By choice, I was a coffee drinker, so I didn't have any fancy tea strainers at home, and I wasn't about to disturb Wei’s mother if she were home rather than helping in the restaurant. A mesh strainer would work well enough. I liberally scooped the tea mixture into a glass pitcher, then set a pot of water on to boil.
While I waited, I retrieved my laptop from the living room, opened up the control panel for the coffee shop’s website, and uploaded the pictures I’d taken of the mural in progress. It didn’t take long to add them to the slide show, with an invitation to come see the real thing in person. It would be simple to make the invitation a compulsion, but, contrary to the Dorothy’s beliefs, I didn’t relish manipulating other people — and I had already promised myself that I would not use magic to get the manager’s position. I shouldn’t need it to beat a blowhard like Rich.
The water boiled, and I poured it into the pitcher. By the time it had cooled enough to drink, it should taste as good as it smelled. Meanwhile, I needed to do some research on patrons.
Magical patrons weren’t something you could look up on the Internet, although if Carole was right about witches trying to go public, that might change. A dozen years back, though, when Maggie had first been trying to get me to admit to having a patron, she had inundated me with study materials so I could “try to find something that felt familiar.” Mostly what felt familiar was Maggie trying to browbeat me the way my mother did, but I didn’t tell Maggie that. I wanted us to stay friends, after all.
Most of that stuff was boxed up and stashed in the closet of my old room at my parents’ house. I could go through it when I went out for brunch on Sunday. I wondered if Celeste would let me borrow her car so I could bring the boxes back with me? Given our recent interaction, it was better to ask Benjamin — he seemed to approve of me and my magic. Wei might as well, but then she might also side with Matt and Celeste about the way I’d been treating her son. I made a note to stop into the kitchens tomorrow before I headed out.
I’d typed up some notes on my computer, however, and transferred all my files faithfully each time I’d upgraded over the years. One advantage of being a technowitch — I didn’t worry overmuch about data corruption. I did jump through the usual hoops to make sure my files stayed accessible in terms of format, though, translating them from one version to the next — and making sure all of my text files from whatever source were backed up as a plain text copy. So my basic notes were right here.
Opening the file, I started reading.
Chapter 26
I slipped into the kitchen before heading to work the next morning, noting once more how even in the summer, it was hotter inside than out. Benjamin and his underlings were hard at work prepping for the busy afternoon, but he smiled when he saw me and waved his ladle. “Sneaking some dumplings when the twins can’t eat them all?”
It was good to see him in this mood; so much had changed in the past week, but some of it was for the better. I grinned back. “Not a bad idea, but I’m off to work right now. I might stop in later.”
“What brings you down to the kitchen this sunny day, then?”
“I was wondering if I could borrow your car tomorrow.” I explained why, and he set down the ladle to fish in his pocket for his keys.
“Take it. We won’t be using it before then anyway. We really ought to get an extra set of keys made for you. Should have when we added you to the insurance.” The insurance coverage was news to me, but I was flattered. “Why don’t you make a copy while you’ve got the keys? And stop in on your way upstairs later. I’ll set aside some dumplings for you.”
A better start to the day than I’d feared, given how the week had been going. I set off toward work humming Dory’s little catch-phrase. At least the kids weren’t earworming me with anything terribly obnoxious yet. There was no hardware store between the restaurant and the coffee shop, but I might find one later, out near where Ximena lived, to copy the key.
This morning, the Lung dragon held court outside the T stop on the sidewalk, enchanting the pedestrians with his music — not as many as there would be on a weekday at this point, but a fair number anyway, many of them tourists making comments to each other in languages other than English. He finished as I approached, and those who had stopped to listen moved on.
“Not indoors today?” I asked. With the sun out, I knew the heat would climb fairly quickly.
“Later, perhaps, but even travelers who are only going a short distance deserve some rest on their journeys.”
I bowed my head in acceptance. “Might I hear you later on the T? I’m going to be heading out the Orange Line.”
“On a Saturday?”
He knew me well.
“I’m off to create more holes in the bedrock,” I said with a wry smile.
He raised his eyebrows a hair’s breadth. “Not alone?”
“I was hoping to take Haris with me, but I haven’t seen him since Thursday to ask.”
“Perhaps I could pass along the message,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’ll be elsewhere this afternoon myself.” He paused. “The children are well?”
“Healthy and normal and upset at me because I’m not.”
“So … children, then?”
Laughing in surprise, I agreed with him. “Exactly. If they weren’t upset with me over their father, it would be bedtime or wanting new toys or something else.”
“You are not coming between them and their father?”
“No.” I looked away, unable to bear the reproach on his face, even undeserved. “They’re with him right now, and I won’t criticize him in front of them. They are his children — me being their mother is simply coincidence, even if I am the one they live with.”
Bitterness dripped from my voice, and I felt ashamed. Matt and his family had been overly generous in the accommodations they had made, and his parents treated me in every way as part of the family. I looked down at the ground. “Matt and his sister are pressuring me to get back together with him, to be a nuclear family, complete and traditional, and they don’t seem to care about what I want. Or that if I felt trapped and not free to be myself, it would hurt the children.”
“Why wouldn’t you be free to be yourself?” His voice was mild, curious. He wasn’t finding fault, merely seeing whether I had thought this through.
“Because Matt wants me to be a normal human being with no ties to — people like you. He’s never liked that side of me, and I think he’s terrified that the children will turn out to be like me.” I nodded slowly as I let my own words sink in. I hadn’t seen the obvious before. “That’s why he’s worried now and wants to change me. If he can change me, then the kids can be changed if the worst — from his point of view — happens.” The bitterness came back. “He thinks he’s doing the right thing for them.”
“You must also do what you believe is right.”
“Even if it means fighting with their father?”
“The children will be who the children will be, and eventually they will understand you both. In the meantime, life will not be easy for any of you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“There is a limit to how much truth you can handle at once, child, as there is for anyone.”
That merited an eye roll. I’m sure he was old enough to call me child, but I never met anyone who liked being told, “Just wait until you’re older.”
“I’d better get to work. I have a lot to get done before I take off for more unintended destruction.”
“Don’t let the trolls’ words trouble you too much. You’ll get to the repairs when you can, and you are making a difference. If you weren’t, they would have been more forceful.”
I shivered. I didn’t really want to find out what a forceful troll was like.
The art students were camped out in front of the store, a couple with sketchbooks, busily at work. I stepped over their legs to reach the door.
“I can’t let you in just yet. We don’t open for half an hour, an
d I haven’t gotten permission from my manager to have anyone but employees in the store before we open.”
Most of them didn’t even look up, but a couple shrugged. The one who’d approached me yesterday about the winged horse said, “It’s a fun project, and we’re eager, but we can wait.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I think Kara wants to set up her easel in a corner and work here all the time.”
An Asian woman with red and blue hair gave him a mock glare. “Like I’m the only one.”
“Half an hour,” I said, unlocking the door and slipping inside. I had no objection to Kara or any of the others working here — we had plenty of regulars who camped out for hours, and Kendall only objected if there was a rush and people couldn’t get a seat, which meant it was pretty rare for me to ask anyone to leave. Then, too, an artist painting in plain sight might draw more customers in a way that writers with their laptops and headphones did not.
Kendall had left a note in my locker — in, not on, meaning she didn’t want Rich to see it. “Nice work on the painting. I’ll make a decision on manager early next week.”
I hadn’t expected to come in and find a promotion waiting for me, but at least she’d commented on the task getting done. I hadn’t directly hired the students to come in and do the work, of course, but she had no way of knowing that. What she knew: she’d asked me to do an impossible task and get the contractors that she couldn’t budge to do what she wanted; I hadn’t managed that, but I did point out a way for us to get our money back; and the coffee shop had a fresh look that might draw in customers. As far as she was concerned, I’d done what she wanted.
On the other hand, so had Rich, and much quicker. Based on the ability to get things done, he seemed the better candidate. What would I do if he got the position?
Not let my mom set me up with a job in a brokerage firm, that was certain. The Lius might be willing to give me a part-time job in their restaurant, but I wouldn’t ask. Our relationship was complicated enough without adding that to it. If I had to, I’d work retail in Downtown Crossing, but that wasn’t high on my wish list. Much easier to find work as a barista at another shop.
I closed the locker firmly and spun the combination lock. It was time to get to work, and worrying about what might be wasn’t going to get any coffee made.
First stop, the kitchen to drop trays of baked goods into the warming oven. Not as compelling as fresh-baked cinnamon rolls or chocolate croissants, but using other suppliers gave us more variety than we could do on our own — and I didn’t have to be at work at four in the morning to start the baking. Not when the bakeries were happy to do deliveries during our midmorning lull.
By the time I opened the front door, coffee, tea, and baked goods were all ready for customers. The art students stepped to one side to let in those who were after their caffeine fix, then came in and dispersed to the different sections of the room, climbing scaffolding and handing paint around as necessary. The mural looked complete to me — to Kendall as well, judging from her note — but the students weren’t satisfied. They set to work, adding highlights and lowlights, accenting clouds here, carving extra lines into a face there, gilding gold and painting the lilies.
Ximena was on time, arriving punctually an hour after I opened the door, but she looked in an even worse mood than she had the day before. Today, I would break her free of the ghost preying on her mind. I hoped it was soon enough.
After clocking in, she set to work on everyday tasks, refilling napkins, stacking cups, wiping down tables even if no one had used them yet today. She still hadn’t said so much as good morning to me, but at least she wasn’t snapping at the customers.
The students finished up with discreet signatures in various locations, disassembled the scaffolding, and placed it in a little pushcart that they’d left stashed in the corner the previous day. The usual spokesman came up to me. “If you’re sure the gallery display is okay, Tam will be in next week to hang his work. I’ll come with him so we can set up permanent display spots without them being in the way of anything.”
“That sounds fine.” I hoped. If Kendall gave the manager’s position to Rich, I was afraid all of their work was going to be for nothing, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them that. “Now, about your pay?”
“Ten thousand dollars, made out to the art collective as a donation for scholarships.” His friends’ eyes bugged out at the price, but I knew that he was lowballing me.
I frowned. “I told you professional rates. For a twenty by thirty room — and I’m pretty sure you painted more than that — a professional rate is closer to twenty. And you should all be getting a share of that.”
If possible, his friends’ eyes got even larger. Seriously, had they not discussed pricing their work yet? I was going to have to sic Beth on them to teach them the facts of life as an artist who needed to eat and pay rent.
He looked abashed but stuck to his guns. “Do you know how much gallery space goes for? We’re getting a bargain here.”
“All right. The check will go directly to your school. And any of you who want to spend time here working on your art are welcome.”
He grinned. “We’ll take you up on that. Like I said, Kara’s been eyeing that corner table already.”
“It’s a good table.” I held out my hand. “Very well, I’ll see you and Tam next week—?”
He flushed. “Sorry. Grant.”
“Pleased to meet you, Grant. I’m Pepper.”
We shook, and I felt a mild itching on my palm. Just the Sight, then, no pacts with a patron to give him magic. I wondered how much of the magical world he could See? Given what Maggie and Carole had said, probably quite a bit.
“Next time you’re in, I have this tea you really must try.”
Chapter 27
Rich was as obnoxious as ever when he got in. “I know she’s stringing you along, but Kendall’s going to give the position to me.” He waved at the completed mural. “What kind of person would like this?”
I nodded toward the crowded tables. “Them.” Smiling sweetly, I went back to work. I needed to keep my calm — I had to have a clear head to have any hope of taking out the ghost.
Not much later, I slipped out of the coffee shop, headed for the Downtown Crossing T stop to grab the Orange Line. I got there without incident, but I could feel the trolls’ eyes on me as the T started to move. I wanted to scream at them that the holes weren't my fault. I was trying to fix things, one ghost at a time and evidently three times each. Everyone needed something mended, and I was getting to them as fast as I could. Right now, it was the ghost haunting Ximena.
Although technically, I suppose, I was trying to do two of that ghost's steps at once — separate it and bind it. This time, I even had something on hand to bind it into — one of Gavin’s marbles that he’d forgotten to put away. My binding was still going to be clumsy next to Lashonda’s. I had yet to figure out how to perform the third step, the complete banishment of the ghost and mending of the veil or plane or bedrock or whatever it was that their presence tore open.
Warmth suffused me, and I glanced up, surprised. Haris stood in the doorway between cars, a concerned look on her face. When she caught me looking, she smiled, flashing her dimple. The crease between her brows didn't vanish, though, as she came to sit next to me, careful to not touch me.
I kept my voice light. “You got my message.”
“Are you sure you're up for this, even with my help?”
“I'm better than I was Thursday.” Her raised brow invited elaboration, so I said, “A friend recommended a tea for me to try. It's helped with my symptoms a lot.”
“I'm glad to hear it. You were looking rather rocky.”
“I don't doubt it. I felt like I'd been gut punched and then walked out on.”
The shock on her face almost made me feel guilty for saying it. Almost. Then she schooled her face and looked away from me, talking without meeting my eyes. “I'd never opened up to another person that way before, and
you didn't let go. You kept taking and taking, and I thought I was going to lose myself.” A sidelong glance, a wry smile. “When I took time to think, I realized you'd given, too. I tried to make amends.”
“You should come by and see the mural. It's incredible. There’s even a winged horse.”
“I hoped they would put in lots of winged creatures. You always give me the sense that you're about to fly. Not like run away, but take to the skies so everyone can see you.”
I shuddered. It was my turn to look away. “That's never going to happen.” I kept my voice as flat as I could; I didn't want to talk about it.
“Saying ‘never’ tempts the gods,” she teased.
I said it again, this time letting some of my anger show. “Never.”
I must have been convincing because she didn't say another word until we were off the train.
“How did you find this one?”
“Deduction. A friend is hurting, and I’m guessing at the culprit.”
“The ghosts all hurt someone, and there are likely more.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I snapped. “So it's selfish. I have to start somewhere, and it gives me a direction because I don’t know where to look otherwise.”
“No.” Her voice was gentle, and warmth flooded me again. “You care so much about your friends, and you don't want anything to hurt them. That's not selfish at all.”
I wanted to cry. I turned away. “The parking garage is this way.”
I'd been so wrapped up in our argument that I'd missed the atmosphere around us, full of anger and hate. I'm sure I would have realized we weren't the only ones fighting eventually, but the point was brought home by a clue-by-four. Or rather, a half-full water bottle that hit me in the side of the head — hard enough to hurt, but with luck, I wouldn’t get a goose egg.
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