One Good Wand

by Grace McGuiness

  And then, just as the sun was beginning to set over the Rockies, sending golden shafts of light to illuminate all the high mountain valleys like a tremendously detailed Hollywood backdrop, I pointed the car toward Mayfair and Mueller’s apartment.

  At no time in the last two weeks had the drive felt so laboriously long. Each mile marker eked by at a snail’s pace even though the speedometer ensured me I was going a solid seventy once I got out of town. Each tree seemed to drift by like a reed during a lazy lake paddle. Even the clouds, all bright-white and fluffy and high in the vivid blue sky, mocked me with their fixed position.

  When finally I arrived at the squat building behind the grocery, I felt as if a week had passed on my journey. One of Mueller’s neighbors was outside, watering a dead lily in a Buddha pot in her bathrobe, a cigarette drooping from the side of her muttering mouth. I watched her growl at a pair of tow-headed children scampering by, ignoring their stressed out mother in jeans and a pretty blouse. I noticed the frayed edges of the blouse’s sleeves, the holes in the jeans, the way the soles of her tennis shoes were pulling away from the uppers. She looked like she could use a fairy godmother. Both of them did, in fact—the young mother and the old woman. A prickle of warmth in my hand made me afraid I had summoned the wand again, but my fingers remained unencumbered. The better to drive away as fast as possible…

  Enough stalling. Sitting here like a lunatic stalker wasn’t going to improve my situation. Nor would it improve Amy’s, and that was far more important to me. I owed her.

  I got out of the car, my fingers shaking so hard I dropped the keys twice. The old lady with her dead lily grumbled at the disturbance, glaring at me with beady, bloodshot eyes.

  “Sorry,” I breathed, more because I needed a way to release the nervousness than because I actually needed to apologize. “Butterfingers.”

  “None of that here,” she growled. “But I have a couple choco-wafers and some king-sized peanut butter cups, if you’re in the market.”

  “No thanks. Just here to see a…a coworker.” I gave the woman a wide berth on my way to Mueller’s front door. She muttered about megastores and undercutting prices, but I tuned her out.

  Mueller’s door loomed before me, all faded green paint and nondescript generality. When I knocked, a couple paint chips fell off to gather with their companions on the cement at my feet.

  “Go away,” I heard him growl. He and his neighbor matched well.

  I knocked again, unwilling to give myself away before he got his lazy butt off the couch.

  “See that red light at the window? I’m filming your every move.”

  “Hey, whatever floats your boat,” I called through the door. “Though I figured you more for a connoisseur of the naked form than the clothed.”

  The door rattled as he unlocked it, sounding like a more serious task than I remembered. I had prepared for a lot of different situations - shouting, growling, bellowing, threats, my own nervous stuttering and making a fool of myself - but what greeted me wasn’t one of them.

  Mueller stood on the other side of the threshold, matching his neighbor more than I would have guessed. Sans robe, his hairy form and full belly presented in all its…Muellerness…in a pair of faded boxers with little hearts on them. His normally well-kept mutton chops were looking a lot more like a beard than I thought possible after only one night. The worst part, though, was the despair that seemed to sink all the way to the deepest part of his soul, clearly visible in his dark, red-rimmed eyes.

  “Jeez, Mueller,” I said, trying to keep the situation light. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

  “What do you want, Hargitay? Jim and I were about to play another round of cards.” A quick glance behind him proved that Jim was the bottle of whiskey on the floor by the couch.

  I cleared my throat and did my best to stand straight and not stare at his mostly naked man-body. “I’m here to…” I hesitated, not sure which word I wanted to use. “To offer you a contract.” All business, just like he wanted.

  “I don’t want to off Val’s brother, if that’s what you’re offering. Aren’t godmothers supposed to be all sugar and spice and crap, anyway?”

  “Heck if I know.” I shrugged. “The two I’ve met…” I shook my head, forcing myself back to business. “Not a kill contract. A business contract.” I licked my lips, still trying to delay the inevitable. I really didn’t want to say what I was going to say. It would change everything, admit that I was only in it for the business angle, too. But then, what did it matter? Any feelings of friendship and camaraderie were clearly one-sided. So what if I just officially made our relationship one of work? It wasn’t going to be more than that, anyway. “You help me with Amy’s fairytale ending, and I will help you find your girlfriend.”

  He watched me for a long moment. Finally, just as I was starting to fidget under that penetrating despair, he nodded. “Deal. What do you need me to do?”

  My heart drooped like my shoulders had done earlier. Apparently, I still had hope that we could mend the problem. That he would tell me friends don’t make deals, they just help each other. So much for stupid hope. “Clean yourself up and meet me at the arcade downtown at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. We’re going to Comic Con.” I said it as if it would be a grand adventure, still stubbornly trying to get him to play along.

  “I gotta be at the convention center at eight. Boss elected me to hand out merch from the factory.”

  “I’ll give you a costume when I get there, then. Don’t worry, there’s no skirt.”

  He grunted his acknowledgment. Then he closed the door, locked it, and left me staring at the paint chips drifting sadly toward the ground without so much as a goodbye, let alone an apology.

  Chapter 30

  The following morning, I sat at a front table at the arcade, nervously awaiting Amy’s arrival. My nerves were running wild, something I took it as a good sign. I had been positive the archeress costume would work, filled with false confidence that what little I knew was correct. Or maybe just in denial. Now, drumming my fingers restlessly on the polished plastic table with its Jetsons-like design, I was much less cavalier. No more crossing fingers and hoping for the best. I needed this to work, for my hunch or magic or whatever it was to be right.

  Except the more I pored over Sabine’s pamphlet while practicing the clothing enchantment on Mueller’s jeans and tee, the less sense it all made. Not because the rules of Folk Lore seemed arbitrary and condescending and reminiscent of housewife guides from the ‘50s, though they did. Each pass pointed out, more and more effectively, that my new interpretation of Amy’s situation was wrong. Cinderella, cinderella, cinderella! it shouted. And yet my deep sense of rightness never wavered. So I satisfied what rules I could - meeting at nine, my brother’s presentation at noon to ensure that both Time and Numbers were on our side - and went with the overwhelming knowing within. It put my mind and my heart at odds, but that was actually a space I long ago learned to be comfortable in.

  Still, I felt massively nervous, afraid I was wrong in spite of myself. Yes, I could give the wand to Sabine and be done with it, but I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted to do anymore. Because as much as I hated to admit it, my brother had been right about some things. In some ways, I did need to grow up. I needed to learn how to be brave again, to take positive risks. I had let myself be content with what Kyle wanted, to exist inside the box that made him happy…that same box he now blamed me for creating. I may not have been sure how to get the upbeat dreamer version of myself back, but I wanted to try. I didn’t want to be a coward, incapable of change, getting by on handouts from others. I wanted to be…well, I wanted to be me again, and me really wanted to keep playing with magic. Even if it scared the hell out of me while I was doing it.

  My own selfish reasons notwithstanding, Amy needed this to work, too. I had thrown her into that party with no real preparation, with just a costume and some breathy excitement. I had been too focused on saving my mom, and not f
ocused at all on saving Amy. Selfish. Self-centered. And that wasn’t the person I wanted to be.

  At least my mistake led me to important conclusions. Without it, I wouldn’t have realized that Amy and my mom were suffering from the same problem—they were both asleep. Oh, Amy could walk and talk and go through the motions, but she may as well have been in a coma, too, for all that she wanted to interact with reality. Having spent most of my marriage in the same situation - my contact with the outside world shrinking more and more until my world was just Kyle, Kyle, and more Kyle - I didn’t want to leave Amy to the same fate. And if Sabine was any indication, there was a pretty good chance any other godmother would turn her into a false cinderella. I mean, the only reason I hadn’t was because I didn’t have the magical training to stick the landing.

  I was pondering whether my magical ineptitude had saved Amy from a life she wouldn’t want when she walked in the door, shoulders hunched up to her ears, eyes darting around furtively. Walking through the world without living in it. Asleep, even though she was awake.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she whispered, her voice as pale as her face. “I almost didn’t come inside. I’m not sure about this, Tessa. I don’t want…I can’t…what if…”

  I took her hands like I imagined a godmother would do and smiled at her with more warmth than I’d been able to find for a long time. “It won’t be a repeat of yesterday. I promise.”

  She turned a little green around the edges. “But what if I see him?”

  “Then Mueller will shove him in a trashcan.”

  She laughed a little, then glanced around. “Where is he?”

  “Meeting us there.” Before she had a chance to talk herself out of anything, I drew her toward the bathroom. The women’s side was marked with the silhouette of Ms. Pac-Man. It wasn’t a big facility, but it was enough. And it was empty, given that the arcade had just opened - early, for any Comic Con bleed-over - which was more than I could say we’d find at the convention center. “Here’s your outfit. Go change, and I’ll fix your hair.”

  Two seconds after closing the stall door, she squealed. “Really?!”

  “You like it?”

  “No. I love it! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. It’s easy, obvious, and doesn’t make me feel like a stripper!” She emerged a few minutes later in a pair of rolled jean shorts, a hot pink blouse, and the most awesome yellow trench coat ever to come out of my wand. (Probably…I had no idea what Maysie had done with it, but somehow I doubted a girl’s trench coat the color of a banana was a high point in the wand’s history.) “Plus, I don’t know how you knew, but Jubilee is kind of my favorite.”

  “I had a feeling.” I smiled and waved her over to the sinks where I had set out a makeup kit I wasn’t actually going to use. “Let me just put the final touches on. Close your eyes.”

  When she had done so, I ran a comb through her hair and went through all the motions of faking a beautician’s knowledge and deft hand. And then I stepped back, pulled the wand from the pocket of my cargo pants (worn for just that reason), and took a deep breath. Please don’t grow a tail. Please don’t grow a tail…

  I waved the wand. Warmth zoomed down my arm, a pleasant sensation like dipping it into a warm bubble bath. White-gold stars erupted from the tip of the pale wood, danced around Amy’s head, and lit the bathroom like a thousand candles. For the first time since my poor attempts at magic had begun, a second sensation followed the warmth. This was cooler, more delicate, like a gentle breeze on a hot summer’s day. Purple glitter drifted out of the wand like it was carried on that same breeze to swirl around Amy from her blue stomping boots to her hair, which darkened where the glitter touched it, turning black in a visual sizzle of electricity. Her hair parted, twisted, and curled into two long pigtails (the hairstyle, not real tails) from the top of her head. Her face bloomed with color, sparkles settling onto her cheeks and a long cat’s eye effect elongating her eyes.

  The effect complete, the glitter and stars exploded in a shower, drifting to the floor where they winked out as if they had never been.

  Amy shivered a little. “Wow. I’m so excited, I’m seeing fireworks.” She flexed her hands in front of herself. “How cool would it be if I could actually use Jubilee’s power?”

  “Might make it hard to play computer games.”

  “Only if I couldn’t control it.”

  “Or your temper.”

  She laughed. “True. I’d fry my system every time I got to the stupid dragon in Orpheo Castle. Guess I’ll be happy without her sparks.”

  “Probably best,” I said, hoping my magic hadn’t actually given her the X-Men teenager’s power. “Okay. How’s that?”

  Amy opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. “Holy crap, Tessa.” She stared at herself, unblinking. “How did you do that? I mean, the archeress was amazing. This is…I don’t look like myself! How did you make my hair black?”

  I had my fake reasons ready to go, part of the previous night’s prep that kept me from sleeping until five in the morning. “It’s a comb-in powder. It’ll wash out.”

  “Huh…” She turned her face from one side to the other. Quietly, she said, “I seriously look like her.”

  “Yep. With her confidence, too. No mall security guard in the world will catch you now.”

  She giggled, then clapped her hands as she turned to me. “Now, where’s yours?”

  “In the car. I felt stupid driving in it, so I’ll change when we meet up with Mueller.”

  “Now who needs confidence?” I thought she was going to press it, but instead she glomped me, squeezing me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. “Oh, still me. I’m freaking about running into Tyler.”

  After easing her away from me enough to get words out, I said, “I know. But believe me, you want to go today.”

  “I dunno…”

  “I do. Come on. Mueller’s waiting.” I wasn’t sure whose butterflies were worse, though.

  We stood in line to get into the convention center for an hour, surrounded by bronies and Starfleet officers and a group of Tinkerbell fairies I couldn’t be sure weren’t actual fairies. The morning got hot quickly, leaving me thankful I hadn’t changed into my costume yet; I would have been sweating even more in awkward places. (Of course, then I wouldn’t have had to cart around a backpack with a change of clothes just to pretend I had a costume inside, so I might have been cooler in the long run…) As much as Amy complained about how hot her coat was, she didn’t take it off. And even her complaints stopped after a fully decked-out Gambit stopped to compliment the banana trench. His own coat swirled around him as he used a special pass to skip the line. I hadn’t realized that was a thing. A quick check of our tickets showed me that Harry Roundtop had provided us with the upgrade, too.

  All that waiting, for nothing.

  “Sorry,” I muttered as we stepped through the doors into the beautifully air conditioned lobby.

  “No worries. Comic Con is mostly about standing in lines, anyway. And I probably wouldn’t have seen Gambit otherwise. Wasn’t his costume awesome? I mean, it looked exactly like the comics. Some people prefer movie costumes, but what can I say? I’m a purist.”

  I glanced at her. “I could chop off your hair if you’d prefer,” I teased. “Comic pixie cut instead of movie pigtails.”

  Her eyes went wide. “No, no! Totally okay. I love these.” She twisted a curl around her fingers. “Now, where’s our Wolverine? You need to get changed, ASAP. That way we can look kick-butt in a group.”

  We found our Wolverine - currently dressed like a lone wolf pervert in a t-shirt that read, Crack open some legs and eat all night…at Molokai Crab Shack! - chatting up a group of giggling Princess Leias, each representing one of the movies. He sat behind a rickety table covered by a bright green cloth bearing a new Fairytale Endings logo in dark purple. Boxes in all the girly shades of life - mostly pink and purple, but with some green thrown in - displayed cosmetics of all kinds beside wands and tiaras and fairy wing
s. A crowd of Hogwarts students passed in front of us - all way too tall and advanced in age to be actual students - and when they moved, Mueller had been joined by the tall, elegant Ms. Zent. I drew up short. She was wearing a black dress with a corset bodice and tattered bell sleeves that swept the floor with every arm movement. Her black hair was free and flowing, gleaming in the overhead lights like the River Styx. Somehow, surrounded by the delicate colors arrayed on the table, she looked even more pale than usual.

  “Who’s that?” Amy whispered. “She makes a killer witch.”

  “My boss.”

  She did a double-take. “Seriously? What exactly do you do?”

  “I just organize files.”

  “For a toy company? That’s kinda cool, actually.”

  I pressed my shoulders back. So I had been absent from work practically all week; so what? It wasn’t like she could yell at me for not being there today. The factory was closed.

  “Why, Ms. Hargitay,” my boss said as I breezed up to the table like it was no big deal. “I had no idea this was your sort of gathering. Had I, you could have taken my place here.” She cast an arm over the table, somehow managing to keep from knocking anything out of place with her sleeve. “Any interest in doing so now?”

  “Here with a friend,” I said, motioning toward Amy. “Can’t abandon her to the trials of Comic Con.” I laughed a little, but it sounded completely fake.

  Her bright eyes raked over Amy’s face. “I see.” She then gave me the same treatment, except I had the weirdest feeling she was looking through me, not at me. “Mustn’t abandon our charges.” To Amy, she said, “Care for a compact, dear? Or perhaps lipstick? I have a candy apple red. Perfect for kissing that special someone.”

  My stomach gremlin growled as my insides vanished, same as if I’d missed a step on a treacherous staircase. “We’d rather borrow Mueller for a bit, if we could?”

  Amy just stared at my boss, caught in her dark, penetrating gaze like a deer in a hunter’s scope. “No one to use it on,” she whispered, but her voice sounded a hundred miles away.