The Fairest Kind of Love Page 16

  I shrug. “Um, I’m sure they’re scattered around. Mom was the one who made it, though, and she brewed it at home.”

  “I was just thinking . . . it may be good to have some extra, in case the pain returns,” Peter says cautiously.

  “Are your wings okay?”

  “Oh, yes, they’re great,” he says, glancing around. He awkwardly reaches back to touch the tops of his concealed wings, a skittish smile crossing his lips. “I’m just being overly cautious.”

  “I don’t exactly have the recipe, nor the ability, to make another batch. But you could grab some of our premixed tonics.” I guide him to a small refrigerator near the back, which contains several five-ounce bottles of easy remedies for headaches, cramps, stuff like that. There’s nothing in them that has to be refrigerated, and the magical contents are very small, but they taste better cold. “Let’s see . . . maybe an Aches and Pains tonic? I’ve used this before. It’s kind of like drinking an Epsom salt bath.”

  Peter’s eyes grow wide with wonder as he reads through all the labels: Mood Booster, Instant Nap, Heartburn-Be-Gone. He’s unusually excited to see the wide variety, like a kid in a toy store. But I guess if you’ve gone your whole life without any magic, anything and everything seems amazing.

  “I’ll take one of each,” he announces, swinging open the door. He enthusiastically grabs every flavor, proudly carrying them to the register.

  “Did you find everything you were looking for?” Kim chimes, ringing up his purchase.

  “Yes, thank you,” he says, eyeing the small add-ons cluttering the counter. “I’ll take one of these too.” He grabs a tin of magic mints. “And this.” Permanently Trimmed Toenail juice. “And why not this too!” Vampire sunscreen. Weird choice. All in all, he walks away with twenty-five magical concoctions, a veritable magic starter kit. Excitedly, he grabs his bag and dashes out the door, barely remembering to wish us good-bye before disappearing into the summer day.

  “Well, that was one satisfied customer,” Kim says.

  “Yeah. I never would’ve guessed.”

  “AMBER: TRUTH OR DARE?”

  I fill my mouth with M&M’s, giving myself a few more seconds to choose which is the lesser of two evils. Why is a game where you have to either share your innermost secrets or be forced to perform ridiculous feats of bravery a thing? Sigh. Maybe this is why I avoided group sleepovers my entire life—that, and the complete lack of invites, I guess. But staying at Amani’s while her brothers went bonkers in the background was more civilized than this.

  “Dare, I guess,” I finally answer to the groans of the group. “What?”

  “You can’t keep picking dares,” Kim sternly informs me, arms crossed over her lavender sleep tank. She worked really hard planning this event, making sure the menu, activities, and even candle fragrances would all blend in one cohesive night of magical memories, and right now, I’m not playing into her vision. Hell hath no fury like a party planner scorned! “Eventually you have to pick truth.”

  “That’s not a thing. I demand to see a rule book.”

  Amani glares at me from the other side of the circle, giving me her patented “Amber, stop being annoying” face. Man, I will really miss this expression when she leaves for college. How will I know when I’m being the worst?

  “Ugh, fine!” I throw my hands up. “TRUTH.”

  Kim churns up the most mischievous look I’ve ever seen her conjure, and I’m frightened of what’s about to come out of her mouth. “What is the most romantic thing Charlie’s ever done for you?” Oh. There was a time when hearing his name from her lips would’ve put me into a tailspin, and even though we’re past that drama, I’m still not the most comfortable sharing the private details of my relationship with anyone but Amani. You’d think that someone who’s spent her years creeping on other people’s love lives would make me more open, but no. My BFF and our hostess stare at me expectantly, as possible answers swirl through my head, each more precious than the last.

  I spin the silver band on my ring finger; that was definitely a top-five romantic moment for sure, but honestly, the memory that makes my heart grow three sizes is less obvious, a little moment that meant so much. Back when I was waiting to hear from the Culinary Institute, my impatience was mounting (shocking, I know). Every day I waited by the front window for mail delivery, practically flinging myself down three sets of stairs the second the mail carrier left, falling into a pit of despair every time there wasn’t a letter for me. Eventually the deadline for acceptance passed, and my lack of correspondence resulted in assuming I’d been rejected, a theory I took really well.

  One afternoon, I was perched in my regular stalker spot (because my foolish heart would not let go), when Charlie roller-skated—yes, roller-skated—into my line of sight. He waved up at me, an additional pair of skates dangling around his neck. He forced me out of my apartment before the mail arrived, and we skated around the Wicker Park neighborhood, falling over every crack in the sidewalk, since neither of us are athletically gifted, but also laughing at how dumb we probably looked. I don’t know where he got those skates, or even how he pried me from my post, but for a few hours, he made my worries skate away and gave me my first chance to smile in weeks. When we returned, there was an acceptance letter in my mailbox, and I’m still convinced his magic made it happen.

  It’s silly, maybe, but it feels like the most quintessential Charlie moment. Still, it’s not as flashy as the promise-ring thing, so I go with that. The girls eat it up, responding with a chorus of “Aww!”s meaning it’s my turn to exact pain.

  “Kim: truth or dare?”

  She sits up straight on her giant fluffy floor pillow, dark hair falling down her back. “Dare.”

  “What? How come she can choose dare again but not me?” I ask.

  Amani throws a handful of popcorn at me. “Stop being such a baby!” She laughs.

  “Fine!” I fake-pout, shaking a kernel out of my peacock hair. “Um . . . I dare you to stick an entire cupcake in your mouth at once.” Weak, I know, but whatever.

  She grabs for my plate of honey-butterscotch cupcakes, choosing the one with the most frosting (respect). “With pleasure.” She smiles, cramming the whole thing in, impressive not only because her mouth is not exactly large, but also my cupcakes are crazy dense. We applaud her effort, and when she finally manages to swallow all that sugar, she turns back to me. “Amber: truth or dare?”

  Ugh! “Why me again?!”

  “Because it’s fun to torture you.”

  I release a deep groan to the heavens. “Truth, apparently.”

  With a twinkle in her eyes, she asks, “Do you think Charlie is your match?”

  The room goes silent, and I almost choke on the brownie I’m chewing. Amani’s face looks like someone just pulled a fire alarm. It’s an emotionally loaded question coming from her, and I’m doing mental gymnastics trying to decide whether she’s trying to be evil or what. Kim’s a sweet person; I doubt she’d purposely do anything to make me feel bad. Yet she knows about everything I’m going through with the matchmaker biz. I’ve put a lot on the line to have this mystery solved, hoping to find out once and for all if I could text Charlie to say, “Hey, guess what? We’re meant to be!” or “It’s over; forget I ever existed.” Now I’m waiting for a warlock to brew up answers, and there’s not a second that goes by where I’m not obsessing about it. Finally, I yell out, “Not sure!” and dash into Kim’s kitchen.

  Seconds later, Amani has a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just . . . A lot of sharing back there.”

  “Pretty sure Kim wasn’t trying to give you an aneurysm,” she says. “You doing okay with all this matchmaker stuff? I know you were hoping Jane would be more help, and the dust turned out to be a bust.”

  My lip trembles against my will. “Yeah, I . . . did something.”

  Amani raises a brow. “Something bad?”

  “It depends on your definition of bad.”

  “Le
t’s go with the traditional one.”

  “Okay, then probably yes,” I admit. There’s no way she’ll let me off the hook with this, but there’s also no way I can keep my deal with Roscoe a secret. “I signed the contract.”

  For a second, she freezes, locked in a stare somewhere between disappointment and disgust. “You . . . what?”

  I look around the kitchen, making sure there are no hard objects within arm’s reach that she can hit me with. “Listen, okay? I know he’s gross, and I know we agreed to find another way. But there isn’t. Every lead has turned cold, every option exhausted. Mom can’t help, the fairies won’t help, and the Fates are jerks who won’t even give you a vision of me to relay. There’s literally nothing else I can do.”

  She chomps on a chip, irritation sounding in each crunch. “Does Charlie know about this?”

  “Yeah, I told him.” That was a fun chat. Though I couldn’t tell if he was more disturbed with me signing a deal with a dark warlock, or that I was in the vicinity of dragon eggs with-out him.

  Her hands fly up in frustration. “Well, it’s done. Can’t go back now. Do you really think he’ll be able to help you?”

  What does she want me to say? Obviously my answer is yes, or I wouldn’t have gone through with it at all. “Gods, I hope so! I just want some answers.”

  “Like if Charlie is your match?”

  “Yes! I mean, sure. That would be great. I’ve been dying to know my match ever since my powers became a thing. But honestly at this point, it’s more than that. Yes, I want to know my fate with Charlie, but I want to know my fate with myself. If my magic is drying up, what does that mean? Who will I even be? Will I just turn into someone boring and normal?”

  Amani pinches her lips together in a tight smile. “I hate to break it you, but you’ll never be normal.”

  “I AM TRYING TO DROP TRUTHS HERE!”

  She laughs. “I know, I’m sorry. But this Roscoe stuff makes me nervous! I want you to be happy and whole, I just hate that it’s come to this.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly psyched about it either.”

  My best friend leans back on the counter, staring at an impressive collection of copper pots hanging from the ceiling. “So now we wait to see what’s next?” I nod. “Okay. Let’s talk about something else, or I’m gonna go crazy thinking about it. What do you think the chances of my parents letting me take their old Camaro to U of I are?”

  Bless my BFF for her solid subject change. “Um, zero? Negative zero? Isn’t that their datemobile?”

  She makes a blech sound, sticking out her tongue. “Yes, yuck. But it hardly ever gets used, especially compared to the swagger wagon. And how will I ever get around Champaign without a car!? It’s not like they have a CTA!”

  I stroke an imaginary beard. “Hmm, yes, sounds like you haven’t really thought this through. Guess you’ll just have to transfer to the Chicago campus.”

  But she will not be deterred. “No, no. Being a precog means nothing in my life has been normal, and I want to do the typical college thing. Join a sorority, live in a dorm, learn how to do a keg stand . . . you know.”

  I sigh. “Kids these days.” My phone buzzes with a notification. “Speaking of which . . . looks like Jane and Rose are back at it with a new Matchmaking Magic! video.” We pull up their latest episode, and I can’t stop smiling thinking about scowly Rose under all that Madame L’Amour makeup. It’s really impressive how she’s able to slide into this happy, bubbly personality, when her reality could not be more different. But I’m glad she’s keeping Jane busy; it must be strange for her not having her brother around. Finding love is magic. . . .

  The doorbell rings, and we hear Kim welcoming another guest. Shortly after, Ivy comes waltzing in, all short-shorts and bunny slippers.

  “Sorry I’m late, all,” she says breezily, scanning the snack table. “I got caught up with Peter.”

  Kim makes a kissy face with accompanying smoochy sounds, much to my dismay.

  “No, it’s not that,” Ivy says, though a sly smile betrays her statement. “Okay, it was a little of that.” Amani pretends to vomit. “We’re just getting to know each other better. He’s . . . different than he was on the farm.”

  “Different how?” I hand her a cupcake to coax her further.

  “Like, I don’t know. I guess I haven’t spent a lot of time actually talking to boys, so whatever, maybe my view is a little skewed, but Peter definitely has a lot going on. He’s kind of a handful.” She pauses. “Not like that.”

  Color drains from Kim’s face. “I may need to leave this conversation.”

  “Ivy, cut the innuendo and tell us what’s up,” I demand.

  “It’s hard to explain. When we met, it was under the weirdest of circumstances, right? I was on my deathbed, and clearly he was in some sort of mental prison. In the past couple days, there have been lots of emotional highs and lows. Now I guess he’s on some kind of journey to find himself?” She grabs a handful of popcorn, shrugging. “All I can say is, it was much easier to just love ’em and leave ’em. Who knew boys were so high-maintenance?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s what’s known as personal growth,” I say, gesturing to Exhibit Ivy.

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Enough about dumb boys. Anyone want to make voodoo dolls?”

  I laugh, never expecting the sleepover activity I’d be most interested in would be suggested by my former nemesis. Ivy starts unpacking an impressive collection of doll-making supplies as Kim pulls me off to the side.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” she half whispers. “I didn’t mean to upset you with the match thing; I was just curious. I ship you two hard-core.”

  I wrap my arms around my friend. “Don’t worry about it.”

  From my embrace, she mumbles, “Do you think Peter’s okay?”

  “With Ivy? No one’s safe.”

  “No, I mean, what she was describing, about him being really emotional. Obviously I didn’t know him before, but based on what you all told me, his Windy City shopping spree seemed kinda weird.”

  “I guess.” I shrug. “He’s living in a whole new world now, and I’m sure it’s a lot to process. Plus he’s dating Ivy, which is basically like living in a real-life horror movie. Don’t worry too much; he’s staying with Charlie, so the Bliztmans are keeping an eye on him. John’s pretty tough. . . . I wouldn’t want to mess with him.” Kim smiles at this. “But for now, who in your life deserves to be a voodoo doll?”

  “I could think of a few people,” she says with a giggle.

  “Only a few?” I laugh. “You are so precious.”

  IT’S BEEN A FEW weeks, and nothing cataclysmic has gone down of late, except for the fact that I’ve received ZERO information from Roscoe. I know he said it may take a while, but this is pretty ridiculous. He also said Kasia would be touching base, and while I’d be happy to never see her kitty-cat face ever again, it would be helpful if she’d at least give me a status update. More than once I’ve started the trek to his store, only to turn around in a huff. To keep my antsy brain occupied, I’ve picked up some extra shifts at the Black Phoenix, because what’s better than serving goblins and witches deep-fried beetle shells and scalding-hot bat soup? My Summer of Sloth has turned into anything but, and I. Am. Over. It.

  After tying on my apron, I disappear into the kitchen, which is loud and busy prepping for dinner. Cooks run back and forth, yelling at each other and clanging pots with more force than necessary. The scent of simmering butter and searing flesh invades my nasal passages, and I’m instantly treated to an extremely close view of a bowl full of squirming earthworms. Great, just what I wanted. Time to make some creepy desserts, I guess.

  “Hey, Amber, good to see you.” Marcus waves from the corner of the room. He looks content, somehow calm with all the clamor around him, and it makes my heart pinch in happiness. His romantic feelings for me have cooled since last winter, and we’ve settled into a comfortable friendship. I’m so g
lad. Besides Ella, he’s one of the only people who gets my food geekiness, and I didn’t want to lose him from my life. Charlie and I have even double-dated with him and his new girlfriend, Hazel, who I am mildly convinced is his match, even if my visions are making it hard to tell.

  I make my way through the commotion, excited to see my culinary companion. “Hey! Oh! Were you able to get that strawberry huller I was hoping for?” I ask. “I was thinking I could use it to extract fish eyeballs before I whip up my under-the-sea dessert soufflé.”

  Marcus laughs, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s what you wanted that for?” He pulls the gadget from a drawer of infrequently used tools. “Man, your professors are really going to love you.”

  “You know, you’re not the first person to say that to me, and I’m starting to develop a complex about it.”

  He smiles, toothy and bright, as he starts to season an iron skillet. “No, it’s just . . . there’s a lot of people at CCI who try making weird stuff just to prove they’re some kind of food wizards or something.” He frowns. “Not actual wizards, you know, but like, innovative. Provocateurs. People trying to be edgy for the sake of it. But you are genuinely psyched to do new stuff just to see if it tastes good. Kitchens need that kind of heart.” He nudges me with a spatula, and I can’t help but blush.

  “Sheesh. Thanks, Chef. I can’t wait to start.”

  “Well, you can go crazy by breaking open that pile of pomegranates over there. I hate tearing into those things.”

  “On it!” I give a small salute, though I agree that pomegranates are super annoying and not entirely worth the struggle of stripping all those seeds. Whoever decided this should be deemed a “superfood” and in turn increased its popularity should be forced to cut into one of these messy beasts every hour on the hour.

  Soon enough, I fall back into the kitchen rhythm, recalling the menu items and uncommon special requests, weaving in and out of the furious chopping, drizzling, and plating. I’m totally in the zone, artfully placing tiny rose apples on top of a caramelized vulture breast, when Alessandra, Black Phoenix’s hostess, pokes her elegant sphinx self in behind the scenes.