Charm His Pants Off

by Cate Martin

  "Danger," Brianna said, and suddenly her wand was in her hand, the tip glowing like a bright ember, casting her face in an orange light that danced through the strands of her red hair.

  Sophie turned to look back at us and raised a single hand, motioning for Brianna to lower her wand.

  "Do you think the coven sent him?" Brianna asked, lowering her wand but not putting it away.

  "No, this has nothing to do with the coven," Sophie said. Then she took a big, shaky breath and squared her shoulders. "I've got this."

  "We've got your back," I said, and Brianna nodded.

  Sophie gave us a smile only lightly touched by the sardonic part of her personality. Then she turned her attention back to the front porch as she opened the door.

  The young man was still standing there. He was even still smiling, although there was a confused look to his eyes as if he wasn't sure if Sophie were teasing him or not.

  "It's kind of cold out here, Sophie," he said.

  "Yes, sorry. Please come in," she said. Belatedly she realized she was still blocking his way and stepped back to let him past her.

  "What's in the box?" Brianna demanded. Her wand was out of sight, but she was still on the lookout for danger.

  "Oh, Brianna, right?" he said. "And you must be Amanda," he said, turning his warm brown gaze to me. "I brought treats. Beignets. From Auntie Claire," he added, his eyes now on Sophie. Sophie took the box from him numbly.

  "Is that a bakery in New Orleans?" I asked. He only had the lightest of accents, like Sophie's it was hard to place it as actually southern and not just some sort of cosmopolitan thing.

  "No, no," he said with a wide smile. "Auntie Claire is my auntie. Sophie knows her."

  "She makes the best beignets in New Orleans," Sophie said. Her accent was stronger than usual. I wondered if this was homesickness, an unconscious response to the guy's familiar accent, or something else.

  I knew from experience that Sophie adjusted her accent to suit her needs, laying it on thick when she wanted a layer between her and other people. But surely that was just for strangers? Not for this young man who shared a linguistic origin with her?

  "I'll heat these up," Sophie said, then headed down the corridor with the takeout box. The young man seemed uncertain if he should follow her or not. After a moment he decided the correct thing to do was to take off his wet boots first.

  "What's your name?" Brianna asked. And if the question was said too bluntly, the fact that she was asking while she was holding a pen and notebook in her hands, waiting to write down the answer, softened it not at all.

  "You know us, but we don't seem to know you," I said apologetically.

  "Oh, I should've guessed," he said. "I'm Antoine Meunier. Sophie and I went to performing arts school together. We've known each other for years."

  "You're also a dancer?" I asked. He had the lithe build of one. But I guessed not as the question made him blush.

  "Only at the club on the weekends," he said. "I play piano."

  "I think I've heard you play," I said.

  "Really?" He sounded surprised.

  "The music box that Sophie got for Christmas," I said. "The one that plays a digital recording. That was you."

  "Yes it was," he said. "She played it for you?"

  Not specifically. Brianna and I had been there when she had unwrapped it, and we had gotten a glimpse of it and heard the music play when she lifted the lid. But she had never explained a thing about it. But from the bright glow in Antoine's eyes, I saw how much it would mean to him, the idea that Sophie was showing off her gift proudly rather than hiding it away in her room.

  "Yes," I said instead. "Come on; let's go back to the kitchen."

  Sophie was setting dessert plates on the table as Brianna, and I led Antoine into the room. She glanced up at us, her eyes inscrutable, then promptly turned her attention back to the toaster oven that was gently reheating a half dozen pastries.

  Antoine was still holding the rose, not sure what to do with it. I ducked into the butler's pantry and found the smallest of the crystal vases then filled it with water from the sink before handing it to him. I indicated which place was Sophie's at the table by a tilt of my head, and he gave me a smile and a nod of thanks.

  Brianna fired up the electric kettle and counted out mugs and teabags. By the time the beignets were ready to come out of the toaster oven, the kettle was hissing then beeping its readiness.

  "These look great," I said, all but snatching a plate from Sophie's hand the moment the pastry touched the china. "Sadly Brianna and I have a project we need to get back to. But if these taste as good as they smell, Auntie Claire's reputation is well-earned."

  "I'll pass on your regards," Antoine said. Sophie glared at me as I snatched the next plate out of her hands and thrust it at Brianna. Her glower only deepened as I picked up my mug and followed Brianna back down the corridor.

  "She didn't want to be alone with him," Brianna said to me.

  "Tough," I said. "She's been dodging this too long. She doesn't even talk to us about it."

  "Should she?" Brianna asked.

  "We're her friends," I said, then, "hold up." Brianna stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the grand staircase, confusion on her face. "Let's sit in the parlor."

  "Not the library?" she asked, as if the thought pained her.

  "We won't be able to hear what's going on from the library," I said.

  "I could always do a spell," Brianna said.

  "That's too much like spying," I said, leading the way into the parlor and settling into one of the worn but comfortable chairs.

  "And this isn't?" Brianna asked.

  "This is just… potential eavesdropping," I said. I set my mug down then took my first bite of the warm beignet. I was promptly covered in a cloud of powdered sugar and pastry crumbs, all of which appeared to dodge the plate on my lap completely to dust my clothes.

  So worth it, though. I could get new clothes. But I would never have another beignet like this one. My mind boggled at the idea of what it must have tasted like fresh.

  "Why did you want us to leave Sophie alone if you want to know what they're saying?" Brianna asked. Then she took a bite of her own beignet, and even her formidable curiosity was stopped for just a moment in time as she closed her eyes in appreciation of the warmth and sweetness and richness filling her mouth.

  "Don't you think it's odd she never mentioned Antoine to us before? He's clearly someone important to her," I said.

  "From her old life," Brianna said. "You never talk about where you came from either."

  "I send postcards to my foster grandparents," I said. "I've told you about them. You even know their names."

  "Not their first names," Brianna said, pulling out her notebook to doublecheck.

  "But you get my point," I said. "She never mentioned him to us at all. I know a lot more about your life back in Boston. I've even spoken with your mentor Sephora before."

  "I'm an open book," Brianna agreed. "You not as much."

  "I'd tell you anything you want to know, but frankly, no one in my hometown was remotely magical, so it's not really relevant. Not like you in Boston."

  "Or Sophie in New Orleans?" Brianna said with a frown, then leaned closer to whisper, "do you think he knows she's a witch?"

  "I don't think so," I said after taking a moment to replay every second I'd spent with him in my mind. "I think if he did, he'd know you and I are as well, and he would've acted differently. Had a different vibe or whatever."

  "Maybe Sophie just wants to keep the magic and nonmagic parts of her life separate," Brianna said. "You've been struggling with that."

  "And you haven't?" I asked.

  Brianna shrugged. "I don't have any nonmagic parts of my life," she said.

  I sighed. That was true. And I envied her. Being a witch and specifically having a calling to protect the magic portal that was the reason the school we were in existed had already crushed one budding possibly-more-than-a-frien
dship.

  "So you think that's why she's so cold?" I asked.

  "Cold?" she repeated, and I knew, absolutely knew, she was about to mention Sophie's new parka. But she caught herself in time. "She might want to keep a distance. I would think you of all people would understand that," she said. I nodded, but she didn't see me, attention focused on chasing the last of the crumbs around her plate, and she just had to complete her thought. "On account of Edward."

  "This is different," I said. I'm not sure what made me more grumpy, the fact that Brianna had brought up Edward despite the unspoken agreement among the three of us not to mention that name or the fact that she had not even the lightest dusting of powdered sugar anywhere on her clothes. And she was wearing black pants and a dark green sweater. It would have shown. "Sophie and Antoine are in the same time."

  "But different cities," Brianna said.

  "It's not the same problem," I insisted.

  Brianna just shrugged. "Perhaps to Sophie, it is."

  There was a scraping of chairs from the direction of the kitchen and the happy rumble of Antoine's voice as he and Sophie came back down the corridor towards the foyer. I quickly grabbed a random book off the shelf beside my chair and pretended to be engrossed in the text while nursing the last of my tea.

  Brianna didn't have to pretend to be engrossed, although it was still the plate on her lap that had all of her attention. That and, as usual, her own thoughts. Having felt a blast of those barely more than an hour earlier, I was amazed she was ever aware of the world around her at all.

  "I wish I had a longer layover," Antoine was saying.

  Sophie scoffed. "Explain to me again how there's any layover in Minneapolis, which is in no way between New Orleans and New York City?"

  Antoine laughed. "Well. Auntie Claire was worried about you. I promised I'd check in."

  "I write to Auntie Claire every Sunday," Sophie said, which was news to me.

  "That's not the same as a phone call, you know," he said. "Or better, there's this new thing called a computer, and these computers will let you send an actual live video-“

  "Haha," Sophie said.

  "Seriously, though," Antoine said. "It would mean a lot for her to see you. You know if she could travel herself she'd've been here months ago."

  "I know," Sophie said. "I'll try."

  I waited for Antoine to quote Yoda to her, but he didn't. He just nodded as if that was an acceptable answer then turned his attention to pulling on his still wet boots.

  "Your clothes are all wrong for this climate," Sophie said. She was speaking not exactly warmly, but nowhere near as chilly as she'd been when he'd first arrived.

  And yet, when he straightened and tried to step closer to her, arms opening to embrace her, she took a step back. He dropped his arms.

  For a moment, I thought he was going to call her out, but instead, he summoned that bright smile and directed it at her again. "Lucky for me, I don't live in this climate."

  "Manhattan can't be much warmer," Sophie said. Then, almost as if she couldn't help herself, she started fussing with the draping of his scarf around his neck and shoulders, tucking it closer around his exposed ears. "People in New York also wear hats."

  "Some do," he said.

  "You're being vain about your hair," she said with a frown.

  "I'm not!" he said with a laugh. "Well, maybe a little. But I tell you what; you send me a hat. Any hat at all. If it's from you, I swear I'll never take it off."

  Sophie gave a short laugh at that, then started shooing him out the door. He caught her arm but seemed to change his mind and let her go.

  I had the nearly overwhelming urge to call him back, to make him stay. I knew it would only need another hour or two for him to melt Sophie's heart completely. I could see it in the way she was leaning towards the door, as if a part of her longed to follow him.

  He had barely stepped off the front mat when he spun back around. For a moment, I thought I had done magic without knowing it, put some sort of compulsion spell on him. But it was nothing to do with me.

  "Your mother!" he said, stepping back to catch both of Sophie's hands. "How could I have forgotten to ask?"

  "My mother?" Sophie echoed, as if sounding out syllables that had no meaning for her.

  "Your mother. That was the whole reason you came here. You said they might know something here, that they might be able to help you find out what happened to her. I can't believe I totally forgot to ask if you made any progress on that. I didn't mean to hit you full blast with nothing but my life and all. That was totally insensitive of me. But I really do have to run. Just tell me, Sophie. Any news?"

  "No news," Sophie said. She still sounded like she'd just taken a severe blow to the head and words were foreign to her.

  "I'm so sorry," he said, and this time when he pulled her towards him, she let him put his arms around her and squeeze her tight. "Promise me you'll call and we can talk about it. I never meant to act like I was ignoring all that. You gave up everything to come here, and I just let it slide by me."

  "It's all right," Sophie said, and her arms tightened around him. "I wanted to hear about you. It was good to hear your voice again."

  "Then call me," he said earnestly.

  "I will. I'll try," Sophie said.

  I focused on the book on my lap, desperate to give them a moment's privacy without creating the distraction of trying to leave the room. Alas, the book was in French. And upside-down.

  Then I heard the door close again. This time the click of the latch had an air of finality to it. As if the world was a different place now than it was before Antoine came to call.

  And from the look on Sophie's face as she stepped into the parlor, it really was.

  Chapter 3

  Brianna and I both leaped to our feet and guided Sophie to one of the chairs, as she looked in danger of just crumpling to the floor. Brianna pushed the last of her tea into Sophie's hands. Sophie took the mug but didn't attempt to drink from it.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I suppose seeing him brought back a lot of homesickness."

  "And you miss him," Brianna added.

  Sophie was looking down into the cold remains of the tea in the mug in her hands, but she looked up at the two of us as if we had both gone crazy.

  "You're not upset about Antoine?" I guessed.

  "No," she said, then took a breath. Her eyes came into sharper focus. "Well, yes, but that's not it. Didn't you hear what he said?"

  "About your mother?" I said.

  "Yes," Sophie said forcefully.

  "But why would you be upset about your mother?" Brianna asked. "From what Antoine said, it sounded like she's been gone a long time. Not that that isn't upsetting, but you seem closer to something like shock. An acute condition, not chronic."

  "Oh, this is acute," Sophie said. She took a drink of tea, grimaced, then set the mug aside. "You don't understand. He said those words out loud, ‘your mother,’ and all of a sudden I realized, I can't remember the last time I even thought of my mother. Isn't that strange?"

  "Is it?" I asked. I couldn't remember the last time I had thought about my mother, either. It didn't come up much. I looked at Brianna, who frowned and shrugged.

  "It is," Sophie insisted. "Because I know Antoine is right. I came here for specific reasons, but one of the big ones was to find out what happened to my mother. And yet somehow, I just… forgot."

  "We have been pretty busy," Brianna said. "We have more than a job; we have a calling. Even when we're not physically focused on working magic or practicing magic or researching magic, we're still focused on that calling. It doesn't leave a lot of time for other thoughts."

  "But this isn't just forgetting to think about her," Sophie said. "Antoine mentioned her, and I remembered that I forgot, but…" She broke off, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as if holding back a sob. "I can't remember her even now. Only a few images, nothing important. And I can't feel anything about her at all." She took a deep breath, ho
lding back another sob.

  "Sophie," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Maybe it's just stress. You've been working so hard."

  "It's not just Sophie," Brianna said. We both looked up at her, standing over us with her arms crossed. "I just tried remembering my own mother. I can remember a few facts like her name and when she died. I can get a couple of images, but they're blurry. I can't remember her face at all."

  "And the emotions?" Sophie asked, wiping at her eyes.

  "None," Brianna said. "Nothing feels missing. It's like this was all the memory I ever had. And yet, how can that be true? I wish I had a control to compare it to. Like a journal or something."

  "Amanda?" Sophie said to me.

  I sat back down in my chair and closed my eyes. "I never knew her name," I said. I was certain that was true. "She never spoke, I remember that too. My wand comes from the tree where my father died and where she birthed me, almost at the same moment."

  "But do you remember her?" Sophie asked.

  I pressed my hands over my closed eyes, as if more darkness would help. But finally I had to give up, dropping my hands and shaking my head. "No. I think she had long blonde hair? But I'm not sure. She only died a few years ago, not back when I was a kid. I should have more memories than this."

  "What's going on?" Sophie asked. "Is this part of the calling? Now that we have to serve our purpose here, the rest of our lives just disappear?"

  "No," Brianna said. "You remembered Antoine."

  "Maybe we only forget the dead?" I suggested.

  "But I don't know that my mother is actually dead," Sophie said. "She might be alive. That was the biggest reason why I came here when Cynthia Thomas invited me to come. I was hoping to find out what had happened to her."

  "Maybe it has something to do with the school itself," Brianna said. Suddenly she was looking as distressed as Sophie and I were. "I can't remember. I can't make myself remember. But didn't our mothers all go here?"