Time Spell Read online

  The current parental divide drifting between my parents reminded me of when I was a little girl and wanted to go away to summer camp. My father adamantly maintained I wouldn’t be able to spend two weeks away with normal girls without giving up my magical secrets. Mama knew all of the girls in my class were attending Camp Riverside and, for me, it was a chance to fit in. I wanted to float in the river in a canoe, stay up all night telling ghost stories and braiding hair, and make fun of the bad camp food. I promised I would write letters to them every day, and I wouldn’t use one teeny, tiny ounce of magic. On the last day the deposit was due, I heard my father pick up the phone in his office and call the Camp Riverside director. Mama and I had worn him down—I was going to camp.

  As soon as we entered the kitchen, the allure of coffee, cinnamon rolls, and bacon wafted through the air.

  “Do I hear Hollywood walking through our halls?” my father bellowed from over the frying pan.

  His frame filled the kitchen. He was a large man with a gentle spirit and inner calmness that I gravitated toward whenever something went wrong in my life. He had big, strong hands and kind eyes that had always made me feel safe and secure since I was a little girl.

  Daddy owned and operated Bon Appétit Y’all in the downtown restaurant district, and once was even featured in the editor’s choice pages of Southern Living. Until now, he was the closest thing our family had to a celebrity. I’ll never forget how proud my mother was when his “Shrimp and Grits” recipe was featured. She had the article framed, and it hung among the family timeline of milestones in the foyer hallway.

  It took years to perfect the right mixture of ingredients that gave his dishes his signature flare. He studied at the best culinary schools and even offered an internship program for aspiring Southern chefs at his restaurant. Daddy loved to share his love of food with others, although we knew the young apprentices would never quite master his level of cooking. Because if you want to know the real secret to the fabulous meals and the long-term success of his restaurant, it really was magic.

  “Yes, Daddy, I made it back from New York early this morning.” I grabbed a piece of bacon from the platter and started nibbling on small breakaway pieces.

  “Well, how was it? We saw you on the news last night. You got a whole segment of local coverage. You’re quite the celebrity in town.” I could see the furrow in his brow start to deepen. It was obvious he didn’t equate his small stint in Southern Living to my overnight, national-fame status.

  “Oh, it was amazing! You should have seen the dress they sent me, and the shoes. Oh, Mama, they were the best shoes. Everyone was so welcoming and couldn’t be nicer. My hotel was beautiful, and the food was to die for. I hardly felt like I was working, I had so much fun. And you know, it really is a hit. It’s going to be a big summer movie.” I stopped to take a breath and realized they were both staring at me.

  My mother poured two cups of coffee and handed a mug to me. “Honey, we’re just so proud of you. You wanted to do this your way and you have somehow managed to do it. What’s next?”

  We both took sips of our coffee, and I gazed through the oversized bay window. I thought about how many times I had sat in this kitchen, just like this, with my parents, trying to figure out the next step in my life—whether it was a high school heartbreak or a debate on which college to attend. My life was full of memories like this one. I could only hope they knew how happy I was to share this moment with them, even if they were worried sick about my choices.

  I smiled. “I’m going to keep doing it. I’m going to find another story that needs to be told and I’m going to tell it. Just think, if I hadn’t done all of the research for Vegas Star, no one would know about what happened to Holden Chadsworth or all of those diamonds. I’m going to keep looking for more stories like that one that need to be shared.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. That story had to be told.” My mother glanced at my father as if to say, Pitch in with a compliment, Richard. Instead, I could see him tense up as he hesitated, probably with a well-rehearsed speech.

  He gripped the pancake spatula. “Ivy, this is getting too dangerous. Have you really thought about what could happen to you, what could happen to all of us if your magic gets discovered? This thing”—he waved his spatula in the air—“is getting bigger by the minute, and we’re all in jeopardy if anyone finds out. The stakes are just too high. Why didn’t you just go with a pen name if you felt so strongly about the stories, or give them to someone else to write? I don’t see how this can turn into anything but a problem.” He tossed a few more pieces of bacon on the platter and refocused on the stove. “Everyone else in the family has found a way to use our magic without telling the world what we do and who we are. Can’t you do the same? At least consider it?”

  I thought about Ian and his work as a detective, or my Aunt Susan and her financial advising business. They were successful because of their magical skills. Why couldn’t my father see what I was doing was the same thing? The only difference was my work garnered a few headlines.

  I sighed and crossed the kitchen to give my father a hug. “Daddy, we’ve talked about this. I’m careful and no one would even think that what I can do is possible. I have the best security. I’ve got you, Mama, and Ian looking out for me. I can write and be a witch, you’ll see. Besides, I would make a terrible florist or cook or teacher—that’s just not me.”

  I hoped I had convinced him, but the doubt was still in his eyes, and I knew the only way to prove what I had said was true was to show him I was capable of handling the fame and the magic. “Grits? Are we having any of your grits? You know those are my favorite.” I smiled.

  My father arched an eyebrow in my direction, and pointed to a pot of creamy grits steaming on the stove. A long wooden spoon stirred in swift circles, even though my father shuffled more bacon onto the platter. This seemed like a bad time to point out the magic he was using to make us breakfast. I stopped the spoon in mid-stir and tasted the grits.

  My mother cleared her throat. “All right, you two, for now we have a famous screenwriter joining us for breakfast, so let’s eat.” Mama pointed at the table. “Voila!”

  A bright bouquet of white hydrangeas and yellow roses appeared in the center of the table circled by three bone china plates and coffee service with silver place settings and crystal juice glasses. Flecks of sparkly dust evaporated in the air around each petal, as if to show off her work. She gave me a quick wink before straightening her skirt and placing her napkin in her lap under the table.

  Long ago, my mother, Violet, had opted to abandon her talents and skills in potions to work alongside my father at Bon Appétit Y’all. Potions were a dying art in our world, because it took so much time, a commitment to studying, and an innate ability to identify the ingredients to blend with the perfect amount of magic. It still made me sad for her when I thought of what she had given up to gain time with us.

  Whenever I mentioned potions to her, she always laughed and smiled at me. “You, Ian, and your father are my life. I helped a lot of people with potions, but that part of my magical work is in the past. One day you’ll have a family and you’ll know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t a choice for me.”

  Now, she mainly organizes all of the special events at the restaurant, and there isn’t a more beloved coordinator in Sullen’s Grove. Brides gush about how wonderful she is to work with, and they go on and on about the flowers. I eyed a set of perfectly starched napkins lined up in the dining room for an upcoming event and smiled, knowing she had never ironed a day in her life. Even though she may have given up potions, my mother hadn’t given up magic. Flowers and linens don’t look like that on their own.

  “Mama, this is beautiful! Thank you.” With the table set only for three, I assumed Ian wouldn’t be joining us. “No Ian today I guess.”

  “No, he called this morning and said he is still working on a case from last night. He works way too much.” My mother shuffled her silverware around. She was a
lways worried about Ian’s line of work, and his late night cases left her unsettled and nervous. My brother could take care of himself, he was a witch after all, but that didn’t ease Mama’s fears.

  We managed to push pause on the magic controversy for the rest of brunch, and I filled Mama and Daddy in on all of the journalists I met, the celebrities I spotted, and a few of the touristy sites I was able to squeeze in during my trip.

  After brunch, I kissed them both good-bye and gave my father an extra hug.

  “Daddy, please don’t worry. I’ll be extra careful. Ok?” I smiled sweetly, knowing his defenses were down.

  He kissed my cheek. “I’m glad New York went well. We can revisit all this other stuff later.” He pointed to the breakfast table and sent the assortment of dirty dishes straight to the dishwasher. No need for anyone to bother with plates and bubbles this morning.

  I giggled at him. Some things would never change. “Ok. We’ll talk later.”

  I grabbed my bag and darted out the door.

  Ian was headed through the back gate. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his jacket was slung over his arm. He had dark circles under his otherwise bright eyes, and he looked slightly rumpled. “Hey, movie star!” Ian gave me a high five and flashed a toothy grin.

  “Someone hasn’t changed from work.” I gave him a mini-punch in the arm. “Or taken a shower,” I teased.

  “I know. I know. These cases are killing me. But I thought I’d try to get over here and at least eat something before I crash for the rest of the day.” It was hard keeping up with Ian’s hours when he started working the night schedule. “Did you leave me any bacon?”

  “Hey, I don’t eat all the bacon.” I didn’t want to admit I had considered it. “Mama saved some for you; she always does. I’ve got to run—miles to go before I sleep tonight.” I giggled as I held up a to-go bag in my other hand and waved it at him. We never left our parents’ house without leftovers.

  Ian and I were close, as close as adult siblings can be and especially witch siblings. He had the same sandy-blond hair and green eyes and was half a foot taller than I was. Tall genes definitely ran in our family.

  It was nice growing up with an older brother, and particularly in high school when his friends started hanging out at our house. What girl wouldn’t love that? I’d come home from school, and our living room would be loaded with guys playing video games or outside shooting hoops. However, Ian was not so happy when his friend, Derek, asked me to their senior prom. I was a sophomore, and Ian wasn’t interested in his little sister tagging along for the night.

  During the high school years, we learned to find more balance with magic. When we were children, it wasn’t as easy living with a secret that we had to keep from everyone. There was a time in both of our lives when it just seemed easier not to have friends than to try to navigate friendships with hidden magic. No one else had toys that could actually talk, planes that would fly through the sky, or soldiers that would play real war. We knew we were different, and that’s probably what kept us so close.

  Unlike Daddy, Ian didn’t give me a hard time about my books or the screenplay. He seemed to understand why I needed to write. After all, he walked a fine line everyday being a detective and a witch. Magic helped him solve cases, but it wasn’t his sole resource for finding answers or linking clues together. He knew I wanted a normal life, and he respected my choice to be a writer, even now as a newly famous writer.

  I breezed past him on my way to the car and hollered back, “Call me when you wake up, and I’ll tell you all about Julie Monaco.” I laughed as I saw his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Perfect timing for my devilishly quick exit.

  Ian was still standing with a hand on the fence post when I pulled away from the house. I lowered my sunglasses and smiled. I loved my family, and I loved days like today when I could share my world with them—even when they thought that world was a dangerous one.

  UGH! I had complete imagination block. I couldn’t decide where to go or even what kind of story I wanted to research. I had hopped all over the past century and hadn’t seen anything or anyone interesting yet. I flipped through a stack of mail that had been sitting on my desk for a week and then scanned a few more emails.

  It had been six weeks since my trip to New York, and I felt the pressure from Raven Publishing to hand in at least some concrete new material. I had bought myself time with the success of Vegas Star, but I had also bought myself a whole lot of high expectations from some important people.

  Cooper whimpered and laid his head in my lap. Oh, those sad, brown doggy eyes got me every time.

  “You know, you’re right, Coop. We need to get out of here and go for a walk.”

  I grabbed his leash and we hit the pavement. His nose had picked up the trail of something highly potent in his world, probably a pesky cat. I picked up the pace and jogged after him.

  My phone rang a few times before I glanced down to see Jack’s name on the screen. I inhaled, tried to calm the quick rush of adrenaline surging through my body, and answered as sweetly as possible, “Hey, Jack, I’m out with Cooper. Can I give you a call back later?”

  Jack Coleman is my unrelenting, but oh-so-attractive editor. I’ve flirted with the idea of an “us” for the past two years, but he never made a move or even hinted that he wanted to ask me out. Yes, I realized it could be completely disastrous to date the one person I completely surrendered to creatively and professionally, but I don’t think I even have a chance.

  The last time I asked him to meet me for coffee to talk about new storylines, he all but barked out a no and asked me to talk to his assistant about scheduling an office meeting instead.

  I’ve taken his hints to heart and have decided to follow the path of the professional high road and leave our contact to a business-only relationship. Even so, it doesn’t stop a girl from some serious daydreaming.

  I couldn’t conjure up a more perfect image of Mr. Tall Dark and Ruggedly Handsome for my books. Jack easily stood over six feet tall, had a square jawline, with the slightest dimple in his chin, dark brown eyes, and sun-tinted brown hair that sometimes was a little too overdue for a haircut. He wore his five o’clock shadow well and looked edible in every button-up shirt he wore to the office. My mind tripped over a quick flash of him buried in pages of my manuscript. He sometimes gave me this look when he read something of mine that clicked and registered a deeper meaning for him. He understood my writing and me.

  I wasn’t expecting the reaction I got on the other end of the call. His response was jolted me out of my tiny daydreaming session.

  “Ivy, this is urgent. Can you meet me in fifteen minutes, sooner if you can? It can’t wait.” I heard an exhale muffled into the receiver of his phone.

  “Sure, sure. I’ll be there in fifteen.” I hoped that was quick enough for him. He seemed serious.

  I frowned at Cooper, knowing it would be awhile before we’d get to reschedule our walk. Cooper’s nose was still on the trail and was not ready to be dissuaded from his pursuit of that cat.

  “I don’t want to meet at the office. Can you come to my place? It’s on the corner of Market and Corinth Avenue. It’s a brick ranch—one story, 1207 Cor—”

  I interrupted, “Oh yeah, I know where it is.” Great. I smacked my forehead, cringing at how I had let that slip. Now he knows I’ve done extracurricular research on more than Las Vegas diamond thieves.

  “Um.” An awkward silence followed. “Ivy, just get over here and I’ll explain or I’m hoping you will.” He hung up and I looked down at the dark screen in my hand.

  This entire call was weird. He always wanted to meet in the office and usually scheduled our meetings with extensive advanced planning. For a moment, I let the idea skip through my mind that maybe this wasn’t a meeting about publishing dates or pressure from the board for new material; maybe it was more personal. Although as quickly as it skipped in, I pushed the idea right back out. This was Jack, and he barely smiled at me—of course the call was busi
ness-related.

  I looked at my running shoes and legs, and decided it wasn’t a bad idea to change out of my yoga pants. I could spare five minutes for a wardrobe switch and make it to his house on time.

  I corralled Cooper in the house and made a dash for my closet. For the most part, I revel in how normal I can be and blend into the world like a regular girl, but there are times when magic is necessary for a quick fashion crisis. This was most definitely one of those times.

  In college, I always had to do things the slow human way so my roommates wouldn’t notice my skills. The discovery that I was a witch would only lead to questions or fear. I didn’t want either. I enjoyed my current solitude in the little bungalow on Southern Avenue, and the freedom it gave me to spell away whenever the occasion arose such as this one, when these yoga pants had to go.

  A quick glance over my shoulder in the foyer mirror told me I’d found the right blend of cute, casual, and sexy for an impromptu meeting with my off-limits boss. I’m glad I had discovered Francesca’s Boutique for outfits like this one. I snuck in as many shopping trips as I could between work travel, and the girls at Francesca’s had started pulling things from the racks for me in my size. Being a mini-celebrity had its perks. The girl in the mirror smiled back at me. I loved my perfected Glamour Spell. I grabbed my keys off the hook and rushed to meet Jack.

  He lived in an older part of town where I envisioned summers filled with children dashing through yard sprinklers, Christmas wreaths hung on every door during the holidays, and neighbors waving at each other on their sunset strolls down the sidewalk. The problem with the vision was that all of that had happened thirty years ago, and now the houses were unkempt, lonely, and laughter-free. Tall oaks towered over the streets and yards filled with memories of what used to be.

  I pulled up behind Jack’s Jeep parked in his gravel drive and noticed fishing poles hanging out of the back window. I didn’t know much about what Jack did when he wasn’t working at the office or hounding me for rewrites, but I guessed he spent a lot of time outside. Even in cold winter months, he still looked tan and he was always in shape. During our meetings, I couldn’t help but notice how his buttoned-up shirts lightly clung to his arms. Obviously, the man worked out a lot. I waited for the song to fade out on the radio before I pulled the keys from the ignition.