Magic Gone Wild

by Judi Fennell

  In the end, she hadn’t, and he hadn’t, and he’d spent a night tossing and turning on the sofa instead of being entwined in satin sheets and her.

  God, he’d imagined it so much during the night, it was as if it had actually happened. But if it had, there was no way he would’ve ended up sleeping alone on an old sofa.

  And it was just as well they hadn’t. No need to complicate matters, especially now that he’d outed her as his date.

  “So what are your plans for today, Vana?”

  Vana grabbed a plate from the drainboard beside the sink and started stacking pancakes onto it. “I thought I’d paint the back of the house. I don’t want to start on the front and draw attention to it. With no work vans coming or going, plus with that woman knowing you’re back, I’m guessing you’ll have visitors soon, and it won’t look right for you to have just arrived yesterday and all of a sudden the house is finished.” She kept stacking.

  “Vana.”

  “But I can work on the upstairs rooms instead if you want. Paint and furniture and whatnot. Maybe some knickknacks. I’m sure Peter’s are still packed away somewhere. Though we are going to have to make the timeline look believable for all of that, too.” One of the pancakes slid off the spatula into the sink.

  “Vana.”

  She grabbed the soggy pancake and tossed it into the trash bag he’d hung on a drawer pull. “I mean, people will probably talk, and just you being back is enough to keep them going. We don’t need to add fuel to the fire—”

  “Uh, speaking of fire—” Zane jumped out of his chair, grabbed the dish towel off the counter, sending the plates clattering onto it, and started beating the flames that were licking at the cabinets.

  That finally got her attention.

  The entire time she’d been talking, things had been popping up behind her: paintbrushes, a decorative pillow, some rope—must be the hanging-out thing she’d mentioned—and now the toaster was on fire. So much for her magic working properly.

  “Holy smok—” She cut off the word, dropped the plate of pancakes onto the table, then ran to open the back door.

  A cloud of gray smoke flew out as Merlin flew in, choking.

  “Hey, you two, what’s cookin’—um, burnin’?” The phoenix landed on the back of a chair and cocked his head.

  “Broiler,” threatened Zane, glaring at the bird before dragging the dish towel into the sink and turning on the faucet. Merlin had impeccable timing when it came to Vana’s messed-up magic—impeccably bad timing.

  “Okay, then, how ’bout this? I just flew in from LA, and boy, are my wings tired.”

  Vana didn’t say anything. Zane just rolled his eyes and sat down to help himself to breakfast, trying not to make a big deal out of the fire. She’d feel bad enough for the magical mess, let alone almost burning Peter’s house down, and unlike the phoenix, he hated to kick people when they were down.

  “Nothing? Still? Geez, what is wrong with you two? Everyone laughs at that joke.”

  “I think they’re laughing at you,” muttered Zane.

  “Funny, Ace. I’ll have you know I kill ’em at the Tiki Bar.”

  Zane didn’t ask where, didn’t want to know when, and definitely had no plans to give the bird the opening to explain why.

  “Okay, whatever.” The bird clacked his beak, and his feathers changed to a powder-blue-and-white diamond pattern. All he needed was the face makeup and he could pass for a mime: too bad he wasn’t as mute as one. “So, Van, what are we doing today?”

  “Well, I was going to—”

  The cuckoo clock interrupted her, chirping the hour.

  Merlin almost fell off his perch. Eyes wide, he righted himself on the back of the chair, ruffled his feathers, then checked the watch on his wing. (Zane wasn’t about to comment on that anomaly.) Merlin looked back at the clock, shook his wing, put his ear to it (did birds even have ears?), then glared at Vana.

  “Van, did you—”

  “Make breakfast?” she asked with her bright smile.

  Despite everything, the woman was sunshine on two legs. Well, when she wasn’t breaking his legs.

  He still couldn’t get over that and rotated an ankle just to remind himself.

  “Yes, I did make breakfast, Merlin. And you’ll be happy to know I didn’t use eggs.”

  “You used something, all right,” the bird mumbled as it hopped onto the edge of the table and sniffed at the pancakes. “So, cowboy, how was your first night in the old homestead? Everything you were hoping for?”

  Thank God, Vana’s back was turned because the bird’s waggling eyebrows left no doubt as to what he was talking about.

  Zane didn’t know which to react to first: the fact that the bird had eyebrows or that he’d voiced the same thought he’d been having.

  Zane shoveled a helping of pancake into his mouth. He needed to get a grip; he couldn’t be thinking about making love to her all the time or he’d drive himself insane.

  And he was back to that.

  “The house is fine, Merlin.”

  “Good thing. I heard you had a visitor. And so did your ol’ pal Gary.”

  “Really? Did a little bird tell him?”

  Merlin struck a pose, one wing outstretched, the other touching his breast. “Moi? Surely you jest.” He held up the wing, the feather on the end extended. “Wait. Don’t say it. I know. ‘Don’t call me Shirley.’ I saw the movie.”

  A movie-quoting bird, a genie who kept him up at night (but not in the way he wanted), and the high-school bully. Three things Zane could do without.

  “Would you like some pomegranate juice, Zane?” Vana held out a glass pitcher, her hair still in disarray from whatever it was genies slept on in their bottles.

  Well, maybe there were only two things he could do without.

  Zane shook his head. He must have inhaled too much smoke.

  He held out his glass. “Thanks.” He gulped half of it down. “As for painting the house… Why don’t you just leave that to me, Vana? It’s not easy.”

  “But you said I could help.”

  Damn. He had. What had he been thinking?

  He’d been thinking that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. For all her ineptitude, she wasn’t that way on purpose.

  “Okay, Vana, you can do it, but without magic. I’ll grab some more brushes, and we can throw on a couple of coats of paint.”

  “Oh, good! Let’s paint it yellow.”

  “White’s better. More neutral for potential buyers.”

  “But the original color was yellow. With blue and white trim, like Merlin’s wearing. Can’t we return the house to its former glory?”

  “Uh, Van? Babe?” Merlin cocked his head so far to the side it was almost upside down. “Do you remember the so-called glory that came with this place? I’m with Zane. Use the KISS principle. Keep It Simple, Stupid.”

  Vana pulled out a chair and sat. “I know all about the KISS principle. That’s actually how I figured out my Way of doing magic. See?”

  She kissed the air, conjuring another rose, and Zane was riveted to his chair at the sight. Of her lips, not the rose.

  Merlin groaned. “Seriously, Van? Anyone can see through that. You might want to try some subtlety.”

  Vana’s eyes widened, and Zane had half a mind to wring the bird’s neck. Nothing like tossing the sexual tension right out there for all to enjoy.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, Vana.” Zane tossed the biggest pancake to the bird. That ought to shut him up for a while. “Tell me how that principle helped you discover how to do magic.”

  She sniffed the pink flower, then offered it to him. “Usually a genie is assigned a Way, but me… well… I came across the concept in my readings and figured I’d give it a shot. Other Ways hadn’t worked. Snapping my fingers, crossing my arms, waving my fingers… I even tried that blinking thing, but nothing worked. Then I learned about the KISS principle and figured it was worth a shot, and voilà! Magic.”

  It cert
ainly was.

  Zane shook his head. Focus. He was here to deal with the house. Not a genie.

  He took the rose from her, the scent striking at something in his memory… But, no. It was gone. Yet when he set the flower on the table, he had the strangest feeling of missing something. Something important.

  “I’m glad that worked for you, Vana, but let’s try painting without any kisses today, okay?” And he meant of any kind.

  She exhaled. “Okay. I guess I can do it your way.”

  “Good. That’s settled then.” He wolfed down the rest of the pancakes. No eggs explained why they didn’t taste like what he was used to, but Zane wasn’t going to complain. For someone with unlimited power at her command—well, theoretically anyway—Vana’s feelings were extremely vulnerable. “I have supplies in my car so you can get started, but I need to go into town for a few others. Will you be all right by yourself?”

  “Oh, but I could whisk up those supplies for you, Zane. No one will know and it’ll save you the time.”

  He shook his head, both at the idea and the oversized whisks now hanging on the peg board over the oven. Probably a good idea not to mention them or the fact that her magic was on the fritz again. “If word’s out that I’m here, going into town will curb people’s curiosity and hopefully prevent them from coming out to see for themselves.”

  “Would you like company?”

  Oh sure. He could see her waltzing around town in that getup. Or worse, conjuring a flying carpet. It was one thing to let her out of her bottle here, away from everyone, but in town? The stories about Peter would be nothing compared to the ones the residents would come up with about him.

  “I thought you wanted to start working on the house. It’s going to take a lot longer doing it my way than with magic.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, take your time in town. No hurry. I’ll just get to work, and you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  True, he had to worry about many things when it came to Vana.

  But, again, he wasn’t about to curb her enthusiasm. “You might want to change your clothes. If anyone does show up, I don’t think that outfit is the best idea. We want to dispel the rumors, not create more.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she had that outfit in every color and was he going to be subjected to seeing her in the sexy thing every day?

  What about out of it?

  Zane shook his head. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t usually such a horny bastard. The trip downtown would be good for both of them.

  “Hey, I’m free if you want company, Shaggy.” Merlin nudged him in the abs with the puff on the top of his head. What bird did that? What bird could do that?

  Zane shoved his chair against the table. “Yeah, sure. A phoenix in the middle of suburbia. What part of ‘dispelling rumors’ does that fall under?”

  “Geez. Grumpy, aren’t we?”

  Right now, that was better than horny.

  ***

  Vana leaned against the sink, watching Zane through the kitchen window with a heavy heart as he climbed into his car.

  He had no clue.

  She rolled the salt shaker around in her hand. She’d really hoped that he’d have some idea. That last night had meant enough that something would stick. Because, seriously, it wasn’t as if she was such a whiz with her magic that she couldn’t have made some error for him to remember something. She’d thought, for a moment when she’d given him the rose, he might have… but nothing had clicked. Why was the one time she didn’t want her magic to work the only time it did?

  But perhaps that boded well for the children. Maybe she’d be able to turn them back now.

  She turned to head up to the attic to do just that, but Merlin wouldn’t let her out of the kitchen, hovering in front of her like an oversized hummingbird. His throat was even red—for all of about ten seconds. Then he clacked his beak, turning his feathers black, and drilled her with his now-orange eyes.

  “Okay, Van, give it up. What’d you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The clock. It was working fine last night when I left here, and this morning, it’s off by sixty-three seconds.”

  Vana turned around and conjured another dish towel. She started drying the already dry pots so she wouldn’t have to face him. And see? Her magic was working fine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin.”

  “In a manticore’s eye you don’t. What’d you do?” He landed on the drainboard and put a talon on the griddle she was about to pick up.

  She worked up her best glare. “The clock is old. Is it so inconceivable that it isn’t working properly? Why does it have to be something I did? In case you hadn’t noticed, my magic is working fine.” She waggled the dry dish towel in front of him.

  He pointed to the charred one in the sink. “So I see.” He hopped onto the faucet, eye level with her. “The clock is a precision Bavarian timepiece. If it was working correctly last night, it should be working the same way this morning. Five hundred and sixty-seven years I’ve known you, Van. I can tell when you’re up to something.”

  “I’m not up to anything, Merlin, so keep your beak out of it.”

  “Ah-ha! Out of what?”

  “What?”

  “You just said to keep my beak out of it, therefore, there has to be an ‘it’ to keep my beak out of. What is it?”

  She threw the towel at him. And, of course, when she wanted it to burst into flame, it merely fell into the sink. “Get over yourself, bird.”

  Then she spun on the heel of her khussa and headed out back. This was not the mood to be in to test her magic on the children. Human beings couldn’t be put back together with glue—even if they were in dish form. Maybe painting would work off her frustrations and help her ignore the bird.

  But she knew Merlin. When he got a bug in his beak, he didn’t let go until he’d pulled every appendage from its torso. He wasn’t going to let this go.

  Which meant she had to come up with a believable story because it was bad enough that she’d wiped Zane’s memory, but for Merlin to find out about it…

  The bird might be a phoenix, but he did like to crow.

  ***

  Gary locked his car door and had to refrain from skipping down the street.

  A real estate agent. Zane had had a real estate agent at the house. God, he loved the wildfire effect of small-town gossip. Well, when he wasn’t the object of it, that was.

  So Zane wasn’t moving back in. And even more importantly, the place would have to get cleaned out for the sale. In that ensuing chaos, no one, not even eagle-eyed Ertel, would notice some missing journals. And if Zane held a yard sale, all the better.

  Or, wait… Maybe he could convince Zane to leave the journals to the town archives in Peter’s honor. Part of their history. He’d have to find some sickeningly sweet, unrefusable way to convince Zane that Peter would have wanted him to leave them for posterity and stress how much the town would appreciate the gesture. He had to play this right because he didn’t want Zane to have any reason to keep those journals.

  Gary grabbed the pamphlets from the trunk and tucked them under his arm. Today’s PR campaign had just become more than a means to win the mayoral paycheck because the town archives fell under that office’s jurisdiction.

  Mrs. Mancini, the Spanish teacher who’d made his senior year hell, smiled at him, and, for the first time, Gary could give her a sincere one in return. Those journals and their secrets were all but in his hands.

  15

  Zane had expected the looks. Even a few questions. What he hadn’t expected was the utter silence as people stared at him as if he were his great-grandfather reincarnated, strolling down the middle of the road stark naked.

  He glanced down. Still dressed, but he was going to check with Vana to see if she could read his mind because he had the oddest feeling that he’d been naked around her.

  Wishful thinking.

  Yeah, it was.

  How did one ask a genie
what the protocol was for sleeping together? Could she sleep with him?

  That was a stupid question. All her parts had certainly responded the right way when they’d kissed. He couldn’t believe that they wouldn’t in bed.

  He tripped on the curb and almost twisted his ankle as he landed in the gutter. Served him right. He needed to get his thoughts out of the metaphorical one and on to the reason he was here.

  Carl’s Hardware was in the middle of a long row of brick-front stores. The same bench that had been there when he’d been a kid was still beneath the awning out front. His father used to buy him ice cream at Patty’s Parlor six stores down and they’d walk up to Carl’s to enjoy it. He’d told Dad he’d wanted to sit in the shade, but that was because Gary or one of his fellow bullies had usually been hanging out at the ice cream parlor. It’d been easier to avoid the confrontation than suffer through it.

  Yeah, he enjoyed the irony of coming back as a professional athlete. No one would bully him now.

  Something good had come from the bullying, though. Zane now gave speeches to school kids about the dangers of bullying to help others end the sort of the hell he’d gone through.

  “That’s right, little lady. Step on over here.”

  Speak of the devil. Gary stood outside Marsh’s Bakery accosting patrons, er, handing out some sort of pamphlet and schmoozing with a reporter.

  “Come election day, all you have to do is push the button for Gary Huss for mayor, and this town will have all it needs to move into the twenty-first century.”

  If they wanted a dictatorship. Zane doubted the guy had changed all that much in two decades. Gary always liked to call the shots. Took a lot of them, too.

  “Zane Harrison!” Gary hollered when Zane made the mistake of catching his eye.

  He should have brought Vana along and let her turn Gary into the rat that he was.

  “Welcome back to your hometown!” Gary just wasn’t going to let it go. His tone was loud enough that the old men playing chess in the park across the street heard him, which would now link Gary’s name to the whisper-down-the-lane effect of the story of Zane’s return, an opportunity no politician would pass up.