That Magic Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page A

brownstone, its well-kept façade hopelessly imposing. A characteristic burst of confidence had her bounding up the stoop and ringing the bell; the door opened slowly, suspiciously, and MG busted out with The Smile. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but one of my dearest friends has had her heart broken, and I thought ‘Those snapdragons would be just the thing to cheer her up’.” The Smile grew brighter as the door opened wider, and Maria Grazia knew success. As usual.
    The offering was more than generous, and she went on her industrious way, only to stop short again as she smelled some glorious smell wafting past her. Food, food, food; raised as she was, food was central to her life, and she’d go out of her way for a rich, enticing flavor. She decided to follow the smell; it now seemed it was to be savory that she sought, and wandered down Baltic Street toward Hicks, deeper into Cobble Hill.
    What a rotten time to get dumped. It was almost full springtime, the crocuses pushing up out of the small patches of dirt that ringed the trees that curved over the streets like the vault of a cathedral. She breathed deeply and could smell (under the carbon monoxide) dirt and trees and leaves and everything that made her want to move out of the city and into a house perched on the side of a hill, overlooking a field of wild flowers. Her family would go completely insane if she left the city. That’s why it was vital that she work her way over to Europe (Year Seven, maybe Eight) and into the pockets — er, closets — of the continental rich and famous. One photo shoot in
Hello!
and she’d be in. But until then …
    Mmmmmmm
. Look at that prosciutto. And that perfect oval of crusty bread. There was nothing for it but to buy the loaf, buy the ham, and maybe some cheese, and some of those garlicky olives. She’d bet that Belle hadn’t been eating, just smoking and crying, poor kid, poor kid. Maria Grazia had never seen her friend fall apart like that, ever, not in almost twelve years.
    It had to be a good thing. Her old
nonna
, who was, God love her, one hundred and two years old, had always said that the way to the heart was through its cracks. Despite the fact that she herself was single, and didn’t give a damn about men, not at this point in the Plan (Year Three), she had a pretty thorough working knowledge of the courses that various relationships took, having grown up around nothing but relationships.
    If things worked out the way she thought they would, Belle was going to meet the love of her life. She smiled, and two little boys blushed and ran.
    She was glad about this magic thing as well. Her other old
nonna
(ninety-seven and a half) used to read palms, and was she always right, or was she was always right? She was always right. It had to be a gift, sure, but who knew what kinds of things somebody could do if they didn’t try to do them? She liked to think she had an open mind. Now, Lorna could do with an old oiling of the hinges on
her
mind, the snotty bitch, MG sighed fondly. She wanted the best for both of her best girlfriends, and if Belle found it in abracadabra and Lorna found it in wheeling and dealing, who was she to judge?
    Turning left onto Union Street, she stopped, very close to where she’d lurked that day, the day of the dumping. She couldn’t help but wonder what it was that made Wilson act in such a bloodless fashion, beside the fact that he maybe didn’t even have any blood, that frickin’ standoffish, cold fish. What could the sex have been like? What was his family like? Belle had never met them. This made MG suspicious straight off the bat. Anyway, the bastard broke her dear friend’s heart, so to hell with him. She spat in the gutter, and made a gesture that had the ladies across the way crossing themselves in protection.
    She looked at the window that faced onto Union Street, and wished
she
had some magic — wished she really believed in it, old
nonna
or no old
nonna
— that would help Belle