“And now I have to work on another dress,” I said by the end of it.“The wedding isn’t for several months, but I’ll have to come up with something so Edmund can interview me for his fashion magazine.”
Christabella squealed.“Gigi, you’re amazing!”
***
THAT NIGHT, AFTER SETTLINGinto my old, narrow bed and snuffing out the candles, I dreamed I was thirteen again.We were on the floor of Christabella’s room under a fort of pillows and blankets we had constructed, draped with some extra sheets from the linen closet.
“Look how fast I can sew, Chrissy,” I said as she hovered over my shoulder.Christabella gasped as my fingers flew over the long side seam of a skirt I was making for Grandma, my needle dipping in and out of the linen in rapid, fluid motions.The thread caught halfway down.Backstitching was difficult to do quickly.
I set down the skirt and untangled the thread.“I’m still working on it.”
“Can I see the speed charm?”she asked.Grandma had just started teaching Chrissy charm making.She started with simple knotted charms, not yet advanced enough for drawn charms.
“Sure.”I took off my newly made thimble and gave it to her.
Christabella stuck her finger in it, then brought the opening to her eye to see the design I had etched inside.“This is amazing, Gigi!Can you makeanycharm now?”
I shrugged.“I don’t know.I’ve only tried that one, but I suppose the concept will be the same for any other charm.”
Christabella bounced up and down excitedly.“Can you make me run as fast as a horse?”
Neither of us had seen a horse before, but from the stories we’ve read in Grandma’s books, we presumed a horse was very fast.Grandma had a collection of tomes from her time aboveground that described oceans and horses and palaces—all things she had once experienced in Olderea, but we never would down here in the village.
“Maybe,” I said, slipping on my thimble again.I wanted to finish the skirt tonight as a surprise for Grandma.I was excited to sew the fabric into the waistband with cartridge pleats, a technique I had seen in one of her sewing books that involved neat, even gathers.
“Or can you make me fly?”Christabella asked, spreading her arms wide as she ran in circles around me.“Or dance like a puppet?”
She dove for her wooden puppet doll Ma had bought her for her tenth birthday.She and the doll had been inseparable for weeks now, and Francine, the witch who had made it, had taught her how to tug the strings just so to make it move in a convincing way.
Christabella demonstrated that now, making her doll walk across the floor before letting its wooden limbs collapse onto itself.
“I don’t know,” I said.“I don’t think I can draw charms on a person.”Grandma had said that they only worked on inanimate objects in her experience, not living things.
She pouted.“Please, Gigi?”
I shook my head.“No Chrissy.I want to sew now.”
“All you want to do is sew,” Christabella said with a huff.She sat down, crossed her arms, and glared at the floor, her cheeks and ears growing redder by the second—the calm before the tantrum.
“Chrissy,” I said, nudging her shoulder.
She harrumphed, the noise wavering and tearful.
I sighed.Christabella crying never boded well for anyone.Ma always found a way to pin the blame on me and accuse me of being unkind, even though that was rarely the case.
“Fine.”I set down my sewing, disgruntled that I had so little time for myself.I’d spent the entire morning helping Ma in the kitchen.“Stick out your arm.”
Christabella sniffled and stuck out her arm.I stole a look at her face, which was no longer scrunched.Such a crybaby.But begrudgingly, I still loved her and I always enjoyed putting a smile on her face.
So with a pen dipped in nightweed ink, I drew a charm on her wrist, one that resembled her puppet with its fat body and thin strings that held it upright.When it was done, I blew on it to dry the ink.She’d see that it wouldn’t work and then would lose interest.
“Now, dance like your puppet,” I said with a dramatic flourish.
Chrissy giggled.To my amazement, she rose an inch into the air and began dancing, her arms and legs jerking about in a convincingly puppet-like manner.“Look, look at me!I’m just like my doll!”
She pranced and twirled.I froze, not expecting any of this.I felt my magic working, escaping me in a stream—the sensation not unlike the one I’d felt when I tried potion-making for the first time.The only thing I could do was keep my magic steady so Chrissy wouldn’t fly too high or too quickly and hurt herself.She giggled, and I began to smile too, then stifled a laugh when I twirled my hand and Chrissy did a backflip that sent her skirts and her braids flying.
After a bout of giggling, she said, “Gigi, I’m tired now.”
