Read Online Don't Expect Magic by Kathy McCullough - Free Book Online Page B

is skinny and wobbly and the black is boring. I want to scream, I hate them so much.
    I’m definitely feeling more like myself again.
    “Those are fantastic.” One of the shoe salesmen is standing behind me and pointing to my boots on the floor. I’d changed into my dragon boots before we went to Andrea’s. The body and tail are painted up the sides, and one’s tipped over, so you can see the fiery open mouth carved onto the sole. I pick it up. The worn leather is soft in my hand, the chunky heel reassuringly heavy.
    “Thanks.”
    “Where did you get them?”
    “They’re originals. Custom-made.”
    “I should’ve guessed.” He shifts into work mode, gesturing to the boots I have on. “And how are you liking those?”
    “Not so much.”
    He nods, with a little “I didn’t think so” smile. “Well, let me know if you need any help.” He leaves to wait on real customers. When I put my boots back on, they’re so comfortable and perfect, they’re like a hug. I admire them in a floor mirror. They
are
fantastic.
    My mind is calm again. Clear. So clear that a thought occurs to me. Something that I can’t believe I didn’t think of before. Or maybe I did, but I guess I needed to “process it” too.
    “Delaney?” Hank makes his way through stacks of shoe boxes and clusters of shoe shoppers toward me. “What are you doing in here? You can’t just run off like that.” He waits for a response, his scolding look morphing into worry.
    Why am I having so much trouble speaking? It’s five words. But they’re taking up all the space in my mind—all that precious space I had cleared out. The words are huge, that’s why. Just when I think they’re too big to ever make it out, I say them:
    “I’m a fairy godmother too.”
    “No.” Hank’s eyes dart around, but no one’s paying attention. Trying on shoes is one of those all-consuming tasks. You really don’t have time to notice fathers and daughters discussing their supernatural genetic makeup.
    “You said it was hereditary.”
    “I also said it passed from mother to daughter,” Hank says in a hushed voice. “I’m not your mother.”
    “
You’re
not a daughter either.”
    “Let’s discuss this somewhere else, all right?”
    I glare at him, toss the black boots back on the shelf and then march past him, zigzagging through the slip-on sneakers and lace-up wedges to the handbag section. Hank tries to catch up but he’s no good at navigating sales racks and discount tables. Not my problem. I spot a door on the other side of the coat department and head for it.
    “Delaney—”
    I pause as a new thought occurs to me. One that makesme want to grab a tasseled two-toned scarf off a nearby rack and strangle Hank with it.
    I spin around to face him. “How could you not have told me this? I could’ve been using my powers this whole time! I could’ve helped Mom.”
    “No, you couldn’t. You can’t change reality, only alter bits of it.”
    “I could’ve
tried
.” I turn my back on him, push open the door and step out.
    “It doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re not—”
    I let the door close on him and look around. I’m back outside but in a different area than where I came in. Ahead is a row of mini-restaurants—Greek, Italian, Mexican, French, a mix-and-match play dining set.
    Hank appears next to me, so I start moving again. “I’ve watched you over the years, Delaney. Very carefully. You never showed any signs.”
    “Watched me
when
? In the five half-hour visits you’ve made in the whole fifteen years of my life?”
    “There were more than five. And they were more than a half-hour long.”
    “They weren’t enough for you to know
anything
about me.”
    “
You’d
know.”
    At the far end of restaurant row is a normal-sized diner. Finally, something real. Hank probably thinks I’m slowing down because I’m listening to him, but it’s really because suddenly I’m starving. I’ve probably been hungryall along, but my brain’s