Page 19 of Two’s A Charm

DOUBLE, DOUBLE, TOIL AND BIG TROUBLE

Bonnie

‘Dammit!’ Bonnie reached for a cloth to wipe away the pulp from the lemon that had just exploded all over the room.

Lemons were not only good conductors of electricity, but apparently, they were pretty good at channelling magic.

At least she’d had the good sense to bring over a pair of swim goggles from the house, or she’d be booking an emergency optometrist visit right now.

‘Sorry, little apartment,’ she whispered as she glanced around at the room above the bar. Sure, it was still mostly drop sheets and paint-swatch tests, and the floors were grooved from years of wear, but eventually it was going to be a cosy place filled with cushy seating and plush bedding.

Bonnie had fallen in love with it when she’d first toured the building with Hannah. It had been closed off, with a lock on the door, but Hannah had worked her realtor’s magic using her skeleton key, and they’d snuck in.

‘I had no idea this was even here,’ Hannah had said, pushing up her blazer sleeves as her inner interior designer took over. ‘Just imagine this with some cute boho furniture and soft rugs. And maybe a full rewiring so that you don’t electrocute yourself. There’s even a bathroom and a kitchenette!’

Bonnie had instantly seen its potential, and the opportunity to put some distance between her and Effie’s smothering motherly ways.

Bonnie was tired of being chided about her showers and her preference for putting the cereal boxes on the second shelf of the pantry instead of the third.

Not to mention the whole outside porch-light situation.

Or the endless battle over the order the cars should be parked in the driveway.

Anyway. The upstairs apartment still wasn’t liveable.

The wiring needed to be addressed, something Bonnie was working around with the strategic use of battery-powered string lights and tea candles in hurricane lanterns.

And the plumbing was almost certainly possessed by the spirit of a sewerage demon who had a horrifying habit of making the toilet water bubble from afar.

But a fresh coat of paint and an extensive array of throw pillows had gone a long way towards turning the apartment into a place for Bonnie to spend some time. On her own. Without judgement.

Nevertheless, until then, it was the perfect out-of-the-way space to work on finessing Uncle Oswald’s bespelled drinks.

Bonnie flipped through the hand-printed pages of the mixology grimoire, her heart sinking.

There were so many recipes, and they were all so complex, even discounting the whole magic part.

The book wouldn’t be out of place on display in a hipster speakeasy in the city, with snooty quotes from tattooed bartenders from competing establishments (all of whom would be vying for their own mixology book deal).

It was the enchantment side of things that truly worried Bonnie.

These were spells designed for use on people , and people were already complicated enough.

Bonnie, of course, had tried the occasional love spell as a teen, but it was always difficult to tell whether the spell had worked or whether her non-magical charms had drawn in the object of her affections.

Not that she was complaining. She’d also tried a few boob-enhancement and leg-lengthening spells, but once again, it was hard to know where nature ended and magic began.

Effie hated her for it, but Bonnie couldn’t help being blessed in that area.

Besides, it wasn’t that Effie was bad-looking.

She just hid her looks under baggy cardigans and those stern glasses.

Bonnie, you’re getting distracted.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Uncle Oswald’s spells each targeted a specific type of interest in magic, such as horoscopes, palmistry, or ghostly premonitions, and then diverted interest away from that specific magic.

The agate coasters, which were hexed to entice people towards Oswald’s shop, did the rest.

It was as easy as that, and as difficult as that.

Especially when Oswald kept pestering her about how things were going.

When she’d dropped off his freshly laundered handkerchief this morning he’d demanded to see photographic evidence of the hexed cocktails.

He hadn’t been impressed with the scorch marks and exploded lemons in Bonnie’s videos.

‘I was so sure you had it in you,’ he’d said, with the kind of disappointed air that took Bonnie straight back to her high-school days. ‘But if you don’t, I understand. I’m certain you gave it your best.’

Bonnie had immediately raced back here to prove him wrong. Well, after stopping at The Winged Monkey for a takeaway coffee.

Now, she huffed out a dejected breath. There was no way she could master all of the spells in the recipe book.

It would take weeks of dedication just to get the non-magical ingredients handled.

And Bonnie wasn’t exactly known for her keen study skills.

Well, unless it came to the names of the nail polish colours in her drawer. She had a photographic memory there.

But she had to get this figured out before the repo guy came for her Cadillac, and Willamina from the bank started knocking very politely on the front door.

Maybe there was a handy catch-all recipe she could try. One she could get a handle on before the bar opened for business tomorrow.

She flipped through the pages, looking for recipes that seemed both manageable for her and appealing to the townsfolk. She couldn’t choose anything too out there. If people couldn’t pronounce an ingredient listed in a cocktail, they’d probably avoid ordering it.

There. A concentrate called Memory Lane, comprising just four ingredients and a splash of enchantment. She could manage that. And best of all, it was purple, like Bonnie’s magic.

Bonnie grimaced as she saw the magical annotations – there was a whole language to magic that, unlike Effie, she’d never properly mastered.

A bit like musical notation, it guided you with gesture and language, helping you create the set of circumstances needed to bring the spell into being.

But not all magic was like that. You could also cast magic just by directing your emotion at a particular target.

Now that Bonnie was good at, even if it did tend to result in a touch of magical recoil.

Memory magic, though, that was tough. You had to be specific about what it was you were targeting, or you risked lobotomizing your audience. And people with no frontal lobes weren’t great at ordering drinks, which didn’t bode well for the bar’s longevity.

Well, she’d manage. Because if she didn’t, Willamina and the bankruptcy court awaited. Or worse, a despairing look from Effie as she bailed Bonnie out yet again.

Bonnie was done being bailed out.

She arranged the coupe glasses she’d carried upstairs in a triangle, then in a pitcher mixed together the sparkling rosé, candied plums, crème de violette and chopped mint the recipe called for. So far, so good.

Then, hands at the ready, pinkie fingers poised, Bonnie channelled her inner magic, feeling her wrists grow warm.

Purple swirled atop her floral tattoos as she directed her focus towards the pitcher, letting her mind’s eye bloom with the image of smoother, less stressful times.

But then the thing that she was determined not to forget, not ever, sparkled into the vision. Mom’s smiling face.

Bonnie’s magic flashed, shooting in a zigzag from her wrist to the pitcher, turning it a swirling purple and almost knocking it over.

‘ Dammit!’ she shouted.

At least she managed to grab the pitcher before the entire thing spilled all over the hardwoods, creating an entirely new restoration issue.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Bonnie swore as the cocktail sloshed over her hand, and her favourite magenta skirt.

‘Bon?’ Bobby’s voice was muffled through the thick wood. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Fine,’ said Bonnie, trying to keep exasperation out of her voice.

‘Do you want me to come in?’

She stood up to let him in, hoping he wouldn’t find it odd that she was hanging out with a pitcher of purple liquid and two cocktail coupes too many. Not to mention the residual smoky smell that lingered from her wayward magic.

Bobby tiptoed in, looking awkward in the apartment. He thrust his hands in his pockets as he took in the messy scene.

‘Drinking alone, huh?’ he said lightly.

‘Just working on a new cocktail recipe. How’s your head?’

‘Much better. I think I was probably dehydrated. All that running around on nothing other than a few bites of a pastry will do it.’ Bobby made his way carefully around the ladder in the middle of the room – he’d always been vocal about the karmic risks of walking under a ladder – before perching on one of the taller stacks of cushions.

‘I dropped off some ice for you, by the way. It’s in the storeroom. ’

‘Thanks,’ said Bonnie. ‘You’re sweet.’

Bobby rubbed his cheek, the way he always did when she said something to make him blush. Bonnie quite enjoyed having this superpower.

‘Did you want to come to the basketball game at the college?’ he said quickly, his dark eyes meeting hers before darting away. ‘The coach gave me some free tickets as thanks for helping out over the weekends. I can get some extras for the girls if you want?’

Bonnie bit back a smile. Bobby was annoying, but kind. And she definitely appreciated the free labour and the endless dessert offerings. It was almost a shame that he’d only ever be the boy next door.

‘I’ll pass on the basketball. But can you do me a favour?’ She raised one of the coupes, filling it with the bespelled mixture. ‘Can you give this recipe a try for me, let me know what you think?’

She passed him a glass, then took one for herself.

‘To fancy cocktails,’ said Bobby, sipping from the cocktail. ‘And fancy neighbours.’

‘Indeed,’ said Bonnie, pretending to sip from hers.

Bobby coughed, then rubbed at his throat. ‘Wow, that’s strong. Notes of burning. And crab apples. Does it contain crab apples?’

Bonnie chuckled. ‘It does not. You remain undefeated at getting every cocktail ingredient wrong.’

‘Well, there are worse flaws to have,’ said Bobby with a grin. He sipped away, turning to take in the work she’d put into the apartment, and stifling cocktail-induced coughs as he did so. ‘This is coming along. I see you’ve moved the furniture incrementally since you made me haul it up the stairs.’

Bonnie batted her eyelashes in faux apology. It wasn’t her fault that quality furniture was heavy.

‘Wow, this is even stronger than the last one you made me try. Hits right behind the eyes.’ Bobby rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning.

Bonnie hoped this meant that the spell was working and not that she’d blinded the poor guy, because that was something her magic definitely couldn’t undo.

‘Are you having another dizzy spell?’ Bonnie was a bit worried she was doing permanent damage to Bobby’s brain. Was he allergic to her magic? Was that even a thing?

Bobby shook his head. ‘I just need to work on my tolerance. Anyway, I’d better be off. Early start at the bakery tomorrow, and then the basketball game.’

The basketball game. Bonnie felt a mild pang for missing it.

She probably should have said yes, considering all the help that Bobby had given her, with not a single complaint.

Not just at the bar, but also in the wake of Mom’s death.

But if she did go to the game, there might be expectations.

And while Bonnie was open to some fun, like with Theo perhaps, she couldn’t possibly entertain anything that might be real .

Not with the bar to wrangle and her looming debts.

Ugh, and she was meant to meet Effie and Mom’s friend Sabine at the Toto Hotel the following morning.

‘Go, Munchkins,’ she said half-heartedly, waggling her fingers in support of the college team.

With his usual shy wave, Bobby hurried out of the room.

Bonnie watched him leave with interest, and not only because she’d noticed how well his jeans fit. But rather, Bobby had done something he never ordinarily did. On the way out of the room he’d walked right beneath the ladder.

Oof , thought Bonnie. Bad luck, here we come.

Well, at least the spell seemed to be working.

Bonnie’s phone pinged. It was Effie, who she’d renamed ‘The Wicked Witch’ in her phone.

Don’t forget that we’re meeting Sabine tomorrow. 10 a.m.

Of course Effie didn’t trust her to show up. No matter what Bonnie did, Effie was always hovering about, looking for an opportunity to step in and prove that she was the responsible, functional one of the two. She was insufferable .

Bonnie sent a passive-aggressive thumbs-up emoji in response and got back to work.