‘Well, he certainly wouldn’t have picked you, Little Miss Rules and Regulations!’ snapped Bonnie, her wrists glimmering purple from anger. ‘The only reason anyone shows up to your stupid library is because everything there isfree.’
‘At least you don’t have to be drunk to enjoy the library,’ retorted Effie, her own wrists crackling a furious green. ‘Besides, unlike your bar, the library isn’t all aboutme.’
‘Well, that’s fortunate, because it would be even more depressing if it were!’ shouted Bonnie, a stream of purple exploding from her wrist and knocking a needlepoint off the wall.
‘Oh good,’ snarled Effie, waving a glowing hand at the broken frame. ‘Yet another one of your messes for me to clean up. Just another day in the life of being Bonnie Chalmers’ big sister!’
Bonnie glowered, but said nothing. Effie could tell her words had cut deep.
Well, good, Effie thought, trembling with indignation. It was about time Bonnie heard the truth. And she’d spoken only the truth, after all.
There was a beat as the two sisters tried to decide whether they’d gone too far and needed to resolve their argument, theway Mom would have insisted upon. She never let an argument extend beyond bedtime.
But pride won out. Instead of reconciling, both sisters raced to their respective rooms.
Effie’s only regret was that her sister beat her to the door-slamming by a fraction of a second.Damn Bonnie’s athleticism.
Chapter 8
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WITCH FOR
Bonnie
Bonnie had never anticipated that Uncle Oswald would become a regular at The Silver Slipper, and yet here he was again. Perched on one of the bar stools in the pre-opening quiet, cane across his lap, he sipped his mint julep. Bonnie had never been a mint fan. Effie was, but Bonnie suspected that her sister had cultivated a taste for mint chocolate purely to keep Bonnie away from her kitchen stashes.
‘I’m glad you came around,’ said Oswald. ‘It’s a smart business decision. And most importantly, the right decision for the town as well.’
And an excellent way to spite know-it-all Effie, thought Bonnie darkly. At least now she knew how Effie truly felt. Last night she’d wanted to get Effie’s thoughts on the collaboration, but being so summarily dismissed had made it an easy decision. Bonnie was all in.
‘Mm-hm,’ she said absently, turning her attentions back to the recipe she was working on.
Bonnie was making her third charmed tonic in a row, her wrists glowing purple as she tried to bespell the drink according to the simplest recipe in the ratty book that Uncle Oswald had slid across the bar after she’d agreed to his proposal. She still wasn’t sure where he’d sourced the recipes from, because Oswald didn’t have magic of his own, as far as she knew. Buthe might have learned a few things from Mom, even if he couldn’t actually put them into practice.
This particular spell was meant to negate attentiveness to numerology, which as someone who was strictly anti-math, Bonnie had a vested interest in. She knew exactly who she’d test it on. Bowow Walker, who was always banging on about the connection between numbers and names and life paths. She’d come to numerology after going down a YouTube rabbit hole, and since then she’d made herself quite the pest when it came to her bar tab, which always had to be a perfectly round number lest a volcano erupt or something.
The drink fizzed as it was meant to. But the glass shattered.
‘Dammit.’ Bonnie grabbed the dustpan by the counter and went to sweep up the shards.
Oswald leaned over with his handkerchief, mopping up the puddle that hadn’t been caught by the drip tray. Grimacing, Bonnie wrung out the green silk kerchief over the sink at the back of the bar.
‘Do you want me to throw this in the laundry for you?’
Oswald’s thick eyebrows rose over his spectacles as he sipped his drink. ‘You could just use your magic to dry it, surely?’
Bonnie wasn’t willing to risk another wayward spell. ‘Stickiness is hard to remove magically. I wouldn’t want to ruin the fabric.’
Oswald nodded, but Bonnie could tell that she’d slipped in his estimation. ‘All right. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.’
Bonnie set the handkerchief aside, trying not to imagine Effie’s expression when she spotted Uncle Oswald’s laundry mixed in with theirs. Effie could easily charm the kerchief back to normalcy, of course, but Bonnie was hardly about to ask. Not after their fight the other night. They’d each been carefully avoiding the other since, Effie heading out early to the library, and Bonnie hanging around as late as feasibly possible at The Silver Slipper. She’d even brought her sleepingbag up to the partly finished upstairs apartment, just in case sleeping over sounded appealing after a few post-closing beers. She’d given it a try, but after a princess and the pea-like experience where she’d rolled around agonizingly on a knot in the hardwoods, she’d decided that home was where the heart was. Just so long as Effie was asleep.
As Oswald observed judgementally, Bonnie mixed another drink, this time in a shatter-proof brass mug usually used for Moscow mules, before trying the charm once more. The drink fizzed, and although the mug grew warm to the touch, it held.
Bonnie set her head on her arms in relief. It had worked. As far as she knew, anyway. She needed someone to test it on.
With impeccable timing, Bobby came through the door pushing a dolly stacked high with crates.
‘Hiya, boss!’ he said cheerfully, waving at Bonnie and giving Oswald a nod. ‘Got your deliveries. Wow, we’re going big on the limes this week, huh? And the Himalayan salt. If it’s the whole milk situation all over again, let me know, and we’ll put key lime pie on the menu at the bakery.’
