On Sunday afternoon, Stella took Cora along with Agatha to Brimwell Plaza and Mariam stayed home with Willow.
They needed a mini fridge to store Made with Magic. It had become a pain to keep it in the kitchen. Like most weekends, the mall teemed with people, families swinging a large array of shopping bags, teens taking advantage of one of the only places they could loiter, and salespeople trying to sell them the newest face creams.
Cora leapt out of the way, startled and clutching her coat, as a boy flew past. The girl on his back screamed for him to slow down. She didn't care for the mall, but it beat another Sunday in front of the TV with Willow who insisted on the true crime channel.
"I wonder," said Stella, "how much it costs to get a shop here. It would be wonderful to hire someone to work a kiosk."
Cora thought that she would rather not work in such a busy place, despite that it always had the strongest scent of one of her favorite foods, salted pretzels.
"We could always call to find out," Agatha said. "And would you slow down? We aren't running a marathon last time I checked."
Stella did slow. "Sorry, Mom," she said. "I would hate to spend all day here." They were on their way to the department store. It would no doubt be as packed, especially because of the sale. Agatha had the catalog in her hand. On the way there, she'd read to them all the low-priced items. "I do need a new coat," she'd said. "And Willow-Rose could use a pair of those cute mittens." Agatha didn't knit. It was her only fault as a grandmother.
"We're here for the fridge," Stella had said. Now she led them through the double doors into the store, holding up her hand to the fragrance salesmen and women. The first floor always smelled like perfume and cosmetics. Cora peeked at herself in a mirror as they went along to the third floor where the appliances were kept.
They hadn't made it to the escalator when a shrill voice called out, "Stella. Cora. Look, Tilly, it's Cora and Stella Emerson."
Oh, no.
She wished to hide behind a rack of men's shirts as her mother waved at them.
"Oh, my god, Blythe," she said, leading Cora and Agatha over to her friend.
Blythe and Stella kissed each other's cheeks. No matter how much they tried they couldn't have missed Blythe in her bright red coat with white fur trim and her daughter in a matching brown with black fur trim. Blythe's red lips came down on Cora's cheek, leaving a bit of spittle and a possible lip-gloss smear. "I was telling Tilly how we should pay you guys a visit soon," she said. She hugged Agatha. "What a coincidence we'd see you here."
Cora tried to avoid Tilda's piercing gaze. Her brown eyes were like molten lava on her skin. She gazed at a row of men's watches and wondered if she'd be required to buy a gift for Beau this Christmas. She'd texted him back goodnight and so far, there'd been silence. Not that she was one of those paranoid types who thought if a boy didn't pay her attention twenty-four-seven, he'd slighted her. In fact, another text from him would have come across as desperate. Not that she would have minded a bit of desperation.
While her mother and Blythe giggled like schoolgirls, Agatha said, "I'm going to look for those mittens for Willow."
"Okay," Stella said, distracted. To Blythe she said, "Are you ladies doing some holiday shopping?"
Agatha tugged on Cora's coat sleeve as she left. Cora made to follow, but her mother put her hand on her arm, stopping her.
"We are," said Blythe. "And my Teddy needs some new work shirts."
"Oh, how is Ted?" Stella asked.
She hated when her mother got like this, extra cheery around her friend. Blythe was Stella's only friend as far as she knew. From her peripheral vision, Cora saw Tilda roll her eyes. She picked up a black watch and examined it.
Did Beau need a new one? She wasn't sure.
Her mother intruded on her thoughts by tapping her shoulder. "Honey." She never called Cora that any other time. "Why don't you go along with Tilda to do some catching up. Here." She took forty dollars out of her purse and gave it to her. "Meet us at the front of the mall in an hour."
She didn't have time to say, "but Mom," because Stella and Blythe had already begun to walk away, the both of them having the giggles.
Tilda rolled her eyes again. "So," she said, she trailed an orange polished finger across the counter where the watches were arranged. "You still go to that school?"
"Thorne Point High," said Cora, correcting her.
Tilda had graduated high school early, but as far as Cora knew she wasn't in college yet. "I'm going to school in Paris next year," she said. "Mother thinks it'll be good for me to experience a new culture, to get out of Elorie once and for all." She moved out of the way to let a woman pass, seeming annoyed that she'd brushed against her. She dusted off her shoulder. "Are you going to college?"
"FAE," Cora said. "I got early admission. One of the few they sent out."
Tilda started ahead, expecting Cora to follow. Cora did. "I have friends at FAE," Tilda said. They think it's okay." She shrugged. "What are you studying?"
"Journalism or marketing," she said quickly. She always felt like she was being quizzed whenever she was with Tilda. She always got the answers wrong.
Tilda snorted. "You?"
Cora kept quiet.
Here we go.
Tilda didn't waste any time bringing out her claws.
"You don't seem like the type," she said. "No offence."
She guessed that Tilda also wanted to study fashion. She followed after her, all the way up to the shoe section on the second floor where they were met with a chaos of women checking out the season's latest in boot wear or shoving pudgy feet into stylish heels. The salespeople ran around with shoeboxes, like mice over a discarded piece of cheese. Tilda stopped at a stand that displayed black ankle boots. She picked up a pair with a red sole. Cora could see her in them. The heel was so thin you could chisel ice with it.
Like they were children again, she found herself wanting Tilda's approval. Although they were the same age, Tilda had always been like a cooler distant sister. "Those are so cute," she said, in an attempt to appease her.
Tilda smirked, snapped her fingers at a salesman in black and white, and said, "I'd like these in a size six."
"Yes, ma'am," he said and left for their stockroom.
Tilda's gaze fell on Cora's shoes. "You aren't getting anything?" Her tone was snide.
She hadn't considered it but walked a few feet away to another stand, picking up a tall, brown boot to check the price. Sixty dollars made it too expensive. "You know what," she said, "I think I'll save my money this time."
Tilda shouldered past her to sit. Cora sat beside her. Normally, she would have jumped at the idea to shop, but Tilda would only scrutinize her purchases to the point where she wouldn't want them anymore.
Tilda held her hand up to her mouth and whispered, "Do you want to have a little fun?"
"Not really," said Cora, uneasy. What she wanted was to find her mom or grandmother and maybe buy a salted pretzel.
"You're such a wet blanket," said Tilda. "Let's see who we can mess with." She searched the crowd for her target. "What about her?" she asked. Not too far away a woman was bending over to try on a pair of lace up booties. Tilda waved her finger like a wand. The woman yelped and stumbled forward. She would have fallen if she hadn't caught the end of a table. Tilda giggled.
She poked Cora's arm. "Your turn."
Cora watched the woman readjust her long skirt before averting her gaze to another woman sitting nearby. She'd bent over to put a pair of shoes into a box. Cora snapped her fingers, making the box slide from the woman's reach. She did this each time the woman reached for it, so soon enough it was several feet away from her. The woman looked around, as if she could make out this invisible person who'd gotten hold of her shoebox.
"Come on, you can do better than that." Tilda said, but she smiled. "Okay, what about her?" She pointed out a woman near the mirrors. But before she could wave her finger, the salesman appeared with her boots. "They better be the right size." She snatched them from him.
"They definitely are a size six, ma'am," the salesman said, then he hurried away from them before she could come up with another rude retort.
Tilda kicked off her stylish black flats. Seeing her hideous feet, corns and too spindly toes, Cora smiled to herself. Willow would have said she had feet like an ogre. She wasn't as perfect as she liked to believe. "Ugh, they're way too small," she grumbled, attempting to shove her thick, calloused heel into the boot.
"Maybe you got the wrong size," Cora said. "I can find another salesperson." She stood, peering over the chaos of people to flag down one of the workers.
"I've always been a size six," Tilda hissed. She stomped her foot. It wouldn't budge. Her feet were too wide.
The salesman happened to be passing again. He tried to scurry by with his head down, sensing that Tilda wasn't as charming as she appeared, with her long dark hair she wore pinned up today, sultry dark stare, and plump mouth. People didn't mind helping her, but Cora guessed some were immune to her good looks.
As he went by, Tilda lashed out, "I thought you said you gave me the right size. They're too small."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm certain I gave you the size you asked for."
She grimaced and kicked off the boot. "If you did, they would fit. Wouldn't they?" Her shouting attracted a few curious stares.
"I can always get you a larger pair," he said. He bent down to retrieve the boot, but Tilda got up and stood in front of them, blocking his way. She was taller than him, even only wearing one shoe.
"Henry, is it?" Tilda said. His name tag did say Henry.
Henry nodded. Cora saw him swallow and noticed the sweat along his hairline. Poor man. Unlike the other sales associates, Henry was short and so pudgy the buttons on his shirt strained to keep his stomach confined. They might pop if he bent over too fast. Knowing Tilda, this wouldn't end well. She wasn't the sort to let things go.
She jabbed a finger into his chest. "The customers are always right. And as your customer, I am right."
Henry squeaked. "I'm-I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. "I'll-I'll get you another size." He started for the back room but didn't get far before he crashed to the floor, knocking over several pairs of thigh highs on a table. He clutched his chest, gasping. His skin had gone a horrible shade of pink and his pants had a wet stain on the crotch.
"Oh, my god," someone said, hurrying to his side. "I think he's having a heart attack."
"Call 911," someone else cried.
No one noticed but Cora Tilda's clenched fists and the way her hair bristled. "Fat pig." She shook with anger. "Fat, dense pig."
On the floor, Henry continued to writhe. Most of the people who'd been shopping in the department store's shoe section were now crowded around him.
Cora stood. "Tilda, stop it." She grabbed her arm, but Tilda jerked free. "You're only going to draw attention to yourself if you don't stop."
"It's about time people knew the truth," she said. "I'm tired of pretending for their sake." She pointed at Henry's spectators. "They're pathetic."
"You're hurting him." Cora did the only thing she could think to do. She shoved Tilda so hard that she fell over. The noise of her falling did get the attention of a few people, but not for long as Henry's gasping stopped, and his skin began to lose its pinkish tinge.
Tilda picked herself up. Cora stood her ground. "That's enough. You've had your fun. Now let it go."
Tilda cackled, garnering a few looks but most were still more curious about Henry. Cora's fingers were ready for whatever Tilda could throw her way, even though it was obvious who was the more powerful sorceress. Her fingers itched; her heart panic-stricken.
She'd never faced off with another sorceress before.
"You're pathetic," Tilda said, but she plopped down into her seat, took a mirror out of her pocket, and smoothed down the stray hairs that had gotten loose from her bun.
"I'm going to find my mom," Cora turned away before Tilda could respond, heart still raging. When she'd walked a few feet, at the racks of lady's coats, she allowed herself to look back. Tilda wasn't there.
What a drama queen.
It was one thing to be wicked, it was another to be pure evil. Tilda would risk everything to be right. She would risk their freedom over a simple mistake. And poor Henry. He hadn't deserved it. Cora hoped he'd be all right. Maybe she should have stuck around to make sure. She hesitated at the escalator but decided to find her mother instead, unable to stand being around Blythe and her daughter another minute.
Tilda had found Blythe and Stella first. She smirked at Cora as she approached. They were on the first floor of the department store. Blythe had her makeup done at one of the stations and they were waiting in line to purchase the products she wanted.
"You didn't buy anything?" Stella asked. Near her feet was a large plastic bag Cora presumed was the mini fridge.
She shook her head and shot a look at Tilda who shot one back. Her mother noticed. "Did you girls have fun catching up?" she asked.
Blythe smiled at them over her shoulder. "Tilly was saying you guys made plans to get together again." She squeezed her daughter's arm. "We're having dinner with you next Friday night," she said. "We'll leave Ted at home. It'll be a girl's night."
Cora forced a smile because her mother was watching. "Sounds great," she said. "I'm sure we'll have a terrific time."
Tilda smiled back. "Yeah, maybe Cora can tell me all about her little blog."
"You read her blog?" Stella asked.
"I adore her blog," said Tilda.
It all made sense to her now. Tilda wanted her to know she'd been behind the anonymous comments. She was Beverly B. Cora's breath caught in her chest. The lights in the store flickered in a way that made everyone look up, except Tilda who held her gaze. Cora rubbed her fingers together, ready to snap them, eager to turn Tilda as hideous on the outside as she was on the inside. She would have if her grandmother hadn't shown up then.
"There you are, Stella," she said. She held two large bags, which she put down. "Do you think Willow will like this?" she asked, holding up a red frilly dress. "I'm trying to get that girl into more colors."
"If she doesn't like it, you can give it to Cora," Stella said.
Cora allowed herself to let go of her anger, imagining a boiling cauldron simmering down. "It's a cute dress, Grandma," she said. "But you'd have to fight to get Willow into it."
"Willow is such a little firecracker," Blythe said.
Stella laughed. Agatha smiled. Cora and Tilda pretended to not see each other. They'd always argued, but Tilda had taken it to another level by attacking her blog.
She gave a new meaning to the term bad blood.