Page 5 of Two’s A Charm
YOU PUT A SPELL ON ME
Effie
The upstairs reading room at the library had an excellent view of the downtown area, and Effie, who was preparing to close up for the night, could see that the party was still going strong at The Silver Slipper – of course.
Bonnie had an innate capacity for stretching any social gathering to its limit.
She was the queen of after-parties, and after-after parties, and all too often those parties came with her to the Chalmers family home, keeping Effie up all night and forcing her to fabricate pointed stories about poltergeist infestations to avoid addressing her sister’s shenanigans and how they disrupted her sleep.
Not that Effie was shaming her sister. Bonnie was welcome to do what she wanted with whom she wanted, so long as it was consensual (and legal).
But did she have to be quite so loud about it?
Frankly, if you were able to be heard through double-brick walls, you were being a bit much.
‘Any good reading plans tonight, love?’ asked Bowow Walker, who was sitting at the large central table, her heavily made-up face – and habitually clashing attire – aglow under one of the green banker’s lamps.
Bowow was not her real name, obviously, or anything even close to it.
Effie wasn’t entirely sure where the nickname had come from, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Bowow was a founding member of the Yellowbrick Kennel Society, and also the local dog whisperer.
If you had a problem pup, Bowow was your girl.
Although not girl, really, given she was probably as old as the library, which was showing its years in the temperamental plumbing in the downstairs bathroom, and the ‘butterfly enclosure’, which, far from being a zoological wonder just meant that moths had got into the ancient periodicals.
Thankfully, Effie’s magic had kept most of the more expensive problems at bay.
Why, she’d won an award just this year for her fiscal stewardship and record number of days without a pigeon incursion.
Which she could also thank her magic for.
Heading over to the side table by the window, Effie gathered a stack of discarded National Geographic volumes.
She grimaced as she realized someone had cut out half the images.
Great. The college kids were doing summoning circles again.
‘Always. I have a fabulous murder mystery series on the go – the protagonist is a cheesemaker. And yourself?’
Bowow’s eyes twinkled behind her reading glasses as she patted her usual foot-high stack of cowboy romance novels. ‘A night in with my boys. And the Pomeranians.’
‘Those yappy things,’ muttered Bruce Dickens, an old rocker type who seemed to think he was Bruce Dickinson, the frontman of Iron Maiden.
Every now and then a tourist would mistake the two, and the non-famous Bruce would lean heavily into the fallacy, affecting a British accent and talking about his cosy little spot in Paris.
Needless to say, Bowow had absolutely no interest in anything Bruce had to say.
Especially since he did not actually own a cosy little spot in Paris, France, although he did own a dilapidated cabin outside Paris, Tennessee.
Which was almost the same thing. ‘Don’t know what you see in a dog like that.
Cats. Now cats are where it’s at. Cats have boundaries. ’
‘Unlike some,’ muttered Bowow, gathering her stack of books and setting them down in her wheelie basket (another of Effie’s additions to library operations). ‘Can I borrow these, love? Ooh, was that lightning?’
No, not lightning. Rather, a flash of purple magic from The Silver Slipper, reflecting off the library window.
Effie groaned inwardly. Bonnie was at it again, trying to magic her way out of a situation – or worse, into one.
Surely her sister had figured out by now that nothing good ever came of using magic on people (mild hair-frizzing spells aside).
Magic was safest used sparingly, surreptitiously and as a process efficiency helper.
‘Just some bright headlights,’ Effie told Bowow. ‘All right, everyone. Fifteen minutes until closing. Could you return any books and periodicals to the cart and bring anything you want to borrow down to the front counter?’
She turned to Derek and George, the library’s resident chess obsessives, then Tammi, the library’s resident snacker. ‘Derek and George, I promise no one will touch your board until tomorrow. And Tammi, do you need a napkin for those crumbs?’
‘No, boss,’ whispered Tammi, swiping the crumbs off the table and into her voluminous purse.
Effie closed her eyes, counted to three, then opened them again.
At least Tammi had resolved the situation, even if it had been in a particularly unappealing way.
And on the plus side, Tammi carried a separate bag for books, so the crumbs weren’t going to ruin any library volumes.
Waving goodbye to the stragglers and making sure that old Thomas who slept in the parking lot was warm and had charged his phone, Effie closed up for the night.
Her giant tote bag of books swung as she tried to drag the massive front doors closed, failing the first time, as she always did. The carved stone gargoyles on either side of the door regarded her disdainfully, the same way Bonnie would whenever she went to haul a box of books from the Jeep.
‘A little bit of core strength goes a long way,’ she’d say, tapping her perfect midsection.
Well, so did a little bit of magic. Glancing around to make sure she couldn’t be seen, Effie clenched her fists. A thin stream of green flared from her wrists, pulling the doors closed and yanking the lock firmly into place.
Then, clomping down the lengthy stone front steps – the library was a charming Carnegie one, and predated accessibility laws – she ensured that the side entrance with the lift, a fundraising effort from the Friends of the Library group she’d chaired for several years, was properly closed.
The chairs were tidied, the lights off and the doors locked. There was no more procrastinating. It was time to go by Bonnie’s bar and put in an appearance at the welcome party for the town’s newest resident.
The night around the stone-walled library was cool and crisp, and Effie drank in the autumnal feeling of it all as she made her way along the winding path that led back to the quiet road.
All around, the trees wore shaggy coats of amber and red, and cheerful chrysanthemums formed bright potted pompoms along garden paths and outside quiet garages. Pigeons pecked merrily at scraps and seeds, and cats’ eyes flashed as the car lights and street lamps reached out to pet them.
Soon enough, the shops of the downtown square came into view: Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Grooming, the Tough as Nails salon, Cooking the Books (a cookbook shop), Plant Food (a vegan bakery), and down the alleyway, Uncle Oswald’s shop, Behind the Curtain.
Which Bonnie, who admittedly had her witty moments, called the ‘Griftertorium’.
Effie approached The Silver Slipper apprehensively, already overwhelmed by the thudding bass and warblings of something that might have been karaoke or just someone loudly lamenting their partner’s texting etiquette.
The flagstones outside smelt yeasty with spilled beer, and Effie didn’t want to know the provenance of that puddle of. ..ugh, carrots and corn.
Turning her head as she always did to avoid eye contact with Pete the Plumber, who liked to sit in the patio area and show anyone who’d listen the latest and greatest moments from the parts catalogue he’d put together, Effie and her overstuffed book bag collided with a flower basket someone had left sitting on the wall.
Sunflowers, dianthus, lilies and fern fronds landed with a botanical thud, inviting some amused finger-pointing from a few kids Effie recognized as the local supermarket staff poring over dream journals around a mountain of half-empty beer glasses.
Were they even old enough to drink, or had Effie just reached the point where anyone under the age of twenty-five looked like a baby?
‘Rats,’ Effie whispered, stooping to regard the damaged basket. Hiding her wrists behind her book bag, she coaxed forward a thin stream of green magic, enticing it to return the uprooted plants to their rightful places.
‘Not a plant lady, huh?’ came a voice with the sharp cadence of someone from the city.
Effie glanced up to see a tall guy with tousled hair and piercing green eyes – eyes the same colour as her magic – taking her in.
He visibly shivered. It must have been much warmer inside because he was wearing only a thin shirt and jeans.
Well, and designer shoes, and a watch so clearly expensive it looked as if it had been made from the smelted contents of Fort Knox.
Drink in hand, he stepped out into the same part of the patio that Effie always made a beeline for when Bonnie demanded that she show her face in the name of sisterly solidarity – the bit where the music never quite reached, and the lighting was just right to pull out a paperback on the Balinese love seat if you needed to.
Bonnie didn’t know this, but Effie had a perpetual charm running on this particular spot, just in case.
‘I brought that,’ admitted the guy, helping Effie pick it back up and place it on the patio ledge. It teetered, then found its footing. ‘A thanks-for-having-me gift.’
‘Ah. You must be Theo,’ said Effie. He did fit the bill: he looked exactly how she imagined a rich banking heir from the city would look.
Right down to the perfect teeth and the starched collar of his shirt – a professional job, not the half-hearted effort with the iron and the quick charm that the Chalmers sisters made do with.
Theo picked up the drink he’d set down on the wall and took a sip. ‘Guilty.’
Effie plopped her bag at her feet and gestured around at the quirky, low-rise buildings with their thatched roofs and decorative tiles, some of which were presently being captured in night-time tourist selfies.
‘Welcome to Yellowbrick Grove. I hope the town isn’t too much of a disappointment after the city. ’
‘No, no, it’s great. I love the skyline. Very restrained.’
‘We do have some great stargazing here. I love watching the Pleiades emerge in their cluster and jostle for attention. It hits close to home.’
Theo chuckled – he must have siblings of his own. ‘Ah. Personally, I’m a fan of Sirius. I have a soft spot for dogs.’
‘You should talk to Bowow Walker, head of our kennel association.’
‘Bowow, huh? Is she related to the rapper?’
‘Second cousin, twice removed,’ said Effie, deadpan. ‘Nice flowers, by the way. Did you get those from A Pocket Full of Posies?’
‘I did. I’m a bit disappointed they didn’t fit in my pocket, though. Misleading advertising,’ he replied, with a touch of sarcasm.
‘You just need bigger pockets.’ Effie showed off the voluminous pockets on her skirt.
‘You could smuggle a whole pie in those things.’
‘I can, and have. You should see me over the holidays.’
Theo looked impressed. ‘I try not to arrive empty-handed, but it’s not like you can bring a bottle of wine to a bar.
Well, you can, depending on the venue, and the wine.
But I was worried that a place called The Silver Slipper might be more about chugging beer from shoes than cellaring fancy vintages. ’
Effie chuckled in spite of herself. Was she actually enjoying conversing with this handsome stranger?
Bonnie usually had the gift of the gab around men, while Effie hid away, caught up in her anxieties about how she was being perceived and whether she’d be found wanting.
It was different at the library, though.
That was her realm, where her knowledge and her skills (and her secret, magical ability to get books from the top shelves) mattered.
‘You would be correct,’ she said. ‘The only type of vintage my sister has room for is 90s fashion from Etsy.’
‘Your sister?’ Theo looked confused, as though he were trying to connect Effie to any of the party animals he’d met tonight.
Effie sighed: the does-not-compute moment was imminent.
Every time a newcomer learned that she and Bonnie were related, you could hear the mental record scratch as they tried to figure it out.
Did they have different parents? Was one adopted?
Had one been raised in a basement and the other at Disneyland?
‘Bonnie,’ she said, defeated. ‘The one in the sequinned dress with the entourage of harpies.’
Theo blinked. ‘But you’re nothing like—’
Ah, there it was. The admission that she was the lesser sister, the one that charisma had overlooked, the one whose headstone would eventually read ‘Survived by her seventeen cats’.
‘Yes. I know,’ she said irritably, grabbing her book bag, which was now damp at the bottom.
Fabulous. She could only hope the lining had held up, and that spilled beer wasn’t seeping up through the stack of mystery novels she was carrying.
Not to mention the googly-eyed frog cosy, courtesy of Tessa, that encased her favourite lunchbox.
A blast of music roared as the bar’s door swung open and Bonnie emerged, wearing nothing but a man’s jacket and a pair of high heels. The jacket was buttoned, at least, making the overall ensemble quite tame by Bonnie’s standards.
‘Theo, babe, are you hiding out here?’ called Bonnie. ‘It’s no fun without the guest of the hour.’
Theo flinched, but only slightly. Forcing a smile, he turned, waving with his glass. ‘Sure. I was just talking to...Hey, wait up!’
But Effie and her books were already on their way back home.