Spells and Sandwiches, page 11
“How lovely.” Poppy gave a wistful sigh. “I hope I shall get to meet them all.”
“Lily’s right here, of course, at NYU. And Bruce is in D.C. But the rest of them are pretty firmly rooted in Florida.”
We approached the New-York Historical Society, which faced Central Park and stood in the shadow of the more well-known American Museum of Natural History. A knock at the side door brought the sound of steps in heels.
The door opened.
A curator in a tailored black skirt suit and white blouse gestured us in, then led the way without another word. Her neatly pinned hair reflected the hallway spotlights. We followed her, turn after turn, like mice in a maze, until we came to a second door.
She opened the door and stepped back. “You have one hour.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Poppy dropped a tiny curtsy.
We entered.
The Mirror Seal hung by itself on one of the gray walls. It was a full-length mirror, but larger than average—not just taller, but wider, too. Carved branches, leaves, and flowers adorned the ornate wood frame. Small marble birds nestled in the nooks. Sparkling crystals made it seem as if the whole frame was covered in pinpoint stars. The silvery mirror glass looked like frozen waves—so fogged and distorted I could hardly tell if I was looking at my reflection or something on the other side of the mirror.
Without thinking, I reached for it.
“Wait.” Poppy lit a handful of fire and swept it over the surface without making actual contact. Fiery, fractured reflections lit up the glass. “You never know with these old things. It could be booby-trapped.”
“How can you tell if it is?”
“You can’t, necessarily.” Her tongue poked out of her lip as she concentrated. Then she withdrew. “I think it’s okay.”
“It’s not going to explode?”
“Probably not.”
I examined the glass more closely. There, along the trough of one of the waves, was a hairline crack. It extended from the top right corner of the mirror to the bottom left, like a wiggly slash. “It’s cracked, all right. See this?”
Poppy came closer.
“This is what I’m supposed to fix.”
“Oh, I see.” She paused. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”
“Good question. Can you lend me your fire magic again?”
She held out her hands.
I took them. Warmth bathed my arms like I’d placed them under a heat lamp. The Mirror Seal reflected the silver fire magic as it crackled over my hands and crawled up my wrists like a traveling flame. It settled into thin, lacelike patterns, as if I’d put on opera-length gloves of silver netting. “Thank you.” With Poppy’s magic, I could see the silver enchantment woven throughout the mirror. But at the hairline crack, where I expected to see it unraveled, it was intact. I pointed to the crack. “Are you seeing the same thing, here?”
“Hmm… glass is cracked… but the magic is—not,” she said.
“If the witch magic isn’t broken, what is? The magic of the Blessed, or the Gentry?”
“Must be the Gentry. They’re the ones who’d be trying to break free. Right?”
“Right.” The Blessed wanted to lock them in, not let them out. “So how do I fix the crack without the Gentry?”
Poppy clapped her hands. “It’s a catch-22! You can’t fix the crack without the Gentry, but the Gentry are still locked inside.”
“Rats.” I ran my hands over the frame again. The carved birds were so lifelike they looked like they might startle and take wing at my touch. I felt each detail carefully, hoping to find some clue. “Maybe I can strengthen the other magic to compensate.” I would need to come fully empowered with Victorine’s magic to try that.
Poppy brought her face close to the mirror’s surface. “I wonder what it’s like behind there. If it just shattered, would they all come galloping through on great big white horses?”
“What makes you think they have horses?”
“They’re supposed to be close to nature, aren’t they? All that frolicking in the woods and such—well, when they weren’t killing the Blessed with beautifully carved handmade stakes.”
“I’m sure I’d feel much better about being stabbed if the stake were beautifully carved.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“I mean, I like being a witch,” Poppy said, “but the Blessed and the Gentry have style.”
“Witches have style, don’t they?”
She regarded herself in the fogged mirror. “Look at me. I’m a trainwreck of boringness. Where’s my high-collared cape? My mouse-skin slippers? My cobweb coronet?”
I made a face. “Mouse-skin slippers?”
“You know what I mean.”
I stood next to her so that we both fit into the distorted reflection. “I’m not sure I do. I’ve been wearing the same denim and black combination for decades because it works.”
“Don’t you have any romance in your soul?”
“Poppy, the only romance in my soul is for good food and my dog.”
“You’re impossible. What about the ex-boyfriend who sent you that honking big knife?”
“Daniel?” I laughed. “That’s not romance. That’s mutual fascination bookended by dangerous levels of hormones.”
“That’d do for me,” Poppy said. “You know, when you think of him, he has this really smolder-y look—”
I cleared my throat.
“Back to business. Right you are.”
I moved closer to the mirror. Raised my right hand, rested it on the wooden frame. My eyes closed. I gently ran my fingers over the warm wood and the cool marble birds. My thumb grazed a dewdrop crystal. For something meant to serve as a seal, it had been made with a surprising amount of beauty and care.
“Is that your gran?” Poppy said.
My eyes flew open. “What?”
“The mirror—when you were touching it, I saw a woman who looked like you. Tall, broad-shouldered. Same eyes.”
I peered at the wavy reflection of my face. “But I wasn’t picturing her at all…” I tentatively put my hand back on the frame.
“There she is again!”
This time, I kept my hand in place.
Poppy closed her eyes. “I see her. She’s at the mirror with a bunch of other people. They’re taking her hands. One of them is a woman, very fancy, with white hair. Something’s happening—oh!—it’s like your magic, Zelda. And now she’s facing the mirror alone. There are strings of magic; it’s like she’s braiding them up together and they’re sinking into the mirror. The mirror is shining all over, different colors: red, silver, gold. Quite pretty really. And now… oh, now it’s gone.”
Red, silver, gold. The Blessed, the witches, the Gentry. The magic should have been all I could think about. Instead, I saw a different braid: a sweet braided bread filled with cinnamon, apples, butter, and sugar. How Grandma cleared a counter to lay out the dough. How she helped me add the filling down the middle. How her hands guided mine to braid the strips together. How she steadied the knife to cut slices when it finally cooled.
Ingredients. Instructions.
A recipe.
Now I just had to find one for mixing three magics.
19
After examining the Mirror Seal, I hustled to the restaurant. Daniel was coming, and I wanted to make sure everything was looking at least halfway to gorgeous. I certainly wasn’t going to leave Berron to do it without me.
The glass door swung open with its familiar bells, and Berron popped up from behind the glass case. “You’re in earlier than I thought you’d be.”
I grabbed a smock and tied it on. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all. In fact, it worked out for the best. Here,” he said, handing me an insulated paper cup.
“What’s this?” I sniffed. “Oh! Coffee. Perfect.”
He picked up a second cup. “You told me you were looking for a good house blend for the shop, so I’ve been taste-testing my way through the Upper West Side.”
“I had you down as more of a cappuccino guy.”
“Nah. Good coffee is good coffee, no matter how you take it.” He leaned against the counter. “This cup—this cup right here—is unlike any other that ever has been or will be. How much sunlight touched the leaves? How much rain fell? What breeze shook this plant that didn’t shake the one down the hillside? All those conditions are gone. They’ll never be exactly the same again. Drinking coffee is like tasting time itself.”
I peered into the cup. Berron had a weird way of looking at things, but he wasn’t wrong. I’d often thought the same thing about summer fruits like tomatoes and strawberries. “Drinkable time, huh? But how does it taste?”
“Let’s find out.” He held his cup aloft. “To coffee.”
“To coffee.” Maybe it was his words playing tricks on my mind, but when I drank it I could taste cool mountain air, soft clean rain, even humble dirt. It was mellow and rich and rolled gently over the tongue.
A spark of profound satisfaction lit his eyes, and for several moments too long, I couldn’t look away. They were mesmerizing. True mahogany fringed with black lashes.
My cheeks felt warm. Too much hot coffee at one go. I put the cup aside and got to work, fixing and scrubbing and polishing until I heard the bells jangle once again.
Someone had entered the shop.
I wiped my forehead and glanced up from where I’d been attacking a stubborn stain on the tile.
I saw the shoes first: shaped and polished leather providing a landing for the hem of tailored pants. The sweep of fabric upward to a belted waist. Pearly buttons north to a crisp collar. Stubbled jawline.
“Daniel!” I clambered up from the floor and threw my sweaty arms around him. “Thank you so much for the knife. It’s gorgeous.”
He returned the hug, and his spicy cologne momentarily blotted out the shop’s scent of dust and cleaner. “You’re not still mad at me?”
“Of course I’m still mad at you. That way, you’ll have to keep making it up to me.” I released him and faced Berron. “Berron, this is Daniel, my—friend. Daniel, Berron is from Columbia. He’s part of a program that’s helping me restore the shop.”
Berron held out his hand. “Any friend of Zelda’s is a friend of mine.”
Daniel returned the handshake with what looked like slightly more force than necessary. “Likewise.”
Like a lightning flash, the sun bounced off a passing car and flickered over the two of them. Standing there, face to face, they were like dueling sculptures. Daniel, solid and polished, composed, at ease in the world and confident of his power in it. Berron, tall and graceful, gently scruffy, comfortable with hard work yet philosophical about coffee beans.
Berron picked up his coffee and took a sip. His gaze rested steadily on Daniel. “Did you come here to help?” he asked, with polite-sounding curiosity.
Daniel, who was rarely caught off-guard by anything, hardly hesitated. “I would be glad to help.”
“You’re not really dressed for it, though,” I said.
“Sure I am.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves, eyeing Berron the whole time.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked.
“I’ll be late.” He loosened his tie, pulled it off, then draped it around my neck. “Here. Looks better on you than it does on me.”
I laughed and snapped it at him like a whip.
Berron set down his coffee and flexed his hands. “Why don’t we start by getting that broken equipment out to the street?”
“Let’s do it,” Daniel said.
While the gentlemen wrestled refrigerators to the curb, I busied myself with the glass display case. I wasn’t going to let it be hauled away, not yet, not before I’d at least made an attempt to salvage it. I’d fixed things before by taking them apart, cleaning them up, and putting them back together. If I got lucky, Grandma’s vintage case would carry on its proud role in the newly opened shop.
I couldn’t help looking up every now and again as they passed by. Even the way they carried a heavy load was different. Daniel carried weight like a longtime gym member: with strength, concentration, and control. Berron, on the other hand, lifted like a ballerina’s partner—you never saw the effort.
I hadn’t meant to rope Daniel in at all, but I could have guessed that Daniel wouldn’t turn down a challenge, even if it was delivered as inadvertently as Berron’s innocent question.
I peeked out from behind the glass case. Now they were outside, laughing it up over something. Daniel was punching Berron in the arm in a friendly way. Berron faked a wrestling move where he threw a knee to Daniel’s chest.
They were coming back. I withdrew behind the case again.
Their energy filled the shop as clearly as the sound of the bells when they came through the door.
“You didn’t tell me this guy made custom furniture,” Daniel said.
“It’s just a hobby, really—”
“Look at this.” Daniel took out his phone. “These are from the workshop he moonlights for.” He displayed a website with pictures of tables made with rich, glossy wood in a variety of colors and grains.
Berron shrugged, with an almost guilty look.
“You’ve got to make me a coffee table,” Daniel added as he scrolled through more pictures.
“He’s making me a bar,” I said. “And tabletops.”
“Wow, Zelda, how do you get so lucky? You got a four-leaf clover tattooed somewhere I haven’t seen?”
Somewhere he hadn’t seen? Oh, now he was trying to push Berron’s buttons. Not with my imaginary tattoo as a prop, he wouldn’t. “No. But maybe I’ll get one. Where should I put it, Berron?”
Berron spoke to me but aimed a lazy smile at Daniel first. “I think your shoulder would be an excellent canvas.”
Why was my weird brain generating a startlingly vivid image of Berron tracing the art onto my skin? I shook my head and took a deep breath.
“I should be going,” Daniel said.
“Wait—” I hurried behind the counter and retrieved the gift box. “I promised I’d try it out for you. Only…” I looked around for something to cut.
Berron rummaged in his bag. “How about this?” He held out a small, shiny green apple with blushing patches of pink.
I took the apple and cupped it in my hand. It was barely larger than a golf ball. “It’s perfect. And so small! Where did you get this?”
“I picked it last night.”
“You picked it?”
Daniel, out of Berron’s line of sight, rolled his eyes.
“Found an old tree growing wild in Riverside Park. Not far from where we were the other day, actually. I’ll take you there sometime, if you like.”
Daniel removed the lid of the box, took out the knife, and laid it on the counter. “Let’s see what this will do, shall we?”
I reached for the knife, then drew back. “Let me find something to put under it.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Berron reopened his bag and pulled out a wooden cutting board with contrasting stripes of wood. “I threw this together. Thought you might like it.”
Daniel’s ears turned a shade of pink that matched the apple.
“I love it!” Then I winked at Daniel. “Let’s try them both out.” With the apple, the knife, and the board rinsed and dried, I took the knife in hand. One smooth slice removed one curved side—the knife was as sharp as it looked. Laying the apple on the newly flat side presented another curved side. A cut, a turn, another cut and a turn, and I had all four sides of the apple. After setting the core aside, it was quick work to cut each piece into even slices.
Daniel and Berron went quiet as they stood and watched.
“See?” I said, holding out the board with a neat array of apple slices. “The knife and the cutting board work together. The board provides a stable landing that won’t dull the blade.” I set down the board, plucked two slices, and playfully presented one to each of them. “Enjoy the fruits of your labors. I certainly do.” With that, I grabbed a slice for myself and crunched down.
They bit into their slices, and the scent of apple swirled between us.
Sweet.
Tart.
Wild.
Nothing had ever tasted this good.
20
Poppy galloped out of the kitchen as soon as I came home. Georgiana trotted happily beside her. “Zelda! We have a guest!”
I dropped my bag, then quickly scooped it back up before Jester decided to use it as a chew toy. “A guest?” Down the hall, I spied a swirl of black followed by a leaping Jester.
The swirl of black belonged to a long black coat. “Can someone contain this poodle, please?” said James.
I hurried to the kitchen as he dodged Jester’s enthusiastic jumps. Jester seemed to think it was a grand game. “Jester, off. Jester, sit. Jester! Sorry about this,” I added to James. “He’s a nut.” I grabbed the dog mid-leap and scooped him into my arms. “What are you doing here? Is it—safe for you to be out?”
James pushed his dark sunglasses back and grinned. “Safe is overrated.”
“Is that so?” Poppy tilted her head. “Then why are you imagining being stabbed to death by a bunch of people wearing black?”
His mouth fell open.
I shot her a look. “Poppy!”
“Sorry! Would you like some tea, James?”
“Tea?”
“Yes, tea. Lovely stuff. You drink it?” She mimed the action with her little finger sticking out.
“She reads minds,” I said to James.
He edged toward the hall. “I should go.”
“No, please, do stay,” said Poppy. “I’ll concentrate on the dogs. They don’t mind.” She gave Georgiana an affectionate pat. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
James tucked his sunglasses into an inside pocket, and gave a philosophical shrug. “It’s here or Victorine’s.”
The three of us slid into seats.
“You’re not actually roaming the streets,” I said.
