That Touch of Magic

by Lucy March

  I pretended to think about that for a bit, and then I lied. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  He smiled. “Excellent. I’ll just be a moment.”

  I waited until he was inside the room, and then I carefully picked up the letter opener and slid it under the lid of the half-moon table the way I’d seen Addie do when we were here before. The hidden drawer popped open, and I carefully put item by item into my messenger bag until I got to the tranq gun. I took the needle out and examined it for a minute, amused by the puffy red ball at the end. I had no idea what that was about, but I figured, the people who made these things knew what they were doing, right? With shaking hands, I pushed the plunger on the dart until all the tranquilizer liquid was spit out into the drawer, and then I pulled out my little hamster-sized Samsonite. I got the top off the tiny vial and inserted the tip of the needle, pulling the plunger back until it sucked up every last bit of the potion inside. I had just gotten the dart back into the tranquilizer gun when Desmond walked out of the room.

  “We’ll have to make one more stop on the way out of town. I’ve kept the cure in a safe place, as I’m sure you can understand.”

  That’s when Desmond looked at me, and registered the dart gun in my hand.

  “Well, hello,” he said.

  “Hello.” I held the gun out and pulled the trigger.

  It clicked. Nothing happened.

  “Shit,” I said. I pulled the trigger again.

  Click. Nothing.

  “Shit.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I sighed. “Nothing. You know me. I can’t help myself. I just never give the fuck up, you know?” I held up the gun. “Tranquilizer gun. Addie’s probably never used it, and apparently, it doesn’t even work.” I set the stupid thing on the table and shook my head at it.

  He laughed. “And what was your plan? You’d knock me out and get away? How would that have helped you or your friends?”

  “You’re right. I didn’t think it through. I’m just stubborn, you know? It would be so much easier if I would just give up. Why do I have to make things so hard on myself? Why can’t I just give up?”

  He angled his head in a carefully contrived look of sympathy. “I understand. I’m the same way. I mean, look at all the mayhem I’ve caused here, all in the single-minded pursuit of one thing. I’m quite lucky, in that I don’t feel the consequences of it as much as you do.” He hesitated a moment and then said, “You know, I do have an idea that might make things easier for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You feel things very deeply, Stacy. You try to pretend that you don’t, but even I can see it, and I have hardly any emotions left at all. It just seems that all this might go a bit easier on you if you didn’t have to struggle so with all of that. After the way your mother betrayed you, and with Leo unable to love you anymore—”

  Anger flared hot inside me. “Don’t you ever say his name to me,” I growled.

  “Of course,” he said, reminding me of the polite, reserved Desmond I thought I had known. “My apologies.”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Fair enough.” He lowered his head, faking sensitivity. “At any rate, I do have some more of the Anwei Xing root. If you’d like, before we leave, we can stop by your charming little garden shed and I can mix something up to help you release all of this and move forward.”

  I gave a bitter chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Two sociopaths making their way through the American countryside. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Desmond laughed, too. “Yes. Well. It is possible to be a functioning member of polite society.”

  “Until there’s something you want and you get all single-minded about it,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

  “Keep your thought,” I said. “I’m going to pass.”

  “All right,” he said, then looked pointedly down at the tranq gun on the table. “I will have to ask you to step back while I retrieve that gun. Better safe than sorry, you know.”

  I looked down at it, the stupid, pointless weapon on the table, and that’s when I saw the little orange switch on the back of the handle.

  “Huh,” I said numbly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  I looked at him, wondering what the chances were that I would be able to grab the gun, flip the switch, and shoot him before he got to me. Even in my stunned and emotionally battered state, I could think clearly enough to know I’d need a distraction. I reached into my messenger bag, and Desmond started toward me.

  “I do wish you’d stop this, Stacy,” he said. “It’s not going to be any easier on you if you keep—”

  The Edison vial smashed at his feet, and he stopped, stunned. While he was looking down at the puddle of blue liquid at his feet, I reached out and quietly flipped the safety on the tranq gun, but was unable to grab it before he looked back at me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not certain of your intent here. Are you hoping I’ll slip on this?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then what…?” He stopped speaking as the sunflower began to sprout. He knelt down and examined it closer.

  “Did you do this?” he asked, a hint of genuine wonder in his voice. Apparently all his emotions weren’t dead.

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  Desmond smiled up at me. “And you’ve had no formal training?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I had no idea you were so good, Stacy.” He pushed on his knees and stood up. “That’s quite impressive.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m an impressive girl.”

  And then I grabbed the gun and shot him in the stomach.

  Chapter 18

  Desmond looked down at his middle and laughed, although I think it was mostly out of shock.

  “You shot me,” he said. “You bloody bitch.”

  He pulled the dart out, the red bobbin at the end bouncing with the movement. I could see from where I stood that the plunger had gone all the way down; every last drop of that potion was inside Desmond.

  I stood where I was, not sure what to do now. Should I run? Maybe not. I hadn’t disabled him, and I kinda thought that if I ran, he might kill me before the potion took full effect. If it took effect. If he didn’t just kill me where I stood. But the fact was, I wasn’t letting that bastard out of my sight until my mother, my friends, and I were safe and non-magical again. If that meant I needed to handcuff myself to the son of a bitch, that’s what I would do.

  I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t think this through. How are you feeling?”

  Desmond straightened, evaluating. “I’m all right.” He moved his head, looked around. “Not even dizzy. What kind of tranquilizer is that?” He barely got the words out before his face contorted in pain and he doubled over.

  “Yeah, that first hit is pretty tough,” I said, remembering how it was for me at the wedding when the potion wore off. That was with a potion brewed from just the leaves of Anwei Xing; I couldn’t even imagine how Desmond was feeling. “You might want to sit down.”

  “What did you…” He gasped in pain, then tried again. “What did you do?”

  “It counteracts the Anwei Xing,” I said. “Welcome back to the world of guilt and remorse and shame, Desmond.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” He leaned over, one arm on the wall, propping himself up. His breathing became ragged, and he cursed a few more times. I stayed where I was, feet braced, ready to ride out the storm.

  “Oh, my God,” he whimpered and slowly crumpled to the floor. “Oh, Christ, what have I done?”

  I moved closer, squatting down next to him. “You fucked with the wrong girl, that’s what you did. Now tell me, where is the cure?”

  He started to sob and I nudged him with my knee.

  “Look, dude, I’ll feel sorry for you later. Right now I want an answer. Where is it?”

  “It’s in … a safe place,” he said, breathing hard.

>   My heart started to pound with the first real emotion I’d felt in hours: excitement. “Take me there. Now.”

  He nodded, slowly and with a lot of pain, but it was definitely a nod.

  “Let’s go then.” I grabbed his arm to pull him up. In a moment, he whipped me around by my shoulders and slammed me against the wall so hard I felt the impact zinging in my teeth.

  “What … the fuck … did you do to me?” he screamed, his eyes red-rimmed and wild with emotion: fear, grief, anger, remorse. Which, in the moment, made perfect sense: The emotion doesn’t cease to exist, it stores up, and once the potion wears off, it all comes slamming into you at once. Desmond was experiencing five years’ worth of emotional pain all at once.

  “Oh, I really did not think this through,” I groaned.

  He pulled me forward and slammed me against the wall again, my head hitting hard enough to make me see stars for a minute. He let me go and, ears ringing, I slid down the wall to the ground, my legs crumpling under me like toothpicks.

  “I have to … to … undo it.” He took two steps toward the bedroom, then one back toward me in the hallway, then back toward his room. I wondered absently if he was looking for something to disembowel me with. I tried to clear my head and move my legs, but for the moment I couldn’t. All I could do was breathe and hope he didn’t bash my head in with the hall mirror before I could get my legs working again. The room spun around me, and I blinked hard to keep the darkness at the edge of my vision from taking over.

  He held out his hands; they were shaking violently. “I can’t … I can’t … I can’t make the Anwei Xing potion like this.” He moved over to me and grabbed me, hauling me up. “You’ll make it.”

  “Okay,” I said, thinking, If he needs me, he can’t kill me. “Okay. I’ll make it. But you can’t hit me again or I’m going to—”

  Then I pitched forward, vomited on his shoes, and fell into darkness.

  * * *

  When I woke up, I had a sharp pain in my stomach, my hands were bound behind my back, and the whole world was pitching under me in an irregular rhythm. I could smell earth and trees and leaves, which wasn’t a clue that helped me out a whole lot. I managed to open my eyes but all I could see in the dim moonlight was the blurred cotton of the back of a man’s shirt. I raised my head a little to try to see more of my surroundings and the darkness threatened to take me again, so I closed my eyes and breathed. Once my eyes were closed, I was able to put everything together: I was slung over Desmond’s shoulder, hurtling through the woods, headed to my garden shed. Desmond, for his part, was playing up the crazy, sniffling and crying and mumbling to himself as he staggered through the wooded path.

  “Hey,” I said, but my voice was weak and he couldn’t hear me over all the crazy.

  “Hey!” I said again, shouting as loud as I could with his shoulder in my gut. He stopped roughly, and I almost pitched out of his grip.

  “Put me down,” I said, “or your pants and your shoes are gonna have something in common.”

  He set me down, glaring fiery red hatred at me, spittle flying from his lips as he spoke. “You’re going to make this potion for me, you fucking cunt, and then I’m going to kill you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “As long as we have a plan.”

  I staggered forward on the path with Desmond muttering and cursing behind me. He was carrying a briefcase in his hand; apparently, he’d gone to his safe place while I was still knocked out. I stopped and looked at him.

  “Is my cure in there?”

  “The cure doesn’t matter. You’re going to make the potion, and I’m going to kill you.” Even in the darkness, I could see enough crazy in his eyes to know this was absolutely his plan. I could try to run, but the cure was in that briefcase, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I had it.

  “At least take these bindings off,” I said. “I can’t make potions without my hands.”

  He glared at me. “Move.”

  I let out a huff of frustration and started toward the shed. Once we got there, I stopped at the door.

  “You have to pull the generator cord,” I said. “I can’t work without light.”

  He cursed but, unable to argue, he pulled the cord. Once, twice …

  I closed my eyes and tried to ward off my dizziness. It would be tough with my hands bound, but he was weak and disoriented enough that I might be able to knock him over in the dark and take the briefcase. Then I could run, hoping that his disorientation was worse than my own.

  Come on, generator, I thought. You’ve been threatening to die for ages. Just keep him pulling on the cord, and once the world stops spinning, I’ll slam his head against you and …

  And that’s when the damn thing took. The interior of the shed lit up like Christmas.

  Stupid generator.

  I opened my eyes and the dizziness was still there, but it was better. There was hope. I just had to get him to unbind my hands.

  “I have to get the keys,” I said.

  “Allow me,” he said savagely, then slammed me against the wall and reached into my pockets. He took out my keys, unlocked the door, and pushed me inside. I stumbled a bit and got my footing, and he stepped in behind me and shut the door. He leaned against it, breathing so heavily I thought he might faint. I waited to see if that would happen, as it would simple my day up considerably. He stumbled to the wall and crumpled to the floor, but remained conscious, looking at his hands, which were shaking like nothing I’d ever seen.

  “I can’t … I can’t…” His voice was so thick with emotion that I almost felt sorry for the son of a bitch.

  “Look,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and clear so he could understand me, “do you want the Anwei Xing potion or not? If you do, just cut me loose and let’s get to it.”

  He didn’t respond, just stared at his hands, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish’s, gasping for something that wasn’t there.

  “Okay, fine.” I walked over to my workbench, turned my back to it, and fumbled to pull the drawer open. I felt around inside until I located the cold, bulky handle of my X-Acto knife, which I grabbed and slid between my wrists.

  “Yeah, there’s no way this can go horribly wrong,” I muttered, and started sliding it against the plastic of the cable tie. In a moment, I was free, and the damage to my wrists was fairly minor, especially compared with how my head and gut felt. I turned to face Desmond with the knife out, ready to defend myself, but he just sat there, head in his hands. The briefcase, with my cure in it, was on the ground, a good three feet from where he huddled against the wall.

  “Well, that’s anticlimactic,” I said.

  And then he dropped his head in his hands and wailed. In all my life, I’ve never heard anything like it, that sound that wrenched up from his gut and tore through him like a movie alien. As much as I wanted to kill him, his pain was palpable in the room, and I couldn’t help but feel it. I sat down, putting myself between him and the briefcase just in case, and awkwardly patted his arm.

  “Look, it’s gonna be okay,” I said, my voice low. “I’m not even sure how much of this is provable in a court of law, anyway. I could press charges on the battery but…” I released a huff of disgust. “I’m not really that keen on releasing you back into society, though.”

  “Alysia,” he whispered, almost choking on the name.

  “Maybe now’s not the time to think about her,” I said, and he turned to me, his eyes still wild, but softer now, as though he couldn’t quite focus.

  “I’m so sorry, Alysia.” He reached out to touch my face and I flinched back. He didn’t seem to notice, just reached for me and touched me gently.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, smiling through the tears overflowing from his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  It took me a moment to realize he thought I was Alysia; the pain and grief had taken him straight from crazy to delirious.

  “Oh, wow, I really did not think this through,” I muttered.
/>   “I don’t blame you,” he said. “You hate me. Of course, you’d hate me.”

  I sighed and took a moment, then said, “I don’t hate you.” I was sure I didn’t sound like her, I wasn’t even convinced I looked much like her, but I knew he thought I was her, and my heartbreak was too fresh for me not to sympathize with his.

  “I didn’t know you would suffer,” he said. “If I had, I never would have agreed to give it to you.”

  “It was her idea?” I said.

  “I’m so sorry…,” he sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  The poor pathetic son of a bitch. “I know,” I said. “It’s … it’s okay.”

  “When you died … I couldn’t … it was too hard. I was weak, I…” He hung his head. “I can’t live with this.”

  “Yeah, you can,” I said.

  He looked at me, his eyes red and pathetic, his face awash with tears and crippled by pain. Sure, maybe he deserved it, but that didn’t mean I deserved to watch it.

  “How?” he said, sobbing.

  “You just … live with it. People do terrible things every day. It happens. You just have to wake up the next morning and stop doing terrible things. That’s all you can do.”

  “Alysia…,” he said.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. “Desmond, I’m not Alysia.”

  He raised his head and blinked a few times, trying to focus.

  “I’m Stacy,” I said, “and you messed with my life really bad. You gave my mother magical powers, you made me accidentally dose my favorite teacher, and you screwed with a seventeen-year-old kid. You physically assaulted me, more than once, and you took the love of my life away from me, and right now, I want to kill you with my bare hands.”

  He seemed to recognize me then, and his eyes widened as he glanced at the X-Acto knife that was still in my hand. He was lucid; he was coming back.

  “But I won’t,” I said, and tossed the knife away, well out of his reach without having to go through me; I wasn’t taking any chances. “The problem is, you’re not the same guy who did that stuff. He’s gone, and now you’re here, and killing you isn’t going to make the rest of it any better.”