3. ~ Char ~
CHAPTER 3
~ Char ~
O pen the door, or ignore it and run?
I’d never felt more like a vulnerable single woman, alone in the city at night in my entire life.
The door popped open a crack, and I jumped.
Was someone watching me? Waiting for me to make a move so they could grab me? Was it too late to scream and run? Had freezing for a few precious seconds removed the opportunity for flight, and now I was faced with fight? I pulled my fists up near my chin and widened my stance, ready to go like Tamara and I had learned in the self-defence class her mom had made us take before our high school graduation had released us out into the world.
I should walk away. No, run.
Instead, keeping my centre of balance low, I reached a toe toward the door, trying to pull it open without putting myself vulnerably close to the unknown. The door creaked open a few inches. Not enough to see what was inside or who might be waiting for me.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice weak and croaky with fear.
My call was met with silence.
Repositioning myself, I stretched my leg, hooking half my foot on the door and knocking it wide. The whole entry seemed to be thick with plants.
I straightened, feeling my face scrunch in confusion. Plants?
Hardly threatening.
Was this a fairy godmother forest? Hidden inside a city building?
Wait. What was I thinking? Fairy godmothers weren’t real.
But scammers wouldn’t take time to load their office with living plants. They’d be ready to drop and go at a moment’s notice. So what was this?
With a curiosity that would likely get me killed one day, I called out a ‘hello’ and stepped inside the botanical garden entry. Weird. My skills of spatial comprehension weren’t tops, but even I could tell things weren’t lining up. There were a lot of branches and leaves in the way, but it was obvious this room was much bigger than the narrow strip it had appeared to be from the outside.
To confirm my assessment, I stuck my head out the door and looked at the front of the building. It was still just a door wedged between two properly sized businesses. Logically, you would expect a stairwell and not much else beyond this wooden door. But there wasn’t a step in sight. Just an entry thick with plants, a carpeted path that wound between them and the sound of a water feature trickling nearby.
“Close the door!” snapped a growly voice, and I jumped, releasing the door like it was red hot, most of my body still inside the office. “The heat ain’t free, and you’ll make it colder than a witch’s tit in here. Then I’ll be real mad.”
I watched the door close behind me, considering whether I needed to bolt back out of it again. It clicked shut, and I tentatively followed the curved path, weaving through the plants until a half circle of three large wood desks that looked like they’d been sculpted from a giant oak tree came into view. Nobody was at them. Behind them, five veiny grained doors stood closed at various heights. Even further to the left was a wall covered in ivy that led back into the foliage entrance, and to my far right was a tall, ornately carved reception desk with a standing counter. Behind it was a gold-painted office door. There were plants everywhere and I swear, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something hummingbird-sized flit by.
“Well?” croaked the earlier voice. “What do you want?”
I peered around, not seeing anyone. “Hello? Where are you?” Was one of the plants talking to me? I half expected to sneak a peek of curtain with a wizard behind it, speaking into a microphone.
“Oh, for…” A short, witchy looking woman stood up and glared over the top of the reception desk. Well, she sort of did. She was quite short and, with the desk still between us, she probably couldn’t see anything below my neck. “What? What is it that you want?”
I stared, at a loss for words. This woman seriously looked like a stereotypical witch. She had a hook nose complete with a wart at the end of it, and straw-like grey hair. All that was missing was the hat, broom and cat.
A black cat delicately landed on the top of the reception desk and I nearly fainted. The feline stared at me with its glowing amber eyes, and I mentally scratched that last bit from the witch’s requirement list.
“Cat got your tongue?” The lady laughed, her voice crackling over a bubble of rusty laughter.
I would have fled if it weren’t for the fact that I was pretty confident witches didn’t exist. Not the fairytale kind, anyway. Wiccan witches, yes, sure. Witches that rode brooms and turned people into newts, no.
“Let me speak to your boss,” I said, surprised by how no-nonsense my voice sounded.
“Oh.” The witch put her hands on her narrow hips and gave me tone. “You think you can just walk in off the street and talk to her , do you?”
I reached into my pocket and unfolded the sheet of paper they’d mailed me, dangling it in front of the receptionist. “Yes, I do.”
“Yeah? What for?”
I waved the invoice. “I need to clear this up.”
“Accounting.” The witch sat down, giving a little hop to get into her chair. I was pretty sure her feet didn’t touch the ground, and I wondered why she didn’t cast a spell to make her work station more ergonomically-sized before blinking away that crazy thought.
Because, again, witches were not real.
Just like fairy godmothers.
The receptionist leaned back in her chair, tossing back her head and hollering, “Igor!”
Was it me, or did that name evoke a mental image of a scraggle-toothed monster?
The witch leaned forward with a sigh, reading her computer screen. “He says no.”
“What?”
“He’s not seeing human clients tonight. Something about a headache.”
Human clients?
“Then what do I do?”
“Why should I care?”
“Well, because I need to get this cleared up.”
“Send an e-transfer. The email address is on the invoice.”
“No.” I straightened my spine. “I wish to speak with someone who can help me understand what’s going on. Because I didn’t?—”
“You wish?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“You wish to speak to someone?”
“Erm…yes?”
“Oprah!” I turned at the sound of my legal first name. A small, hidden door had swung open beside the gold one behind the witch’s desk. It had blended in like a true secret passage, and I immediately wanted one for the apartment.
A stick-straight, tall woman with beautifully shaped brows and flaming red hair that was cut into a sharp, perfect, shoulder-brushing bob, strode toward us. She wore black leather pants, a flowing white blouse and strappy red stilettos with black detailing. Her arms extended wide as if she planned to hug me even though she was still several feet away.
“Sorry.” She gave her head a little shake, every strand of her hair falling right back into the perfect bob. “You go by Char, don’t you?”
She pronounced it like the burned wood rather than with a sh sound, but before I could say anything, she corrected her pronunciation.
“A white girl named Oprah?” The witch snickered, eyes gleaming as her gaze scraped down my curves.
I flicked her a dirty look, and she smirked. I decided right then and there that I didn’t like her, and never-ever would. Not even if she was an amazing and generous baker who tried to buy my affection with chocolate cake or brownies.
Instead of hugging me, the woman with the bob gripped my upper arms and took me in, her slashingly bright red lipstick almost disappearing as she grinned so widely. “At long last we meet.”
This definitely wasn’t a prank being played by my friends. They were creative, but not this creative.
Which, sadly, still left us with identity theft or some form of scam.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Me?” The woman placed her hands on her chest and studied me for a beat. “I’m your fairy godmother.” She swivelled her hips to the side and extended her arms dramatically, showcasing herself. I could have sworn pale pink sparkles rained down from her French manicured fingertips. But before I could confirm the sparkles, she whirled and entered the hidden room as though expecting me to follow.
Fairy godmother? Was that what they called people running identity theft scams these days? The label did have a certain ring to it and, deciding I had no other feasible option, I followed her.
“Next time you call, leave a message,” the witch cackled after me. “You’ve been ticking me off.”
The secret passage door closed behind me with a soft clack. The room beyond resembled an office bullpen with rows of cubicles, but all done in pink with some pale blue accents. It was like Mattel’s Barbie designers had gone wild in here. Plush pink carpet, pink walls, powder blue desks and pink leather office chairs. Many of the desks were empty, but some had dainty women working at them, their perfect hair sporting some sort of pink hair accessory. Too much pink. And it clashed horribly with the lady I was following, and for some reason, that made me adore her just a little bit for being a fashion outlier.
She led me into a small meeting room. A mahogany table was pressed against the beige wall and two black leather chairs were positioned on either side of it. No pink in sight. I sat, noticing a long, narrow window several feet up the wall to my right that overlooked the bullpen. A woman with delicate features was watching us. Unlike the woman I was with, her hair was blond like the others, and its perfect waves were held back by—you guessed it—a wide pink hairband. She was dainty and looked…well, sort of fairylike.
As soon as the woman claiming to be my fairy godmother looked toward the window, the pink lady dropped out of sight.
“I expect you have questions?” she asked me, one eye still on the window.
I nodded, perching on the edge of the seat, at the ready to bolt if need be.
“Tea?” she asked, her attention returning to me.
I shook my head. I was managing to not freak out over the weird changing door and strangeness of this place, but I needed immediate answers. Not after water boiled and tea steeped.
“Right, no tea.” She studied me. “Whiskey?”
I shook my head again.
“Good. Now’s not the time to get tipsy. Canada Dry? It’s my favourite. I adore the little ginger ale bubbles. They tickle my nose.”
“No, thanks.”
“Mind if I do?”
I shrugged, and she got up, opening a mini fridge hunkering under a thick stack of yellowing papers. This office—it wasn’t actually a meeting room like I’d first thought—was unlike the cubicles in the bullpen. It resembled a private investigator’s office more than anything. It was reassuringly very unfairy godmother-like.
It also seemed much too established for a scammer’s headquarters. For example, on the old computer lurking on the desk behind me, there was a thick layer of undisturbed dust. And abandoned on top of the desk’s scattered and faded, dog-eared papers and file folders sat a crystal tumbler containing a finger’s worth of amber liquid and an ashtray holding half of a crumbly cigar. The aluminum blinds to my left were dusty as well, and a few slats were broken, weak, late evening light filtering through. Where did the window look out to? There’d been no windows on the outside of the skinny little strip of a building. Were the neighbouring businesses actually false fronts with Your Fairy Godmother extending deep and wide into what was actually one long building and not several as it had appeared?
In front of me, a tall bookshelf stretched against the entire wall, sporting a cutout to hold the mini fridge where the fairy-claimer clanked around.
I was growing frustrated by the lack of solid clues as to what this invoice was actually about.
“I hope your Friday night is keeping you… occupied .” The redhead ceased her pop can clanking and glanced back at me, her eyes twinkling like we shared a secret.
Considering I’d never met her before, and didn’t have a clue who she was, there was no secret. None that I was in on, anyway.
And why had she put special emphasis on the word ‘occupied’ like it should mean something to me?
She stood, suddenly red-faced. She slammed the fridge door closed and sat in her chair again, expression pinched.
“What?” I asked, clutching the edge of the table, ready to make a run for it.
She gave a sharp shake of her head.
“Is this your office?” Even with this room’s down-on-his-luck, old man décor, it seemed to suit her more than the pink bullpen.
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
She seemed to settle, her earlier happy persona slowly returning. “I suppose you can call me Fairy Godmother, or Miss. F.G. if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“No, what’s your name ?”
“Estelle,” she said quietly, as though unsure what she could reveal about herself.
“Estelle.”
“Yes.”
“Why did I get a bill from you?”
She leaned forward, one elbow on the table with a comfort born from confidence and a solid awareness of exactly where you landed in this world and what your purpose was. I was a bit in awe.
But then it all crumbled like it had been an act, and she half-stood, hands splayed on the table. Her gaze was locked on the bullpen’s window and there, just before she skipped out of sight, was the fairylike woman from earlier gleefully sipping on a can of Canada Dry.
Estelle’s neck flushed red, her jaw set.
“Uh, the bill?” I prompted.
Estelle’s shoulders pushed up and forward and she drew in an impressive breath before letting it out in a rapid flash, her shoulders squaring again. Her focus returned to me, her smile bright and filled with purpose.
“The invoice is because you’ve been making wishes. And they’ve been granted.”
I blinked.
No.
No way.
Nope.
Just. No .
“The bill is for your wishes,” Estelle explained softly, her expression so open and fresh I felt crusty, tired and slightly jaded just sitting across from her.
I could already tell this conversation was going to be exhausting.
I leaned back, arms crossed. “Yeah, no.”
“Yeah, yes,” she insisted brightly.
“I’m going to need to see a detailed invoice.”
“I can do that.” She popped up. “It’s important to do proper audits.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as she hurried out of the room, leaving the door open. I had a feeling that should there ever be a need, she was the type who’d volunteer to be a school hall monitor.
Moments later, the ginger ale-sipping fairylike lady from earlier appeared. “Hi. I’m Trish.” Her handshake was soft, gentle, warm. “How are things going with—” She tipped her head in the direction Estelle had gone, her lips pinched together as though disgusted, “—her.”
I blinked at Trish. I wasn’t sure what I’d witnessed with her and the can of ginger ale, but as someone who’d moved around a lot as a kid and been the easily picked-on outsider, she sent my mean-girl radar buzzing.
“You must have so many questions.” She practically floated into the room, perching on the edge of the table, hands gently clasped on her knee—which was, of course, tastefully covered by the long skirt of her pastel pink and purple floral print dress.
“Estelle’s…answering them.”
“She’s only a trainee, you know.”
“And you are…?”
“Trish.” She stood with a confident laugh that tinkled. “I just wanted to introduce myself so you’ll be comfortable coming to me with any questions when I take over her accounts after she fails her next levels.”
“I’m not going to fail.” Estelle was in the doorway, feet planted, jaw set, eyes practically shooting fire at Trish.
“Why are you meeting her here?” Trish’s question seemed innocent, but her tone was like a war cry.
“I’m introducing myself to my clients.”
“All of them?”
“My VIPs.” When Trish didn’t look convinced, Estelle added primly, “Proper notice must be instituted when clients are moved from one fairy godmother to another.”
“Still having trouble with the dream spell, are you?” Trish muttered with a smirk, then gave me a tiny finger wave. “Lovely to meet you.” As she passed Estelle, she whispered, “Good luck, Training Wheels.”
Estelle firmly shut the door and set a pale pink file folder in front of me.
“She seems…” I paused, trying to think of the right word.
“Evil?”
“I was going to say competitive.” I let out a small snort and Estelle and I shared a kindred spirit flick in the meeting of our gazes.
Opening the folder, I scanned the top sheet. Pink paper with YFGM printed along the header beside a wand shooting sparkles. There were several pages of detailed inventory, listing many granted ‘wishes.’
I skimmed them quickly, trying to gather an accurate impression of what was going on. Some of the charges on the list rang a bit too true, as did their invoice date. But it didn’t make any sense. How could anyone know these things? If I was a diary keeper, I’d think someone had read every page and was now using those private entries against me as a joke.
I shivered, rereading several lines and realizing that someone had taken a very, very deep dive into my life. But if they were investing that kind of time into their next mark, why not choose a better target? Say, one who actually had a hundred grand kicking around?
Biting my bottom lip, I slowly scanned the detailed list. A wish for a pet—so I’d have a friend no matter where we moved to. I’m sure a million kids made wishes like that. For Trevor to notice me—in a girlfriend kind of way. Then another wish to get him to quit smothering me with affection. That one sent chills down my spine with its accuracy. Vehicular repairs listed on the same snowy day I got stranded on a mountain logging road south of home when I was sixteen. My car had been kaput for over an hour and I was beginning to panic when all of a sudden it started again. On its own. You didn’t forget weird stuff like that.
I closed the folder, my skin clammy, my heart pounding and vision narrowing. How did they know all of this? My brain refused to accept the possible implications of this new information, and I realized vaguely that I was nearing panic.
“Any questions?” Estelle asked.
“How do you know all of this?” I asked hoarsely. The papers were trembling in my grip and I set them down, locking my digits under my thighs, willing myself to pull it together. “This is so invasive! A complete and utter breach of privacy.”
Estelle blinked at my tone. “Well, I…”
“This is an outrage!” My skin flashed with heat, my brain too big for my skull.
“But I’m your fairy godmother.”
“You are not!” I blinked back the wetness in my eyes.
Estelle glanced at the window as my voice rose higher.
“But I am. I was assigned to you.” Her voice remained low.
“Trish said you’re a trainee.”
Estelle’s shoulders softened, as did her expression. “Yes. And my evaluations are at the end of the quarter along with hers, so if you have any questions about the wishes or fees before you clear up your bill we can?—”
“Prove it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Prove you’re a wish-granting fairy.”
“Oh.” Estelle sat back, then brightened. “I’d be happy to. What would you like to wish for today?”
“World peace.”
Estelle blinked rapidly and her mouth moved, but no words came out.
“You can’t do that?” I felt a whisper of smugness. I could feel myself one step closer to running home and forgetting all of this—except for the massive privacy breach. I’d still have to take action on that.
“Why don’t we start with something a little less complicated, and with results that are a bit more expedient?” She was swaying in her chair, her breathing shaky.
“Fine.” I shared the first thought that came to mind. “Make James cancel his date tonight.”
“Sure!” Estelle said brightly. “Make a wish!”
“I just did.”
“No, you need to wish it.”
“Yeah?” I crossed my arms, my heart still thundering in my chest. “How?”
“Concentrate on what you want. Feel it. And start with ‘I wish’.” Her tone was oddly soothing.
I sighed. “Fine.” I closed my eyes, playing along even though I knew there was no way she could jump over into James’s mind and make him do something just because I wished it. That would be pure evil, and our world would be a very different place if that kind of stuff was allowed.
With my hands clasped in front of my chest, I said in a syrupy voice, “I wish I may, I wish I might, that James will cancel his date tonight.”
I opened one eye. Estelle was leaning forward, nodding eagerly. “And?”
“And what?”
“Well done. But you’ll want evidence, won’t you?”
Good point. I’d need evidence that this weirdo made him cancel, because I was her puppet master, and my wishes were her command.
“Fine.” I closed my eyes again. “And I wish that he’ll immediately call me up to take me out for a milkshake instead.” I leaned back in my chair and watched her.
Estelle closed her eyes and inhaled, her lips curving up in a smile. She looked positively happy. Glowing, really. I didn’t know what her makeup and skincare routine was, but I wanted it for myself.
Ha. I should wish for it.
Seconds later Estelle said, “Done.”
I lifted my palms to the sky, waiting. A few long beats passed. Then my phone vibrated in my pocket. Narrowing my eyes at Estelle, I pulled out my phone to check its screen. My smugness dropped. It was James.
My body went cold, and I whispered, “What kind of sick joke is this?”
I scanned the room, on the lookout for hidden cameras or microphones. Was Trish actually Estelle’s accomplice and not her rival? Because there was no way this was really James calling me. It had literally been less than a minute since I’d made my wish. They had to be spoofing his number so it would look like him on my caller ID.
“Well?” Estelle said encouragingly. “Answer it.”
With sweaty, trembling fingers, I fumbled with the on-screen button to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, so…my date,” James said slowly, as though uncertain why he was calling me.
Like he was under a spell. Like mind control was occurring.
I swallowed and stared at Estelle.
Or maybe this phone call was just another layer of deep fake—they were simply synthesizing Trish’s voice to sound like James, and they didn’t realize he usually sounded confident and upbeat. Warm and friendly, and as though he had all the time in the world to focus on you. Just you.
I shook my head. This whole fairy godmother thing was getting too conspiracy theory for me. If I kept this up, within an hour I’d be wearing a tinfoil hat and burying coffee cans of cash out in the woods. This had to be nothing more than a nice stack of coincidences lining up in their favour.
“Yeah, it looks like it’s not happening tonight,” he continued. “Did you want to go for a milkshake?”
For the second time today, I tossed my phone as if it had become too hot to hold, and it clattered across the table, then tumbled off the edge and into Estelle’s lap. She lifted the phone and placed it on the glossy wood surface between us.
“Hello? Char?” James’ voice carried to me.
“How did you do that?” I whispered.
“I’m your fairy godmother,” Estelle whispered back, arms out, her expression radiating happiness.
I scowled and lifted the phone to my ear, one eye on the crazy woman sitting across from me. “Where would we go?”
“Peter’s.”
My phone felt too heavy.
How did Estelle and her hoodlums know that was my favourite place? No, that was common knowledge. Plus, while deep diving into my life, they surely would have hacked my bank accounts, viewed my numerous Peter’s Drive-In transactions, or even just hacked my phone’s GPS and noted how often I landed there.
“Or,” James added dryly, “we could go somewhere ‘fancy’ like Earl’s, except tonight’s water leak could be problematic.” He paused a beat, his tone turning wry and playful. “Or is somewhere like Earl’s not real-woman enough for you?”