A Witchly Influence

by Stephanie Grey

  “Not at all,” came Siobhan’s quick reply.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Siobhan’s colonial-style home. When I opened my eyes, I was standing by her back door, hand poised to knock.

  She answered the door while my hand was still in the air. “Fancy seeing you here on a work night,” she said.

  “I had a hankering for the Blue Bird Café.”

  “You know, they’re having one of my favorite comedians at Zanies if you want to join me this weekend,” she suggested, leading me to her garage.

  “We’re driving? There’s no parking over there,” I protested, ignoring her question.

  “You know there’s no place to pop in undetected over there.”

  “What about the bathroom? And I can’t make it this weekend.”

  Siobhan opened the door to her Audi. “Look, I just traded up and I like this car. I get it now with your Volvo. We’re driving.”

  I slid into the passenger side and she started the engine, the garage door still down. “I’m not suicidal yet.”

  “Drama queen,” Siobhan teased, raising the garage door. She eased the green sedan out into her driveway, then looked both ways before pulling onto the street. “What are you really doing here? Is this something about your new job as an Influencer?”

  I said nothing.

  “I’m a Muse. I can sense those things. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “That’s why I’m good at secrets. There’s a lot of things I can do that you don’t know about because Fate wants it that way.”

  “I need a favor,” I admitted.

  Siobhan cursed at the traffic. “I shouldn’t have taken sixty-five,” she muttered.

  “Nashville doesn’t really stop having a rush hour when it comes to this highway.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Siobhan said defensively. “The trade-off is that there is so much more here than in your little town.”

  “I like my little town. It has character.”

  “Nashville has plenty of character, too. Just take a stroll down Broadway.” Impatient, she began to swerve in and out of lanes.

  “Tourists frequent that street, not so much the locals.”

  “You do if you want to go to Puckett’s.” She sneered when another driver flipped her off.

  My mouth watered at the name of the restaurant. Nashville did have a lot of amazing places to eat.

  Siobhan pulled off onto the exit and into a residential area. We passed the café and parked a few blocks away. She lovingly ran her hand over the hood of the Audi, placing an anti-theft charm on it. “That’s how you stop a thief in a questionable neighborhood,” she said, grinning.

  We began walking toward to the café, silent at first. Finally, I prodded, “What about my favor?”

  “What about the comedy club?” she retorted.

  “You know that falls on Christmas Eve, right?”

  “Really?” Siobhan stopped and looked at me. She tucked her honey-colored hair behind her ear and pouted. “Where has the year gone?” Worried, she asked, “Should I get something for Percy?”

  “You haven’t been together for that long, so make it something small.”

  We started walking again, Siobhan wringing her hands in thought. “I can see the show and my family in the same night,” she grumbled, more to herself than to me.

  We approached the Blue Bird Café, seeing the throng of customers that already waited outside. The café was a small restaurant with seating so crowded that you wound up eating with strangers. They could have had more tables if it were not for the makeshift stage for live music, but this was Nashville and live music is basically everywhere. Cozy was the best word to describe the café, but the food was incredible. The breakfast was especially wonderful and we were lucky enough that they served it all day.

  Siobhan gave our names to the hostess and swirled her finger when the hostess wasn’t looking so that our names climbed higher on the list.

  “That’s cheating,” I murmured.

  “It’s not. It’s prioritizing,” she quipped.

  I hugged my arms around my body and shivered. “You’ll probably get another ice storm,” I noted casually.

  Siobhan snorted. “When don’t we get an ice storm here? I miss regular snow. I can drive on that.”

  A waiting customer laughed. “I hear that!”

  Siobhan nodded in his direction, then shifted her focus back to me. “I’ll do it.”

  “I haven’t asked what I wanted yet.”

  “You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t really need it.”

  “Finn just needs a push. Between Mom and me, we’re getting him a guitar and the lessons. I was hoping that, if you were there for the first lesson, it would inspire him to stick with it. I have a feeling that this will take him somewhere important.”

  Siobhan pursed her lips. “Playing the guitar will change his path?” She was doubtful.

  “I think so.”

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and breathed warm air into them. “All right, then,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “Waters, Devereaux!” called the hostess.

  Those still waiting for a table groaned in protest. Siobhan lowered her hands and smiled brightly. “That’s us!” I watched her practically bound toward the entrance and into the heated interior. She turned and beckoned for me.

  Feeling guilty that I didn’t feel guilty about magically cutting the line, I followed.

  My heater was on full blast with a little magical boost as I waited in the parking lot for Abby. The temperature had dropped significantly in North Carolina and I was actually looking forward to hot yoga. We both had punch cards to finish out and we agreed that I’d pick her up after school.

  I watched Abby emerge from the school building, a relieved look on her face. It was the day before Christmas Eve and only a half day for the teachers and students. Abby had admitted that she enjoyed the breaks as much as the children did, and I knew she was looking forward to a week of peace.

  A short, slender woman with long, silky black hair and eyes a startling pale brown followed closely behind Abby, almost marching. She reached out and grabbed Abby’s arm so fiercely that the motion spun Abby around to face her. Abby dropped her turquoise tote and the woman cruelly looked down upon her as she bent down to pick it up.

  Abby’s face darkened as the woman spoke harshly to her. Abby kept her head down shyly as she mumbled a reply and walked away, her eyes on the ground.

  I got out of the Volvo. “Abby!” I called cheerfully, waving my arms wildly. The black-haired woman shot me a nasty glance, her eyes filled with hate. I squinted and a gust of wind hit her so hard in the stomach that she doubled over, falling to her knees. “You okay, ma’am?” I shouted sweetly.

  The woman hastily stood up and brushed away the dirt that had collected on her knees. She cursed under her breath when she realized she had grass stains. Another squint and another gust of wind knocked her back onto her butt. She sprang up as quickly as she had gone down and almost ran back inside of the school. I smiled to myself and felt something in my pocket. It was a note that read: That wasn’t nice, but I like your style. –Simon. I chuckled. I hadn’t realized he had been watching and hoped it wouldn’t count against me later.

  Abby excitedly grabbed my wrists after strolling across the parking lot. “Did you see that?” she asked. She was talking quickly, something I noticed she did when she was happy. “I don’t know how that happened, but that was wonderful! Miss Priss needed to be knocked off her high horse!”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s an English teacher named Lauren Lennox. She’s awful.” Abby scowled as she spoke of her.

  We got into the car, Abby putting her hands up by the vents to warm them. It reminded me that I needed to buy my friends gloves for Christmas. I absently ran one thumb over the other and the present I had bought for Abby changed to a pair of deep purple cashmere gloves with a mat
ching toboggan. An almost matching set appeared in my hall closet, though it was bright green to match Siobhan’s eyes.

  “What did she say to you?”

  Abby placed her hands into her lap and stared at them. “She said it must have been nice to have special needs kids so that I can play all day while the normal students and teachers have to do real work,” she answered softly.

  I felt my jaw tighten in anger.

  “I told her she knows it’s not that easy and she just laughed at me.”

  “Why don’t you tell her to blow it out her ass and not take that kind of crap from her?”

  Abby shook her head vigorously. “I could never do that. Lauren is the kind of person that was the most popular girl in high school and she’s like that here.”

  “You teach middle school.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The teachers act like they’re still in high school. They have cliques and everything.” She sniffed. “It’s really frustrating. They’re not exactly welcoming to me and I have been nothing but nice to them. They think I spend my days watching movies and playing games, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The kids I teach…” her voice trailed off.

  I pulled into the yoga studio’s parking lot, but said nothing, waiting for her to finish.

  “They have real problems. They barely know the alphabet or how to count. We’re working on basic math skills and the games I create or the ones I use that someone else made are designed specifically for children whose minds haven’t progressed the way a normal student’s has. They might be games, but they serve a purpose. My students may not be rocket scientists, but I hope I am preparing them to live in a world where they can be semi-independent because that is the best-case scenario for them. Most of them will always need someone to help them and that breaks my heart.” Her eyes had welled up with tears and I handed her a tissue she didn’t see me create. “I’m sorry. I just love those kids, you know? I wish I could do more.”

  “What do you think you could do?”

  She sat quietly, thinking. “I saw something once, but I couldn’t get that off the ground. Not by myself, anyway.”

  “What’s that?” I prompted.

  “Just a special kind of place for kids outside of school.” She flashed a nervous smile, dabbed at her eyes. “Let’s go inside and be trees,” she said, changing the subject.

  I nodded and got out of the sedan, popping open the trunk for our gym bags. Noticing the wrapped presents, she pointed. “Those are wrapped beautifully.”

  I reached in and grabbed two of the packages. “I was going to wait, but these are for you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hold that thought.” She hurried to the passenger side, opened the door, and grabbed something out of her tote. She returned holding two mason jars with neat little red and white bows tied around them. “I hope you like hot chocolate and brownie mix!” she said.

  We switched packages and I opened the jar of hot chocolate. “You even added the mini-marshmallows! I love those!”

  “Cashmere gloves and a hat? These are so nice! You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “You’re my friend. It was no trouble, I promise.” I smiled at her. “Thank you! I can’t wait to bake those brownies.”

  “It’s my grandma’s recipe. I don’t just give those out to anyone.”

  I lowered my voice. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Abby laughed. She tucked her gifts back into her tote and placed the mason jars inside the cup holders. “I needed that. Thank you, Carmen.”

  I gave her a hug. “Anytime, Abby.”

  We entered the yoga studio, the stick-thin receptionist nowhere to be seen. “Maybe she fell between the floor boards,” Abby joked.

  Laughing, we pushed open the glass door to the main studio. Candles were lit everywhere and incense was strongly burning. Women and men were already lying on their mats, quietly waiting for the yogi to arrive.

  Abby and I copied them, though whispered amongst ourselves from the back of the room. “This reminds me of the sorority I almost joined,” she said quietly.

  “You? A sorority?”

  “I know, I know,” Abby whispered hastily. “I wanted to find a group where I’d fit in and I was hoping a sorority was the answer.”

  “You know women who join those are usually called ‘frat mattresses’, right?”

  “What?” Abby asked, confused. Her eyes grew rounder as she understood the phrase. “That’s just wrong.”

  “Wrong are the women who fit the stereotype. Not that you do,” I added quickly. “Why didn’t you join?”

  “It was the money. I didn’t realize they charge a fee each semester. I didn’t want to pay for my friends. I could do just as much work as they did with other volunteer groups on campus.”

  “I didn’t know they did charity work.”

  Abby snickered. “They say that they do, but I rarely saw them when I was at various school functions.” She inhaled deeply. “They mostly threw parties and complained that they couldn’t share an actual home like the fraternities because then they’d be considered a brothel.” She giggled. “I suppose some of them did behave as if they lived in one.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “If the shoe fits,” she replied.

  The yogi finally arrived, the receptionist not far behind him. They both appeared disheveled.

  “Looks like she’s a yogi mattress,” I said softly.

  Abby’s laughter filled the room. The yogi glanced at her harshly and she shrugged. “If the shoe fits,” she repeated quietly as the session began.

  “I don’t know why we had to come all the way over here. Don’t they know how difficult it is to get Apple in and out of her car seat?”

  “Honey, it’s because Dad and Evelyn have the biggest house to accommodate all of us,” Randy said, trying to soothe his wife.

  Cecily crossed her arms over her burgeoning belly. “It will be different when this baby comes. Then they’ll have to come to us. It will be just impossible to get Apple and an infant into their car seats.”

  Finn caught my eye and shook his head. There was a lot of tongue-biting when it came to Cecily.

  “Would you mind helping me with something in the kitchen?” I asked Finn.

  He eagerly rose to his feet, happy for an excuse to leave his brother and sister-in-law.

  “What could he possibly help you with in the kitchen?” Cecily asked incredulously.

  I smiled, leaned over, and patted Cecily’s knee. “You just sit your pretty little pregnant butt on that couch and let us take care of all the work. After all, you did just make that long, exhausting trip of three miles to Mom and Lewis’s house.”

  I could feel her jaw working angrily as I walked away from her. Finn stifled a laugh until we reached the kitchen. “You know you can’t talk to her that way. It will upset Randy,” he chided.

  I bit my lip. “I know, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. She is insufferable!”

  “Not to our brother. Maybe she’ll grow on us,” he said hopefully. “Maybe the rush of hormones from the new baby will mellow her out.”

  “Aren’t you the optimist?” I said, opening the refrigerator. I pulled out the deviled eggs and took off the lid. I offered one to Finn and he grabbed two. I took two as well and replaced the Tupperware.

  “Are you eating the deviled eggs already?”

  Finn and I whirled around guiltily, our mouths full. Mom was glaring at us from the other entrance, her hands on her hips. “No,” I said, my voice muffled from the deviled egg.

  Finn ducked his head and shoved the entire second egg into his mouth. He gulped. “She offered it to me. I thought it was okay,” Finn said quickly.

  I finished my own egg. “Bus driver,” I replied.

  Finn held up his hands like he was driving a steering wheel and pretended the other hand was on the gear shift. “Driving forward,” he said, leaning forward. He moved his hand backward and took off his hat, using it to wave at me. “And the
n driving back to make sure I got you.”

  Mom’s face cracked into a smile. “It’s okay. There are more in the fridge out in the garage. I just knew you two would steal a bite before dinner.”

  “We already ate those,” Finn said, his face serious.

  Mom’s eyes became steely, her mouth a thin line.

  He held up his hands in front of his chest, palms outward. “I’m just kidding!”

  My mother laughed and Finn relaxed. She shooed us out of the kitchen so that she could check on her prime rib.

  “Your mother is a real character,” Finn said.

  “Don’t I know it!” I opened the patio door and we went outside into the cool night air. Finn turned on the patio heater and joined me, sitting in the chair next to mine.

  “I wanted to thank you again for your gift. That is an amazing guitar.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe that it’s a knockoff of the ’59 Les Paul. Whoever you got to make that could make a fortune.”

  “It’s just an old friend who likes to do that in her spare time as a hobby,” I lied.

  “I love it. I wish I could’ve played around with it more this afternoon. Damn that Cecily,” he grumbled. He had excitedly hooked up the guitar to the amp after he unwrapped his gifts and strummed a few chords before Cecily complained that it would wake up Apple from her nap.

  “The world revolves around her and the offspring.”

  “Doesn’t leave much for Randy, does it?” He sighed. “If he’s happy, though…” Finn stopped, lost in thought.

  “I hope you’ll take advantage of those lessons and make the time for them. I know you have so much potential. I’d hate to see you waste it,” I said carefully.

  My stepbrother looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re not just talking about playing the guitar, are you?”

  I blushed, caught. “I just think you don’t give yourself enough credit. You could do better if you wanted to, you know.”

  “I like my job,” Finn said simply.