The Best Kind of Magic

by Crystal Cestari

  Mom squeezes my shoulder as John looks back up, glassy-eyed.

  “Dad, I hate to see you like this, but Cass has been lying to you…to both of us.” Charlie slowly approaches his dad, waiting for a goblin to stop him, but when no one does, he kneels beside his crushed father. “Dad, she’s a…leprechaun. She was after your money.”

  I still can’t believe how ridiculous it sounds, and that’s coming from someone who’s well versed in the paranormal. John shakes his head in disbelief, and Charlie looks back at me, slightly panicked, unsure of how to elaborate. Fortunately, Mr. Hollister steps in with some much-needed puzzle pieces.

  “I can confirm that Cassandra is of leprechaun descent, and unfortunately for her, her species’ worst traits run strong in her veins. She came to us, desperate to climb the social ladder by skipping a few rungs, and promised our assistance would pay us back handsomely. She did not follow through on that arrangement.” Mr. Hollister licks the roof of his mouth in distaste.

  “No, no, I won’t believe it,” John spits. “Amber, I appreciate your input, but all this leprechaun business is crazy. I want to hear it from her.”

  “That is impossible,” one of the other goblins says.

  John gives him a look of death. “Well, make it possible. Or else I’m going to report to the Chicago board of trade how you conduct business in this city.”

  The goblins murmur to each other, lips barely moving but somehow conveying information. After a few seconds of incomprehensible speech, Mr. Hollister declares, “Fine. We will bring her in so she can tell you herself.”

  The goblin closest to me disappears from the room, and we sit in awkward silence in the candlelight. This Cassandra…we’ve been looking for her for so long, she’s almost like a mythological beast, ripping apart the hearts of men wherever she goes. Will she be as intimidating a force in person?

  The goblin returns with Cassandra. She’s not a wild-haired beast, but there is a palpable savagery pulsing through her veins. Just like in her picture, she wears a crown of strawberry-blond curls and drips with designer jewels. I envisioned a tiger, a man-eating animal, and looking at her now, those descriptions feel accurate. Her wicked smile displays a weird sense of pride, as if being put on trial by goblins was all by design, just part of the plan. As she passes me by, we lock eyes for a second, and there he is, clear as day: her match, a man who is certainly not Charlie’s dad. She walks by too quickly for me to get a full profile, but it’s not like I need further confirmation. The only one who does is John.

  “Cassandra,” he says breathlessly, like he’s just popped his head out of deep waters. He reaches for a stray curl of her hair, but she backs away, keeping herself just out of reach. “Is it true what they’re telling me?”

  She tilts her head. “John, I’m sorry things had to end this way. I had a nice future planned for us.”

  “Don’t you mean, planned for yourself?” Charlie asks, arms crossed.

  “Charlie, that’s enough,” John demands. “Please let her finish.”

  Cass takes John’s hands in hers, her fingers running over his Super Bowl ring. “You have to understand, when I moved to Chicago, I had nothing. No family, no real home, stuck in a minimum-wage job, going nowhere. I went to the goblins to help me get ahead; they promised they’d make me some connections, if I made them some connections in return. It was Hollister who got me into that charity ball where we met….” She looks off in a corner, her face glowing with the memory. “You looked so handsome in that dark blue suit, and then you asked me to dance….” A smile peeks through her severe facade, softening her. “I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Only a man like you could give me the kind of life I’d always imagined.”

  “But then you refused to hold up your end of the bargain, which is how we’ve arrived at this point,” Mr. Hollister interjects.

  “I was getting to that,” she says with an angry look that inspires goose bumps. I make a mental note never to double-cross a leprechaun. “I knew what I had promised, but the more I got to know you…the harder it got to…so I tried to disappear for a while, lie low and hope the goblins would forget. But as it turns out, they never do.” She frowns.

  John is beyond shocked, visibly recounting all their past interactions and trying to spot the deceit. “But I did fall in love with you. How did you do it?”

  She laughs, a weary, weighted sound tinged with regret that chills my heart. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

  John shakes his head, not finding the humor. “You lied to me, to my son. I wanted to make you my wife.”

  At this statement, Cass’s tough exterior cracks, and she covers her face with her hands to hide it. Since she stepped foot in the room, she’s tried to put on an unapologetic swagger, but John’s heartfelt words put a dent in her bravado. I’m not sure if she’s suffering the loss of becoming the first lady of Chicago or if it’s truly hitting her what she’s actually lost. Clearly her plan backfired, but perhaps not in the way she thought. Maybe along the way, she developed actual feelings for him.

  But whereas Cass is looking like she’s losing her strength, John is slowly becoming emboldened, his face growing hard before our eyes. “You owe me the truth,” he bellows.

  Cass takes his hand, though he tries to recoil, and removes his Super Bowl ring. As the jewelry leaves his finger, a stream of tiny red spots trails off it, revealing a spell it must have encased. The spots flicker like pinpricks of light, until they burn out, the magic complete. Just as the last spot fades away, John rubs his eyes, as if the little lights were somehow blinding him. And clearly they were, because when he looks back up at Cass, there is no more love in his eyes; any positive feeling he carried for her has been replaced with anger.

  “You put a spell on me?”

  Cass puts her hands on her hips, trying to regain some of her confidence. “Technically the goblins did, but yes, I had them do it.”

  “You couldn’t just take the chance that maybe I’d love you on my own?” John asks. This is the final straw for Cass; her head hangs low, unruly red curls cascading to hide her face. A faint sniffling comes from her corner of the room, and the tension is becoming unbearable. Both of them are broken. Witnessing the end of a relationship is never easy, even when you want it to happen. It’s still two lives coming apart, something that was whole being split into pieces. Even though neither should end up with each other, it’s still hard to witness the dissolution.

  Though you wouldn’t know it from watching the goblins, who seem to have no emotion at all. Cass and John are both crying quietly, but their captors stand there stone-faced. Charlie sits back down next to me, allowing them some space. I can tell he’s hurting on his dad’s behalf, despite this being his desired endgame. I feel like I should do something, offer him some comfort somehow, but with the creepo goblins and seriously intense energy in the room, nothing seems appropriate.

  “What did you promise them?” John asks eventually.

  “What?” Cass responds, wiping her face.

  “The deal. What was it for? Money?”

  She shakes her head. “No. That would have been easy to get.”

  “Then what?”

  “Power,” Mr. Hollister interrupts. “Like everyone in the magical community, we are tired of being treated like second-class citizens, having to keep our diverse lineage and talents under wraps. This city would be much more vibrant if magic could be out in the open.”

  “You don’t speak for the entire magical community,” Mom interjects.

  “Don’t I?” he retorts. “Lucille, as a witch, you would benefit from magical equality more than anyone. Your shop profits would soar.”

  “That’s not what magic is about. And you know exactly why we keep it hidden.”

  The goblins share a look of frustration, obviously aware of Mom’s objections but not in agreement with her warning.

  “Why do you?” Charlie asks innocently. It takes great self-control to keep myself from pinching his adorable face.

>   “Because magic, just like money, brings out the worst in people. Greed, jealousy, violence: it’s a gift, not a right, that is easily abused,” Mom says. “John knows this. You cannot keep him hostage, regardless of what Cassandra promised you.”

  Mr. Hollister raises his chin, perhaps in effort to make himself look taller. “Perhaps not. But that doesn’t mean this is over. Especially for Cassandra, who will need to repay us regardless. We will release him as long as you all agree not to further interfere.”

  Cass flings herself into John’s arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry. For all of this. You deserve someone worthy of your love.”

  John pats her back carefully as if her clothes are made of gum. “What will you do with her?” he asks.

  “She will be cared for; she will just be working. Constantly. Like a personal assistant that never sleeps,” Hollister says with a grotesque grin, making him quite possibly the first creature that looks worse with a smile. The goblins stand to leave, and Mr. Hollister snaps, freeing John from his chair. Cass quickly surveys the scene, taking stock of her captors and the future before her. There’s a fierceness in her eyes that says she won’t disappear to a sentence of servitude, and just like that, she takes off running into the dark hallways. The goblins begin shouting, and it strikes me as ridiculous that they made the effort to secure John, who only wanted to see his girl, but not Cass, who only wants to survive. Even more surprisingly, the newly freed Mr. Blitzman takes off running after her.

  “Dad!” Charlie yells, bolting out of the room. Mom and I are left alone, staring at each other in the candlelight.

  “We can’t let John or Charlie get stuck in the cross fire,” Mom says, instantly in action mode. “C’mon, I need your help.”

  She needs my help? I wonder as we take off into the shadows. What can I possibly do? Nothing in my arsenal of tricks could contribute to solving this bonkers situation. Still, I keep pace at her side, trying not to run into corners or random furniture lining the halls.

  The goblins are using some sort of teleportation charm to move around, similar to how they whisked John and Cass away in the first place. Their little legs are not suitable for a chase, so they continuously keep popping up and disappearing in the dark, searching for their lost leprechaun. At one point, one materializes right in front of me, causing me to trip over him, but he disappears again before hitting the floor. Too bad they don’t have time to pull their ring-around-the-rosy trick with Cass, because then they could just bind her up with a snap. But outside of formation, their powers are not as strong. Mom pulls me back up and takes a pause to gather some supplies from her bag.

  “Clearly we’re not going to find them like this in the dark,” she says. She takes out two magnolia flowers and places one in my hand. “Each of us has a strong connection to the Blitzmans: my friendship with John, your feelings for Charlie. These flowers will help take us to them.” She grasps my other hand and closes her eyes, chanting something indeterminable under her breath. I’ve never done any sort of teleportation before and wince in anticipation over what will happen next. Will it hurt? Will it make me sick? Or more important, will it even work since I’m not a witch?

  Luckily, Mom is powerful enough for the both of us, because suddenly we’re outside, standing on the roof of the Merchandise Mart. After flailing around inside the pitch-black building, seeing the glittering Chicago skyline takes my breath away. We find our bearings, and see John and Charlie, who have Cass cornered on the ledge. Her hair blows wildly in the wind, her dress whipping at her ankles. The two ex-lovers are quarreling again.

  “You can’t do this!” John yells, struggling to be heard against the howling wind.

  “Why would you even come after me, after what I did to you?” she yells back. Mom and I slowly make our way over to them; the goblins seemingly haven’t found their way here yet. Charlie looks at me, eyes filled with fright. I know he never liked Cassandra, but her standing so close to the edge of this behemoth is the last thing he’d want. My heart is throbbing, propelling me to do something—ANYTHING—that would make this better, but I’m paralyzed, unable to help.

  John tries to inch closer to Cass. “Because you’re still…” He trails off. Magic or no magic, Cass left an impression on him that can’t be wiped away with a simple abracadabra. “I don’t wish you harm.” He frowns, looking down at the city landscape.

  “You can’t save me,” she says sadly. “They’ll never stop coming after me.”

  “Maybe not, but at least we can try,” he says, extending his hand. As he reaches out to the woman who manipulated him and played him like a fool, all I can think is, damn, the heart is a hell of a machine. Even when it’s broken, it still finds a way to carry on.

  Cass looks as if she’s ready to consider his offer, but just then, Mr. Hollister and crew appear on the roof, looking incredibly creepy in their frustration. They huddle together like a pack of pissed-off mutant toddlers, ready to cause hell.

  “Enough of this!” Mr. Hollister yells, at a volume I didn’t think could come from such a tiny being. “You belong to us!” His bony finger points at Cass as the rest of the goblins link arms, undoubtedly uniting to give their leader more strength. But Cassandra doesn’t wait to witness the results of their efforts; in one turbulent motion, she turns and leaps off the building, falling from our sight. I scream in shock, and we all rush to the edge, but in that split second, she seems to have disappeared. There’s no body on the concrete, no evidence of her fall. It’s like she took a leap of faith and was caught by a migrating rainbow that carried her to safety.

  Mr. Hollister grumbles—something about never doing business with leprechauns again—as he rallies his troops. Mom, John, Charlie, and I continue standing there, staring out into the mysterious night. I can’t think of a single appropriate thing to say, so I focus instead on meeting Charlie’s eye.

  “That was…” he starts, but fails to complete the thought.

  “Totally,” I respond.

  “Thank you all for coming for me,” John says, looking out onto the city that loves him so. The night’s events seemed to have aged him five years. “I’m sorry to have put you all through this.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through this,” Mom says sympathetically.

  John shakes his head. “I’m not. It’s disappointing, not to mention extremely bizarre, but given the chance, I’d do it again.” He sounds like a wise old soothsayer as he says, “You never know what you’re getting into when you fall in love, but that doesn’t mean you avoid the jump.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, MOM DECIDES we deserve a day off. For a woman who believes federal holidays are a chance to stay open and make extra cash, this is a major reversal. She puts Bob in charge, who’s probably having a panic attack at the thought; I’m sure he’s rubbing that rabbit’s foot bald. I make a batch of cinnamon rolls with double cream cheese frosting, Mom brews a strong Italian roast, and we sit in our jammies and slippers out on the back porch. Our building backs up to a cluster of other apartment buildings, and while it may not be the most majestic of views, it makes for good people watching.

  “Looks like someone’s doing a walk of shame,” I say, pointing to a guy heading down the alley with only one shoe. “Must have been some night.”

  Mom chuckles. “Not compared to ours.”

  “That’s the truth. You know, Cassandra wasn’t as awful as I thought she’d be. I mean, clearly she has some issues, but I think she actually cared for John. I almost felt kind of bad for her.”

  “In all the times John described her to me, no alarms ever fired. It didn’t seem like she had ulterior motives, but I guess people can surprise you.”

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

  Mom nods thoughtfully. “I’m going to meet him for dinner later to talk everything through. But if he survived the death of his wife, he can survive this.” She takes a long sip of coffee. “What about Charlie? Will he be upset?”

  “Nah, I mean, he came to me with the hopes of breaking
them up, so I’m sure he’ll be having his own private celebration.”

  She eyes me from the rim of her mug. “You two seem…close.”

  I reach for another cinnamon roll to draw attention from my blushing cheeks. “Yeah, well, I’m not really sure what’s happening with that.”

  “The two of you used to play when you were toddlers.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Back before John was mayor and Windy City was just an idea of mine. We both had more time to get together then.”

  “But what happened? I don’t remember any Sand-Blitzman family picnics or anything,” I say.

  Mom shrugs. “Life happened. Your dad left; the store opened. They were always traveling. It gets harder to stay in touch when you get older.”

  I try to wrap my head around the vision of little Charlie, running around our apartment in diapers, but all I see is a miniature version of him: a tattooed baby with hipster glasses.

  Mom puts down her coffee mug, the one I bought her two years ago at a Renaissance fair Amani dragged me to. It says “witchy woman” in a Gothic font. “Amber, I need to tell you how proud I am of how you handled last night.” I almost choke on a glob of frosting. “You were compassionate, delivering painful news with care and grace. I’ve watched you share difficult information in the past, but I’ve never seen you give so much hope alongside something so unpleasant. You’ve come so far with your gift; it was beautiful to witness.”

  I can count the times Mom’s complimented me on one hand. Since her applause comes so infrequently, I never know how to react. I’m happy, for sure, but it’s like having a spotlight suddenly flashed in my face. The light makes it hard to focus.

  “Wow, um, thanks, Mom,” I manage to say.

  “What you said a few days ago, about me regretting your not being a witch…you know that’s not true, right?” Her face is creased in concern.

  “Honestly, Mom…I don’t.”

  She holds my gaze, tears building. “I never meant to make you feel that way,” she says softly, looking down. “Did I expect that a child of mine would not follow the Sand family tradition? No, I did not. But, Amber, you have your own magic.” Shiny eyes glance up at me. “You’ve worked harder than I ever did to hone it; my talents came naturally, but you strived to make yourself better, stronger. You turned an unexpected surprise into something powerful. If that’s not witchcraft, I don’t know what is.”