Free That Magic Mischief by Susan Conley

float above the knotty branches, the thing would look quite sinister indeed. It seemed to be swaying slightly, and dreading the mess if it actually toppled over, Annabelle inched over and propped the heavier bits over the back of a chair. The plant vibrated a bit at her touch, and seemed to send out a slight, airy hum as she arranged it. She lowered herself into the second of her two chairs, and stared.
    Somehow, the pot was still intact despite the fact that, in theory, the roots of the … thing should have been as great in size as the plant itself. No horticulturalist, Annabelle at least knew that much, that the roots of trees went as far down into the earth as the tree itself shot up toward the sky … or something.
    She cautiously extended a finger and lightly stroked one of the branches, and the result was a sound akin to delicate wind chimes. Oddly enough — as if things weren’t already odd enough — despite the fact that plant ranged up toward the ceiling and completely filled its corner of her ‘dining room’, it didn’t seem to be blocking light coming in from the window; always low lighted at best, the room actually seemed a bit brighter.
    Annabelle thought longingly of a cigarette. As if it had read her mind, the plant quivered in distaste. “Great,” said Annabelle. “Not only enchanted, but judgmental. I’ll smoke if I damn well please!” Branches began to wave in reaction, and Annabelle scooted her chair back a bit. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bough slowly edging a pack of Marlboro Lights toward the main body of the plant. “Shit,” Annabelle leaped up from her chair and backed up against the door to her flat. “This is getting too weird, even for me.”
    The phone rang, and Annabelle was tempted to let the machine get it, but somehow the handset landed on the floor. As she picked it up, out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of branches waving a bit as if it had knocked the phone off its cradle. Annabelle took a deep breath, and answered without checking the caller ID.
    “Hello?”
    “Well, hi there! It’s Kelli callin’!” Her gushy Southern accent oozed down the line.
    “Hey, Kell. How are things?”
    “Oh, I’m just fine. But,” pause, lowering of voice, sympathetic. “How are
you
?”
    Annabelle stared at the plant, and then turned her back on it.
    “Oh, you know.”
    “Yes, I do. I do know. Oh, Annabelle.”
    “But I’m getting back out there, work-wise, I mean, sending off to the agents.”
    “Good for you! Keep busy with work, that’s what I always say.”
    “Yeah. Definitely.”
    “Well, as to that! I’ve got a new show about to get off the ground, and I really need someone to develop the website for me. I’d do it myself, but I’m producing and directing, and gosh, I can’t do everything myself!”
    “Yeah, I don’t know, Kell —
ow
!” She turned to look at the plant, which was quivering slightly in its pot.
    Kelli’s molasses voice exuded solicitude. “You okay, sugar?”
    “I just — something — hit me on the … head. Yeah, okay, okay, I’ll do it.”
    “That’s so great! And maybe you could look at the script?”
    “Uh, screenplays used to be more my thing, Kell — ”
    Bright tinkling laughter made Annabelle wince. “Oh, close enough! Listen, my little brain trust is meeting tonight, downtown. You can come on down, can’t you?”
    “Yeah, got nothing else going on,” Annabelle muttered as she put down the phone. She could have sworn that the plant folded in upon itself, smugly.
    • • •
    Trudging up the stairs of a restaurant so expensive she was surprised she was let in without showing the maitre d’ the contents of her wallet, Annabelle wondered, again, what the hell she was doing. Being gently bullied by Kelli was one thing, but being rather more tenaciously bullied by a plant was another entirely. She paused on a landing, not so much to catch her breath as to catch her … spirit. A roomful of strangers wasn’t