A Spoonful of Magic

by Irene Radford

  “Oh, that’s good. Family time and all.”

  “What was so interesting on the news?”

  “Mr. Chambers has decided to run for state representative, on a conservative platform, of course. I presume we can count on your vote in the primary.”

  “I don’t know who else might be running. I need to be fair and evaluate each of them.”

  “But no one is more qualified than my husband!”

  “Probably so. But as a concerned citizen I have to look at every candidate equally.”

  “Oh, yes. There is that. I’ll let you go now. But may we put a campaign sign in your yard? The whole town needs to look unified. Having other campaign signs around will look messy.”

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Chambers.”

  “About the sign?”

  “Good-bye.”

  I’d barely hung up when the front door reverberated from the force of someone pounding on it. I sped over to it and yanked it open. I know, I know, I should use the peephole. But this sounded too urgent.

  BJ stood in front of me, clutching several rectangles of fiberboard stuck to garden stakes. “Please, Ms. D., can you get rid of these for me?” he asked thrusting the signs at me. “Mother wanted me to put them in the front yards of the entire neighborhood, without asking people. That . . . that’s littering or something and I won’t do it. Anyway, could you burn them? I’m going to be late for school.”

  He dashed out the driveway with an easy lope to the sensible compact car his folks had given him for his sixteenth birthday.

  I looked at the topmost sign. “Bret Chambers for State Representative. Returning Oregon to a Godly course in politics.”

  I had just the place for these. I took them out back to the brick grill shaped like an old log cabin chimney, and thrust them into the hearth. A single match set them to burning merrily.

  Strange. I thought they would need several matches and maybe some dry grass for kindling.

  Whatever. Flames shot high with a whoosh, forcing me to step away. The smoke smelled rancid, like the stray whiffs I’d been catching about town lately.

  I shouldn’t leave anything that volatile. So I fixed a glass of iced tea, crushing some fresh blackberries from the back fence into the liquid, all the while watching the fire out the kitchen window. Then I settled into a garden chair with the book about the mystical properties of jade while I monitored the fire. “Healing and stability. Lessens anxiety and lightens emotions. . . .”

  Ted Tyler took to spending his morning coffee break at Magical Brews. He showed up about ten, when I returned from getting the children off to school.

  “You’re needed out front,” Gayla whispered conspiratorially through the swinging door, just as I donned my apron. For once I had a clean, if faded one. Gayla must have done laundry recently. “He’s here.”

  I didn’t need to ask. This made three days in a row that Ted had asked for plain black coffee and a cinnamon bun. I met him with a smile.

  “Tiffany’s feet are much better,” he said by way of opening the conversation. “She wants me to ask you for more of the ointment and the soaking stuff.”

  “Have her stop in when she brings Jason home from rehearsal. Having her drive saves me a lot of time and hassle. Helping ease her dancer’s feet is the least I can do for you two.” I wanted to give him his drink and pastry for free, but there were enough regulars hanging around I didn’t want to set a precedent. Or start more gossip. I had no idea who reported to Mrs. Chambers.

  “That will work. And if Jason needs help with finishing the attic floor . . .”

  “Thanks anyway, but he promised his father he’d do the work himself. He’s already rented a sander and made great progress. But he wants to move more stuff and define square edges before he varnishes. And with school starting, he’s not going to have much time until he settles into a routine and figures out which classes require the most study,” I demurred. As much as I was coming to like Ted, I didn’t know if I could trust him with all this magic business, or any of it. I needed G to come home and do something to obscure that pentagram.

  Having listened to one tirade on the part of Bret and Flora Chambers on the evils of witchcraft and why BJ couldn’t go with us to watch any of the Harry Potter movies, in the theater or on DVD at home, I was leery of any exposure. Their fundamentalist church had the largest congregation in town.

  And G seemed to think the Burning Times might very well descend upon us soon. Sooner than he wanted to think about.

  Bret Chambers running for state office brought the possibility even closer.

  “Well, then perhaps I should take you out to dinner on Saturday night so Jason has the freedom to work on his private space without his mom watching over his shoulder.”

  “That would be nice. Rehearsals are done by five.”

  “I’ll pick you up about six. But I will warn you, anytime I can eat without Tiffany’s supervision I go for fat, beer, and sugar.”

  “Pizza at the brew pub?” I laughed. “I’ll make sure there’s a dessert at home. Provided Jason doesn’t find it and devour it in one gulp. I swear that boy grows an inch a week.”

  This time Ted laughed. “At fifteen, eating and growing is his job.”

  Other customers shouldered into our conversation, demanding exotic coffee drinks of their own. For some reason, whenever I worked the front counter, customers wanted me to fix their brews. Gayla and I used the same ingredients, the same routine, the same machine. And still they swore my lattes and mochas and espressos were better, perfect to their palate.

  “I’ll restock the cookie case. I don’t know what you did to the coconut-chocolate-chunk but they are disappearing faster than usual,” Gayla said on her way back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll take one to go,” Ted said, not moving very far away to make room for the others.

  I grabbed one with a square of waxed paper and handed it to him. “Get back to work. You need to make money so you can pay for my pizza and beer.”

  The rest of the day vanished in a whirl of customers and baking. The whole town seemed to drift in and out of the shop. There was an excitement in the air that always accompanied the end of summer laziness and the first day of school. College classes would start soon, too. Then I’d lose my afternoon employees to the university.

  “Can you stay an extra hour this afternoon and help train two new kids?” Gayla asked as she straightened from stacking cookies in their case.

  “Half an hour. Shara’s in middle school this year and gets out of class a little later than the elementary school.”

  “That will have to do. The afternoon crew are rearranging their classes to have a couple of afternoons off each week. By bringing in two more part-timers, I think we’ve got the late shift covered. But you need to teach them how to use the roaring beast. I can work it, but only you can make it obey.” She gestured toward the espresso machine.

  It did indeed roar when steaming. And it could be a cranky beast. But it always worked for me.

  “Speaking of Shara, her birthday is next week. I will need this kitchen to make cupcakes. Presuming it doesn’t rain, she wants a garden party. Ten-year-olds manage cupcakes easier than slices of cake when running around being obnoxious.”

  The entire crowd giggled at that. Many of them were parents of Shara’s classmates and knew what happened when children of that age were turned loose out of doors while on a sugar high.

  “Make red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and send some home to the parents,” a woman called from the back of the room.

  “I prefer the chocolate, chocolate chip with dark chocolate icing,” another said.

  “Cinnamon hearts in pink cake with strawberry frosting.”

  The list of favorite treats went around and around the room, each one more decadent than the last. The cupcakes we had on hand started disappearing from the co
unter.

  I had my work cut out for me. Work I loved, in a community that made me feel at home and welcome. No way would I return to Seattle and my parents’ constant disapproval when I had this every day.

  I had two new men in my life to flirt with. I smiled at John when he came in for his own coffee and treat at the end of my normal shift. He didn’t even object when I sat him at one of the little round tables while I trained two new college students on the arcane ritual of working the espresso machine.

  Sixteen

  “NO,” Jason said into his phone. After ten. He should be sound asleep by now. He needed his rest to cope with school and rehearsals tomorrow. BJ, on the other hand, didn’t seem to need sleep at all. Or if he did, he preferred to nod off during his afternoon classes.

  “Look, J, I know it’s your house and your rules and all, but I really need to see that pentagram in your attic,” BJ replied. “It’s like it is calling to me. If I could just touch it once. . . .”

  Jason ran his hand through his hair, hoping the gesture would banish the yawn tightening his jaw. “I said no. And that’s the end of it. I still don’t see how you saw enough of the floor to know that anything is there.”

  His best friend was really getting weird. Hanging out with bullies instead of demeaning them with scathing put-downs, sleeping odd hours. Following Belle around like a lost puppy dog. If he, Jason, didn’t know better, he’d think BJ was on drugs. Like all the teachers drilled into the kids to be on the watch for.

  He swallowed hard.

  His parents had warned him about taking anyone up to the attic and that he had to keep the pentagram a secret. He wished his dad was here to help him.

  But Dad couldn’t keep his pants zipped. That made him unreliable on so many levels Jason didn’t want to think about.

  “Mr. Mooney pointed out the blond wood to me. He said that if it calls to me so strongly I should get an invite to touch it,” BJ whined.

  That brought Jason awake faster than ice water on his head.

  “Mr. Mooney told my mom not to let anyone in the attic but me. Why would he then tell you to try to get up there?”

  BJ hung up.

  Damn, damn, “Alakazam, Magic Slam.”

  Now he was awake with no chance of sleep. Maybe he should go up to the attic and do some pliés or something. Maybe take a blanket. With the heat turned down in the house, it would be cold up there. He needed sleep. Sleep within the pentagram to prevent a new headache. BJ was causing headaches now, not helping him forget them.

  “What are you doing here, G?” I whispered early Thursday morning. I’d used the front stairs to come down from my bedroom because the backstairs had a creak and I didn’t want to wake up the children too early.

  Of course, if G was a wizard, he’d know how to open any lock. Shara must have inherited the talent from somewhere.

  Unlike any other morning that I could remember, I found G asleep on the sofa, his suit coat over his torso like a blanket. The afghan from my chair lay crumpled over his feet and knees.

  Dark shadows made his closed eyes look like ghostly holes. He’d discarded his red-and-navy-striped tie and opened his shirt at the neck. His usually impeccable clothes were rumpled.

  In all the years I’d known him and lived with him, I’d never seen him look vulnerable. Even naked and asleep beside me, he retained an aura of power and protectiveness. Now I felt I had the place of protector.

  “G,” I whispered, gently touching his shoulder.

  He mumbled, started to roll over, and awoke. He was sitting and reaching for his wand/pen before he’d fully opened his eyes. His suit coat flew off to the side and he freed himself from the tangle of the afghan in one smooth movement.

  “G!” I stood up and stepped back, hands out, half defensive, half showing myself as unarmed.

  “Oh. It’s you.” He rubbed the sleep off his face. “What time is it?”

  “O’ dark thirty, the time I usually go to work. What are you doing here?”

  “I got in late and didn’t want to wake you.” He righted his shirt and shifted his trousers as he planted his feet on the floor. Before he stuffed his feet into his loafers, I noticed a hole at the heel of his dress sock.

  “You have your own apartment where you don’t need to worry about waking someone. Or do you?” I started toward the kitchen, not really wanting to know who shared his bed these days. “I’ll make coffee. Then you need to go.” Did I smell smoke again? Not in the house. Maybe a neighbor had started a fire to ward off the morning chill. Or the campaign signs still smoldered. Not likely. I’d doused them with water before going back to work.

  “Can’t,” he said around a yawn.

  “You don’t live here anymore.”

  “No, I don’t. But you and the children are still my family. I need to know you are safe. And . . .” He followed me through the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen, catching it before it could swing shut between us. His nose worked, he’d smelled the smoke as well. Acrid, not sweet and fresh like a wood fire in a hearth with a chimney.

  “And what?” I rounded on him, not knowing if I should be angry or frightened. Or just exasperated.

  “I know I can trust you and my children. No one else. I can’t trust anyone else. Never again.”

  “Trust?” I asked, going through the motions of filling the coffee carafe with cold water and setting grounds in a filter. Busywork. I kept my hands busy trying to concentrate on him and not throwing something at him.

  “Trust. The Guild has been compromised. My contacts have gone to ground. We are all in terrible danger and I can’t trust anyone. No one but you, Daffy.”

  “You can’t hide here. We are divorced.”

  “Is the pentagram intact?”

  “Yes. Jason has only sanded the floor around it. He’s been busy with school and rehearsals. But I think he’s afraid to work inside the pentagram until you are here to supervise.”

  “What about the safe in the greenhouse?”

  “I haven’t checked.”

  “Shara?”

  “Has been busy trying to hack your work computer in the basement. She says she’s close and really wants to enroll in the computer programming club, so she hasn’t spent any of her unlocking skills on your safe.”

  “Good. Board up the greenhouse if you have to, but don’t let her in there at all.” He sat in the breakfast nook, looking as if he expected me to serve him breakfast.

  I shoved a coffee cup toward him and poured from the carafe. Black, no sugar, no cream, nothing to come between him and the sharp, dark jolt of awareness. He sipped greedily, like a starving man taking his first nourishment in days.

  The dark circles beneath his eyes hadn’t lightened any with wakefulness.

  I put four slices of bread in the toaster, found jam and peanut butter and put them on the table along with two plates.

  “Board up the greenhouse against Shara?” I laughed. “You have got to be kidding me. I don’t think there is a lock she can’t open. And she’s working on hacking into a pretty sophisticated security system on your computer.”

  “Oh, yeah. My daughter the budding safecracking thief. Or maze runner?” His expression brightened with that thought. “If she can unlock anything, then she can find anything. . . .”

  “You can’t stay here, G. We aren’t married anymore. The divorce decree . . .”

  “Damn the decree. I can’t protect you by remote control.”

  “Can’t you? What about pentagrams and wards and stuff.”

  “Illusions at best.”

  “So you are the all-powerful wizard, the Sheriff. Make the illusions solid.” I put two pieces of toast in front of him and prepared my two. He spread his own two slices, meticulously making certain the peanut butter covered the entire surface evenly, all the way to the corners. Then he turned equal attention
to the jam. His jaw worked as if talking to himself.

  “Make the illusion solid?” He looked up at me, holding his breakfast sandwich in both hands. “The perfect solution.” He bent to eating without another word.

  “I have to go bake things. I’ll be home by seven to fix breakfast for the children. It seems a bit strange that they are all so big now, they don’t need me to push them into showers and set out their clothes.”

  “They are growing up, Daffy.” G covered my hand with his own. Just like he used to when I needed reassurance, or strength, or courage. He’d approved and guided me through every step of setting up Magical Brews, like he knew I’d need the independence when he was done with me.

  Did he deliberately arrange for the one thing that allowed me to emotionally and financially separate myself from him?

  Probably.

  “You should be gone by the time their alarms go off. I don’t want them getting ideas that I’ve forgiven you. They haven’t.”

  “Yes. There is that little matter of my . . . indiscretions. Now that I’ve rested and eaten,” he looked dubiously at his toast that had mostly disappeared, “I am in charge of my faculties now, I can defend myself. Thank you for the safe haven, Daffy. I’ll be back later to strengthen the protections I have in place. Tell the girls to keep their wands close and touch them frequently, especially if someone makes them feel uncomfortable. I don’t know quite what to say to Jason.”

  “He has cork insoles in his shoes now.”

  “Cork?”

  “It’s tree bark. Thin layers of tiny chips pressed together. I found small circles of the stuff at the craft store, designed so people can make their own decorative coasters to protect furniture from sweating glasses. We found a different use for it.”

  He threw back his head and laughed with joy, as I hadn’t heard him laugh since the day I accepted his proposal. “I should have known you’d find a solution. So be it. Off to work with you now, Daffy. I’ll do a couple of chores here first, then take myself off to my tiny, dark, and dismal apartment above a shop that plays flutes and drums night and day.”