Who Needs Magic? (13 page)

I twist back and notice Jeni staring at me in awe. I’d saved the sippy cup without thinking, but it was obviously a good non-thought, and perfectly timed.

“See how easy that was?” I say, taking advantage of the moment. “That could be you.”

“So I just have to let you grant a wish and everything will … go the way it’s supposed to?”

“And you’ll live happily ever after.”

“Um. Okay …” She combs her fingers through the ends of her ponytail. “I’d like highlights.”

“Highlights are a small wish. I can do that for you, but I can do that for anybody.” Behind Jeni, a triple stroller with a trio of sleeping toddlers crosses the mini-bridge toward us. Their mother is talking on her phone as she pushes, not noticing that she’s about to run Jeni over. I grab Jeni’s hand and pull her away in time. “It’s dangerous here. Let’s walk around.”

“I only have a ten-minute break.”

“We’ll get back in time. Come on.”

We cross the trolley tracks, into the shade from the pseudo-balconies that jut out over the storefronts. “It’s the big wish that sets your life on the right path,” I tell Jeni as we stroll past the furniture store. “That’s the one I’m destined to grant for you.” I can’t believe how slowly she walks. I have to restrain myself from taking hold of her arm and tugging her along. “And the big wishes are always about love.”

When I say the word “love,” Jeni stops walking—although she was already moving so slowly, it’s not much of a difference. “But … that’s not … there isn’t
anybody …” She whispers this last part so softly, I barely hear it.

“There has to be or I wouldn’t feel this way.”

“
You
feel it?”

A flip-flopping remote-control car, operated by a nearby vendor cart sales guy, zips through our legs. I kick it aside. “That’s how we’re bonded. And how I know your big wish is huge, and is definitely about love.
And
how I know you don’t really want to send me away and have it never come true.”

Jeni doesn’t answer. I tilt my head, trying to meet her eyes. “Haven’t you imagined holding hands? Going on dates? Having a special song? Kissing?” It could be the breeze brushing past us and causing the loose strands of hair around Jeni’s face to flutter that makes it look like her head has dipped, just a little, but I take it as a nod. “This will make it
real
.”

Suddenly we’re propelled forward by a gaggle of women laden with bagged bounty from Vogel’s semiannual half-off clothing sale. They squeeze in and around and by us, and we’re finally spit out near one of the curvy shop-lined alleyways. The pulsing beat of hip-hop vibrates the air outside of Jump Kicks, the athletic shoe store. The sound crashes into the jazz orchestra music from the fountain speakers behind us. A shopper exits the shoe store, shopping bag in hand, and a gust of frigid A/C’d air bursts out—at the same moment that a wave of lovelorn yearning surges next to me.

Aha! Jeni doesn’t need to tell me her wish, because she’s staring right at him through the window, her longing reflection bracketed by a window display of orange and blue trainers stacked on white stepladders. He’s pointing out the features of a pair of high-tops to two guys in their twenties, who listen intently, hooked by Prince Charming’s enthusiasm. I recognize him. He’s the guy I let go in front of me at the Fizzy Bar line yesterday—when I felt the f.g. vibe for the first time.

“Good choice. He’s not only cute and nice, but he’s good at his job.”

Jeni blushes and turns away from the window. “I didn’t …”

“Too late. I know who it is now. There’s no going back.” The blush fades as the blood drains from her face and the panicked look returns. I grab her wrist to prevent her from fleeing. “You don’t need to be afraid. This is meant to be.”

“But he doesn’t even know who I am. I’m so … and he’s so …” She sighs wistfully. “It’s impossible.”

I have to admit it’s going to be a challenge. The adoration is obviously one-sided. The prince has glanced this way a couple of times, but his gaze has moved right over us. “It doesn’t happen all at once,” I explain. “There are steps. And it
is
possible. Didn’t you ever see that musical of
Cinderella
? The fairy godmother sang a song about how nothing’s impossible as long as you believe.”

Jeni thinks this over. “We’re meant to be,” she says, as
if she’s testing it, seeing if the thought will stick. There’s a glimmer of a smile on her face, and her expression grows pensive and dreamy. She’s hooked.

“Yes. You are.” I take her arm. “Let’s go in.”

Before we reach the door, a girl in a long teal velvet wrap skirt, ruffled olive top and espadrilles sweeps between us. “Excuse me,” she says, after she’s already shouldered me out of the way. She pushes open the door, but then hovers there for a second. Then, as if shoved by an invisible hand, she stumbles in.

Velvet Girl walks up to Jeni’s Prince Charming and stares up at him, squinting slightly. Her braided hair is tied at the end with a glossy emerald ribbon, and her dangling earrings, made of beads in every remaining shade of green in the big crayon box, sparkle in the store’s fluorescent lights. A slight shiver goes through me, as if some inner alarm has gone off. Like some extra-f.g. perception, but I’m not sure why. At the same moment, a shoe display falls off the wall and Prince C. grabs Velvet G.’s arm to pull her away from the hailstorm of cross-trainers. They both look down, then up, then at each other. Velvet smiles. Prince smiles. Their gaze lingers.

“Oh, no,” Jeni says. “Is that his girlfriend?”

“No,”
I say firmly. Because it
can’t
be. But my next thought is,
Not yet
.

Velvet’s cell goes off. She reads the message and glances out the window. I follow her gaze, but I already know what I’ll see—or rather
who
, because my brain has caught
up to my extra-f.g. perception. There she is, sitting on the stone wall of the fountain. Her back is to me, but I’d know that blond hair and pink sequined jacket anywhere. I can’t believe she can work her powers from that far away. And without even facing the right direction.

This needs to be stopped before it goes too far. Before Prince Charming’s down on his knees, about to slip a blue canvas running shoe onto Velvet’s bare foot, unaware he’s got the wrong Cinderella. I turn to Jeni to reassure her, but she’s gone. I spot her running across the mini-bridge, back to the Nutri-Fizzy Bar. I’ll deal with Jeni later. First I have to get rid of the pink, sparkling obstacle standing in the way of her wish.

I quickly cross the mall and step in front of Ariella, my shadow dimming her sparkle. She glances up from her texting. “Hi, Delaney! I’ve been calling you! Is your phone broken? I even went by the store this morning, but you weren’t there.”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Maybe we can get an ice cream later. This isn’t a good time, unfortunately.” She waves her lime stick in the direction of the shoe store and then goes back to typing. “I’m in the middle of something.” Behind her, the fountain’s water spouts burble quietly, as if they don’t dare disturb her concentration. I dare, though.

“I found my next client.”

“You did?” she says, but I can tell she’s only half listening.

“I granted a bunch of small wishes in a row, like you told me to, and
ping
, I got slammed with the f.g. vibe.”

The
ping
gets her attention. She forgets the phone for a second and smiles up at me. “That’s great, Delaney! Congratulations!” It’s a genuine happy-for-me smile. This is good. She’s willing to accept that she can be wrong. “See? I told you it would happen.” She pretty much told me the
opposite
, actually, but I let it slide, because if she wants to be f.g. friends again, that’s going to make this whole thing easier.

“There’s kind of a catch—”

Ariella’s cell chimes. “I want you to tell me
everything
, Delaney. But we have to do it later.” She frowns down at the message. “I’m having an issue with my beneficiary. She’s not being cooperative.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about—”

“I can’t afford these!” A girl with frizzy hair and a peasant skirt steps in front of me and thrusts a red plastic shoe bag in Ariella’s face. It takes me a second to realize it’s Velvet Girl, but the velvet is gone. She’s completely transformed—or should I say transformed
back
? Her clothes have gone from elegant and chic to dumpy and dull. The teal skirt is a dreary algae color now, the top is a faded sleeveless tee and the shoes are stretched-out beach sandals. It’s impossible to tell if the earrings are still there or not, because her hair has sprung loose from whatever magic had kept it bound in the braid and it cascades down around her shoulders like a teased-up lion’s mane.

“Hello?” I say to the back of her head. She whips around and squints at me through brown rectangular-framed glasses, which she definitely wasn’t wearing in the store. I try to remember her name. Something woodsy, like Moss or Pine. No, it began with an “F.” Flora? Fungus? Field Greens?

“Fawn, this is Delaney,” Ariella says. Right.
Fawn
. “Delaney, Fawn. Delaney is a colleague. You can speak freely in front of her.”

Fawn studies me for another suspicious beat. “You look familiar.”

“I was there,” I say. “Outside the shoe store. I saw what happened.”

Ariella regards me curiously. “
What
happened?”

Fawn turns back to Ariella. “He didn’t ask me out, that’s what. He didn’t even ask my name! And now I’m stuck with these.” She lifts the box out of the bag and opens it, waving the blue running shoes from the window display in front of us. “I don’t even like sneakers. I only wear sandals. My feet need to
breathe
.”

“Don’t worry about it. This was just a way to break the ice.” Ariella takes the shoes from Fawn’s hands and replaces them in the box. “We’ll return these later, when Ronald isn’t there, and get a refund.”

His name is Ronald? That’s not what I would’ve guessed. “Prince Ronald?” Hmm.

Her hands now free of the bag, Fawn arcs them through the air dramatically. “But he didn’t notice my dress or
anything
. I was just a
customer
to him.”

“Maybe you have the wrong guy,” I suggest. Fawn casts a panicked eyeglass-framed look my way.

“Very funny, Delaney.” Ariella slips the shoebox back into the bag. “She’s only joking,” she assures Fawn.

“No, I’m not. I really didn’t see any chemistry there.”

“Delaney.”
Ariella gives me a stern schoolteacher scowl, which is a bit of a joke when you look like Tinker Bell.

“It’s my professional obligation to inform you that a mistake has been made,” I tell Ariella. “You’ve targeted somebody else’s wish.”

Ariella studies me for a moment. She hands the shoe-store bag to Fawn. “Go back to work. I’ll come by when your shift is over.”

Fawn casts a worried look my way. “But is she—?”

“No,”
Ariella snaps. “This is about something else. Go on.” She flaps the back of her hand at Fawn, shooing her away. Fawn shuffles off in her floppy sandals, throwing occasional concerned looks over her shoulder until she disappears into the growing lunch crowd. Ariella folds her arms and faces me. “All right, what’s going on with you, Delaney? Is this about what happened at Castle Gates? Is that why you haven’t texted me back? Because you were too busy inventing this silly revenge plot?”

The sun’s pouring down on my back, which is not a great thing when you’re wearing all black. Or boots. “Can we talk somewhere else? I’m baking here.”

“Maybe you should dress more appropriately. It
is
summer. No one wears boots in summer.”

I fold my arms, mirroring her. The water jets choose that moment to shoot up, in time to the cymbal crash opening to the fountain’s next scheduled dance number. Misty droplets rain down on Ariella, who huffs, barks out, “Fine, let’s go,” and stomps off across the trolley tracks to the store opposite us. Well, sort of stomps, since it doesn’t really work in flip-flops. She may mock my footwear, but boots are much better for stomping.

I navigate through a pack of summer preschoolers and follow Ariella into the store. It’s refreshingly cool inside, but it’s also so dark it’s as if we’ve stepped into a cave. A cave filled with chanty, chimey music and burning sandalwood incense. Oh God, we’re in the Tranquility Den. Ms. Byrd loves this place, but I’ve never been inside. Yoga mats fan out on one area of the floor like a deck of giant cards. Shelves of candles, books and little plug-in, trickly fountains line the walls, and big velvety pillows with tassels are scattered around everywhere. At the back of the store, a girl with multiple piercings and colorful tattoos decorating one entire arm like a sleeve sits behind a counter lined with displays of crystal jewelry. She glances up from her phone, takes out an earbud and waves. “Hey! Welcome! Let me know if you have questions or need help with anything.”

“Thanks. We’re just looking,” Ariella tells her.

The girl offers her a peace sign and goes back to her music, which I can tell from the rhythm of her hip-swaying is slightly more up-tempo than the Franciscan monks
crooning with the whales—or whatever it is that’s playing over the store’s speaker system.

Ariella steps through a gauzy curtain that divides off one corner of the store. She gestures for me to follow. The space is set up like what I’m guessing is the ideal Zen meditation room, with a couple of big pillows on the floor next to a stone Buddha, trays of tiered candles that reek of vanilla even though they’re not lit, and end tables stacked with books with titles like
Be Calm
and
Relax
. Good place for a showdown. Ariella starts it:

“Just because you’re mad at me for being honest with you the other night, you don’t have to take it out on my beneficiary. If you
are
a fairy godmother, that kind of behavior is not going to help you build your powers.”

“I wasn’t taking anything out on her. I was being honest with
you
.”

“What about this ‘client’ you found? Did you make that up?”

“No. I have a client. Jeni Gold. She works at Nutri-Fizzy.”