That Magic Mischief (23 page)

“Thanks.” She smiled, and wiped away a lingering tear. “That was perfect. I really appreciate all your help.”

Pookas blush. Who knew? “Sure, a little appreciation goes a long way. You could do with having some manners put on ya.”

Annabelle noticed that the Pooka seemed unnaturally agitated. Was Callie actually wringing her hands? The brilliant hazel eyes were clouded with anxiety, and while the rest of her was still a shadowy gray color, she was looking even more dense than when in her earlier avian incarnation.

“Putting on weight?” Annabelle cracked. The alarm in Callie’s eye’s multiplied, and Annabelle rose to comfortingly put her hand on the Pooka’s little head. “Come on, Cal, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on —
and
we have to have a conversation about the Queen of the Ban — ”

“Sssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Callie hissed, as she flew up into the air and around the room, searching in corners, peeking around doors, peering out the window. Her whole body vibrated with nerves, and Annabelle was starting to feel a bit paranoid herself.

“I know we have a deal and everything, and I am still not interested in being forced to go on some wild Pooka chase to Ireland, but … what’s going on? You look kind of terrified, and I, well, I wouldn’t mind helping you as long as it doesn’t entail leaving the country.”

Callie hissed. “Ah sure, what could ever shift you from yer wee little flat and yer wee little articles and yer wee little friends and yer wee little — ”

That
peace treaty hadn’t lasted. “I mean it, Callie. I’m tired of fighting with you. We’re getting nowhere. You’re in trouble, and I, by the way, am
not
a stick in the mud, or set in my ways!”
Hmmm. She’d get back to that later.
“Okay. So maybe I take you back to Ireland. Where in Ireland? How long do I have to stay? What exactly do I have to do?”

“Sure we’ll just, what do ye Yanks say, ‘play it by ear’?” Callie wheedled.

“No. Feckin’. Way.” Annabelle faced the Pooka, who was now practically hiding in the sink. “Minnehan told me about Her. Okay? So I know that you’re not out to get me or anything, that you’ve been forced into helping me, but hey, everything’s cool now, right? You got me all this work, I’ve been doing a lot of healing and thinking and stuff, I’m, um, meeting new people … “ She trailed off, avoiding Callie’s piercing gaze. “Can’t you just make contact, give the thumbs up, and … um.”

They looked at each other, and Callie was the first to look away. She was back to wringing her hands, and worrying a pendant that Annabelle hadn’t noticed before. It was made of stone, stone that looked as if it had been broken. The Pooka’s voice was a whisper as she lifted the necklace toward Annabelle.

“When we were punished by Herself, we were all given these — Ha! She only forced them about our necks. They are shards of the marriage stone,
Her
marriage stone, the one, through our harmless fooling about, em, we managed to blow to smithereens.” Callie shoved the pendant deep beneath her cloak. “The more time as goes by, the tighter the band around me neck. Only when every last scrap of stone is back in place will the geis be lifted and we’ll all be free.” Her head bowed, she mumbled. “It’s down to me.”

“What?” Annabelle cried, appalled. “What do you mean?”

Callie raised eyes gone dark green to bore into Annabelle’s. “It’s down to me. I’m the last one.”

Annabelle slapped her hands to her face and stood, frozen, in disbelief. “You’ve
got
to be frickin’ kidding me!” She scraped her fingers down her face and linked her fingers around the back of her neck. “Please tell me you’re joking. You’ve got to be joking! It can’t be all down to you! Why is this happening to me?

“All I wanted was to get over a relationship. That’s all! A few chants, and incantation or two. Some herbs, some candlelight! Incense! And what do I get? The world’s last remaining cursed Pooka on my conscience!”

Callie had expanded to fill the opposite end of the room, but Annabelle could see the strain in her face, the effort it was costing her to achieve intimidating proportions. Against her better judgment, Annabelle crossed over to Callie, and laid a hand on the Pooka’s arm. Looking into hazel eyes full of anger and fear, Annabelle tried to soothe. “Sorry. I’m kind of scared, okay? I don’t want you to be stuck in limbo for
eternity
, but I don’t want to head off into something that probably has consequences for me, and so far away from home.”

“Home.” Oh, shit, was Callie going to
cry
? “Home, for some, is a more fluid concept than for others.”

“And this whole husband thing.” Annabelle gulped. “So I lied, I do want to get married, but to have a marriage, not just a big party and a big dress, and
not
just to bail you out of a jam! I mean,” Annabelle hesitated, and took a chance. “Maybe I could have some kind of idea of, you know, who? Who it was? Maybe I’d be less nervous?” She trailed off. Callie had gotten her emotions under control and had shrunk back down to look Annabelle in the eye.

“I can’t say.”

“You could, but you won’t?”

“I can’t and I musn’t.”

“You might if you wanted?”

“I could if you … ”

“If I … ?”

“If you asked.”

“I did ask!”

“
Specifically
.”

Annabelle gulped. “Oh. So if I put a name to him, if I said, uh, ‘Is So-and-So my future, um, husband’, then you could say?”

“Yay or nay.”

In the thickening, fateful silence, Annabelle remembered being a little girl, tearing the petals off of poor innocent daises, playing with Ouija boards, begging to pull the wishbone … and as she got older, investing divinatory power into the quizzes in monthly issues of
Cosmopolitan
, always, always with a variation of the same question in mind:
Will Joey be my boyfriend? Will Bobby ask me out? Will Wilson marry me?
Everything else — college, writing, career, seemed to be within her grasp, within her power, but this, this world of her heart, had always seemed cloaked with mystery, shrouded with uncertainty, a source of bafflement and secrecy, and the only thing that she felt she didn’t have the notion of a clue about.

And now here she was, countless dead daisies later, standing in front of her very own Pooka, with an invitation to inquire, with a
guarantee
of an
answer
… and she was mute, she was stalling, she was exhilarated, she was frightened, it was too much, it wasn’t enough, the moment was now, the moment was upon her —

The moment had passed. An explosion of activity in the hallway, a noisy gang of girls giggling and shrieking as they charged down the staircase and rushed out of the building an into the open-ended possibilities of a Friday night on the town, caused Callie to snuff out like a candle, leaving Annabelle alone, with a seriously missed opportunity.

“Have you spoken to her lately?” Lorna tightened her scarlet pashmina around her neck. It was yet another glorious day, but the springtime air still held a bit of winter’s chill.

Maria Grazia nibbled on the fruit and yogurt she’d ordered to tide herself over until the other two were ready to eat. “Only to tell her about this.”

“How did she sound?”

Maria Grazia sighed into her cup of cappuccino. “She sounded really well. Bright. Happy.”

Lorna’s brow creased. “Good. I mean, really. Maybe this magic plant thing has passed.”

“Well, I didn’t ask her. I’m still feeling guilty about that botched set-up thing.”

“Did she mention Da Vinci?” Lorna kept an eye on the passersby, should Annabelle materialize among them.

“No.”

“Oh.”

They sat back and watched the passing traffic. From their vantage point, early Sunday afternoon Chelsea was just beginning to pick up speed, as matching couples walked matching dogs up and down Eighth Avenue: the cutting edge, fashionable fellows marched by with tiny Jack Russell terriers on leather leads, the rough trade boys accompanied by pit bulls with red bandanas around their necks, just like their masters, and the random hetero family with a big shaggy mutt, all went about the business of either eating out and reading the Sunday papers, or fetching bags full of bagels and cream cheese to eat at home while they read the Sunday papers. Car traffic was at a minimum, and while an occasional bus rumbled up toward Penn Station, the terrace of the Rocking Horse Cafe was delightfully carbon monoxide-free.

“I do not want to do this.” Maria Grazia grumbled. “I do not want to get involved, I do not want to interfere, I do not want to referee. There’s a reason I keep out of this shit, I grew up with this shit, somebody not talking to everybody, it makes me frickin’
pazza
, I did not want to get mixed up in that that misguided set-up thing and look where it got me! One of my best friends hating me.” She signaled the waiter for another serving of fruit.

Lorna ignored Maria Grazia’s rant, and snuck another drag. Even if it was a potentially lazy Sunday, she was still annoyed that Annabelle had yet to show. “She does not hate you. Why is she always late?”

“I am
not
always late.” Annabelle breezed up to them, arms full of irises and daffodils, a bright smile on her face. “I was, in fact, too early, so I went over to the flower market. Aren’t they beautiful?” She settled the bouquet into the seat next to her, and beamed at her friends.

Maria Grazia smiled weakly, and Lorna scowled.

“What’s your problem?” Annabelle asked casually, casting an eye over the menu. “Where’s our waiter? Have you ordered? Did you buy the paper? Aren’t I full of questions?” She laughed, and several heads turned at the unjaded sound.
No one
laughed disaffectedly in
Chelsea
.

Maria Grazia’s second appetizer arrived, and Annabelle ordered a bagel with lox and cream cheese, earning another deadly glare from Lorna, who asked for dry toast and another black coffee. The glower intensified after Annabelle and the waiter engaged in an exhaustive comparison of the various herbal teas the restaurant offered, and their strengths and weaknesses.

“Stop scowling, Lorna, you’ll ruin Maria Grazia’s digestion. Oops, forgot! Nothing ruins Maria Grazia’s digestion!” Annabelle fussed with her flowers. “I feel like I haven’t seen you both in ages. Not since before you both stood me up, anyway.”

A strange and complicated silence settled over the table. Annabelle ignored it and, humming to herself, watched the people go by, getting lost in the parade of personas and their pets. A breeze blew in off the Hudson, tinged with the tang of the sea, and she had a sudden vision of miles of high cliffs, and the ocean pounding at their feet, gulls swooping up above the grassy rim, and below near the rocks, as the hypnotic sound of the water crashing against the land lulled her into rest along with the warm, bright sunshine —

“Anna!”

Blinking a bit, Annabelle came back down to earth. “Hmmm?”

“I said, let’s just get this out of the way!” Lorna lit another smoke, and Maria Grazia studiously mixed and re-mixed her berries with the creamy vanilla yogurt.

“Get what out of the — ”

“The thing! The thing at the show, the set-up thing!”

Annabelle looked genuinely puzzled. “What about it? That was weeks ago.”

“So? So you haven’t been calling me or Maria Grazia, Maria Grazia has been so worried that you’re mad at us — ”

“I’m not mad, I’ve been busy,” Annabelle interjected. “I’ve been working, like, every day — ”

Lorna barreled on. “And I — well, I simply don’t have the patience for one of your snits.”

The waiter dropped down the beverages, and fled. Annabelle stirred her tea, and as she gazed into her cup, she imagined that the slowly swirling tea was picking up speed, spinning about faster and faster, taking on the force and power of a whirlwind gone out of control, and Annabelle realized that she was getting seriously pissed off.

“I am not in a snit.” Annabelle calmly sipped her tea, but felt a flow of anger slide down her throat into her belly. “Far from it, in fact. I am,
in fact
, in the best mood I’ve been in since Wilson dumped me. Remember? I got rather viciously dumped a bunch of weeks ago.”

“Six and a half. Six and a half weeks ago.” Maria Grazia mumbled into the dregs of her cappuccino, and grabbed a piece of Lorna’s toast.

“Almost two months? Really?” Annabelle shook her head. “I can’t decide whether it feels more like two days or two years.” She sat back, forgetting that she’d just been in the middle of a burgeoning tirade. Two months. That didn’t seem like a huge amount of time to get over something that had been a big part of her life for all those years, but time was relative, maybe the relationship actually didn’t merit much more grieving, but it did seem like she might like some closure —

“
Anna!
”
Lorna waited impatiently as their server doled out their orders, including Maria Grazia’s three scrambled eggs with sausage and bacon, rye toast, and a side order of hash browns, which she reached for like a lifeline.

“Calm down, missus, and leave MG alone, you know she hates this kind of thing.” Annabelle serenely spread cream cheese on the lightly toasted sesame bagel. Arranging red onion and capers on the soft surface, she then layered the almost transparent strips of salmon over the top of the whole thing.
So much neater this way
, she thought as she admired her handiwork.
No capers slipping and sliding all over the top of the lox, and the onion helped anchor them down —

Lorna’s fist slammed down on the tabletop. Annabelle took an enormous bite of her bagel, and suppressed the desire to grin at her agitated friend.

“Go on,” Annabelle urged, after a thorough chewing-and-swallowing. “Something seems to be on your mind.”

Lorna shoved away her portion of unbuttered toast, and signaled for more coffee. She composed herself by flattening her already orderly and shining mane, smoothing her hands over her cheeks, and rearranging her pashmina. “I’ll get to the point. We admit, we were in collusion with Kelli, attempting to orchestrate a successful meeting between you and Michaelangelo.”