Daughter of the Spellcaster

“Cold,” she said. “Distant.”

He shrugged. “That was his choice, not mine.”

Okay, still touchy on that subject, she thought.

“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Why don’t you lean your head back. Close your eyes. We’ve got another forty minutes back to the city. Here, I’ll find something soothing.” He found a new-age station that was right up her alley—the same station she always used to tune in to during those beautiful weeks of their passionate and life-altering fling.

He remembered….

He was acting more like the prince she had mistaken him for than he ever had… in this lifetime, anyway. She took his advice and leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drifted back to the night she had first met him at that fancy-assed ball honoring his father.

It was him, it was him, it was him!

She had tried to contain her childlike enthusiasm as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection. All alone in the restroom of the posh Waldorf Astoria, she tried to come to grips with the fact that she had just met the very prince from her childhood fantasies. That vision in her mamma’s black mirror. Her prince.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lena,” she whispered to her reflection. “That was a fairy tale from childhood. A fantasy. Imagination. There’s no handsome prince, no exotic palace, no garden oasis in the desert.”

Oh, yeah? Then where the heck did she come from? she asked herself.

Because the instant she had set eyes on Ryan McNally, she had heard, very distinctly, a woman’s voice from close beside her saying “He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.” Except no one was there. Then, as she had scanned the crowd, she could have sworn she’d seen her old friend Lilia meandering through it.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. “Lilia was an imaginary friend. She was not—I repeat, was not—out there. Because she does not—I repeat, does not—exist.”

Soft laughter came from behind her. Oh, hell, she wasn’t alone in the restroom after all. She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror again—and saw Lilia standing right behind her left shoulder, all decked out in white robes like a desert angel, shoulders bare, skin like copper, hair jet-black and blowing in a non-existent breeze like a model on a magazine cover. And glowing. She was definitely… glowing.

Lena spun around, but of course there was no one there.

All right, this is ridiculous.

She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, hit the listing marked Mom.

“I was just going to call you,” Selma said without even a hello first. “I had the oddest feeling—”

“My imaginary friend is back, Mom.”

Selma was silent. Lena could see her as clearly as if they were on Skype, frowning and fingering her oversized pentacle the way she always did. Her mom wasn’t a broom-closet sort of woman. She was more an in-your-face witch. Or had been until they’d moved to the country. She’d been a lot more discreet since then.

“Well? Say something, will you? I’m freaking out here.”

“Where are you?” Her mother was calm, composed, like always.

“At the Waldorf Astoria. The reception for my new assignment, Ernst McNally, eccentric, world-traveling billionaire. Any of this ringing a bell, Mom?”

“Yes, of course, just calm down. Take deep, cleansing breaths. Come on, now.”

Lena nodded, closed her eyes and set the phone down. Then she inhaled nasally, raising her arms over her head, and exhaled thoroughly, lowering them in front of her body. Three times was the charm. She was calm, centered. She picked up the phone again.

“Better?” her mom asked, uncannily knowing she had returned.

“Yes.”

“Now tell me what happened.”

“I was at the reception. Chatting with Mr. McNally and his spiritual guide, a really eccentric-looking man called Bahru. Wait, I snapped a pic when he wasn’t looking.” She took the phone from her ear, located the picture and emailed it. “I like him. He’s very wise.”

“Ernst or Bahru?”

“Bahru. Ernst seems more sad and searching than wise.”

“Oh, got the pic,” her mother said. “Wow, he is eccentric-looking. He wore that to the Waldorf Astoria?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lena said, seeing again the red-and-white sari-style getup. “Ernst says he wears it everywhere. And the dreadlocks are all the way to his butt.”

“Go on, what happened next?”

“Okay. Okay, this is… this is…”

“Just tell me, Lena.”

Lena nodded again. “This man came over. Ernst introduced him as his son, Ryan. I looked up at him, and—and I swear, Mom, he was the prince from that silly fantasy-vision I had when I was a little girl. You remember the one, the first time you let me try mirror-scrying?”

“The Arabian prince who was going off to war but promised to return to carry you away. How could I forget? You wrote an entire collection of storybooks about him. I didn’t let you scry again for two years. But, Lena, you do realize that was the same summer Aladdin came out, right?”

She sighed. “Yes. But there’s more. Just as I thought it couldn’t possibly be him, a woman whispered right into my ear—not my head, Mom, my ear. Out loud. ‘It’s him. The one you’ve been waiting for.’ And I turned fast, but there was no one standing there, and it was clear no one else had heard her but me.”

“Huh,” her mom said.

“So I scanned the room and I thought I saw Lilia.”

“Your imaginary friend?” Selma asked. Now she sounded worried.

“And then I came into the restroom and she was right here. Standing right behind me in the mirror, laughing.”

“Hell’s bells,” her mother whispered. “Honey, maybe you’d better come home.”

“Soon as I can. But I have to go back out there. This is my biggest assignment so far, taking over the McNally account while Bill recovers.”

“All right, then,” her mother said. “Here’s the thing. None of this sounds dire. I mean, it’s odd, but… you always insisted Lilia wasn’t imaginary. I was obviously wrong in not accepting that. She’s clearly some kind of otherworldly guide. That’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. It’s a blessing, actually. Later, when you’re alone, talk to her. See if she can tell you why she’s come. And as for Ernst’s son—”

“Ryan,” Lena said, and the name whispering from her lips sent shivers down her spine.

“Ryan. He’s in the tabloids a lot, you know. Player. Big-time player. Irresponsible, spoiled, self-centered—you know the type.”

“I do.”

“But if he’s your prince, then, baby, gird your loins and go for it.”

Lena stared into the mirror. Her wide eyes had returned to their normal size and shape. Her lips stopped quivering and pulled into a little smile. Her spine straightened. Her cleavage rocked. “You always know what to say, Mom.”