Tiny Glitches: A Magical Contemporary Romance

by Chastain, Rebecca

  “No one is going to think to look at Annabella’s.”

  “There are other places,” Sofie said.

  “None as perfect.”

  “How long are you going to keep punishing her, Eva?”

  “Until we’re even.” I turned away and let myself outside.

  * * *

  Loading Kyoko into a horse trailer backed up against the yard’s side gate proved surprisingly easy. Dali raced in first, eager to smell everything, and Kyoko trundled after him. Hudson introduced Milo, the short, bowlegged driver in charge of the truck and trailer, as a family friend. Milo had a tanned and weathered face, and his eyes said he’d seen it all, including baby elephants in private backyards. He was all business, and though he was polite to Sofie and me, his briskness precluded conversation.

  Milo’s trailer made Jenny’s look like a pile of junk. Thick rubber mats covered the floor of this trailer, the insides gleamed white and glossy, and the metal accents shone with polish. The outside sported an outline drawing of a stylized horse in mid-gallop, mane and tail streaming, with a windup key in its rump. The same logo repeated on the truck’s front doors. The truck and trailer matched perfectly, down to the cherry red stripe bisecting the white exterior of both vehicles. This wasn’t a rental.

  “How do you two know each other?” I asked Milo once we were on the road. I sat in the back, Milo drove, and Hudson navigated a convoluted route, frequently checking the side mirror for a tail. Hudson’s apparitions alternated between the blue, short-brimmed sombrero and the cowboy boots. The images should have belonged together, but the hat was pristine and clean, the boots old and dirty, and I’d never seen them at the same time before.

  “Known Hudson since he was hock high,” Milo said.

  “Milo taught me how to ride.”

  “You know how to ride?” I had a hard time picturing Hudson on a horse, despite the cowboy boots apparition.

  “Yeah.” A computer monitor plopped into Hudson’s lap, like one I’d seen in elementary school, with a tiny slate-green screen and a huge body.

  Milo’s eyes flicked to Hudson, then to me, and his eyebrows twitched. Not even Kyoko had warranted an eyebrow twitch from Milo. What was I missing here?

  “And then you moved to LA, Milo?”

  “No.”

  Slender lightning shot from the truck’s ceiling, narrowly missing Hudson’s elbow. Another skittered across his lap. I flinched backward, then tried to pretend I’d been reaching to scratch my back. This conversation was making Hudson . . . not nervous—that would have involved sea creatures—but tense, maybe irritated.

  “My parents own horses,” Hudson said after the silence had grown uncomfortable. “Milo works for them.”

  “Really?” I’d ridden horses a few times as a child, and I’d loved it. “What type?”

  “Thoroughbreds.”

  “Racehorses?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s so cool!”

  “Not really.”

  Milo’s simple divination of reins in his hands changed to a golden glow of light that shot from him, embraced Hudson, then slapped him. The marble cherub burst into existence between me and Hudson’s back. Looking through the apparition was like viewing Hudson through soft stained glass. The lines of his indistinct body wavered with each pulse of the cherub’s wings. I swallowed to loosen the queasy constriction of my throat, turning to look out the side window. I wanted to press for more information on his family and their racehorses—something that hadn’t come up yesterday over dinner—but Hudson’s body and voice had gotten tight, and the lightning crackled faster around him. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to talk about his family. I smothered my curiosity and spent the remainder of the drive concentrating on crushing my curse.

  Annabella’s and Sofie’s houses fit into a lot of the same categories: both were located in Santa Monica, both had views of the ocean, and both were expensive. But Annabella’s was the insecure image-hound version of Sofie’s house. My mother’s mansion poised over the driveway for a desperate, look-at-me first impression. The architect had confused avant-garde with sharp: Square windows and bony triangular columns faced the driveway, and the featureless backyard housed a rectangular pool defined by grid work of square flagstones. With its canvas-colored stucco siding, the house had all the appeal and individuality of an emaciated runway model who had traded away her humanity in a quest to look like a mannequin.

  The entire property looked as untouched as the day my mother purchased it. She hadn’t added an ounce of her personality, and she’d made sure her landscapers didn’t add their own style, either. The lawn was clipped to golf-course-regulation heights with a similar cross pattern, and the only trees were palm trees—just like every other home in this neighborhood.

  “Are you sure your friend’s going to be okay with this?” Hudson asked, staring at the spotless floor-to-ceiling glass walls along the back side of the house.

  “She’ll love it.” I finished my lap around the lawn, making sure it hid nothing dangerous to Kyoko.

  Milo tapped a blunt finger on the glass enclosing the dining room. A teapot sprang to life next to him. At least, I thought it was a teapot. It had a handle and a spout, but the middle part looked like a small, round house with a sod roof.

  Dali flew out of the trailer when we opened it, danced around our legs, then tore off to explore Annabella’s backyard. Kyoko bugled and trotted after him. Her attention snagged on the pool, and in less than two minutes, Dali and Kyoko were soaked. Milo jogged back to the truck and left. Hudson and I fled to the safe, dry vantage of the white-on-white living room. Since I didn’t want to explain my petty reaction, I gallantly suppressed my urge to giggle while savoring the casual destruction of Annabella’s pristine yard.

  “I canceled the landscaping services this week,” Sofie said as I helped her unload groceries from her car. “We should be secure and visitor-free until you locate Kyoko’s rightful caretaker.” The Fabergé egg on her head now supported a tiny elephant ballerina. The egg appeared as one of Sofie’s apparitions for Annabella. I was pretty sure the ballerina—usually human—on top represented the fragility of Sofie’s relationship with her sister. From what Nana Nevie had let slip, Sofie and Annabella had been a lot closer before my birth. I’d stopped feeling guilty years ago about the rift my existence had torn between the sisters. That was Annabella’s burden.

  Even though this latest apparition indicated Sofie worried about Annabella’s reaction to Kyoko’s impromptu visit, I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty today, either. Honoring our rule—or hiding behind it—I didn’t say anything about the divination. Sofie wisely said nothing about the emotions that walking through Annabella’s house had stirred in me.

  “I’ll have Ari call you the moment we know something,” I said.

  * * *

  The ride back to Mid-Wilshire was uneventful. I spent it looking out the window of our taxi and envisioning what the wind flowing past the cars on the freeway looked like. The visualization served as mental white noise and prevented me from dwelling on the tornado of emotions associated with Annabella or on my growing anxiety about Kyoko. The taxi dropped us off at a mechanic’s shop. I walked across the street to pick up sandwiches from the local café while Hudson talked with his mechanic. The blue coveralls said his name was Mike. I would have called him Sherlock, because according to his divinations, he’d stepped from the pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books, complete with the funny cap, century-old gentleman’s smoking jacket, and pipe. The outfit might have looked good except for Mike’s shaggy surfer hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “There can’t be nothing wrong,” Hudson said. “It completely stopped working this morning. They had to winch it onto the truck.”

  “She must have been feeling temperamental,” Mike said. An insubstantial Wookiee walked behind the mechanic and stuck his tongue out at Mike’s back. Hudson’s shoulders slumped.

  “That damn beast is cursed. What do I owe you?”


  “Nothing. All I did was take her for a spin. In fact, I should owe you. That car got me a date for Friday night.”

  Hudson circled the block in his car before he let me get in. When I did, he said, “We’re driving straight to Jenny’s parents’. No stops, no sidetracking. I don’t care if we have a tail.”

  Finally.

  Jenny’s parents lived in a suburban sprawl in Encino. The houses were a hodgepodge of styles, the yards were meticulously maintained, and the driveways were filled with midsize commuter cars and minivans.

  Harvey and Selah Winters were a mismatched couple. Harvey looked like he belonged in a beatnik club, drinking a rum and Coke and talking philosophy, not working in management at Costco like Hudson had told me. Selah had a put-together air of a woman in charge. Her cream-colored dress complemented her plump, short figure and contrasted with her ebony skin. With stylish gray hair and high cheekbones, she looked a decade younger than her husband.

  They were expecting us, thanks to Hudson.

  “Doing a piece on our girl for the high school alumni paper?” Harvey asked. “You won’t find a more accomplished graduate.”

  “We always knew Jenny was going to do something big,” I said. I sat on a floral-print sofa with Hudson. Harvey and Selah took the chairs opposite us. Hudson had prepared me for our cover story during the drive, and to make myself look authentic, I pulled out my notebook and a pen and poised myself to take notes.

  “We’d really love to interview Jenny,” Hudson said, “but we couldn’t find her current location or even a phone number for her.”

  “Oh, that’s because she’s not stateside,” Selah said. “We just got through explaining that to the FBI. Everyone wants to chat with our little girl lately.”

  “The FBI?” Hudson asked. I was very conscious of not looking at Hudson. What did the FBI know about Jenny and the elephantini she’d foisted on us?

  “Jenny’s a brilliant girl. A lot of people are interested in her talents,” Harvey said. “But we’ll tell you the same thing we told them: Jenny’s in Japan. Snatched up by Adorable Creations straight out of college. She was headhunted. A couple of companies vied for her. One was American, based here in LA, but AC offered her more opportunity, so off she went. She’s been there ever since.”

  “Except Christmases,” Selah said. She lifted the platter of cookies from the coffee table between us and wouldn’t set it down until we each took one. “She always makes a point of coming home for the holiday. She’s so busy, you know. She’s the director of the lab, or the title equivalent. If she takes too long off, the place falls to pieces.”

  “What exactly does she do?” I asked.

  “Nothing we normal people understand,” Selah said, and Harvey chuckled. “Once she gets talking about DNA, my eyes glaze over. It’s not that I don’t care; it just turns to gibberish in my ears.”

  “She works in genetics?” Hudson prompted.

  “She tinkers with the fundamentals of biological structure—her words. Her work is important,” Harvey said.

  “Jenny always did love anything that required a microscope,” Selah said.

  “Our combined DNA is definitely more than the sum of its parts in that girl.” Harvey and Selah shared a grin; this was a story they told often and with pride.

  “If she came back to the States, do you know where she’d stay?” I asked.

  “Right here. We haven’t made any changes to her room.”

  “What about with a friend?”

  For the first time, Selah lost her smile. “She’s never had time to make friends. Jenny’s so driven. First her studies; now her job. But that can’t last forever. Eventually she’ll find someone who will slow her down, help her see there’s life outside a lab.” A yellow diamond with “Baby on Board” popped into existence, hanging from a thick cord around Selah’s neck.

  “Eh, she’s got plenty of time for all that,” Harvey said, waving away his wife’s concern. “She’s in her career prime, making discoveries and rising through the ranks. She can make nice with strangers later.” As if summoned by his wife’s divination, a neon-pink Hello Kitty sign glowed in the air above Harvey.

  “Do you have a number where we could reach her?” Hudson asked.

  While Selah went to the kitchen to get her address book, I excused myself to go to the restroom. Instead, I took a quick peek through the house. The ranch-style, single-story home featured three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Every room was neat, like they’d been expecting an inspection. Even Jenny’s preserved room looked more like a guest room than a teenager’s leftovers. I learned their travel bagua needed a complete overhaul, but if Jenny was hiding in their home, she hadn’t left a trace, and their pristine backyard had never housed an animal larger than a squirrel.

  We left with a list of Jenny’s papers and publications, her Japanese phone number, her cell phone number, and a cookie each for the road.

  “I don’t think they know Jenny is in LA, do you?” I asked Hudson once we were in the car.

  “No.”

  “What do you think the FBI wanted?”

  “I’d rather know how much they know.”

  “Do you think they suspect Jenny has an elephantini, whatever that is?”

  “It’s a good possibility.”

  Neither of us mentioned the possibility of the FBI having added us to their list of suspects in Jenny’s crime. Jenny’s paranoid warning to not trust the government rang in my ears. If the FBI were involved and determined I was a culprit, I might not have a choice.

  “Well, that got us nowhere,” Hudson said.

  I nodded. Other than having a new concern to add to the pile, we’d learned nothing new. Hudson and Ari had found out more about Jenny through the Internet than her parents seemed to know. My only consolation to the otherwise wasted trip was the time we’d spent inside had given Hudson’s car time to recoup.

  When we checked in with Ari, she had nothing new to add, either.

  “Her parents were right: Jenny doesn’t have any friends, at least not from high school, and none that I could find from college. No wonder she’s going around stealing elephants and dumping them on virtual strangers.”

  I insisted on walking home from Ari’s. Hudson’s car needed another break from me, and I’d take the meager pick-me-up of minimal exercise to counteract my growing dismay. We’d run into a wall. Jenny could be anywhere in LA—in the world—and everyone I cared about remained embroiled in her criminal scheme. We needed a lead.

  “I’ll go by my office later and see if I can’t dig anything else up on Jenny,” Hudson said, his thoughts in sync with mine. “Maybe her cell phone will give us some information, like her location.”

  I tried to take heart. He and Ari had pulled more information out of less already.

  “For a woman afraid of elevators, I think it’s odd that you picked the top floor,” Hudson said, breathing heavily, when we reached my loft.

  “Keeps me fit.” I rummaged for my keys.

  “That it does.”

  His tone made me look up. His gaze had gone smoldering and he stood close. My left hand closed on my keys, but I didn’t pull them out. I reached for Hudson’s shirt with my right hand and pulled him against me. Looking up at him through my lashes, I slowly wet my lips. He pounced before my tongue was back in my mouth.

  Hudson walked me backward into the door, his kiss igniting embers I’d held banked all day. His hands slid up my sides, sculpting my body’s curves. I arched into him, pushing against him to enjoy the firm planes of his body.

  Vaguely, I remembered the keys and pulled them free. Hudson lifted his head when he heard the jangle, then snatched the keys from my grip.

  “The brass one,” I said.

  Hudson fumbled to get the key in the lock while kissing a hot path down my neck. I moaned, savoring the anticipation. With my hands free, I explored his chest, then slid lower to grab his ass. The door swung open, and we staggered into my loft. Hudson kicked the door shut behin
d us, slid my satchel from my shoulder to the floor, and reached for my shirt.

  I stumbled backward, toward the living room, pulling Hudson with me by the waistband of his pants. Hudson tugged my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then yanked me tight against him for a breathtaking kiss.

  The backs of my legs slammed into something.

  “Umph.”

  I twisted to see what it was. A chair, the green one from the front room, lay on its side in the middle of the hallway. I stared at it, trying to process the fact that an inanimate object had moved while I’d been gone.

  “Oh shit,” Hudson whispered.

  I looked up. From the hallway, only a sliver of the front room was visible. The potted plant at the end of the hall lay in a smashed heap on the hardwood; glass shards splintered across the area rug beyond it. My upside-down couch canted against the fireplace, tufts of foam pinned beneath ripped armrests.

  Ice sluiced through my veins and the blood drained from my head. “Wha—”

  Hudson clamped a hand over my mouth. “Burglar,” he whispered. “Could still be here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hudson grabbed my shirt from the floor and tossed it at me, holding his index finger to his lips. I was rooted in place. My home, my sanctuary, had been violated.

  Wrapping an arm around me, Hudson propelled me to the door. On autopilot, I grabbed my satchel. Hudson eased the door shut behind us.

  “Do you know your neighbors?” he asked.