The Page of Wands

Chapter One

Old widow McCreadle was never very good at remembering her dreams, until the fateful morning she dreamt of The Wand.

Oh, my! Her wrinkled hand rushed over her heart as she started up in bed. Her voice was neither upset nor loud. Just a stern cry of surprise in the tone that only old women can muster. Nothing frightful happened in the dream, she was just a bit startled by how real everything seemed to be.

Most people slumber in deep, vivid dreams when they are children, but their ability to recall such visions fades as they grow older. Mrs. McCreadle wasn’t even good at remembering them during her youth. But, on the extraordinary morning she found The Wand, the vision of her dream lingered so dazzling in the pale light of dawn, she could still smell the desert frost and feel the faint texture of wood beneath her fingertips. When the first drops of sun began to peek through her blinds, she couldn’t be sure if she was awakening or yet dreaming.

§

As she stands upon the hillside, Mrs. McCreadle is awestruck by the glory of the desert sunrise. She has never seen one before. She has heard relatives speak of how magnificent the sunrise looks in the desert. She has read about it in books and seen one or two on television shows. None of that has prepared her for witnessing such a sunrise for herself. Words can not do it justice. Like the birth of a child, or your first kiss, it is an experience in life which must simply be experienced to be understood. Dawn in the desert paints the breadth of the landscape and pours watercolors of such beauty across the sky, even the most staunch of atheist would be moved to imagine that only the hand of God could create such a vision of heaven on earth.

There upon the rock, overlooking the vast sands and the tiny outline of the city far below, was The Wand. A beautiful wooden staff, no more than six feet tall, the texture gnarled and smooth, like something polished over centuries of serving as a walking stick for immortal wizards. Mrs. McCreadle doesn’t understand how she knows this staff was called The Wand - it is simply one of those odd bits of knowledge one inexplicably possesses in the dreamscape.

Far near the ridgeline, she notices a mysterious young cowboy who seems to be watching her. Unable to make out his eyes, he tips a comfortable leather hat and grins just slightly. Turning from her, the cowboy slowly walks off and vanishes over the horizon.

The Wand seems held in place by magic. It is neither levitating nor staked into the ground, yet it stands upright and true - a balancing act which should be impossible. Mrs. McCreadle approaches The Wand and gingerly touches her finger to that glassy wood. The moment her hand comes in contact with the staff, green leaves of light sprout forth from the top, in a sizzle of sparks and faerie dust.

Gasping in shock and delight, Mrs. McCreadle draws her hand back over her heart.

Oh, my!

§

The desert sunrise fades to the white of light through the blinds.

Mornings were different for her then. She still missed him. He had only been gone for a year, so she still expected to find his weight next to her. We all fear growing old alone, but even more, we fear finding love and being the widow or widower. Unfortunately, at this point in her life, that’s exactly where Mrs. McCreadle found herself.

She sighed quietly and set her feet to the floor. Something in her heart was less sad that morning though. Maybe it was the strange dream about The Wand, maybe it was a little more light through the blinds. Who knows? All she knew was, her heart felt lighter that day, and she smiled to greet the dawn. Shuffling to the window, she opened it to the morning breeze. That window hadn’t been opened in years. Sure enough, Mrs. McCreadle was right. The day was brighter for some reason. And as the soft wind of morning tickled a blonde hair down her cheek, she relished the dew-sweet taste of daybreak.

§

Morning. Her daughter, Hanna McCreadle, smiled in the kitchen. Pretty and in her youthful thirties, Hannah was the spitting image of her mother, with deep green eyes and hair that bounced like the shy shrugs of schoolgirls. Hanna had come back home after her dad passed away. You know the story:

She wanted to be there for her mother.

Her mother pestered Hanna to go live with her nice young man of a boyfriend.

But, secretly, Mrs. McCreadle loved having Hanna around.

Widows and daughters have played those roles for eternity.

Good morning. Mrs. McCreadle answered warmly. Up already?

Hanna munched some toast. It’s 9 o’clock.

Goodness! I overslept. Mrs. McCreadle looked wide-eyed at the stove clock for confirmation.

I know. You never do that. Everything okay?

Mrs. McCreadle patted her daughter’s shoulders reassuringly and headed toward the coffeepot. Fine. Fine, dear. Just tired, I suppose.

She mentioned nothing about the dream. For someone who never remembers their dreams, one might imagine she’d be eager to bring it up. But, actually, quite the opposite was true. When someone fails to recall their dreams, they tend to keep quiet in talking about them, even on the rare occasion something amazing happens in one. Although, despite not talking about it to Hanna, Mrs. McCreadle wondered if her dream had anything to do with oversleeping, and reckoned it had.

Paper? Mrs. McCreadle asked.

Didn’t look. Hanna replied, somewhat apologetically. I’ll get it.

No, no. That’s fine. I’ll get it. Eat your toast. Mrs. McCreadle insisted.

Hanna had been back home for months, yet she still always forgot they even delivered newspapers anymore. Mrs. McCreadle lamented how thin the Saturday Morning newspaper had become, but she continued to subscribe diligently. Something about it just felt more tactile to her. In a world of advancing technology and electronics, there was something comforting in the smell of that old newsprint and the feel of scalloped paper edges beneath the fingers.

That morning, as she walked to the door, she carried with her a newfound joy and anticipation for getting her hands on those pages.

§

The jute brown of the woven Home Sweet Home welcome mat was covered by the Saturday paper. Laying atop the paper was The Wand, its gentle golden wood matching the color of the jute perfectly, as if it was always meant to be there.

Mrs. McCreadle’s eyes widened.

Her lips opened, as if to gasp in shock, but no sound came out.

She recognized The Wand immediately.

It looked exactly as it had in her dream, minus the magical upright pose, of course. Now, The Wand was just laying on her stoop like a plain old stick. Nothing special about it at all, other than the beauty of the wood.

She glanced back and forth over her neighborhood, half expecting this to still be a dream.

The day was nothing more than a typical, sunny, Summer morning. A few sprinklers were watering the grass. A lawnmower was buzzing merrily a few houses down. Mr. Starr was washing his car in the driveway. The Bettany kids zipped past on their bicycles, off to have another adventure following the creek in the park down the road.

Who could have left it here?

Little Noah, the paperboy, couldn’t have delivered the paper more than an hour or two ago. The Wand was atop the paper, so surely it arrived after.

Mrs. McCreadle bit her lip, hesitant to touch The Wand. She looked around the neighborhood one more time, hoping to see something, anything unusual which might tip her off to where it came from.

Morning, Dorothy! Mrs. McCreadle’s next door neighbor, Alice Szostak, had just brought her little dog out for his morning walk.

Oh, good morning, Alice!, answered Mrs. McCreadle.

For a moment, it occurred to Mrs. McCreadle to ask Alice if she had seen anyone unusual leave The Wand on her doorstep. Not wanting to explain herself, she decided against it. Instead, Mrs. McCreadle waved a congenial hello and waited until Alice started walking in the opposite direction.

Just then, far near the corner of her street, Mrs. McCreadle noticed a mysterious young cowboy who seemed to be watching her. Unable to make out his eyes, he tipped a comfortable leather hat and grinned just slightly. Turning from her, the cowboy slowly walked off and vanished over the horizon.

Mrs. McCreadle reached down for the paper and tried to act nonchalant. Holding the paper in front of her face, she pretended to skim the headlines for a moment or two. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want anyone to see her picking up The Wand.

Just when she thought it was safe to bend over and grab it -

YIP!

Buddy, Alice Szostak’s dog, announced his arrival in the driveway.

Poor Mrs. McCreadle got such a fright, she dropped the newspaper faster than her skirt on prom night.

Apparently Buddy didn’t want to walk in the opposite direction after all.

Alice tugged on his leash, Stop it, Buddy. Calm down.

Smiling up at Mrs. McCreadle, Alice asked, So, how’s Hanna?

Oh, fine. Fine. Mrs. McCreadle had no idea what to do. She scrambled for the newspaper. What could she cover The Wand with? Alice would surely see The Wand when she came up the drive.

Mrs. McCreadle decided to play it off. She quickly snatched up The Wand and leaned it against the corner of the porch.

Did you hear about those poor girls on the news? Alice asked.

Oh, yes! Awful. Just awful. Mrs. McCreadle answered.

The latest national scandal was a story about kidnapped young girls who had been trapped in a house for many years. Just the type of story that could keep old ladies gossiping for a half hour.

Sure enough, Alice and Dorothy started chatting about a whole bunch of nothing and before she knew it, Dorothy McCreadle had forgotten all about The Wand, perched not 3 feet away from her. Back inside the house, Hanna heard the low murmur of the two women talking, but had kept to herself, finishing her toast and cleaning the coffeecup.

Mom? Hanna eventually came to the front door. Oh, hello, Alice. Hanna never called her Mrs. Szostak because she never felt comfortable pronouncing the name.

Good morning, Hanna!

Turning back to her mom, Hanna said, I’m going to get ready.

The McCreadle ladies had planned a day of gardening and needed to stop by the hardware store to pick up some fertilizer.

I’m sorry, dear. Mrs. McCreadle said. We just got to talking.

No, no. Hanna replied. Take your time. I’m not trying to rush you.

With that, Hanna waved goodbye to Alice. Nice seeing you!

You too, sweetie! Mrs. Szostak replied.

As can so easily happen, being awake for a few moments and having conversations in the real world with yipping dogs and making plans for fertilizer purchasing, magic can start to fade.

The Wand didn’t seem so intimidating anymore.

Mrs. McCreadle grabbed it while Alice was still there and starting her farewell. Of course, as everyone knows, wrapping up a conversation between two old ladies can take longer than the conversation itself.

Oh, that’s pretty. Alice remarked. Putting that in the garden?

Where on earth you put a giant staff as a garden decoration, one couldn’t be sure.

No. Mrs. McCreadle shook her head. I just found this old thing laying around on the porch.

For the first time, as she turned the staff in her hand, Mrs. McCreadle noticed the finely wrought brass plate, strung to the top of The Wand with an elegant leather strap, woven like schoolgirl braids.

That’s odd. What’s this? Mrs. McCreadle noted.

Stamped into the brass, Mrs. McCreadle read the plate aloud.

§

You may use the magic wand for 3 days.

You may only use it in your profession.

You must secretly bequeath it to an anonymous stranger.

§

What is that supposed to mean? Alice asked.

Who knows. Mrs. McCreadle shrugged it off. Must be some trinket from one of those swap meets. You know how David was always bringing home the oddest things. Kids probably found it in the garage or something.

Now, one may think Mrs. Dorothy McCreadle was making this up, just so Alice would stop asking questions. But she wasn’t. Mrs. McCreadle was honestly convincing herself of the story she was telling. After all, it makes a lot more sense that she subconsciously saw this old staff in the garage, and coincidentally dreamed about it, after a neighborhood kid had went off playing with it when the garage was open, than to believe it was a magic wand she saw in a dream, materialized on her front stoop.

Yes.

Of course.

Just an old stick from a swap meet. Nothing more.

Dorothy and Alice said goodbye to each other and Mrs. McCreadle went back into her house with her newspaper in one hand and The Wand in the other.

§

Mrs. McCreadle and Hanna went to the hardware shop just up the road and Hanna was bemused by old Mr. Fisher being bashful around her mother. Dorothy wasn’t ready to entertain the thought of dating anyone, so she was rather oblivious to the affections of Mr. Fisher. Hanna wasn’t so oblivious though, and she thought Mr. Fisher was a kind and decent man. He helped pick out the best fertilizer and carried it out to the car for them.

Talk in the car on the way home wandered to decorations to put along the cobblestone path and the little tiki lanterns illuminating the way.

Mrs. McCreadle thought they could use The Wand, though she didn’t mention it to Hanna on the drive home.

§

Nearing the end of the day, Mrs. McCreadle had all but forgotten The Wand. As the sky began to glow with the golden hour orange and yellow of sunset, it reminded her of the dream, and she suddenly popped up to grab The Wand out of the corner of the front entryway where she’d left it.

Oh! I’ll be right back. I have the perfect thing. Mrs. McCreadle told Hanna, but half said just to herself.

When she returned, The Wand was in her hand as she prepared to tie it to a tikilamp, along with some reeds of bamboo.

That’s beautiful. Where’d you get that? Hanna asked.

Oh, I think your father got it at some swap meet. Was in the garage somewhere.

Hanna walked over and stroked the wood. It felt smooth and reverent like the back of church pews. All those hands touching so much energy of joy and sorrow. Marriages to funerals and all the blissful and agonizing tears polished into the grain.

Spotting the brass placard, Hanna read the rules. You may use the magic wand for 3 days. You may only use it in your profession. You must secretly bequeath it to an anonymous stranger.

We can take that off. Mrs. McCreadle said, working to untie the leather.

Hanna frowned. She didn’t like the idea of taking off the tag. You think? I kind of like it.

Oh, that’s just kooky. Doesn’t even make sense. Magic wand? There’s no such thing. Mrs. McCreadle scoffed.

Well, no, but it’s kind of quaint. Hanna scrutinized The Wand, admiring the shape of the wood, knurled like driftwood, yet undeniably strong and solid. Indeed it was the perfect walking staff. The end was capped in a sturdy weight of carved bronze, protecting the bottom from wearing out. The endcap looked incredibly old.

The brass plate removed, Mrs. McCreadle tossed it into the trash.

Only use it in your profession? That’s a weird thing to put on a magic wand. Hanna observed.

Well, I’m retired anyway, so I guess it really wouldn’t work for me! Mrs. McCreadle joked.

But I bet you could have used a magic wand a few times.

Why’s that?

Oh, come on, mother. All those grumpy ladies, I’m sure you had your work cut out for you sometimes.

Mrs. McCreadle chuckled, Oh, Hanna! That’s not nice!

Well, it’s true! I bet you wished you could just zap those ladies with magic sometimes.

Beside herself, Mrs. McCreadle laughed. She knew it was mean, but Hanna was right. As a beautician, all the beauty tips in the world couldn’t help some of those women. Giggling, Dorothy McCreadle reached for The Wand and said, Yes, sometimes it would have been nice to grab my magic wand and say ‘ZAP!’ and -

In that instant, a green flash showered forth from the head of The Wand and swirled around Hanna’s face. Both ladies screamed and Mrs. McCreadle instinctively threw The Wand across the patio.

Hanna! Hanna! Are you okay?

Mrs. McCreadle immediately rushed to aid her daughter.

Hanna had tumbled backwards off the gardenstool, but she was unscathed. The Wand hadn’t harmed her, rather, she was so startled, the poor girl knocked herself off the stool in amazement.

"What, in the hell, was that!?" Hanna scrambled back to her feet, dusting herself off.

Are you hurt? Mrs. McCreadle asked. Sweetheart, are you - oh, my goodness!

Dorothy McCreadle’s eyes swelled with bewilderment.

Having been gardening all day, Hanna had been a mess. Unkempt hair. Dirt on her face. Sweaty. No makeup.

Suddenly, she looked radiant.

Hanna looked as if she’d just stepped out of a world-class salon. Her hair shimmered in the fading light, as though just washed by naked baby angels floating on clouds of unicorn farts.

Hanna’s skin was porcelain smooth, not one bead of sweat, not one speck of garden dirt. Her eyes were sparkling the same color as freshwater streams in the deep woods. What made the transformation all the more stunning was that this wasn’t mere makeup. The actual structure of her face had changed. Skin and underlying bone seemed to have been tweaked. She still looked like Hanna, make no mistake, only the most perfect version of Hanna one could imagine.

She was simply glorious.

Seeing her mother’s reaction, Hanna started to panic. What?... What!? Mom, what is it?

Hanna reached up towards her forehead. Fingertips scanned her face. What? Am I bleeding?

Mrs. McCreadle shook her head. No. No, baby. You’re fine. Look at this. You have to see!

Grabbing her daughter by the hand, she dragged Hanna into the halfbath by the livingroom, so Hanna could look in a mirror.

What? What? Hanna protested, fondling her face. Did it burn my eyebrows off or something?

Hanna let out an audible gasp when she looked in the mirror.

Oh. My. God! She stared at her mom, then back to the mirror. Oh. My. God! Mom!... What the hell?

Hanna leaned in towards the mirror, then back again. As if she kept expecting her image to somehow change and go back to normal if she looked in the mirror at a different angle.

What. The. Hell? She repeated.

Squinting hard, Hanna swiped her index finger over her forehead.

My scar. She said. Mom! Where’s my scar!?

Scar? Mrs. McCreadle asked.

Exasperated, Hanna explained, My scar! Right here above my right eye. It’s been there since I fell off my bike when I was seven. Remember?

Mrs. McCreadle looked close at her daughter. It’s still there. It has to be.

Mom, no, it’s not. The scar is gone. Look at my skin!

Hanna was right.

Mrs. McCreadle could see no sign of the scar.

In fact, her daughter’s skin looked just as luminous as it did when she was 12 years old.

What the hell is going on? Hanna asked.

§

Standing over The Wand, neither lady wanted to pick it up.

Where did you say you found this? A swap meet?

Well, no. I found it on the front porch today. I just figured your dad picked it up at a swap meet.

You figured? So you’ve never seen this thing before? Mom, if dad got it from a swap meet, why was it on the porch? Who put it there?

One of the kids from the neighborhood must have gotten it from the garage.

"Mom! Did you ever see this thing in our garage? I never have."

No. But where else could it come from?

What do you mean ‘where else’? You just said you found it on the front porch. It could have come from anyplace!

Well, who would leave it on our porch?

In that moment, Hanna remembered the rules on the brass placard and retrieved the plate from the trashbin.

Shaking the placard at her mom, Hanna said, This was never in our garage. You’ve never seen it before. What on earth makes you think - Ugh. Nevermind!

Well, I don’t know where it came from.

That’s exactly my point!

Hanna was so irritated, she grabbed The Wand without the least hesitation and marched back into the house with it.

§

You may use the magic wand for 3 days. You may only use it in your profession. You must secretly bequeath it to an anonymous stranger. Hanna read again.

She and her mother sat at the kitchen table, scrutinizing The Wand and its rules.

Why don’t you try something else with it? Hanna said.

I’m not touching that again. You saw what it did.

Yes! Look at me! That thing is amazing.

No, I’m not going to mess with that stuff.

Hanna could tell from her mother’s tone of voice, that stuff meant Satanism. Mrs. McCreadle was always a God-fearing woman, so she’d say that stuff and never use a word like Devil or Satanic, but it was pretty obvious she was thinking exactly that, and it freaked her out.

Fine. Then, I’ll try it.

No, you won’t! Mrs. McCreadle scolded.

Before she could lift a finger to stop her daughter, Hanna picked up The Wand, pointed it at herself and said, Zap!

Nothing happened.

Pursing her lips, she shook The Wand as if it were a flashlight with dying batteries. Abracadabra?

Nothing.

Sim sala bim!

The Wand didn’t so much as flicker.

Hocus pocus!

The Wand just sat there.

Mrs. McCreadle was relieved. Good. She said. See, it’s not a magic wand.

Mom! Hanna yelled. Look at my face! How can you say that!? You’re not making any sense! Just look at me! You saw the light shoot out of this thing! What’s wrong with you? How can you deny what you just saw with your own eyes!? I’m sitting right here in front of you!

No, we’re throwing it away. Mrs. McCreadle stated plainly. Thrilled with her decision, she snatched The Wand from Hanna’s grasp.

You can’t just say some little ‘hocus pocus’ and swing The Wand around and expect -

Hanna gasped. - Mom!

Green light again erupted from the head of the staff. Swirling and glittering, it twirled neon whisps of cotton candy around the kitchen.

Oh, dear. Mrs. McCreadle groaned.

§

Mrs. McCreadle stared into the bathroom mirror for 2 or 3 minutes before a single word came out of her mouth.

Every liver spot, every wrinkle, every grey hair, was gone. All the signs of aging wiped clean off her face, as though she had only been wearing makeup in a movie of her life.

The Wand made her look 20 years younger.

Hanna was speechless too.

Mrs. McCreadle stared at her daughter. The expression on Mrs. McCreadle’s face wasn’t readable. It quivered somewhere between tears and terror; between rapture and fear. Her awe and confusion scared Hanna.

Mom?

Mrs. McCreadle uttered the first profanity ever spoken in her life.

§

Hanna burst out laughing and both women screamed in excitement.

Mrs. McCreadle covered her mouth for a moment, embarrassed by her cussing, but she didn’t say anything about it to her daughter. She knew that was half the reason Hanna was laughing so hard.

This is amazing. Amazing! Mrs. McCreadle had all the fervor of a child discovering Santa Claus is real.

What else can we do with it?

What else? Mrs. McCreadle hesitated. The thought of using The Wand still scared her a little bit, but her fears were fading fast.

Hanna smiled, determined to keep her mother feeling happy and not allowing her to grow paranoid again, Yes! What else?

Grabbing her mother’s hands, Hanna dragged Mrs. McCreadle back into the kitchen. Motioning to The Wand, Hanna said, Go. Go. Try something else.

Mrs. McCreadle paused, not with fright so much as confusion. She was willing to attempt working some other magic, she just wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Well, Mrs. McCreadle stepped towards The Wand, I suppose I could... um... oh, Hanna. What? What else can I try? Use it in your profession? I’m a retired beautician! What else can I do except a makeover or two?

Hanna’s eyes clearly sympathized.

Then, with a flash of diamond glint, her eyes sparked and she snapped her fingers, I’ve got it! Your salon.

My salon?

Yes! Fix up the salon out back.

The salon had been a renovated part of their back garage. When Dorothy first started as a beautician, she worked out of the kitchen. Her husband, although a loving and supportive spouse, didn’t much care for a kitchen smelling of ammonia and peroxide. So, he fixed up the garage out back and set it up as a little studio salon for Dorothy.

Dorothy worked 5 years in that studio before she went on to a very successful career at local salons. Once that happened, the studio became a storage space, became a dusty eyesore, became nothing more than a shed and garage again. The place hadn’t been used as a salon in decades.

Oh, Hanna, Mrs. McCreadle said in that doubtful tone she seemed so fond of using, That old salon is a mess. Besides, I’m retired. What would I do with a salon?

Come on, mom. Just try it. See what happens!

Looking at her beautiful daughter, thinking of her own astounding transformation, Mrs. McCreadle could no longer deny what was happening. By golly, this really was a magic wand! And it really worked! And for 2 more days, it was hers. Where is the harm in using it?

That thought scared her again.

Hanna? What if there’s a price to pay for using this?

Price?

"Like our souls! What if this is a... devilish thing? She whispered the word devilish", as if he might hear her say it.

Mom. You really believe in devils?

"Well, I certainly think this Wand proves there are some strange things in this world we don’t understand. Why couldn’t there be devils? If this magic staff can exist, why not a devil to go with it?"

Hanna shrugged, slightly worried herself, Well, when you put it that way.

Silence fell between them.

But, Hanna said, if there’s a Devil, then there must be a God too. Right?

Of course there’s a God, Hanna.

"Well, the Devil can’t take your soul if you never made a deal with him. Right? God wouldn’t allow that. You have to make a deal with the Devil. He can’t just take souls as he pleases. And you didn’t go signing any contracts in blood." Hanna noted.

Mrs. McCreadle thought it over. She never really read much of her Bible, but that did seem to make sense. As long as she didn’t sign any contracts with the Devil, he couldn’t harm her.

Right?

Your guardian angel wouldn’t allow that. Hanna reiterated.

Mrs. McCreadle smiled, nodded, and headed for the back patio. Okay. Let’s try it.

Standing in front of the garage, Mrs. McCreadle raised The Wand.

Biting her lip, she whispered to Hanna, What if the neighbors see?

Why are you whispering? Hanna asked at normal volume.

Mrs. McCreadle hushed Hanna down with a waved palm and lowered The Wand. Shhh! Because we don’t want them seeing me looking 50 years old, waving a green glowing staff around my backyard! They’ll think I’m some kind of witch or something.

Oh, mother! This isn’t 1692. No one will see us and no one will think you’re a witch even if they do. You tell them it’s fireworks and plastic surgery and they forget all about it. Hanna flicked away the topic like a gnat.

Mrs. McCreadle knew her daughter was right. In a world where no one believes in magic anymore, people will rationalize it away, even when it explodes in a green fireball next door.

Now try it! She excitedly ordered her mother, pointing at the shed.

Okay. Here goes. Mrs. McCreadle raised The Wand again. She wasn’t sure what sort of magic words to say. Every other time she used The Wand was a mistake. This was her first attempt to do something intentional.

Did she need to use a magic word?

Hocus pocus?

Abracadabra?

Sim sala bim?

What other magic words were there?

Didn’t she say, Zap! the first time? That’s not even a magic word!

Why couldn’t that placard have given more instructions?

Well? Hanna said.

Mrs. McCreadle glanced over her shoulder, annoyed by Hanna’s impatience, I’ve got it. I’ve got it.

Squinting at the garage, Mrs. McCreadle said, "Bibbidi. Bobbidi. Boo!"

Nothing happened.

Hanna looked at her mom sidelong. "Mom. Cinderella? That’s the best you could come up with? It didn’t even work."

Defensive, Mrs. McCreadle said, Well, I didn’t know what else to -

Green leaves of light exploded from the tip of The Wand, knocking both ladies off their feet. Snaking into the garage, the whole of the building glowed with the pale hue of sunlight through maple trees.

As the energy from The Wand flowed into the salon, what happened next was far more astonishing than either of the McCreadle women could have dared imagine.

The humble garage grew two stories.

Simple brick pathways leading from the yard transformed into finely crafted cobblestone meandering through a glorious garden replete with fountains and a pond and exquisite topiary.

Within the multiple floors of the salon, the place didn’t remotely resemble what