Love Without Magic Can Be Magical

Mother's demeanor returned to her normal as she made up her mind to talk about it. "I was very much in love with your father."

I couldn't contain myself, "What?! Impossible!"

She sadly shook her head, "No. True story. I didn't just fall for him, I fell for him hard."

She thought for a moment and then continued, "You'll never guess where I met him. It was at the beach."

I was still in disbelief, "No way, with your fair skin? I've never known you to go out in the sun."

She chuckled, "I have a good spell for that, remember? I taught it to you. Anyway, it was my 30th birthday. And you know what that means for witches. Good ones, that is." I rolled my eyes at her for the dig. "I was hot-to-trot, wore a no-spell-necessary bikini, and watched the men play volleyball. That's when I spotted him. He never knew why the ball kept bouncing to my feet, but he'd recover it from me with a cute smile and the prettiest green eyes you ever saw. Which is where you got yours, by the way.

"So, I made up my mind that he was going to be the one. With a little assist from a spell, we got to know one another. The more I got to know him, the more I saw him, the more I wanted from him. I made up my mind that I was going to go against the grain and, witch tradition be damned, I was going to keep him.

"Now, remember, what did I always say about the love induction spells? One, the lighter they are, the quicker they wear off. Two, the heavier you bulldoze them, the more it can drive your victim insane. Three, the more you repeat using it after the effects wear off, the harder it is to induce another.

"Your Gran taught me that too, when I was young, only I was too far gone and in love with your father to listen to reason. When I knew I was carrying you, I was going to tell him, maybe it would make him want to stay with me, maybe that would have worked, but he was miserable. He didn't love me, he loved another. He became very confused and couldn't understand how he could bounce back and forth between my bed and his true love's. He felt guilt, shame, and anger at himself.

"I continued being selfish until my spells lost their punch, and I watched him slip away from me.

"There is no spell that can ease the pain of unrequited love. So I turned that pain into anger. If I couldn't have him, nobody else would either. I dug deep, talked to some witch elders, and was led to the oldest, meanest, most bitter witch I could find who taught me the spell.

"I got your father alone one last time. I looked into his eyes and read his soul. I was close. So close. And I couldn't do it. I loved him enough that I just couldn't ruin his life. So, I let him go. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

She took a deep pull from her wine while I just sat there stunned. Drained even. Mom, the effects were even more so.

She at least perked up to give some happy news, "He's doing well. I check in now and again, he appears to be happy. Married his true love, had two boys and he's healthy. There's a lot of him in you, by the way. All the good stuff about you came from him."

She took another pull from her glass and got up from the couch. "I think I'm going to head up to bed early tonight. Goodnight, witch loves."

Then I watched her walk up the stairs, pulling invisible balls and chains at her ankles with her.

*

Halloween night's revelations were a lot to process. I didn't sleep very well at all.

I knew that I had a father out there somewhere. Only I never really thought about him. Knowing witch tradition, hell, family tradition, I just figured he was a nobody that mom chose who'd never remember the night of his life. Because he was literally just a tool.

Now I know he wasn't that at all. I don't know what to think about that.

Suddenly, my nameless, faceless, invisible father is a human being. Could he be an asshole like every other man, or could he be a good man? A kind man? Arghh.

Then there's Mom. Oh, poor Mom. My lifetime impression of her being a tough-as-nails, straight and narrow, rigid witchdom adherent had shattered in pieces all around me over a single glass of wine.

Gran was always the softie while Mom could sometimes be cold hearted bee-atch and ruthless. Many times, really. Now I know. Her heart wasn't cold, it was broken.

Tossing and turning throughout the night, I wept for her. Mind you that I don't do that kind thing.

I was just a terrible teen growing up and I never felt bad about it, now regrets were falling like rain made of bricks. And while she had to deal with my behavior, she would see my father every time she looked at me. A forever reminder. Aww, Mom.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at her the same. I made a promise to myself to be a better daughter.

Then what about love? Not the family kind, but the romantic kind. It sounds disastrous and terrible. Yet millions of people experience that, and from my observations it is every bit as powerful as magic. Only magic is dependable. It is strong and always works while love appears to be fragile. Breakable. Fade able. Work.

Love requires trust. Laughable in my case, or any other witch really.

Yet, Mom experienced it for real. Look what that did.

I considered going to a different coffee shop in the morning and never show my face in my regular place again. I had been going there for years, and there's enough regulars like me, I just didn't want the hassle. Only it would be a real hassle to go somewhere else, I like my regular place for its convenience, within walking distance of both my apartment and my shop.

So, why should I care? I don't know any of the regulars by name anyway and so why be concerned? Screw it.

I walked into my regular place and ignored the stares. I was tempted to instantly give everyone in the room acid reflux or a hemorrhoid or something, but why waste the energy on these losers.

I sat down with my iced, and looked around the room as my laptop booted and connected. Nobody was looking at me anymore. Except for Darrin. From a table across the room, he gave me a smile and a little wave.

I waved back with a smile and then watched him glitch. Poor guy.

Connected to WiFi, I checked my e-mail and instead of reading my favorite blogs or looking at my finances as I normally would, I pulled up a deep, dark corner of the web built by my generation of witches. I had it so much better than my predecessor's generations which only knew of spells handed down through a family tome.

Occasionally, spells would be secretly shared, by mouth with trusted families. Only we're not a very trustworthy species, so using another witch's spell came with enormous risk.

It came as no surprise, the very powerful kept their spells very secret. I wasn't able to find anything about Witch-Scorn.

I broadened my radius and was able to find a few spells that, put together, seemed to have a cumulative result that was similar to what Darrin was under. Two of the three had anti spells, and I bookmarked them.

I looked over at Darrin as I had done so several times and he was deep in thought, staring into his screen and typing away. He does this cute little thing in emoting his feelings with his eyebrows, I suppose depending on the tone of whatever he was writing. Damn, he's handsome. What a shame that he's untouchable.

*

I was a wreck the rest of the week. I'd see Darrin from a distance over our coffees, then I'd dig deep into research on the web being very careful to leave no trace of what I was doing. Then I'd open my shop and muscle through my day, using any dumb chore to wrestle the things away from my thoughts.

I started to look forward to Darrin's little wave in the morning. None of the other regulars had ever acknowledged me, unless apparently I was shrieking on the coffee shop floor while exposing myself.

Darrin was a no show over the weekend, and my shop was closed on Mondays when I would sleep in, so I didn't see him again until Tuesday. He was already there when I walked in. By design. I purposely showed up later than usual.

I sat the empty chair at his table. He didn't seem surprised but looked around and though the place was pretty busy, he couldn't miss the number of empty tables, including my regular one where I first met him.

"Good morning," he said cordially.

"Good morning," I replied. "I hope you don't mind sharing your table. I'll just feel better knowing you're close by in case I get targeted by any unruly beasts."

He chuckled, "Be my guest. I promise to slay any dragons that mean you harm, fair lady."

He glitched, lost his smile, and put his attention into his laptop. I did the same, wondering what he would have thought if he knew everything that crossed my screen concerned how I might find a way to save him.

*

Four mornings a week we sat at my old regular table together. I would get there first, he'd look for me when he walked through the shop door, and I'd make a simple gesture to come on over. Only our laptops would do any touching, showing more affection than Darrin and I.

We occasionally exchanged some pleasantry and a little background here and there. Cordial, pleasant, but still somewhat aloof.

I did learn he was in finance at a local company and he had little to no family, having lost his parents fairly recently to illnesses and his only sibling, a sister, living across the country. Everything he talked about regarding his personal life was spoken with discomfort. I stopped prying.

One morning I had a thought that might recall something happy, "Hey, Darrin, you never told me how you fared at the costume contest."

"Oh, yeah," he smiled at me and I got a flutter in my chest again, "we won. No biggie. I mean, there were only three entries into the group-costume category."

"Oh, that's great." I replied. "How fun."

He rolled his eyes, "I don't know about fun. I felt like a fool dressed like a crayon all day, trying to be a professional, but these people aren't like my old company. My old company was all business, head to the grindstone, fun was discouraged. This place, oh my god, the day after the Halloween contest my boss called a departmental meeting in all seriousness to discuss plans how we would win the Christmas tree decoration contest in, like, almost two months away."

I thought that was funny and laughed. He chuckled a little too but added, "No, don't laugh. There's a lot of work to do to keep this company in the black, yet nobody seems to care how close we are every day to closing our doors. Too much energy on silly things."

I tried to lighten it up, "Oh, come on. Maybe that's why they do silly things. The seriousness would become toxic if that's all you dwell on. Maybe you should embrace it."

"You know, you are right. I tell myself that all the time. It's not easy for me."

Now I felt sorry for him from another angle. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and . . . and . . . shit, sympathy isn't sexy but my other feelings were beaming to another planet with him already.

"Hey," I broke him out of the mood we were both in, "tomorrow's Thanksgiving. You're without family and, well, would you like to join me, my mother and grandmother?"

He glitched. Then he thought about it for a bit but with a frown. "Um. Thank you, but, um, no, I don't think I could."

I didn't want to press any more, wondering if it hurt him, physically or emotionally when he glitched like that. "Yeah, OK. If you change your mind, call or text me." I pulled a card out from my satchel and handed it to him. "The number is my cell, and the e-mail address I check frequently."

He studied the card and got a big grin, "The Spice Witch. What a great name. That's your shop?"

"Yeah," I responded proudly, remembering briefly how much Mom and Gran hated what I had named it. "I sell all kinds of spices for cooking or for aromatherapy, some I even grow myself. I even give cooking lessons using my spices."

He smiled brightly and asked, "Do you sell eye of newt?"

"I do," I responded mischievously.

Then he surprised me in a wild fashion, speaking theatrically and in a fake accent:

Round about the cauldron go;

In the poisoned entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights hast thirty one

Sweltered venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first in the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Filet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt, and toe of frog,

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

I lost my breath, and I got that flutter in my chest again. Recovering, "Macbeth. My favorite. How . . . "

He smiled at my admonishment and blushed a little, seemingly embarrassed by his theatrics. "High school thespian wannabe. It's my favorite too, by the way."

My heart swooned. He glitched. At what? My reaction?

He asked, "Do you really sell 'eye of newt'?"

I took a deep breath to recover from this strange wave of my emotion and shakily answered, "Yes, I do."

He shook his head in both disbelief and amusement.

That brought me back to Earth and I engaged in the norm, "I actually sell almost all of those spices in three witch's concoction, but something you need to know. In Shakespeare's day, Eye of Newt was the common name for mustard seed. All of the yucky things and animals in Macbeth's witch's recipe were actually flowers. Good spices for cooking too, by the way."

He laughed out loud. It was a nice heady, fun laugh. Which made me laugh and I was suddenly aware that we had gathered stares from the surrounding patrons. If I hadn't been so happy in the moment, I would have given them all 24-hours of hiccups, a spell I hadn't used since I was a little girl, but one that gave me a lot of amusement as well as a lot of wrath from Mom.

*

"Claret?" He used my name sheepishly, breaking my concentration from what I was reading on my screen, an anti-spell I had stumbled upon that had potential.

I responded with wisdom, "Hmm-uh, yeah?"

"I know this is weird and all, but, um . . ." His momentum stalled. His laptop was closed, I closed mine to give him my full attention.

"What is it, Darrin?"

At the sound of his name, he renewed his confidence, "My company's Christmas party is this Saturday night. I, um, don't really have a plus one, and, um, well . . . I could really use a friend. My colleagues, well, it's . . . it's a lot of pressure. I hate to burden you like this, but would you go with me? I'm not fitting in real well, and you . . . you're so pretty," he then glitched, hard, "maybe they'll leave me alone and things will get better for me."

He looked exhausted from just asking me and it was obvious how difficult that had been. He also looked defeated in anticipation of me turning him down.

It was not lost on me that he said I was pretty.

Which had taken a toll on him.

"Of course I will." I responded, reading between the lines. Handsome, relatively young, single, he was fresh meat for bitches at his place of work. Only he had a disability that none of them knew, Witch-Scorn.

I asked, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how hot do you want me to look?"

He glitched, then glitched again.

He really hadn't thought this all the way through.

*

I played the middle, 5 out of 10, though even a 5 was more than usual for me. I had never, ever done this, mind you, but If I had gone all slutty-hot-witch-scale-10, including a pheromone spell of aphrodisiac, I worried that I'd break him. Yet I dressed formally enough to at least impress his management and >hopefully< throw off the predatory women in his office.

Yeah. Capital fail. But, OK, this was all new for me, and I suppose for him. Live and learn.

He walked me through the venue and introduced me to his management, getting that out of the way. He went to get us drinks and I took a good look around. Not surprising, I had a number of dirty looks my way.

Alright, to be fair, maybe not so much as 'dirty' looks, but I was being highly 'appraised'. How about that?

No! Fuck that shit. I was being sized up from a number of different directions. My temper was rising and just before I ripped some nasty spells on the whole room, Darrin got my attention, handing me a glass of red.

"This room is mostly women," I observed out loud to him.

"Yeah, well, it is a top-shelf cosmetics company." He hushed his voice, "It's why I don't fit in so well. I think."

Suddenly there was a woman towering over us. Tall but the 4" pumps gave her more lift than she needed, her face heavily painted, enough to mask her age (late 40's maybe?) but not enough to conceal her smirk. "Merry Christmas, Darrin. Will you introduce me to your date?"

At first Darrin looked a little intimidated before he composed himself, "Claret, this is Susan Samualsen, our Executive Vice President. Ms. Samualsen, this is my date, Claret."

We shook hands but I felt a shudder run through me for the way she was trying to read me. I just knew somehow.

She spoke firmly but also, what? Kind of regally, I guess. Maybe it was the heavy Boston-sorta accent that made me think that. "Enough with the Ms. Samualsen bullshit, call me Susan. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that, Darrin. Nice to meet you, Claret. My, you are quite beautiful. Darrin, I didn't know you were seeing someone. Good for you. What a pretty couple you two make."

She put her hand out and with a long index finger lightly touched the underside of my chin and brought my face into position to gaze directly into hers. She narrowed her eyes in study. Then, spoke to, um, I don't know who. "Claire."

"Yes, Susan." There was suddenly a short, pretty woman in thick eyeglasses standing at Susan's side, holding a tablet.

Now Susan spoke out loud, but in code, "Bring me an SLS10, B-89," she paused briefly, really studying my face. "Yeah. How about an EB1014 and an ES . . . hmmm . . . an ES47." All that entered into the tablet, Claire nearly disappeared in a 'poof'.

She released my chin and gave me a friendly smile. "Are you from around here, Claret?"

"Oh, yes," I answered, glad that weird little scene was over. Stealing a glance around, I noticed the whole room had eyes on whatever that just was, and were still staring. "I've lived in San Diego my whole life. And you?"

She chuckled, "My accent didn't give me away? I'm from Massachusetts." Then she did the oddest thing and winked at me.

She addressed her next question to Darrin, "How long have you known each other? You haven't been in town all that long since relocating from New York."

Darrin got a puzzled look on his face. I'd later learn that he didn't interface much with the woman, her being several management rungs his senior. "Not too long. I met Claret in a coffee shop only a couple of weeks after I started here. On Halloween. She was the first friend I made after I got into town." Then he thought about what he said and added, "The only friend, actually."

Susan brightened, "Aww. How cute. A coffee shop." My guess was that Susan didn't spend much time in coffee shops.

Claire was suddenly at her side and cleared her throat. Susan praised her, "Excellent." She addressed Darrin, "Please get us all some champaign, will you?" It was an order, not at all a question. "While you do that, Claret and I are going to freshen up."

Susan didn't wait for confirmation that he had heard her, she put her arm in mine and I just went with the flow as she walked me to a room at the back of the hotel ballroom where the party was being held. Claire kept in step behind us while I really had to stretch my legs to keep up with Susan's goal post length legs. It was a miracle I didn't munch it in my new shoes.