Page 4 of Witch You Would
She wasn’t wrong. But at some point, I’d realized an important thing: I’d never actually introduced myself to Gil. I’d leftthe store auto-signature at the bottom of the email and kept hitting reply. Formonths.
I’d told him really personal stuff. Stories about brewing potions with my abuela when she picked me and my sister up fromschool, or my mom making me pull weeds for hours in the hot sun as punishment for mediocre grades, or my dad coaching my LittleLeague team and putting me in the outfield because I couldn’t catch. I hadn’t told him my most painful memory, the one thatstill gave me nightmares and panic attacks, but I’d showed him a lot of my scars.
And the whole time, he’d thought I was my boss.
I was too embarrassed to say anything now. It would be so easy!By the way, my name is Penelope and I’m not old enough to be your mom.But I couldn’t do it.
Still, I kept the emails going. So what if I was only imagining he was flirting with me when he sent stuff like this witchpinup? I enjoyed my daydreams about him magically appearing at the store to ask me out.
It was never going to happen. He hadn’t even hinted about meeting, unless you counted asking about places I liked to hangout. He didn’t call the store or ask for my number. He probably had a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or nonbinary love of his life.And if he really was lusting after the picture of my boss posted on the website, I’d be a huge disappointment.
Rosy plopped a foam cup in front of me. “Do you need to get back to your asshole?”
I made a fart noise with my mouth and put away my phone.
“At least you’re going on vacation.” She wiped the counter. “I still can’t believe the vieja podrida gave you two weeks off.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be great!” And that didn’t sound fakey at all. Wow.
I grabbed my cortadito and waved goodbye to Rosy. Daydreams over. Time to deal with reality.
The door chimes tinkled when I stepped into the store. Unless the customer was hiding behind a shelf, he’d left. Ofelia hadeither talked some sense into him, or caved and gave him exactly what he wanted. I wasn’t going to bet myself anything thistime; I wasn’t a sucker.
“Is that you, Penny?” Ofelia called.
“Yes.”
“Come to my office.”
I put my cortadito on the counter, grabbed my notebook, and went to the back of the store.
Customers weren’t allowed into this area. Too ugly. Bare concrete floors, good for drawing arcane circles with chalk. Ceilings:more concrete. Walls: believe it or not, also concrete. Basic bathroom to the right, cleaned by yours truly. Workshop andstorage to the left, featuring a gas stove and oven, a scarred wooden table covered in spell-casting tools, shelves of reagents,and boxes of stuff I hadn’t restocked in the front yet. Big roll-up door on the far wall, broken since always.
Happy memories of my abuela’s kitchen ghosted through my mind. Watching the sun stream through the colored glass blocks ofthe door to the backyard. Sticking toothpicks into an avocado seed and resting it on the rim of a glass jar filled with agrowth potion. Sitting at the table, kicking my feet under the flower-print plastic tablecloth while I ground herbs with amortar and pestle. Climbing onto the counter to reach jars on high shelves. Feeling the rush of magic as I whispered an incantationand pushed my energy and will into the contents of a steaming cauldron. Turning the dial on her old-fashioned timer and watchingit tick, tick, until it buzzed.
Ofelia had fooled me for a while, but I knew perfectly well now that she wasn’t my abuela, and this place was nothing likethat kitchen.
Past the bathroom, the door to Ofelia’s office stood open. The room was just big enough to hold her desk, a chair, and a fancyantique cabinet full of impressive-looking magic stuff arranged like display candy at a movie theater. Her desk was coveredin papers, which I was not allowed to touch, and which she loved to accuse me of touching.
Ofelia peered over the bright red glasses sitting on the end of her nose as she two-finger-typed something on her ancient computer. After a few minutes of letting me squirm and choke on her flowery perfume, she sighed real big and took off her glasses, glaring at me with watery blue eyes.
“Penny, Penny,” she said. “What am I going to do with you?”
Did I mention I hated being called Penny?
“I need you to make the counterspell for that customer,” she continued. “He’ll pick it up as soon as it’s finished.”
“Okay,” I said, opening my notebook. “I’m going to need—”
“Use whatever will work. But the cost will come out of your pay.”
I put the notebook down and struggled to control my face. “I didn’t mess up his hair. He cast his own spell, and he used abroken duskywing butterfly wing, which we didn’t sell him. This isn’t my fault.”
Ofelia leaned forward, her leather chair creaking. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t give him the wrong blendof herbs?”
If she already thought I was a liar, why would eye contact matter? I looked directly at her pupils and said, “I didn’t messup his reagents. I always triple-check what I’m blending. I make sure nothing is stale or mislabeled. I measure twice so wedon’t give too much or too little. I’m extremely careful.”
I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because I’d made a mistake. Never again.
