Nalini Boudin couldn’t remember the damn incantation she needed to turn Jimmy back into a man. She put on her spectacles, flipping through her dusty spell book. Her fool of a husband—who she’d turned into a popsicle—sat melting on the counter, dripping grape juice onto the checkered linoleum.
Jimmy’d been nagging her about her “salty” cooking, so she’d done a harmless spell to mute him, inadvertently turning him into a popsicle on a red-hot Louisiana day. The type of stifling day where you’re just prayin for the rain to come and put an end to your misery. Only this time, she was the one doling out the misery.
Her jambalaya bubbled over the edge of the pot, and she walked over to turn off the stove. The purple puddle by her bare feet meant “Jimmy” had precious little time left in this world.
She anxiously flipped through her spell book, squinting at it through foggy glasses. Cajun love spells, exorcizing pets, defanging vampires… Blast! Where was that spell?
The clouds rumbled outside. It was fixin to rain.
Nalini sank to the floor, fanning herself with a dishtowel. She couldn’t think in this damn heat. Her brain waded through water, like a lazy gator gliding through reeds in the Bayou.
She’d never done magic on Jimmy before, not so much as a tiny hex. She’d entered their union wanting to be a flesh and blood wife. No witchcraft shortcuts like mother used on daddy. But Jimmy was a tricky one ‘cause he didn’t play fair; he didn’t play by the rules.
Jimmy’s best pals were Jim Beam, Jose Cuervo, and Jack Daniels, in that order. And when he drank, he got Cujo bloodshot eyes, and said stuff and did stuff he didn’t mean. Stuff which he never apologized for either, like drinking away the rent.
Nalini’s shrimp jambalaya was perfect, and Jimmy knew it. He was a drunken asshole for calling it salty. That jambalaya had been her dead mother’s recipe passed down through a long line of Boudin witches. Funny, that’s what did it. The thing that finally made her snap. Fucking Jimmy.
Thing is, he’d hit a nerve, ‘cause it would break her mother’s heart to see Nalini living like this. Giving up her magic for some shell of a man. A proud Boudin witch, mother never changed who she was to be with daddy.
Jimmy continued to puddle on the floor. She really should put him in the freezer.
The sky opened up, drenching the thirsty sweetgum trees outside with rain.
She could finally breathe. Nalini stood up abruptly and slammed the spell book shut.
All that remained of her fool of a husband was the violet-stained popsicle stick sitting on the counter. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. At least she’d save money on a divorce.
Sabina Malik is an author of speculative fiction. Originally born in the States and raised in Canada, she leads a nomadic life, writing her stories in airports, buses, and hotel rooms around the world. You can find her on Instagram @lazyfiction and linktr.ee/lazyfiction.
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