Chapter 1: When You Wish Upon a Pasta

“The wish-to-ravioli ratio is fixed,” the witch explained apologetically as Cecily stared at the enormous helping of pasta in front of her. She had thought she’d finally found the loophole, the one wish-granting mechanism without a rule against wishing for more wishes, but as soon as she had requested three more wishes, the bowl of ravioli had tripled in size.

“I really have to eat all of it?” Cecily asked, hoping that maybe each wish was contained in a single ravioli pocket and she could just nibble at the edges of all of them. “This must be ten pounds of ravioli!” She was already fairly full from completing the first bowl that granted her three more, and she was beginning to wish she had brought August with her this time.

The witch shrugged her narrow shoulders. “You have to eat all of it.” She looked a lot younger than your stereotypical witch, although her hair was bright green and her eyes glowed the same color. She had the vibe of a broke white graduate student more than a mysterious magical being.

Cecily sighed. “I don’t suppose you have to-go boxes.”

“I have no idea what those are.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time. That phrase had been the anthem of Cecily’s life, and now, when she finally had the chance to reverse all the mistakes she’d made over the last two months, when she finally had the chance to have whatever she wanted, she was to be thwarted by an obcene quantity of Italian food.

How do they even have ravioli here? she wondered as she forced down another bite. Did someone else cross over and bring it? She probably could have asked the witch, but Cecily was cautious about revealing to anyone else that she wasn’t from around here. It hadn’t gone well the first time.

She made it over halfway through the bowl before she found herself unable to swallow another bite. “Ohhh,” she groaned. “God, if you can see me over here, please expand my stomach.”

“Who’s God?” the witch asked curiously, looking around the room.

Cecily did not feel like proscelytizing right now, so she just looked back at the ravioli. “Someone who apparently hates me.”

“You know you don’t have to finish it,” the witch told her. “I’ll still only charge you for the first bowl, since you used it to produce all this extra.”

I should have just wished us home with the first one, Cecily thought furiously. She had hoped that with two additional wishes she could also get all their stuff back and erase the two months that they had been missing, but now she wouldn’t get to do any of that. That’s the third plan to get home that has ended with failure.

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No! Cecily steeled herself and raised the fork again. She was sweating profusely and was tempted to remove her pants to allow her stomach to expand more, but she doubted that would actually help. Plus, that was a pretty intimate move considering she didn’t even know this witch’s name and had been mentally calling her Ravioli Girl.

Cecily shoved the ravioli pocket into her mouth, forced herself to chew, and swallowed. She smiled triumphantly, then promptly threw up into the rest of the pasta.

When she looked up, Ravioli Girl was surveying her with pursed lips. “I may have to charge you extra after all.”

Cecily did not have any money. She had been banking on wishing herself back to Earth before the bill came, but now, as she considered the huge bowl of ravioli covered with half-digested ravioli, that was clearly no longer an option. Time for the sympathy card.

“This was my only chance,” she sniffled. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.” That was all true, but Cecily never actually cried in front of other people–except when watching children’s movies, of course, but that was another matter entirely.

Ravioli Girl’s creepy glowing eyes softened and she patted Cecily’s arm, creating a quick spark of static electricity against Cecily’s dark skin. “I’m sorry my ravioli couldn’t help you… but I may have something else!” Her expression lifted and she briefly left the very ordinary-looking kitchen where Cecily was seated. There really must have been influences from Earth in the past because all Ravioli Girl needed was a refrigerator and a vinyl “Bless this Mess” inscription and she would have the perfect suburban kitchen. There was no electricity in this world–at least not that Cecily had seen–but the witch had some sort of magic light illuminating the room, which seemed to brighten in proportion to the sun’s gradual descent.

“Here we are!” Ravioli Girl returned holding a chunky silver necklace with a fist-sized locket dangling from it. It was truly hideous, but Cecily forced her features into a smile. She’d suffered this much, and she needed to stay on the witch’s good side if she had any hope to dine and dash, although the thought of dashing made her want to throw up again.

The young witch held out the necklace to Cecily. “May I?” she asked, and Cecily tentatively nodded, moving her thick black curls out of the way. She knew that allowing magical strangers to place objects around her neck could only be a bad idea, but if Ravioli Girl had wanted to kill her, she could have poisoned the pasta.

The locket bounced against the front of Cecily’s dirty gray shirt, and she was about to open it when Ravioli Girl stopped her. “Wait!” She grabbed Cecily’s hands for a moment, then cleared her throat and let go. “You should only open that in an emergency. Don’t do it here.”

“Oh, okay.” Cecily looked down at the locket. She hadn’t had much luck with magical items before, but Ravioli Girl seemed nice, so maybe this time would be different. Either way, it was time for her to get out of here.

“Well,” she said, laboriously standing up. “Thanks for all of this.” Cecily waddled toward the door and Ravioli Girl opened it for her. Did she forget about the bill? Cecily wondered, then thought back to the bowl of vomit on the table. Or is she as eager for me to leave as I am? Either way, Cecily wasn’t going to bring it up. She fought down the crippling cramps that seemed to be wrapping around her torso and stumbled her way down the hill that the witch’s house was on. When she looked back, the entire house had vanished, and Cecily rolled her eyes. “Drama queen,” she muttered as she sat on her butt and scooted the rest of the way down the hill, trying to come up with a less humiliating story to tell August when she got home.