Jule Mcbride - Bedspell

“You’ll be on the payroll, and it will cheer you up.”

Manhattan Men, the program Diane was offering through her business, Wacky Weekends, was an intensive week-long experience designed for businessmen who had more money than culture, and who wanted to learn how to present themselves with more class. Next week was the program’s test run, and so far, six men from around the country had signed up. Their dates—C.C., Mara and Signe, as well as some other friends—would show the rich bachelors how to impress business associates. Between learning how to dress, order in restaurants and select fine wines, they were in for a week long extravaganza that would include trips to art openings, operas and high teas.

“Mara and I are taking vacation time, so we can participate,” reminded C.C.

“Sounds good,” Signe managed to say, still upset over the work suspension, and took another sip. The herbal-root beverage definitely had a bite. She frowned. “What do you think is in this?”

Diane didn’t hesitate. “Pure grain alcohol.”

Doubtful, Signe thought. She rarely drank. “It doesn’t taste like it.”

“You wait,” said C.C. darkly.

For once in her life, Signe decided she might not really mind tying one on. Besides, Gorgeous hadn’t stopped in on his lunch hour, as he usually did, but then maybe that meant he planned to surprise her tonight. She sighed. In the car, on the drive to the mountains, a heated debate had taken place, and all the women decided not to speak to Detective Perez and see how things played out over the next week. If the thief still wasn’t caught and Signe wasn’t reinstated in her job, then they’d reconsider their strategy. Despite stories and movies to the contrary, they’d reasoned, priceless artifacts rarely really vanished. Surely, they were too hard to sell. All they had to do was wait for the police to find Eros.

C.C. knocked back her herbal root beverage, then fanned herself. “It’s hot out here.”

“Remember last Christmas?” said Diane. “It was seventy degrees.”

“Global warming,” explained Mara. “At least we can skinny-dip in the lake after the ceremony.”

The ceremony. Signe’s eyes settled on the huge black kettle in the center of the magic circle. Beneath it, a fire roared. Reaching into the back pocket of her cutoffs, she withdrew Gorgeous Garrity’s handkerchief and the spell she’d written. “It’s not very good,” she whispered. Since it concerned Gorgeous, she’d meant to spend quality time on it, but her concern over the missing Eros statue and Detective Perez’s sudden entrance into her life had distracted her.

“You really can’t expect yourself to write a good spell,” Diane commiserated, “not when so much is going on in your life, Sig.”

So true. Wishing she’d done a better job, she moved up in line, watching Mara. Following the protocol of the New Jersey wiccans, Mara removed one of the brooms, which was functioning as a gate. After opening the symbolic door, she closed it behind her and walked toward the boiling cauldron. When she reached the pot, she tossed in a jock strap that had belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Dean. Even though the breakup had been definite, he still wouldn’t quit calling. Unfolding the spell she’d penned, Mara began to read:

“Dean, I hate to be unkind

But it seems I haunt your mind.

Oh, SoHo man I’ve left behind,

May this spell break our binds…”

“Get ready,” C.C. whispered. “You’re next, Sig.”

Signe nodded, taking one more anxious glance around. While Minneapolis had its share of sprawling state parks in the middle of the city, she’d never frequented them. She was a city girl, born and bred. The woods made her nervous. She found herself thinking of insects. Wildcats. Bears. You name it. Her imagination always ran wild.

Fortunately, tonight, the herbal beverage was mitigating her anxiety. In fact, the more she drank, the more she got a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. Right now, the rustic log cabins that were barely visible through the tall trees looked inviting, even though Signe’s roommate had canceled at the last moment, since one of her kids was sick. That meant Signe was going to wind up sleeping in a cabin all by herself. Not that she couldn’t join her friends, but the beds were single and it would be uncomfortable.

Being alone would be fine, she told herself. It was safe. No men were around. Regarding the retreat, most of the women looked less like witches and more like soccer moms from New Jersey who wanted a girls’ night out, away from their husbands and kids.

Diane’s elbow caught her in the ribs. “Mara’s done, Sig. You’re next.”

Miming Mara’s movements, she, too, headed for the circle. Using a broom as a gateway, she entered the magic area, then replaced the broom and approached the cauldron. A wave of heat hit her, warming her cheeks as she peered over the edge. Floating under the bubbling surface, she could make out a pager, a cell phone and a Brooks Brothers tie. The jilted fiancée of a dentist had dropped in his Water Pic, after reading a spell that included the words: “You thought I was the hostess with the mostess. Now I’m wishing you halitosis.”

One overzealous redhead had tossed in the keys to her husband’s Lexus, realizing too late that she’d borrowed his car to come to the retreat. Another had offered the last lock of her boyfriend’s hair before he’d gone prematurely bald, in the hopes that his hair would grow back.

Signe took a deep breath. Shutting her eyes, she conjured an image of Gorgeous Garrity, and for a blissful moment, she forgot all about the missing potency statue, Detective Perez and the fact that she was—hopefully temporarily—unemployed. What if Gorgeous did come to the mountains tonight? She breathed out shakily, imagining how his hands might feel on her body.

Their conversation had been preempted by the theft of the statue, but before that, Gorgeous had sounded as if he was seriously considering a trip up here. Turning toward the wiccans, she cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders and read:

“O, ye spirits, do hear me

In a crystal ball do see

An eve of sexy revelry

With a man I call Garrity

And if we should be good in bed

I beseech ye, we should wed

And now that this has all been said

I give this handkerchief of red.”

Turning, she dropped the handkerchief into the boiling water, then had the strangest falling sensation, as if a rug had been jerked from beneath her feet. Her breath caught as it went under the bubbling surface of the water, the pointed tail of it swirling once before it was lost.

Surely it was nothing—just fanciful thinking, as if the spell might work—nevertheless, the hairs at her nape were prickling her warm skin when she exited the circle. The feeling lingered as Diane cast a spell to make her business, Wacky Weekends, thrive, and as C.C. angled for another promotion. Only when the women began stripping and running into the lake did the feeling start to dissipate.

As C.C. pulled a sundress over her head and weighted it down with a rock, Signe said, “wouldn’t it be kind of creepy if these spells really worked?”

Mara was wiggling out of her shorts. “Creepy?”

Signe shook her head. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Back there, I got this…weird feeling. Like it was real. Like it’s going to work.”

“And you’re going to marry Gorgeous Garrity?” asked Diane.

“Or just sleep with him?” asked C.C.

“You wish,” chimed Mara. “C’mon, get undressed.”

That changed the subject. “I’m not swimming in that lake.”

Mara shot her a long look. “Why, may I ask?”

Signe laughed. “Because when I free-associate, lakes make me think of words such as rocks, fish and slime.”