A Witchly Influence

by Stephanie Grey

  Feeling overwhelmed, I said, “I can’t do that on my own. It’s one thing to have Past give me memories to show Abby, but it’s an entirely different ordeal to travel back in time.”

  Simon laughed, loud and heartily.

  “I don’t know what you find to be so funny,” I scolded him. “I’ve created a big problem here that I need to resolve.”

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said, still chuckling. He wiped the corners of his eyes. “Carmen, that’s why I think you’re a great employee and friend. You want to handle things on your own so that you don’t trouble anyone else. Of course you’re not going to time travel on your own! You’re going to have Marcy help you.”

  “Marcy Bloomberg?” I could feel my pulse quicken with excitement.

  “The one and only.”

  Marcy Bloomberg was legendary. She was able to freely travel into the past and the future. While she wasn’t allowed to change what had already happened, she would tweak certain events that went unnoticed overall, but had a major impact on the future. I had heard that she had suggested to a man that cats were amazing, which sparked him into opening one of the first cat cafés. Apparently, twenty years into the future, he was going to do something unspeakably horrible, but Marcy assured us that his cat café would still be a huge success and he was content for now.

  “Wow,” was all that I could say.

  “Don’t get starstruck. She’s just a person, like you and me.”

  “Oh, please. She’s incredible!”

  Simon shrugged. “No one is perfect.”

  “I am,” my android suddenly said, standing in the doorway. She looked at me curiously, then turned her gaze to Simon. “Am I supposed to start looking that disheveled?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it.”

  “What?” I looked down at my rumpled clothes and ran a hand over my hair that could have used a hairbrush. “No, you’re not supposed to look like this,” I said hastily, embarrassed.

  “What about the attitude?” the Carmen android asked.

  “Carmen, you’re meeting with Marcy tonight.” He looked at the android. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. She’s just had a long night.”

  “Oh.” My android looked at me again. “Go home and take a shower. Use concealer for those circles underneath your eyes.” She tilted her head. “Maybe use a lot.”

  “Goodbye, Simon,” I said.

  “It’s always nice to see you, Carmen!” the android said, smiling. She was still waving when I disappeared.

  “You look downright giddy,” Finn said through a mouthful of pasta.

  “There’s someone from work visiting that I’m excited to meet.” I reached across my wooden dining table to grab the bowl of spaghetti and meatballs Finn had made. Giving myself a generous second helping, I said, “This is pretty good, Finn. You’re learning.”

  He winked. “I told you I could be good at something else other than just the guitar.”

  “Being the guinea pig for your cooking experiments hasn’t always been this good.”

  “The tilapia I made wasn’t so bad,” Finn protested.

  “Finn, it was burnt so badly that I had to buy a dozen air fresheners just to get rid of the smell!”

  “Fish might not be my specialty,” Finn admitted. “It’s the heads that get me. I don’t like preparing them with them staring at me like that.”

  “Then why not go to the store and buy them already beheaded?”

  “And cheat by not preparing the entire meal by myself?”

  “You eat cereal for breakfast. If you’re going to prepare the entire meal, doesn’t that mean that you need to mix the ingredients for your own cereal?”

  “That’s just taking it a bit to the extreme.”

  “I’m just making a point.”

  “A ridiculous point.” Finn laughed. “Who makes their own cereal? Overnight oats are not a thing. They’re mushy and gross. Give me a box of little wheat concoctions that have a nice crunch and I’m good to go.”

  I laughed, too. “Either way, I’m just happy that you’re learning.”

  Finn paused, his fork midway between his mouth and his plate. “Did you say you’re excited to meet someone from work?”

  “I did.” I took another bite of pasta.

  “That’s kind of sad. You should be excited to go to a concert, not meet someone from the office. Or maybe you’re lonely working in the office at home all day and any human contact is something you relish. You’re living vicariously through me, aren’t you?” He raised one eyebrow quizzically.

  I groaned. “It’s not like that. Her name is Marcy and she’s great. I’ve heard lots of wonderful things about her.”

  “Is she some kind of building permit queen?”

  “Something like that.”

  “A concert would be more fun.”

  “The concert is your deal, Finn. Roach invited you, not me. Besides, I don’t think I’d really enjoy a band called Dragon Fly Spitters. What does that name even mean?”

  “It’s a metal band.”

  “Do dragonflies even spit?” I wondered, clearing the table. I walked through the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room and placed the dirty plates in the sink.

  “Does it matter? It’s a cool name for a cool band. They’re going to be in Raleigh. You could always come up with us for the drive and do other stuff instead of the concert.” Finn followed me and grabbed a paper towel and kitchen cleaner. He re-entered the dining room and began to spray the table, scrubbing away the splashes of pasta sauce that had accumulated around where his plate had been. He leaned too far forward and gently banged his head against the chandelier that hung over the middle of the table, causing it to sway. “Ouch!”

  “Don’t mess up my chandelier,” I shouted from the kitchen, ignoring his pain.

  Finn joined me next to the sink, still rubbing the side of his head.

  Rinsing marinara out of a bowl, I said, “I don’t think I can go, but if things change, I’ll let you know.”

  The doorbell rang and I jumped. Marcy was early.

  “I’ll get that,” Finn offered. He walked out of the kitchen, leaving me to finish the dishes.

  I hurriedly waved my hands and the dishes cleaned themselves. I was placing the last plate in the drying rack when Finn reappeared with Marcy in tow.

  “That was fast,” Finn observed.

  “That’s because I don’t procrastinate when it’s my turn to clean,” I said easily. I dried my hands on a dish towel and turned around, stunned at what I saw.

  Marcy Bloomberg was tall, slender, and one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She dressed in 1940s style clothing, even down to her horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair, on the other hand, was a thick, frizzy, dark mass haphazardly French-braided in an effort to tame it.

  “Hello!” I greeted, holding out my hand. “I’m Carmen Devereaux. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

  Marcy shook my hand limply. “Yes, thank you,” she said quickly. “Shall we get started? I’ve got a lot going on.”

  I cleared my throat. “Of course. Finn, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay,” Finn said suspiciously. He watched Marcy follow me down the hallway and into my office, his head shaking slightly in disapproval.

  Once the office door was closed, Marcy said, “You live with your stepbrother? Aren’t you a little old to have a roommate?”

  “It’s for my job that he’s here,” I answered, feeling defensive.

  She rolled her eyes, which were an almost unnerving shade of violet. “Whatever. It’s odd. And maybe just a little bit stupid considering he’s mortal and you’re not.” She walked behind my desk and sat in my chair, leaving me to take a seat in my own guest chair.

  I could feel my awe for this woman ebbing away. Before I could say anything, a loud ring came from her pocket. She removed her cell phone and began to read her incoming text.

  “Ever been married, Carmen?” Marcy asked, scrolling through her phone.

 
“Once.”

  “I’ve been tracking my piece of crap husband. He doesn’t think I know he’s cheating.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Mine was also unfaithful. He—”

  “Ha! He’s not cheating in that way. Not on me.” Marcy looked insulted. “He’s cheating on our diet.” She was exasperated. “You know, I work and I work and I go home and still have to cook these meals that suit our diet. Mind you, it wasn’t me with the problem. It was him. He was eating junk and I thought, without shopping for it, it wouldn’t be in the house, and he wouldn’t eat it. But, no, he just conjures it right up! Or he goes straight to the source, which is why I installed an invisible tracking app on his phone. He’s at the gas station right now. I know he’s going to buy those little powdered doughnuts. He can never seem to create them himself with the right taste, so he buys them. Those and the chocolate-covered frosting ones.” She shook her head furiously. “I see you, you dirty scoundrel!” she yelled at her phone.

  I shifted my legs, uncomfortable. “I’ve heard that indulging once in a while makes it easier to stay on a diet overall. It keeps you from binging later,” I offered.

  Marcy scoffed. “My husband weighs three hundred pounds. I’ve been telling him over and over that if he doesn’t do something about it, I was putting him on a restricted diet. He used to play football, you know.”

  “Aren’t those guys naturally bigger people?”

  “That’s not the point, is it?” Marcy snapped. “He’s not training like an athlete anymore and so he can’t eat like he’s burning eight thousand calories a day.”

  “Shouldn’t we get to the time traveling?” I asked, trying to change the subject. My idea of Marcy had been crushed. She wasn’t a wonderful lady who did wonderful things. She was an entitled lady with an overinflated ego who did wonderful things.

  “We’ve got time.” Marcy waited, then laughed and repeated herself. “Isn’t that funny? I made a pun!”

  “Yes, I got the joke,” I said warily.

  She looked at her phone. “He’s leaving. He didn’t purchase anything! Hallelujah! He might be adjusting better than I thought after all!”

  “Marcy?” I pushed.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here, give me your hand.” She stood and briskly walked around the desk until she was in front of me. She reached for my hand and grabbed it roughly, yanking me up from my seat.

  Her phone rang again as the world swirled around us. We stopped immediately and she started scrolling through her phone once more. “I can’t believe it! He went back inside! That son of a bitch!”

  “Marcy,” I said calmly.

  “I can’t believe I was so proud of him for having willpower!”

  “Marcy,” I said again, warning in my tone.

  “That won’t happen again, I can tell you that.”

  “Marcy, you fucked up,” I said bluntly.

  The time traveler finally tore her gaze from her phone and met mine. “What did you just say to me?”

  I pointed to our surroundings. We were in a classroom with children no older than eight who were quietly working on their cursive exercises. Marcy and I were facing the room and, in the reflection of the windows, I could see that I, too, was no older than eight.

  “You took me to my past and made me a third grader again,” I sneered.

  “I didn’t mean to go so far,” she apologized, grabbing my hand once again. “By the way, you just look like a child to everyone else here. I can see the real you, but that’s just something special to my type of witchcraft. Not all of us are born with this traveling ability.”

  “How wonderful,” I said sarcastically before we were swept away. I wondered if Abby had felt as queasy as I did being the one transported from time to time instead of being the guide.

  When we stopped again, Marcy was already looking at her phone.

  There was loud music thumping nearby and I turned to see several teenagers giggling.

  “I can’t believe I’m at the prom with Jeremy Picket!”

  My heart began to beat quickly. “Oh, no.” I moaned.

  “Carmen, I just love your dress!” one of the girls cooed.

  I glanced down at the bright green gown I was suddenly wearing. “No, no, no,” I muttered. “Marcy, you’re wrong again.”

  “Carmen, if you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a situation here. I’m going to pop back home and then I’ll be right back.”

  “What? No! You can’t leave me here!” I panicked.

  Marcy looked around. “It’s not so bad. You’re at your own prom. Smile and be happy! Most people would love to go to prom again. I promise I’ll be back in a jiffy! Don’t change anything!”

  Before I could respond, Marcy was gone.

  I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I was eighteen again and wearing bright, green eyeshadow that matched my dress. My hair was in curls piled on top of my head and I wrinkled my nose in displeasure. This was not supposed to be happening. I should not be here reliving this night.

  “Your date is waiting for you,” someone said behind me. I turned and frowned, trying to remember the girl’s name.

  “Thank you,” I said. I went back to the gym and scanned the room for Xander Powell. His eyes locked with mine across the room and my heart jumped in my chest. I had dated him for almost two years and broke up with him right before college. In this case, it would be in about three months. He had been so angry with me that he refused to speak to me again.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek.

  I turned away, embarrassed. Even knowing that we were both the same age, the fact that I was here as a thirty-two-year-old woman inside an eighteen-year-old’s body with a real eighteen-year-old felt very inappropriate. “At least you’re legal,” I muttered.

  “Legal? We both are,” he said, smiling mischievously. “Which is why there won’t be any problem at the hotel later,” he whispered in my ear.

  I shuddered. I had slept with Xander on prom night, happily embracing the cliché even though neither of us were still virgins at that point. There was no way I could go through with it again, what Marcy said be damned. It just wasn’t right. Surely our not sleeping together wouldn’t change anything. We only had a short time left together as a couple.

  “Maybe we should just go to the club afterward,” I suggested.

  “Baby, we talked about this. I want to spend the whole night with you.”

  “You’ll get to,” I promised. “But think of the club as if it’s an after-party.”

  “All right,” he grumbled.

  “Shall we dance, then?” I asked awkwardly.

  As Xander hooked his arm around mine to lead me to the dance floor, another person gently tapped my shoulder.

  “Julio said he doesn’t want to stay here with me anymore!” cried Maeve Wu.

  “Maeve?” I said, stunned. I let go of Xander’s arm and embraced the woman who had been my best friend in high school. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “We got ready together three hours ago,” Maeve said, sniffling.

  “It feels like a lot longer,” I said, reluctant to release her. Maeve had disappeared on a dig in Egypt five years ago. Rumors flew about her whereabouts and I was told not to intervene by Simon. He had told me that mortals take care of mortal business.

  “I think Julio meant he didn’t want to hang out at the prom anymore,” Xander clarified.

  Maeve tilted her head thoughtfully. “You think so?”

  “I do,” Xander replied gently.

  I looked away, trying to hide my expression. Teenagers were incredibly dramatic.

  “What do you think he wants to do instead? We didn’t make plans for after the prom.”

  “You should go bowling,” I said.

  “Bowling?” Maeve swept a strand of silky black hair off her forehead. “Wow, Carmen. We get dressed up and you want to go bowling.”

  “Bowling is fun! That’s what all of the kids are doing these days!” I said defensively.


  “Baby, you sound like an old fogey.”

  I bit my lip to stop myself from yelling. Baby. I hate being called that. “I am just being a sensible adult who wants to have clean, wholesome fun.”

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mrs. Robinson, we get it. You want to go bowling. We’ll go bowling. In a prom dress.” She exchanged glances with Xander. “Do you want to check out nursing homes afterward?”

  Xander guffawed. “Nice! High five!” he shouted, holding his hand in the air. Maeve swiftly hit his palm with her own.

  An hour later, we were trading out high heels for bowling shoes. Maeve held up her blue-and-red-striped shoes next to her sunset orange gown. “These don’t really complement my dress,” she pouted.

  “But you do,” Julio said sweetly, kissing her cheek. She blushed.

  I groaned and frantically searched for Marcy, pleading silently for her return.

  To my dismay, she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Rise and shine! It’s a new day! It’s Monday!”

  “No,” I muttered, throwing a pillow over my head.

  Mom yanked it out of my hands and sent it flying into the hallway. She waved her hands and the blankets were yanked down to my ankles. “Monday is a new day! A new beginning of a new week!” she sang.

  I did not miss my mother singing to me in the mornings. Despite my alarm clock, she always waltzed into my bedroom singing and making sure that I never even attempted to hit the snooze button. Before my very first class at Notre Dame, she had appeared in my dorm singing and my roommate had almost succeeded in tackling her to the ground, assuming she was an intruder. Mom had graciously stepped aside, or so my roommate had thought. She had actually transported herself to the other side of my bed, wished me good luck on my first day, and waltzed out the door. My roommate had promptly put in a transfer request to get away from “the girl whose mom won’t leave her alone.” The transfer had been denied and it had been painfully awkward living with her for an entire semester.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” I grumbled. My feet padded against the cold wooden floor and I thought about the beautiful floral runner my mother would use to cover it in several years. I thought about the weekend’s events as I went through my morning routine. After bowling, no one had wanted to go to the club. We had returned to the hotel where I insisted we upgrade our room and everyone stay in one place. I had explained that we would soon be going our separate directions and it would be the last time we’d all be in one place at the same time. The others excitedly agreed while Xander had fumed silently.