Page 38 of The Trouble With Spells
“I’ll try to do better,” I promised, and was shocked to realize I meant it.
“The guilt tripping is strong with that one,” Dad remarked, taking a sip of his wine.
“Facts,” I grunted, trying the green beans. I hated soggy veggies, but these were sautéed and still crispy, with some kind of tasty seasonings on them.
“Michael, this cranberry corn dressing is your dad’s newest obsession. Let me know if you like it–you too, Callum–and we’ll put it on the Christmas dinner menu. Callum, I do hope you’ll be able to join us for at least dinner that day.”
“Mom,” I whined, “we haven’t made holiday plans yet. And Callum has his own family.”
Callum gave me a wide-eyed look, his lips quirking. Dutifully, he took a bite of the dressing, nodding his head. “It’s good.”
Mom pointed her fork at me. “Michael, the fact that you have introduced us to Callum means something. Now, let’s talk Halloween.”
Groaning, I shoved a forkful of the damn dressing in my mouth, swallowing dutifully. It was good. The pops of cranberry added a nice tart bite to the sweetness of the corn.
“Callum, what are your thoughts on Halloween?”
Huffing, I warned him, “Don’t answer that, it’s a trick question. She’s going to try to rope you into handing out candy, mark my words.”
“Oh, I mean, I like Halloween. We usually are pretty busy at the store that day. Lots of tourists, and the wholewitchy vibe thing we have going on. It’s one of our biggest selling days.”
“Good, because she gives out full size candy bars, and hot cider, hot chocolate, the works. Every single person in Salem puts our house on their must stop place, I swear. It’s ridiculous. It’s like a freaking block party or something.”
Callum laughed, “Well, for full size candy bars and hot chocolate, I could be persuaded to rearrange my work schedule.”
“Oh, stop it, Michael,” Mom joked, “I’m not that bad.”
Dad snorted, clearly disagreeing. Swallowing against the tickle in my throat, I took a sip of my water, coughing lightly. My collar suddenly felt tight, and I tugged at it.
“Well, Melody is bringing the kids this year for trick-or-treating. It would be nice if you could stop by and see your niece and nephew, Michael.”
“Oof, Mom, save some of your guilt tripping for another day.” My face tingled and I rubbed my cheek, twitching my nose against a weird itch. Was it hot in here? Heat was crawling up my body. “No need to get it all in on one night.”
Callum, as if sensing something wasn’t right with me, turned in his chair, searching my face. “Are you okay? Your face is really flushed?”
“I–” Gasping, I yanked desperately at my collar. My lips were tingling, and my throat felt like it was rapidly closing up. “Hard to breathe.”
“Michael?” Mom stood, reaching for me, but I shook my head. My eyes were watering, and nausea rolled over me in a clammy, sweat inducing wave. Wiping my eyes with one hand, I tugged at the buttons of my shirt with my other, needing to get some air. Glancing at my plate of food, I searched it frantically. Because my parents always, always made sure that any new chef knew about my allergy.
“Mushrooms?” I wheezed, trying to stand, but dizziness overwhelmed me and I swayed sideways.
Callum grabbed me by my elbow, helping me stand. I clung to his arms tightly, my fingers digging in.
“What’s happening?” his voice demanded, worry evident.
“There aren’t any in anything,” Mom assured, then yelled in a slightly hysterical voice, “Mike!”
“Epi…” my voice broke, as I gasped for air that I couldn’t get past my swollen throat and tongue. My mind was dizzy with the need to breathe, and I couldn’t think. Panic was quickly setting in, and I tried to tell myself to stay as calm as possible.
Where was my EpiPen? Back in my apartment, still under fire Marshall quarantine, I vaguely remembered. I was so careful about watching the things I ate; I hadn’t even thought about not having one of my pens on me. And this was my parents’ house, where they knew my life-threatening allergy.
“Callum,” Dad ordered, sounding strangely calm and in-charge. “Lay him on the floor, and try to keep him as still as possible. Jess, call 9-1-1.”
There was movement around me, scurrying, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. Callum was gently helping me to the floor, his worried face swimming blurrily before me. His fingers replaced my fumbling ones and he quickly unbuttoned the top button of my shirt.
It didn’t help. I still couldn’t breathe. I could hear myself gasping loudly, my fingers clawing at his arms.
“Move over,” Dad ordered, and then slammed an EpiPen into the muscle of my thigh. “I don’t know if it will work,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I’m not sure how old it is. Found it in the sideboard, but this is an emergency. They say even an outdated one is better than none.”
