Free Girl's Guide to Witchcraft by Mindy Klasky

George.
    Uncle George wasn’t my real uncle. He was a friend of Gran’s, her oldest friend. For decades he’d taken her out on dates—the only grown-up evenings she’d had the entire time that I was growing up. Uncle George and my grandfather had known each other in elementary school, and George had stepped in to help out around the house when my grandfather died.
    Truth be told, I’d never liked the man all that much. He’d pulled quarters out of my ears for way too many years. I mean, it was one thing to be amazed and giggly when I was five years old. But when I was fifteen? And he had jowls—honest-to-goodness jowls just like a bull mastiff. They wobbled beside his mouth when he talked.
    But he made Gran happy. In fact, he was the one who had gotten her interested in concert opera. She said that he made even the longest board meetings bearable; he was the president.
    And now, it seemed that he was finally ready to move their relationship “to the next level.” Uncle George was going to ask Gran to marry him. It made sense. I had finally secured a real house through the Peabridge, and even though Scott was out of my life forever, it was pretty clear that I wouldn’t need to move back home with Gran.
    I wondered if she would wear a white dress. I mean, I didn’t have any trouble with that—I’m hardly a conservative person. Something tea-length, maybe? With a small bouquet of sweetheart roses? We could even have the wedding in the Peabridge gardens, use my cottage’s kitchen to serve up punch and wedding cake. I was sure Evelyn wouldn’t mind. She’d welcome the opportunity for publicity.
    “Jane?” Gran asked. “Do you promise?”
    I smiled, now that I knew we were on safe territory. Before I could say anything, though, the waiter materialized again. He swept away the sandwich tray and set in place another tiered wonder—this one packed with little bites of dessert. Even in the midst of my reluctance to promise—for form’s sake, mind you—my mouth watered at the sight of the coconut-dusted scones, the bite-sized lemon-meringue pies and the cherry-crowned pistachio financiers.
    Gran smiled at the treats, as if she were a child on Christmas morning. I almost thought that she was going to clap her hands. “Look, Jane! All of my favorites!”
    “Gran—”
    “Here. Let me serve you.” She spent a century selecting treasures, maneuvering them onto my plate with hands that showed every single year of their age. Okay. So, she was still nervous. What was going on here?
    She bit into a tiny raspberry tart, and I watched her jaws move as she polished off the treat. “What?” she asked me, when she realized I was staring. “You can’t be full already?”
    “Gran, why did you bring me here? What did you want to ask me?”
    She set down her plate and met my eyes for the first time since we’d been seated. “Promise—”
    “Gran, I promise. You know I’ll help you plan your marriage to Uncle George. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve finally decided to get married.”
    “Get married!” Gran was loud enough that several other tea-patrons turned to stare. “What are you talking about? Who said anything about marriage?”
    “Well, why else would you bring me here? Why would you be going on and on about this great promise I’m supposed to make, about your incredible secret?”
    Gran laughed. It was the deep laugh that I’d heard since my earliest childhood—the one that carried her through my toddler tantrums, my grammar school superiority, my high school rebellion. The sound carried relief, but also a hint of desperation.
    The more she laughed, the more disgruntled I became. Okay, so she probably wasn’t going to get married. She and Uncle George didn’t need to change their relationship now, after years of their friendship working just fine. But the idea wasn’t that outrageous. She didn’t have to act as if I were some clown, sent solely to entertain her. I plopped a cocoa-covered