A. Mayes - A Slice of Christmas Magic

Lena’s white hair was piled on top of her head in its usual bun, but her ever-smiling face was creased with worry. Flora’s big brown eyes scanned us up and down as though searching for injuries. Mr. Barnes was wearing his usual matching fedora and vest. He put his hands on my and Aunt Erma’s shoulders. I immediately felt some of my anxiety slip away. Mr. Barnes was a yoga teacher, and he specialized in calming magic.

“Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay?” Their voices filled the shop as they anxiously turned from Aunt Erma to me and back again.

“Yes, we’re fine.” Aunt Erma waved them away and started pulling plates out so she could serve them pie.

“How did you guys even know that Brenda was here?” I asked.

“Violet called me to ask if I’d seen anything,” Flora explained, fiddling with the sparkly white flower pin on her sweater. “I didn’t. I can’t believe I wasn’t watching.”

“Sit, and we’ll have our pie,” Aunt Erma demanded. I could tell some of her confidence was an act by the way she aggressively cut into the pies and scooped them out onto their plates. She didn’t like to be vulnerable.

I carefully took the plates from her and set them on the table.

“How’s everyone doing today?” I asked, giving them each a meaningful look.

They took the hint and struck up a conversation about today’s Ask Elodie, an advice column in the local paper. Today’s column was about a husband who was going to miss the birth of his first child.

I was one of two people in town who knew that Henry was actually Elodie. He liked to keep that secret because he didn’t want people hounding him when they didn’t agree with his advice. Plus, I think the mystery made people more intrigued by the column.

Flora couldn’t help herself for long though.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I heard her quietly ask Aunt Erma while Mr. Barnes and Lena argued about what constituted a good excuse for missing the birth of your child.

“We’ll get the spices back and everything will be fine,” Aunt Erma said.

She’d no sooner gotten the words out when Violet rushed in, her usually slicked-down hair now stuck out in a messy halo around her head.

“Come with me. It’s already happening,” she said urgently.

Aunt Erma jumped up and the rest of us followed suit.

“Since you all already know about Brenda and the stolen spices, you might as well make yourselves useful,” Violet said, a hint of her sternness returning. She turned to Flora. “Can we use your basement?”

The bookstore had a basement? I’d been there several times, but I’d only seen stairs going up to Flora’s apartment. Never a set going down.

“Of course,” Flora said. We left our half-eaten slices of pie and filed out the door. I reached back in to hang the “Back in ten minutes” sign before locking up.

Like soldiers getting ready for battle, we marched across the street to Flora’s. She led us to a small door in the back of the shop. Everyone but Flora had to crouch down to get through it.

We went down a dark narrow staircase to a room below. It was warm and cozy with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with old volumes. There was a quiet anxiousness in the room as Violet strode over to a computer with a large screen that sat on a deep mahogany desk. While we waited, Mr. Barnes cleaned his thick-rimmed glasses on the corner of his bright blue shirt. Lena reached over and patted down a stray chunk of his white hair that was sticking straight up on his head after he’d taken his hat off.

“Sit,” Violet demanded. We gathered chairs from around the room and pulled them up to the computer screen. I wasn’t sure what we were about to see. I smiled at Lena, hoping for reassurance, and she flashed a quick smile back at me. Her bright blue eyes lacked their usual twinkle. Violet stuck a thumb drive in the computer, and a black and white video started playing. It was taken from a high angle, looking down at a crowd walking along the street. A cloud descended on the group. It was hard to see exactly what it was in the grainy picture, but suddenly the people were taking slow, even steps. Some of them turned so they were all heading in the same direction. I shivered a little at the sight. Then suddenly everyone stopped walking. People looked around as though confused, and the crowd dispersed.

“They must be having trouble making the effects last very long,” Mr. Barnes said.

“But they’re going to make progress more quickly now that they have more spices to work with,” Aunt Erma said.

The video skipped ahead, and Stan’s parents popped up on the screen. Even in the fuzzy footage, I could recognize them. They were walking along, stopped, and looked straight into the camera.

“That’s strange,” Flora said, her brown eyes narrowed. “They know the camera is there. Why don’t they hide themselves better? They could have erased the footage if they really wanted to.”

“I thought so too,” Violet said. “The only conclusion I could come to is they wanted us to find them. That can only mean one thing. They’re trying to draw you out, Erma.”

All of our heads turned towards Aunt Erma. Her eyebrows were pinched together with worry, but she quickly rearranged her features into a brave face.

“If they want me, they’ll get me,” she said with a determined edge to her voice.

Dear Elodie,

Last week my cousin and her two young daughters were over at my house. I fed them a meal and snacks and drinks and made sure they had games to play with. When they left, I found my favorite porcelain duck statue in pieces and stuffed behind the sofa cushion. I called my cousin to confront her about it, and she denies that her daughters did anything wrong. No one else has been at my house lately. I’m blown away. I wasn’t looking for any monetary reimbursement, but I did expect an apology. I’m so mad right now, I don’t ever want them in my house again. How do I get past my anger if they won’t apologize?