Love Charms and Other Catastrophes

by Kimberly Karalius

  “And it won’t break?”

  “Not at all. This one looks well-made. Just don’t lean too heavily on the edges.”

  Hijiri couldn’t imagine putting the leaves down—she needed as much table space as possible—but at least it would make carrying the table back to the complex easier. “Okay,” she said. “This could be the perfect table for me.”

  After she paid for the table, Hijiri and Ken each took one end of it. The table creaked as the leaves bounced. Her arms shook under the weight, but she knew that Ken had a firm grip on his end. They’d make it back to her apartment just fine.

  The gateleg table went against the wall next to the card catalog, but Hijiri would probably move it out when she needed to walk around both ends of the table. She felt cocooned with the two pieces of furniture, as if she could craft her best love charms with them to support her. “I’ve never thought about furniture this way,” she confessed after telling Ken about how pleased she was with the new furnishings. “It’s like they’re people.”

  “You’re not turning into a hearth charm-maker, are you?” Ken asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I’m not that easily swayed.”

  Ken took a damp cloth and wiped the table. “Well, what you’re feeling is a side effect from using hearth charms. Objects are very important to the craft, so they often feel like people or animals. Vases, bedside tables, rugs—they need homes too. Or rather, they want to make your house a home.”

  If objects had personalities, how snarky would my golden cupid be? she thought. Hijiri snatched the cupid she had painted with Fallon off the kitchen table to show Ken. On her way back, her still-damp socks slid on the wood floors. She stumbled, about to knock into the card catalog.

  Ken dropped the cloth and grabbed her around the waist.

  Ken adjusted his grip, cupping the back of her head. His palm felt good there, buffering her from the hard, knobby drawers inches away from her head. Hijiri’s breath came short and quiet. Her cheeks were twin flames. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ken seemed to have trouble breathing himself, and it had nothing to do with his charmed throat. He reluctantly let go of her waist. When he withdrew his hand, threads of her hair trailed through his fingers.

  Hijiri couldn’t feel her heart. It fell somewhere by her feet. So she hugged the golden cupid. “Now I can get back to the competition,” she said. “Three months.”

  “Three months,” he echoed breathlessly.

  “Look what I made,” she said, instantly feeling like a little girl.

  Ken looked down at the cupid. “Nice scarf.”

  “I thought it was cold with only a diaper and a bow and arrow.”

  Ken took the cupid from her and examined it, touching the cupid’s dimple and running a finger over the tiny felt heart. “Whose heart is this?”

  “His heart.”

  “Not yours?”

  “Mine is smaller.”

  Ken’s eyes pinned her. “I don’t believe it.”

  Hijiri shrugged. “One day I’ll figure out how to measure my heart, but I’ll probably need a microscope to start with.”

  “Another love charm?” He sounded tired.

  “Hopefully.”

  “Don’t let me keep you, then. You’ve got everything you need now to start charm-making again.” Ken walked to the door, his hand on the knob. “I’m happy for you. I know how hard it’s been this past week.”

  “Good night?” Why did she say it as a question?

  “See you tomorrow,” Ken said. He shut the door behind him.

  Hijiri stared at nothing, her hands clutching the golden cupid. Its wings dug into her palms.

  Chapter 12

  THE BELLS OF GRIMBAUD

  The De Keyser incident seemed to have inspired a change in the weather; September cooled the town. Leaves browned, cardigans came out of closets, and chocolatiers added ginger and cinnamon to warm the insides of their pralines. Hijiri spent most nights crafting love charms, just the way she preferred. She kept the windows cracked in her apartment to let in the soothing breezes.

  Project Find Love’s Signature took an unfortunate hiatus while the twins suffered through another grounding by their furious parents. Hijiri managed to find small ways for seeing more of Ken—his calves and knees, when she dragged him through a field that muddied his pants, and his forearms when she tugged his sleeves up for him to avoid getting lead pencil smudges. Nothing charm-worthy. This assured her that Love’s signature had to be over Ken’s heart.

  Ken stuck close by her. He smiled more, if that were possible, especially with his eyes. Hijiri had to wonder if there was a timing mechanism that Love added to the charm-boy: as time passed, he’d grow to love her more.

  Rather than less. There was always a chance of that.

  “How convenient,” Hijiri muttered, crossing campus to get to her next class.

  She managed to get through the day without her teachers calling on her. Using yellow roses to craft a rejection love charm was an idea she toyed with in the margins of her notebooks. Soften the blow if you’re rejecting someone’s love confession, she wrote underneath one of her algebra problems. No one deserves to be ashamed for speaking their feelings, reciprocated or not. Then she drew two stick figures; the crying one had just gotten rejected. Hijiri drew flower petals around the figure, wondering if adding a whimsical flourish would further lighten the blow.

  As she thought about how to bottle the charm—should it be in potion form, or was there a way to make it verbal only—her final class of the day ended. Hijiri shoved her textbook in her bag and followed her classmates out of the room. She walked over to the library.

  The school library had been slightly renovated over the summer, the biggest change being the new card catalogs. Everything else was more or less the same. Corny inspirational posters hung on the walls, urging students to read. The carpet that Fallon despised hadn’t been pulled up yet, though it was certainly time; faded patches and ancient food stains did not make the library enchanting.

  There was, however, a kind of coziness about the library that went beyond the facilities. Tables were lined up against the windows, providing strong light and a view for study groups. The books were covered in plastic and still reasonably well taken care of. Ms. Ward took pride in running the place as smoothly as she could.

  “Getting ready for the next challenge?” Ms. Ward said when Hijiri approached the circulation desk. “The love charm books are in the back, over there, if you came for inspiration.”

  Hijiri had just heard the news during lunch. The second challenge would take place on October first. Only a few days away.

  “How would she prepare?” Ken said, pushing a cart of to-be-shelved books. “Bram hasn’t given any hints.”

  “The town council is keeping an eye on him,” Ms. Ward said.

  Hijiri leaned on the circulation counter and cocked her head. “Have you been spending time with Bram?” She’d been meaning to ask her about the bachelor.

  Thanks to Fallon, she knew that Bram used to have a massive crush on Ms. Ward in high school, but it became a source of grief when she had unknowingly rejected him. With Zita gone and the Bachelor and Spinster Villas destroyed, she thought that maybe, just maybe, Bram and Ms. Ward stood a chance at finding happiness together.

  Ms. Ward shrugged and tapped a few letters on the keyboard. Her eyes didn’t leave the computer screen. “We see each other sometimes, just to check on how our friends are doing.”

  “He’s your friend?” Hijiri pushed.

  “Oh, I don’t know. We were victims of circumstance before, at the villas,” she said dismissively. “If Fallon hadn’t drawn us into the rebellion, we may never have spoken.”

  Hijiri tried to hide her disappointment. Clearly, Ms. Ward hadn’t grown any closer to Bram. Maybe she shouldn’t have felt as disappointed as she did, but as a love charm-maker, she liked looking for happy endings. And making them.

  She wandered over to the new love charms section
, reading the spines. Books and magazines that printed love charms had been banned from Grimbaud while Zita was in charge. Putting the books in the library was a major step forward, but Hijiri didn’t want to feel like she was cheating by reading them.

  “I’ve been talking to Ms. Ward about the posters,” Ken said, joining her. “They could use some updating.”

  Hijiri looked at him sidelong. “Are you thinking of adding some hearth charms here?”

  “Something like that. I think this library needs more love.”

  “Hmm.”

  Ken pulled a book off the shelf and flipped through the pages. “You seemed awfully curious about Bram and Ms. Ward. Are you going to make a love charm for them?”

  Hijiri sighed and lowered her voice. “This is one situation I can’t interfere with. Bram likes her, but he won’t do anything about it. Worse than that, Ms. Ward doesn’t seem to have feelings for him. It’s a stalemate.”

  “You could change that.”

  “I could, but at least one of them has to want that.” Hijiri frowned. “I’m not a matchmaker. People decide who they fall for first. Then they come to me for help.”

  “What do your instincts say?” Ken asked.

  Hijiri took the book from his hands and put it back on the shelf. “They could be good for each other.”

  “No hesitation with your answer,” Ken said proudly. “You must be practicing for the next challenge.”

  Her stomach twisted. “I want to do better this time.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Mostly scared,” she whispered. “But a little excited.”

  Ken smiled. His eyes crinkled. “Now,” he whispered back, “I don’t know anything about anything, but my own instincts say your feelings are normal.”

  “I shouldn’t be scared,” Hijiri said, swallowing thickly. Her fear went beyond being stared at by hundreds of eyes while onstage. She didn’t want to fail. She wanted to be as good as her friends believed. As good as Love believed.

  Ken said nothing. He squeezed both her hands and smiled until her own lips tried to mimic his. She probably grimaced again. That only made his smile wider.

  * * *

  When the calendar flipped to October, Hijiri found herself onstage once again with her fellow love charm-makers. She stood with her hands interlaced, squeezing hard.

  Bram’s amiable voice reverberated through the square. “Grimbaud, I won’t be keeping you in suspense any longer. You’re going to see love charms today.”

  The audience stamped its feet and waved heart-shaped banners. Hijiri wondered if the banners had been distributed or if people had taken the time to make them. Either way, it made her feel like smiling.

  “The fires of healthy competition are indeed burning here, but don’t forget that we’re all human beings. Humans with our own romantic pasts.” Bram stepped aside and gestured at the love charm-makers. “So today’s challenge is simply this: how well do you know your competition?”

  Hijiri flinched and drew in a sharp breath. There was the twist.

  “Our charming charm-makers will have two hours to craft a love charm for one of their opponents. Now, because we’re springing this on them, they didn’t come with any supplies. That’s okay. They can run around Grimbaud collecting what they need for their charms, just so long as they come back here to craft their charms in front of the audience. So I ask you, Grimbaudians, who will make charms for whom?”

  The audience shouted their preferences, but Bram had other ideas. He made each love charm-maker pick a name from his fedora.

  Hijiri closed her eyes and stuck her hand in the hat. She grabbed a slip of paper and gasped when she saw Metamorphosis on it.

  Clea and Mandy must have pulled her name too, since they started whispering to each other and staring at her.

  Volunteers carried four tables onto the stage. One little boy handed Bram a heavy hourglass. “Two hours,” Bram said, raising the hourglass. Then, with a flourish, he turned the hourglass upside down and planted it onstage. “The challenge starts now!”

  Ryker and his uncle stumbled off the stage and pushed through the crowd, probably on their way to their shop to gather supplies. Sanders whistled for his employees standing in the audience and told them to collect some materials from Love For All.

  Hijiri followed suit, leaving the stage to join her friends. A handful of love charms came to mind, but she needed one that would fit Clea and Mandy. Love charms are about individuals, she thought, remembering the last challenge.

  “What’s the plan?” Mirthe said. “What do you need us to do?”

  Hijiri shook her head, searching. Maybe she got off easy by getting the Metamorphosis owners since they were a couple. She didn’t need to pick their brains for a proper charm. What did all couples need help with from time to time?

  Communication.

  The knots in her stomach eased. She had a charm for that: the honest communication love charm for Nico and Martin. For weeks she had been drafting the charm and slowly gathering the right ingredients. She hadn’t made it yet … but it was ready to be made now. It would work.

  “There’s a charm I’ve been working on,” she said, eyeing Nico and Martin, “and I think it’ll be perfect. I’m going to need your help in getting the supplies for it.”

  She made a list using a page from Femke’s notebook of what she needed from her apartment. She gave her key to Fallon. “Take Nico and Martin with you. With the catalog, you should have an easy time finding everything.”

  “Leave it to us,” Fallon said, nodding. She gave Sebastian a quick good-bye kiss before heading on her way with Nico and Martin.

  “Sebastian, I’m going to need your help securing two missing ingredients for my charm,” Hijiri said. “You have your recorder?”

  “Always,” he said, pulling the tape recorder out of his pocket.

  “Great. Make sure you have a new cassette in there.”

  “And Ken,” she said, “you have your slingshot?”

  His mouth dropped open. “I’m coming with you?”

  “Why do you look so surprised?”

  He ducked his head. “I don’t know this town very well. I just assumed I’d be staying behind.”

  “That’s our job,” Femke said firmly, much to her sister’s distress. She pointed out her parents in the back of the crowd. Mr. and Mrs. De Keyser wore matching stern expressions. “We’re lucky our parents let us watch.”

  “Keep an eye on the other competitors,” Hijiri said. Even with Detective Archambault scrutinizing the challenge, she felt better knowing her friends were looking out for her too.

  Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets, a lazy smirk on his face. “So where are we going, Kitamura?”

  “The first thing I need,” she said, “is ‘silence in a clamor.’ This is a huge component in crafting a love charm about communication. An arguing couple can’t hear each other unless we wedge silence between the noises, to show them how listening goes again. Do you know of a place?”

  Sebastian’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. Just then, the belfry struck eleven in the morning, covering the town with its sober, beautiful tones. His smirk returned. “That’s where we’re going.”

  * * *

  Her legs burned as they ran down the street, over a cobblestone bridge, and through a neighborhood that was the shortest route to the belfry. Sebastian led the way, skidding around street corners and shouting directions as they came closer.

  Grimbaud’s belfry towered over the town, a narrow brown brick structure that housed forty-eight carillon bells. The bells were said to have rung since the town’s birth.

  “We don’t have time to wait in line,” Ken said, eyeing the people waiting to buy their tickets to climb the belfry’s 355 steps.

  Hijiri realized the same problem. She hoped that the entire town knew about the competition. That would be enough to get them through.

  One of the belfry workers guarding the narrow side staircase saw her and waved them over.
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  Hijiri, Ken, and Sebastian ran through the tower’s halls and found the main staircase up. Of course, tourists were already struggling their way up the belfry.

  “We’re in the middle of a challenge,” Sebastian yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Not trying to cut on purpose. Please make way.”

  Tourists grumbled and pressed themselves against the old brick walls of the narrow spiral staircase as Sebastian continued his message. A few people clapped—they must have been locals—and cheered Hijiri as she passed.

  “We don’t have to go all the way to the top,” Sebastian reminded them. They needed the bells.

  The carillon room was underneath the stone parapet where most of the tourists shot their panoramic photographs. Hijiri, Ken, and Sebastian squeezed themselves into the room just in time to catch a performance. The bells hung like grave, ancient creatures. Each bell was attached to a manual keyboard, controlled by the carillonist’s musical whims.

  The carillonist, a weathered man with knotted knuckles and rheumy eyes, bowed before taking his seat at the keyboard. Hijiri had expected the playing to be delicate and precise, so she gasped when the man used his feet and fists to play the chords. The roughness of his playing translated into a familiar love song. Tourists mouthed the words. No one could compete with the deep vibrancy of the big bells and the fairylike chiming of the small ones.

  Fallon once told Hijiri that her older brother, Robbie, and his girlfriend had snuck into the belfry to take photos with the bells. She wondered how they had done it since the bells were well-protected from harm, suspended over their heads. The corners of the room were decorated with retired bells, lovingly polished but still old and regal-looking. Some bells were behind glass. Others had been suspended by sturdy rope.

  Sebastian took out his recorder. “How do you need it captured?”

  Hijiri asked him to repeat his question twice before answering; the sound bordered on deafening in its beauty. “Catch some of the bells,” she yelled, “and then the silence, and bells again.” The silence would be worthless to her charm without the noise framing it.

  They stared at the bells. One second. Then five. The man’s fist hit the key destined for the largest bell. Drowning in the bell’s voice, so deep she felt the vibrations to her bones, Hijiri knew that this was the moment to strike.