The Potion of Love, Desire, and Deception and the Evil Fairy of Astor Place

And as Grace debated the issue in her mind, the fairy she knew sat, shrunken to actual fairy-size, perched on her left shoulder and whispering encouragement into her ear. Where was his good twin? she wondered briefly as she picked up the phone.

"Gabriel?"

Her voice was enough to set off his irritable behavior alarms.

"Grace." He said, tense, waiting.

"Hey, I'm just in town. Do you mind if I come round for a short visit on my way to the museum this afternoon?"

"Well-"

"Just for a minute or two. For old time's sake."

"All right. But I'm leaving in an hour myself."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

And she put down the phone, scrambled for her heels, and cinched her trenchcoat tightly about her waist before she could stop to think about what she was going to do next.

* * * * *

Now, this story could have a happy ending. We could say that Grace knocked on DeVere's door and was invited in, and that she somehow managed to distract him and pour the love potion into his tea. Perhaps then deVere would have drunk it, forgotten his appointment, and fallen madly in love with Grace. And Grace might have agreed then and there to pack up her things in New York and come to live with deVere. They might even have lived happily ever after.

But unfortunately, the good fairy, who, unlike her brother, didn't feel that either Grace or deVere deserved each other, had followed Grace from a distance, and waited for her opportunity to intercede as Grace rang the doorbell of Gabriel deVere's house.

"Why am I doing this?" Grace asked herself, shifting her weight from foot to foot in her uncomfortable three inch heels. "Wouldn't I rather he love me for me than because of some dumb potion?"

And that was the cue the good fairy had been waiting for to wave her magic wand.

"Jeez, when did my hands turn into sandpaper?" Grace suddenly thought aloud, taking a look down at her hands against the door. They were embarrassingly cracked, red, and dry and thoroughly horrible-looking. Grace hurriedly opened her purse and began fumbling through it. "Blast it, where did I put my hand cream?!" she cried, hoping deVere took his time.

The door opened. DeVere stood there looking at Grace in the midst of her fumblings.

"Hi," Grace offered, composing herself quickly. She pulled at the edge of her coat and took a step up to the door as deVere made an inviting gesture, silent as always. But as luck or fate would have it, Grace's heel slipped on the next step, and her bag went sailing through the air, flagon and all. There was a decisive crunching sound as it landed on the cement in the front yard.

"Nothing breakable in there, is there?" deVere asked casually.

"No," Grace hedged, then got down to retrieve her purse. She didn't dare look into it, but there was a sticky sweet smell to it now. She felt a quick moment of heartbreak and then forced herself to take it good-naturedly. She cinched the purse shut and turned around, laughing, almost with relief.

"How about we go for some coffee on your way out, instead?" she asked with a bright smile.

"Grace, you are a puzzle." DeVere sighed, but not disagreeably. "Give me a minute, and I'll get my coat and keys."

And as he went back inside, Grace headed to the wire mesh trash can on the corner, fished out the broken bottle of love potion in its plastic bag, now filled with a red, viscous liquid. She dropped it decisively into the garbage just as deVere returned, suitcase in hand.

"Are you coming?" he called. Grace shrugged nonchalantly.

And then they headed off for a harmless cup of coffee.

* * * * *

Some time later, deVere wondered why all of the stray cats in the neighborhood were flocking to his house.

The End