The Fairest Kind of Love Page 21

  “Amber?” Her jaw drops in relief. “Amber! Oh my Gods! Charlie called me. Everyone is freaking out! Are you okay?”

  I shake my head again and give a quick recap of what happened, including how we need to recruit a gang of do-gooders to save Ivy and Peter. Like now. By the end, Vincent and Amani are both nodding along with my plan.

  “I hate those black-market-magic guys,” Vincent says, licking his fangs. “Always causing needless drama.”

  “Do you think anyone here would be willing to help?” Amani asks, nodding toward the packed house.

  “They better be if they ever want to drink here again.” He kisses the top of his lady’s head. “You two light a fire under the customers. I’ll go round up the kitchen staff.”

  Amani grabs a spare barstool, holding it steady as I climb on top. Only a head or two even notices the random girl towering above them, so my bestie whistles loudly, a goddess commanding the attention of the room. Dozens of pairs of eyes—various shapes, sizes, and colors—gaze up at me.

  “Hi, everyone, sorry to disrupt your evening, but, um, we need your help.” I swallow, trying to find the right words as everyone falls silent. “Don’t you hate it when people abuse magic? I do. When they take something so beautiful and twist it into dark, self-serving spells that not only bring harm to others, but the entire community as well?” A few heads nod; some raise their drinks in agreement. “I think we’ve each encountered a bad apple or two over the years, someone who thought they could take a gift and mutate it into something ugly. In fact, many of you may have met someone like that here, someone who ruined your evening with their black heart.” There’s a couple of “yeah”s and more emphatic nodding. “These beings give supernaturals a bad reputation, and I know most of you would rather see their villainous ways put to rest so you could just enjoy your life.”

  Clapping, more hollers. They are getting fired up! Now, for the big ask.

  “A few of our own have been caught in a trap by a warlock who profits on misery. Some of you may know them—Peter the fairy and Ivy the siren. They’ve been here together and are one of those perfectly matched couples that make us all believe in that wacky thing we call love.”

  I see some of the beings gasp and exchange concerned glances. Peter definitely has some fans around here after his antics the other night. It’s a good thing they saw him on an up day.

  “We don’t have much time, but if you’re willing, we can stop the warlock and save Peter and Ivy tonight. Who’s with me?”

  Chairs scrape back as dozens of the patrons stand, raising fists and claws in the air.

  “Let’s do this!”

  I jump down, wrapping my BFF in a hug, adrenaline coursing through me. Maybe we can pull this off. Maybe I can help right my mistake.

  “Wow,” Amani says. “That was pretty impressive, my antisocial friend.”

  I grin. “Thanks. I gotta call my mom, Charlie—everyone,” I say.

  “Of course. Don’t worry; we got this.” She nods as a pack of fired-up goblins, witches, vampires, and more start to gather around to make a plan.

  You wanted a full house, Roscoe? Here they come.

  THE BLACK PHOENIX IS buzzing with anticipation. For a group that likes to stay under the radar, they sure seem psyched to suddenly jump into mayhem. All the vamps, witches, and whatnot have abandoned their cocktails and appetizers to swap war stories and discuss dueling strategies. It’s not every day you get to be part of magical battles, so there’s tangible excitement in the air. Amani, Vincent, and I race around, making phone calls and prepping our action squad with our quickly formulated plan.

  I climb up on a barstool again, giving the final instructions. “Okay, everyone! You all should have the address by now. Has everyone phoned a friend to meet you there?” Heads bob in agreement. “Good. The more magic we can have on our side, the better. We want to fill that warehouse with friends! Remember, pretend to be psyched for the pop-up shop, not morally disgusted. Everyone here will bid on Ivy and Peter so we can win and get them to safety. Only then will we show this Roscoe guy what’s up. Sound like a plan?” Whoops of encouragement flood the room, and Amani claps along with the crowd. “All right! Let’s start filtering out! Not all at once. We don’t want to show up like an angry mob.”

  Seeing this disparate crew band together and take up the call to fight is truly inspiring. Everyone’s unifying to stop an injustice that affects our community as a whole, and it’s awesome. Power to the people.

  Marcus comes out from the kitchen, his team of chefs behind him. It’s not a full moon, so it’s not like he’ll have his werewolf strength, but seeing him join in warms my heart.

  Amani jumps to his side in full organizer mode. “Hey! Are you sure you want to come, even though you aren’t wolfed out?” she asks him.

  He shrugs with a mischievous smile. “Yeah. I’m always happy to help.” Marcus gives me a wink and turns back to his kitchen staff. The next thing I know, a pair of arms comes up from behind and squeezes all the air from my lungs.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay,” Charlie breathes into the back of my neck. I squirm to meet his face, but his hold is too tight. “Do you know how scary that was? To see you disappear into thin air?” Before I answer, he continues. “It was terrifying. Zero out of ten would recommend. Please don’t ever vanish from my life again.”

  He hugs me tighter, and I lay my arms on top of his, pretzeling our limbs together. After having my life hang in the balance, unsure of where I was or what would happen next, it feels so good to stand still and have him next to me. Solid. Secure. Exactly where I need to be. For once, I’m unable to add some quippy remark, my mouth always ready to fill the air with sarcasm and sass, but as I sway safely in his arms, I realize that doesn’t have to be my go-to. Letting the moment speak for itself has a place too, and it’s actually kind of nice to just be.

  “I’m not going to let you out of my sight,” he insists as our fingers entwine. “No arguments, young lady.” He mockingly points a finger in my face. But instead of rolling my eyes (my signature move), I kiss his fingertip, smiling in agreement before burying my nose into his chest. His hand runs up through the back of my hair, and we both sigh deeply as the army assembles around us.

  Mom shows up a few minutes later, and we share a round of hugs, her tired arms holding me extra tight. Dark shadows hang under her eyes, and I feel terrible for putting her through this. It had to be so completely scary to watch us vanish due to Roscoe’s spell.

  Mysteriously, the Wisterias are nowhere to be seen. It would be straight-up insane for them to miss their son’s rescue.

  “Where are Peter’s parents?” I ask, to which my mom sighs.

  “Of course we were all extremely freaked when you three disappeared,” she starts, “but the Wisterias were on a different level. They started whispering about ‘last resorts’ and ‘final straws.’ Then they just took off.” Her face turns hard. “It’s difficult for me to believe they’d bail when a rescue mission is under way, but maybe they have their own plan.” I can tell there’s more she wants to say, but out of respect for fellow parents, she holds back.

  I pull her in for another hug, thankful to have my mom by my side. Through it all, she’s never abandoned me, and that’s not something to take for granted. I think of sweet little Jane and her complicated relationship with her family. I hope, for her sake, we can pull this off. Not just the rescue but salvaging some semblance of her family. Jane deserves to have people in her life who care about her and support her, no matter what. I’m happy to assume that post, but I haven’t given up hope that Team Wisteria will rally.

  It’s getting late, and most of the Black Phoenix Fight Club has already left. Our core group decided to hang back as long as possible, giving us the chance to sneak into the warehouse once it’s already full. But that isn’t the only precaution Mom has in mind.

  “Amber, what I can’t understand is why Roscoe let you go,” she wonders. “Why release you when he’d have to kn
ow you’d only send in reinforcements?”

  “I got the sense that he pretty much wanted me to spread the word.” I shrug. “Maybe he thinks his merchandise is so good, it will blacken even the purest of hearts.”

  “Hmm.” Mom nods slightly, as if that logic isn’t entirely far off. I guess she would know. Windy City Magic doesn’t carry certain merchandise for a reason. “Whatever his intent, I don’t want you to be spotted, so you’ll need a disguise.”

  I’m more than willing to don a trench coat and fake mustache, but unfortunately Mom’s stealth mode is a lot different than mine. I groan as she pulls a smudge stick from her bag, because I automatically know it’s not your standard bundle of Wiccan purification. Nope, when this particular tied-up cluster of enchanted herbs is lit, it temporarily distorts or “smudges” a person’s features, making them morph just enough to make an ex-boyfriend or parole officer second-guess your identity. I’ve seen Mom do this a couple times at the shop and it always freaks me out. It’s like watching a painting melt. Mom waves the crackling stick under my nose, filling it with a super-intense sage and cedar scent. Everything from my lips to eyebrows starts tingling, and I watch as my best friend’s jaw drops.

  “Well, you look . . . um . . . hmm.” She squints, gritting her teeth. “No one will recognize you, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s only temporary, Amani,” Mom reassures us. “Her swollen features will go back to normal in about an hour, two tops.”

  I touch my misshapen face, visualizing an elephant trunk sticking out from the middle, but Charlie kisses my forehead and says, “You still look great.” I give him a shove, since he’s clearly lying, but I love him for it anyway.

  When we get to the warehouse, there’s a line outside the door. A centaur bouncer hands us each a bidding paddle, and as we walk inside, it’s clear our supernatural phone tree achieved our desired effect. The room is absolutely packed with every kind of mystilogical creature you could imagine. Elves, banshees, changelings, and more mingle and sample passed hors d’oeuvres, sipping champagne like we’re at an art gallery opening. I spot a few Black Phoenix regulars and several members of Mom’s coven, Dawning Day, but I guess one flaw in our bring-a-friend plan was that now I have no clue who’s on our side or not. Any one of these strangers could be actually interested in acquiring a fairy or siren, meaning we have to be ready for anything and everything.

  Roscoe wasn’t lying about having a whole mess of magical stuff to sell at this pop-up shop. Everywhere I look, there’s another glass case filled with some kind of novelty. Enchanted talismans, a cauldron that promises perfect spells, lots of very rare ingredients hailing from far-flung corners of the earth. We split up, Amani and Vincent circling the left side of the warehouse while Charlie and I take the right. It’s hard to see everything with so many bodies crowding around the items, though one in particular seems to be drawing extra attention. I push my way through the crowd, weaving in between horns and tails alike, to see if it’s Ivy and Peter attracting all those eyeballs. But they’re not.

  It’s a unicorn.

  A real, honest-to-goodness unicorn, positioned right before me in all its glory. Frozen in the same transparent orb as I was earlier, this beautiful, majestic creature stands proud, silver swirled horn pointing to the sky as a rainbow mane falls down its back. Star-shaped freckles dust its flank, and its existence is so completely astonishing, I stumble back into Charlie, who barely manages to catch me, he himself lost in wonder.

  “Holy . . .” He trails off, dark green eyes wide behind his frames. “Is that a . . . ?”

  “It’s so . . .” I start, but there doesn’t seem to be an adjective worthy enough to describe the all-encompassing glory of this enchanting animal. I want to reach out, to touch this miraculous being I always hoped was real, but remember how Roscoe’s spell zapped me before. Suddenly, a terrible feeling squeezes my chest. If we’d made this discovery anywhere else, it’d be a blessing, a gift to celebrate, but given the circumstances, having a unicorn present is anything but good luck. While I would spend my life serving this magical horse, giving it everything it could ever want, someone purchasing this creature could have the worst of intentions. Cutting off its horn as a trophy, drinking its blood for eternal youth . . . oh Gods, my head spins with endlessly evil possibilities.

  I spin around, grabbing on to Charlie’s tie. “If someone here is intending to hurt a unicorn, I WILL END THEM!” I shout in his face. Fire burns from my belly to my brain, and if I wasn’t already set to destroy Roscoe and everything he stands for (I was), I am definitely beyond ready now.

  “I know, shhh,” my boyfriend soothes, wiping my rage spit from his glasses. He pulls me into his chest, gripping my back with the same fear that pulses in my veins. “I don’t like this any more than you, but we have to stay chill, okay? You aren’t going to save a unicorn by screaming.”

  “But—”

  “We’re here to put an end to this, right? So let’s do it.”

  I nod into his button-down, feeling a mix of awe and terror that’s wearing me thin, and we haven’t even spotted Ivy and Peter yet. Charlie pulls me away from the unicorn, and we continue to make the rounds. I catch a few repulsive conversation fragments about what people would do with fairy dust or how having a siren servant would make life that much easier. Gods. We meet back up with Amani and Vincent just as we find Peter and Ivy, still hovering in their invisible prisons. Only now Roscoe has positioned their bodies in more presentable, less jagged poses. Ivy stands with her hands on her hips like Wonder Woman, while Peter’s wings are spread wide, his full span shining against the transparent orb that holds him. I guess you have to stage your merchandise for premium sales, but still, moving them upright hasn’t erased the fear from their eyes.

  “Oh my Gods,” Amani gasps as we approach our confined friends. Vincent turns her away, holding her face in his palms.

  “Best not to look, okay?” he says gently, wiping her cheek with his thumb. “We’ll put a stop to this, don’t worry.”

  She nods, but of course she’s worried; we all are. I can barely endure any more, but luckily the fluorescent lights start to dim, signaling the start of this terrible event. We find a spot on the edge of the crowd, keeping ourselves out of sight. Mom and Vincent instruct us to stay together before disappearing to different corners. Charlie’s hand still has not left mine.

  A hush falls over the room as Roscoe makes his way through the crowd, ceremoniously taking his place on a shipping pallet in between Ivy and Peter. Dressed in some kind of getup probably worn by an old-timey railroad tycoon, he holds his palms up to quiet the audience.

  “Welcome, friends,” he starts, such a casual address for such a disgusting event. “How encouraging it is to see so many curious faces tonight. Whether you’ve come to bid or simply to observe in wonder the extraordinary boundaries magic can break, the strength in these numbers is noted.” He beams, making my stomach crawl, then looks back over his shoulder, signaling a line of witches and wizards to inch forward, each looking scarier than the next. “It should be stated that if anyone came here tonight looking for trouble, I have taken the necessary precautions to protect my investments.”

  The kick line of wizards links arms, simultaneously sending a current of lightning into the air. The room collectively gasps, eyes wide at the man-made force of nature, but I am not easily dazzled by tricks like this. Instead I search for Mom, finding her in the corner across from us, unperturbed by the display. I examine the surrounding faces, most of which are at least semi-impressed, when I spot a head of icy-blue hair poking out from behind a towering troll. It’s Papa Wisteria, cloaked in a black shawl, with Mama’s cotton-candy curls right beside him. In fact, that entire section of the room is about two feet shorter than the rest. Did the Wisterias recruit their own fairy army? It’s a bold move to bring fairies into a room where a fairy hangs in danger, yet there they are, faces locked in battle mode. Whoa.

  “Now that we understand each other,” Roscoe con
tinues, lips curled into a snarl, “let’s get down to business, shall we? While I have many treasures here tonight, two very magical acquisitions have quickly become my favorites. They both exhibit unbelievable strength and abilities.” He turns to Ivy, greedy eyes crawling all over her body in a way that’s beyond creepy. “I do believe this is one of the first—if not the first—time a siren has been available for service. Luckily for you, I’ve devised a spell that will keep her doing your bidding and not her own. Imagine the possibilities!” Ivy closes her eyes, her only possible act of defiance. “The stories you’ve heard are true! Sirens can make anyone do anything at any time, and for the right price, that power will be yours.” A chorus of “aahhh”s echo throughout the warehouse as Roscoe shifts toward his next victim.

  “And I doubt my next item needs much introduction. We all know the potential of fairy dust, and under coercion, this fairy admitted to me that his family harvests the dust themselves! If that isn’t worth its weight in gold, well . . . I don’t know what is.” He’s met with enthusiastic applause from everywhere but the fairy corner, where Mama and Papa look like they could kill him with looks alone. Their accompanying crew is equally agitated. A male fairy in the very back shifts ever so slightly, and a twinkle of dust from under his shawl catches my eye. Oh my Gods . . . are they going to attack using fairy dust? I can’t even imagine what will happen if they let that loose in this room. The dust could exact any number of punishments, and coming directly from the fairies’ wishes, there’s basically no limit to what they could do. I squeeze Charlie’s hand in shock, and he looks over at me with an equal amount of fear.

  “Let’s start with the siren, shall we?” Roscoe grins. “Opening bid of a hundred thousand dollars.” How he came up with this number I don’t know, since clearly Ivy is worth much more than a luxury sports car. But the number quickly swells as bidders raise their paddles higher and higher until they’re in the multimillions. Vincent has very deep pockets (being immortal really helps for amassing a giant fortune) and agreed to bankroll any Black Phoenix guest able to help. I can sense Charlie itching to get in the game, to use his wealth for good, but I pull his paddle down, shaking my head. Even with my ballooned features from the smudge stick, we’re too recognizable. It’s better for us to stay hidden.