A Hairy Situation

 Hester arrived at Hazel’s house wearing a silk scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Hazel looked at her.

“Planning to rob a bank later?”

“I have a chill.”

“It’s July.”

Hester tightened the scarf.

Hazel folded her arms. “Take it off.” Hester sighed and unwound the scarf.

Hazel stared. Her sister’s still-blond hair was unchanged, but the problem was the beard.

It was not especially long, but it was unquestionably a beard. Soft, golden, and surprisingly well-matched to her hair.

Hazel pressed her lips together.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Hazel poured tea.

Hester glared at her.

Bean jumped onto the table and regarded Hester with interest.

“No,” Hester said.

Bean leaned forward.

“Absolutely not.”

He lifted one paw toward the beard.

Hester moved her chair.

“I said no.”

Hazel tried not to smile.

“How long?”

“Since this morning.”

“And you couldn’t reverse it?”

“I tried.”

Hazel’s smile faded.

Hester was dramatic, impulsive, and occasionally inclined to substitute enthusiasm for preparation, but she was not incompetent. A simple reversal charm should have taken seconds.

“What happened?”

Hester looked away.

“Hester.”

“I grew sideburns.”

Hazel put down her cup. This required attention.

They went to Hazel’s workroom, where Hester sat on a stool while Hazel examined the beard.

The magic itself seemed ordinary enough. Slightly untidy, perhaps, but Hester’s spells had always tended toward flourish.

“What exactly did you use?”

“The usual.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Hester began listing ingredients.

Hazel stopped her at powdered vervain.

“Where did you get it?”

Hester hesitated.

Hazel folded her arms.

“Online.”

Hazel closed her eyes.

“It had very good reviews.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know. People.”

“Hester.”

“Witches, presumably.”

Hazel held out her hand. “Show me.”

Hester produced a small paper packet from her handbag.

The label read:

VERVAYNE POWDER — PREMIUM MAJICAL GRADE

Hazel stared at it.

“They’ve spelled both vervain and magical incorrectly.”

“Maybe it’s an old spelling.”

“It isn’t.”

“It looks old.”

“So does mildew.”

Hazel opened the packet and smelled it. There was vervain in it, but there was also something else.

She sneezed.

Hester looked concerned.

“What?”

Hazel sniffed again.

“Cinnamon.”

Hester frowned. “Why would there be cinnamon in vervain?”

“Because you bought it from someone who spells magical with a J.”

Hazel tipped a little of the powder onto a saucer.

Under the magnifying glass she could see at least four different substances mixed together.

One of them glittered.

Hazel disliked ingredients that glittered.

“What else have you made with this?”

Hester became very interested in the ceiling.

Hazel looked at her.

“Hester.”

“A slimming potion.”

“And?”

“I gained four pounds.”

Hazel waited.

“A charm for restful sleep.”

“What happened?”

“I reorganized the linen cupboard at three in the morning.”

Hazel rubbed her forehead.

“Anything else?”

Hester hesitated.

“A love potion.”

Hazel stared.

“For whom?”

“Not for me.”

“That was not the question.”

“It was for Mrs. Bellamy.”

Hazel knew Mrs. Bellamy. She was seventy-two, recently divorced, fond of bright cardigans and stronger opinions, and had spent the previous year announcing to anyone who would listen that she was finally enjoying herself.

“She asked for one?”

“Not exactly.”

“Hester.”

“I thought she and Mr. Collins would be good together.”

“You gave an unsuspecting woman a love potion?”

“It was very weak.”

Hazel continued staring.

Hester shifted on the stool.

“And technically I put it in his tea.”

Hazel inhaled slowly.

“What happened?”

“They hate each other now.”

Hazel sighed.

“That may be the healthiest possible outcome.”

Hazel began sorting through the ingredients Hester had brought with her. The vervain was contaminated. So was the powdered rosemary, which appeared to contain dried mint and something that looked suspiciously like parsley.

The moon salt contained ordinary table salt.

Hazel tasted a grain.

“And sugar.”

Hester looked offended. “That was twelve dollars.”

“You paid twelve dollars for salt and sugar.”

“It came in a blue bottle.”

“Apparently an expensive one.”

At the bottom of Hester’s bag, Hazel found a small tin labeled:

AUTHENTIC GRAVEYARD DUST

She opened it.

It smelled faintly of tomatoes.

Hazel frowned.

“What?”

She rubbed some between her fingers.

“Hester, this is potting soil.”

Hester leaned closer.

“You can tell that by touching it?”

“There’s perlite in it.”

“Oh.”

“And a piece of bark.”

Hester looked at the collection on the table.

“I may have been taken advantage of.”

“Several times.”

Bean reached for the graveyard dust.

Hazel slid it away.

“No.”

Hester sighed and touched her beard again.

“Can you fix this?”

“The beard?”

“And the sideburns.”

“Probably.”

“That doesn’t inspire confidence.”

Hazel selected proper vervain from one of her jars, added rosemary, a pinch of salt, and several drops of rosewater.

Hester watched.

“Is that all?”

“That’s all it should have been in the first place.”

Hazel mixed the ingredients, spoke the reversal, and touched two fingers to Hester’s chin.

There was a faint shimmer.

The beard disappeared.

Hester ran both hands over her face.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Bean, who had been watching from the worktable, looked disappointed.

Hazel began gathering up the fraudulent ingredients.

“These are going in the bin.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“The dragon’s blood was expensive.”

Hazel picked up the bottle.

It was thick and dark.

She opened it and sniffed.

Then she dipped in one finger and tasted it.

Hester gasped.

“Hazel!”

“It’s molasses.”

“Oh.”

Hazel tasted it again.

“Not bad molasses.”

Hester sank into the chair.

“I suppose I should leave potion-making alone for a while.”

“You should leave shopping alone for a while.”

Hazel handed her the bottle.

“At least take this home. You can put it on porridge.”

Hester tucked the molasses into her bag.

Bean immediately stuck his head inside after it.

“Bean,” Hazel said.

He withdrew.

Hester rewound the scarf around her neck.

“You know, I’m relieved.”

“I imagine.”

“I really thought it might be hexopause.”

Hazel gave her a look.

“I told you that was ridiculous when you diagnosed me with it.”

“Yes, but it seemed more plausible when it was happening to me.”

Hazel opened the door for her.

Hester paused on the threshold.

“Do you think the weight will come off by itself?”

“No.”

“The potion put it there.”

Hazel closed the door behind her.

From the workroom came a crash.

She turned.

Bean was sitting beside the wastebasket with the packet of fake vervain between his paws.

Hazel stared at him.

“Don’t.”

Bean bit the corner.

A puff of glittering powder exploded into his face.

For one long moment, nothing happened.

Then two enormous golden eyebrows sprouted above his eyes.

Hazel looked at Bean.

Bean looked at Hazel.

She sighed and reached for the vervain and rosemary.