Wisteria Wrinkle

by Angela Pepper

  Zinnia looked around at the misty forest that was now surrounding them. Something about the leaves on the trees caught her eye. She stopped and gathered some branches in her hand.

  “Look at this,” she said to Margaret. “Does the shape of these leaves look familiar to you?”

  The gray-haired witch studied the leaves a moment before looking up with a surprised expression. “It’s your bush glamour,” she said. “And I just figured out what’s so strange about that spell. The leaves aren’t symmetrical. One side is jagged and the other side has smooth curves.”

  “I never could identify the bush, but it appears to be commonplace here. Do you suppose...?”

  The witches stared at each other, then looked at the foliage surrounding them.

  Zinnia chewed her peppermint gum for a moment, then tried again to express her thought. “Do you suppose this place is the source of our magic?”

  “Hmm.”

  “And that it leaks into Wisteria through some sort of opening on the third floor of City Hall?”

  Margaret blinked. “No. I hadn’t thought of it until just now. The opening must be a sort of fistule.”

  Zinnia wrinkled her nose. “Did you say fistule?”

  “Yes. Mike had a fistule a while back,” Margaret said. “It’s an abnormal channel that creates a passageway between two things that don’t normally connect. Mike’s was enterovesicular, so it directed into his bladder.”

  “That’s awful. I had no idea. I’m sorry you and your husband had to deal with that.”

  “He’s fine now. Since it was going into his bladder, we took him to see his favorite surgeon, who got him fixed right up. Since the surgery, he hasn’t had any bladder infections.” She frowned. “Which is too bad, because they really made him suffer.”

  “And you want Mike to suffer?”

  Margaret said nothing.

  Zinnia looked at the forest floor for a moment before looking over at her friend. “I’m sorry about what’s going on with you two.”

  Margaret scowled. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what? I’m not giving you the pitying look again, am I?”

  “No.” Margaret tossed aside the asymmetrical leaves and started walking again. “You’re giving me the look that says I’m mean and rotten to Mike. Your look says I’m a nasty little witch, and he should have left me years ago.”

  “You might be projecting just a wee bit. If I was looking at you with any emotion at all, it was only concern.” Zinnia easily caught up to Margaret.

  “I don’t like this forest,” Margaret said. “Did you see those rodents? They were as big as house cats.”

  “I guess we know what’s been eating the bags of grain in the cafeteria back home.”

  “This is all Liza’s fault. It’s because of that silly new girl that we’re all here.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. It might have been Xavier. He was the first one to get captured by a timewyrm. I bet he saw one and challenged it to a fight.”

  Margaret grunted.

  “You remember what he was like in the swamp that night,” Zinnia said. “He drew first blood on the cougar, and then he tried to fight the First Responders. The kid doesn’t know when to back down.”

  “Men are all fools, but it’s the selfish girls who make them even stupider.”

  “Who are you talking about? Xavier? Or someone else?”

  “Xavier,” Margaret snapped. “He’s an idiot who deserves what he gets.”

  “And yet you risked your life to come here and rescue two people you claim you don’t care about.”

  “I haven’t been on a vacation in almost twenty years. I wasn’t going to turn down a free trip.”

  “Is that all this is to you? A free vacation?”

  “Sure. It’s like visiting the Grand Canyon, except—”

  Zinnia put a hand on Margaret’s shoulder to stop her. There was a buzzing, zipping sound in the air. A flock of multicolored birds swooped across the trail in front of them, snapping their way through a cloud of moth-like insects. The birds had fast wings, like hummingbirds, but were the size of parrots. Once the insects were gone, the birds flew away again, their wings buzzing as they zipped through the air.

  “You don’t see those in the Grand Canyon,” Zinnia said.

  “Mike loves birds,” Margaret said. Her eyes glistened.

  “Did something happen? You two seemed happy enough with each other the last time I saw you together.”

  Margaret blinked away the moisture in her eyes and stuck her nose in the air. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  Zinnia looked around at the forest with the strangely shaped leaves. Yes, appearances could be deceiving. For all she knew, the whole forest could be an illusion. They could be treading across the skin of some planet-sized creature.

  It was times like these that her creative imagination was of little comfort.

  After another hour of walking, the party of six—or five plus one snake—exited the woods and found themselves at the outskirts of a village.

  Dawna clapped her hands excitedly. “This looks just like that medieval town I used to go to when I was little.” She explained to the group, “My parents were really into this stuff. My mom sewed costumes for everyone, and my dad made chainmail armor.”

  Gavin seemed surprised by this information. “Really?”

  The others were also surprised. Dawna was a private person when it came to her life outside the office, so any details at all about her childhood were news to the group.

  The giant copper and yellow snake, who hadn’t spoken in a while, coiled up. All of Susan’s scales seemed to catch the sunlight at the same moment, and then, in a flash of light, she changed.

  Susan looked as human as any of them. She was a beautiful woman, her curves and her face soft with the freshness of youth. She had long, golden hair that fell in waves down to her knees, covering her. In fact, her hair was the only thing covering her. She was completely naked.

  Karl whipped his suit jacket off his shoulder and handed it to her while averting his eyes.

  Susan said with a light laugh, “I don’t want your sweaty jacket, troll.”

  “Sprite,” he said peevishly, taking back the jacket and clutching it to his chest. “I’m a sprite, not a troll.”

  “You are what you are,” the snake who was now a woman said. She snapped her fingers, and was instantly clad in a shimmering, silver-hued gown.

  Dawna rubbed her eyes and asked Zinnia, “Did that just happen? Did our talking snake turn into a beautiful goddess?”

  Susan heard the question and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I am a beautiful goddess. I’m glad you noticed. The villagers around here are too terrified of me to offer any honest compliments.”

  “Uh-oh,” Dawna said. She leaned over to Zinnia and whispered, “If she’s a goddess, we’ve got a problem.”

  Zinnia already had her hand inside her purse, her fingers wrapped around a grenade-sized magic explosive. She had been on high alert since the moment they’d approached the village.

  Zinnia said to Dawna, “Let me guess. Was there something in your cards about a goddess?”

  “She only came up once,” Dawna said, gulping audibly. “In the reading with the volcano.”

  “That can’t be good,” Zinnia said.

  An unbearably loud whistle rang through the group. It was coming from Susan, who had two fingers in her mouth and was blowing fiercely.

  All around them, doors popped open and people jumped out, armed with crudely-forged yet deadly-looking weaponry. Most of the people were human sized, but a few were tiny and a couple were very large. A giant man—nearly twelve feet tall—grabbed both Karl and Gavin in two swoops of his meaty arms. Karl’s long tongue lashed around ineffectively.

  Zinnia took aim and threw her magical grenade at the former snake’s feet. A plume of dust rose up, but that was all. The grenade didn’t explode.

  Meanwhile, the tiny people had thrown a net
over Margaret and were working together to wrestle her to the ground. Margaret was cursing them and flailing her arms and legs, but she wasn’t zapping them with magic. Why wasn’t she putting her green lightning to use?

  The blonde goddess stopped whistling and calmly laid one fair hand on Dawna’s shoulder.

  “Sleep now, mage,” Susan said.

  Dawna’s eyes rolled up. She dropped to the ground as though boneless.

  Zinnia pelted the second grenade directly at the goddess. It hit her in the torso and bounced off. Still no explosion.

  Zinnia tried to cast a motion disruption spell, but the Witch Tongue seemed to tangle up her actual tongue.

  She used a wordless spell, with gestures alone, designed to kick and bite the goddess, but Susan showed no reaction whatsoever.

  Zinnia felt within herself and found that she was empty. There was no familiar tug of magic pooling within her and dispersing. She directed her telekinesis to lift a rock. Nothing.

  Her magic was dead.

  Had she been dosed with witchbane without realizing it? She hadn’t ingested anything in this realm, except some bottled water they’d packed, and Margaret’s peppermint gum.

  Margaret made angry rhino noises within her net. “It’s this world,” she choked out. “Zinnia, this whole world is poison!”

  Zinnia looked around. The world didn’t look or smell like poison, but then again, the last time she’d eaten witchbane she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Appearances could be deceiving.

  Two pale hands came toward Zinnia. They parted, landing on her shoulders as a face swam into view. It was the goddess. The nameless, powerful one they’d called Susan. As she drew nearer, her eyes were so cold, so stone-like, so familiar.

  “I know you,” Zinnia said woozily.

  The snake-woman hissed, “Witch, you do not know me. Do you still wish to see the ones called Liza and Xavier? You shall see them.” A coolness passed from her hands into Zinnia’s shoulders and through the witch’s body. “You will see them soon enough.”

  Zinnia slipped down into the coolness. She fought it and resurfaced.

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “You will regret taking us. Our mage has seen the future. Release us at once, or your fate is sealed.”

  “Rest now,” the goddess said. “Rest your weary eyes.”

  Zinnia tried to fight, but the coolness was so much more appealing than the fire that burned in her shoulder and smoldered in her thumb. Her eyelids were so heavy. She would rest them, just for a moment, then she would destroy this goddess. How dare she pose as a snake pretending to be their friend! How dare she! How...

  Chapter 31

  Zinnia woke to the sound of water running. She listened before opening her eyes. There was trickling water, chirping birds, and distant voices—both female, laughing merrily. She also heard her mentor’s voice inside her head: Zinnia, what do you know to be true?

  The last thing she remembered was being knocked out by the snake-woman. She knew that time had passed, but not how much. She was lying on her side. Her body was whole, unbroken, and the air around her was a comfortable temperature. No breeze. She cracked open her eyelids.

  It was bright. She squinted as the world swam into focus. She expected to see the stone walls of a dungeon and a filthy dirt floor beneath her cheek. Instead, she saw beautiful flowers. A garden? No. The flowers were too regular. It was wallpaper. And beneath her cheek was a soft surface. Red. Velvet upholstery. Hope swelled in her chest. Was she home again?

  She lifted her head. Her vision blurred as her head throbbed. Her arm was numb. Or just plain gone. Had she been wrong when she’d perceived herself as being whole? Thankfully, she found the arm under her torso. She was whole. Her arm had simply fallen asleep from being pinched beneath her body. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over her. She clasped her hands in front of her, rubbing one wrist and then the other. She wasn’t tied up. Wherever she was, at least she wasn’t tied up.

  She pushed herself upright, swung her legs down from what she now recognized as a red velvet couch with taut upholstery. She blinked away the stars that swam in her vision.

  She was in a grand room with a high ceiling—three stories, maybe more. The floor was gleaming marble, the furnishings were both crisp and sumptuous at the same time, and there were grand columns supporting the lofty ceiling. It might have been an art gallery, except there wasn’t quite enough art on the wallpapered walls. There was, however, a large fountain gurgling at the center of the room, under a grand chandelier. She was in either a luxurious hotel lobby or a castle’s sitting room. She looked around for a concierge desk. There was no desk, no concierge. Castle it was.

  Zinnia got to her feet and looked around to see if her travel companions were slumbering on the other couches. They were not. However, if they were also being detained in a place half as pleasant as this one, they were fine for now.

  Now what? She didn’t have her purse or any of her magical supplies. What had Margaret yelled while she was being captured? The whole world was poison. Their witch powers didn’t work here. To test this hypothesis again, Zinnia directed her levitation at a small, ornate table. It didn’t budge. Just like the rock she’d attempted to lift during the ambush.

  But levitation was just one of her skills.

  Next, Zinnia used Witch Tongue to cast an object-location spell on her purse. The words tangled her tongue and deflated inside her mouth before she could utter them. Her powers were not working.

  “Hello,” came a calm female voice behind her.

  Zinnia whipped around to see a familiar-looking young woman with blonde hair and honey-brown eyes.

  “Liza!” Zinnia was so happy to see her coworker alive that she ran toward who she thought was Liza Gilbert, arms extended.

  The woman took a step backward and said, “Nobody calls me that.”

  Zinnia halted her approach. She could have sworn the woman was Liza, but now that she was closer, there were differences. This woman had the same eyes and hair, but her face was narrower, her cheeks hollower.

  The blonde continued in a friendly, conversational tone. “I suppose some of us go by Liza, but not me. My family has called me Beth ever since I was a baby, and it stuck, so I’m just plain ol’ Beth.”

  “Beth,” Zinnia repeated. “I’m Zinnia, Zinnia Riddle.”

  Beth gave her a curious look. “Zinnia? What’s that short for?”

  “It’s not short for anything. It’s a type of flower.”

  Beth tilted her head back and let out a merry laugh. “Of course it is. I’ve been gone from Earth for so long now that I’ve forgotten entire ranges of vocabulary.”

  Zinnia pieced together the clues in her head. “As for your name, is Beth short for Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. Don’t you know that? I thought you were from Earth.”

  “I am from Earth. I was just checking.”

  “My name’s Elizabeth, all right.” She walked over to one of the red velvet couches and perched delicately on the arm. “Why were people of my parents’ generation so lacking in imagination? In school, every second one of us was named Elizabeth. Either that or Margaret, or Mary. I actually had a friend named Mary-Margaret Elizabeth. Poor thing.”

  “And what is your last name? Is it Gilbert?”

  Beth wrinkled her nose. “No.” She languidly stretched back on her couch-arm perch. “That’s a funny question.” She smiled, as though the two of them were new friends meeting for tea, and not captive and captor.

  Zinnia politely mirrored Beth’s smile. “If you enjoyed that, you’ll be happy to hear I have many funny questions.”

  Beth pointed at her playfully. “I did know a boy with the last name of Gilbert. He was a fine young man. I think he might have pursued me if I hadn’t come here.”

  Zinnia figured as much, as she’d already connected the dots. The woman standing before her was Queenie Gilbert, before she became Queenie Gilbert.

  Beth asked, “Do you know him? The Gilb
ert boy? How is he? Did he even notice I was gone?” She rubbed her chin with both hands and frowned as she looked down. “Wait. Never mind. I’ve been here for hundreds of years. He’s probably dead and gone, along with everyone else I ever knew or loved.”

  “Not exactly,” Zinnia said slowly. “Some time has passed, but not hundreds of years.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s a complicated story, but I do know you, Beth. We’ve met before.”

  “We have?” Beth cocked her head.

  “From your perspective, we haven’t met before, but we will.” Zinnia winced and waved a hand. Time travel was confusing to talk about. “Other than right now, that is. When we do meet, it will be the first time for me.”

  Beth batted her eyelashes. “Is that what your cartomancer has foretold?” She went on to identify Dawna Jones by an outdated label. Beth was from 1955, all right.

  “Her name is Dawna Jones,” Zinnia said. “Dawna didn’t have to tell me about meeting you, because it happened already from my perspective. I remember it clearly. You and I have a mutual friend. Winona Vander Zalm.”

  “Winona! Why didn’t you say so?” Beth slid off the arm of the sofa and walked toward Zinnia, rounding the other furnishings. She stopped with one sofa between them—a purple one—and frowned. “Did Winona send you here? I thought her powers were limited to...” The blonde with the honey-brown eyes gave Zinnia a questioning look. Zinnia knew when she was being tested, and this was a test.

  “Her powers are limited to healing,” Zinnia said, answering the test question. “Winona Vander Zalm was a nurse during the war, which is when she discovered her abilities. I know about it because we were friends.” Winona had also been in Zinnia and Margaret’s coven for a while, as a non-witch member.

  Beth was no slouch. She pounced on Zinnia’s statement. “You were friends? Were? What happened?”

  “We are friends,” Zinnia said, lying just a little. “In fact, I recently helped her with a dispute she had with a real estate agent. Just a few months ago in my time.” That part was true. Winona had been a ghost already, but the statement was technically not a lie.