Magic and Loss

imaginable. I returned to my dismal little studio apartment and didn’t go outside for two days.

“Then, on the third day, there was a knock on my door. I was sure it was the landlord, wanting to know where his rent was. But when I opened the door, instead of the landlord, I saw your father standing there, holding a huge bouquet of flowers! He’d tracked me down by talking to the producer who had taken me to the after-party. He told me he didn’t care if I was rich or poor—as long as I was me. But once he returned home, my insecurity got the better of me again. I began to worry that his parents might pressure him into marrying someone with more social standing.

“So I made one last call to Mistress Syra. I didn’t have much in the way of money, but I figured since I had grossly overpaid her with the tennis bracelet, I might have a little leeway. I told her I wanted a love potion; one that would make me the unquestioned queen of Timothy’s heart. The love potion she crafted was odorless and colorless, perfect for being slipped into food or drink, and I put it in his champagne while he wasn’t looking.

“I am not proud of what I did—in fact, I regretted doing it within moments of pouring it in his glass. But there was no going back, and I was genuinely terrified of losing him. Not so much to another woman, mind you, but to his sense of responsibility to his family. If your father is anything, he’s a dutiful Eresby. That very night he proposed to me. It should have been the happiest moment of my life, but it seemed so terribly hollow. It was like I had won a long distance marathon by cheating at the last mile.

“But what really worried me was the fact the love potion, like all magic, would eventually wear off. Of course I could always buy another vial and dose him again, but I had learned my lesson from the No-Knickers spell. I knew I’d end up paying a fortune every other week for potions of ever-decreasing strength.

“I decided the best plan would be for me to steer clear of any more magic and simply make myself indispensable to your father. I thought that if I became the perfect high-society wife, he might stay married to me once the potion wore off, or even fall in love with me for real. So I threw myself into doing all the things expected of me: organizing charity balls, lunching with the right ladies, and keeping myself a size two—and I haven’t stopped since.”

“And did it? Wear off, that is?” I asked, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “In the thirty-five years we’ve been married, your father’s feelings for me have not changed in the least. That just means every morning I wake up wondering if this is the day I’ll find him looking at me as if I was a stranger.”

She paused for a moment and when she looked at me her face softened and lost its usual reserve, which I had come to view as its default expression. Up until a half hour ago, I thought my mother was just another socialite with a drinking problem who spent her life doing nothing but shopping, gossiping, and dieting, but now I was seeing a whole different person I had never dreamed existed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been the mother I should have been to you, Timmy. I was so busy imitating the high- society women around me in order to fit in, I copied all their failings, too. Part of me has always been . . . distant toward you, through no fault of your own. Perhaps it’s because I was never close to my own mother, or because I’m unsure whether you were conceived in love—or something else. Whatever the reason, it’s no excuse for me handing you over to others to raise.” She suddenly leaned forward and grasped my forearm, clutching it tightly, like a drowning woman grabbing the hand of a rescuer. It was the closest she had come to hugging me in years. “I know I don’t show it the way I should, but never, ever doubt for a moment that I love you, Timmy. I have everything I ever dreamed of when I was candling eggs and milking goats on my parents’ farm: a rich husband, a wonderful home, fast cars and fashionable clothes, and a beautiful and talented daughter. But I got it through trickery, and now I’m paying the price through my child.”

“Mom—I don’t know what to say,” I said, shaking my head in amazement. “I had no idea. . . .”

“Of course you didn’t. What mother wants to admit that she cheated her way into marriage? Or that she let her own insecurity get in the way of raising her child? Much less that her dabbling in magic has turned her only daughter into a . . . a . . .”

“‘Weirdo’?” I suggested helpfully. “Mom, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this. My magic powers have nothing to do with whatever potions you swallowed or spritzed on yourself, decades ago. I know for a fact that I’m not the only human in Golgotham who has been affected. I’m not a hundred percent sure why I’m able to do magic now, but I do know that none of this is your fault.”

My mother smiled and gave a half laugh and half sob as she daubed at the tears returning to her eyes.

“And, Mom? I like this story of how you and Dad met a lot better than the old one.”

“Thank you for saying that, sweetheart. Your father and I will always love you, no matter what, but, I beg you, never bring the silverware to life again. We have to eat with those things.”

* * *

As I headed back to my room, I kept thinking about everything my mother had said. It was the first time in our shared lives that she had spoken to me as a fellow adult, instead of a child. The mythology of my childhood had been blown apart, but, to my surprise, I was cool with it. So my textile tycoon grandfather didn’t really exist —big deal. I never met him in the first place. But now I know where my artistic streak came from—my ex-showgirl mother! It almost made up for the news that the only reason my father asked her to marry him was because she slipped him a love potion.

As I prepared to go to bed, there was a knock on the door, and a second later my father stuck his head into the room. “Are you decent?”

“About as much as I’ll ever be,” I replied with a laugh.

He stepped into the room and sat down on the corner of the bed beside Beanie, who was sound asleep and snoring like a buzz saw. “Does he always sound like that?” He frowned.

“If you think that’s bad, just wait until he starts breaking wind,” I chuckled. “Is something wrong, Dad?”

“Can’t a father check in on his daughter and see how she’s doing?” he protested.

“I’m okay, I guess. I’m just feeling a bit dazed and glazed right now,” I admitted. “It’s been a long, stressful twenty-four hours.”

“I’m pleased that you and your mother were able to talk—and without any shouting, I might add.”

I studied him for a long moment, uncertain whether to say anything. Growing up, I had wondered why he always allowed my mother to have her way, no matter what it might be. Now it all seemed to make sense.

“Dad—how would you feel if everything you thought was real turned out to be an illusion—?”

“So I take it your mother finally got around to telling you about how we met,” he said with a laugh. “Did she also tell you about how she slipped a love potion into my champagne?”

“You know about that?”

“Of course!” he replied. “I’m one of the richest men in the world! And back then I was one of the most eligible bachelors in this, or any, country! I was always getting dosed with love potions and having Come Hithers cast over me by gold diggers. That’s why I always wore counter-charms and carried antidotes on my person at all times.”

“You mean Mom didn’t bewitch you?”

“Oh, I’m under her spell—but it has nothing to do with magic!” he laughed. “I was enchanted by your mother the first time I laid eyes on her. She’s an amazing woman, you know that? She’s a real firecracker, and isn’t afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in. You and she are a lot alike. I suspect that’s why you two are always butting heads. Unfortunately, I fear she’s reliving some unresolved issues she had with her parents through you, especially in regard to your decision to become an artist. I know she hated quitting the stage to marry me—but my parents insisted on it. That’s why she’s such a passionate fund-raiser for the ballet, you know.”

“If you’re not spellbound, why haven’t you told her yet? She’s spent years waiting for you to come to your senses and replace her with some bimbo who looks like a pool toy.”

“And lose what little leverage I have in the relationship?” he exclaimed. “Are you nuts?”

* * *

After my father bid good night and kissed me on the forehead, I changed into my nightclothes and climbed into bed. It was far bigger and much more comfortable than Nessie’s living room couch, but it was also just as cold