“Strategy, my friend. Sugar makes people happy, and happy people put an end to punishments.” I tap at my temple to emphasize my inherent brilliance.
He smiles, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. He’s so worried about his dad, and although there’s plenty of supplies in the shop that could temporarily take his pain away, it gives me a sense of purpose to know that for once, I am the magical thing most likely to give him any comfort. I take his face in my hands; he closes his eyes and leans his cheek into my palm, clasping my wrist in his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper. I lean in to gently kiss his lips, when I hear a voice near the shop’s entrance.
“Amber Sand, getting physical.” I look over Charlie’s shoulder to see Ivy, weaving around our display of vintage apothecary bottles. Her nose is still bandaged and slightly bruised from where I hit her, which fills me with more pleasure than it should. With her are two random harpies, standing just far enough away so as not to upstage their leader but close enough to prove she’s got a posse. I don’t know the names of the other two and don’t care to; I’d rather they all be sucked back to hell than engage in conversation.
“Ivy Chamberlain, as I live and breathe toxic fumes,” I reply.
“Must be the contents of this alleged ‘business,’” she says, pinching her arms and hands close to her chest, as if coming in contact with our merchandise would burn her. Though, who knows, maybe it might. I wouldn’t be against finding out. “How does your family survive selling slimy blobs?” she asks, nodding at our selection of mosses.
“Thanks for your concern, but we do just fine,” I say. “This banter is fun and all, but why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”
“Our English assignment, hello? Why else would I come all the way to this tourist trap?”
“Calm yourself. It’s not due till next week.”
“Yeah, well, since you were suspended and seem to think that physical violence is an acceptable interaction, I wanted to make sure you still remembered our agreement.”
“Aww, did you miss me?” I pout.
“I’ll tell you who I do miss.” She sets her baby blues on Charlie, who squirms in response. “This beautiful man right here.” Her manicured hand rubs his shoulder before she rests her chin on top. Long lashes flutter like something out of a romance novel how-to guide.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my aura in the blue. I know this is Ivy’s thing; as a siren, she almost can’t stop herself from going after something that’s not hers. She feeds on that energy and needs constant attention to survive. But now that Charlie is specifically mine, I feel that primal protective rage building inside me, and if she doesn’t back up soon, there’s going to be a very big mess at Windy City Magic.
“I’m not sure why you’d miss me.” Charlie steps aside. “Ivy, don’t you have other things you could be doing?”
She crosses her arms as her cronies cluck in disapproval. I want to high-five that boy but dig my hands into my pockets instead.
“So are you two, like, official now?” Ivy asks. She eyes me up and down with a disgusted expression before turning back to him. Charlie puts his arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him as confirmation. I really like the view from here, as she seems on the verge of vomiting. “I’m surprised at you, Amber.”
“Oh yeah? Why is that?”
“I just thought a matchmaker would have better common sense and use her magic with a side of logic.”
“Right, because sirening people to make them like you is so logical?” I say.
Ivy lets my words roll right off her. “At least I’m a realist. I know what it takes to survive. I know you live in a land of fairy tales, but believing in love not only makes you stupid; it makes you weak.”
Five seconds ago, I planned on keeping my mouth shut and zoning out until she crawled back into the sea, but dammit, my integrity as a matchmaker is being challenged, and that is one thing I’ll always defend.
“You know what, Ivy? I shouldn’t have to justify myself to you, but this is about more than just me. Wanting to find love does not make someone weak; it’s not a character flaw. Life is hard, and grueling, and having someone root for you and travel beside you is a gift that anyone in this world would be lucky to have. I’m not saying that people can’t be happy or fulfilled on their own; of course they can. But being open to the possibility of love doesn’t make you weak; it actually makes you strong.”
I’m out of breath after my random soapboxing, but I feel amazing, especially because Ivy is neither clever nor quick enough to come up with a response. Blond curls swing in my face as she and her groupies leave, but just before she exits out to the pier, she calls back, “Well, good luck to you both; you’re gonna need it.”
Charlie has to grab my arms to keep me from going animal kingdom on her.
“Whoa, tiger,” he says, spinning me around when the shrews have left the shop. “Let’s relax.”
“Just because she’s a siren doesn’t mean she has to give in to the worst possible stereotypes of her kind. She’s choosing to be that wretched. Like, way to give your ancestors a bad rep. It makes me crazy.”
“You’re right. She clearly gets off on it.”
“And what about you?” I ask. “You seem to be the only guy who doesn’t get off on her.” There’s a tinge of insecurity in my voice that I neither like nor recognize.
“Listen, she’s obviously gorgeous, but she’s also a ridiculously terrible person. Even before you told me about her skewing supernatural, I could see right through her twisted mind games. She goes after easy prey: guys who let themselves be manipulated.”
“She seems to keep going after you.”
“Well”—he adjusts his glasses—“that’s because I come with an extra gold surprise. A lot of girls come at me for only that reason.”
“Not me,” I joke. “I could take ya or leave ya.”
He pulls me closer, squeezing a gasp from my chest. “Good thing for you, then”—his smile returns to full wattage—“I’m already taken.”
AFTER HOURS AT NAVY PIER is a weird place to find oneself. The shops are closed, but the lights are on, giving it a simultaneously enchanted and eerie vibe. The neon-outlined Ferris wheel against the inky Lake Michigan water is legitimately cool when there aren’t thousands of meandering tourists spilling overfilled popcorn tubs and making out on sidewalk benches. There are no screaming babies, no looped carnival music, just water, light, and cool night air.
Unfortunately, the people who do witness this fleetingly peaceful scene don’t appreciate it at all, because we’re here every damn day and want to get home as soon as possible. It’s not like we’re going to hang out and soak in the scenery of the place we’ve been trying to escape for the past twelve hours. I imagine it’d be the same for the after-hours crews at a place like Disneyland; while the die-hard fans would kill to get a peek of the park when the gates close, the mechanics who ensure the tiki room birds still sing just want to be binge-watching TV at home.
But tonight Mom and I are sitting at the west end of the pier, right between Bubba Gump Shrimp and Giordano’s Pizza. We’re waiting for Charlie, who said he’d send a car to take us to the Black Phoenix. Mom, who pretty much never accepts help from anyone, didn’t even resist his offer, saying his thoughtfulness was “much appreciated.” While Charlie certainly is thoughtful, I couldn’t help but feel her comment was somehow aimed at me, like I am the total opposite of thoughtful. I know she’s mad and has a right to be, but it’s not like I meant for any of this to happen, and let’s not forget how she never refuted my points on her regretting my lack of witchiness. It still stings.
So we’re sitting in silence, taking in the weirdness that is an empty amusement center. I pop up at the sight of a shiny black Town Car, but instead of a Converse stepping out the door, there’s a snakeskin stiletto. With a smooth shimmy emerges Victoria, who is so overdressed it’s almost comical. She probably blasted her own personal hole in the ozone with all the hair s
pray holding her dyed tresses.
“I didn’t realize the pier turned into a red-light district after dark,” I say from the side of my mouth.
Mom is not amused. “Amber, do not say another word.”
“C’mon, you know that was funny.”
“Zip. It,” she says through clenched teeth.
Victoria catwalks straight toward us. “Luciiiiiiille,” she cries, as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. With outstretched arms, her mink stole falls around her elbows. I try to imagine how she and Mom originally met; was it a high school rivalry? Bridesmaids at a yeti wedding? Or is it possible that at one point they could have been—gulp—friends? “Darling.”
Mom stands slowly, taking the spray-tanned hands. “Victoria.” I can’t believe this air-kissing banshee has as much power as Mom says. Nothing about her reads “mighty Wicca”—more like “sad wannabe.” I mean, I’m sure the chicks at Salem weren’t running around in pleather. But Mom clearly knows something I don’t.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Mom asks. “We’re not scheduled to meet until tomorrow.”
“I came to check the merchandise, of course,” Victoria says. “I can’t very well offer my services without verifying payment.”
Mom is so over this. “Are you questioning my inventory?”
“No, no…not yet, anyway.”
Mom’s about to spit nails. “I’ll have you know that Windy City Magic upholds the finest—”
“Oh, Lucille, relax.” Victoria waves. “I don’t doubt your integrity. You’ve always been very devoted to your principles. Detrimentally so. I just need to take a closer look at your selection.”
“The store is closed.” Mom crosses her arms.
“Of course it is,” Victoria laughs. “But you are the owner, aren’t you? I don’t commonly shop with riffraff. Surely you can offer me a private session, no?”
I hate this woman. I hate her for acting so high and mighty. How could her showy persona not be a cloak for a lack of talent? What kind of magic does she have access to that Mom doesn’t? I can’t imagine. I’ve seen Mom in action, and there’s nothing she can’t handle; she only stays away from the darker stuff, and that’s by choice, not from lack of skill. She could go all dark side in a second if she needed, but she always tries to find another way. But Victoria, who knows what she’s into? Maybe Mom has come to her because she’ll cross any line without thinking twice. Whatever the reason, I HATE that she can lord her authority over Mom and make her feel like less of a witch. If anyone’s gonna make my mom feel bad, it’s me, and I’ve earned that right by being her daughter.
“Fine,” Mom relents, slouching as if granting this request is causing a growth on her back. “But we only have a few minutes.”
“That’s all I need.” Victoria flips her animal carcass over her shoulder. “Ta-ta, Amber. Pleasure seeing you.”
I raise my eyebrows to acknowledge I’m not deaf, then turn around without response. Maybe Mom will trap Victoria inside the shop in a tiny glass vial where we can laugh at her all day. That would be fun.
I sit and watch a parade of buses and cabs pull by, until I’m the only one left standing in the plaza. Finally, Charlie’s Town Car pulls up, and I smile in relief.
“Good Gods, am I glad you’re not a forty-year-old prostitute,” I say as he approaches.
“Um, likewise?” he answers.
“My mom’s meeting with one now.”
“Really?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” He pauses. “I don’t get it.”
I proceed to fill him in on covens and witchcraft hierarchy.
“Your mom should just kick her out of the coven,” he says when I’m finished. “Screw that witch.”
“Yeah, I know. But Mom doesn’t see herself as the leader. She’s a big part of Dawning Day, but really, organized practice is not her style. She’s more of a lone wolf,” I say, then add, “I guess that’s where I get it.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Charlie says, taking a seat on a bench. “I’d rather be alone then spend time with people who don’t value me.”
“Is that why you cruise the halls like you’re too cool for school?” I ask, sitting beside him.
“First of all, I am too cool for school. Obviously.” He laughs. “Second, I just haven’t met many people at Manchester I connect with. I have friends outside of school, but I don’t know. I don’t mesh with anyone in class.”
“But then you started talking to me and your whole world turned upside down,” I say with jazz hands.
“Well, my dad never disappeared into a secret goblin ring before I met you, so yeah, that’s accurate,” he says with a forced smile.
Ouch. I will never not feel guilty about this. I turn away and fixate on a spot on the sidewalk, unsure of how to respond. He reaches for my hand and gives it a light squeeze to bring me back.
“Still, there have been perks.”
“Such as?” I ask innocently.
He runs his fingers through my hair, stopping behind my ear to pull me in for a kiss. It’s slow and gentle to start, a roller coaster climbing its first hill, but then builds momentum, plunging forward with speed. I move to his lap, his hands running up and down my back. I’ve never had this before; I’ve always hit the brakes before I could let myself feel a thrill. But with my eyes squeezed tight, there’s only me and Charlie, nothing to stop us…and neither of us wants to stop.
Except my Spidey sense is warning me I should probably cool down before Mom and the wicked witch return.
“Valid points, sir,” I say, pulling back nearly breathless. I hover just above his nose. “Let’s continue this discussion later.”
His fingers dig into my waist. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, nuzzling my neck. A vibration in my pocket causes him to jerk back. “Hey there,” he winks.
“Quiet, you, it’s my phone.” I pick up. “Hey, Amani.”
“Hey, I’m at the club. I thought you’d be here by now,” she says, with Black Phoenix ambience in the background.
“Yeah, well, there was a wench in our plan.”
“Don’t you mean wrench?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Okay. Just hurry up. I asked Vincent for some help rounding up some of the regulars for Operation Blitzman, but I don’t know how long they can stay.”
“Look at you, event coordinator for the undead,” I say.
She is not amused. “Amber, Vincent won’t leave me alone. You need to get here already and rescue me.”
“Ooh, I see my mom. Be there soon.” I peel myself from Charlie’s lap and spring up before she sees me in that position. I’m sure the topic of us dating will come up eventually, but I’d rather it not be while I’m straddling him.
“Where’s Her Royal Highness?” I ask when Mom shows up alone.
“Her driver pulled around to the north entrance. I guess it was too far for her to walk in those shoes,” Mom says with an eye roll.
“I still can’t believe you even considered asking her for help,” I say.
“Yes, well, hopefully we won’t have to use her services after all.”
“My car’s ready, Ms. Sand.” Charlie gestures.
“Thank you, Charlie, but you know you can call me Lucille.”
I shake my head violently behind her back, warning him that even though she said it’s okay, really she’d rather he use formalities.
“Thank you, Ms. Sand,” he says on cue.
She beams. “You are your father’s son.”
“I appreciate that. I can’t wait to tell him you think so.”
“Same here,” she says.
The drive to Black Phoenix is brief but cozy, sitting pretty on the plush leather seats. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to my mode of transportation coming sans cranky commuters and eau d’urine. If there is a perk to having money, it’s getting to travel with the luxury of solitude.
Pulling up to the club, Amani is waiting outside, fidgeting und
er a dim yellow streetlight. She’s biting her thumb, her eyes unfocused and worried.
“What’s up?” I ask, stepping to her side.
She reaches into her dress pocket, pulling out a cream-colored envelope sealed with wax. She hesitates before handing it to me.
“There’s been a development.”
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I SAY. “I just talked to you a minute ago.”
“Yeah, and this arrived a minute after that,” Amani says. Charlie, Mom, and I all huddle around to read the same tiny handwriting we encountered before:
To the matchmaker and her young friend,
We are quite aware of your efforts to track us down. While we do not appreciate interference in our personal business, we do acknowledge your possession has been wrongfully acquired in the cross fire. We are fully prepared to return the esteemed mayor without harm, provided our dealings with the leprechaun go undisturbed. If you agree to these conditions, please meet me at the eighteenth floor of the Merchandise Mart at midnight tomorrow. I will leave one door unlocked for you. Backup will not be necessary, lest you plan to breach this contract.
Sincerely,
Mr. James Thadamus Hollister, Esq.
“This is like the worst treasure hunt ever,” I say after reading the note several times.
“So, when he says leprechaun, is he referring to…Cassandra?” Amani asks.
We all look at Charlie. “Don’t ask me!” He throws his hands up. “I only found out magic was real, like, yesterday.”
“Mom?” I ask.
She shrugs as if it’s not a totally weird revelation. “It is possible. Leprechauns, while not as common as fairies, are from a similar heritage. They don’t possess much magic, and therefore are usually quite resentful of their social standing, often turning to trickery to get ahead. To say they’re green with envy is an understatement.” She pauses. “I am surprised, though, how easily John could let himself be ensnared by one. He’s usually much more perceptive about when he’s being manipulated.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Charlie waves his arms. “Do you mean to tell me that Cassandra—the woman who is practically my stepmom—who I accused of being a gold digger, is an ACTUAL gold digger?”
The Best Kind of Magic Page 19