Love Charms

by Multiple

“All right. See you then.” I hung up the phone, more than a little weirded out. Parallel universe? Or too many toxins in the chem lab? Dad was the lead biologist for a chemical company. Maybe making the world safe for others had fried one too many of his brain cells.

  My room was cluttered with clothes, books, random electronics, and magazines. I kicked my way to the sink and stared at my reflection. “College dropout,” I said to the mirror. “Jet, career burger-flipper.” I poked at the cowlicks that made my hairline look like a sine wave. Maybe I had enough chemistry credit to merit promotion to the shake machine.

  Someone knocked at the door. Still hoping for a psych student, I wrenched it open.

  Just my resident adviser, Rima. She monitored the dorms and generally got in our way when we tried to violate the rules of the Virgin Vault by keeping a boy overnight. Which I did more often than not. But I liked her okay.

  She held a stack of flattened cardboard. “I heard.”

  I stepped back to let her in. “I thought grades were private.”

  “They are. I got the vacate notice.” She dropped the collapsed boxes on the floor. “I brought this too.” She held up a bottle of tequila, half full.

  I dug some paper cups out of a drawer. “I’ll pack to that.”

  She sat on my bed while I poured. “I called your academic adviser. She’s planning on putting in a request for a semester off for you, and another round of probation in the fall. If you want it.”

  I almost said, “I want it” right off, but then I hesitated. Mom’s death hadn’t been bringing me down this semester, not really. I mean, sure, I was sad, but that hadn’t stopped me from speed dating four guys this semester alone, nor from guzzling more rum punch than a tourist on a Jamaican cruise. The boys and the booze just weren’t helping. I didn’t belong here like my mother had. I didn’t belong anywhere.

  Rima took the cup I offered her. “You know, your mom’s still a legend around here. We all know about the time she made Old Man Nichols’s methylene blue demonstration turn pink.”

  I nodded. “The freshmen always think they can pull it off.” After all these years, Nichols just expected that some plucky first-year would try to sabotage his chem kit.

  Rima laughed. “Except you.”

  I set the tequila bottle down, not bothering to shove the stopper back in. “I knew better than to try.”

  “We all thought you knew the secret.”

  “Mom never shared it with me.”

  The room chilled with the silence. And now I’ll never know, I finished silently.

  A dark head poked around the door, which Rima had left ajar. “Anybody home?”

  Gordon, my latest boy-babe. He looked as yummy as always, jeans that hugged his hips just so, a casual button-down snug at the shoulders, and brown hair cut on the long side brushing against his scruffy jaw.

  He’d been the perfect boyfriend for the, oh, three weeks we’d been together. Not that this was short. Most boys didn’t make it past two dates, more annoying than they were worth once it was clear the chemistry worked about as well as mixing up a batch of butyl seleno-mercaptan. Unless, of course, you liked skunks.

  Gordon looked around at the disarray. “Taking the whole room home for the holiday?”

  “Permanent holiday.” I handed him my shot and poured another. “I got axed.”

  “Oh.” He tipped the cup back. He gulped it down, and I admired his long neck. I had use for that neck. “I didn’t realize you were cutting it that close.”

  I shrugged. Gordon was one of those top-notch scholarly types, but I had a healthy respect for his nonacademic pursuits. “Come here. I could use a bit of distraction.”

  Rima set her cup on the counter. “Maybe I should go.”

  “No, no,” Gordon said. “I’m not staying. Just wanted to wish Jet a Merry Christmas.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

  Seriously. A shake?

  “You’ll call me later?” I asked, although I could feel the cold coming off him like a frosty window. “I have one more night here.”

  “I think I’m heading out, like, now.” He seemed to realize the handshake was insulting, so he bent down and brushed a kiss across my lips so light that I wasn’t sure he actually made contact.

  I grabbed his sleeve. “Usually you greet me a little more hot and heavy than that.” I glanced at Rima. “Audience or no audience.”

  He smiled weakly. “Let me know if you end up back here.”

  I let go, realization flaming through me. No one loves a failure. Whatever.

  He waved to Rima and disappeared through the door.

  She passed me a fresh shot. “That was a waste of booze.”

  I contemplated the gold liquid in the waxy cup, letting the rejection float off me like a vapor. “Easy come, easy go.”

  “That’s been your motto as long as I’ve known you.” Rima shoved the stopper in the bottle. “Maybe there will be some boys next door in Connecticut ready and waiting.” She tapped her cup against mine.

  I downed the shot in a fiery gulp. “There usually are.”

  *

  Josie, my little red Volkswagen Bug, lurched along I-90. Dad drove, I stared out the window, and the boxes blocked all the back windows. Beetles weren’t made for moving.

  Hallow, Mom’s albino ferret, sat in my lap, sleeping. I had the window cracked to manage the smell. “You sure he’s okay? He was never this rank before.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t hear of having him fixed, and it’s mating season.”

  “Eeuww!” I yanked my hand from Hallow’s head.

  “No worries. Not like he’s got any mates around.” Dad glanced at the GPS suctioned to the window. “I got a lot of looks on the plane, though. He was a good chap and hid in my pocket like he always does, but his odor was pinned on me.”

  “Maybe we should do it when we get back.” I thought I felt Hallow twitch, but when I looked down, his eyes were still closed.

  “Oh, he’s an old fellow. No use removing the unused parts at this late date.” Dad settled back in his seat, his formal tweed jacket with elbow patches out of sync with my flower-print seat covers. He’d aged tremendously since Mom died, more gray in his flattop, a web of wrinkles around his eyes.

  The snow gradually became less broken as we moved out of the city, white drifts blanketing the landscape. We had a couple hours’ drive to Connecticut. My late night of packing was catching up with me. But we still hadn’t discussed the important bits.

  “So, Dad, what’s with the unconditional support? I flunked out of college. Spoiled Mom’s dream.”

  “Not her dream, Jet. Her only dream was to see you happy, chemistry or not.” He pressed his lips together.

  “I’ll probably get a deferment. My adviser said I could pick back up next fall if I did some community college.”

  “Excellent. Perfect timing.” A few flakes began to land on the windshield, so Dad flipped on the wipers.

  “Timing for what?”

  “We’ve had a little trouble at home. We need your help.”

  “We? Who’s we?” Was Dad seeing someone? Already?

  He glanced down at the ferret in my lap. “Hallow and I.”

  “What are you talking about?” At my higher pitch, the white bundle stirred, blinking up at me with red eyes.

  “What I’m going to say isn’t going to come easy.”

  I petted Hallow’s head, nerves jangling. “Just dump it on me.”

  “Your mom was a brilliant chemist, of course. But not of the kind you always thought.” He looked at the ferret again. “Chemicals were definitely her strength. She made a lot of potions.”

  “Potions? What do you mean, potions? You don’t take ‘Potions’ in undergrad.” My hair was hackling. Hallow sat up and stretched.

  The snowy hills whizzed by behind Dad’s head. He concentrated on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “Your mother was what you might call a witch, and her last potion killed her.”r />
  2: Dei Lucrii

  I couldn’t breathe. Seriously. Dad had flipped his gourd. Post-traumatic stress, maybe. He had, after all, walked in and seen Mom after the explosion.

  “Have you seen someone about this?” I meant a shrink.

  “I’m not really allowed to speak to any of the coven,” he said.

  Coven? What was he talking about?

  Visions of white coats danced in my head. How would I handle the house while he was in the ward? Maybe there was a pill they could give him. I heard electric shock therapy was back in vogue these days.

  “Jet? Are you following? We will have to spend the next few days figuring out how to turn you into a witch.”

  “Pull over, Dad. You are in no shape to be driving.” The snow was falling harder. Hallow snuggled back in but kept one beady eye on my father. I ran my hand along his furry back. Thank goodness someone was on my side here.

  “I’m perfectly fine. The thing is, we’re in a bit of a jam. Your mother didn’t tell me she’d mortgaged us up to our eyeballs to finance this potion she was working on. Fairy mushrooms don’t come cheap.”

  “Funny.” I forced a bitter laugh. “I get it. You’re trying to make me laugh. Lighten the mood.” I punched his shoulder. “Dad, I’m good. I’ll work for a while, do some catch-up on the ol’ calculus.”

  But Dad prattled on. “I tried analyzing her compounds to see if I could reformulate based on the ingredients. But unfortunately, the last bit of it has nothing to do with hairs of virgins. It’s a spell.”

  “Dad! Stop it! You’re scaring me.”

  He calmly engaged the turn signal and exited the freeway. A small Presbyterian church sat just beyond the ramp, and he pulled into the deserted parking lot. “Jet. I’m not daft, or senile, or joking. I didn’t know either until way too late.”

  My breathing sped up, which made the ferret smell all the more difficult to manage. I moved Hallow to a pillow in the back and opened my door.

  I was a scientist. Or trying to be. But still. So was Mom! So was Dad! Both perfectly rational people. They couldn’t buy into this. He’d read too much Harry Potter. Or, in his case, watched too many episodes of Bewitched. Though Elizabeth Montgomery HAD sort of favored Mom…

  “Jet?”

  I got out of the car and paced in small circles. Things started tumbling into place, my life flashing before my eyes. Mom, always having dinner ready no matter how late she got home. The cookies, freshly baked and sitting on the table, even though there had been nothing in the oven when I came in moments earlier.

  The unlabeled medicines when I was sick. The bizarre menagerie of pets in the converted garage, a room filled with colored bottles and strange knickknacks. My knees wobbled, and I sat in the dusting of snow, shivering.

  Dad came around the car and knelt next to me. “I know it’s a shock.”

  The cold felt good, something real and tangible, as otherwise the whole world was shifting around me. I finally managed to squeak out, “Am I a witch too, then?”

  He put his arms around me to quell the shivers. “I don’t know a lot about this world. I was never included. I can only glean certain things from what your mother told me.”

  “So you think I could be?”

  “Right now I’m desperate for you to be. We have to try.”

  The wind bit into the wetness around my eyes. “What happened to her? No one ever told me anything.”

  “No one really knew exactly what happened.” Dad shuffled his feet, trying to find a comfortable position. “I just came home, and she was…” His cheeks had gone all cherry.

  I knew the scene had been grim. The closed casket meant I didn’t even get to see her one last time. “What is this stuff about the mortgage?”

  “I heard from a man a month ago.” Dad pressed his lips together. “It’s a big amount your mother borrowed, and that was after she’d already taken a second mortgage on the house. He said he’d be by between Christmas and New Year’s to test the potion and would be happy to pay any expenses.”

  “Did you tell him Mom was…”

  “He said it was not his problem.”

  Lovely bloke. “What is the potion supposed to do?”

  Dad stood up then, staring at the freeway and the line of cars moving along it, all bright and colorful against the bleak sky. The people in them were moving blithely into the holiday. I wanted to be one of those people.

  And yet. A witch. What an extraordinary legacy. I couldn’t doubt it, could I? My own father, the calm indomitable bastion of logic, was telling me all about it as if it were plain fact.

  I realized he hadn’t answered. “Dad? Do you know what the potion is supposed to do?”

  He barked a short laugh, a rueful sound in the quiet. “The most ridiculous thing. An insult, really.”

  My butt was turning to ice on the freezing ground, so I stood up. “What is it?”

  “She called it Passion Potion.”

  “Like Love Potion #9?”

  “Something like that. This man wanted to market it to failing marriages.”

  “How can you market something magical to regular people?”

  He shivered in his jacket and brushed snow from his hair. “It’s done all the time. Specialty stores. Under the counter. But something wasn’t right. She referred to him as Dei Lucrii.”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “I looked it up. It’s an ancient Roman god of profit.”

  “So the Donald Trump of witches?”

  “Maybe,” Dad said. “But he didn’t seem to care what it cost to make.”

  Well, that was no way to make a profit. “So you think he wanted it for himself?”

  “Powerful thing, making people…well, you know.” The red on his cheeks spread to his entire face, into his gray roots.

  “That would be something.” Anyone you were interested in becoming a sure thing. Messed up. But alluring. “I’ll do it.”

  His pale eyes brightened. “Really? You’re up for trying?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m not sure how to go about it. Your grandma Gem is long gone, and Grandpa.”

  “Were they witches?”

  “Your mother referred to most everyone as an enchanter. Grandma Gem was some sort of grande dame enchanter. Your grandfather was human, like me.”

  The cold suddenly gripped me hard, and I shuddered so violently that I lost my balance.

  “Sweetpea, let’s get back in the car. Long ride still.”

  My teeth started chattering. I wasn’t sure it was entirely from the weather. My life had just been upended. “Too bad I don’t know any teleportation spells.”

  Dad helped me into my seat and chuckled. “The reality of magic doesn’t match the stories whatsoever.”

  3: Home Sweet Cauldron

  Dad sure got that right.

  Mom’s lair, or whatever it would have been called, was a disaster. Cobwebs, dirt, dusty bottles, and the lingering smell of chemical burn.

  “So it wasn’t her chemistry lab after all.” I brushed a layer of grime off a leather book.

  “No, no. Though it wasn’t always this dirty.” Dad held Hallow in the crook of his arm, his eyes pained. “I don’t come in here often.”

  I’d visited the renovated garage a few times after the funeral. The room had always been a bit disorganized, but not like this. I reached up to sweep away an intricate spiderweb attached to a lamp.

  Dad caught my hand. “Let it be. That spider cost four thousand dollars, according to this.” He pointed to the leather-bound book. “She kept careful notes.”

  I peered more closely at the dark center of the web. A tiny spider rested on a gleaming thread, bright green, its black eyes watching me.

  “Whoa-kay. I won’t touch anything.”

  “I’ve been afraid to sweep or clean. I don’t know what some of her scribblings refer to.” He gestured to a pile of luminous orange crystal bits by the book. “For all I know that’s kryptonite.”

&n
bsp; I sat down in the chair. Mom had been right here when she died. I’d never let myself take her place before, but now it seemed the right thing, as though something of her might still be buried in the black leather and would seep into me, like Obi Wan Kenobi passing on his skills after death.

  I opened the cracked cover to the oversized tome, similar to the old unabridged dictionary that rested on its own wooden stand in my elementary school library.

  “Book of Shadows,” I read. The names and dates of a half-dozen women filled the page. The last one was “Tessandra Vanguard.” Mom. I ran the tip of my fingers across her name, then jerked my hand away. The paper felt sticky.

  “Yuck.” I touched my thumb to my first finger. They clamped together as though I had glued them.

  Dad set Hallow on the desk. “What is it? Another spider? There’s loads down here. Reproducing, as it were. Might be a side business if the babies are worth as much as the original.”

  It required a bit of effort to pull my fingers apart. The stickiness felt as though it was spreading. I looked down at my mother’s name. It hadn’t changed.

  “I got something sticky on me.” I looked around for a rag or a towel, but the dusty desk was devoid of anything useful for cleaning. I spun in the chair and headed for the sink at the back wall.

  The water chugged and spat for a few seconds before streaming out normally. I scrubbed my hands with the antibacterial soap, but the stickiness only increased. I shut off the water. “Dad, I think something’s happening.”

  He took my hand in his. “It feels normal to me. What makes you think it’s sticky?”

  I pushed my fingers together again. The skin pulled as I forced them apart.

  He touched them again, but he didn’t stick. “How completely odd.”

  “Do you think it’s a spell?”

  “A sticky-fingers spell would be delightful for a book that should never be stolen.”

  “But I’m not sticking to anything but myself.” I touched my shirt. Nothing. The dusty filing cabinet. All normal.

  Now my fingers wanted to curl into my palm. I fought the urge, but I couldn’t withstand the intense need to make a fist. I tried prying one set of fingers apart with my other hand, but now they were locked together as though I held two powerful magnets.