Be Careful What You Witch For

by Hoobler, Thomas

  “You can see it in the eyes,” he said, “and the shape of the face. Your mother’s is a little more—”

  “I don’t look anything like her,” Olivia said abruptly.

  “Oh, you do. She wears a lot more makeup, of course, and I assume she has a personal trainer and naturally, she diets.”

  “Diets?” Olivia was halfway through her second slice of pizza, but it suddenly felt very heavy in her hand. “Who ordered the large pizza?” she asked coldly.

  “Oh, we’re sensitive!” Paul exclaimed.

  “Don’t go there, Paul,” Dulcimer warned.

  “Well,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “In that case, why are you going to school here? I know you didn’t run away from home, because I would have seen you on a milk carton.”

  “My parents are making a movie overseas and they offered me a choice.”

  “Between what? Going to the Knickerbocker or hell?”

  Olivia smiled. “Actually, the other choice was skiing.”

  Paul slapped his forehead. “Oh my Lord and Taylor,” he said. “And you chose the Knickerbocker?”

  “What did they tell you it was going to be like here?” asked Dulcimer.

  “Well, they didn’t say much,” Olivia admitted. “But really, I chose coming here because I wanted to visit my aunt.”

  “You must dearly love your aunt,” commented Paul. “What’s she like?”

  “Well,” said Olivia, wondering how to describe Aunt Tilda, “she knew I liked anchovies on my pizza.”

  Paul patted her arm. “Next time,” he said, “so will we.”

  “But the school doesn’t seem that bad,” said Olivia. “The teachers are pretty easy.”

  “Well, of course,” responded Paul. “All the students’ families are richer than the teachers, so they have to let us pretty much do what we want.”

  “So?”

  He leaned over. “It’s the students who can make your life miserable. If you let them. Wait till you meet Madison Lispenard.”

  “I sort of did already,” Olivia said. “Muffin pointed her out.”

  “Muffin?” said Dulcimer. “Muffin Van Stroops? She’s like Madison’s altar girl. Did you tell her who your parents are?”

  “No, and please, please don’t tell anyone. Promise?”

  Paul and Dulcimer exchanged glances. “Not if you don’t want,” he said. “But if you want to make friends with Madison, all you’d need to do is let her know—”

  “I don’t want to make friends with Madison,” Olivia said. “She reminds me of my mother.”

  “She’s nothing like,” Paul said indignantly. “Your mother is an elegant person. And Madison is a, a... she’s named after a street!”

  “Two streets,” corrected Dulcimer.

  “Definitely a street person,” said Paul. “But popular.”

  Olivia sighed. “Well, if she’s popular, how come you two don’t like her?”

  “Oh, nobody likes her,” Paul said. “Nobody really likes the popular people. They’re just afraid of them.”

  “You’re not.”

  “We’re weird,” said Dulcimer. She stuck out her tongue again.

  “Did it hurt when you got your tongue pierced?” asked Olivia.

  “It was worth it,” Dulcimer explained. “To be weird.”

  During the afternoon classes, Olivia sat with Dulcimer and Paul. When Muffin walked in and saw them together, she indicated her disapproval by turning away and pretending they didn’t exist. Olivia felt better already. At the end of the day, they exchanged cell phone numbers, which, according to Dulcimer, meant they were true friends. “Until you become popular,” Paul warned. Olivia nodded and smiled because she knew that would never happen.

  Her driver, René, showed up right after school let out, just as he promised. It was easy to find his yellow cab among the black limos that also waited outside. Most of the younger students boarded small school buses, but a lot of the upper school students went home on their own.

  As the cab pulled out of line and passed some of the other cars, Olivia saw The Silent One, Alex, getting into one of the limos. Both rich and hot, she thought. It crossed her mind that if she were bold she might wave to him, but he already had his nose in an X-Men comic and didn’t look up as her cab passed. That was okay, because she could stare at him without being noticed. He was as good looking as a Greek statue, although he probably had the same amount of brains.

  René wanted to chat, asking Olivia how she liked her teachers. He obviously had no idea that teachers were the least of her problems. René continued talking about the many benefits you could gain from school, but Olivia just stared out the window, hardly hearing him. The only people her own age who’d been her friends before were kids from the studio school. If Mother approved of them, they’d be invited over for playdates, and that was how Olivia made friends. Once in a while, a chauffeur would take them someplace supervised, like indoor ice skating.

  Now she had found a couple of friends on her own. The trouble was, they were weird. They liked being weird. Mother certainly wouldn’t have approved of them. Olivia knew that shouldn’t bother her. And it didn’t, she told herself. She’d still rather be their friend than Madison’s friend. But maybe that wasn’t fair... after all, she’d never even spoken to Madison. Something to think about.

  When René dropped her off at Tilda’s house, he waited until Olivia let herself inside. He watched over her just like Mother’s chauffeur. But when she smelled something strange and interesting in the kitchen, she forgot about that and went to see what was going on.

  Tilda, wearing an apron, was stirring something in a large copper pot on the stove. On the butcher-block table in the center of the room were glass jars that held various kinds of herbs and dried fruits.

  “Are you making supper?” Olivia asked, eager to help.

  “No,” replied Tilda. “It’s a potion, what you might call a medicine. I decided to use up some of the herbs and spices I’ve grown this summer. They lose potency if they get too old.”

  “What’s it for? Is somebody sick?”

  “Not yet,” Tilda said. “But you want to be ready if someone needs it. I have some clients who will buy these when winter comes. Which reminds me. Is René still outside?”

  “I don’t think so. He started off when he saw me open the door.”

  “Could you take this down the street for me?” Tilda picked up a brown paper bag that was sealed with tape. Seeing that Olivia was a little nervous, she added, “When you leave here, just turn right and go to the house on the corner. Number 40. Ring the bell for apartment 3 and give it to the woman who answers. Can you remember that?”

  “Number 40, apartment 3,” Olivia repeated. “What’s in it?”

  “Just something I made earlier,” Tilda said. “She knows what it is.”

  When Olivia picked it up, she could feel there were jars inside. As she turned, she tripped over something and had to put a hand out to steady herself. She nearly dropped the package. She looked down to see Julius scampering away.

  Tilda didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, and dear,” she said. “she’s an old lady and is sometimes lonely. If she asks you in for tea, go ahead.”

  Olivia nodded. Somehow, she felt that the cat had tried to trip her on purpose. If it were only a cat, that wouldn’t be likely, but if it were ten-year-old boy, it would be quite possible. She glared at him, but he just licked his paw as if he couldn’t care less.

  Outside, she passed a young woman walking her dog, which was a Great Dane and looked as if he could pull its owner anywhere he wanted. Olivia moved to the curb and let them pass. But nobody else looked particularly threatening.

  The house at number 40 was a brownstone like Tilda’s house, but it had apparently been divided into apartments. There were five doorbells next to the front door. Olivia pushed the bell for number three. She waited and nothing happened. Should she ring again? Suddenly she heard a loud buzzing sound, but it stopped after a momen
t. Then she caught on. She was supposed to push the front door when the buzzer sounded. Like they did on Seinfeld. Okay. Try it again. She rang and this time the door buzzer responded almost at once.

  When Olivia stepped inside, however, nobody appeared. A door to her right had a number 1 on it. The only other thing in the hallway was a wide staircase leading up. “Hello?” she called, but the sound echoed through the building as if nobody lived there.

  If the apartment down here was number 1, than number 3 must be... upstairs. Doesn’t take a genius, she told herself, and started up. Two flights later, breathing a little harder than usual, she saw door number 3, but it was closed. When she knocked on it, a small circular panel slid open. Olivia saw an eye on the other side peer out at her.

  “Who are you?” came a high-pitched voice.

  “Tilda’s niece,” Olivia said. “She sent me with—” Before she could finish, a lock clicked and the door opened. There stood a woman wearing a short-sleeved colorful print dress that looked as if it were about fifty years old. The woman herself was shorter and thinner than Olivia, but the flesh on her face, arms, and hands was deeply wrinkled, as if she had lost a lot of weight and the skin never shrank to fit her.

  Olivia held out the paper bag, hoping the woman would take it and let her go. Instead, she smiled, revealing several gold teeth, and said, “Come in, I’m just fixing tea.”

  “I don’t really...” Olivia began but somehow the woman had caught hold not only of the package, but Olivia’s arm as well, and steered her inside. As the door closed, the first thing Olivia noticed was how warm the apartment was. Though it wasn’t a chilly day outside, even by Olivia’s California standards, a fire was blazing in the fireplace—providing most of the light in the room, since heavy curtains were drawn over the windows. Then there was the smell. Mostly incense, as far as Olivia could tell, but it failed to cover several less pleasant odors that still permeated the air.

  Though the light was dim, Olivia could see the room was filled with clutter. Books, half-filled bottles, magazines, catalogues, sewing projects in various stages of completion, boxes of tissues, rolls of wrapping paper, ribbon, and countless unidentifiable objects competed for space on the floor and even on a large sofa. The only real article of furniture, besides the sofa, was a red plush chair with lace covers for the arms and back.

  “Sit, sit,” the woman cried, carrying the package through an arched doorway to a room that was evidently the kitchen.

  Sit where? wondered Olivia. The chair was clearly where the woman herself sat. Cautiously, Olivia pushed aside a half-finished scarf or possibly a sweater to expose a space on a sofa cushion. It was dark red and velvety, but worn away in patches. She sat on the edge, ready to rush out of the apartment if an opportunity arose. Looking up, she faced a bookshelf that covered all of one wall. It wasn’t entirely used to hold books, however. Pottery, glass figurines, brass bells, and shiny trinkets were all displayed on the shelves. There was even a glass ball, the kind where snow fell if you shook it. As Olivia looked at it, she thought she saw something moving inside.

  She was distracted when a striped brown cat appeared out of nowhere and looked her over. Not another one, Olivia thought. But this cat appeared not to find her particularly interesting and soon crept onto a large cushion on the floor, curled up, and closed its eyes.

  The woman appeared in the doorway with a tray that held a teapot, two glasses nestled in silver filigreed holders, and a clear jar that held something thick and brown.

  Accomplishing what Olivia thought was impossible, the woman balanced the tray on a wobbly stack of CD cases sitting on a low table. She filled the glasses from the teapot. “This is wakamidori,” the woman said. “Green tea from the Himalayas.” Olivia was startled to see that unlike all other green tea she’d ever had, this kind really did look green—bright green.

  The woman handed her a glass, and Olivia understood why it had a metal handle: because the glass itself was too hot to hold. The aroma of the tea wafted up, somewhat peppery and sharp. “Add some of this honey if you like,” the woman said, pointing to the jar. “Of course, you know sugar is poison.”

  Or fattening, Olivia thought. She sipped a little of the tea, which tasted even sharper than it smelled. She reached for the honey jar and stirred a small spoonful into the liquid. It transformed the drink into something so sweet and delicious that Olivia gasped when she tasted it.

  “Not too sweet?” the woman asked.

  “No, no!” Olivia responded. She thought of asking what kind of honey this was. Looking at the woman, however, Olivia realized she didn’t know—

  “Excuse me!” the woman said. “I forgot to tell you. I’m Eva McBride. Till and I go back such a long way, I just assume that all her friends know me.”

  And just like Aunt Tilda, you knew what I was going to say before I said it, thought Olivia.

  “It’s a skill, dear. You learn how through paying attention.”

  Olivia laughed, partly in frustration, partly because it was funny in a scary sort of way.

  “Can you do it with anybody?” she asked. “People in the street?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want to do that. You’d be too frightened to step outside in the morning. People have the most terrible thoughts.”

  “But if you know what people are thinking, could you make them like you?”

  “You’re thinking of a boy, aren’t you?” Eva asked sympathetically.

  Olivia sighed and felt her face redden.

  “Love is much more complicated than that, dear,” said Eva. “If you knew what he was thinking, you might not love him so much.”

  “He thinks about comic books, as far as I know,” said Olivia.

  Eva sipped her tea. “You’ll want to be there when he looks up from the comic.”

  “He may never look up.”

  “I suppose you can’t light a candle near him.”

  “Not in school.”

  “No, certainly not. Fire regulations.” She took another sip and looked over at Olivia. “Like some more tea?”

  Olivia noticed that she had already finished her glass without even thinking. “Sure,” she said. “Where does that honey come from?”

  “A friend gathers it for me,” Eva replied. She filled Olivia’s glass, and waited until Olivia added the honey. Then she pointed to the shelf and said, “Why don’t you just fetch down that crystal for me?”

  “The snowball?”

  “Mm. You see it?”

  Olivia set her tea down carefully and reached for the glass ball. It was larger than the ones she’d seen before and there wasn’t any little house inside either. In fact, it seemed cloudy now, as if smoke had gotten trapped inside.

  She held it out to Eva, who shook her head. “You hold it, dear. Balance it on your knees and look into it.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Olivia complained.

  “Pay attention, dear. Pay close attention and think of this boy.”

  Olivia felt stupid, but since nobody could see her, why not?

  She stared into the glass. Pay attention, she told herself and tried to remember what Alex looked like. The smoke swirled around. What caused it to move? Then a very clear picture of Alex popped into her mind, standing by the limo, reading his dumb comic book. No, it wasn’t a limo anymore. A chair. He was sitting in a chair. In his room. She wasn’t imagining this. She stared into the globe, and there he was. Right there. She jumped a little, and Eva saw it.

  “Tell him hello,” Eva said.

  This is positively the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. She took a breath and said, “Hello, Alex.”

  He looked up. He recognized her. She could tell he did, even though he was just a tiny figure inside the ball. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear him.

  “What’s he saying?” Olivia asked, glancing over at Eva. But that broke the spell. When she looked back at the ball, there was nothing but smoke again. Olivia gave a little cry. “Where did he go? Can I get him back?”

&nb
sp; “No need,” said Eva. “Finish your tea, now. It’ll relax you.”

  “But I don’t want to relax! How can I bring Alex back?”

  “Well, you can always think about him in your mind. A wonderful thing, imagination. I have a book on it somewhere.” She looked around the room, as if it were possible to find anything here.

  “But that’s not the same! And he said something to me, but I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Well, you said hello to him and he no doubt responded. The beginning of a conversation.” Eva pointed at the glass. “Don’t let the tea get cold.”

  Olivia put down the glass ball and sipped her tea, trying to recall exactly what had happened. “He saw me too,” she said. “I’m sure of it. Will he remember?”

  “Not in the way you mean,” said Eva. “But he will be thinking of you.”

  “And what will he think?”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the first to find out.”

  Olivia finished her tea and started to set her glass down, but found that she had trouble balancing it on the table. Eva gave her a concerned look. “Will you be able to get home all right?”

  “What? Sure, it’s only down the street.” Nobody here thinks I’m capable of taking care of myself.

  But when she stood up, she did feel slightly different than before. Very calm. I shouldn’t be calm, she told herself. After what happened. But I am. Then she giggled. Which annoyed her.

  Chapter Five

  ON THE WAY BACK to Tilda’s house, Olivia felt very tired. She tried to recall everything that had happened at Eva’s, but it was fading from her memory already. Right now, the greatest desire she had was to lie down and rest.

  As soon as she opened the door of the house, she smelled food. Aunt Tilda was evidently finished with the herbs and was now making something good to eat. When Olivia entered the kitchen, she saw a very large pot on the stove—so large that it covered two burners. Aunt Tilda was peeling vegetables at the butcher-block table. Olivia reached out to lift the lid to see inside, but Aunt Tilda called out, “Leave it be, Olivia.” She was peeling vegetables at the butcher-block table. “You have to keep the lid on till it’s ready.”