From Chapter 2

“Maggie. What are you doing here?” Clara paddled to the edge of the pool as her sister approached. “You said you didn’t want to come, or I would have waited for you.” The implication was that Clara knew Mag had taken the easy route.

“Changed my mind,” Mag said, shrugging her shoulders innocently. “But only about the hot tub, not the old fogey water ballet.” She raised her voice just enough to draw attention. “You can do your synchronized splashing. I’ll just be over there soaking my bones.”

Mag dropped the towel.

Clara forgot to tread water, went under, and came up sputtering. “Goddess help me,” she gasped.

“Chlorine in your eyes?” Mag tsked and shook her head in mock empathy.

Wet hair tangled over Clara’s face. She brushed it back, got another look at her sister, and winced. “No. What are you wearing?”

“This old thing?” One hip cocked, her hand on the other, Mag looked down at the bands of material bound together with narrow straps that made up her swim attire. Tiny patches of shiny fabric struggled to contain breasts that had lost both the skirmish and the battle with gravity. Then, she hooked her thumb in one of the straps that angled down from her shoulders. “I can’t believe it still fits.”

As if possessed, Clara’s eyes traced the V shape to its natural conclusion—a scrap of cloth barely covering what it should have. Before Clara could form words, Mag spun to show off the back.

“Does anyone have a fork? I need to poke out my own eyeballs,” Clara muttered when she saw that the rear of what could only loosely be called a swimsuit mimicked the front in shape and size, not to mention scarcity of material. “Mag, half of your ass is showing.”

“In more ways than one,” Penelope Starr had gone pale. “There are things you see that are so horrible they stick with you forever. I think I’m scarred for life.”

Half of the women in the pool stared in horror. One or two snickered. The rest found other things to look at. They were the smart ones. Mag glared at Penelope, then lazily flicked a finger in her direction.

Penelope’s expression went from disdain to panic as she got busy picking at the back of her own suit. After a moment, she couldn’t take it anymore and climbed out of the pool. Mag earned another glare as the younger witch crossed to the bench where she’d left her towel.

As Penelope passed, Clara noted something of a wardrobe malfunction and couldn’t hold back a tiny smile. Mag’s atomic wedgie charm wouldn’t last long, but it wouldn’t be pleasant while it ran its course. Clara should know since she’d experienced it more than once in her youth.

“If you’re done with the shock and awe portion of your day, why don’t you join us? Unless you don’t think you can handle the workout.” Clara goaded her sister. “On second thought, maybe you should just lounge around in the hot tub. We wouldn’t want to get your heart rate up too high. It might prove you actually have one.”

If the zinger hit the mark, Mag’s face didn’t show it, which left Clara even more annoyed as she paddled back and took her place next to Mabel Youngblood. “Sorry,” Clara nodded to the instructor. “Go ahead.”

The drama over, at least for the moment, Mag activated the jets, sidled around the various seats until she found one with a perfect stream of pulsating water that hit the spot, and congratulated herself on the suit’s impact. She’d done everything she came to do, and now she planned to enjoy the heat, the jets, and the bubbles. Sinking low, she closed her eyes and basked for maybe a minute before the sensation of being watched brought her senses to full attention.

Casually, Mag let her lids open. Just a crack so it wouldn’t look like she’d noticed anything, but enough to get a feel for whose gaze might be trained in her direction. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let her intuition out to play. With one notable exception, Mag’s intuition had never done her wrong.

On full alert now, Mag schooled her face to maintain its lazy, almost bored expression while she sent her awareness out in every direction. She’d narrowed down the general area where her watcher must be when the sensation shut off like a light switch.

Odd. Mag thought. Probably the suit. She had come there intending to be looked at, had she not? So why did she feel all bajiggity when it happened? A question for the ages.

Settling back, she replayed the bathing suit moment in her head, laughing again at the shocked responses until an excited buzzing pulled her focus. Like almost every other woman in the pool area, Mag watched as fine an example of manhood as she’d ever seen stroll toward the pool wearing a pair of board shorts and a polo shirt with the club’s name emblazoned across the front.

Ignoring the women’s stares, the young man flicked a loose curl of hair off his forehead and hunkered down to look at the space below the lip where the pool water drained into the filter. Still oblivious to having stopped the aerobics class, he stood and stripped off his shirt. A sigh rose as the tan fabric revealed golden skin, washboard abs, and shoulders for days.

As Mag contemplated what she might have done with him had she still been in her heyday, the lad jumped into the pool. To a rapt audience, he surfaced and slicked his hair back while he angled for a closer look into the orifice. Whatever he saw there wasn’t good because he shook his head, then placed his hands on the pool’s edge and boosted himself out.

Another sigh whispered across the room as water sluiced off the pool boy’s muscles. Pool boy. What a ridiculous term, Mag thought. This was no boy. This was a man. Probably dumber than a bag of eaflock hair, but at least he was pretty. She watched along with the rest as he opened a panel in the far wall, pulled out a length of hose, and shot a stream of water at whatever had lodged where it shouldn’t. Finally satisfied, he returned the hose and strode off in the direction he’d entered from, pulling his shirt over his damp body. It took a full thirty seconds for activity to resume in his wake.

The second time Mag felt eyes on her, she turned her head to find the water aerobics instructor straddling the wall that separated the hot tub from the pool.

“You know, I could help you get more range of motion in that hip. Probably get rid of the cane entirely if you follow my regimen. It’s a few simple exercises every day, and show up for class three times a week.”

To the woman’s credit, Mag’s glare barely made a dent in her resolve.

“The hip’s fine,” Mag lied.

“I’d say pull the other leg, but we both know I don’t need to. I’d add a weekly deep-tissue massage if that’s enough to sweeten the deal. And I won’t even charge you for the one-on-one consultation fees. Just the classes you already paid for and the massage.”

“How noble,” Mag drawled. “I don’t trust noble. What’s in it for you?” She finally pulled the instructor’s name up from the dregs of her memory. “Fiona.”

“Satisfaction of a job well done,” came the answer, but Mag thought there was more to it than that and waited until Fiona offered up the reason. “Fine. If you must know, I’m an empath, and I know you’re in more pain than you let on because I can feel it. You’ve found ways to overcome it when you have to, but that hip is getting worse, and those moments where you can forget the pain are decreasing all the time. If I can help you regain at least some of your mobility, most of it, if you work hard, I won’t have to feel your pain anymore. But you’ll have to put some trust in me.”

Since the number of people Mag trusted could be counted on the fingers of one hand, she shrugged. “Tall order.”

Fiona rose from her seat on the tile and swung her leg over the divider, her motion smooth and easy enough to send a spark of jealousy through Mag. “Your choice. I’m not gifted with magic, but I’m aware of it in my community, and I know you by reputation. You’re one tough witch, but that doesn’t mean you have to be in constant pain. If you want my help, haul your skinny self into my pool, and for the love of the sainted mother, don’t wear that suit the next time you come, or the deal’s off.”

Mag slid sideways until she could reach the controls, turned off the jets, then sunk down until only her eyes and nose were above the water. Was she a damn fool? No. Did she want to parade her infirmity in front of the entire class? Again, no. Was it worth it if she could move around easier?

Since the answer to that one landed well across the line on the side of probably, Mag gave in and hauled her half-naked backside over the barrier. Fiona nodded approval but didn’t single Mag out for special instructions and kept moving through the class.

“Let’s continue with lunges. Three sets of twelve, each side, beginning with your left. And one…two.”

“This is stupid,” Mag muttered when her legs moved easier than she thought they should.

“The water takes some of your weight, but you’re still getting a solid workout. Just be careful not to push too hard at first, or you’ll be sore later.”

“I’m always sore.” But Mag moved with the others to shallower water and followed along with a short series of squats. Once committed, she gave it her all. Next came bicep curls, which she didn’t mind so much, and then, the dreaded high kicks. She was certain she heard her hip yelp after the first one, but it turned out to be Clara’s voice breaking across the water.

“What’s your problem? This should be easy for you.”

“It’s not the leg lifts,” Clara closed her eyes dramatically. “It’s you and the bathing suit from hell.”

Mag snorted, but the delight carried her through the rest of the kicks and the cool-down. When the class ended, she headed back to the hot tub, noticed that she had less difficulty getting in, and cranked the jets up as high as they would go. Maybe there was something to this lark after all.

“It’s something in the water, don’t you think?”

All Mag wanted was the heat, the jets, and some peace. With the queen of gossip taking a seat beside her, peace was the last thing on the menu. But then again, Mag loved a good bit of gossip, even if the source of it was Gertrude Granger, who tended to smell like gingerbread all year round.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that I feel so much better after these classes. It seems like magic, you know?”

Sliding back up to a proper seated position, Mag’s chest cleared the water. Bits of her bathing suit did not.

Bless Gertrude, she took the flashing in stride, reached back to the ledge behind her, and produced a candy-cane striped towel, which she tossed at Mag. “Better cover those up. I think the club has a rule about nudity.”

Mag looked down and blushed for probably the first time in her life. She’d meant to shock, not to stupefy.

“Thanks.” But Mag waved the towel away, sank back down, and adjusted the suit to cover what it hadn’t.

If Gertrude had more to say about the magical pool water, raised voices stopped the conversation.

“But I am a member,” Lydia Wayland fisted her hands on her hips and glared at the man standing at the pool’s edge. “Ned Sullivan, how could you? You know me. You were at my wedding, for Pete’s sake. We had the reception here. My father was on the hiring committee when you applied for this job. What is wrong with you? You can’t kick me out.”

His expression pained, Ned rubbed at his temple and glanced behind him toward the man who stepped out from around a corner, then said something Mag couldn’t hear.

“I should have known.” Her face red and infused with fury, Lydia stomped her way to the steps, mounted them, and didn’t bother with a towel as she closed the distance. “What did he do, Ned? No, Wait. Let me guess. He threatened to sue the club, and rather than stand up to a bully, you’re kicking me out.” Lydia stood so close she dripped water on Ned’s shoes.

“That guy over there is Sam Wayland. Sam is Lydia’s ex-husband.” The pool water amplified Gertrude’s stage whisper. “He’s an attorney who, according to his recently posted dating profile, likes long walks on the beach and quiet nights at home, but his main hobby is filing lawsuits and injunctions for no good reason whatsoever.”

Mag had figured that much out on her own. What surprised her was the level of condemnation in Gertrude’s tone. Whether she lived in fear of getting coal in her Christmas stocking or was just that cheerful, the woman rarely had a bad word for anyone. Sam Wayland must have done something heinous to make Gertie’s naughty list, but Mag didn’t have a chance to probe for more information. She was too busy watching things play out between Lydia, Ned, and her ex.

“Sam’s not the only one capable of filing a lawsuit. Did you ever think of that?” Lydia shook a finger less than an inch from Ned’s nose.

“Nevertheless,” Ned stood his ground. “Mr. Wayland has chosen to withdraw his sponsorship, which means your membership has been rescinded.”

It’s not easy to look imposing in a racer-backed one-piece, but Lydia gave it her best shot. “As a member in good standing, I sponsored him when we married, not the other way around. Did you even bother to check your records before you decided to kick me out? It’s Sam who needs to leave, not me.”

Ned’s face reddened, and he tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it had become too tight. “As you know, Mr. Wayland purchased an equity membership last year, which altered the terms for both of you. As the equity member of your marriage, the burden of sponsorship moved from you to him. Now that you are no longer married, his sponsorship has come to an end. You are welcome to purchase an equity membership or to find someone else to sponsor your entry into the club.”

“That’s a loophole, and you know it.”

Ned shrugged. “Nevertheless, your membership has ended, and for that reason, I must ask you to leave.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Miriam May, Lydia’s closest friend, headed for the steps to leave the pool. “I’ll sign her in as my guest, and there’s not a thing you can do about it, Ned. Don’t forget, I’m also an equity member. Unless you’d like to sue me, Sam.” Her tone turned the comment into a dare.

“No. Don’t. It’s fine, Miri. I’m going,” Lydia glared daggers at her ex-husband. “Let the child have his toy. I’m done here.”

“Now that you mention it,” Miriam wrapped a towel around her waist. “The atmosphere in this place isn’t what it used to be.” If her eyes flickered toward the hot tub, Mag didn’t take it personally. “I think there are better places to spend my membership dues.” She turned to Ned. “I’ll be in tomorrow afternoon to file my resignation paperwork. You’ll need to have the refund checks ready.”

“Refund checks?” Ned swallowed hard.

“According to the charter, an equity member is entitled to a prorated refund of their yearly dues should they discontinue their membership. I intend to do just that, as will my husband. So that’s two refund checks. Sizable ones, I might add.”

Poor Ned’s day had just gone from bad to worse. “There’s no need to be hasty, Mrs. May. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Hands on her hips, Miriam cocked a brow and stared him down. “Is Lydia still a member here?”

Flushing, Ned looked at Sam, whose expression hadn’t changed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not yet, but you will be,” Miriam promised. “Come along, Lydia. I have some phone calls to make.” Giving Ned a vicious dose of side-eye, Miriam warned, “I think you’d better leave the entire afternoon open tomorrow. And keep your checkbook handy.” She took Lydia’s arm and pulled her toward the changing rooms while Ned shrugged and followed Sam in the opposite direction.

Furious whispers punctuated the dual exits, and within three minutes, someone had set up a betting pool for how many charter members Miriam would take with her when she went.

“You ready to go?” Clara loomed over Mag. “If you hurry up and change, I’ll let you drive. Just put on a towel first. You’ve offended enough people’s sensibilities today. Let’s not have another scene.”

Under other circumstances, Mag might have passed on the offer, but she figured Gertrude would return to her favorite topic: Christmas, as soon as the Lydia gossip died down. Mag wasn’t quite as big a fan of the big guy and his flying poop-droppers as Gertrude.

“If I’m driving, we’re stopping for ice cream.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Whatever it took, Clara thought, to end the embarrassment and preserve her family name. “Let’s go.”

“Sorry, Gertrude,” Mag double-checked her girls before stepping out of the hot tub and wrapping up in her own towel. “Looks like there’s someplace I need to be. Can we talk about this later?” Or never.

So full of Christmas spirit she was affable even at the worst of times, Gertrude waved Mag off with a smile. “Go. Eat ice cream. Maybe try the peppermint stripe.”

“I’ll think about it.” Mag escaped without a backward glance. Catching up with Clara, she said, “I left my jacket and fanny pack in the storage room. Your legs are younger than mine. Why don’t you go grab it for me?”

“Nope. Getting dressed was part of the deal. You’re not going out in public in that get-up. You’d freeze to death in any case.”

Mag’s left brow shot up. “Pretty sure I’m in public right now, so you’re a little late with your prudish rules.”

“I’m not a prude. I’m merely attempting to protect the retinas of those who don’t deserve to have them burned to a crisp by the mental image of this,” Clara gestured to include Mag’s entire body, “travesty of fashion.”

“What you call a travesty, I call a triumph. How many people my age can still get into a forty-year-old swimsuit?”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Not knowing the difference, Margaret Balefire, is your biggest failing. I’ll wait here while you make yourself presentable.” Clara held up a hand. “In clothing that doesn’t look like you’re auditioning for the lead in Grannie Does Dallas: The Bondage Years.”

For once, Mag had nothing to say.