Work Like a Charm

by Cate Martin

  Chapter 4

  Time did not fly. I never even got to turn a page. I did compile a truly impressive list of questions, and the growing sense I should probably set this book aside and devote myself to learning Latin first, and probably also Greek.

  When Mr. Trevor stepped up behind me to ask me if I was hungry for lunch, I had never been so happy to see anyone in my life.

  Sophie and Brianna were both already in the kitchen, Brianna with a book open in front of her as she sipped at a mug of tomato soup and munched on a cheese sandwich.

  "How was studying?" Sophie asked as I set my journal down and helped myself to one of the pile of sandwiches.

  "I'm not sure that's what I would call what I was doing," I admitted.

  "You have questions?" Brianna asked, shutting her own book a bit wistfully and directing her attention towards me.

  "So many questions," I said, sliding my journal over to her. Mr. Trevor brought me a mug of tomato soup, and I smiled my thanks at him then took another bite of the sandwich. Sophie watched as Brianna scanned down the list of my questions, then turned the page to continue scanning, then turned yet another page. Her eyebrows lifted higher as Brianna turned page after page.

  "That bad?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "It's a bit over my head. Have you read it?"

  Brianna looked up at us. "I tried to get her to before, but she was busy."

  "So busy," Sophie said, dunking her sandwich in her soup.

  "Doing what?" I asked suspiciously.

  "Not reading that book," she admitted with a grin.

  "It's such a good book though," Brianna said, genuinely distraught. "I learned so much from that book. It was a jumping off point to so many other lines of thought."

  "Like string theory and magic branes?" I guessed.

  "No, that came much, much later," Brianna said, staring glumly down at the crusts of sandwich left on her plate.

  "How old were you when you read that book?" I asked.

  "The first time? Six," Brianna said. "It changed my life."

  "I think the life-changing book I read at six was probably something by Dr. Seuss," I said, and Sophie had to smother a laugh as Brianna looked up at us with something like hurt in her eyes.

  "You should write something," Sophie said to her. "I'm sure you could convey the basic concepts in a much more relevant way to modern audiences."

  "That would take so much time, though," Brianna said. "I already have so much to do."

  "Look, I'm not ready to give up yet," I said, giving her hand a squeeze. "I don't think I'm ready for that book yet either; it assumes a lot of knowledge I don't have. I might have to bone up on other stuff first. Like Latin, for instance."

  "Miss Zenobia has tons of Latin textbooks in the library," Sophie said. "I think she probably taught it to her students."

  "And if that doesn't help, I can head out to the closest public library and see what they have," I said. "I need to get a card anyway."

  "All right," Brianna agreed. "But not just now."

  "I don't think I'll get much value out of spending more time on that book," I said.

  "No, studying time is done for the day," Sophie said. "We're taking you downstairs."

  "Downstairs?" I said. The building had a cellar, but it wasn't accessible from inside. We had to go out to the yard and pull open the heavy storm doors.

  It was like walking down into a cave. A really cold, really dark cave.

  I couldn't see a thing, so I guessed there were no windows. I could smell wood smoke, kind of ashy like it had burned down, but the embers were still hot. But there were other smells too. A pungent odor like bad incense, a sickly sweet odor like someone had spilled soda syrup under a machine where no one could reach it to clean it up, and it was slowly evaporating into the air. There were some chemical smells as well, solvents or preservatives or something.

  Under all of that, I could just get a whiff of the smell I had actually been expecting: the musty cellar smell of home canning jars left too long on a forgotten shelf and the mummified remains of long-dead rodents in the darkest corners or maybe in the walls themselves.

  Then I heard Brianna murmur a word and suddenly there was a warm fire glowing in the belly of an old-fashioned iron stove. The door stood open, letting as much light as possible permeate the room, but Brianna was rapidly adding to that, touching candle after candle with the tip of her wand until the entire space was filled with golden light.

  "What is this place?" I asked as my gaze swept around the room. It was about half the size of the building above us, all one grand room but with different areas set off from each other, like learning stations at a science museum. One corner was filled with candles hanging in pairs from drying racks by their long, conjoined wicks. Halfway down the room was a series of tables arranged close to a fireplace, the tables covered with tubes and flasks and great bubbles of glass like something out of an alchemy textbook. Another looked like a kids' crafting station, with little drawers overflowing with buttons and feathers and shells.

  "Every witch needs a laboratory," Brianna said. "There are all sorts of magic, after all. Potions. Amulets. Dolls. Herbs and medicines. Baked goods."

  "Baked goods?" I said. "Wouldn't the kitchen upstairs be better for that?"

  "Sometimes the old ways are best," Brianna said, running a hand over the metal door of the oven built into the fireplace. "The sort of wood you burn to heat the oven is part of it. Can't do that upstairs."

  "I suppose not," I said. "And you two know how to use all of this stuff?"

  "Not yet," Brianna said. "Once I get a handle on what I'm working on upstairs in the library I plan to start a series of experiments-"

  "But that's not why we're down here today," Sophie interrupted what we both knew was likely to be far more detail than we wanted to know about Brianna's plans. Because the details would be so far above our heads, it would all be meaningless to us. "It's time for you to get to work on your wand."

  "Oh. Good," I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. "But should this really be the first thing I do? Shouldn't I learn the basics first?"

  "You'll learn by doing," Brianna said. "It's fine. It's witch tradition. You're no further behind than the other kids."

  "Kids," I said, remembering that the two of them had made their wands when they were quite young.

  "Here," Sophie said, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle to me. I took it from her and unwrapped what looked like cheesecloth to expose the stick I had brought back from Iowa. "Brianna and I can't touch it."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Everyone's magic is different," Brianna said. "It pulls from different sources; it channels differently through your body."

  "Touching another witch's wand is like someone using the spoon for the blue cheese dressing to serve themselves some balsamic vinaigrette at a salad bar," Sophie said.

  "Gross," I said.

  "Yeah," Sophie said. "You just corrupted a spoon and two dressing containers."

  "It's not so bad as all that," Brianna said. "It is best to never touch another witch's wand, but in dire circumstances, a little common sense is required. It will affect your spell, and you can compensate for that if you know the witch and have a sense of their magic, but it will only affect the wand if it's done repeatedly, or if it a particularly powerful spell."

  "No worries there," I said under my breath.

  "But before the wand has been fashioned to meet your specific magical energies, it is absolutely crucial that no one else handle it. I know we didn't explain why before you left, but I hope you followed the rule in that?" Brianna asked.

  "Of course," I said, turning the stick over in my hands. "I took it from a higher branch in the tree, and no one since has touched it but me. I'm absolutely sure of that."

  "Very good," Brianna said with a nod. Then she led me to the furthest corner, where a pegboard on the wall held an array of woodworking tools. A bench stood beside it with a vise attached to one end. Everything was c
overed in sawdust, but it didn't smell fresh. I suppose it had been decades since Miss Zenobia had brought a class down here.

  "What do I do first?" I asked.

  "There's a lot of spellwork involved later, but for now you just need to shape it," Sophie said.

  "Peel off the bark, whittle it down to the size that feels right to you, and sand it all smooth," Brianna said.

  "Take your time with it," Sophie said. "It will become a part of you, probably for the rest of your life. Don't rush any of the steps."

  "Got it," I said, turning the branch over in my hands. "This I can do. I had lots of shop classes in high school, and woodworking was always my favorite."

  Brianna gave me a relieved smile, but then her face turned grave again. "Except for the steps where it has to dry overnight, keep it with you even when you're not working on it. Never leave it in your room again."

  "We should have told you that before," Sophie said. "Although it took me a bit of hunting to find it, so I know you were being careful. But it should really never be out of your possession."

  "Why?" I asked. "If I never master any magic, it's going to be kind of worthless."

  "Don't say that," Sophie. "We're going to find your magic."

  "It's important that you never lose it, and absolutely crucial that it never gets stolen," Brianna said. "A destroyed wand can be replaced, but the replacement will never be the same. A witch's bond with her wand strengthens over time. With a new wand, you have to start over, and you'll never get back what you had."

  "Okay, that makes sense," I said, looking down at the branch I was about to connect my soul with.

  "There's more," Brianna said. "A destroyed wand can be replaced, but a lost or stolen one cannot. If your wand still exists anywhere in this world or any other, no other wand will bond with you. You will be wandless."

  "Some magic is possible without a wand," Sophie said, and I knew that was true. I had seen her do many things using her dancing as the conduit.

  "But it's less powerful magic," Brianna said. Sophie looked like she wanted to argue, but Brianna quelled her with a look. "I know you prefer to work without it, but it's always with you. It supports you, whether you know it or not."

  "You make it sound like a living thing," I said.

  "When you're done with it, it will be," Brianna said.

  Then the two of them left me alone to select a knife and get to work on scraping off the bark and knots from the wood.

  I didn't know what was going to come next, but this part felt downright comforting in its familiarity. I even started to whistle as I worked.

  I could do this.

  Chapter 5

  "I can't do this," I said, head in my hands as I ignored the food in front of me.

  "You're just getting overwhelmed," Sophie said, giving my arm a squeeze.

  "Yes," I agreed. "That's it exactly. Overwhelmed. Not sure where the 'just' comes in though."

  "You can't give up," Brianna said.

  "It's been days," I said. "Days and days of failing to meditate properly, failing to sense the magic around me even when I'm apparently standing in the most active part of the time portal nexus. Failing to grasp even the most rudimentary parts of magic because I don't even understand the words."

  "It will get easier," Brianna said.

  "It's barely been a week," Sophie said. "Maybe we're working you too hard. Maybe you need a break."

  But Brianna had been speaking at the same time, and although she had spoken in that soft voice she used when she was mostly thinking out loud, I hadn't missed what she was saying. She thought I should work harder. She thought more hours of study per day was called for.

  Sophie must have heard her too, to judge by the glare she shot her.

  I put my head back down into my hands.

  "Hey, look on the bright side," Sophie said. "Your wand should be ready today."

  "Yes, the last coating of oil is sure to be dry by now," Brianna agreed. "Eat something, and we'll go down and check it out."

  It's not like the food didn't look good. Mr. Trevor always seemed to know just what I was craving. And even though I was cranky and overwhelmed and frankly exhausted, it was turkey and Swiss on fresh-baked croissants. It wasn't a hard sell. I ate one in two monster bites then took another one with me as we went out to the backyard then down to the cellar.

  I wasn't much of a fan of dark, damp spaces like windowless cellars, and no matter how hot we ran the iron stove the cold seeping in through the stone walls was bone-chilling. But sitting close to that stove, whittling and sanding then oiling and polishing my wand, had gained a certain comfortable familiarness. Brianna seldom strayed out of the library for more than a quick look at my work, but Sophie tended to linger in one of the other corners of the cellar. She didn't seem to be working on any particular project, just going through all the drawers and nooks and boxes up on shelves. There was more than enough to keep her busy until spring just looking at it all, I was sure.

  I had left the wand standing upright in the vise while the last coat of oil dried. It wasn't a wood preserving thing; it had been some sort of magical ointment that Brianna had shown me how to cook up using that scary alchemy equipment. It gave the branch a smell, sort of like sandalwood but with a hint of something almost minty.

  The stain I had rubbed into the wood had turned the willow a rich, dark reddish-brown that gave flashes of a more golden hue when it caught the light just right.

  I admit, I thought it was all kinds of beautiful. If it were possible to crush on a stick, I would say that was pretty close to what I was feeling.

  But it was supposed to feel like an extension of myself, not just a pointy projection from my hand but a part of my very soul. As much as I loved it, and I did love it, it was still very much a thing I just longed to bond with.

  "You've done very nice work," Sophie said.

  "I made a pretty stick," I said. "It remains to be seen whether it's anything more than that."

  "Try it out," Brianna said.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Just swish it around a bit, see what happens," she said.

  I felt extremely self-conscious, the two of them watching me intently while I raised the stick high like a conductor's baton, then gave it a little stir.

  Nothing.

  They were looking at me eagerly like they were still waiting for sparks to fly. I shook my head.

  "Try really focusing," Sophie said. "Think of yourself flowing through the wood. It concentrates power that otherwise sort of floats in a cloud around you and through you. Think of it like that, like a prism making a laser light or something."

  "Try it," Brianna said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a feeling like what Sophie was describing. Then I waved the wand again.

  Nothing.

  "What's supposed to be happening here?" I asked with a sigh. "Sparks or a rainbow or what?"

  "Could be anything," Brianna said.

  "Did you feel anything trying to happen?" Sophie asked.

  "No," I said, and bit down on my lip.

  "Well, that's okay," she said. "I took a long time to bond with my own wand. It doesn't have to happen right away."

  "It's really okay-" Brianna said, but I just couldn't take it anymore.

  "I'm going for a walk," I said.

  "Amanda," Sophie said.

  "I'm fine," I said, although I was far from it. I was really afraid I was going to start crying there in the cellar, and the last thing I wanted to do was break down. Sophie and Brianna were already upset enough as it was. I knew they were blaming themselves for being inadequate teachers even though it was clear I was just a lousy magical student.

  The idea of crying in front of them was just too much. "I've got to go," I said, and pulled my hoodie more tightly around myself as I headed for the stairs.

  Brianna started to call my name, but Sophie caught her arm and held her back, whispering, "let her go."

  The overcast day matched my
mood perfectly. Gray clouds hung low in the sky in swooping patterns like furrowed eyebrows, an occasional blacker cloud speeding under that oppressive canopy as if even it wanted to escape it all.

  I was a couple of blocks away before I realized I was still clutching my wand. Out in public. I tucked it in my back pocket, pulling the back of my hoodie over it, then thrust my cold hands deep into my pockets.

  Brianna had been studying magic in the company of actual witches her entire life. Even Sophie, who had lost the only witch she knew when her mother disappeared a decade ago, had gotten a head start on me when she started learning simple magic as a little girl. But if my mother had remembered any of the magic she had known, she had chosen not to teach any of it to me. And now I really needed it. Sophie and Brianna were counting on me. Was I too old to learn this stuff now?

  I had been a conduit to a power that wasn't mine. And at the time it had seemed like I was the one making the choices about what I was doing with that power. But had I really? Or had I just been doing what some other more powerful being wanted?

  Helen had been messing with things she ought not to have been messing with. She had angered something; I had felt that.

  But no, in the end, I had chosen to spare her. That had been my choice; I was absolutely certain of that. I had chosen mercy. I had chosen to turn Helen over to the authorities in 1927 and not to just end her life, even though she had tried to kill the three of us and had succeeded in murdering her own sister and her sister's husband.

  I touched the pendant I always wore under my clothes. Cynthia's pendant, very briefly Helen's, now mine.

  I might never wield power of my own, but I still made my own choices.

  I sighed and turned to walk back to the school. Clearly, all the early mornings were wearing on me. Too much trying to focus, too much inner reflection, definitely too much time trying to make sense of dense old books. I needed a break, and I was going to have to demand one whatever Sophie and Brianna said.

  If I could just stop trying to do the impossible for a day or two, perhaps I could tackle it fresh, maybe change the results. I wouldn't know until I tried it.