by D. R. Perry
The music started, the first song Darkening of the Light by Concrete Blonde. It was a throwback for sure, one of my dad's favorites from right before the Reveal. He said he found it oddly prophetic, a sentiment shared and often remarked on by Izzy's dad.
Izzy and I had spent a lot of time trying to decipher the meaning of the simple yet intense lyrics. The best we ever came up with was loss of some sort. We weren't sure what, though we always ruled out death. But now, watching Logan go through the process of losing his family, I began to understand, and I didn't blame him one bit for freezing in place as though rooted to the parquet floor.
How very appropriate. Why not just leave him there?
"No way, Logan. Let's show them how it's done." I escorted him to the dance floor, but by the time we got to its edge, his years of training took over, and he was the one leading.
The entire time we danced, he watched Dorian with Grace over my shoulder. I understood because my eyes remained on Dylan, who stood at the side alone, swaying to the music and tapping one long dusky finger on his shimmering jacket in time with the beat.
All of the Bishop's Row practice I'd done, along with Logan's cheer squad work, let us stay out on the floor for over an hour. He lost himself in the music, getting us through each song on autopilot. It reminded me of how I got running laps in the gym. At one point, I asked if he needed to take a break
"No, do you?"
"If you need to dance all night, I'm here for you."
He nodded, swallowing past some emotion I couldn't understand, but you didn’t need to experience identical traumas to stand with a friend. I'd watched my parents do it my entire life without realizing it, so following their example came naturally.
Before the event ended, Dylan and Logan headed to the bathroom. I waited around, reluctant to leave them because the Fairbanks and the Onasseses loitered by the punch bowl. I tried not to snicker as I remembered the stunt we’d pulled last year, but it was impossible.
If only Hal Hawkins was strong enough to teleport something as small as a punch bowl upside-down over the heads of bad parents. I was certain about Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks, but for all I knew, the Onassises weren't terrible people.
Don't be so naïve. What else explains their son's bad behavior?
"I don't know." I zipped my lips. I didn't intend to start answering the Evil Inside Voice aloud again, so I moved toward the wall, hugging it and staying in the shadows as I approached to do a little eavesdropping.
"Can you believe it? A psychic at Parents’ Night." Mr. Onassis snorted.
"They'll be all over the campus next week." Mrs. Fairbanks rolled her eyes. "Psychics aren't entirely objectionable, though inferior, but I shudder to think of our children on campus with undesirables like beasts and bloodsuckers."
I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying anything. It was more important to listen right then, especially with the mystery of Clementine's poisoning still unsolved.
"I'd never have sent my only son here even though he bonded with a familiar if I'd known the extramurals would include subhumans." Mrs. Onassis sniffed, turning her nose up. So much for them not being terrible.
"Perhaps we should transfer our daughters to Trout down in Rhode Island." Mr. Fairbanks raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at his wife. "It would get our middle child away from that crippled boyfriend of hers."
Oh come on, say something already. Make a scene. It's your forte.
"Trout won't admit students with familiars." Mr. Onassis shook his head. "We already tried that with Alex. And besides, they admit even the savage changelings like redcaps and trolls."
"Perhaps with a large enough endowment, we could change their minds and policies."
"We made copious donations here before Hiram's son took over." Mrs. Onassis sighed. “My appointment as a Trustee was too recent to prevent this extramural nightmare.”
"That gives me an idea." Mrs. Fairbanks' eyes glittered. "Let's discuss it over brunch tomorrow in town. The Lyceum, perhaps?"
"Why not discuss it now? I'd like to return to Greece as soon as possible. It's far too chilly in these northern climes for me." Mrs. Onassis pulled her embroidered shawl tightly around her shoulders.
"Too many eyes and ears here." Mr. Fairbanks made a show of looking bored, but he twisted a signet ring on his index finger, a nervous habit Faith shared.
"What's this?" Grace nudged me in the ribs.
"They're plotting something," I murmured.
"What now?"
"They're vague. We need to get off campus tomorrow to learn more."
"Understood."
The parents exchanged nods and smiles, then sauntered off. In their wake, Grace and I discussed our plan to discover theirs. Moments later, the boys returned from the restroom, and we gathered up at the base of the stairs, waiting for the rest of our friends.
I watched Lee escort Izzy to the exit, where they high-fived each other. Platonic, I thought, but Lee's gaze wasn't just on her face as he held the door for her. Izzy threw a wave over her head at the rest of us as she walked out, glancing over her shoulder at him one last time, smiling mischievously. Nobody else seemed to notice because they didn’t know her as well as I did. It baffled me. If there was anything to it, Izzy would tell me in her own time.
We headed up the stairs together, some of us leaning on each other as we let the steps do the work for us. Everyone was tired from the stress of putting on a show for our parents and peers. At least one of our professors was on our side, and we'd managed to come together as a year, classmates working together for a common goal.
A feat we incorrectly thought would be no trouble to manage again.
Chapter Seven
We thought the plan was perfect. Grace, with help from Azrael, would disguise us to look like waitstaff at Lyceum. Dylan would distract management by inquiring about a job. Once there, Grace and I would make a show of bussing tables while eavesdropping.
You know what they say about the best-laid plans.
I tried to shake off the Evil Inside Voice, but it kept nagging me. Azrael and Grace combined Umbral magic and glamour like they'd done it a million times. Considering the amount of fabric they must've enchanted over the summer, that might only be slight hyperbole. Dylan stared into space the entire time, and I didn't blame him. Even I felt awkward watching that, and I hadn't been dumped by one of them.
"This will make us look like whoever a person most expects to see," Grace said after they finished. "But it doesn't affect us because we're in the know."
"Like Doctor Who's psychic paper?" Dylan smiled before he remembered who he was with.
"Dunno, never watched it." Grace shrugged.
"It's like Obfuscate in that vampire game." Azrael elbowed her. "Remember?"
"Oh, yeah, the one your cousin ran." Her cheeks got ruddier. Dylan pressed his lips into a thin straight line.
Control this situation before your plan floats face-down.
"That is like psychic paper, Grace." I rolled my eyes. "Maybe I’ll throw a Whovian watch party over winter break. Anyway, we’re on a mission, remember?"
We let Dylan go, waiting to walk past the restaurant's large window until he'd been inside for a count of thirty. That part worked, no problem. I thought we'd be fine even though the Evil Inside Voice insisted on reminding me that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, especially at the most upscale dining establishment in Salem.
And it did.
"Why aren't you girls out back prepping settings?" The woman glaring at us had a feral look in her eye, her stance predatory. I recognized her from around town and knew she was a wolf shifter who had run with the Tanks back when I was in elementary school. I couldn't remember her name. Fortunately, she wore a badge.
"I'm sorry, uh, Portia." I ducked my head, going through the motions of submissive body language I had learned about in Professor Luciano's lecture on shifters last week.
"So get back there already, pronto!" She took her hands off her hips and c
lapped them twice. I scuttled toward the swinging double doors, Grace following me.
"How can we spy from back here?" she whispered.
"We can’t." I reached for a napkin, attempting to wrap it around a handful of silverware and failing miserably. "But that might be okay. Peek out the window."
Grace stood on her toes to peer through the round glass in one of the doors.
"Cadence is here?" Grace looked back over her shoulder, blinking at me.
"Yeah, I forgot she comes once a month for mimosas with her mom." I winced.
Grace snorted, padding quietly toward the bin of utensils and stacked napkins. She grabbed a fork, a knife, and a spoon, then raised an eyebrow. "So, we don't have to do any of this crazy crap?"
"You'd better do it five minutes ago." Portia breathed down our necks. "I've got a delivery to sign for. Get those done in that time, or you're out on your asses."
"Yes, ma'am." I reached for the tray of silverware, then nudged Grace with my elbow and jerked my chin at the stack of white linen napkins.
"Okay." She nodded.
We spent the next five minutes wrapping sets of forks knives and spoons in smooth, clean fabric. Neither of us knew what to do, let alone the Lyceum's particular style of silverware preparation, which was why we had to leave before the surly shifter returned.
But we didn't see a way out until Dylan walked by, following the manager. He glanced at us, jerking his thumb at the back entrance and waggling his eyebrows. Before he could elaborate, Dylan turned the corner as the manager explained to him how runners brought food from the refrigerator and stockroom to chefs in the kitchen.
"What should we do?"
"Slip out the back, I guess." I peeked around the corner, checking to see if the coast was clear. Once it was, I beckoned to Grace, and we tiptoed through the hall, scrunching down as we passed the kitchen in hopes no one would see us.
We stopped at the door, then ducked behind a stack of boxes as Portia glared at someone we couldn't see outside the service entrance. I did a few deep-breathing exercises, the kind I used to focus before running or playing Bishop's Row. Grace joined me, which meant this experience even had her rattled.
There's this assumption about umbral magi that somehow they're sneaky or love clandestine and mysterious activities, but my roommate didn't fit that stereotype. She loved socializing, was extroverted, and had trouble keeping secrets unless it was a matter of life and death.
I reached out, hoping to steady her shaking. She nodded, looking in my eyes as we squeezed each other's hands. Finally, she seemed to relax. That was good because the words I heard almost made me freak out.
"You take what we got, or you'll be sleeping with fishes instead of signing for them." The voice was low but harsh like the speaker had been at a concert the night before, screaming their vocal cords raw.
"This seafood isn't up to the restaurant's standards." Portia cleared her throat. "Tell it to your boss."
"Our boss figured you’d say something like that. Remember where you came from, Portia. She'll put you back there if you're not careful, so you take what we got. Understand?"
"Yeah, I get it." I heard a low growl before Portia cut it off to continue, "You tell her this is the last time. I've been out since I graduated, Crow."
"Are you crazy?" I heard a metallic snick. "She's still my boss, and she's killed messengers before."
"You tell her or Crow is on my personal menu, silver switchblade be damned."
This Portia person sounds fun. I wish you could introduce us.
"Just shut up." I put my hand over my mouth immediately, but it was too late. Grace stared at me, eyes wider than saucers and nostrils flaring, on high alert.
"Who was that?" snarled Crow.
"A couple of incompetent bussers." I heard the scratchy sound of a pen on paper. "There, day-old fish accepted. Now get lost, preferably at the bottom of the sea."
"I'd say have a nice day, but that's not happening." The door slammed on the end of Crow's sentence, muffling his last word.
Grace and I hurried back to the relative safety of the silverware station. Portia found us there instead of hiding behind the boxes, but of course, we'd botched the entire napkin-folding assignment and found ourselves immediately and roughly escorted out the service entrance.
The moment the door closed behind us, I whipped out my phone and sent Cadence a text. Hopefully, she'd get it in time and manage to listen in on the scheming parental magi.
I started walking down the alley behind the Lyceum, heading toward Washington Street until Grace stopped me.
"We don't want to go out there looking like this," she said.
"Oh, yeah." I held hands with her and let her banish the Umbral magic holding up Azrael's glamour. Soon the magipsychic illusion dropped away from us, meaning we wouldn't be mistaken for anyone's buddy on the street.
"That was a bust." Grace shook her head. "We got nothing."
"I'm not sure about that." I looked up the side of the building next to us, then whistled for Ember. "A boss of something connected to restaurants, delivering illegal fish to ex-gang members seems like a pretty big deal."
"But it's not relevant. Our problem is this unholy alliance between dangerous families."
"Yeah, that's right, unless us overhearing that instead was a coincidence." I shrugged. "It's hard to tell about that stuff."
"I know." Grace nodded wearily. She perked up a bit when her moon hare Lune came hopping toward her, headbutting her ankle. "Has Professor Luciano taught you guys about coincidence tracking yet?"
"It's next on his syllabus." I sighed. "It would have been last week, but he wanted us to have some knowledge of shifters before the Gallows Hill's extramural contingent came to campus."
"Professor DeBeer stuck to critters that couldn't be familiars for some reason, so I'm in the same boat."
I yawned.
You need a nap.
"Or something else," I answered with my out-loud voice.
"Something else, what now?" Grace blinked.
"Something like a coffee from the Witch's Brew." I rubbed my eyes. "For whatever reason, I'm exhausted. Come on, my treat."
We headed around the corner on Washington Street, pacing toward Essex and our favorite place for coffee drinks.
As we sat with our espresso-based beverages, Cadence got back to me. Her text told us she'd sat on the other side of the restaurant from the shady magi and didn't hear anything they'd said. I showed the message to Grace.
"Back to the drawing board, I guess."
"Oh, well. You can't have everything."
"They have open mic night tomorrow." Grace jerked her thumb at the flier posted on the beam next to us. "Has Dylan been doing those?"
"He hasn't mentioned it. Why not ask him yourself?"
"Because he doesn't seem like he wants to talk yet." She took a sip of her drink. "I'm kind of waiting for him to come to me."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Grace." I shook my head. "He's really busted up, like he thinks you don't even want to be friends."
"Can you tell him that's not true?"
"I have." I sighed. "He's not buying it. It looks like you're leaving him behind from where I sit. Maybe you could apologize?"
"Oh." She held her cup, turning it but not drinking this time. It shook slightly.
"You don't want to be friends with Dylan?" I held my breath, waiting for her answer. A sense of disbelief fell over me, like a blanket fort collapsing.
"I'm saying that in the near future, he might not want to be friends with me." Grace stared at the remnants of foam in her cup.
"Can you fill me in on that?" My voice sounded like soda left out overnight. It must've been worse than even I thought because Ember curled more tightly around my shoulders, lifting her head to rub cheeks with me.
"I'm afraid you won't even want to be friends with me."
"Hey, even if something you do makes me angry, Grace, I'm still your friend. You know that, right?" I reached
out, placing my hand palm up on the table between us.
"This is kind of a doozie. And a secret, too." She looked around the coffee shop.
I had a glance around too and recognized no one, not even from town. It seemed we’d decided to have our coffee during tourist hour.
"Go ahead, my lips are sealed." I looked her in the eye. "Even if it makes me angry, I promise."
Grace reached out across the table, taking my hand. She clasped it the entire time she told me her plans, including how she expected them to impact the new social dynamic with students from Messing and Gallows Hill on campus.
She was right. You're angry. Why not tell her instead of making a face like a constipated badger?
I kept my emotions to myself because her theories made sense, even if I'd never use her methods in a million years. Everything to do with dating and sex still baffled me.
Grace's entire demeanor changed after she told me her secret, which wouldn't be one for much longer anyway. At least she could be at peace for the rest of today, though I’d have to stay home. I couldn't trust my errant inside voice or my temper to keep quiet around people like Temperance Fairbanks and Alex Onassis. I said goodbye and told her I'd spend the night with my parents.
I stood outside the door to the Witch’s Brew, watching her cross Essex Street and enter that day's door to Hawthorne Academy. Then I turned and stared through the window at the clock on the coffee shop's wall, waiting ten minutes.
After that, I hurried through the campus door, checked to see that Grace was in the cafeteria, and grabbed my knapsack with the personal care items I'd want overnight. After that, I went home to call my friends from town.
We met on the playground at our old elementary school.
"I'm sorry, Aliyah." Cadence kicked her feet, disturbing the layer of mulch under the swing she sat on. "If I'd known a half-hour earlier, I could've moved our seats."
"No, it was my fault. I should have remembered mother-daughter mock-mimosa Saturdays. I mean, you've brought us along to enough of them."
"If I never drink another champagne glass full of tonic water and orange juice, it'll be too soon." Izzy snorted. "No offense, but I'm hoping real mimosas are better than the kids’ version."
