Rachel laughed and looked at her reflection one last time. She looked good. Really good. And it was sort of amazing, seeing as how she hadn’t lost any weight, but her body did seem different—sort of rearranged.
“Wow,” a salesclerk said, her reflection appearing over the opposite shoulder from Dagne. “That looks great on you. Not many women can really carry that off.”
“Really?” Rachel squeaked.
“Oh yeah,” the girl said, nodding emphatically. “You really need curves for this. You make that dress.”
Impossibly pleased, Rachel beamed at herself. But then she sobered. “This is stupid,” she said, dejected. “I don’t even know if I’m going to have another temp job from one day to the next and the last thing I need to do is spend this much money on something like this.” She stepped behind the curtain to change.
“Will you just trust me?” Dagne yelled through the curtain, and the moment Rachel emerged, she grabbed the dress from her hand, plus the gold blouse and winter-white skirt she’d picked for herself, and held them out to the salesclerk. “We’ll take them!”
A brand-new charge and no way to pay it later, Rachel and Dagne drove to an obscure side street and a little shop called Makin’ Magick! to buy oils and candles for Dagne’s witchcraft.
They also had some amulets marked down 50 percent, and Dagne, never one to pass up a bargain, picked one up. They returned to Rachel’s, because Dagne had bought the necessary items to put a sex spell on Flynn and would not be deterred. They went outside to commune with Mother Nature while they cast it.
“I’m freezing my ass off,” Rachel hissed as she stood on the other side of her detached garage from the last spell casting, hugging herself, checking every few seconds to see if Mr. Valicielo was going to call the cops.
“This is perfect,” Dagne said. “Stop whining.” She had Mexican vanilla, honey, and ground almonds, which she had mixed inside. She held up the bowl to Rachel. “Spit in it three times.”
“I will not spit into that bowl!”
“Spit!” Dagne said, waving the thing beneath her nose. “The sooner you spit, the sooner we can go inside.” Rachel spit. Dagne grinned maniacally. “Now you have to stir it with your finger, counterclockwise. Just three times. No more, no less.”
With a grimace, Rachel pulled her hands from her mittens and stirred, three times exactly, no more, no less.
Dagne gave a little laugh and went down on her knees, lit the fat candle she’d brought for atmosphere, and handed Rachel an apple and a knife. “Cut it in half, then carve a triangle.”
In an effort to get out of the cold, Rachel did as she was told, shaking her head.
Dagne gestured for her to give the apple halves back when she was done and carefully set them aside. “Okay, lift your sweater,” she said, picking up the bowl and holding it up to Rachel. “Then dip three fingers into the mixture and make a triangle on your belly, point up. Make sure the point is up!”
“Are you nuts?” Rachel demanded. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
“If you don’t hurry up, Mr. Valicielo is going to come out here,” Dagne warned her.
Rachel lifted her sweater, dipped in three fingers, and made a triangle. Point up.
“Now, dip more,” Dagne instructed in hushed tones, “and repeat it. But this time, look at the moon and repeat this while you trace the triangle over and over: Scents of the goddess I put in me, to bring my special night irresistibility.”
Rachel frowned.
“Say it until you feel it,” Dagne warned her.
Honestly. Okay, well, the night air was frigid on her belly, so Rachel dipped her fingers into the mixture, looked at the moon, and began to chant, “Scents of the goddess I put in me, to bring my special night irresistibility.”
This, she repeated, over and over until her vision began to blur and she thought she was getting frostbite—but then suddenly, Rachel felt a shot of warmth down her spine, from her neck to her tailbone, and lowered her head, blinking. “I felt it!” she whispered. “At least I think I did!” She paused, rubbed her shoulder, wondered if maybe it wasn’t from leaning her head back like that for too long.
Whatever it was, Dagne was on her feet, the two apple halves in her hand. “That’s it, that’s it!” she exclaimed and grabbed Rachel’s hand, jerked her to run behind her.
Into the house they ran, to one of Rachel’s big potted ferns. “Bury it,” Dagne said so excited she could hardly transfer the apple to Rachel.
“Bury it?” Rachel exclaimed, looking at the big pot.
“Don’t wait! Bury it, bury it!”
Rachel dug into the soil until she’d made a hole, then quickly put the apple inside and covered it. She and Dagne stood there for a moment, staring at the pot.
“That’s it. My work here is done,” Dagne said and put her hands on her hips.