Free Wish by Alexandra Bullen Page A

chuckled from over Olivia’s shoulder.
    Posey gestured to a chair in the corner, piled high with thumbed-through pattern books. “Have a seat,” she offered. “You can put those anywhere.”
    “I’m okay,” Olivia insisted, planting herself firmly on two feet.
    Posey gave her a look and shrugged.
    “Okay,” she began, “but you’re probably going to want to sit down for this.”

9
    “A ny questions?”
    Olivia sat tall in a straight-backed wooden chair, her hands poised lightly on her kneecaps, her eyes trained on the foggy storefront window. The neighborhood was waking up around them, already teeming with morning errand-runners and the trendy Sunday brunch set. Everybody—hipsters; stroller-pushing young moms; grumpy, haggling homeless men—seemed to walk past the shop without even seeing it.
    Olivia wondered, not for the first time that day, if she was dreaming.
    After all, Posey, who was curled into a ball on the couch, using her small, nimble hands for emphasis, had just finished explaining to Olivia that she—Posey, Mariposa of the Mission—was magic.
    A magical seamstress.
    And now the magical seamstress, maker of magical dresses, weaver of mystical fabric that spat out glowing butterflies,granting a single wish to its wearer, wondered if Olivia had any questions.
    Violet was crouched over the kiddie desk by the door, leaning forward on her elbows. Olivia stole a glance in her sister’s direction and saw that, for the first memorable time in the history of their lives, Violet was speechless.
    Olivia felt a laugh escaping, a sort of guttural reaction to the complete absurdity of the situation. But it had been so long since she’d made a sound, or even swallowed, that a low gurgle caught in the back of her throat, eventually working its way up to a powerful cough.
    “Would you like some tea?” Posey asked, making as though to stand.
    “No!” Olivia said, and then realized that she was yelling. “Sorry, no. I’m fine, thanks.”
    “Okay.” Posey nodded. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. And I don’t really have any explanation for it. My grandmother didn’t, either. It’s just something we’ve always been able to do. Sometimes, some people, we just know when we see them. That we have to help.”
    “So you knew,” Olivia said, whispering now. “When I came in with the dress?”
    Posey shook her head, her short, crooked bangs falling down over her eyes. “I knew before you walked into the shop.”
    “ What does that mean?” Violet asked, looking up from the tiny desk, her head cocked to one side.
    And then, as if in direct response to a question Violet hadn’t asked—because Violet technically wasn’t there—Posey continued:
    “It means I’ve seen her around. I knew before she ever came inside.”
    Posey looked directly at Olivia as she spoke, and Violet hopped up from the desk. “Can she hear me?” Violet whispered.
    Olivia looked back at Posey. “Can you…” Olivia started carefully. “Who were you talking to, just then?”
    Posey spread her sticklike legs out in front of her on the couch. She was wearing old, faded jeans that fell short of her ankles, but not in an intentionally stylish way. More like they were old favorites she couldn’t bear to throw out.
    “Your sister,” Posey said flatly. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
    Olivia looked from Violet to Posey, Posey to Violet. “But you can’t—”
    “I can’t see her, no,” Posey said, pointing and flexing first one foot, then the other. “ I didn’t wish for her, did I?”
    “But how did you know that I did?” Olivia asked.
    Posey threw up her hands. “Your sister dies. You have a magical, wish-granting dress,” she said, laying out the ingredients. “What else are you going to wish for?”
    “But you didn’t know it was magic,” Violet prompted Olivia from the corner.
    “Yeah,” Olivia agreed. “I didn’t know it was magic when I made the wish.”
    “So?” Posey asked.
    “So how could you know