Stranger Magics
Page 32
“Not at all,” I replied, ignoring the stack of papers on my desk. “Are you home? I’ll open a gate—”
“No, I’m out. Meet me at Slim’s in a few, okay?”
I didn’t have to be told twice. Making myself presentable and aging myself to match Meggy’s disguise, I slipped into the alley by the bar, braced myself, then hurried inside.
The night was muggy, and Slim had cranked his air-conditioning high for the benefit of the modest crowd drawn by karaoke night. Ignoring the caterwauling from the microphone, I looked around for Meggy, but as I seemed to have arrived first, I gave in to habit and took my old seat at the bar. Slim walked up, drying a glass with a frayed towel, and grunted. “Evening, stranger.”
I nodded. “Slim.”
“Drinking?”
“No, I came for the world-class entertainment,” I retorted, and smiled as he brought over a bottle of Johnnie Black and a semi-clean glass. “Waiting for someone.”
“Mm. Heard you got a new job out of town.”
“Something like that,” I replied, pouring. “Fumbling my way through it for now.”
“Eh, sounds about right.” He put the bottle back on the shelf and leaned on the bar, keeping his voice low. “And while you’re here, you still owe me, you know.”
“Check your register,” I said, and he shuffled over for an inspection. He closed the drawer again quickly—I had stuffed it with cash—and I saluted him with my glass. “Greg told you, did he?”
“Toula, actually. After she chewed me out over her sticks.” He wandered off for a moment to slake a few of his other patrons’ thirst, then returned to my end of the bar and bent close again. “Incidentally, is it Colin or Coileán these days?”
I finished my drink in one long shot and slid the empty glass back across the bar. “Depends on who’s asking. Don’t go getting fancy on me, man.”
“Never,” he agreed as he hid my glass away in the wash rack. “You take it easy, hear?”
“Likewise.”
He glanced over my shoulder at the sound of the opening door, then cut his eyes back to me. “I think your friend just walked in.”
I turned to find Meggy standing in the doorway, a touch on the windblown and frizzy side from the weather, but my foolish heart still leapt at the sight of her. We locked eyes across the room, then winced as the next karaoke hero slurred his way through the first bars of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “Later, Slim,” I muttered, and followed Meggy into the night.
“He always does that on Saturday nights,” I told her once we were safe on the quiet street. “Trivia can get loud, but when the singers come out . . .” My voice trailed off, and I shoved my hands into my pockets. “So.”
“So.” She gave me a small smile. “Take a walk?”
At first, neither of us had anything to say, and I didn’t know what destination she might have in mind. Her footsteps wound in the general direction of the beach, but she seemed to be meandering. I was in no hurry—just seeing Meggy again was an unexpected boon, even with the silence. But after a time, when the muffled, off-key yowling of Slim’s had long since faded, I ventured, “How are things with Olive? Is the bind—”
“Good. We’re good.” Meggy tucked her hair behind one ear, but the wind tugged it free an instant later. “Seems to be holding.”
“But you two—”
“I mean, she’s sixteen. Headstrong. But we’re making it. She’s starting as a junior this fall. Even got a spot on the cheerleading squad—they were nice enough to let her try out at the end of the year.” She looked at me curiously. “You know, for a kid who’s spent her whole life abroad, she has an excellent grasp of American history.”
“I . . . may have imparted a bit of that when I bound her.”
Her lips twitched in a knowing smile. “What else?”
“Let’s just say enough basic knowledge to keep her from playing in traffic and maybe get her through high school.”
“Except computers. Never imagined I’d have to explain e-mail to a teenager.”
“No one’s perfect,” I muttered.
We walked on, once more at a loss for conversation, until we reached the wooden shelter at the edge of the beach, a weathered pavilion dotted with picnic tables. The place was deserted, and Meggy picked a spot on a bench with a seaside view. Granted, there wasn’t much to see at that time of night, but the stars were out, and the crash and hiss of the waves was as soothing as always.
“Meggy,” I said, staring out at the Atlantic, “why did you call me?”
She made no reply for a long moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was low. “Because I thought I was over you.”
“Oh.” Deflated, I kept my eyes on the horizon.
“Yeah.” One hand tightened on her purse strap. “I was crushed when you ran off back then, and you never called, and then I got angry. And somewhere along the way, once I’d almost resigned myself to the fact that I’d never see my baby again, I realized I didn’t feel that rage toward you anymore, or that hurt, or . . . anything, really. I was numb about you. And then you showed up on my doorstep with Olive, and . . .”
“I’m sorry. About everything. I should have done things better—”
“Yeah, well, too late now.” She sighed and shifted on the bench beside me. “But when you came around, the numbness went away, and everything I’d felt about you . . . it all bubbled up at once. I was still furious and so hurt, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?” I prodded.
Meggy ignored the question. “Do you remember my birthday, when we went out to the middle of nowhere to drink champagne and watch the stars? We were in the back of your truck on a blanket, and we started getting cold from lying there, and you turned on the radio and danced with me to warm up. Remember that?”
“Yes,” I murmured, “I remember.”
“Well, as much as I’ve tried to deny it since then, I fell in love with that man,” she softly replied. “And now . . . I guess I called because I need to know if he exists.”
Feeling the pressure of her stare on me, I turned and tried to trace her features in the shadows. “He does. And he fell in love with you, too.” She said nothing while my searching fingers found hers on the bench. “I’m sorry for the lies, Meggy. I’m sorry for leaving. If you’re done with me . . . I understand,” I forced myself to say. “But I will never stop loving you.”
She nodded once, slowly, and her fingers twisted to interlace with mine. “I still . . . sometimes . . . I think about the three of us being a family. Maybe someday.”
Though my heart began to pound, I tried to keep my cool. “I’d like that.”
“But I’d want to get to know you first,” said Meggy. “The real you, warts and all.”
“I want you to know the real me.” I realized I was squeezing her hand and relaxed my grip. “Let me make it up to you.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “If you wanted to take me on a date some night . . . that might be okay. When Olive’s not around, naturally.”
“Of course.” I hesitated, trying to anticipate her reaction, then said, “I know you didn’t see much of Faerie when you were there, but if you’d ever like a tour, maybe while Olive’s away—”
“No,” she interrupted, “I’m not going over there. If you want to do this, it’ll be on my turf.”
I had no room to negotiate—Meggy held all the cards—but I was overjoyed to surrender to her. “Deal. Come on,” I said, rising from the bench. “I don’t want to a waste a minute of this night.”
We set off together toward the tiki bar on the shore and the dunes beyond it, hand in hand, Meggy and me. There were no fireworks that night, no music, nothing but the endless black sea and the touch of Meggy’s skin on mine.
I could smell magic in the air, untapped potential flowing all around us. Then Meggy’s smiling eyes caught the moonlight, and in that perfect moment, that was enough.
Acknowledgments
Writing may be a solitary ende
avor, but books don’t happen without significant help along the way.
My talented editor, Priyanka Krishan, improves everything she touches. Thanks to her and to the team at Harper Voyager for making this possible.
Part of the writing process involves getting chummy with the voices in your head, and finding a support network of folks who don’t classify that sort of behavior as insanity is invaluable. A big thank-you goes to the Novel Chicks, who welcomed me into the fold five years ago and have been putting up with me ever since. You’re the best, ladies! Thanks are also due to Adam Domby and Tina Hammonds for their assistance as early readers.
When I was nineteen, clueless, and in desperate need of a mentor, Eytan Halaban took me under his wing. I’m so grateful to him for gamely slogging through my college writings and for encouraging me in the years since.
Here’s to you, Mom and Dad. I can’t thank you enough.
And finally, to you, the reader—thanks for coming along for the ride.
About the Author
When not writing fiction, ASH FITZSIMMONS is an appellate attorney and an unrepentant car singer. Visit her at www.ashfitzsimmons.com.
www.harpervoyagerbooks.com
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
stranger magics. Copyright © 2017 by Ash Fitzsimmons. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition NOVEMBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-268672-5
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-268673-2
Cover design by Alicia Tatone
Cover photos by © Michael Steden/Shutterstock (book); © MrVander/Shutterstock (star burst)
Harper Voyager, the Harper Voyager logo, and Harper Voyager Impulse are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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