Page 42 of Two’s A Charm

IT’S FEELING A LITTLE CAULDRON IN HERE

Bonnie

With a yawn, Bonnie stepped back to admire the display she’d put together for Iris’s birthday party.

She’d woken up multiple times throughout the night, convinced she’d heard the front door bang, although the only explanation for that was that Effie had snuck out, which was impossible.

Whatever the cause of the wake-ups, there was not enough coffee in the world.

This was evidenced by the three empty takeaway cups from The Winged Monkey that sat on the trestle table, amid the dips and snacks she’d carefully arranged, and pre-mixed pitchers of Memory Lane-infused cocktails, which Iris had personally insisted upon.

Fuelled by three double-shot caramel lattes, Bonnie had draped, arranged and constructed with an intensity that rivalled Hannah’s wedding-planner mom.

The only thing that wasn’t quite right was how empty the room was. Surely someone would’ve peeked their head in by now? If not the guest of honour, then one of her friends, or a date, or a mom.

Bonnie checked the time on her phone. Weird.

All right, so being fashionably late was something she personally approved of.

In fact, it was a vital part of the Bonnie make-’em-squirm philosophy.

Maybe Iris lived her life by the same personal mantra.

But she hadn’t seemed like the type. She’d mentioned needing to leave early just in case there was traffic on the way to her part-time job, and traffic, frankly, did not exist in Yellowbrick Grove.

To be fair, Iris had booked a daytime party, which was easier on the finances than a prime-time one. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that her college friends were still asleep.

She might as well go help Clark downstairs until the guest of honour showed up.

She enjoyed working alongside the new bartender.

He was affable and focused, and being in a self-described long-distance relationship with a gent in Barcelona, not desperate for her phone number either.

A few weeks ago, Bonnie might have been miffed by that, but she’d been somewhat off men since the Bobby and Kirsty situation, which unsettled her in a way that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Well, she might be able to if she thought about it at length, but she didn’t have the time to do that, or to deal with the consequences of any realizations that might come out of it.

‘How’s life at the college?’ she asked Clark as she restocked the caddies under the bar.

‘More of the same,’ he said, as he sliced up citrus for garnishes. ‘But apparently they’re on the hunt for new poetry adjunct. The girls are swooning at the thought. And half the guys, too. Including yours truly.’

‘Poetry, huh?’ Bonnie chuckled. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve been on the receiving end of too much of it to be a fan.’

‘Poets are a unique breed indeed.’

The two fell into an easy rhythm as they finished their prep work and started serving the trickle of customers who came in once the doors opened.

Thankfully Clark had a smoother temperament than Bonnie, because the patrons were even more scattered than usual.

If Bonnie hadn’t known better, she might have assumed they were already drunk.

She had to give directions to the downstairs bathrooms (the signs for which were visible from the bar) no fewer than five times, reassure a woman freaking out about her lost spectacles that she was actually already wearing them, and help an older regular through the security questions on her bank account. This involved a good deal of guessing.

On the plus side, at least no one was sobbing over their palm’s heart line or having a panic attack about whether they were astrologically compatible with their love interest, so at least Uncle Oswald’s hexed recipe was doing what it needed to.

Although Bonnie was starting to wonder whether it was doing a tad more than it needed to.

Was everyone always this airy-fairy? Perhaps she was just noticing it more now that she was so busy and every little miscommunication or delay messed up her schedule.

Oh goddess, was this how Effie felt about her? No, surely not. Effie was just unreasonably grumpy.

Bonnie’s phone buzzed, startling her.

The Dorothy House sold, texted Hannah. Cash offer, over asking. Investor. Let me know when you’re free to celebrate!

Bonnie texted her back a series of celebratory emojis, although she felt conflicted about it. Happy for Hannah to receive her commission, of course, but disappointed to hear that the young family she’d liked so much had missed out on the house.

It wasn’t until a full hour later that Iris, in a profusion of tulle and perfume, finally burst through the doors. Erroneously assuming she was part of the night’s entertainment, the patrons burst into applause at the dramatic entrance.

‘I’m here!’ she called breathlessly. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Bonnie. I forgot all about it until my mom texted me.’

Bonnie passed a beer over to a student and gave Iris a hug. ‘Oh, it’s fine. It happens all the time when you book a party after the actual birthday.’

Iris looked relieved. ‘I suppose you’re right. Everyone’s not mad I left them hanging, are they?’

Bonnie cocked her head. ‘Everyone?’

‘Everyone up there waiting for me.’

Oh, this was going to be awkward. Because when Bonnie had come back down the stairs about half an hour ago, not a single person had been up there.

And since then, she’d seen a sum total of three people head upstairs: Winston, who preferred the height of the upstairs toilet, and a former classmate of Bonnie’s called Greenly, who wanted to show his boyfriend the weird paintings on the wall.

All had returned and were presently sitting downstairs.

Winston was musing over a stack of Jenga blocks, while Greenly was considering the various Camemberts on their cheese plate as he sipped his charmed cocktails.

Greenly’s boyfriend, meanwhile, was regarding the agate coaster with Uncle Oswald’s details on it.

‘This place looks cute,’ the boyfriend was saying. ‘We should get some charms and crystals and things. Don’t you think a huge crystal would look amazing in that nook by the entryway? Especially if it wards off evil spirits.’

Bonnie exhaled. Given the extent of the no-shows, she’d assumed that Iris would be bringing the party with her.

‘Everything okay?’ pressed Iris.

Bonnie poured a glass of Memory Lane, garnishing it with a gold-dusted sprig of lavender and a handful of edible flowers. Iris was going to need it.

‘Do you happen to remember if you sent out the invitations?’ she asked gently.

Iris’s eyes widened. She reached into her purse, drawing out a stack of cards.

‘Oh no. It completely slipped my mind. No, wait.’ She frowned.

‘I was going to deliver them, but I had this weird brain fog. I couldn’t remember anyone’s addresses.

I thought maybe it was a post-Covid thing or something, so I went back home and napped.

And I guess I just forgot.’ She grimaced.

‘I don’t still owe you for the room rental, do I? ’

Bonnie’s heart clenched. She’d spent a small fortune on the decorations and the food, and if Britney Spears sued her for failure to pay her music licensing fees, she’d be out on the street selling wildflowers to pay for a lawyer.

But Iris looked so forlorn. She’d ruined her own birthday.

Or rather, thought Bonnie, Bonnie had ruined Iris’s birthday.

Because the niggling feeling she’d been having before about the townsfolk’s capriciousness was growing strong.

There was definitely something more to Uncle Oswald’s cocktail spells than the recipe book suggested.

But was it her wayward magic at fault – or something more?

‘Of course I wouldn’t expect you to pay,’ said Bonnie, grimacing as the numbers in her bank account dwindled before her eyes. ‘Unless...’ she began. An opportunity to make things right, and profitable, was coming to her. ‘Can you give me half an hour? We’ll have this place rocking in no time.’

Iris’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

Bonnie pulled out her phone. ‘I have the phone number of every single individual who’s ever stepped foot in this town. Particularly the hot guys. Just let me work my magic.’

The magic she could actually control, that is. Because when it came to social charms, no one had a patch on Bonnie Chalmers.

Bonnie was on top of the world as she cruised home after her shift.

Iris’s party had become quite the rager (a term Bonnie loved because it always elicited such a pained response from Effie), and although the guest list hadn’t been quite what the birthday girl had originally intended, she’d rounded out the afternoon, and then the night, full of cake and smiles.

Bonnie had almost decided to crash upstairs in the half-finished apartment, but after her poor night’s sleep the night before, she needed a date with her own bed.

She took the long way back, the way that took her past the Dorothy House that she’d been so certain Beatrice and Todd were going to buy, and which had been snapped up instead by someone who’d never even live there.

The FOR SALE sign had been taken down, and a work truck belonging to Bronson, the town handyman, was camped out the front.

Giant tubs of white paint sat on the porch, next to a stack of mass-produced canvas prints featuring geometric designs of famous cities and boxes of flat-packed furniture.

Bonnie didn’t have to see the pictures on the front to know exactly what they contained: cheap mid-century knockoffs with splayed pin legs and chevron wood patterning.

And definitely an oversized backyard Connect Four set.

Her heart twisted as she thought about the young family who’d loved the house so much, and who’d been so keen on making an offer.

They could be in here right now, putting up toys on the built-in shelves and hanging their family photos (and adding child locks and safety gates to every cupboard and doorframe).

Olivia could’ve grown up here, and Beatrice and Todd could’ve grown old here.

And instead, the house would most likely sit empty for most of the year, except on weekends or holidays.

But at least an investor from the city was making money on it, she thought angrily.

Bonnie wondered if it was too late. If she could figure out a way to get the family into the house. Maybe she’d look into the zoning laws. Or attend a town planning meeting to protest all the short-term rentals.

But tourism traffic is essential to your business , she reminded herself.

Her business that might have had a hand in this whole thing.

Because there was something going on with her drinks recipes that was doing more than just helping people forget their psychic troubles.

And as much as Bonnie had been trying to convince herself otherwise since the realization had struck her this afternoon, telling herself that the townsfolk were just naturally flighty, that modernity had people scattered and torn between a million different responsibilities, whatever Uncle Oswald had set into motion was going way beyond what it said on the label.

Bonnie squared her shoulders. That was it. She’d visit him. Right now. On behalf of the family who’d missed out on their dream home. On behalf of Iris, who’d almost missed her own birthday party. On behalf of her own conscience.

She climbed into her car, getting ready to head to Behind the Curtain.

Her phone dinged. Ugh, the autopayment for her car insurance was about to go out. And the electrical at the bar. And her health insurance.

But the sinking pit in her stomach she usually felt at this time of the month didn’t gnaw at her the way it usually did.

Because for the first time in the past year, she was confident that she could cover all the bills without having to check her bank balance, and more importantly, without asking Effie to spot her.

There was such a relief at the thought. That low-level fear of living on the precipice at all times had ebbed.

Maybe she just needed to be more selective about who she served the drinks to, and how often. Because the townsfolk were better off overall, weren’t they? Even if they were slightly more ditzy and forgetful than usual, at least they weren’t sobbing over star charts or anguishing over tea leaves.

Off she cruised, trying to focus on her new-found success instead of the creeping sense that it came at a cost.

Pulling up at a stop sign – she was not about to roll through one after the incident with Kevvie the other day – she adjusted her rear-view mirror. The charm hanging from it, a gift from Uncle Oswald, gleamed and flashed as it caught the soft light of a street lamp.

Everything was fine. Sparkly and fine.

It was a mantra she repeated all the way home.