It was as easy as that, and as difficult as that. Especially when Oswald kept pestering her about how things were going. When she’d dropped off his freshly laundered handkerchief this morning he’d demanded to see photographic evidence of the hexed cocktails. He hadn’t been impressed with the scorch marks and exploded lemons in Bonnie’s videos.
‘I was so sure you had it in you,’ he’d said, with the kind of disappointed air that took Bonnie straight back to her high-school days. ‘But if you don’t, I understand. I’m certain you gave it your best.’
Bonnie had immediately raced back here to prove him wrong. Well, after stopping at The Winged Monkey for a takeaway coffee.
Now, she huffed out a dejected breath. There was no way she could master all of the spells in the recipe book. It would take weeks of dedication just to get the non-magical ingredients handled. And Bonnie wasn’t exactly known for her keen study skills. Well, unless it came to the names of the nail polish colours in her drawer. She had a photographic memory there.
But she had to get this figured out before the repo guy came for her Cadillac, and Willamina from the bank started knocking very politely on the front door.
Maybe there was a handy catch-all recipe she could try.One she could get a handle on before the bar opened for business tomorrow.
She flipped through the pages, looking for recipes that seemed both manageable for her and appealing to the townsfolk. She couldn’t choose anythingtooout there. If people couldn’t pronounce an ingredient listed in a cocktail, they’d probably avoid ordering it.
There. A concentrate called Memory Lane, comprising just four ingredients and a splash of enchantment. She could manage that. And best of all, it was purple, like Bonnie’s magic.
Bonnie grimaced as she saw the magical annotations – there was a whole language to magic that, unlike Effie, she’d never properly mastered. A bit like musical notation, it guided you with gesture and language, helping you create the set of circumstances needed to bring the spell into being. But not all magic was like that. You could also cast magic just by directing your emotion at a particular target. NowthatBonnie was good at, even if it did tend to result in a touch of magical recoil.
Memory magic, though, that was tough. You had to be specific about what it was you were targeting, or you risked lobotomizing your audience. And people with no frontal lobes weren’t great at ordering drinks, which didn’t bode well for the bar’s longevity.
Well, she’d manage. Because if she didn’t, Willamina and the bankruptcy court awaited. Or worse, a despairing look from Effie as she bailed Bonnie out yet again.
Bonnie was done being bailed out.
She arranged the coupe glasses she’d carried upstairs in a triangle, then in a pitcher mixed together the sparkling rosé, candied plums, crème de violette and chopped mint the recipe called for. So far, so good.
Then, hands at the ready, pinkie fingers poised, Bonnie channelled her inner magic, feeling her wrists grow warm.Purple swirled atop her floral tattoos as she directed her focus towards the pitcher, letting her mind’s eye bloom with the image of smoother, less stressful times. But then the thing that she was determined not to forget, not ever, sparkled into the vision. Mom’s smiling face.
Bonnie’s magic flashed, shooting in a zigzag from her wrist to the pitcher, turning it a swirling purple and almost knocking it over.
‘Dammit!’ she shouted.
At least she managed to grab the pitcher before the entire thing spilled all over the hardwoods, creating an entirely new restoration issue.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Bonnie swore as the cocktail sloshed over her hand, and her favourite magenta skirt.
‘Bon?’ Bobby’s voice was muffled through the thick wood. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine,’ said Bonnie, trying to keep exasperation out of her voice.
‘Do you want me to come in?’
She stood up to let him in, hoping he wouldn’t find it odd that she was hanging out with a pitcher of purple liquid and two cocktail coupes too many. Not to mention the residual smoky smell that lingered from her wayward magic.
Bobby tiptoed in, looking awkward in the apartment. He thrust his hands in his pockets as he took in the messy scene.
‘Drinking alone, huh?’ he said lightly.
‘Just working on a new cocktail recipe. How’s your head?’
‘Much better. I think I was probably dehydrated. All that running around on nothing other than a few bites of a pastry will do it.’ Bobby made his way carefully around the ladder in the middle of the room – he’d always been vocal about the karmic risks of walking under a ladder – before perching on one of the taller stacks of cushions. ‘I dropped off some ice for you, by the way. It’s in the storeroom.’
‘Thanks,’ said Bonnie. ‘You’re sweet.’
Bobby rubbed his cheek, the way he always did when she said something to make him blush. Bonnie quite enjoyed having this superpower.
‘Did you want to come to the basketball game at the college?’ he said quickly, his dark eyes meeting hers before darting away. ‘The coach gave me some free tickets as thanks for helping out over the weekends. I can get some extras for the girls if you want?’
Bonnie bit back a smile. Bobby was annoying, but kind. And she definitely appreciated the free labour and the endless dessert offerings. It was almost a shame that he’d only ever be the boy next door.
