Chapter 1 #2
She avoids eye contact as if what she has to say will shatter my world. “Have you ever felt different, Grayson?”
“Like liking boys different? You made a point of my sexuality before.” Although I’m not sure why she cares. Girls this chic have lots of gay friends.
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t like boys, Grayson. A lot of warlocks bat on your team.”
“Warlock?” I burp. Indigestion has returned.
“Good. Burp if you need to. Just don’t sneeze.”
“Alright.” My voice is hardly audible.
The baby from the flat upstairs cries. This sign of suburban normalcy is welcomed, so I scan the room taking note of everything familiar again.
Like the coffee table and floor-standing lamp which my sister-in-law handed down to me when she decided to renovate.
And the three vintage movie posters depicting a robot, an alien, and a flying saucer which I had as a teen and then framed once I was an adult.
The modest-sized flat screen TV which I want to replace with a more impressive model as soon as I find the money.
The ugly carpet and dark red walls which I believe makes my rent cheaper because who else would live with this horror.
Yet a visit from this ‘fairy god fashionista sister type’ who claims her only talents are magic spells based around housework and bartending, makes realism an outdated concept.
I let out a sigh.
My stomach has settled. My mind is slowing. My flip-flopping emotions, easing. The Valium is doing its job.
“You said you were a cottage witch?” I’m calm enough to be curious.
She raises her finger and I lift my legs onto my seat on impulse, wrapping my arms around my knees. I’m wary of whatever wacky spell she’s about to inflict on my senses.
But Penelope runs her finger across the table. “This place is spotless. Do you hire a cleaner?”
“With what spare cash?” I adjust my black rimmed glasses, a casual attempt to downplay my sarcasm as she seems staggered by my reaction. “I’m just anally retentive about housework. Can’t stand dust.”
“Being anally retentive about anything when you’re a bottom is not ideal.
You are a bottom, aren’t you, Grayson?” Penelope eyes me up and down like I’m a kinky slave she’s thinking of buying.
“The nervous twitches. The fainting spells. You’re quite flighty for a twenty-three-year-old. I can’t see you plunging—”
“I can hold my own when I need to swap positions.” Oh.
Okay. She’s getting familiar. That’s proof she’s used to gay guys.
“But yes, I’m better as a bottom.” I knock back my gin, keen for the alcohol to mix with the Valium and relax me even more.
“Now, what’s going on? And please, spell it out clearly.
Repeat yourself if you have to. I think I’m ready to take it all in. ”
Penelope stands for effect. “You’re a warlock.”
“So you say.”
“And it seems when you sneeze, something happens.”
“Like the literal elephant in the room. Before. At the start of this ordeal.” My breathing is accelerating.
“And I’m here to counteract your mishaps.” She reaches for a cushion and hands it to me.
I bury my face in it. “Even though your specialty is housework and bartending. And handing out medication.”
“What did you say, Grayson?”
I remove the cushion. “You’re a cottage witch, and a bartender witch, and a pharmaceutical witch.”
“That’s right, and I’ve waited a long time for you to discover what you are.”
“I always was a late bloomer.” Hold on. What did she just say? “What do you mean you’ve been waiting a long time for me to...? Where have you been hiding?”
She sits and reaches for her coffee, then meets my gaze. “All you need to know is you were assigned to me.”
“By whom?”
She waves away my inquiry like a farmer shooing flies.
I grab the armrest again because the room just spun. It’s steady now. Or I’m steady.
Breathe, Grayson, breathe. Give in to the Valium and gin.
Penelope places her hand on my shoulder, and surprisingly, I don’t jerk. “I should leave,” she says. “But if you sneeze, I’ll be here to save you from whatever mess you make. I promise.”
“Why is sneezing bringing on...?”
She giggles, then shrugs. “It’s different for everyone.
Sometimes it’s a sneeze, other times it’s a hand gesture.
For me...” She winks. “For me it was a finger snap. I was reading to my niece and someone in the book snapped their fingers. So I snapped mine because as you know, it’s important to be theatrical when reading to rugrats. ”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say it took a long time to figure out how to remove her snout.”
I snort. Then I visualise a snout on my own face. Can thinking about these things bring them on the next time I sneeze?
“But at least you don’t have the same problem as that Scottish guy I helped,” she continues. “His mishaps were brought on by farts. I tried to stop his shirt strangling him while dealing with his eye-watering odours.”
I try not to imagine this, but watching Penelope recall that stench isn’t helping. She cringes like she bit something sour. Then I picture my outdated turtleneck choking me, pressing around my neck like a tight rubber band. I shudder and clear my mind.
“So, every time I sneeze, Hugo will appear?”
“Hopefully that’s a once-only event. The truth is, anything can happen until you get a feel for spells. And you will. Look at my talents. Can you smell how fresh your newly dry-cleaned sofa is?”
I nod, wondering if she also steam-cleaned my pillow.
“Housework is my specialty. I’m not good at reversing spells but I got rid of Hugo so I am some use to you.”
“But if you were waiting for me to discover what I was, then you had plenty of time to learn how to reverse spells.”
She grins like she’s recalling sexual misadventure. “Well, once I added bartending spells to my repertoire, the next step was to learn how to conjure up men.”
My ears prick up.
“Yes, my lovable trainee wizard, having magical powers has many advantages.”
I imagine being surrounded by guys. I know several personally, while the others are my imagined ideal type. Rough. Chiselled. Muscly legs for guaranteed thrust. I wouldn’t need to go through the arduous task of talking to guys. They’d just be here, in my flat.
“Will you teach me to conjure men?” My anticipation rises.
“Once you’re in control of your magic.” She pauses in thought. “Do you need more Valium before I go? Or a large bottle of gin and a fridge full of tonic water?”
“Yes. Yes, and yes. And a large bottle of vodka too. And soda water. And a container of sliced lemon. But shouldn’t I stay sober just in case a real-size elephant appears the next time I sneeze?”
“It’s harder to sneeze drunk. I’m sure of it.” Yet she looks uncertain. “Besides, being a wizard is a lot to take in. Avoiding sobriety this weekend will help you come to terms with it. It worked for me way back when.” She snaps her fingers and points toward the kitchen. “Check the fridge.”
A bottle of my favourite Polish vodka stands next to my favourite local gin. And a green bowl of limes is next to my almost empty carton of eggs. Well, Penelope only got the citrus wrong.
There’s a rattle. She’s shaking a large bottle of pills. “This should keep you sane for the rest of the week because you can’t go to work drunk.” She places the Valium on my table. “Remember, avoid sneezing. But if you do, I’ll be by your side in an instant.”
Penelope embraces me in a squeezy hug, being familiar. Somehow, I don’t mind. Someone this sensational deserves to be held. I wrap my arms around her, but before my hands meet, she vanishes.
––––––––
It’s an hour later. I’m a little drunk and even more medically relaxed. I gaze at my reflection in the mirrored sliding doors of my wardrobe, as if addressing myself will somehow help me make sense of everything that’s happened.
I’m desperately trying to explain the unexplainable, searching for logic within reality’s rules. Yet the more I recall the afternoon, the more illogical the events are.
Penelope couldn’t have snuck into my kitchen. The door to my apartment was locked all night. And I would have noticed a glitzy dark-haired girl stalking me when I came home Friday evening.
Hugo could have been a figment of my imagination. As could Matilda. As could my fiery couch.
Fat chance!
The quality gin I brought into my bedroom is beyond my budget. And this bottle, and the vodka, and the Valium weren’t here yesterday.
Maybe I should sleep on this? It might make sense after a snooze. Or more sense? Or some sense?
I pull back my covers as a warm glow from that expensive liquor settles me. I puff up my pillow and a feather floats past my face. My nose twitches. I hold it, pinching my nostrils closed.
“Aah, aah, choo!”
I close my eyes, too scared to see what’s materialised. Now I’ve placed both hands over my face.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to look.
But cautiously, I spread my fingers and peer.
A mini llama stares back from the foot of my bed.