Time Spell

by T. A. Foster

  “Seriously, you have to publish this.” Holly pored through the freshly printed pages of Masquerade, while holding a glass of red wine.

  We had spread out on my living room floor with the chapters divided between us. “I love Josette and Luke’s story, and there are so many people out there who would love them too. It’s amazing and beautiful and tragic all at the same time.”

  Holly tightened the ponytail holding back the locks of her raven hair. Most people wouldn’t guess we were related at first glance because of my long, blond strands and light complexion compared to Holly’s olive tones and shoulder-length brunette curls.

  Holly lived the same life of magic I did. She too was blessed with a gift, and on more than one occasion, I wished I could have had her part of the gene pool. She was an Eraser. Not in the scary way you might think, but she could erase parts of people’s memories. She used her skill to help ease pain, sometimes fear. I asked her to teach me, but it never transferred and I couldn’t master the technique. Maybe she kept erasing the instructions so I couldn’t perform the spell. Erasing was a unique and special gift only appointed to people with kindness and compassion, and Holly was the perfect witch to have the gift.

  I took another sip of my wine and reached for a few pages out of her lap. “I don’t know. I did it for fun. You know, to escape from everything at work. And to stop thinking about you-know-who. It kept me busy and away from the tub of chocolate ice cream in my freezer.” My cousin rolled her eyes. Neither of us wanted to talk about you-know-who. My ex wasn’t welcome in this conversation. “The chances of someone at a publishing house even reading this and liking it are probably less than 1 percent. How about a wine refill, and we talk about you and Mike instead?” I hopped up and reached for the bottle on the end table near the couch.

  “Mike? He’s just so human sometimes. It’s getting harder and harder to keep the magic from him. I’m thinking of breaking up with him.”

  “Break up with Mike? That’s crazy. He’s nice and cute, really cute. You can’t break up with him because he’s not a witch.” I poured us both refills. “You can have both things in your life.” I was determined my relationship with magic wouldn’t prevent me from dating the men I wanted.

  Holly sighed. “You’re the one who always wanted a regular boyfriend and a regular life with no magic. Not me. I want to be able to share it. I don’t want to hide my life from him. He’s just not the right guy. There’s someone out there I can be magical with and not worry every second I’m going to slip up.” As if in defiance, she shot a ball of glitter from her palm and watched the glitter sprinkle onto my manuscript.

  “I’m sorry. You two looked so cute together. It shouldn’t have to be so complicated for us all the time. We should be able to date whoever we want.” Holly raised her glass to that.

  Holly, Ian, and I grew up as the three witchy amigos. She lived about an hour from us with her mother, my mom’s sister, Pansy. Our summers were filled with playing Kick the Can, Flashlight Tag, and coming up with ways to torment Ian. The summer we both turned ten, our mothers set up camp at the beach for the entire school break. One of those nights, we sat on the dunes near our family cottage and counted shooting stars. Our mothers had tossed us outside for some fresh air after we had watched The Cutting Edge for the third time in a row.

  “I’m at star number ten, just like us!” Holly laughed and pointed as the star’s tail faded into dust.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’ve only got four.”

  “Ivy?”

  “Uh-huh.” I was looking at the horizon, searching for the next star tail while picking up handfuls of sand and letting the silky smoothness of the grains filter through my fingers.

  “Let’s make a pact. You know? Just between us.”

  “A spell kind of pact?” I ignored the sky and turned to face Holly.

  “No, just you and me, no magic. Let’s promise to always stay together no matter what.” I wasn’t sure what movie Holly had seen this in, but it sounded like fun.

  “Ok, cool. How do we do it?” I had heard of pacts and handshakes and friendship necklaces, but I had never been a part of one. I wasn’t sure what Holly wanted me to do.

  “This is a simple one I saw.” Ok, so she did see this in a movie. “Let’s try this.” She turned to face me and pushed a sea oat to the side. The wind was kicking up, and the ocean roared over Holly’s small voice. She grabbed both of my hands, and we held them between us. “I promise to always be Ivy’s best friend and cousin, to go to the same college, to live next door to her, and to never leave her. Ever. Oh, and not let any boys mess us up. Now you say it.” She winked at me.

  “Ok, I promise to be Holly’s best friend and cousin, go to the same college, to live next door to her, and to never leave her. Ever. And not let any boys mess us up.” I winked back.

  We smiled at each other and started laughing.

  For the most part, we had fulfilled our summer pact. Holly was a film studies major, and I doubled in communications and history at the same university. We never lived together or lived next door to each other, but we did end up in the same town and at the same online advertising company, trying to climb the corporate ladder to somewhere.

  The long days at Regency Advertising were crammed with meetings, spreadsheets, and team building. After two years, I was one of those cliché people living for the weekend. The weekends became my escape from the dull workweek, and I scheduled them with trip upon trip. The more I traveled, the more I practiced how to go back and forth without so much as leaving an eyelash in the past. What I didn’t expect was that the Time Spell would open doors I didn’t know existed.

  Without a big debut or announcement to my family or friends, I started writing Masquerade on my tiny laptop late at night while Cooper slept by my feet. With you-know-who out of my life, I felt free to delve into something that was all about me. My weekends slowly transformed from travel days to writing days and the click, click, click of my computer keys was a regular part of my nights. Holly had asked me to send a marketing review to her over the weekend, and accidentally, I sent her the first five chapters of Masquerade. Little did I know, my greatest cheerleader was born. She wrote the first few query letters for me and hid the growing stack of rejection letters. I finally got on board, and started my own search for a publisher that would print and promote my stories. The day I got the call from Ann at Raven Publishing to set up my first meeting with Jack Coleman, my life changed in an irreversible instant.

  The smoky haze of the casino hung over the blackjack tables like a low-lying fog. I wanted to find a great story to take back to Jack. I surveyed tonight’s subjects. There were the band members huddled behind the stage on break. It looked like they were arguing over how much longer to play to the crowd. There was a bartender trying his best to get the attention of a pretty redhead at the end of the bar. I wasn’t sure how old you had to be to get into a casino in 1968, but I was certain this girl might not even be old enough to drive. I didn’t want to get anywhere near that story tonight. I could feel the energy, the fun, and the misery swirling in the air. I knew there had to be someone in this crowd I could follow tonight.

  They caught my eye because of how stunning they were as a couple. The man was tall, with dark hair, a devilishly handsome smile, and from across the room, what I thought were the most arresting blue eyes I had seen on a man. His perfectly tailored suit—I assumed it was custom made with a fit like that—was black and crisp. The woman sitting on the stool next to him looked to be almost his height, slender with pearl-white skin. Her hair was honey blond with a hint of ginger undertones.

  At first, I only saw the smile on the good-looking guy’s face as he leaned down to whisper in the woman’s ear. She was twirling a tiny paper umbrella absently with her right hand, looking bored and irritated while the dealer shuffled another deck of cards. After a second glance, I noticed his lips were pursed and he was edging closer to the woman in her floor-length beaded gown.

  I walked over
to have a better vantage point for their tense conversation. I was within inches of the beautiful woman, who looked like she had stepped out of a vintage Hollywood film. I heard every whisper.

  “Helen, there’s no point threatening me, and especially not here.” He glanced up and smiled around the room to reassure himself and anyone who was watching that all was copacetic with this conversation.

  He placed his hand on her left wrist, and I could see they had matching wedding bands. Helen did not look interested in an explanation or interested in his level of concern for appearances. With a roll of her eyes, she took one last drag of her cigarette, folded her cards, and walked past the blue-eyed gentleman into the glaring lights of the casino lobby.

  Tourists and locals filled the infamous halls like honeybees in a thriving hive. The colorful outfits, miles of hairstyles, and overpowering clouds of smoke stunned me. Las Vegas was the entertainment mecca for Hollywood celebrities and the nouveau riche of the states, and this hotel had already seen its share of drama and history by 1968. I hadn’t done much research before my trip, but I knew the Starlight’s grand opening had only been a few years ago.

  I tried to travel with an open mind, and I didn’t like bringing ideas or stories with me. I always stayed away from famous people and big historical events that my fans might already have preconceived expectations about. I had to set some personal boundaries for myself and for the best way for me to approach my writing. I did know enough that the Starlight’s reputation was chock-full of rumored mob ties, illegal business deals, and even some missing bodies. Somewhere in the midst of that history was a great story to tell.

  It also hadn’t gone unnoticed that my publisher was pushing for something a little edgier than Masquerade. I couldn’t think of a better place to find a hot story than Las Vegas.

  The husband continued to follow Helen down a hall wrapped in velvet wallpaper to the elevator bay. She smiled at each person as she walked by and nodded to the guests. Large shadowboxes held marquee signs advertising the acts and shows at the Starlight. The Temptations. Magic Mikael and his lovely assistant Anastasia. The last one in the lineup especially caught my eye. I barely had time to read it, but the VonRue Diamond Collection boasted the largest collection of diamonds in the world and was on display at the Starlight for another day or so.

  “Good evening, Ms. Chadsworth, Mr. Chadsworth,” the trio of helpful bellmen echoed as they recognized the pair.

  The men donned pillbox hats and double-breasted maroon coats. Their luggage carts were filled to the top as they assisted Las Vegas’s newest guests and helped navigate them through the hotel and casino.

  The Chadsworths seemed quite practiced at this charade, nodding and smiling to each hotel worker. They stayed on a steady course, weaving through the casino and lobby as if this were part of a regular routine. Ms. Chadsworth reached out to tap the elevator button. The couple stepped into the car, and I positioned myself so that I stood facing the two. The brass doors closed behind me with a quiet thud and the elevator bell sounded, suggesting the beginning of round two of a boxing match. At once, the two fake smiles fell to the floor.

  “How dare you, Holden, make demands on me? Demands! Here!” She waved her arm, narrowly missing my chin.

  The seemingly calm Helen dropped the cool exterior and immediately tried to claw at her husband’s face. He grabbed the willowy woman by the wrists and pinned them to her side. She relaxed her arms and turned her head up to look at him from the corner of her eyes. I held my breath, not knowing how long they could stay locked in this position. Holden released her wrists and straightened the front of his jacket lapels.

  He exhaled through his teeth. “We’ve had an arrangement since we got married. You know your place, and I don’t expect you to tell me what you think mine is.”

  As the couple glared at each other and hissed venomous taunts, I wasn’t sure this was where I was supposed to be. Through Time Spell traveling, I had witnessed many marital fights, and after I’d seen the first few, I felt like I had seen them all. Helen didn’t appear to be in any danger; Holden was back in his corner. This was probably just a marriage quarrel, and I would need to part ways with the couple when the elevator ride ended, but something kept gnawing at me to stick with them.

  The pleasant ding of the elevator sounded at the twentieth floor, and I jumped from the car, giving them ample room to walk past me. This was the penthouse apartment. Helen stormed ahead and didn’t give Holden a chance to catch up. Outside of the penthouse were two gentlemen in suits, who I assumed to be some type of security. The first guard was located next to the elevator entrance, and the other was planted next to a decorative palm. He kept his gaze straight ahead, not adjusting his stance or expression when the Chadsworths came into view.

  My interest was starting to pique. Helen and Holden living in the penthouse apartment, known by everyone, and in the middle of an argument…could be something…could be nothing.

  She flung open the door, threw her cocktail bag on the couch, and hurried to the bar to pour a drink. I hadn’t expected her to pour it straight. I managed to tactically skirt around them and found a spot in front of the wall of windows to observe the next battle round.

  “Look, Simone isn’t going anywhere.” Holden stated this rather matter-of-factly and looked to Helen to see if she had found this fact to be as agreeable as he had.

  I surveyed the furnishings in the Chadsworths’ penthouse suite. A white leather couch with slim wooden feet extended to a U-shape in the center of the room. Matching round glass tables with brass podium centers anchored the couch and made an overpowering center coffee table. There were some interesting art retro pieces on the wall and a metallic starburst, which I later realized was a clock. I looked for effects that might indicate this marriage had created children, but the bright white fabrics were unadorned with smudges or crayon markings, and no smiling little faces appeared in the framed black-and-white photographs of the Chadsworths.

  “Simone? Simone isn’t going anywhere? You’re seeing someone named Simone?” Her eyes blazed with fury and contempt. “Holden, I moved to this God-awful place—the desert, the middle of nowhere—to be with you. I left my family, my home, my entire life to build this hotel empire, this casino, to support whatever business deals you thought you had to do to fulfill this dream. You think I wanted to leave New England to be here? And now, when it’s finally all coming together, you do this? After fifteen years? You cheat on me?” Her drink was empty. She stopped to pour another one. “How? What? What did I do to push you into someone else’s arms?”

  She waved her drink in the air and waited for an explanation. As if they were back in the ring, I turned my attention to her husband, who stood in the other corner.

  Holden looked aghast for a second, but I could tell he was not a man who apologized. He was shocked at her tone and her gall for approaching him, not for the crime he had committed. He walked toward his wife, poured his own straight shot of whiskey, and slung it back with gusto and a smile.

  “Now, now, my darling, don’t get so excited. Don’t you know by now it’s not up to you to keep me in or out of someone’s arms? I’ll do whatever damn thing I want to do. And yes, her name is Simone. Look at you, washed-up socialite from the East Coast, spending her nights in overpriced gowns, just waiting for some gullible sucker to pay her a compliment. Has it worked for you yet?” He glanced at his heavy gold watch tucked beneath his jacket sleeve.

  “Don’t wait up tonight.” He brushed a passing kiss on her cheek, winked, and walked toward the double doors that towered over the apartment entrance. “Oh, in case you’re wondering, she’s twenty-five, so maybe there is something you could do—stop being so desperate to hold on to who you used to be. No one here cares if you used to be young and beautiful. Simone actually is both of those things.” He chuckled maliciously.

  Helen screamed as she scrambled for the highball glass sitting on the bar. She threw it, and a shower of glass and whiskey barely missed her hus
band’s head as he walked out the door. There was a quiet click from the latch and he was gone.

  I expected to see Helen crumple to the floor in anguish or cry out for her husband to return, but instead she crossed the room to the telephone, calmly picked up the long handled receiver, and dialed.

  “Hi, Simone. Yeah, he bought it. He’s on his way to see you. Stick with the plan. Just stick with it, darling.” She smiled and hung up.

  Now, I knew I had a story.

  HELEN DREW a cigarette from her clutch and held one end to her mouth while lighting the other with what looked like a woman’s lighter, engraved on the edge. It was silver and shaped like a tube of lipstick with a diamond on the side as the flame’s trigger. It was probably a gift from Holden, a memento from happier days.

  She eased herself onto the U of the couch, curled her legs behind her, and let her eyes drift toward the windows, as if in a trance or maybe in a state of relaxation. Whichever one, I decided she had played her part in whatever scheme was now underway between her and Simone. I needed to follow Holden.

  Helen’s eyes scanned the budding Las Vegas skyline. Miles and miles of desert stretched beyond the inner bull’s-eye of construction trailers, cranes, and the twinkling lights of the newly birthed casino world. The desert’s burgundy sunset had faded to blue coal as the blinking lights of pop-stand casinos flashed around the Starlight.

  As if something had startled her, she sat upright out of her catlike position and looked directly toward me. Impossible. She couldn’t see me. I was cloaked in invisibility. Frozen with uncertainty, I waited for her eyes to continue drifting. What seemed like an eternity passed before Helen resumed her feline pose on the sofa. That was the only cue I needed. I decided it was time for me to leave the Starlight penthouse and follow Holden.