One Good Wand

by Grace McGuiness

  “To the hospital it is,” the Chisel said.

  Suddenly aware of how terrible I must look, I popped the visor down and surveyed the damage. “Jeez. They’re going to think I’m a patient waiting to be admitted.” I took my hair the rest of the way down, combed my fingers through it, and put it back in a quick ponytail. Then I dug an old pack of wipes out of the glove box and dabbed at the major cuts and abrasions across the left side of my face. I had cuts and scrapes across both hands, one forearm, and both legs, too. My pantyhose were only barely holding it together. “I am such a mess,” I whined, forgetting for a second who was in the car with me. “That’s the last time I run anywhere in the dark.”

  “Yes. Next time, remember to cast a light.”

  I blushed. “I tried.”

  “How?”

  My blush deepened. I didn’t want to admit to trying a Harry Potter spell. “Just…things. I don’t know where that glow came from with the dragon. It just sort of happened.”

  The way he frowned, with the furrow in his brow and the strength in his jaw, I found myself wanting to run my fingers across his face to calm the muscles. Apparently I wasn’t enough of a damsel cliche—I needed to throw myself at my rescuer, too. I folded my hands in my lap.

  “Command the magic,” he finally said through clenched teeth. “It will obey.”

  I didn’t want to piss him off further, so I picked up the wand from my lap and murmured, “Light.” Pause. “See? Nothing.” Thankfully. I didn’t feel quite so stupid now.

  “That wasn’t a command. Your magic is your strength, and vice versa. Use them.”

  Clearly, he didn’t know me. I focused on the wand and said again, “Light!”

  “It’s not a game, Ms. Hargitay.”

  “And here I thought that man in the woods and the dragon were just figments of my imagination,” I snapped. More gently, I said, “I’m trying. Really.” I didn’t want to get into the crapfest of my life, to explain to him why I had no strength left to give. It was humiliating enough just being me, let alone describing it to a successful, highly attractive man. Fairy. Man-fairy?

  The hospital parking lot was half-empty, probably mostly staff cars. He parked the car under a street lamp and set his hands on his thighs. They were good hands, strong hands. Maybe manicured, but the kind of hands that could get things done. In fact, that was the general air he gave off—competence wrapped in a handsome—if icy—package. “Be flippant if you like,” he said, more quietly than I expected. “But it won’t work until you believe it will work. That’s the nature of magic—it comes from within. It’s different for everyone, like a fingerprint.” He extended one of those hands to me, palm up. Without thinking, using that same expectation-autopilot that caused kids to call their teacher mom from time to time, I slipped my hand into his. Despite the coolness of his demeanor, his hand was warm. It warmed up parts of me nowhere near my hand. “Yours is still half-asleep,” he murmured. “Wake it, and then we shall see what you are made of.”

  His sharp gaze held me as spellbound as his touch. I felt my face flush, but it wasn’t with embarrassment. I opened my mouth to say something, but a hard knock sounded on the window, making me squeak and jump like a silly little girl. Now the red on my face was embarrassment. It faded the instant I saw the face smirking at me from outside. Retrieving my hand with reluctance and a sheepish smile to the Chisel, I opened the door.

  Mueller stood on the other side, a cup of what I could smell was hot chocolate in either hand. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said in that low, gruff voice that somehow suggested raunchiness just by talking. “I like a good peep show.”

  Chapter 23

  “I should be going,” the Chisel clipped out in response. “My meeting did not go as planned, so now I have things to see to before I may rest. Ms. Hargitay.” He said my name like a farewell and got out of the car, then opened the door to the backseat. His grimace spoke volumes. Dave had pulled the jacket down to use it for a blankie. The Chisel pulled it out, gave it a shake, and draped it over his arm as if it were a lost cause and should be laid peaceably to rest. Dave yawned wide and licked his chops.

  I hopped out and met him at the rear of the car. “Thank you for…for being in the right place at the right time,” I finished, strangely at odds within myself. I wanted to admit that he had saved me, but at the same time, I didn’t. What the hell was wrong with me? “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

  He nodded to me in that noble way, the way that suggested a bow without actually giving one. “Remember what I’ve said.”

  “I’ll try. To put it to use, I mean. I will remember. Thank you.” Was I blushing again? Moron. “Oh, this is Mueller, by the way. He’s the head tech at the factory. Mueller, this is the Chi—uh, Mr. Windchase.” Because nothing fixes being an idiot like awkward introductions as you’re saying goodnight.

  “I seem to recall several machines were causing trouble while I visited last week,” the Chisel said, back to business ice. His gaze swept Mueller and left his face unimpressed.

  Mueller shrugged with only one shoulder. “They’ll get theirs.”

  “I’m sure.” He didn’t sound it. To me, he nodded once more. “Good evening, Ms. Hargitay. Mr. Mueller.”

  “Mr. Windchase,” I said at the same time as Mueller growled, “The Chisel.”

  I glared at Mueller, but the Chisel had the comportment to pretend he didn’t notice. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder and strolled off toward the road. As he passed out of the glow of the street lamp, his green glow flickered back into place, low and soft and pristine.

  “Seriously. What do you see in that guy? I mean other than the money.”

  Taking a page out of the Chisel’s book, I shrugged and affected nonchalance. “Maybe it’s just the money. Money’s pretty seductive to a chronically poor person.”

  “You know what else is sexy?” I expected him to say himself, but instead he handed me one of the cups. The glorious scent of hot cocoa wafted into my nose, reminding my stomach it hadn’t eaten dinner yet. “Apology hot chocolate. I hear it’s better than I’m-sorry sex. Not from anyone I’ve dated, but other women.” When I didn’t take the cup, he relented. “Fine. I’m sorry. I was a total asshole. Whatever’s going on, I’ll help. Just say the word.”

  My hand drifted toward the peace offering, but I hesitated. “You can’t leave when you’re mad. It’s a really shitty thing to do.” I didn’t tell him the underlying story, just like I didn’t tell him how much it meant to me that he came back.

  “And if I tell you not to call someone, you can’t call them.”

  “Even if I’m pretty sure it will break a spell?”

  “Even then.” He waved the cup carefully. When I still didn’t take it—I wasn’t sure this was a promise I could make, after all—he groaned. “Fine. I’ll throw in I’m-sorry sex, too.”

  I glanced after the Chisel, but he’d already vanished. Gone as if he’d never been there. That thought made me sadder than it should have. My magic is my strength, I thought, and my strength is my magic. “Just the hot chocolate is fine.” I took the cup.

  Dave barked from inside the car, then whined like the confined animal he was. “What’s with the dog?” Mueller asked, sipping triumphantly from his own cup.

  I bit my lip and grinned playfully at him. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s just the tail. I’m sure I’ll figure out how to make it disappear again. Hopefully without giving you any other animal parts in the process…”

  “What are you talking about?” His dark eyes narrowed at me.

  “How did you not notice that? It’s huge. I mean, how do you even sit down?”

  “I get that a lot. But not about a tail.” He turned in a circle, trying to see behind himself. “Shit, Hargitay. What the hell did you do to me? Get it off!”

  I shrugged in an exaggerated way. “I’ll do my best.” I linked my arm with his. “But look on the bright side. Even if I can’t
get rid of it, you’ll be a big hit in the furry community.”

  After a quick check on Mom (and Bob, since he was in the same room), I spent twenty minutes looking for Nicky. No one could tell me where he might be or where he normally worked between cases of sleeping sickness. There was also no sign of my jerk brother, but that was not what I’d call disappointing. Mueller wouldn’t come in with me no matter how I tried to reassure him that regular people couldn’t see his tail, so I left him with the dog. When I returned to the car, they were curled up together in the backseat, snoring away. I couldn’t blame them. Since I was currently just as broke as I’d been a week ago, I drove us all to my mom’s house for the night. For a panicked moment, I thought Mueller hadn’t just fallen asleep…but he grumbled at me enough when I tried to rouse him that I felt better. I left the two comfortably snoozing in the car and headed in to scrounge up something to eat.

  The delicious smell of lemon garlic chicken and kung pao beef blew into me as I walked inside. My stomach gurgled with glee while my stomach gremlin growled with irritation.

  Danny was perched at the island in the kitchen, a tech magazine open beside his plate of food. He was thinner than the last time I’d seen him, and he’d grown a beard. Not a scraggly thing like Mueller’s, but the kind of carefully trimmed style that was en vogue. Other than that, he looked like the same old Danny with the squarish glasses and perpetual polo shirt. I tripped over his dirty sneakers where they sat in front of the door, three feet from where they were supposed to be left.

  “I got us dinner,” he said without looking up. “It’s probably cold now.” Not as cold as his tone, no matter how long the food had been sitting on the counter.

  “Cool,” I said, then grabbed myself a plate. I wasn’t about to look a gift wonton in the mouth.

  We never talked much, my little brother and I. Our relationship had been more of the he-said she-said variety more characterized by arm punches and sarcastic comments. Even in our thirties, we hadn’t managed to forge anything better. Aside from our mutual geekiness, we didn’t have anything in common. I was an artist, he was an entrepreneur. I got married young, he ran off with his career. He didn’t understand how I could live on the brink of poverty any more than I knew how he could survive without close, personal relationships. I mean, Kyle may not have won any husband awards, but we still spent time together. We had been friends, at least until the end. Danny had dudebros and work colleagues and an endless string of three-week relationships.

  I helped myself to equal parts of all my food choices and leaned against the island. Sitting would have committed too much to our painful, irritated silence. After I’d sated the most ravenous part of my hunger, I gave up the battle to not be the first to speak. He might yell at me for being immature and irresponsible, but when it came to communicating I was light years ahead of him. “So…” I fidgeted with my fork, not looking at him. “Seeing Gigi again didn’t go very well, huh?”

  “It was awful,” he said, though he said it to his magazine. “I can’t believe you did that to me. The phone call was bad enough, but seeing her…”

  Mature big sister that I was, I ignored the blame. “Got in a fight?”

  “Worse.”

  “What’s worse than fighting in the middle of a hospital?”

  He pushed a pea around his plate. “Not fighting. She barely looked at me, Tess. I thought…I mean, when you called, your message made it sound like she… And then she called, and I thought maybe… Ugh. It was just awful.”

  “It’s been a long time since you saw each other. It was bound to be weird.”

  “But that’s just it.” He dropped his fork like he was a samurai falling on his sword. His eyes, hazel like our dad’s, with the same serious brow and long lashes, seemed to implore me with a question he didn’t have words for. “It wasn’t weird at all. She’s exactly the same. We were exactly the same.” He dropped his head into his hands.

  I couldn’t say I knew what that felt like. Maybe in ten years if I ever ran into Kyle, I’d get it. Still, even without experience to back it up, I knew what his problem was. Probably because as much as he might believe otherwise, I knew him. “It’s okay to still have feelings for her, you know.”

  “No, it’s not. Not after what happened. And before you ask, I’m not going to tell you. I’m never going to relive that again.” Sounded to me like he was reliving it right now, but I refrained from mentioning that.

  “I get that.” I was going to say more, but Mueller lumbered in the door.

  He ran his fingers through his mutton chops. “So this is your place, huh? Hey, man,” he said to Danny. “There more of that?”

  Danny looked halfway between mortification and incredulity. I couldn’t even imagine what was going through his head. Or maybe I just didn’t want to consider it.

  “This is Mueller. He works with me. He’s been nice enough to drive me around today in case I catch the virus.”

  “Was that before or after he fell asleep in the car?” Danny asked, eyeing my burly companion. “And when did Mom get another dog?”

  Dave padded in, his nose in the air. I gave him a quick pat. “This is Nicky Mikkelson’s dog, Dave.”

  “Man. Dave DeLuca had an arm on him. How about you, boy? You play a good game of catch?” Danny loved dogs. It had been harder on him living in a no-animal family than it had been on me, no matter how badly I might have wanted a pet. Dad made jokes in front of me, but Danny he expected to actually do the shooting. Male prerogative and all that.

  “Who’s Dave DeLuca?” Mueller asked between bites of beef.

  Given what I’d heard from Mueller’s dad, I guessed that it wasn’t a story we should tell. So I rushed to say, “Just this guy I went to school with. He died in a car accident a few years back.”

  “Your boyfriend named his dog after a dead dude?”

  The dog barked sharply at the same time as Danny asked, “You’re dating Nick Mikkelson?” and I said, “He’s not my boyfriend!” Destiny entered at a lope, and she promptly set about sniffing Dave and whining and wiggling like she hadn’t met anything nearly so exciting in her entire short life. The shepherd mix merely sat there staring at me with his dark, sad eyes.

  Danny snorted and jerked a nod at Mueller. “Here I thought this guy was your boy toy. You’ve only had that job for, what, a week?”

  “Ten days,” Mueller answered for me, slurping up a noodle from the lo mein. “I’m just her servant. See to her daily needs. This Nicky guy handles her emotional stuff and the Chisel—”

  “Shut up, Mueller.”

  “—The Chisel handles all her tingly-in-the-pants needs.”

  Danny glanced between us. “When you play the field, you play hard.”

  Completely deadpan, Mueller said, “You have no idea.”

  I groaned. The last thing I wanted was for my kid brother to hit it off with my sidekick. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Be right there, kitten,” Mueller growled. In that low bass of his, the word ‘kitten’ sounded both sexy and threatening. Creepy.

  “You get the couch. I’ll leave you a pillow and blanket on the stairs, but you’d better get to them before the dogs. Then again…” I made a big show of glancing meaningfully at his wolfish tail. “Maybe you prefer the dog’s bed?”

  He ignored me. As I headed downstairs, I heard Danny ask, “What was that about?”

  Mueller talked sloppily, like his mouth was full of food. “She’s kind of obsessed with my ass. I’m not complaining, but your sister’s a bit of a freak.”

  I rolled my eyes but headed to my room without jumping to my own defense. Engaging them now would be pointless. I checked my computer to see if Princess Fireflower was logged in, but she wasn’t. I wasn’t too worried. I needed to talk to her again, to really figure this whole godmother-goddaughter thing out and wake up my mom, but first I needed sleep. If she wasn’t on in the morning, I’d just call the arcade and see if anyone had her number. As frequent a customer as she seemed to be,
I thought someone would have it. Or at least an email. I could invite her to lunch, maybe. Or for girly drinks. Something. It wasn’t how godmothers did it in the stories, but then I wasn’t sixty with wings and a ball gown, either.

  It took me five minutes to decide to brave a shower with Mueller in the house. I triple-checked the lock and dropped all my clothes directly in front of the door to cover the space at the bottom, just in case. Washing off the day felt almost as amazing as the Chisel’s green energy mingling with the wand’s gold. Not quite as floaty, but its warmth and comfort came with me when I climbed out again.

  When I rubbed away the steam on the mirror to complete my nightly facial routine, I did a quadruple-take of myself. The scrapes and scratches were gone. The image looking back at me had circles under her bloodshot, puffy eyes, but she didn’t look like she’d been attacked by trees and nearly eaten by a dragon. I searched the rest of me for signs of my stupid, frightened dash through the woods and came up empty. My pantyhose were still ripped and ragged, so I hadn’t dreamt it. Yet all my injuries had vanished as surely as the Chisel himself.

  The smile I caught on my reflection couldn’t be tamed.

  The Chisel wasn’t all hard edges and cold heart, after all. He’d healed my admittedly minor wounds and said nothing about it. That must have been why the energy mingle felt so nice.

  I climbed into bed with a warm fuzzy feeling buzzing behind my sternum and my door solidly locked. With clean towels in the bathroom and clean linens on the couch, I felt confident Mueller would get comfortable on his own. Danny had the guest room and made sure we were all fed, and I was sure he’d do the same for the dogs.

  For my part, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I didn’t dream anything, at least not that I remembered. When I woke up the next morning, I took a few spare moments to feel grateful for that fact. And then I realized someone was in my room, whispering angrily, and the wave of cold prickles that washed over me dispelled all my happy feelings.