The Fairest Kind of Love Read online

  “Um, forever? Since our parents had us do playdates in diapers?”

  “Right. Forever. Forever is a pretty long time, right?”

  I’m doing everything I can not to have major WTF face. “Yes . . .”

  “Some people are afraid of forever. But not me. I say, ‘Bring it on, Forever! I’m ready!’” He raises an imaginary sword into the air.

  “Charlie, what—” But I stop myself as a stabbing realization of where this could be heading solidifies. But no, he wouldn’t, would he? Charlie is so much more romantic than me, but he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—be proposing . . . right? I mean . . . no. No! We’re too young! We’re only eighteen! And while for some strange reason that means we’re legally adults, I know I am nowhere near being ready to be someone’s wife. WIFE. The word doesn’t sit right in my brain. I love Charlie, more than I love chocolate, but this cannot be happening. Not now . . . not yet. Oh Gods, now I’m clamming up, looking for the nearest trash can in case my spaghetti needs to make a reappearance.

  “We’re going to different schools next year,” he continues, a legit river of sweat trailing from his temple, “and while we’ll still be able to see each other lots, it’s going to be harder. We’ll both get busy with new classes, new routines, new people—”

  “New people?” No matter what changes are headed our way, Charlie needs to remain fully mine. The idea of him having fun without me adds additional stress to this already-uncomfortable exchange.

  I don’t know if he can sense my freak-out, but he shifts toward me, finally able to look me in the eye. I shake away the static as he rubs my cheek with his thumb, finding a sudden reserve of serenity. “I want you to know that no matter what, I’m committed to you.” As he reaches into his pocket, my heart beats so hard I worry it will rupture against my ribs. What is this boy thinking? He cannot be serious right now! I love him with all my heart but this—THIS—is just . . . AHHHHHH!

  He does, in fact, pull a small ring from his pocket, but before I can faint, he says, “I know what you’re thinking; this is not a proposal. That’d be crazy, right?”

  I can’t tell if I want to kiss him or punch him. “Oh my Gods, Charlie!” I sharply exhale. He chokes out a shaky laugh too, the pressure of the buildup subsiding.

  “I wanted to give you something—a symbol of how much I care about you.” He smiles. “I mean, I know I’m a pretty great boyfriend, but I’m not husband material yet.” I let out another stilted breath as he extends the ring, a simple silver band with tiny etched stars. I don’t wear much jewelry, but if I did, this is exactly something I would choose: understated with a hint of personality. I love it, and I love him for getting it right. “It’s a promise ring—a promise that I’ll always be thinking of you, and you’ll always be in my heart. I know things are messed up with your magic, and your visions for me are all confused, and while I know you’ll never stop worrying about it, I want you to know I’m not. Because I see us together. Forever.”

  I don’t even realize I’m crying until he slips the band over my right ring finger. Tears blur my vision as I whisper, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” His palms on my cheeks, he pulls me in, and we kiss to the soundtrack of circling zoo creatures, enveloped in the evening’s warmth.

  Charlie stops, dark green eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “Let’s go for a ride,” he says, nodding toward the carousel. “I call the dragon.”

  We run, hand in hand, laughing as we each choose a beast to carry us on the journey. With him perched on a dragon and me on a unicorn, we spin in circles, a flurry of lights and love. Charlie reaches across the ride to squeeze my hand, my new ring pressing into my skin. It feels good, solid—a promise I can touch and hold on to, regardless of what the Fates have in store. Never in the history of summer nights was there one as perfect as this; I want to live in this bliss forever.

  Which is why I decide right then and there to sign Roscoe’s contract and be done with my magical drama for good.

  I STORM INTO ROSCOE’S runes, appointment be damned. I Need my magic fixed and I need it now, and I’m hoping my form of payment will accelerate the process. Is giving a dark warlock a heaping scoop of the most powerful substance ever a terrible idea? Maybe. Who knows what kind of sick, twisted wish a dude like this could dream up? But based on how obsessed he is with collecting coveted objects, there’s no way he’ll be able to resist using it, and hopefully his consequence will be so colossal, no one will ever have to deal with him again. BOOM! YES! AMBER SAND FTW!

  Gripping my cookie box of fairy dust, I blow past the cases of perfectly lit horrors and start pounding on Roscoe’s office door. I get some stares from random customers perusing the selection of deadly snakes, but whatever. “Hello!” I shout, purchasing power giving me a boost of confidence. “I know you’re in there!”

  Roscoe’s feline assistant creeps up from behind, stealthy paws crushing the sneak-attack game. Frustrated that I’ve bypassed her precious scheduling system, she glares at me, furry ears flattening against her head.

  “Excuse me,” she hisses. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.” I keep my chin up, mirroring her high-and-mighty air. “But I have something Roscoe will want to see.”

  Her tail stands straight in anger, fur puffing up. “He’s very busy, I’m afraid. You’ll have to come back later.”

  “Too busy for this?” I pop open the box, and golden light bursts forth. Her amber eyes widen with wonder as she stumbles backward, grabbing the doorknob and disappearing into the office without a word. Looks like somebody has the golden ticket after all!

  Seconds later, Roscoe appears, wearing a different fedora-vest-distressed-jean combo, but still evoking the same douchebag vibe. His gaze goes straight to the box, and I swear a tear of joy rolls down his carefully groomed face. He reaches for it, like a tiny child grabbing for Santa Claus, but catches himself before his tattooed fingers brush the dust.

  “Amber!” he exclaims, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “What a remarkable find! However did you manage this?”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t matter how,” I say, invoking my inner badass. “It’s here, and I’m ready to make a deal.”

  He ushers me inside, shutting the door on Catwoman, much to her dismay. I sit on a royal-blue floor cushion, carefully setting my treasure at my feet.

  “I must say,” Roscoe begins with a laugh, keeping his eyes on his soon-to-be prize, “I’m quite impressed that someone as young, and, no offense, barely magical as you found fairy dust.” Considering the amount of drool on his chin, he really should be nicer to me. Nobody in this room has time for backhanded compliments. “I have been searching for dust for over a decade to no avail. Those fairies . . . they really keep a low profile.”

  “Yeah, well, not if you know where to look,” I throw back, enjoying my superiority.

  He waggles a knowing finger, checking himself. “You Sands . . . you are tricky!” He chuckles. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  No one really ever compares me to my mom, unless it’s in an “Oh, isn’t it sad Amber’s not a witch?” kind of way. I don’t mind it, though, especially since he’s musing on our dastardly tendencies, which I enjoy.

  “Anyway.” I shift, eager to get this done. “So, what’s the timeline here? I give you the fairy dust, and you bust out a cure?”

  He scratches his stubbly chin. “As I mentioned before, I’ll need to do some research. As I’m sure you’ve discovered, uncovering answers to uncommon questions can be difficult. I don’t want to give you an estimate and have it be wrong. It could be days, weeks. . . .”

  Weeks? “I’m not giving you fairy dust to have this go on for weeks. Maybe I should take my business elsewhere.” I start to stand, but he desperately lunges forward, pressing my legs back into the pillow.

  “No, no, no,” he says, lust in his eyes. “I’ll do everything I can. Put my best people on it, work myself around the clock. I will find you what you need.”

  I huff in agreement. It’s
not like I actually have other options. Convincing a fairy to grant me a wish has been like asking a troll to share a sandwich (just trust me, the struggle is the same), and even Mom, with all her magical connections and resources, has come up empty. I need this, just as much as he does. And this time, when he unfurls the shimmering scroll before me, I know this is truly the end of the line.

  I skim through the mystical verbiage, but even if I could read these words in their hyper-swirly font, I wouldn’t understand what they mean. I feel like Ariel, signing her voice away to a devious Ursula but ready to put everything on the line for what she wants. Before I can chicken out again, I sign on the dotted line. The parchment quivers with my acceptance, and Roscoe rolls it up tight, turning to me with predatory hunger.

  Yikes. Alarm bells rattle in my brain, but it’s too late now. I hand over the box, which he cradles like a bubble, not wanting it to burst. I can already see the wheels turning in his wicked head, cooking up what I’m sure will be a truly wretched wish. I just hope the Fates will check him with an equally brutal side effect in return. Of course with my luck, that’ll be the day they’re asleep on the job.

  Coming out of his lovestruck trance, he locks the cookie box away in his cabinet, securing the key on a leather cord around his neck. “I’ll send my assistant, Kasia, to check in with you from time to time,” he says. “She’ll keep you posted on my status.”

  Ugh, can’t he just text? I don’t want that whiskery woman following me around. “Sounds . . . great.”

  He leads me out to the showroom, pausing at a wall display with rows and rows of tiny glass vials that are filled with a dark, viscous liquid that can only be blood. I don’t even want to think about whose or what DNA is lining his pockets with cash. “Amber, before you go, I have to ask: Why didn’t you just use the dust yourself? Weren’t you tempted?”

  “Sure,” I admit, recalling how the barrels hypnotized me. I came really close to giving in, screwing it all just to find relief from this constant worry. But being with Charlie last night made me realize that while I want to feel secure in my matchmaking magic, I want my future more. Putting my fate in the tattooed hands of a creepy warlock may seem like an illogical choice, but it’s better than grappling with an unforeseen consequence that could completely alter who I am. I may be a mess, but it’s a mess I know and love. I don’t want anyone taking that away from me. “I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

  He smiles, the kind of grin that makes you wish you hadn’t. “Well, we all have limits on how far we’ll go.”

  I think of everything I’ve been through in the name of love. Hunting for leprechauns, chasing down goblins, battling against witches, tangling up with mermaids and werewolves. None of these adventures were for me, but I threw in my heart just the same, hoping for happily-ever-afters. Now I deserve closure too, and I think I’ve gone pretty damn far to get it.

  AFTER DEALING WITH THE dark magic scene, it feels straight-up comedic to head over to the carnival colors of Navy Pier. All the shops are having a summer sidewalk sale, which is hilarious and dumb because most stuff here is so overpriced that any savings received will just be eaten up by the hourly parking rate. It’s not like anyone casually meanders over to the pier in hopes of catching a sale or event; this place is a destination, so if you are here, it’s for a specific reason, and I can guarantee it’s not for discounted tchotchkes. Windy City Magic is contractually obligated to participate in things like this, though, so I’ve set up a table just outside the door with some of our less popular potions and knickknacks, including this sour-smelling incense that in no way embodies its “Natural Spring” namesake, and mood-sensitive lip balm that unfortunately turns most mouths blue. Bob has been manning this station for most of the morning, but it’s one of those rare summer days where it’s warm without being suffocatingly humid, so I’m taking a break from my still-busy matchmaking table to soak up some sun.

  “Hey, Nancy.” I wave at the vendor down the way. Our next-door neighbors are one of three “I Chicago” shops, selling T-shirts, backpacks, and anything that can be screen-printed with their namesake. The owner has set up their sale with a collection of Cubs, Bears, and Sears Tower snow globes (I don’t care if it’s called the Willis Tower now—Sears Tower forever). Nancy, an older woman who has always treated us like we have leprosy, scowls at me, turning the other direction. Cool. Her rude behavior makes me want to sacrifice a goat just to annoy her, because I’m sure she assumes that’s what we do.

  I rearrange my sad assortment of discount items for the tenth time, trying to make them more alluring, when Kim comes out to join me.

  “I’m bored.” She pouts, pulling at a unicorn necklace we sell that quickly became her favorite. I love unicorns forever, but I can’t seem to pull off that happy-rainbow vibe like she can. “What’s happening out here?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I sigh. “Nancy thinks we’re the devil incarnate.”

  “Right.” Kim attempts to throw a dirty look in Nancy’s direction, but it’s like a baby kitten trying to roar. I tuck my face into my shoulder to hide a laugh. “So, I was thinking of planning a sleepover at my house. A big girly explosion of snacks, movies, and makeovers. Sound fun?”

  She’s my friend, but I’m not even sure I would enjoy the party she’s describing. Except for the snacks: I’m always down for food. “Um, sure.”

  Kim claps her hands excitedly. “Yay! I know I wasn’t part of the fairy road trip, but it sounded pretty crazy. We could all use a good time. You’ll be in charge of desserts, obvs, and I’ll have Amani bring her makeup trunk. For the movies, should we go rom-coms or horror marathon?”

  Hard pass to both. “Let Amani pick.”

  “Perfect. And . . . should we invite Ivy?”

  Hmm. I wonder how that’d go down. Ivy used to force random bands of harpies to follow her around at school, but I don’t know if that devotion ever carried over outside Manchester Prep. Did she do sleepovers and “girl time”? I always pictured her sitting alone in a dark room, reciting satanic rituals and building her siren strength on the weekends, but I guess that’s not fair. Ms. I Chicago over there probably thinks the same thing about me. “Yeah, go for it.” I shrug.

  “Awesome. Do you think your mom will mind if I use some spare parchments to write down party plans?”

  “Nah—” I stop myself. “Well, just check there aren’t any symbols or scribbles in the corners. Sometimes she leaves really abstract notes that look like nothing but are her own little witch code.”

  “Got it! This is gonna be so fun!” She skips off, and once again I’m alone to observe a sea of strollers, shorts, and Slurpees. I space out, watching an infant repeatedly throw her pacifier on the sidewalk, her tired mother wiping it off every single time, when a hand waving in my face snaps me back to reality.

  Peter smiles down at me, kind and warm, back to his regular self. “Hey there.”

  “Oh! Hey, Peter. What are you doing here?” I’m glad the potion has him all perked up, but I didn’t expect him to come by the shop, like, ever.

  “Ivy told me I’d find you here. We were up all night talking.” He winces, pulling his shoulders back awkwardly. It must be really uncomfortable tucking wings into your pants. “She told me all about your shop, and I’m hoping you can give me a tour . . . show me what real magic looks like.” He smiles hopefully.

  While I’m not completely ready to forgive his past behavior, at least he’s trying. “Sure, why not?” I turn to my left. “Hey, Nancy, don’t steal anything while I’m gone, okay?” She waves dismissively. Ha, ha.

  The shop isn’t busy—it’s too beautiful to be indoors shopping—and happily the store is as presentable as it can possibly be. No children have knocked over our figurine display, and the Brew Your Own Potion station is relatively spill-free. I walk him around, showing the precious gemstones, bird feathers, and herbs, finishing with the gaudy selection of “authentic” witch hats (in that they were stitched by a witch, but witches don’t actually w
ear them). Kim waves cheerily as we pass by the register, but Peter looks more confused than impressed.

  “So, that’s it,” I say, propping my hands on my hips.

  The fairy’s sherbet eyebrows furrow. “But . . . there’s no bubbl-ing cauldron. No animal blood, no pentagons.”

  “Oh, we do have some pentagon charms over there.” I nod at our jewelry stand. “Were you in need of something bigger, or . . . ?”

  He shakes his head. “No, nothing like that, I . . . It’s all so different than I expected.”

  I click my tongue. “Yeah. You can’t believe every stereotype.” I fail to mention our giant cauldron at home, but that’s okay.

  “Everything is so bright . . . positive. I thought there’d be wizards dueling or werewolves scratching the place apart to get their paws on magic.” He self-consciously tucks his hands under his armpits.

  “Nah. The closest we ever get to something like that is when we have a fifty-percent-off sale.” I pause for him to laugh at my joke, but he’s not picking up what I’m putting down. “But seriously, we hardly ever have trouble. Most magical folks know how to handle themselves and are only looking for supplies for fun stuff. And if someone does cause a ruckus, we refuse service and Bob here kicks them to the curb.” I gesture to my mending magus friend as he lumbers by, looking incredibly menacing as he dusts the crystal balls.

  Peter coughs out a nervous laugh. “Are all magic shops like this?”

  “Do you mean, as awesome as this? Unfortunately no. There are those that will assist anyone, even those with less-than-righteous intentions.” I think of the pile of venomous scorpions crawling around at Roscoe’s Runes and try not to shudder. “But honestly? Those shops are so few, because they are scary as hell and most magical people don’t want to deal with that scene.”

  He considers this, head swirling with questions. “I am pleasantly surprised. By all of this.” Walking around some more, comfort levels rising, he asks, “Do you have the ingredients for that potion you gave me?”