Page 46 of Minnie

She smiles once the sign is back up. “No harm done.”

I yawn, help Natty back into the wagon, and head off without so much as a thank you to Wes. Natty waves goodbye, and I seem to be having a Queen of England day, since I give them the royal wave.

But on the inside, I’m so grateful for Amber. Even I wouldn’t put up with me, but somehow, she does. And judging by how things went with Delphine, she’ll be stuck with me for a long, long time.

Amber would honestly make a great friend, if I had friends, which I do not. I haven’t since the day Danny walked out of my life, and I probably never will.

She’ll probably hate me once she realizes I can’t afford her babymoon cruise. And I’ll freeze up during my speech to free the fuzzies. And I’ll probably never see the chameleon who may or may not be my fated mate.

“Minnie?” Natty interrupts. “You’re happy!”

He doesn’t get it quite right, but I know what he means, and playfully tousle his hair affectionately. “You know what will make me happy? Singing.”

He claps his hands. “Wheels on the Bus!”

We sing the song together, and my problems slowly float away. Formula M’s calming effects probably help, too, but just knowing I have Natty makes everything a little brighter.

And I’ve a date with a prisoner to look forward to. Not that it’s a real date. Only reason Zachariah sees me is because I bring his son for visits, but it’s still the highlight of my week.

When we’re almost at the spot where we typically drop off Tiptoe, Natty shouts, “Witch!”

“Witch, Witch, Scratch that Itch?” I ask, since the song is one of his favorites.

“No, witch!” Natty points at a tree in the distance. Next to it, I spot a woman wearing a black robe and a pointy black hat, carrying an old-fashioned broom.

I’m amused, even though I don’t show it. “That’s not a real witch. It’s just a person wearing a costume.”

“Why?” Natty asks in typical three-year-old fashion.

“Because real witches look like me and Zoe. They don’t wear costumes, not unless they’re going to a costume party and trying to be ironic.”

“Minnie, look. Pretend witch,” Natty points toward another tree, and I spot a second woman in an identical costume.

As we walk toward the prison, we spot a few more witches, and Natty starts to sing. “Witch, Witch, Scratch that Itch.”

He’s still singing it when we arrive at the gate where Marty with a D comes out to greet us. “ID, please.”

He chews his gum vigorously and I kind of wish I still had some of my favorite pink bubblegum. I stopped buying it when Natty started asking to try it, and crying whenever I said no. And since it’s not safe for him to have until he turns five, I won’t be trying it until Zachariah’s out of prison.

And then, he might decide to take Natty away, and I won’t get to see my little boy. So who even cares about gum?

I search inside my Birkin and pull out my wallet. Marty with a D makes a show of examining it and then nods. “Alright, Minnie Alexander. I’ma need to search your wagon before I can let you through.”

Hearing my new name announced so officially makes me smile, so I don’t even mind the search.

I can’t summon the excitement I usually feel when we step through the ward, since the failed attempt to break the curse is still fresh. I hurry through the usual routine, unload our stuff into the locker, watch Natty empty his pockets—a button, a leaf, and a yellow crayon—and follow him through the body scanner toward the double doors that lead to the visitation room.

I’m a bit distracted today, so Natty manages to break out of my grasp. He runs toward Zachariah while I chase after him, and a few nearby guards shout half-hearted warnings.

Zachariah grins, gets to his feet, and pulls Natty into his arms. And that’s when everything changes.

My feet stop aching. The slight chill always permeating the visitation room is replaced by a comfortable warmth. The effects of Formula M kick back in, and I’m suddenly aware of Julian’s exact location in Jewels Cafe.

And a pink fiery rope of magic connects me to Zachariah.

I’ve always had a bit of a crush on the man, but I’ve never felt the pulse-pounding desire that courses through for the split second before everything goes back to normal. Well, prison normal. No Formula M, no Summer Spritz, and no Cloud 9 ½.

The visitation room breaks into chaos. Some of the visitors dive under their tables, as if they’ll somehow protect them. The two brothers who were arguing over pancakes and waffles on Wednesday are on their feet, racing toward the double doors. Some prisoners are charging the guards, while others are shouting spells, as if the ward might go down again at any moment.