The Fairest Kind of Love

by Crystal Cestari

  I had hoped today would be filled with binge-watching crap TV with Amani, but instead she agrees to help me with this Peter mess. We meet him at a cozy coffee shop in Lincoln Park, and it’s instantly clear he’s in rough shape. While he’s hidden his tattered wings under his shirt, he’s positively wrecked, battered and bruised from what I can only assume was a massive fall from above, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. Last night at the solstice, he was handsome and happy, a literal shining knight rushing to the aid of his lady love. Now he looks like he’s been slain by a dragon, dragged to the ends of the earth on a quest gone terribly wrong.

  “Oh, there you are, Peter,” I say, smiling at my Hook reference as we slide into his booth. Honestly, I should get a trophy for going this long without constant Peter Pan and Tinker Bell jokes.

  Dark brown eyes with even darker under-eye circles greet us, and I’m flooded with images of him and Ivy together—this time, everything’s pixelated, like they’re in a 1980s video game, but from what I can tell, they’re enjoying a candlelit dinner, lovers glowing against twinkling tea lights. I know we’ve only been home a few hours, but I wonder if Ivy’s tried to contact him yet. Her cluelessness over how to be in a relationship without magical manipulation still makes me chuckle, but despite her uncertainty, this vision proves that their destiny remains unchanged: they will fall in love, somehow, some way. And it won’t be due to siren seduction; that kind of magic can’t make someone fall in love. Lust, for sure, but love is too pure to stem from wizardry and tricks.

  “Thanks for coming,” Peter croaks. After a long sip of coffee, he tries to reach for my hand, but I pull away, causing him to wince further. I don’t know this guy; I don’t want him to hold my hand. I’m only here for Jane. His every movement seems pained, slow and deliberate, as if all his limbs are about to snap, not just his fragile wings. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Definitely not the Ghostbusters. This end of the supernatural spectrum is not their specialty.” Peter looks at me like I’m an alien, and I shrug at my own joke. They can’t all land! “Anyhoo, we brought you a tonic that should help. Calendula, elderberry, and horse chestnut, mixed with pomegranate juice and a little secret sauce. Made for those with aching supernatural body parts: wings, tails, horns, and the like.” I hand him a water bottle with my mom’s brew. Carefully, he screws off the lid, sniffing the contents before wrinkling his nose.

  “Where did this come from?” he asks, suspicion lodged at the back of his throat.

  “My mom’s shop. Well, technically our kitchen. She brewed it fresh this morning. None of that stale healing potion, pshh.”

  “A witch’s potion?” Peter pushes the bottle away, spilling some of the liquid on the table. Droplets land in heart shapes before quickly evaporating.

  “Hey!” I grab it before the whole thing falls over. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to feel better?”

  “Yes, but not by the use of magic.” His tone is infuriating. He’s refusing a surefire cure while hunched over the table in pain. I don’t know whether to force the potion down his throat to heal him out of spite or to just let him suffer forever.

  Amani, playing good cop to my bad cop, adds gently, “Her mom’s a witch. This will work. I’ve taken her potions before.”

  He scowls in disgust, shoulders hunched in an unnatural position. His wings must be hanging heavy, though I can’t say I feel sorry for him. “I want a natural remedy.”

  “Then go suck on a dandelion and lie still for six months. See how that works out for you,” I spit. “This was a mistake. Let’s just go.” I stand, but Peter emits a frustrated growl, scratching his fingers through his messy sherbet hair.

  “No, don’t go,” he pleads.

  “Then drink the potion,” Amani instructs, more forcefully this time. She’s giving him concerned caretaker eyes, while I’m sure mine could cut glass.

  Peter recoils into the booth seat.

  “You want our help? This is how we help. Drink. The. Potion,” she repeats. “Or we leave.” She crosses her arms for extra dramatic effect.

  Trapped between his dumb ideals and his aching body, Peter breaks, grabbing the bottle before he can second-guess himself. He takes a minuscule sip—so small I’m not even convinced he consumed any liquid—then shudders with delight, reflexively releasing a sigh of relief. With only a drop of potion on his tongue, he already looks ten times better.

  “Imagine if you drank the whole thing,” I coax.

  And that suggestion is all it takes: he guzzles it, draining the entire bottle in seconds, tiny dribbles of raspberry-colored liquid trickling down his chin. It reminds me of the first time I tried fondue; it was like the melted chocolate became air, and I couldn’t get enough. Peter quivers, a current of healing power coursing through his veins. Gone is the exhaustion and suffering, replaced with a man who looks strong—capable—his wings practically beating through his shirt.

  Amani’s jaw drops, fingers at her cheeks. “I . . . I didn’t think you would actually do it!” she gasps.

  “Neither did I!” he replies with a shocked laugh.

  “How do you feel?”

  He stares at his hands, opening and closing his fists like he’s freaking Peter Parker post-spider-bite. “Amazing.”

  “See? See?” I clap, riding this sudden wave of positivity. “Not all magic is demonic curses and sociopathic quests for power!” But I’ve said the wrong thing (shocker), because now he’s back to giving me major side-eye.

  “How do I know this isn’t some trick, an elaborate ruse to lure me into your coven and make me do your bidding?”

  I snort. “Um, first: Who talks like that? Second, I’m not in a coven. I am not a witch. And third, I helped you because you’re Jane’s brother. I don’t want anything from you, except maybe for you to stop being such a total tool.”

  But he’s barely listening to me, eyes dilated and far away. “I’ve never used magic before. Ever. Not even that time I fell through the canopy hanging Christmas lights. . . . I was hanging upside down, tangled in one of the rope bridges. . . . My leg was definitely broken. Mom and Dad said it had to heal on its own, giving me the most minimal of remedies. I had to fly everywhere; I couldn’t walk until spring.” His eyes glaze over. “But the dust could’ve healed me. It didn’t have to be that hard. . . . None of this had to be that hard. I . . .” His forehead drops to the table. “I don’t know how to feel right now.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure of how to offer comfort, or if I even should. But before I can make a choice, a voice calls from behind us. “Peter?”

  The fairy pops up, and we turn to see Ivy, glammed out with giant Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and a venti Frappuccino. She pushes her shades up on her once-again-lustrous locks, flashing a perfectly lip-glossed grin. It sickens me how amazing she looks, and if there was any doubt over whether her siren powers were restored, well, mystery solved. With a tank top tied to reveal a tanned and toned midsection, bikini strings dangling from her neck, it’s a wonder Peter manages to keep his eyeballs in his sockets. “It’s really you! I didn’t know where you disappeared to, silly!”

  Jaw on the floor, Peter stumbles on his first attempt to respond. “Uh . . . uh . . . yeah. I guess I just needed to blow off some steam.”

  “Understandable.” Ivy slides into the booth without invitation, snuggling right up to her match. “Listen, I . . . oh—” She pauses, just realizing Amani and I are also sitting here. “Um, can you give us some privacy here, please?”

  I have no intention of leaving—I want to monitor how Peter does post-potion—and luckily he responds with “They can stay.”

  “Fine,” Ivy huffs but with less venom than I’d expect. She takes a deep breath, and I can almost see her trying to breathe in white light and push out her regular poison. “Peter, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about being a siren. I really liked you from the start, and I guess I didn’t want you to think less of me, given
your family’s whole . . . thing.” She scrunches up her nose like something smells rotten. “I honestly was not trying to trick you into getting my powers back. The truth is, I was dying. You saved my life, my handsome hero.” She strokes his forearm, and I notice goose bumps spreading over his skin. Cheeks flushed, he fakes a cough to cover his grin. It’s a different approach for this siren to be straightforward and sweet instead of seductive and sultry, and it’s more than clear he’s melting under her touch. Against his better judgment, he’s spellbound by her, their attraction tangible. I can’t say for sure, but I think his hand is on her leg under the table. . . . Gah, now I kind of wish I did leave the conversation. “Can you ever forgive me?” she coos.

  “You were really dying? That wasn’t just for show?” he asks, barely able to speak. She nods, batting her lashes innocently.

  After an uncomfortable amount of less-than-subtle PDA, Peter clasps his hands over hers to stop her from driving him the good kind of crazy. “I’m still processing everything that happened. . . . I have a lot of mental hoops to jump through.” He squeezes Ivy’s hands but looks up at me. “But perhaps my family and I have been too rigid. I need to open my heart, and I hope you all will help me.”

  I don’t believe for one second that he’s done a total 180, but fine, whatever. Though while I’m in his good graces, I decide there’s no time like the present for a favor. “Hey, so now that I healed you with the wondrous powers of magic, do you think you could help me with a wish?”

  He tilts his head, curious. “Like, a fairy-dust wish?”

  “Yeah, like what you did for Ivy. Only less life-and-death, more happily-ever-after.”

  His mouth twists around, trying to find his response. “I don’t know, Amber. What I did for Ivy . . .” He stops to lock eyes with his lady love. “That was my first time. And clearly it didn’t go so well.”

  “What are you talking about? Your wish came true! Look at her!” I gesture, prompting her to strike a princess pose.

  “I mean, yes, it did work, but look how my family reacted. I don’t want to disappoint them further.”

  Ugh, these fairies and their morals! “They won’t have to know. It’s just a tiny wish, to help a fellow supernatural.”

  “I don’t have any fairy dust with me, anyway.” Peter shakes his peachy head. “And besides, I think I need to really figure out how I feel about granting wishes first.”

  GAHHHHHHHHH. Amani puts a pastry in my hand before I explode into the sun from rage.

  “So!” Ivy jumps in, anxious to regain attention. “When are you taking me out on our first official date?” She leans forward, the contents of her tank top demanding an answer. I roll my eyes. There’s the Ivy I know.

  Peter burns bright red, averting his gaze to the ceiling. “Um, soon. I need to figure out what I’m doing first. Like where I should stay now that I’m here. I didn’t really plan for any of this.”

  I offer up Charlie’s place as a crash pad. “I’m sure it’ll be fine; he has the space. And his dad loves to cook for guests. I’ll text him right now.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “Well, once you’re settled, come get me, okay?” Ivy says, planting a kiss on her beau’s cheek. Slowly, she walks away, shorty-shorts dangerously close to revealing another pair of cheeks.

  “Subtle, isn’t she?” I laugh before killing off my coffee.

  Peter, completely overwhelmed, wipes his face with his hands. “And she’s really my match?” he asks.

  “Yup!” I say with glee. “Good luck with that!”

  “CHEERS!” I CLINK GLASSES with Charlie, Amani, and Vincent at an adorable Italian spot in Lincoln Park. Summertime in Chicago means that every restaurant suddenly has an outdoor eating area, stringing a few lights and lanterns over as many tables as they can legally cram onto the sidewalk so our little midwestern hearts can soak up as much sunshine as possible.

  Peter got all settled at Charlie’s, and then my boyfriend got his wish for more romantic fun times. We had to wait for sunset so Vincent could join, which meant I was able to squeeze in a much-needed power nap beforehand.

  “It feels soooo good to be home,” Amani sighs, somehow defying the index-crushing humidity in a blush-pink halter dress. I tried to take it up a notch by wearing a gray T-shirt dress, but I can’t even come close to my trio’s level of glam. Charlie’s rocking a gingham button-down that coordinates perfectly with his dragon tattoo, while Vincent (not in a tux for once) is very GQ in white linen and khaki. The three of them could easily be inspiration for an “Effortless Summer Fashion” photo shoot, while mine would be titled “How to Achieve the Bare Minimum.” It’s a carefully curated aesthetic.

  “It sounds like you all had quite an adventure,” Vincent muses, swirling his sauvignon blanc.

  “Slightly disappointing, though.” Charlie frowns. “Those fairies were kind of a bummer.”

  “Kind of? Try completely.” I laugh, ripping off a chunk of breadstick.

  Vincent nods. “It’s too bad they can’t relax and just reap the benefits of that dust of theirs.”

  “Oh reeeeeeally?” Amani’s eyebrow curves in suspicion. “And what kind of benefits would those be, hmm?”

  Her boyfriend grins, revealing some extra-pointy canines. “All that power . . . endless possibilities . . . I’ve seen some things, but it would be ungentlemanly of me to divulge further.”

  “C’mon, Vincent, I’ve candied pig brains for you; you can tell us,” I say. We all stop eating until he agrees to share.

  “All right, well . . . from what I’ve witnessed, fairy dust makes you unstoppable. Like you’re holding the world in your hands. But that’s the problem; some people don’t know how to stop.”

  “So you’ve partaken?” Amani asks.

  “No.” Vincent’s tongue touches the tip of his right fang. “But I can’t say I haven’t been tempted. It’s hard to look a dream in the face and pass it by. That instant gratification isn’t for me, though. I always craved something real, less fleeting.” He reaches for his girlfriend’s hand, and she sighs with content, candy-coated hearts radiating from both pairs of eyes.

  “Ugh, you two are so gross sometimes, you know that?” I tease.

  “We learned from the best.” Amani smirks, and my head snaps in Charlie’s direction as our mouths drop in fake shock.

  “Are you talking about us?”

  “PLEASE!” Amani rolls her eyes. “Don’t even get me started.” I decide against shooting a meatball across the table (mostly because I want to eat it) and instead reply by very maturely sticking out my tongue at her. We settle back into our entrees, but I take a second for a mental snapshot of this moment: good friends, good food, and fun times in the summer. This season is so fleeting, and with college looming on the horizon, there are so few of these moments left. When we come back together after weeks or months apart, will it be just like this? Will we be able to talk and laugh like no time has passed, or will our separate adventures create craters in the conversation, making it seem like we were never once whole? I want to believe the Fates brought us together for a reason and those ties will only strengthen as we move on. I can’t see the stars, but I know they’re up there, shining down on us, a double date with the best people in the best city.

  “Well, this has been delightful,” Charlie says once the bill’s been paid. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us, because I have a surprise for Miss Sand.” He offers me his hand.

  “Is it pie?” I ask.

  “It’s better than pie.”

  “What’s better than pie?”

  “Just . . . come with me, okay?”

  Amani winks at me, and I wonder if she’s had a vision about whatever Charlie has planned. She knows I don’t like being caught off guard, so I’d hope she warn me if something insane was about to happen. But she just grins at me, snuggling into the cold-blooded arms of her vampire beau.

  We walk through the neighborhood, passing by brownstones and eateries, each
one vying for the attention of Chicago foodies and families alike. Block after block, the city is crawling with people looking to get crazy, hang out, or fall in love. Fingers intertwined, we talk about anything and everything, from an upcoming camping trip he’s taking with his dad, to which classes we’re most excited to start in the fall (me: Intro to Sauces; Charlie: Sociology 101). Even though the sun has set, summer humidity rages on, and we stop at a Popsicle truck to help ward off sweat. I choose a pineapple-fig pop, while Charlie goes with coconut-blueberry-basil, and we find ourselves at the gates of Lincoln Park Zoo, a small, meandering animal park nestled into winding, tree-lined paths. I thought the zoo closed after dark, but the gate attendant waves us through, giving Charlie a knowing nod. We pass by zebras, gorillas, and lions, but the farther we go, Charlie grows increasingly weird, body stiffening, hand clammier than usual, even when accounting for the heat. His breathing becomes a concentrated effort, like he’s trying not to vomit, and I feel like I’ve missed some key turning point in his demeanor.

  “Hey, um, you all right there, Blitzman?” I ask, nervous he could vomit at any second. “You look really pale.”

  Jittery, too-loud laughter escapes his lips. “Gee, thanks!” His voice is all wrong, eyes looking anywhere but at me.

  What is happening to him? “Was it the Popsicles?”

  “No, I just . . . let’s sit down a sec.”

  “Okaaaay.” If his surprise is a behavior transplant, then he’s succeeded. We find a bench next to a merry-go-round with spinning leopards and pandas instead of ponies. Faint carnival music fills the night air, along with a cinnamony-sugar scent wafting from a nearby churro cart.

  “So, Amber, we’ve known each other for how long now?” Charlie asks, wiping his hands on his shorts. His question is odder than odd, but since he’s clearly imploding, I go with it.