Ordinary Magic

by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway

  “It’s because of the red caps,” Becky explained when I asked why everyone was excited about the weather. “Rain washes the blood out of their caps. A bad enough storm could decimate a conclave, so with the first really good rain, they head into hibernation. We won’t hear from them until spring. What will I do with myself? I’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  “Other than Trixie,” I said.

  “Yes,” Becky said, pressing her lips into a bitter line.

  Flying into Lennox, I was surprised by how small it looked. I mean, it’s a nice size as far as towns go, and there always seemed to be people and stuff going on, but after Rothermere it looked so … empty. There was so much space, and barely any people. And that scared me. Everyone knows that home is supposed to look different the first time you come back from school. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want it to change, I didn’t want anything to have changed—I just wanted it to be home.

  When we pulled up in front of the house, though, it looked the same. Yellow stucco, red tile roof, and the wide shop windows on the first floor with block letters proclaiming: REX’S TEXTILES, “King of Handmade Carpets!” When we landed, the flowers in the back garden, which had been huddled against the rain, peeked over the fence to see who’d arrived. And then Mom burst out the front door, arms open, bearing down on us like a manticore, and yanked us up into crushing, cake-flour-scented hugs. Fred held out his hand for a proper handshake and let out this little squeak of surprise when Mom wrapped him up in her arms. Gil was at the kitchen table, still in his pj’s, though it was getting into the afternoon. He put his muse on hold long enough to help everybody get inside and get settled, and then until Mom marched us down to the bakery to say hi to Olivia. Things were so swamped there that the hi turned into helping box up Yule logs and organizing orders for hot milk cakes. I caught myself glancing up every now and again, wondering if Cook Bella was going to appear.

  Since it was just the two extra kids, we didn’t have to stretch any rooms. Fran bunked in with me and Olivia, and Fred was in with Gil and Jeremy, and casting up another bed, that’s easy. I found out later that Mom had invited over both the Randallses and the Roses—“they should know where their children are”—but of course the Randallses were traveling and the Roses’ ball must have been cracked or something. Mom set herself to coddling and catering to Fred and Frances from the moment they stepped into the house. On Twelfth Night, the stack of presents alone for each of them was intimidating, especially considering they’d only had a week to shop, but then, my family likes a challenge.

  Mom had also invited Ms. Whittleby and Peter, and they’d politely declined, which I was totally okay with because if he didn’t want to be friends, then fine, we wouldn’t be friends. But Mom and Ms. Whittleby were friends, which meant they were talking; Ms. Whittleby had a neighbor who let her use their crystal ball. Afterward Mom would always tell me “Peter said this” or “Peter asked his mom to tell you this,” which was a lie because Peter never said anything. I knew his mom was probably doing the same thing to him, and I didn’t like the idea of unauthorized messages.

  “This is ridiculous, Abby,” my mom finally burst out. “He’s your friend. If you two have a problem, you should talk to him and deal with it.”

  “This is a free country,” I told her. “King Steve says I don’t have to talk to anyone I don’t want to talk to.”

  “Not in my house. Under this roof there is one rule and one rule only, and its name is Mom.”

  “Sorry, Mom, but I’m with Abby on this one,” Olivia said, tossing me a grin. She was at the kitchen table, flipping through a fashion magazine. “Make him suffer, Abs. Boys like it.”

  “They do?” I asked, even as Mom told me not to listen to her.

  Olivia stretched back in her seat with a satisfied, “Oh my goodness, you don’t even know.”

  “But Peter’s not suffering, he’s just being mean.”

  Olivia pinched my cheek. “You are so totally cute, I can’t even deal.”

  Mom sighed and shook her head. “I keep telling myself that one of these days you’ll find a nice husband and settle down.”

  “Mom, please, she’s twelve. Give her some time,” Olivia protested. “At least let her graduate first.”

  “I meant you.”

  “Mother!” Olivia pretended to be shocked. “You know I don’t go for married guys.”

  Mom pinched the bridge of her nose and started muttering to herself.

  It was a remembered luxury to sleep in my own bed again, to take a shower in my bathroom and curl up in my corner of the couch, and to eat at the kitchen table with everyone. Though my hands did feel a bit empty and strange when Mom poofed the dishes away after each meal. I finally asked her to cast up a sink and a sponge and some soap. It might be break, but I had to keep in practice.

  Every day rain drummed against the roof and spattered on the windowpanes, but there’s something about Yuletide that makes it seem cozy, not confining. Maybe it’s because it falls so early in the winter. Spending all day inside, sometimes not even changing out of your pj’s or having pancakes for dinner, is still nice and new. There’s plenty of time to go stir-crazy later, when the wet’s dragging on and it seems like you’ll never have dry socks again.

  Gil rallied Fred and me, the only ones willing to brave the rain, and we tromped outside in the woods and picked through the fallen branches to find the perfect Yule log—a real one, not the chocolate dessert with candy mushrooms. (Though one time Gil tried to trick us by swapping in a real log that he stuck candy mushrooms on, but he didn’t get very far because, seriously, wood tastes completely different from chocolate.) We came back, drenched and muddy but triumphant, to the wonderful buttery smell of baking cookies.

  Then there was the party.

  I didn’t lie to Fred when I told him we’d go down in history for this party. Normally, it’s crowded and loud and confusing. Normally, the cops stop by to see about the noise, but really it’s just an excuse so Olivia can flirt with them while stuffing cake in their mouths. Normally, the living room is so smushed full, Mom and Dad have to stop every hour to stretch it a little more.

  But this year, for the first time in Hale history, there was space. The town stayed away. Even some of our family stayed away, which should have bothered me, except it didn’t. I guess getting kidnapped and almost forced into service makes some people not wanting to party pale in comparison.

  But quiet and empty doesn’t necessarily mean boring. Mom put a cauldron of mulled wine on the fire, and spiced and stirred until the whole house was tipsy with the scent of it. We turned off the lights and clustered around the soft, safe glow of the fireplace, sipping from steaming mugs and opening our presents, one by one. We sat around the fireplace until late that night, in a tangle of torn wrapping paper, sometimes talking and sometimes not, but mostly just listening to the Yule log crackle.

  The next morning, we left. Alexa got called back to work suddenly, and rather than try to arrange police escorts or minotaurs or whatever they decided was proper for our trip back, she figured it’d be simpler to bring us along with her. Mom and Dad weren’t happy, but they agreed to it. However, they both agreed they were coming along, too, so with Jeremy it made for a full carpet, at least until we got to Thorten.

  It took the whole carpet ride, though, for Alexa to convince Mom and Dad that they didn’t need to stay in Rothermere while I was at school. That I would be fine, that I would be safe, that it would take an army to break into the school, and Trixie did not have an army and even if she did, magic wouldn’t work on ords. “Abby will be fine. You two have nothing to worry about,” she said.

  “I’ll have nothing to worry about when that woman is caught,” Mom complained, but in the end, they agreed to go back to Lennox.

  “But Abby—” Mom pinned me with one of her looks. “You are going to call me every single day to let me know you’re okay. You got that, young lady? Every single day.”

  “I’ll run out of th
ings to talk about,” I said.

  “I sincerely doubt that,” Mom said.

  CHAPTER

  23

  I plopped down in the chair, let my books slide onto the table, and smiled my thanks to Dimitrios before focusing on the crystal ball. “Hey, Mom. Before I forget, everybody says thanks for the lemon squares.” (There was a haphazard chorus of thank yous behind me.) “They were a big hit.”

  “How long did they last?” Mom asked.

  “I clocked it at just under fifteen minutes. Also, Fred wants me to tell you he likes blackberries.”

  Mom smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. What did you learn in school today?”

  I crossed my arms on the table and leaned forward until my nose was almost touching the ball. It felt like Mom was in the room with me. “We’re starting a new section in Lit. Mr. O’Hara calls it realism, which apparently is another word for boring.”

  “I’d like to think it depends on the author.”

  “All the authors we read are boring. All the stories we read are about people hating each other and being miserable. And there aren’t even any carpet chases or magic fights or somebody turning somebody else into a toad. There are no dragons. How realistic can you be without any dragons?”

  “Maybe these writers weren’t living a glamorous city life like you. Maybe they were out in the middle of nowhere and they never saw dragons.”

  “That’s no excuse. They should imagine some.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be realism.”

  “Is that Abby? Can I talk to her?” Olivia peeked over Mom’s shoulder. “Has Alexa told you about Friday yet?”

  “I’m having a conversation with my daughter,” Mom said, amused, as Olivia took her place.

  “I know, two of them, actually. Friday?” Olivia prompted. I shook my head and she sighed dramatically, adding in a hair flounce for good measure.

  “You know that doesn’t work on me, I’m not a boy,” I told her.

  “Please, Abby, I know that, but it never hurts to keep in practice. Get yourself pretty, you have a big appointment.”

  “What appointment?”

  “That’s for Alexa to tell, and for me to gloat over you not knowing. But it’s Friday. And also Gil’s coming with her, and you have to be totally nice to him—”

  “I’m always nice to him.”

  “—because he’s getting called before the editor, who’s going to yell at him for missing his deadline.”

  “They changed it up on me!” Gil called from somewhere in the house. “They want it now! Anyone seen my vest? The blue one with the dragon-scale pattern?”

  “Apparently they have been getting a lot of good buzz and want to see about launching it at some book fair. Anyway,” Olivia continued, “we’re breaking you out of there at three o’clock sharp, right after classes. So be ready.”

  Gil’s frustrated groan cut off whatever Olivia was going to say. “I have nothing to wear! How can I have nothing to wear? I have to look professional!”

  “Calm down,” Olivia called, then rolled her eyes at me. “Sorry. Fashion emergencies take priority. Talk later, okay? Don’t forget: Friday.”

  Alexa appeared beside me the next day with a large envelope in her hand. It had my name on the front in ornate block letters. “Is that what Olivia was talking about?” I asked, reaching for it.

  She moved it out of my way, her eyes going wide. “She told you? I swear, that girl couldn’t keep her mouth closed if you bound it shut with cold iron braces.”

  “What is it?” I asked, grabbing for the envelope again.

  “Just tea with King Steve. No big deal. And—” Her expression turned serious. “Barbarian Mike is being sentenced this week.”

  “That was fast,” I said. They’d told us ten months, maybe, for the case to work its way to the top of the list.

  “His Majesty has decided to take this case on personally, so it has been accelerated,” she explained. “Sentencing is next Monday. He’d like you to come to the castle Friday after classes for tea and to talk about the incident.”

  “Again? What about all those reports we filled out?” I asked.

  “His Majesty has read the reports, but it is his esteemed pleasure to host Miss Hale for the afternoon so as to hear her side of the story personally,” she said, handing me the envelope. It was smooth as cream and ten times as fancy, wrapped with a velvet ribbon and sealed with the ornate royal crest. Alexa tapped the seal. “Come on, you know it’s her.” With a faint huff, the seal lifted, the ribbon unfurled, and, with great ceremonial dignity, the letter opened up in front of me. “You’ll have to excuse them. The king’s personal invitations don’t get sent out that often, so they get a little stuffy sometimes.”

  The thick black script gleamed like liquid silk. “What’s he going to do to him?” I asked, scanning the words.

  Alexa gave me a veiled look. “I don’t know,” she said, and I was reminded that my big sister is a very good liar. “But His Majesty does not believe in light sentences for kidnappers.”

  “I hear you’re getting away from us this week,” Becky said the next day as she walked us down to Public Safety after her class.

  I nodded. “By order of the king. Also, my brother has a meeting in town.”

  “I know Alexa’s going with you, but all the same I’d like you to come by whenever you have a free moment to get some extra training in. Especially after what happened.”

  “Sure.”

  And then Becky asked what kind of meeting, and after I explained she asked, “So which brother is the author? Jeremy or … Gilbert?”

  “Gil, but he doesn’t write under his own name because his editor said he’d get better sales if he had a fake lady’s name. So he writes romance novels as Miranda Blythe.”

  “Miranda Blythe?” Becky grabbed my arm; she’d gone pale, and her eyes were very wide.

  I nodded. “He has a new one coming out next fall, called Race Against the Wind or Racing the Wind, I forget which.”

  Her fingers tightened on my arm. “Race the Wind?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yeah, that’s it. How did you know?”

  “She announced it on her fan channel. Dimitrios hooks me up on the ball at least once a week so I can check in. I have been waiting for over a year—your brother is Miranda Blythe?” The hallway outside the Public Safety office was completely empty now, but we were past caring. “I love those books! I remember stealing the first one from my owner’s nightstand and … that is—” Becky stopped, and the color rushed back into her face as she muttered something about another lifetime.

  And I wanted to ask, Owner? Except I didn’t need to ask, not really. Not with that look on her face. So instead I asked, “Aren’t they the best books ever? Which one’s your favorite?” And we completely ignored Dimitrios when he stuck his head out into the hallway and pointedly cleared his throat. “Mine’s Rules of Passion,” I said, “but that’s just me preferring Rafe to Enrique.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Enrique’s way too moody,” Becky said. “My favorite is an old one. You probably wouldn’t know it.”

  “Yes, I would. I’ve read every single one of them, but don’t tell my parents because I wasn’t supposed to because of all the kissing and stuff.”

  Becky smiled at that. “There is some ‘stuff.’”

  “Rebecca …,” Dimitrios said, then cleared his throat again to get her attention.

  “So which book? I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me,” I told Becky.

  “You know I have been standing right here,” Dimitrios said. “I have heard every word of your discussion.”

  Becky finally turned to him. “Yes, thank you, I see you. But we are having an important teacher-student discussion at the moment. I’ll send her in when we’re finished. It’s one of his first ones,” she told me. “A contemporary.”

  That was easy. Gil had only written one contemporary before switching over to historical, which is where Mom says his strength is. “Kissing the King
sman?”

  “All right, all right.” Dimitrios held up his hands. “But don’t go biting Bella’s head off the next time she delays Abby from your class.”

  Becky clenched her hands into fists and took a long exaggerated breath. “Fine. We will continue this discussion later, Abby.”

  Later turned out to be an hour later. We were gathering up our books, trying to figure out which creature we were going to pick for our essay (undead vs. enchanted, pick any two creatures and compare/contrast strengths and weaknesses) when Dimitrios’s crystal chimed. “Wait a minute, Abby,” he called as the class shuffled out. “I have been asked to run you up to Ms. Macartney’s classroom. She wants to speak to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  He grinned. “Why don’t any of you kids look that worried when you’re sent to see me? We’re the law around here.”

  There’s something about Ms. Macartney’s classroom that always makes it look like it’s got a tint of cool-blue shadows, even with the afternoon sun coming full on through the windows. She was sitting there, poised and perfect, her pencil making precise little marks as she graded her way through a neat stack of papers. Becky was there too, which I hadn’t expected, leaning against a corner of the desk.

  “Here’s Miss Abby, ma’am,” Dimitrios announced, still grinning, and Ms. Macartney said thank you, that will be all, without looking up. He ducked out; I felt the click of the door as it closed.

  “Did I do something?” I asked carefully.

  “Not that I’m aware of, yet.” Ms. Macartney set down her pencil and looked up at me. “I understand we are expecting a visit from your brother at the end of the week.”