror swept over her gaze. “You did things to me. Bad things....”
Another woman with her hair sprayed rigid into a semipermanent flip pointed at Estele and screamed. “Snakes! Doom! Evil!”
Estele stood. She couldn’t even finish her damned lunch before the problems started again. Opening the front door, she poked her head inside the academy. “Someone tell Miss Dahlia the forgetfulness spell wore off
!”
It was too late. Chaos broke out in the parking lot. A dozen women with hair teased a foot above their heads gave in to bouts of hysterical shouting or stomping on imaginary snakes. It got so out of control the students of the Master Mage Academy fled indoors.
Miss Dahlia showed up and like a loyal border collie herded the traumatized ladies back into the school. “Time for a second round of spellcasting.” She shot Estele a scathing look. “Miss Esposito. When subjects are under a heavy enchantment, you must monitor not only your tone of speech but the volume as well. A loud voice is like having ice water dashed in the face. Enchantees are so impressionable. Do try to be more careful in the future.”
“Yes, ma’am.” This time would be different. Now she was on high alert for possible missteps. She sat down on the steps and finished her lunch, which was so delicious it was easily the nicest thing to have happened to her during this entire shitty summer session. Using a plastic spoon, she scraped up the last traces of toasted cheese and salsa, licked it, and then tossed the paper plate away.
A blue mood crept up on her. She was getting into trouble more often. People were getting hurt. A reckless, foolish witch was not what she wanted to be. Wiccan-based witchcraft the way she’d been taught by her late grandmother was all about love and connecting to the world, not scaring people and fucking up. She was almost twenty-two; it was time to get grounded and figure things out.
She needed a long heart-to-heart with her best friend, Fredi. Fredi was responsible, levelheaded, and a far better witch than she’d ever be. What was even more impressive, at least in the compassion department, was that Fredi had experience with magic getting out of bounds and knew the personal cost.
The lunch crowd eventually left the parking lot and a rising sense of shame overwhelmed her. Her mistakes were the sort of faux pas little witchlings made when they were learning, not the sort grown enchantresses committed.
“Estele!” Mr. Dreamboat called from the food truck. Leaning out the window, he crooked a finger. “Come over here, cutie.”
Alchemy With Benefits Page 2
