Spells and Sandwiches, page 16
“Get away from it.”
He straightened, but kept his hand on the frame. “Why?”
“I have to fix it and you’re in the way.” My hand went around my back to unbutton the catch on the knife holster. I drew the knife—Daniel’s knife, I’d never think of it any other way—and leveled it at Berron. “Back up.”
His smile was sad. “I want to fix it, too.”
“Why should I believe a word you say? How much of it was lies? How many times did you put a spell on me?”
“It’s dying.”
The knife wobbled. “What’s dying?”
He nodded toward the Mirror.
“So? The Seal fails. You all escape. Hooray for the Gentry.”
Berron shook his head. “Not the Seal. What’s inside. Our home. The Fortress of Apples.”
The name brought back the taste of the wild apple we’d shared. And the one he’d given me on the day the restaurant was trashed. “Your home is dying?” I’d pegged him for being old money, that first day we’d met. But there was something else. Something hiding in plain sight all along. “Who are you?” I said. “Tell me the truth.”
He raised his hand, and gossamer gold strands circled him like the paths of orbiting satellites. When they faded, it was like scales had fallen from my eyes, and I saw clearly for the very first time.
He was still Berron—still tall; still with messy, longish dark hair; those mahogany irises—but his posture became straighter and his clothing had changed from beige-and-denim Columbia grad student to a Robin Hood-like outfit of deep green and brown, edged with gold. To top it all off, a gold crown shone on his dark locks.
When, in a sheepish movement, he resettled his hair behind his ears—I saw.
His ears were pointed.
He removed his glasses and chuckled softly. “I always forget about these.” He tossed them aside. They skittered across the slick floor. “Whatever else I said, my name is real. I am Berron, the Prince of the Gentry, and I am the only one of my kind to escape this prison.”
The door banged open.
Prospero dragged Victorine through, one arm around her neck, the point of his cane pressed to the soft flesh beneath her ribcage. “How convenient. We’re all here.”
I swung the knife to point at Prospero. “Let her go—”
“If you wish to see this one die before your eyes, keep talking. And you,” he added to Berron, “that goes for you as well.”
“What do I care if the Blessed murder one another?”
“Go ahead, Prospero,” Victorine said, her voice weakened by the arm around her neck, but still proud. “I am prepared to die. My death was foretold by the Arcade.”
“Your death was the price?” I said.
“What price? What are you talking about?” Prospero’s gaze darted from Berron to me. “Never mind. Close the Seal, Miss Hawkins. Make it permanent. We will deal with this stray later.”
Berron started toward Prospero. “I’ll kill you—”
“No!” I threw out an arm and he stopped. “Nobody dies.” I edged backward, closer and closer to the Mirror. “I’ve had enough of that for one day.” As I kept everyone’s attention I was pushing my awareness into the knife once again, just like I had in the restaurant. The golden magic of the Gentry pulsed in my fingers. All I had to do was give it a way in.
And then, I found it.
The knife handle remembered its roots in the forest. Gold vines grew from my hand to the knife, caressing it, wrapping it, and finally sinking into the surface.
Red, silver, and gold magic. And, finally, Jester’s glitter… that wasn’t glitter at all. It was pure luck, from a mouthful of stolen clover, that had become as much a part of him as his soft, floppy ears and his poofy tail.
I had all the magic, like Grandma, only a little something more. She had been right to create the Mirror Seal. But honoring those who came before you means living in the spirit of their actions, not copying them blindly.
My mom was right. I had to be open to new things.
I knew what I had to do—and somewhere within myself, I could hear her say: It’s the right choice, Zelda girl.
I smiled at Prospero. “I am going to give you a word of advice, my friend. Are you ready?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Run.”
Grandma had always encouraged me to let the magic in. So I did. With a smooth, kitchen-practiced swipe of the knife, I cut the weave of magic holding the Seal closed. The silver and gold magics split with a metallic twang and spun apart like cut yarn. To my surprise, the red magic already hung slack, as if it had been tugged loose, but the knife sliced through it just the same, severing it completely. The threads of magic blew outward from the mirror as if they were ribbons on an electric fan.
Prospero’s mouth opened in shock. As his restraining arm went slack, Victorine spun expertly out of his grasp, taking his cane with her as she did.
She stepped back to join me. “I think you’d better heed her advice.”
Prospero came back to himself. “The Gentry will kill you, too, Lady Victorine.”
Victorine held Prospero’s gaze and wordlessly held out the cane to Berron.
Berron took it, flipped it, grinned. “Maybe. But not before I get you first.” He stomped his foot.
Prospero flinched, then flung himself at the door, opened it, and ran.
The door swung shut behind him.
Victorine, Berron, and I eyed each other. Three points of a triangle.
Berron tossed the cane aside. It fell with a clatter. He knelt before me and took my free hand, the one not holding the enchanted knife. He cupped it reverently between his own hands, the same hands that had rebuilt the restaurant from scratch, now the hands that sent tendrils of Gentry magic around my fingers. “Thank you. I must leave now, but I promise—I will return.” He bowed his crowned head over my hand, then stood. He smiled a wicked smile and gave my hand a squeeze. “I have to return. I haven’t tried your sandwiches yet.”
There were so many things I wanted to say—questions, accusations, maybe even curse words—but the new Berron somehow scrambled my brain into a hum of crickets.
Maybe it was the magic.
Or maybe I liked him a little too much, in spite of myself.
Either way, he was gone through the Mirror before I could say a word. The multicolored magic shimmered, then subsided.
“Well, you’ve done it now,” said Victorine. She scooped up Prospero’s cane, spun it like a baton, and tucked it under her arm.
“You’re one to talk.” That red magic—it had been tampered with before I ever touched it. Only one of the Blessed could have done it. “You wanted this, didn’t you? You were steering me all along. You just couldn’t be seen to be doing it.”
Victorine tilted her head, looked at me as if I were a monkey doing an especially clever circus trick. “How outlandishly false.”
“What if I had done what he wanted me to? Locked the Seal forever? What would you have done then?”
Amusement played over her serene features. “If you are so full of curiosity, why have you not wondered about our compatriot?” She turned and walked toward the door.
“Oh, my God—James!” I holstered the knife and ran to catch up.
We found him sitting in the corridor. “About time you two showed up. It’s been a regular St. Patrick’s Day Parade out here.”
I knelt next to him. “The crowds, the fighting, or the drinking?”
“The first two. The last one starts now, I hope.” He used his shirt to dab at the cuts on his face.
I stood and offered my hand.
He took it and rose to his feet.
“What about the Mirror?” I said to Victorine. “Do we just leave it here? Now that it’s open?”
“Do you suggest taking it to go?”
I pictured the three of us wrestling it past the model ships. “Probably not.” Then I remembered Berron’s smile—the sad one, not the wicked one. A handsome Prince. A dying land. Even the name sounded like poetry: The Fortress of Apples.
The other side of the Mirror was calling to me.
“Zelda?” said James. “Earth to Zelda. Come in, Zelda.”
“Fine. It can stay. But I’m coming back,” I said. “This isn’t over.”
Victorine smoothed a piece of hair away from my face, an odd gesture coming from her, laced with something like affection. “It is never over.” She turned and led the way through the twisting corridors and back into the public area of the museum. Victorine paused, fished around in a pocket, and retrieved a roll of stickers. She peeled off three and stuck one on James’s lapel, one on my tank top, and one on her own blouse. The white letters “NY” over “HS” emblazoned the dark orange-brown sticker.
“Now you are official,” she said.
I poked at my sticker. “Do I get a discount at the gift shop?”
The final gallery was darker than the rest, the better to show off a large collection of lit Tiffany lamps. Dragonflies and daffodils, poppies and spiderwebs, glowed all around. In a way, they were a reflection of the paranormal world in all its messy glory: brilliantly colored, priceless, fragile, and—if knocked the wrong way—dangerously sharp.
A few steps more and we were outdoors, on the stairs facing busy Central Park West, and beyond it, the green trees of the park itself peeking over a stone wall.
Victorine stopped at the bottom of the steps. “James and I will return to Daniel. Where will you go now?”
The tree branches swayed in a sudden breeze. Even in the oppressive heat, the wind carried with it the promise of change. Time was passing. What was planted in the summer, ripened in the fall. I’d made an enemy. Saved a life. Kissed a Prince. Broken a Seal. All of those things would have their harvest.
Not to mention I still had a restaurant to finish.
But before I could take on the world, I needed to hold my true love in my arms. “I’m going home,” I said. “To my little black poodle.”
27
For the pre-opening party, I went with one of cousin Luella’s easier recipes—a gluten-free rustic pie crust, the kind that’s supposed to look freeform and messy. I tracked down the wild apple tree in Riverside Park and bagged as many of the little apples as I could find, then mixed the slices with plenty of sugar and cinnamon and hoped for the best. I didn’t consider myself to be much of a pastry chef, so the fact that the wild apple galette came out of the oven unburned deserved to be chalked up as a total triumph.
I set it aside to cool and prepared toffee sauce to drizzle on for serving.
The caramel sugar scent combined with the smell of ham browning at James’s station. He hummed a Nirvana song as the hot fat popped and sizzled.
“You really ought to update your playlist,” I said.
“Oh, yeah?” He didn’t take his eyes off the pan, carefully nudging the ham slices into even rows. “Well, the nineties called. They want your Doc Martens back.”
I made a fist and thumped it into my chest as if I’d been stabbed. “Call an ambulance. I’ve been mortally wounded.”
The bells on the door jangled. Georgiana and Jester dragged Poppy through the door like sled dogs without a sled. “It’s the ham,” she said, staggering inside. “I’m sure they’d be perfectly well-behaved otherwise.”
I wiped my hands and came around the counter. Technically, dogs were only allowed on the outside patios of New York City restaurants, but this was my private party, so to hell with the rules. “Hello, boy!” I buried my fingers in Jester’s thick head pouf and gave him his favorite scratches. He whipped his tongue at my hand in a determined and cheerful search for ham particles.
Poppy looked around. “Where shall we sit?”
“Anywhere you like.”
Poppy slid into a seat next to one of the tables, and Georgiana sat on the floor next to her. Georgiana’s tail swished back and forth over the tile, giving it one last polish before the rest of the guests arrived.
After one more pat for Jester, and a quick hand wash, I was back at it, assembling ingredients for the brunch sandwiches.
The bells barely had time to ring as my brother, Bruce, threw open the door. “I can’t believe you actually did it.” He strode inside, but stopped short when he saw Poppy. “Oh, hi, Poppy—didn’t know you were going to be here.” He ran his hand through his hair, then hurried to the bar stool farthest from the mind-reading fire witch.
“She’s my roommate and my friend,” I said. “And she’s minding the dogs. Where did you think she was going to be?”
Bruce held up his hands. “Cool your jets. I just—you know—when there’s a mind reader around, you want to have a minute to get your thoughts in order.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What are you afraid of?”
Color rose in his cheeks.
He’d been avoiding her before, too. And now he’d turned into a blushing schoolboy? “Wait,” I said. “Do you like her?”
The color turned brighter. “Just shut up, okay?”
“Okay, Romeo. Your secret’s safe with me. I think. Unless I accidentally imagine you in a Cupid costume and she reads my mind.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You can try.” I moved away to another kitchen section to chop vegetables for the Denver omelet sandwiches.
“Where’s Daniel?” Bruce added.
“I’m not sure if he’s coming. He hasn’t been out much.” It would have been more accurate to say at all. The recovery from conversion took time. I glanced up from the knife and bell pepper to catch Bruce’s expression, which was somewhere between distaste and concern. Distaste at what Daniel had become, certainly, but probably even more to do with the fact that I’d been the one responsible. I sighed and swept the bell pepper pieces off the knife. You couldn’t un-chop a vegetable, and you couldn’t de-convert a vampire.
Meanwhile, James’s humming had changed. I listened to a few bars, then threw a piece of green pepper at him. “No one said Soundgarden was an acceptable substitute.”
He dodged, laughing.
Lily entered the shop with a cheerful “Hello!” and a wave. “It smells so good, Aunt Zelda!”
I smiled. “Got a station all fixed up for you so we can make you a sandwich and breakfast potatoes. And your mom’s apple galette.”
Lily slid onto a stool next to Bruce to watch the prep.
There’s a rhythm to a working kitchen. Everything moves and rests at the right time. Your hands are reaching before you have to think of what’s next. Cutting, pouring, stirring. Ingredients hit hot pans and sing a melody of cooking. Then you’re gathering, assembling, bringing all the elements together until a harmonious plate appears like magic. It is magic. Especially when you set it in front of someone like an offering and they inhale with deep satisfaction.
The door rattled, but didn’t open.
Lily sprang up. “I’ll get that.” She hurried to the glass door and held it open for Victorine—
And Daniel.
Who was walking with the help of Prospero’s cane.
I’d walked through his door without a care in the world. Now he was walking through mine, a man I both knew and didn’t know. What was he? Who was he? I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as Victorine helped him sit.
He folded his hands over the grip of the cane and gazed at me. His eyes glowed red, of course, but that wasn’t even what struck me. His eyes were the eyes of a man who has recalibrated his entire being. Despite the fact that he looked weak—that he had to be helped to walk—he radiated power.
My heart beat faster. And when I realized he could tell my heart was beating faster, it beat faster still.
I was a mess.
I caught myself staring, broke the gaze to wipe my hands on my apron and hurriedly grab a chilled carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice and two glasses. I approached their table as if everything about this was completely ordinary. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“That’s quite all right,” said Victorine. She drew a silver flask and three tiny crystal goblets from her bag. How she carried them around without smashing them, I had no idea. “We brought our own.” With that, she unscrewed the top of the flask and poured a thick red liquid into the goblets.
A clang sounded behind me.
James had let the pan slip. His head turned toward their table, and his nostrils flared. The red in his eyes burned brighter.
Victorine spoke. “Kindly tell James to join us.”
I did as she asked.
James slid into an empty seat with barely concealed eagerness and accepted a glass.
Lily had swiveled around and was now watching. “What is that? Red wine?”
“Sagrantino,” Victorine said smoothly. “It is an Italian variety. The name derives from the Latin for ‘sacred.’”
“Can I try it?” said Lily.
“No!” I cleared my throat. “No, it’s aged in casks sealed with wheat flour.” I had no idea if that was true, but it could have been true.
Daniel raised his glass, caught my gaze again. “To Zelda.”
“Oh, no, let’s pick something else—”
“To Zelda,” he said firmly.
“To Zelda,” the other two echoed.
They drained their goblets. The “wine” stained their lips. Victorine’s tongue darted out, catching a last drop. Daniel, on the other hand, let the red stain sit. He smiled at me.
I thought I might pass out.
“What’s the matter, Zelda?” he asked. “Haven’t you had breakfast yet?”
No, I was not going to be intimidated by my newly terrifying yet still sexy vampire ex-boyfriend. “Sure I have. Didn’t you know? I eat men for breakfast.” I flicked my kitchen towel at him and swung my hips as I walked back to the kitchen. “Come on, James,” I called from my station. “We have a brunch to serve.”
James dipped his head to Victorine, who nodded her regal permission to return to his duties.
We finished the prep in relative peace as my friends and relations gave themselves a tour of the place and made small talk. Before long, I had the Denver omelet bagel sandwiches, breakfast potatoes, and ham plated and ready to serve. “All right, you miscreants, sit down.”
