One Good Wand

by Grace McGuiness

  The woman laughed, low and warm, like a pleasantly boiling cauldron. She glanced at me before she murmured, “Beautiful little thing like you? There must be someone.”

  Alarm bells, both magical and my standard issue, clanged and exploded in my head. She knew. I didn’t know how I knew, but my boss had definitely drawn the same conclusion I had. Unlike the professional godmother who had met Amy more than once, Ms. Zent had taken one look at her and pegged her as a Sleeping Beauty. Was she a godmother, too? Did they make dark, scary godmothers?

  “I’m not big into makeup,” Amy said, saving me from doing anything rash, like vomiting on my shoes. “I’ll take one of those wands, though. If you’re giving them away?”

  Ms. Zent pursed her dark red lips before letting free a smile. “For today, yes. Use it wisely.”

  Amy accepted the box with a little wiggle. “Thank you! If only Jubilee used a wand…” She took the wand out, clicked the button that lit the tip, and waved it through the air. Her movements were smooth and confident, nothing like my own awkward gestures.

  “As for Mr. Mueller…” Ms. Zent lowered herself onto a folding chair like a queen taking her throne. “You have three hours, and then I expect him back here. That includes lunch.”

  Mueller, who had remained silent through our exchange despite the departure of his Leias, practically leapt out of his chair. The boxes on the table jostled precariously, but only the display tube of lipstick fell over.

  “But Mr. Mueller?” Ms. Zent blinked with seductive slowness as she shifted her gaze to him. “I expect help getting this all back to my car when the day is done.”

  Mueller didn’t say a word. He simply nodded and led the way away from the table. Across the lobby, up some stairs, and then we were wending our way through an empty hallway full of numbered doors.

  As he ducked his head into one, Amy said, “No way. Did you know your boss’s name is Mallora Fredricha Zent?” She waved her phone at me, showing off Ms. Zent’s profile on NetworkImp, a site to connect job seekers with potential employers.

  I checked out a door on the other side of the hall, only to open it to a discussion on art branding. “Mallora Zent, yeah,” I said, only half listening.

  “Mal F. Zent. Get it?” She giggled. “Tessa, you guys work for Maleficent!” The crowd of businessmen watching a presentation on the other side of the door I had just opened turned to glare at us like a hive mind. I gave them a sheepish smile and closed the door.

  “Here,” Mueller called, waving us down three doors. The room was dark, silent, and empty.

  “Good thing neither of us is Sleeping Beauty,” Amy said, causing me to trip over a trash can just inside the door. “I don’t have a prince to beat her dragon form for me. Unless…” She glanced at Mueller appraisingly as I righted the can.

  “Ain’t no prince,” he growled. “Go stand guard.”

  Amy crossed her arms over her bright pink blouse. “You can’t order me around like that. Besides, you’re supposed to protect me if Tyler shows.”

  “Suit yourself.” He started unbuckling his pants.

  “Ew! Okay, I’m going. But if I see that jerk, I’m coming back in, pants or no pants.”

  When she was gone, I pulled out my real, working wand and brandished it at him. “Pants on, please. Now, how do you feel about yellow spandex?”

  “Do it, and I will spend all day making remarks about your suit fetish. Lots of Dr. Who fans this year, so I’ll throw in some tweed innuendos every time we pass one.”

  “What, exactly, can you make out of ‘tweed’?” I wondered aloud. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Now, hold still. I don’t want you to end up with a second tail.”

  Thankfully, creating Wolverine from what I already had to work with proved to be as simple as Jubilee. Rather than complete transformation, the swirling magic only had to tweak his usual look and make it uniform. His jeans improved in quality even as they went a little grunge. His t-shirt shrank up to a blood-stained sleeveless undershirt. The sleeves slid down his arms to become claws jutting from his knuckles. The magic put the finishing touches on his hair, thickening and flattening the top, before exploding into a white-purple glitter shower.

  He turned in a circle, searching for another anomaly. “How does it look?”

  “Wolfy,” I teased. When he glared at me, I sighed. “You’re back to normal. No new tail and no old one. And you look…” I wanted to tell him he looked sexy…in an imposing sort of way. But that went against our all-business policy. “Scruffy,” I finished, all above-board.

  “About damn time. Your turn.” There was no humor in his voice. None of our old rapport. Just a cranky tech and an awkward file clerk who happened to work in the same building.

  “Go wait with Amy. Make sure she’s okay.”

  He grunted, and without so much as a leering backward glance, he left me to work my magic on myself.

  Magicking myself had proven more difficult the previous night than I had expected, not least because the Storm costume I intended to craft refused to happen. No matter what I tried, it always came out purple and skimpy. I could have just spelled the clothes in my backpack like I did with Amy’s costume so I didn’t have to worry about it now, but I wasn’t sure how long I got to wear mine. Did the same rules extend to personal magic as to godmother magic? I didn’t want to suddenly morph back into my jeans and blouse in the middle of the convention center, so I had to perform the magic here, under pressure.

  My first try barely covered my boobs. Even if the con people would be okay with that, I sure as hell wouldn’t. Second try cut off circulation to my legs. I almost passed out before I got it to change back, giving me about fifteen seconds of true panic as I considered the topless heap Mueller would find me in. Third try was, as they say, just right. My thigh-high boots didn’t chafe. My Psylocke leotard was not only the perfect shade of purple, but also didn’t give me the uncomfortable sort of wedgy that left over-the-hip styles back in the ‘80s where they belonged. I opted, instead, for extra embellishments, a more intricate design across the torso, and an extra jaunty red sash that worked with my not-perfect abs and waist. I didn’t have a mirror, but my dark hair was sexily streaked through with vibrant purple that glittered even after the magic faded. My hips still felt breezy and exposed, but what was a little bared flesh to save the city? That part of my flesh, anyway…

  You can do this, I reminded myself as I stood breathing in the cool, quiet air. The magic clearly thinks you are strong and capable and—

  A knock interrupted me. Amy peeked inside the door. “Security is kicking us out,” she said, mere seconds before she squealed in excitement. “OMG, you look fantastic!”

  I didn’t answer. My throat was too dry to talk. I followed her out into the hall where, sure enough, a pair of security guards stood with hands on their belts, looking stone-faced and sick and tired of dealing with all the weirdos. At least until they saw me. Then their faces warmed considerably, and so did mine.

  “Sorry to be out of bounds,” I muttered as I surreptitiously slid my wand into the hollow of the purple plastic psy-blade that had moments before been my watch. “Panic attack. I just needed a place away from all the…you know.” I fanned my face with a purple-gloved hand.

  “No problem,” the two men replied, almost as one. They escorted us down the hallway. I was pretty sure they were both staring at my ass the entire way. But maybe that was just my own insecurity. After all, I wasn’t used to men looking at me like I was causing an uncomfortable pooling of blood away from their brains. I gave them an accidentally flirty smile when I waved goodbye back in the lobby, then pulled Amy far, far away.

  Once we were comfortably mingling with the rest of our tribe, I tried to get down to business. Unfortunately, I hadn’t anticipated the geek reaction to my handiwork. Every time I tried to talk to my team, someone stopped us to ask for a picture. We posed each time - Wolverine with claws up, Jubilee with fist raised, and Psylocke brandishing plastic telepathic
dagger - without complaint. Half the time, the picture-taker stopped to talk comics with Mueller. The other half of the time, they chatted games with Amy. That half already knew her from the arcade, and they gushed like old friends in spite of the fact that none of them knew each other’s real name.

  By the time we hit the presentation area that smelled of warm bodies crammed into long lines for too long, an hour had gone by.

  “No way we’re getting into that presentation,” Mueller growled. “Too many people, not enough seats.”

  We stood in front of a set of double doors with a handwritten sign declaring my brother was all-business and very good at his job. And better than me. After all, he had a line probably two hundred people deep waiting to see him. He would be on the stage. I would be in the audience. Story of my life.

  “Wait here.” I physically stuck Amy at the end of the line. “Mueller, stay with her. If you see Tyler…”

  “Deck him,” Amy supplied.

  “Skewer him?” Mueller offered.

  “Just don’t do anything that will get either of you kicked out, okay?” I gave Mueller a meaningful look. If he screwed this up, I wasn’t sure we’d have another chance.

  “Make it look like an accident,” Mueller said with a nod. “Got it.”

  Amy giggled. I walked away.

  Deeper into the presentation wing I went, braving the crush of a crowd desperate for autographs and a glimpse of their favorite actors. The access doors that would lead me backstage were all blocked off and guarded by con volunteers. I resorted to a simple text message. Need to talk. Where are you?

  Danny replied immediately. Busy. We’ll talk at home.

  It’s about the game. I hated sending that message. Mostly because I knew what the answer would be.

  You have three minutes to get here. He gave me directions and off I went.

  The little prep room was empty except for my brother and his computer, and three con volunteers. The teens were impressed with my costume. My brother barely looked at me.

  “I’m glad you decided not to break your non-disclosure. I would’ve hated to sue you.” He was making last-minute improvements to his presentation on a touchscreen laptop that made the computer he sent me look like a Commodore 64.

  “Especially since it would be a waste of money, since I have nothing to take.” I sat down across the table from him.

  “Nothing but your reputation.” He paused, glanced at the ceiling. “So I guess you were right.”

  “Funny.” I wanted to kick him. He didn’t need to be mean, let alone cruel. Kicking him would have been contrary to my goal, though, so I kept my enormous boots to myself.

  “You’ve got five minutes, Tess. Do you really want to spend them glaring at me?”

  I could get down to business, too. “It’s about my friend.”

  “This again? I thought you had some important insight for me.” He poked his screen off. “I told you last night. If she wants a job, she has to go through the same channels as everyone else. I can’t play favorites.”

  “Unless it’s your sister, right? Then it’s totally fine?”

  “You don’t want to be a tester, you can quit.” He poked the screen on again. I wasn’t even worth his full attention for ten seconds.

  “If I did, would you give the job to her?”

  This was going to be Amy’s fairytale ending. Not only was I determined to improve her work situation, but the magic buzzing faintly in my ear insisted I was on the right track. This would work. It had to. How much easier would it be if I could just tell Danny to give her the job, and then Mom would wake up? Too easy, probably. There had to be some level of needing to earn one’s happiness involved. Snow White escaped the huntsman and then had to cook and clean for seven miners. Cinderella had to brave the wrath of her family for a night off. And Sleeping Beauty had to live without contact with the outside world and then fall under a sleeping curse. I had never been a big fan of her story, since all she did was get curious and then be saved while she slept. But then, she was also the only one with a prince who earned his spurs. That had to be worth something.

  “I can’t just give a job to someone I don’t know,” Danny insisted. “No matter how much my sister vouches for them.”

  “So meet her. Interview her. That’s all I’m asking.”

  His finger paused on the screen as he leveled a familiar look at me. “No offense, Tess, but you need to worry more about your own career instead of wasting time on some kid you just met.”

  Heat flashed through me, burning away my caution. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you started subscribing to Dad’s Self-Serving Magazine.” I shoved away from the table so I could press my gloved palms onto its surface and tower over him. Not exactly menacing in a bright purple leotard and hooker boots, but what did I care? He wasn’t going to listen to me no matter what I did. “I may have very little money, little brother, and you may not think my life is worth much because of it, but at least I care about people. I don’t treat those I love like dirt on an expensive shoe.”

  “That’s not what Kyle says.”

  A slap to the face—hell, a punch straight to my nose wouldn’t have hurt as badly as those five words. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wanted to shout obscenities at him, to kick the chair out from under him. It took me a good eight seconds of fighting with all my willpower not to throw his laptop across the room. A rash of questions itched its way through my head, but I let them burn away on the pyre of my pain.

  Nobody hurts you like family.

  I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even acknowledge him. I just walked out the door with as much dignity as I could.

  Out in the hall with the door closed behind me, I leaned against the sturdy wall and willed myself not to cry. Did magical makeup run? I had no idea. Nor did I have the energy to fix it if it did. How was I supposed to get Amy her fairytale ending if my brother wouldn’t cooperate? If he wouldn’t even listen to me? She was going to be stuck waiting on putrid frat boys and drunks forever, and it was all my fault.

  I drew in breath after breath, half of them gasps that verged on sobs, trying to calm down. Aware that Danny was going on stage shortly, I began dragging my sorry carcass down the hall, my Psylocke boots suddenly extremely heavy. The corridor was empty, for which I was grateful.

  And then, with a faint popping sound, it wasn’t.

  “Miss Tessa?” a strong male voice called from about twenty feet behind me. He stood there in a white button-up shirt with a black tie and black slacks, like a computer repair expert, flanked by three men and three women in the same attire. Each face held an expression that could crush steel. The leader was ice-blond, tall, too all-business to be handsome. He was also glowing faintly gold. They all were, except for one short guy in the back who gave off a bronze gleam. “A moment of your time, please.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, my voice tight with unshed tears.

  “We are here on behalf of the Wand, Haberdashery, and Implement Regulation Agency. We have come to collect the wand that belonged to Miss Maysie Browning Fife before she retired. Hand it over, or we will be forced to use whatever means necessary to secure the object. Per Article Two of…”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he rattled off. My brain may have been fogged in despair, but my body had no such problem. While my brain was busy thinking, If I give up the wand, I will never save my mom, my legs were busy carrying me far away from the wand retrieval squad at a pace I didn’t know I possessed. Especially in such ill-conceived footwear.

  Chapter 31

  Unfortunately, the crush of fanboys and fangirls waiting to hear my dipshit little brother wax professional about his company kept me from getting very far. Speed is only good when one has the road to get up to eighty-eight miles per hour.

  I veered around a cluster of girls dressed like the Tardis and slipped into the line of people flowing toward the stairs. From the vantage halfway up (and stuck behind a taun
taun who was in turn stuck on Darth Maul’s double-bladed lightsaber), I sought Mueller and Amy in the crowd. Mueller saw me before I saw him - my vibrant purple costume no doubt making me stand out more than his grungy jeans - and waved to get my attention. They were six people away from the door leading to my brother’s talk, Amy bouncing in place with excitement. Mueller raised his hands, palms up, as if asking, “What the hell are you doing, Hargitay?”

  I made a motion that probably looked more like I was trying to conduct the chaos of the ballroom waiting area like some insane symphony leader than miming wand magic, then pointed at the seven slacks-and-ties behind me. They had made the unfortunate (for them) move of adding sunglasses to their outfits, transforming them from Nerd Herders to jacketless Matrix agents. A very fit-looking Neo and Trinity couple posed opposite them, creating a tableau for a hundred cell phone shutter clicks. While trying to mime other concepts at Mueller and looking like my Psylocke had gone momentarily crazy, I caught movement. Magical movement. With a Matrix-like move of his hand, the leader of the retrieval squad created a hole on the stairs where there shouldn’t have been space, parting people into two orderly lines.

  Without waiting for an invitation, I jumped into the space and barreled the rest of the way up the stairs. At the top, I veered left, away from the food court and across the graceful curve of a bridge overlooking the ballroom holding area. Wolverine and Jubilee stared up at me, a pair of rocks in the river of people anxious to find out who Iceworm Interactive wanted to hire. Amy waved to me with her Fairytale Endings wand. Mueller lifted his phone and pushed a button with his thumb.

  My phone dinged as a message came through. Plan?

  In that moment more than any other - even my deepest tech-envy situations - I wished I had the cash for a smartphone. Multiple-clicking the keys on my dumbphone to get any kind of coherent message across was going to be tricky on the run.

  “Miss Hargitay,” the leader called from the edge of the bridge, with all the lyricism of a badly programmed robot. “We are not going anywhere.”