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Suppose I never find anyone?”
    â€œI’m insulted you would even think that.”
    Gemma laughed. When she and Frankie were teenagers, they’d vowed that if they were both alone when they were old, they’d move in together. They’d rent male strippers, sunbathe nude, and ride motorcycles.
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œYou’re not going to be alone forever,” Frankie consoled.
    The sympathetic tone acted as a tonic to Gemma. It always did. She and Frankie were as close as sisters. Then Frankie took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let me ask you something.” Gemma stiffened. “Okay, let me ask you something” was Frankie’s standard windup to hitting Gemma between the eyes with the brutal truth.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCan’t you cast a love spell for yourself?”
    Gemma squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Of course she could. But to her, witchcraft was a path centered around the reverence for nature she’d carried deep within her since she was a child. It was not about trying to bend nature to your will.
    â€œWell?” Frankie prodded.
    â€œI suppose I could.”
    â€œWhat’s the point of being a witch if you don’t use it to help yourself?”
    â€œMaybe I’ll do a spell tonight.”
    â€œCan I watch?”
    â€œSure. As long as you don’t interrupt.”
    â€œI won’t, I swear!” The look of excitement in Frankie’s eyes faded, replaced by one of unmistakable distraction.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing,” Frankie murmured dismissively.
    â€œTell me.”
    â€œI’ve been feeling kind of confused lately. Plus, I have this.” She pushed up her shirt sleeve, revealing a blister on her left forearm.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œNecrotizing fasciitis. Flesh-eating disease. I have it, Gemma.”
    Gemma sighed deeply. To say Frankie was a hypochondriac was an understatement. Over the past year alone, Frankie had diagnosed herself with a brain tumor, West Nile virus, Crohn’s disease, and a host of other ailments, all of which mysteriously faded in their own in time. Gemma rued the day she’d bought Frankie The Merck Manual as a joke.
    â€œYou do not have flesh-eating disease,” Gemma said patiently.
    â€œOh, no? Two of the symptoms are mental confusion and blisters, both of which I have!”
    â€œAre you sure you didn’t burn your arm taking something out of the oven?”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œThen call up Dr. Bollard and make an appointment.”
    â€œI’m going to.”
    Gemma knew Frankie wouldn’t call. She never did. Instead, she’d walk around convinced she had flesh-eating disease—until new symptoms appeared and then she’d move on to her next self-diagnosed ailment.
    Frankie leaned toward Gemma eagerly. “So, do I get to be your assistant tonight? Hand you your eye of newt or whatever?”
    â€œI’m a witch, not a magician! I don’t need an assistant. All I need from you,” she added under her breath just as Stavros approached to take their breakfast order, “is to send positive thoughts my way while I work the spell. Think you can do that?”
    â€œIf you promise to make me black bean tostadas for dinner.”
    Gemma extended a hand across the table for a shake. “Done.”
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    Gemma got home from work itching to cast her spell.
    â€œJust let me get changed,” she told Frankie, who’d been waiting for her in the lobby of her building, eager to begin.
    Frankie nodded, following Gemma into her bedroom as she changed into sweats.
    â€œI still can’t believe how gorgeous this place is,” Frankie marveled.
    â€œI know.” Gemma loved this apartment now just as much as she did the day she moved in. Rather than selling, her cousin Michael’s wife Theresa decided to rent her beautiful two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. It had shining