Quick author's note: This piece was originally written in collaboration with someone who had a very specific kink for a particular scene from an early episode of the TV show Bewitched. So, that's why an OC with magical powers abruptly shows up in a world that heretofore was more or less mundane, albeit with the scales of chance tipped against the hapless protagonist.
Also, this story is intended to be read alongside Melody's Day, the events of which occur in parallel, and Amy and Melody's Evening, which occurs when the two stories come together at the end.
***
Amy Brown strode up the steps from the subway, resisting the urge to take them two at a time for sheer, pent-up joy. Today was going to be a great day. The first warm weather of the season had finally swept through the New York City area and Amy had enjoyed the feeling of sunlight on what little skin she had exposed during the brief walk from her now-shared apartment to the subway. The subway exit actually had its egress inside of her office building; a boon during the too-long winter months that had so recently come to an end, but a bit of a curse now that the weather was actually pleasant.
"Maybe I'll take my lunch outside today..." She idly thought to herself as she flashed a badge, along with an ever-so-slight smile, to the security guard.
The guard cringed, certain that the smile presaged a tongue lashing, as it so often did when Amy had found a target on which to vent her bad moods. "A-anything wrong, Ms. Brown?"
"Nothing at all, Horace," Amy tried to broaden her smile, but found it uncomfortable to stretch such seldom-used face muscles. To Horace it looked almost more like baring her teeth, which only made him flinch more.
"Y-y-you have a guest waiting for you. A m-m-miss..." Horace reached over and fumbled for the guest list off the security desk. He accidentally pushed it onto the floor. With a gasp he fell to his knees, desperate to get his interaction with Amy over with before it resulted in a confrontation that would inevitably be "escalated" to his manager.
"Ah, yes, Miss Stephens. When did she arrive?" Amy was trying her best to stay pleasant, but the guard's bumbling wasn't helping. Traditionally, Amy had expected nothing more of others than what she would expect of herself. Of course, since she demanded nothing less than perfection from herself, that had proven to be a... somewhat challenging bar for the world around her to clear. But Amy's fiancée had prevailed upon her to lower her expectations, just a little bit, and Amy had been trying her hardest. Though Horace was making it so very difficult...
"Ah!" he shouted, finally having maneuvered the paper in front of his wrinkly old face, "Yes, she signed in at... 6:50 this morning. Wow, she was here pretty early!"
"No, she arrived exactly when I meant her to arrive. Good girl. This will be fun." The side of Amy's lip curled into a familiar smirk. Horace gulped, glad that the smirk seemed aimed at Miss Stephens rather than himself. Mercifully, Amy walked away to the elevator bank.
Amy pressed the button to summon the elevator. She whipped her phone out of her breast pocket to check the time. 8:53 AM, perfect. Just enough time to get upstairs, deposit Miss Stephens in the conference room, and get settled into her office by nine o'clock. She noted a text message from her fiancée: "Luv U, Huney! Knock 'em dead! SO excited 4 2nite! <3" Amy mentally suppressed her natural inclination to grind her teeth at the misspelled, slang-ridden text.
She texted back, "I am excited for tonight as well. I will see you back at the apartment after work." She paused a moment before hitting Send. A few moment's debate later, she smiled. "Oh, why not?" she thought to herself, then added ":-)" at the end of the text. It was the anniversary of their first date tonight, why shouldn't she indulge her "wild side?"
The elevator arrived and Amy stepped in and pressed the button for the mislabeled 14th floor. She spent a moment, as she did every time she rode the elevator, sneering at the superstitious nitwits who had labeled her floor, the 13th, as 14. How on Earth someone could have the education and training to become an architect yet still subscribe to medieval superstitions she had no idea.
Speaking of medieval nonsense, Amy turned her thoughts to the day's meeting. Miss Octavia Stephens, junior account executive at a Madison Avenue advertising agency. Nothing wrong with that, per se, though Amy didn't really see the social value in advertising. The problem was her side business, if it could be called a business. Miss Stephens had supposedly taken an interest in witchcraft, or sorcery, or some similar nonsense. She was supposedly planning to open an occult store and had spent a positively stupid amount on preliminary costs, books, geegaws and nonsense. And yet she hadn't leased a storefront yet.
Amy grinned maliciously. She had been looking forward to this meeting. Now, technically, the issue wasn't the business she was getting into. Amy wasn't supposed to pass judgment on the validity of a taxpayer's business, and certainly not on the idiocy of her "religious" beliefs, just on whether what Miss Stephens was doing was a business or a hobby. But Amy couldn't resist. She would metaphorically throw this little "witch" up against a wall, get her to admit she was a charlatan, and have her signing a decision document conceding the entire case by the end of the day. Then Amy would leave work precisely on time (a rare indulgence for the work-a-holic) and join her fiancée for an evening's revelry.
The elevator door opened and Amy walked into the lobby. There, sitting in a chair, was a spritely young woman in a well-fitted black suit. She wore a straight skirt hanging loosely about her knees and a dark blue blouse. She had black hair, straight on top, falling into loose curls around her shoulders, with curly little bangs draped over her forehead. Everything about her could be described as cute, her dimpled cheeks, heart-shaped face, wide icy-blue eyes, button nose. Not witch-like at all. She popped out of her seat instantly on seeing Amy.
---
It had been close to two hours and still no sign of her. Octavia checked her cell phone once again. 8:50. She had been told to arrive for the meeting by 7:00 AM and to get here early to allow plenty of time to get through security. The nice old man at the security desk had ushered her through, but something about his eyes looked kinda... sad when she had told him she was here to meet Amy Brown. Still, she'd pushed her worries down and hopped onto the elevator. She had been delighted to note that the meeting would take place on what was secretly the 13th floor; 13 had always been her lucky number, and she thought it boded well for her soon-to-be sorcery business.
Octavia hoped nothing had happened to Amy on the way in to work today. She really just wanted to get this tax business resolved so she could get back to her day job at the ad firm and, more importantly, to her side job preparing to open her magic shop. Amy had been fairly curt and just a tad insulting, though always in a veiled way, in her letters. Still, Octavia felt she had a lot of winning charm in person and was certain she could convince Amy to let her take the deductions she had requested.
*Ding!* The elevator chime sounded and out strode a somewhat tall woman with shoulder-length brown hair in a neat ponytail and horn-rimmed glasses. Her face was slender and severe, with piercing dark-blue eyes and a thin mouth. Octavia thought she saw a bit of a smile as the woman walked out, replaced by a serious grimace the moment she noticed Octavia. The woman wore a slate gray pantsuit, perfectly tailored, and a soft pink dress shirt. She wore black heels, Octavia guessed around 3 inches, stiletto, but she didn't have the eye to guess the brand.
Octavia leapt up and walked over, extending a hand. "Hi, I'm Octavia. You wouldn't be Amy, would you?"
