Believe the Magic

by Melani Blazer

  I started nodding then shook my head. Anytime I’d tried to escape I always wanted to come here. Where would I go now? I suddenly felt very alone.

  “Alone? You’ll never be truly alone where magic exists.”

  I wasn’t clear on what he meant.

  “Clarity isn’t something easily defined,” the baritone voice boomed. “Just know there’s always more than meets the eye.”

  Wind swirled. The ocean’s salty tang bit into my nostrils and I could taste it at the back of my throat.

  I swallowed and blinked. Back in the sand. Out of the security of those orange walls. Alone. This was alone, I didn’t care what Lou and Sam said. I was scared, vulnerable and—

  “Let it happen.” I heard, as if it were carried on the wind.

  “Let what—”

  Someone remarkably like the famed Bigfoot tossed me over his shoulder without so much as a grunt. Uh-oh.

  This was not the Stone Age and I did not resemble Wilma Flinstone or Betty Rubble. Except the hair color. But that didn’t count. I didn’t have a bone in mine.

  “Who are you and what are you doing with me?” I gasped out.

  Without an answer I did what came naturally to a hysterical female.

  Screamed and kicked.

  The arm around my shoulders tightened until I could scarcely breathe. “Okay,” I sputtered, relaxing my limbs and pretending to be Raggedy Ann.

  “Umph.”

  Great conversation. Was that an apology? Because I needed one!

  “Where are we going?”

  Repeat one syllable grunt.

  Ah, yes, that told me a lot.

  Since my only view was of a rather wide backside and endless sand, I couldn’t have ventured a guess. Looks like it was wait and see time.

  Did it matter?

  Before I could blink again a flashbulb went off in my face.

  We were off.

  It was the smell that keyed me in. The strange antiseptic cleanser the compound couldn’t seem to cover. Though it did seem an interior decorator had stopped by since my last visit. Or, I realized, this was uncharted territory.

  “Welcome back.”

  I shivered as if a roach had just crawled up my arm. Then I shivered again when I realized how much worse he was.

  “We’ve got a suite all ready for you.”

  “Why?” I turned on him. “Why?” It was no secret I’d expected to be chained to a wall in a dungeon somewhere. Unless that’s what he meant.

  His rendition of a belly laugh did little to ease my uncertainty. Can I throw up now?

  “No you can’t, and no, it’s not the dungeon either. It’s a room, not so unlike the one you had before. Just a little more surveillance, but that means more protection for you.”

  “Jail, eh?” My sarcasm had no bounds. I might be on a mission, but I wasn’t kissing anyone’s ass.

  “No, I’ll treat you like my own daughter.”

  Red-headed stepchild maybe.

  “You’ll have the best of everything during your pregnancy.”

  That pulled my head up as if it were on a marionette string. What? Who? An admission ran through my mind. “How’d you know?”

  I waited for lightning to strike.

  I almost thought I heard a peal of Lou’s thunderous laughter. But Mr. B didn’t flinch. Guess it had been my imagination.

  “We’ve been with you the whole time. You and Quentin are like children to me. My prodigy. And of course, children rebel—they try to spread their wings. But you’ve come home now.” He spread his arms wide.

  No, thank you. And moi? A rebel child? Lord help me, he’s talked to my mother.

  “I take it I don’t get to use magic?” Crap, I even heard the desperation in my voice.

  Mr. B looked surprised. His wide but still beady eyes slid down my neck and back up again. There went another shiver. “Your gems broken?”

  Let me sink through the floor. I reached up and touched them. “I-I assumed you would have them stripped from me when I arrived.”

  “I gave them to you.”

  Where was the trap door again?

  This is what being blind must feel like. I figured it was well into the middle of the night. And silent. I’d fallen asleep after searching every available crevice, nook and cranny of the suite. Not sure what I was looking for, but I didn’t find it.

  Now all I was searching for was a light switch and couldn’t find one of those either. Half of me was terrified I’d jumped in my sleep or been taken somewhere else—or heaven forbid, gone blind. The other half frustrated because it was my own stupidity that put me in this pickle.

  “Anyone here?”

  I expected, no hoped, Quentin would answer. Of course, I could have a row of invisible, and mute, guards standing at the door. I wouldn’t know it until I walked into them.

  Funny. I’d managed to pull out every dresser drawer and found a lost button on the floor of the empty closet, but I didn’t have a clue where the lamps were placed or even where the furniture was.

  Guess that indicates I’d be a poor detective. They could have planted a camera, a bug, anything in the lamp and I’d have missed it.

  “Oh well,” I muttered out loud. “Detective work wasn’t next in line on my career choice list after all.”

  I felt my way back to the bed, then knelt on the floor. While I did remember this room being of the same general layout as the suite I had at the old compound, I wasn’t taking anything for granted. Ha! That made it sound like a hotel or bed and breakfast or something. Prison cell, Ella. Keep that in mind.

  This room didn’t have a sliding door. No, then Ella could escape. There was just a window. Hidden behind the heavy draperies I didn’t recall closing.

  My journey across the room was riddled with bumps and mutters. And one rather loud expletive when I racked my baby toe right into a something harder than it was. Wood, I think. Whose bright idea was it to put a table there, anyway?

  It didn’t surprise me in the least when I realized the window couldn’t open, and had a crisscross of bars. Don’t know why I had missed that earlier. Too busy being paranoid, I guess.

  “See, Ella,” I told myself. “Prison, just like I told you.”

  I pulled the drapes all the way open and stared up at the starless night. Never a full moon when I needed one.

  I sighed and reached up, lifting my heavy hair from the back of my neck. A shower did sound good.

  My fingers connected with the leather tie at the base of my skull. Once again it pulled back the memory of Sam and a previous shower. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that moment and make a few different decisions. Like not to go.

  Quentin’s face seemed to loom before me in the night. What would I change there? Anything? Surely I would have to. But would I want to miss a minute of it?

  Damn. I was tired of the darkness. My hand flew out as I spun around. Every light flickered to life.

  Oh yeah.

  Magic.

  It couldn’t have been fifteen seconds later that someone knocked at the door. Boy, they were watching me, weren’t they?

  There wasn’t much I could do about my appearance, so I opened the door with a sparkling smile in place.

  “Good morning,” I announced. “Or is it still evening?”

  “Morning.”

  Oh. My. God. A butler?

  He ignored my wide-eyed stare, or at least appeared to. Heck, in this place he’d probably seen it all.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Ella? Mr. Bergestein said he sensed you were awake, agitated. Can I get you anything?”

  “Uh,” I pointed behind me over my shoulder. And felt like a human pretzel. “I couldn’t find the light switch.”

  He leaned in and glanced around.

  “I, uh, finally found them.”

  “I see, ma’am. If that’ll be all?”

  I grabbed his shoulder before he turned and waddled away. “Jeeves, you wouldn’t happen to know the way to the kitchen would you?”
r />   “Ma’am?” He scuttled sideways. “Kitchen?”

  “I’m a little hungry.” I rubbed my stomach for emphasis. “You know, someplace I can raid the pantry, even the fridge?”

  “What would you like?” Now he was bowing. I wanted to slap him out of such subservience. Argh. What I wanted was free reign of Oreos and milk. Maybe chips and dip. Ice cream.

  I wanted to look, explore, find something for myself.

  Damn. There I went, obsessing over nothing. I took a deep breath.

  “Are you offering me room service?”

  “So to speak. Ma’am?”

  The little penguin suit was ready to run. Can’t say I was real surprised.

  “Okay, do your best with this—” I rattled off the list my mind had created. And then added chicken noodle soup, a turkey sandwich on rye and a bottle of root beer. “Substitute if necessary.”

  He didn’t blink.

  Oh but perhaps he’d heard the pregnancy story. Must be it. Even I would have been surprised if someone asked for all that as a three a.m. snack.

  Then I realized he hadn’t moved. Poor man was in shock. “Please?” I added, smiling.

  I dropped back on the bed. Ten to one I wouldn’t see a bite to eat. Probably wouldn’t get a candy bar out of the deal.

  I hoisted myself into the shower. It took effort, yes, to peel off the clothing I’d worn longer than I cared to figure and subject myself to the cold water.

  The citrus scent was nice, though. Almost nice enough to eat. My stomach echoed the thought with a growl that mimicked thunder.

  “So are you.”

  Crash.

  There went the shampoo bottle.

  “Quentin,” I shrieked. “Get out!”

  He waved an Oreo at me.

  “Heard you were hungry.”

  “Right now I’m cold and pissed off. Out.”

  He laughed at my pointing finger. I couldn’t exactly get out and wrap up in a towel. My soapy hair probably looked like a white afro.

  The icy water ran down my shoulders. I ducked my head beneath it and held my breath. Maybe I could freeze my senses. Numb myself to Quentin.

  Fat chance.

  He’d already pulled the string that left my head spinning like a top.

  As the soap trickled down my legs, so did my apprehension. I debated about shaving, but figured finding and transporting a razor in would take too long. And Quentin had Oreos. Hairy legs were fine when there were Oreos.

  He had to be reading my thoughts. “I’m eating all these cookies,” he taunted. He probably tucked in with my treats and was licking his fingers with delight.

  I jumped out of the shower and dried off as fast as possible.

  “I’d rather—”

  “Cut!” I called out. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t finished. I didn’t even want to know. No, too late. I knew what he meant, and my body was already responding.

  Be it magic or the wonder of housekeeping, I found a long, white terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the door. Hesitation wasn’t part of my genetic make-up, at least when I was cold and there was an alternative option.

  “Showtime,” I breathed and tied the belt. “Ready or not, Ella’s coming for the Oreo’s.”

  I stopped in the doorway. “You had better have saved some fresh milk for me,” I warned, running my hand through my wet hair.

  My tongue skated across my teeth. Ew. I’d kill for a toothbrush about now.

  “Try the cabinet behind the mirror. But you’d better hurry.”

  “For just one day, Quentin, would you stay out of my head?”

  Silence. Glorious silence. Not for one minute did I think he wasn’t reading my mind. But I could pretend, couldn’t I? Pretend I was back in my apartment in nowhere land. Where my biggest worry was my next date and my next sale.

  Okay, so that wasn’t heaven, and Quentin wouldn’t have come into the picture.

  “Face it, Ella, you’re a woman so you’ll never be satisfied—”

  It was a sacrifice, to be sure, but I could always get more. I waggled my finger at the pitcher of milk and provided Quentin with a mini shower.

  He stopped mid-chew and glared at me. I expected nothing less than fireballs zipping in my direction once he realized what I’d done.

  I waited. Nothing shattered against the wall that separated the bath from the bedroom.

  Cautiously, I took a step. He was probably laying in wait, like a cat ready to pounce. The rush of adrenaline hit me like a double latte when I realized I wanted him to pounce. Wanted him to stalk and ultimately capture me.

  Here I was feeling all…excited, and I turned the corner to be met, not with my own milk bath, but the sight of Quentin laughing so hard nothing was coming out of his mouth. I do believe milk, however, was spurting from his nose.

  “Hey,” I shouted, miffed he could relax in such a time like this. “Quentin!”

  Gee, I was going to have to store this information away for future reference. Pour milk on Quentin and he giggled like a schoolgirl. Only I didn’t want a giggling schoolgirl. Not even a giggling Quentin.

  He waved me over. Oh sure, like I was buying into that. I stood there, studying the picture he made against my white bedcovers. Glistening wet cookie crumbs were black diamonds on his lap. His hair was half-plastered against his face, and his tongue shot out to catch the dripping rivulets between peals of laughter. It was almost as if the taste of the milk tickled his tongue.

  Aw, shoot. The pre-lecture Ella would have taken her chances for the sake of Oreos. Okay. Uncle. I walked, no…sauntered over and helped myself.

  “You know,” I pointed with my half-eaten cookie. “You really should seek help for this problem.”

  “Ella,” he gasped, reaching up. I stood my ground and ingested another cookie middle.

  “Hm?”

  I was jealous. Completely envious of his abandon. Why couldn’t I let loose and laugh like that?

  I ignored the answer. Even if I was asking, I didn’t really want to know. It would mean work to change, and I wasn’t up to work.

  Someone was knocking. I stomped over. But even that didn’t sober hyena boy. I think it made him worse.

  “Yes?” I answered.

  Mr. B. In silk pajamas no less. “Is everything all right, Ella? One of my men indicated there was a ruckus and thought I should check on you.”

  Let the man see for himself. I stepped back and played butler, since Jeeves hadn’t been seen lately. “Right through to the bedroom, sir. You’ll find my problem there.”

  I followed him, flipping off a few of the unnecessary lights. We’d have a 747 landing in here with this luminescence. But I didn’t want Mr. B thinking I was getting romantic. No. Not at all.

  The lace coverlet looked like cookies and cream ice cream. I guess that’s pretty close to what it was.

  “Quentin?” I lifted my eyebrows at Mr. B’s tone. Quentin’s in trouble. Quentin’s in trouble. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

  Quentin extended his index finger and pointed at me. Huh? “Me?” I tapped my breastbone. “I was in the shower. When I got out, he was here, helping himself to my midnight snack.”

  Silk swished as the head guy stepped over and picked up the empty milk pitcher.

  “She did it,” Quentin sputtered.

  I felt transported back into second grade. Only the teacher didn’t hand out demerits. This one snapped his fingers.

  With just that, the mess was gone and I was alone.

  Now, this was all interesting. I’d been abandoned. Without even a crumb of an Oreo left to show for it.

  Yawn.

  As much as I wanted chocolate, I didn’t want to venture out alone and have Mr. B snap his fingers and turn me into a toad…

  Hey. I had magic.

  Rather than slap myself in the forehead, I cursed my forgetfulness and shut off the rest of the lights. I didn’t deserve any chocolate.

  Was I ever going to be able to succeed?

/>   I swore the awful pounding was in my head. But when I shoved a pillow over it, it helped. “Go away. I don’t want anything but sleep.”

  Of course, they wouldn’t stop knocking long enough to hear me. Bastards.

  Even if the sound didn’t come from mini-jackhammers in my brain, the pain surely did. For goodness sakes, a hangover?

  I couldn’t recall drinking anything and I’d had, what, two cookies? Was this punishment for the milk-over-the-head stunt?

  Knocking persisted.

  Oh, gee. I was going to have to get up.

  “Today, Ella!”

  The voice was totally unfamiliar. And not happy.

  “I’m coming already. Stop your knocking and get me some aspirin—my head’s a ticking time bomb.”

  “You don’t want to know what it would feel like if you’re late to Bergestein’s table for breakfast.”

  Magic.

  I wasn’t going to forget it this time. And in this case, using it for my benefit was wrong, wasn’t it? Couldn’t risk teeing off the main man, could I?

  “Give me just a minute. Promise.” I brushed my teeth and hair the old fashioned way, but wiggled my fingers at the closet for the rest.

  Had to do it twice. Riding pants didn’t work with the floral silk top. It was still faster than if I would have stood there and sighed over my options.

  The nondescript butler junior led me to a long hall that had tables set up. Always a different room, a different scene. Oh look, just what I wanted, an audience. Quentin, who refused to meet my eyes but ogled my chest, was not at my table. No. I was sitting at Bergestein’s right hand.

  “So, Ella,” Mr. Bergestein started, “when might I expect to see my heir?”

  Water spewed from my mouth. Glistening droplets decorated my black lacquer plate. I counted them, refusing to look up. “I’m not sure. I’d have to consult a calendar.”

  Snap.

  Be careful what you wish for. I really was regretting my decision to answer the door.

  I flipped the pages of the newly appeared calendar back. Crap. When was the last time we—

  Eyes bore into mine. I searched the table and ended up locked in a gaze with Quentin.

  “Tell him it’ll be the end of June. Roughly.” The mental message printed out in my brain.

  “June? Maybe the very beginning of July? I could be wrong. Time has a way of getting away from me.” What day was it anyway?