Glimmers of Glass

by Emma Savant

Imogen had made us both dress up for the occasion. She was in tight jeans and a sparkly top in exactly the shade of baby blue that made her skin look like cream and rose petals. She’d talked me into borrowing a flouncy skirt and low-cut silver top. Elle had flatly refused to borrow anything, but, upon being told we were going to a fancy club, had showed up in tight leather pants and a corset top that made her look like she’d stepped out of a big-budget comic book movie with a kickass heroine. “Part of my steampunk costume,” she’d explained.

  “Of course it is,” I’d said, then been shut up by her reminder that she didn’t have to be there.

  Gilt was tucked into a corner of downtown Portland. We entered through a plain back door that looked like it was only there for deliveries to the restaurants on either side. We flashed our ID cards at the bouncer, flipping our hands over the way Kyle had done when I’d first met him. Elle eyed my palm suspiciously, but seemed to conclude it was a clever magic trick. “She’s with us,” I said, nodding toward Elle.

  The bouncer was a skinny girl in her early twenties who looked like she couldn’t knock out a fly, but I knew better. Her aura was laced with maroon dots floating like stars around her. She was the kind of skilled magician I didn’t want to cross. She waved us in.

  “Great security,” Elle said, raising her eyebrow at the girl as we passed. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic.

  The door led straight to a flight of stairs, the walls papered in silvery green and lit by small teardrop-shaped crystal lamps. It was unexpectedly classy.

  “I thought this was a restaurant,” Elle said.

  “Downstairs is,” Imogen said. “The top floor’s ours.”

  We stepped off the wide landing, through a door, and into one of the most decadent rooms I’d ever seen.

  “I didn’t realize you guys were rich,” was Elle’s first comment.

  I looked around the room. “I didn’t realize we were, either,” I said. I’d never been any place this elegant except for the Waterfall Palace. I’d given Imogen a full description of the palace already, hoping it would make up for my lackluster explanation of my conversation with Amani. This club didn’t quite put it to shame, but I was surprised and a little weirded out by how close it came.

  The first thing I noticed was the walls. They were the same silvery herb color of the hallway, accented here and there with gold leaf. The trim around the room was brushed in gold, as were the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, the tables that lined the edge of the dance floor, and the mostly-empty dance floor itself. I was wearing the nicest clothes Imogen owned and still felt wildly underdressed.

  “This is so much better than I imagined,” Imogen hissed in my ear. She was practically glowing as she waved across the room at someone.

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  She shrugged. “No idea,” she said in an undertone. “Just makes us look like we know someone.”

  Imogen’s talent for glamours was not limited to magic. She had a way of moving in a room like she absolutely belonged there, even without a touch of enchantment helping her along.

  She sidled across the edge of the room and sank down at a golden table, which had a centerpiece of rosemary, lavender, and oregano sprigs dancing their way up from a gold-leafed bud vase.

  I pretended to survey the room like Imogen was. I felt like the world’s most awkward impostor.

  Imogen was practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m going to go get drinks,” she said. Her voice was tight with barely suppressed glee. She stood up, then turned back to us and leaned in with both hands on the table. “You should probably start explaining,” she said to me. “Before it gets weird in here.”

  It was good advice. But as always, I had no idea where to start. I waited until she was halfway to the gold-draped nonalcoholic bar across the room before turning to Elle.

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” she said, not wasting time on small talk. “You’re going to tell me something about my mom.”

  I wished she was the kind of person to get distracted just a bit more easily. This place would have had her sisters gaping and noticing everything, I was sure. But Elle was already bored with the room. She had her full attention on me; clearly, I was the evening’s entertainment.

  I swallowed. There was no right way to do this. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. “I guess the best place to start—”

  I was cut off by a loud sound echoing across the room. It took me a second to recognize it as someone’s voice.

  “Knights and ladies, princes and princesses, witches, wizards, faeries, and all you other crazy Glims out there: Get ready to party!”

  This unexpectedly cliché announcement was immediately followed by the pulsing beat of electronica music, and the elegant lights dimmed to faint yellow glimmers in the dark. People piled onto the floor like ants, and it was all of ten seconds before a swarthy jinn had multicolored sparks playing between his hands and lighting up the room in a shifting rainbow glow.

  “Does he have fireworks in here?” Elle said, leaning forward. She had to shout to be heard over the music.

  “Those aren’t fireworks,” I said. “Listen, Elle, there’s something you need to know.”

  “I can’t hear you!” she shouted. She pointed at her ear, then I saw her eyes pop open wide as a faerie on the floor flapped open her wings and started spinning in tight circles, making them glow in iridescent patterns in the rainbow lights. She pointed at them, jabbing her finger with about as much discretion as Bigfoot. I slapped her hand down.

  “Don’t point,” I shouted. “It’s rude. They’re decorative.”

  “What are you talking about?” she shouted back.

  “They’re not attached!” I said. I was sick of shouting. She was going to know everything in a few minutes anyway. I might as well cut straight to the chase.

  I held my hands out in front of me, a few inches apart. The air between them shivered and grew warm, and after a moment, a hazy white bubble formed between my palms. Elle stared as it grew.

  “What the hell is that?” she shrieked.

  “Shut up,” I ordered, not because I needed to concentrate, but because I really didn’t need anyone here thinking I’d brought an actual Humdrum into the biggest Glim club in town. As soon as the ball was big enough to fill both palms, I focused on the air around our table and smashed my hands together. The ball shrunk rapidly in on itself and then exploded, forming a translucent white shell around us before disappearing. The noise of the room instantly lowered as if someone had turned a dial down.

  Normally the spell was invisible, at least to people who couldn’t see magic like I could. But I’d wanted her attention, and I had it.

  “What the hell,” she repeated. She shoved her chair away from the table and was halfway standing before I even realized she’d moved.

  “Sit down,” I ordered, my voice sharper than usual. “You wanted to know about your mom, so you’re going to hear about your mom.”

  “What is going on?” she demanded, but she sat back down. She stared at me, her hands poised on the table, ready to send her up and away again at a second’s notice.

  This was more like it. I laced my fingers together and enjoyed the moment of silence. She was too stunned to do anything but stare. “I’m a faerie,” I said.

  Chapter 17

  “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  I tilted my head. “Really?” I said, allowing my voice to be just as sardonic as it liked. “You don’t know what a faerie is? You, Lady Geek?”

  “Being a geek doesn’t mean I don’t have a grasp on reality,” she said. “How did you just do that?”

  “This is going to take a long time if you have to argue with everything,” I said. “I’m a faerie. I do magic. What you just saw was magic. Everyone in this room can do it. You probably could too if you had a little training.”

  Elle’s eyebrows were so far up on her forehead I was worried they were about to disappear into her
wispy blond hairline. “Are you on drugs?”

  “I’m on magic,” I said. “Your mom was, too. That’s why we’re here. We’re going to talk about your mom. And it would be cool if you could rein in the attitude long enough to get through this conversation, because I can’t even explain how much trouble I’m risking by being straight with you.”

  “Why would you be in trouble?” she asked. Her eyes didn’t exactly look more relaxed, but they were slightly smaller than teacup saucers now, which I chose to count as progress.

  I gestured to her with both pointer fingers in a steeple. “You’re not supposed to know you have magic,” I said. “I’m under really strict orders from your dad about that. I’m going to lose my job. But to be honest, I don’t even care right now. I hate my job.”

  “Why is my dad involved in this?”

  “We’ll get there,” I said. “We’re talking about your mom first. What do you remember about her?”

  Elle looked down at the table. She searched the uneven patterns in the gold leaf as though looking for an answer, or maybe an escape out of here. But when she looked up, her gaze was soft. “Just normal mom stuff, I guess,” she said. “She was really nice, I remember that. She liked to sing. She liked animals.”

  She glanced behind my shoulder. I snapped my fingers.

  “Focus,” I said. “Anything weird?”

  “What do you mean, weird?”

  “I mean, anything weird? Did she do anything that seems odd to you now?”

  “Like what?” Elle said.

  “You tell me.”

  She was silent for a moment, her eyes darting around in every direction as she searched her memories. “She was really good at making puppet shadows,” she said. “You know how you set up a lamp and make a dog silhouette with your hands or a butterfly or whatever? She was really good at that. Like, too good.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “What else?”

  Elle thought again, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “She wasn’t really weird. She knew some crazy people, though. She used to run this stall at the Saturday Market and I’d go with her sometimes. Almost every week, a few of the same people would show up. But, you know, they weren’t that different. It’s Portland. Everyone’s a little weird.”

  “That’s because over half of Oregon’s magical population lives in Portland,” I said. “We blend in by standing out. Who do you remember?”

  She frowned. “There was a guy who always had butterflies with him. He was really tall and skinny and he always had a couple of butterflies just chilling on his clothes. A big blue one was on his shoulder almost every time I saw him.”

  “Probably a dryad,” I said. “Or a faerie.”

  Elle’s eyebrows drew down a little as she looked at me. “And an older woman who could make anything happen just by saying it. It was freaky. She’d say ‘It’ll rain soon’ when it was completely sunny, and we’d have a storm in minutes, or she’d say ‘That man will offer me exactly the kind of amethyst necklace I’ve been looking for’ and five minutes later, a guy from another stall would walk up and announce to us all that he was putting a bunch of his jewelry on sale for the last hour of the day. It was just coincidence, but—”

  “Not coincidence,” I interrupted. “She was a witch. I’d put money on it. A good one.”

  “What makes you so sure those people were… magical?” Elle asked. “I thought most of them just had schizophrenia or something.”

  “Like I said. Plain sight.”

  “Huh,” Elle said. She eyed me, then said, “And what? My mom was a witch too?” Even after she’d seen me work magic, even when she was looking at an entire dance floor of people full of people with wings and horns who kept shooting sparkles at each other, she sounded skeptical, or like I was about to insult her.

  I plucked a single tiny flower from the lavender sprig in front of me and held it in my palm. The minuscule purple bell sat there for a second, then shrunk to a black seed. The seed cracked open to reveal a hair of green, which grew in my palm, sprouting leaves and shooting upward. When it was over a foot tall, small purple buds appeared, then pushed themselves forward and bloomed. When my lavender looked exactly like the one in the vase in front of me, I let the warm energy in my palm subside, and put the sprig into the vase next to the other one.

  “I’m not sure what your mom was,” I said to Elle as she reached for the lavender and pulled it out of the vase. She turned it over in her hands, then pinched off the top and broke the stem apart, apparently looking for the hidden strings that held it all together. “She did a lot of charm work, from what I understand, which means she was probably a witch or a magician. Maybe a wizard or sorcerer, but that doesn’t seem as likely.”

  “Why not?” Elle asked, looking up at me like she was about to vault across the room. I pushed a wave of calming energy toward her, helped along by the lavender, which always made it easier for me to do those kinds of spells.

  “Wizards don’t usually marry Humdrums,” I said.

  “What are Humdrums?”

  “Everyone else,” I said. “Your mom was what we call a Glimmer. Your dad is a Humdrum.”

  “Are wizards prejudiced?” Elle asked.

  Of course Elle’s first serious question about our world was something to do with social justice. At least she was talking about wizards like they were something real.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Wizards just tend to be kind of up in their heads. They mostly marry other wizards, because other wizards are the only ones who can talk magical theory with them in enough detail. Apparently debating planetary alignment is enough to keep marriages together.”

  “I get that,” Elle said. “Knowledge is sexy.”

  Imogen dropped into her seat, three glasses pressed together between her hands. I hadn’t even felt or seen her coming. She made a surprised squeak when she sat down and our bubble of quiet enveloped her. She looked at me, then Elle, and said, “So. You know.”

  “I’m not sure if I believe it,” Elle said, but it was too late. She did believe it. Her eyes were too hungry as they devoured the room. She’d realized this was real, and she was fascinated.

  It was probably the best response I could have hoped for. At least now she was looking at me like I was someone interesting again, instead of a creepy stalker who wouldn’t leave her alone. I jumped on the chance to explain exactly how much of a creepy stalker I wasn’t.

  “So your mom was a Glimmer,” I said, trying to bring her back to the conversation. Reluctantly, she took her eyes off the daemon breakdancing in the middle of the floor and dragged them back up to me. “And so am I. And the reason I’m telling you that is because—”

  “Olivia’s your faerie godmother!” Imogen blurted. She clapped a hand to her mouth and looked over at me with big eyes. “Sorry!” she said. “I’ve been dying to tell her for weeks.” She sent me a wave of apology and pushed my wine-red drink across the table. “Elderberry nectar and fairy dust,” she said. “With just a hint of cinnamon. I figured you could use the courage.”

  It was sweet and dark and spicy all at once. The fairy dust in the juice washed against the back of my throat with a pleasant fizz. I felt it hit my system a moment later, giving me just a sprinkling more magic than I’d had a moment before.

  Imogen pushed a pale purple drink in a martini glass over to Elle. “Fuchsia berry juice infused with violets, mixed with Sprite,” she said. “No magic in it for you.”

  “And what’s yours?” I said, eying her small glass. It was orange-red and swirled with what looked like glitter. Sparkling sugar edged the rim of the glass.

  “Pretty much straight fairy dust,” she said with a grin. “I think blood orange juice is in there somewhere, but it’s mostly fairy dust.”

  “Way to make good choices,” I said. I rolled my eyes at Elle, although of course Elle didn’t realize what a bad decision drinking anything that heavy on fairy dust could be. The buzz was like with caffeine: high and fun and amping up your magic li
ke nothing else, followed by a hard crash that usually involved disorientation and not being able to get spells working again till at least the next afternoon.

  “Don’t judge me,” Imogen said. “Sometimes you just have to let yourself feel good. Anyway, whatever I’m doing, it’s working. The most gorgeous elf guy is over at the bar. He was talking about some kind of drama that’s been going on at the fountain in his neighborhood where it’s, like, giving out gold coins for the wrong stuff. Everyone thinks it’s cursed or whatever.”

  She waved a hand around, dismissing the idea. Stories like that were always going around, saying this monument was cursed or touching that one was lucky. It was never more than rumor, but that didn’t seem to stop our community from freaking out over every new far-fetched story.

  “Anyway, I told him about that time the Oracle’s Fountain gave Lorinda a Chanel handbag instead of gold coins, and long story short, I got his number!” She pulled her phone out of her pocket to show us. “And you know what that means?”

  “Um, guys still think you’re hot, like they have every day ever?” I said.

  She shot me a quelling look, though the emotions bubbling around her were obviously pleased by the comment. “No,” she said. “It means we are in. There’s no point coming to Gilt if no one wants you here, but someone—” she tapped the phone lying on the table “—obviously does.” She raised her glass. I gave in and clinked drinks with her. I didn’t get the big deal. To Imogen, though, this was a major moment.

  “Faerie godmother,” Elle said, cutting sharply back into the conversation. “Are you serious? I thought faerie godmothers were supposed to be, like, old and grandmotherly.”

  “You’d think, right?” I said. I tried too late to rein in the annoyance in my voice. “Nope,” I said, more calmly. “Faerie godmothers come in all ages and shapes and sizes, including incompetent teenagers who should seriously not have been given the job. There are faerie godfathers too, though not as many of them. It’s a female-dominated field, historically, though a couple of advocacy groups are trying to change that.”