Just a Little Magic Ch. 11

- "You're an angel. But that's not everything, is it?"

She shook her head. "No. My Dad has been ... difficult. It's Mom's fault. She was telling him that she'd met you, and Dad got angry because he hasn't, and because Mom is claiming that she's closer to me. They're ... re-visiting old battlefields."

- "And you're caught in the crossfire?"

- "Sometimes."

I reached out to caress her cheek, and to brush back her hair. Her forehead was warm to the touch. Too warm.

- "Do you have a thermometer?"

- "Why?"

- "Because I want to take your temperature."

- "Pete - I'm fine."

- "Prove it. Let me take your temperature."

She finally gave in, and submitted to my examination.

"You, young lady, are running a fever. Bed - now."

- "I feel fine."

- "You do not." I said. "Bed."

Sophie didn't really have the energy to fight me. She felt like crap, and was actually a little relieved to be able to give in and let me take care of her.

Her fridge was full; she'd been preparing to cook several meals for us. There were a few ingredients missing, though. I made sure she was resting, and then slipped out. I visited the drug store, and then a grocery store. I got 3 varieties of chicken soup, chicken stock, then a whole chicken and some vegetables.

My cooking skills are right up there with my dancing ability, but I called Mom and had her walk me through a basic chicken soup recipe.

Sophie slept through most of the night. She was exhausted. Unfortunately, her temperature was a little higher. I called on Dr. Google for help. She didn't have a stiff neck, or shortness of breath, or any other worrisome symptoms.

- "Rest." I said. "Rest and fluids. Including Dr. Grey's famous chicken soup."

- "Famous?" Sick as she was, Sophie grinned at me.

- "Okay, first. But you have to try it."

She did. "You made this?"

- "I had some help."

- "It tastes wonderful. Thank you."

- "Anything for my girl. I love you."

Oops. That just popped out.

Sophie grinned again. "I know you do."

She sweated through her sheets that evening. I made her get up and have more soup while I changed her bed. She seemed to sleep a little easier after that.

She was much better the following morning, but still weak. As it was a Monday, I called in sick for her. The receptionist (or whoever answered the phone) wished Sophie well, and told me not to worry about it.

Sophie's phone rang an hour later. I'd used her phone to find her workplace number, so I recognized the digits when they showed up. I decided to answer it.

- "Sophie?" said a male voice.

- "She's ill." I said. "May I take a message?"

- "I want to speak to Sophie. Put her on the phone."

I didn't like this guy's tone. "She's asleep. Recovering from a fever. She won't be coming in to work today. Who are you, anyway?"

- "This is her supervisor. You tell Sophie that a hangover is no excuse for a day off. I want her here ASAP."

I hung up.

Was this one of the reasons that Sophie was so tired?

- "Was that my phone?"

- "I took care of it, Sweet."

- "Who was it?"

- "Your supervisor." I said. Then I did a bad thing: I read my girlfriend's mind.

Disgust. Revulsion. She didn't want to talk about him.

"Is he hard to get along with?" I asked her, further priming the pump.

Domineering. Crude. Sexual harassment. Abuse of authority.

I made Sophie comfortable, got her to drink a bit, and encouraged her to rest. Then I looked up her workplace, and did an internet search of Dr. Robert Dallaire.

By noon, I was the lab where Sophie worked. I asked the receptionist, Suzanne, and the security guard about Dr. Dallaire, and read their minds. Confirmation.

I was incandescent with rage by that point, but I managed to control my emotions. Suzanne was willing to follow my instructions; she went off to tell the supervisor that 'Sophie's boyfriend' was waiting to see him.

He kept me waiting for almost an hour; these 10-cent dictators are all so predictable. He was looking forward to a confrontation, secure in his position, his multiple degrees and his high salary.

Dallaire was tall, dark and handsome. He smiled smugly as he saw me, and came to a snap judgment. I was so much beneath him.

- "Dr. Dallaire." I said. "I'm Peter Grey."

- "The card trick guy?" he said, with a sneer.

I didn't bother with a clever comeback; I simply unleashed Janine's bladder control spell. Dallaire pissed his pants.

His eyes went wide with horror as he wet himself. The supervisor ducked sideways and quickly entered his office, so that no one could witness his embarrassment.

I followed him, and shut the door behind me. I snapped a photo of him, so that he wouldn't be able to complain that I'd assaulted him.

- "I'm not just the card trick guy." I said. "I'm your fucking nemesis. I really can read minds."

Dallaire just goggled at me.

"You're thinking of calling the security guard, but you're afraid that he'll see that you've pissed your pants. Besides, Francois is having a smoke outside."

"Now you're thinking that you'll charge me with trespassing. But Suzanne knows that I politely asked to see you, and your security cameras will only show you darting into your office, and then me calmly following you."

His mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

"Let me spell it out for you, Doc. You touch Sophie - anywhere - and I will ruin you. I mean it: you'd better not make physical contact of any kind with her - or with any of the female technicians, or Suzanne - or I will end your career."

"The first thing I'll do is to visit your lovely wife, Julie, and your daughter, to tell them about what you get up to at work. Julie will immediately remember that case in Quebec City - what was her name ... Chantal?"

Dr. Dallaire pissed himself a little more - and I hadn't cast another spell.

"If you say or do anything inappropriate to Sophie - or to any of your female employees - I will fucking end you."

At this point, Dallaire had suddenly begun to believe in magic. I was reading his mind (despite the tremendous concentration and energy required) so that I could spit out secrets and bits of inside knowledge as fast as he thought of them.

"And if you annoy my girlfriend in the slightest degree, Bob, I'll tell your wife about Yvette ..." (whoever the fuck that was) And then I stopped reading the Doctor's mind, because some kinks and degenerate hobbies should never be discussed. Or even thought about. I wanted to go home and wash out my mind.

He was breathing heavily, leaning on his desk, bathed in sweat (and urine).

"I won't have to come back, will I?" I asked.

***

Sophie took Tuesday off as well, on the recommendation of her supervisor. She was feeling better - enough to sit on her couch and watch a movie with me. It was difficult to concentrate, though, because her phone kept buzzing and ringing, as the calls and texts flowed in.

- "Okay, Mr. Innocent." she said. "What did you do?"

- "Me?"

Sophie gave me the look.

"I might have had a short conversation with your supervisor."

- "What? Why would you do that?"

I gave Sophie the edited version of Monday's events, beginning with her supervisor's phone call.

- "You did that for me?" she said.

- "I did that for us."

She leaned her head against my shoulder. "My hero."

I showed considerably more courage later that week, when I agreed to meet Sophie's father and his girlfriend.

They say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. In Sophie's case, I could only hope that she'd fallen from the tree, bounced down the hill, and rolled into the river - to be swiftly carried many (many) miles from her point of origin.

Her Dad was ... a complete dick.

Despite that, we had several wonderful days together after she got better. Actually, I would have to say that my chicken soup brought us closer together, too.

I didn't want to leave her, but I was dealing with my own version of the Prime Directive.

***

#2 Elodie Brugges, Belgium.

Sammy came with us on the European tour. I didn't want to leave him behind again, and there were only two women left on the list, so Lillian (or Janine) would only have to run interference twice.

We did shows in Dublin, Liverpool and Manchester, then a few more in London. I wasn't sure why we used two weeks before hitting the continent - maybe it was to make some money - I wasn't exactly sure how much we cleared from each appearance.

Amsterdam. Brussels. Brugges.

Elodie's girlfriend 'won' tickets to our show. She was a bit shy (I was doing my usher bit so that I could examine her at close range.

Elodie was ... presentable. Big hair, concealing much of her face, maybe 5'7" ... she was the type of girl you wouldn't give a second look. She was a professional student, working part-time in a retirement residence. I got the impression that she was kind, and patient.

I gave Janine a qualified thumbs up, so that Elodie was called up as our second volunteer. She did fine. I didn't get much more than the basics from reading her mind. But I did give her the magically charged handshake.

I did a creditable acting job, feigning surprise - my face must have looked much like Elodie's.

We were pretty sure that she wouldn't hang around after the show. She didn't. That was fine, because Lillian had done her research. Janine and I were well prepared, sitting in the cafe where Elodie and her roommate had their morning coffee.

Elodie and her girlfriend came into the cafe, hand in hand. They hadn't caught sight of us. Then Elodie turned to her friend / roommate ... and kissed her on the lips.

Yeah ... it was a real kiss. I love you, with tongue.

I turned to Janine, who was staring at the two Belgian girls.

'Houston - we have a problem', I thought.

*****