No one speaks. Amani hides her face in her hands. My cheeks are so full of laughter I could burst.
“SERIOUSLY?!” he yells.
“It does add up,” Mom admits. “What was it her pen-dant said?”
“Felicitas ubi lux tangit,” Amani recites. “It’s seared in my brain from that session. Though I don’t know what it means.”
We do a quick translation on my phone to find it means “happiness is where the light touches.”
I snicker, though I don’t mean to. “As in, at the end of the rainbow?”
“Why didn’t we look this up before?” Amani laughs.
“Even if we did, I’m not sure I would have connected the dots,” my mother says.
Charlie sits down on the sidewalk, the weight of the discovery too much to handle.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say, patting the top of his head like a puppy. “It could be worse. Your dad could be dating a banshee.”
“Or a mermaid,” Amani suggests.
“Oh yeah, that’d be no fun. You’d have to live underwater, and I doubt the lake has very nice views. Think of how wrinkly your fingers would always be. And your clothes!” I hear a sound that could be a laugh, or maybe a sob. “Leprechauns ain’t no thing. They’re even less magical than matchmakers, and that’s saying something.”
“Really?” He looks up.
“Yup. So don’t worry.”
He gives a wan smile. “It just seems so random.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Although,” he says, tipping his head to the left, “I guess it is slightly satisfying that I was so on the money.”
“That’s the spirit!” I cheer.
“So, do we go in with help or not?” Amani asks. “I’ve assembled quite a team in there; it’s like a supernatural Avengers.” She nods back to the club.
“How did you manage that?” Mom asks.
“Actually, it was super-easy.” Amani grins. “All I had to do was mention the Sand name and creatures were lining up to help. A werewolf, another witch, a shape-shifter, and…Vincent is demanding he be included.”
“Well, that’s nice of him,” I coax. She just rolls her eyes.
“Thank you, Amani,” Mom says, blushing a little. “I would definitely prefer their assistance over Victoria’s. But perhaps we should follow the goblin’s instructions. They seem pretty determined to hold on to Cassandra for whatever she owes them, and I’m not sure what we could do to remedy that. Unfortunately, that will mean John will lose her too.” She turns to Charlie. “Do you think he could handle that?”
“He’s not going to like it,” Charlie says. “But I mean, he doesn’t like being lied to either. So…I don’t know. This whole thing is crazy.”
“I say we go in alone, grab John, reveal he’s dating Lucky Charms, and then go from there,” I offer. “Maybe he won’t care that she’s a rainbow worshipper and will want to fight for her, but since she’s not his match, I think we can convince him otherwise.”
“Agreed.” Mom nods.
Amani looks deflated. “So I spent the past hour spurning Vincent’s advances for nothing? I guess I’ll tell the others they’re not needed.”
“Mom, maybe you can buy them all a round of drinks, to say thanks?” I suggest. She eyes me suspiciously. “Only for the volunteers who are of age, of course.”
There’s a hint of a grimace, but deep down, she knows I’m right. Lucille Sand would rather burn at the stake than forgo proper etiquette. “It is the least I can do. I’ll be back shortly.”
Amani starts to follow her, but I grab her arm. “I appreciate all your help, BFF. You continue to be the greatest, you know that, right?”
She sighs. “Duh.”
“Do you want to come with us to track down a four-foot-high villain?” I ask.
“I’m not sure if I’m up for the challenge.” She looks at Charlie, who is still sitting on the sidewalk, staring off. “What about him?” she whispers. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
Amani smirks. “Sure you will.” She turns, but I grab her arm again.
Love you, I sign.
Love you too.
I push her away and take a spot next to my guy. “Everything okay here?”
“Yeah, it’s just…I kind of can’t believe all this is happening.” He rubs his hand over his tattooed forearm. “When I was a kid, I had this dorky hope that maybe dragons could be real. It was just stupid fun, but now, I don’t know; it seems like a possibility. And that’s just…surreal.”
There’s a worry in his eyes that concerns me. “So are you still glad you came to me for help? I mean, it’s kind of my fault your worldview has been shattered.”
He takes my hands immediately. “Oh geez, I didn’t mean to imply that. Of course I’m glad. In fact, I kick myself for not making knowing you a priority earlier. I just think it’s crazy how life can change so quickly, how everything you thought you knew can be challenged.”
I rub my thumb over his. “I know what you mean,” I say softly.
“You do?”
“Yeah, well…” I stumble for a second, trying to find the right words. “I’m a matchmaker, right? I should be an expert on everything to do with love: a one-stop shop of romantic knowledge. And for a long time, I really thought I was. But now that I’m with you…” He looks at me hopefully. “Look, it kills me to say this and I will deny it to my grave, but there’s a lot of stuff I still don’t understand. Like, I used to think people were stupid for opening their hearts without surefire confirmation that they’d made the right decision. How could you just throw your heart out there like a Frisbee on merely the hope that someone will catch it? What if they don’t? What if it falls to the ground, gets all cracked and muddy, and never flies again? I didn’t want to take that chance unless I knew I’d land safely. I’ve always been more of a boomerang, my feelings circling back before they even left, and yet, here I am, flinging myself into the unknown…with you.”
Good Gods, I can’t believe I said that out loud. For a second, I wish I could take it all back, suck up my words like an invisible vacuum. I don’t think I’ve ever—EVER—spoken so openly about my fears about love, not even with Amani. You’d think he slipped me some truth serum, but no, this was all on my own. All this crap I’ve been holding on to, so afraid to share because of who I am and what I do.
But he doesn’t laugh or judge. He simply kisses my forehead, clutches my hands tight, and says, “Don’t worry, Amber Sand; I’ll catch you.”
MERCHANDISE MART IS SO GINORMOUS, it used to have its own zip code. If it seems imposing during the day, at night it reaches a whole new level, with the highest floors lit bright yellow. It looks kind of like a castle, with torch-armed guards surveying the top perimeter. Add to that the fact of goblins congregating somewhere in its bowels, and it pretty much makes it the last place I’d like to be right now (other than school, of course).
Mom, Charlie, and I are standing at one of the many locked entrances, trying to find the one promised to be unlocked. It’s very slow going and slightly embarrassing; we look more like inept burglars than supernatural forces of nature.
“It would’ve been nice had they specified which door,” Charlie huffs.
“Yeah, this feels way less badass than I imagined,” I say.
“How did you imagine it?”
“Well, I figured Mom and the crew from Black Phoenix would summon some sort of powerful menace and use it to the storm the barricade, green and silver sparks shooting everywhere, and then we’d rush in on unicornback and save your dad.”
Charlie pinches back a smile. “Unicorns? Again?”
“Uh, yes, really. They are majestic creatures: the utter embodiment of magic itself. Just finding one would be amazing enough, but riding one to victory? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head to the soundtrack of light laughter. “You’re too much.” He nudges me with his shoulder, and the combination of his sunny eyes an
d warm denim shirt rubbing against my bare arm makes me want to grab his tie and pull him over to me, but I stop myself, hitting the pause button on my instincts. I need to focus on the task at hand.
We’ve stopped circling the block; Mom is watching us from an open doorway. She’s got that look on her face, that freaky sixth-sense expression that all moms (not just witches) get when they know their offspring is up to something. While she’s not officially a mind reader, she always seems to know when one of my plot lines has advanced.
“You two ready?” she asks, peppered with a sweetness that’s not the norm.
“We were born ready,” I say with a fist pump.
She gives a verbal eye roll. “Mmm-hmm.”
The mart’s lobby is as you’d expect for such a grand building: towering ceilings, glossy tiled floors, a varied collection of paintings and sculptures. The physical space is fine; it’s what’s not here that’s unsettling. For a place that usually houses a nonstop cycle of busy people, its emptiness is palpable. There are no security guards, no trace of additional life; it’s the kind of eerie setting that’d be right at home in a horror movie. Like a merry-go-round without any kids or water park without any H2O, it’s just wrong, and I don’t like it. Just when I feel like it couldn’t be any more uncomfortable, all the lights go out, save for one overhead fluorescent, beaming the path to the staircase.
“Proceed,” says a disembodied voice from an invisible PA system.
“Well, this is straight from my nightmares,” Charlie says in the darkness.
“Right there with ya,” I reply, shaken.
“If I ask you to hold my hand, will they take my man card away?”
“I’m sure you could make an appeal.”
“Okay then.” He moves to link his fingers with mine, and I don’t hesitate; there’s a security in his touch that a girl could really get used to.
“Mom?” I call out, extending my other hand. “Safety in numbers.”
“Good idea.” She takes my hand, and it’s instantly apparent how long it’s been since we shared contact in this way. Her skin feels thinner, less taut, and while the strength in her grasp remains, it’s definitely different from when I was a little girl. It takes me by surprise, the change in something I once knew so well. All the problems and drama between us has never shaken my belief that she can take on the world, and I don’t like this tangible reminder that even though she is a witch, she’s still a mortal.
Our eyes adjust to the darkness as Mom pulls a handful of something from her bag. Some of the powder slips through her fingers, but most is tossed just above our heads, and with one word—“lucem”—the specks light up like a caravan of fireflies. They flitter and dance in a disorganized yet contained cloud, guiding us with a golden glow.
“Amazing!” Charlie exclaims like a kid watching fireworks.
“Thank you,” Mom says with an appreciative nod. We make our way forward, our footsteps echoing through the empty space. The goblins have led us to the service staircase, all dark and concrete, the only light coming from the emergency exit signs and our magical floating “bugs.” Since I’m not exactly a regular on the stair machine, this ascent to the eighteenth floor might get ugly.
“Now,” Mom starts as we begin our climb, “I understand you both have made acquaintance with this Mr. Hollister fellow, but I think it’s best if I handle the proceedings. Goblins expect their business partners to uphold their promises, but that doesn’t always mean they reciprocate. I will need to act if they try to pull anything shady.”
“Fine with me,” Charlie says.
“Yup. You know best, Mom,” I say with chagrin.
“We’ll see.”
We continue upward, stepping on what seems like a million stairs. I try to keep it together, but around floor ten, I start breathing so heavily I almost wish I put a little effort in during gym.
“These guys can leave the door open yet can’t power the elevator?” I say in between pants. “Rude.”
“Between this and my dad’s kidnapping, I’ve decided goblins are my least favorite magical being,” Charlie says, struggling to catch his breath as well.
“And what would be your favorite?” I ask over my shoulder. “Dragons, right?”
He shakes his head, too tired to speak, but I catch him silently mouth, “You,” in response. My already pumping heart does an extra flip.
Mercifully, we reach the freaking eighteenth floor, all taking some time to return to a normal breathing rate before continuing on. The fake fireflies continue to shimmer, mocking us with their effortless bounce. Mom seems to be doing better than Charlie and me, and I wait for her to comment on our generation’s deterioration of physical fitness due to constant screen time, but she doesn’t. She must be conserving her strength for whatever lies ahead.
Once again, it’s so dark we can hardly see our surroundings. There’s a single light at the end of the hallway, beckoning us forward. The whole charade is getting a little old, and instead of building fear, it’s starting to brew annoyance. If the goblin gang wants this to go down peacefully, couldn’t we have met somewhere less foreboding, like a Baskin-Robbins? Who doesn’t like a celebratory ice-cream cone after a successful rescue?
As we get closer, it’s clear our final destination is a run-of-the-mill conference room. Through a glass-paneled wall we see them: eight almost-identical goblins sitting on opposite sides of a rectangular table, with John perched like a prize at the head.
“Dad!” Charlie yells, causing John to turn. He tries to move from his chair, but it looks like invisible ropes have bound him. Charlie starts to run toward him, but Mom catches his arm, pulling him back. “Dad, are you okay?” Charlie calls out.
“I’m okay,” John says reassuringly. “But, Charlie, what are you doing here?”
Before he can respond, the goblins rise in unison like they share the same brain (good Gods, maybe they do?!), continuing their efforts to disarm us. Instead of using the room’s overhead recessed lights, two uniform rows of candles sit on the table, giving the manila walls an ominous glow. It’s not exactly the dungeon I envisioned this going down in, but this is still the weirdest thing I’ve done in a while.
Our old buddy Mr. Hollister sits closest to his capture. He gestures to the two empty seats nearest us, a tinge of frustration creasing his brow. “We were not expecting three,” he says coldly.
“This is my mom, Lucille Sand,” I say, trying to affect an authoritative tone.
“Yes, we’ve met before,” he reveals, unimpressed. Mom nods in acknowledgement, and I grit my teeth in frustration. Was this not important information to share with the class? I know Mom used to have more supernatural associations back in her younger days, and that she doesn’t like revisiting those magical blasts from the past now, but I don’t see why she chose to make this omission. If I withheld details like that, she’d go off the broom handle. Annoying. She motions for Charlie and I to sit, and stands over us like a queen holding court.
“Lucy, what’s going on?” John asks. “These men won’t tell me anything.”
“We’ve come to take you home,” Mom answers evenly.
“But what about Cass? I know she’s here too, but they won’t let me see her.” He is seething, unaccustomed to not getting his way.
“Cassandra is no longer your concern,” Mr. Hollister answers in a monotone.
“Of course she’s my concern!” John pounds a fist on the table, but the goblin doesn’t flinch. “She’s my…” He pauses, unnerved at sharing something personal in such an absurd setting. “She’s about to be my wife.”
“That will no longer be happening.”
John tries to reach for the goblin’s throat but is still restrained. Through his clenched jaw, he growls, “How dare you? I do not take orders from you.”
“Certainly not, Mr. Mayor. But unfortunately for you, she does.” Mr. Hollister adjusts his button-down vest, picking at a piece of lint.
“What are you talking about?” John yells.
“I’m tired of all this!”
“John,” Mom says softly. “There’s something you should know.”
“What? What is it?” he cries, his anger turning into panic.
Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “Amber, tell him.”
Twenty-two eyes turn to me, but only two are filled with desperation, waiting for a revelation only I can give. Being a family friend, John knows all about the Sand talents. He’s passed by my matchmaker table countless times, and I’m sure Mom’s entertained him with stories of my early attempts at Cupidism. He knows what I can do, so I hope he knows I take no pleasure in delivering this kind of news.
I swallow hard. “Mr. Blitzman, I’m so sorry, but Cassandra is not your match.”
The room is so quiet I feel like my words are darts bouncing off the walls, pinging around until they lodge themselves in his heart.
“Are…are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m really sorry. I would’ve warned you earlier, but I didn’t know until Charlie showed me a picture of who you were dating; she didn’t line up with the woman I see in your future.” John breaks eye contact, staring at the floor. His fist loosens flat, anger releasing into a puddle. With a few words, I’ve managed to destroy the most powerful man in Chicago, my legacy as a heartbreaker confirmed. I love being right but not at the price of someone’s happiness. And anyway, am I really sure? Can I really say with 100 percent accuracy whether or not my matches are right? Until recently, I would’ve said yes without a doubt, but with the weirdness with Amani and all my drama with Charlie, who’s to say whether or not there’s a glitch in the system? This doesn’t seem like the right time to waver, though, and yet, I can’t let someone I care about wallow without hope. “There is someone waiting for you out there, Mr. B. I’ve seen her, the two of you, and you’re going to be so happy. Sunday brunches, trips to Paris, late-night movie sessions: you’ll have it all. I know it’s hard now, but something better, something you deserve, is just around the corner. It just won’t be with Cassandra.”
The Best Kind of Magic Page 20