Spell-less in Seattle

I roll over and groan. The mattress is even stiffer than my back. Before I open my eyes, something tickles my nose. Cigarette smoke and… is that Aqua Net? I must still be dreaming. That’s the only explanation.

Except I’m not. Everything from the day before crashes back into my mind.

I accidentally teleported my sisters and me to the nineties. Don’t ask me how I did that. I have no idea. None of us has a good understanding of what we can do. We only learned magic is real at our grandma’s recent memorial service. She’d blocked our powers when we were young, and no one told us about them. Her death broke the spell. Now, thanks to my lack of control, we’re back in a decade where our abilities are inaccessible. We can’t return to our time because our magic is bound here. Or now, I suppose.

In other words, just as we were getting used to life with magic, it was snatched from us. Again.

It’s not just not having access to spells that’s a problem. We can’t use any of our modern conveniences either. Even our money isn’t good here. We tried renting a hotel room, but our credit cards were denied and the girl laughed at the hundred dollar bill I gave her. She had the audacity to tear it up as she called it fake!

Ginger mutters something, and I finally open my eyes. I wish I hadn’t. We’re in the attic of a dance club. It’s the very one I accidentally teleported us to, and Ginger remembered there was some furniture here. Granted, it consists of one stained mattress, an oversized beanbag, and a pullout loveseat. But it’s all we have.

This attic was barely a better choice than sleeping on the streets.

I sit up and swear every bone and joint in my body is sore.

My sister glances over at me as she runs her fingers through her long red hair. “Did you dream up a way to get us back home?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Brenna sits up and rubs her eyes. “I don’t see how we’re going to be able to do this without talking to Mom. Or Destry. Think what an angel could do.”

“He’s an angel now?” Ginger lifts an eyebrow.

Brenna sighs. “He’s a fallen angel. Still an angel.”

“We can’t risk it,” I say. “How many times do I have to remind you of the butterfly effect? Anything we do can ripple into massive changes. What if we get back and one of us never had our kids? Or worse.”

Ginger shudders. “I can’t imagine that.”

Brenna rakes her fingers through her pixie cut. “Neither can I, though I wouldn’t mind getting Doug out of my life.”

“He basically already is,” I point out. “You killed him, so you’re technically not married to him. Death did you part.”

“It was an accident. And don’t say that so loud.”

I look around the grungy attic. “Who exactly is going to hear us?”

She frowns. “It’s a moot point since Ginger brought him back to life, and we’re still legally married.”

Ginger shrugs. “It’s only a piece of paper.”

Brenna and I exchange a knowing look. Our widowed sister has no idea how difficult getting divorced actually is. Between trying to agree on splitting everything, child arrangements, lawyers, and court, it’s more than enough to keep me from ever marrying again.

Not that I could ever think about romance with my Tristan still missing. But if I’d had my powers when going through my divorce, I’d have been tempted to teleport Travis into another decade—along with his new wife, who’s barely older than our son Braden.

It kills me that our boys have been apart for the last five years.

But what if I’ve been given the opportunity to make sure that never happens?

My sisters’ voices dull into the background as the reality of that thought crashes into me like a raging river. What if I can somehow prevent Tristan from ever going missing in the first place?

We still haven’t figured out exactly what year we landed in yet, and it’s obviously a long shot, but what if I could find a way to keep my baby from disappearing? I would do literally anything to change that one event. To get him back, to keep from losing him in the first place, I’d jeopardize every timeline and all our futures. And I wouldn’t think twice about it.

Regardless of my incessant preaching about the butterfly effect, I’d risk any outcome to bring my little boy back. Though he isn’t so little anymore. When I last hugged him goodbye, he was thirteen. Now he’s eighteen.

I can’t even imagine.

It pains my brain to think about. I’m considering saving my son who wouldn’t have been born yet in the mid-nineties. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to thinking of us as being in the past. Our past. Which is now our present. Ugh. No wonder my head hurts. Hopefully we can return before we need to adjust. Though if I can find a way to keep him from leaving us…

It seems impossible. We’re at least ten years before he existed. It isn’t like I can find who took him and kill that person. I would in a heartbeat, but I can’t.

Considering we ended up here while I was trying to take us somewhere to get answers about Tristan, it makes sense that we landed somewhere to do more than just find him. Maybe that’s why we found ourselves here. It could be less of an accident than it seems.

I realize my sisters are staring at me. Clearly I missed an important part of the conversation. Not that I regret it. Now I have a side mission, even more important than our primary one.

I’m going to find a way to make sure Tristan never goes missing. This is one time I don’t care about the consequences.

“Did I miss something?” I ask.

Brenna and Ginger exchange an annoyed glance.

“I’m trying to figure out how to get us back to our proper time.”

Ginger plays with her hair. “First we need breakfast. My hormones are going to get out of whack if I don’t start my day with protein.”

Brenna tugs at her shirt. “And I need a shower. Without my supplements, I had night sweats. Now I’m gross.”

“And you two expect me to figure all of this out? I’m a hundred dollars poorer after that brat at hotel tore up my bill.”

“We have to come up with something.” Brenna wipes her forehead. “Great. Now I’m having a hot flash. If we don’t find a way around these perimenopause symptoms, you’re going to see a lot more of me than you want to.”

I turn to Ginger. “Any ideas?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t think about hot flashes when I was a teenager. How would I know what was available back then?”

Brenna fans her shirt out. “We should take an Uber to Brimvale. Half the town is magical.”

“Uber?” I lift an eyebrow.

“Taxi, bus. Whatever. You have better ideas?”

Ginger shakes her head. “That’s the last place we can go. We have to steer clear of people who know.” She turns to me. “Right? That’s what you keep saying.”

I sigh. “What do I know? I got that rule from fiction. However, it is in all of the books and movies on the topic. That’s always the rule.”

“Now you’re saying you don’t know if we should follow it?” She throws me a questioning glance.

I can’t let them know I’m thinking about preventing Tristan’s disappearance. They might try to talk me out of it. “I’m merely saying I don’t know. It does sound legit, but it isn’t like we’ve actually tested it.”

Ginger straightens her back. “We can’t mess with timelines. I say we look for an unrelated coven for help. They won’t know who we are, so we shouldn’t ruin the future for anyone. We must’ve landed in Seattle instead of Brimvale for a reason.”

Could that reason be so I can keep my son from ever going missing in the first place?

I intend to find out.