by Emma Savant
Maybe it was obvious to her. She could probably just bite him. I was a faerie. Biting was not really our thing.
“I need some strategies,” I said. “Tactics.”
“You need a shield,” she said. “August’s a psychic vampire. Who better to shield you than an actual vamp?”
“What?” I said. “Are you offering your services?”
“Yes,” she said, pursing her lips and staring at me intently. “I am.”
I hadn’t expected her to help me so willingly, and though it was probably coming from hatred for August rather than affection for me, it still warmed me a little. I sat and waited for her to start poking at my aura or muttering incantations. After an awkward silence, she laughed.
“Oh, god, not right now,” she said. “I’ll make you an amulet.”
She kicked off her heels, stretched her legs out on my bed, and leaned back into my pillows.
“I’m glad to see someone’s not falling for his bullshit,” she said. “The number of artists I’ve watched him swallow whole is enough to make even my stomach turn.”
“Like who?” I said. I felt hungry for more information, like somehow swallowing and digesting it would make me immune to him. “Starling said he doesn’t do this to everyone.”
“Yeah, well, Starling would know,” she said. She pressed her lips into a thin line and stared at me while she thought. I let her. I was used to people staring at me, and an auditorium full of a thousand people just about matched the intensity of her dark gaze.
“The big ones,” she said, finally. “Gabriella. The Gingerbread Girls—all three of them, though he’s got Candi in pretty much a state of permanent hypnosis. Flora Rose, absolutely. And then there are the others, the ones who don’t quite make it big but still sell enough to keep a gold-leafed roof over his head.”
“That’s me,” I said.
“You’re new,” she said dismissively. “It’s hard to predict which of August’s girls will take off.”
Girls. She was right; almost everyone August repped was female. Except for Starling, so were the people who worked for him. And all of us, from Gabriella to Calista to me, were either young and beautiful or glamoured to look like it.
The realization made my skin crawl. Him being after us for the money had been bad enough. I wanted to go take a shower.
“He only controls the ones who resist him,” I said. “That’s what Starling said. What if I just don’t resist for a while, but don’t try very hard either, and let my career just tank?”
As the words came out of my mouth, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let my career go, not even if it meant escaping from the monster August had turned out to be.
“I think it’s adorable that you’d be willing to try, but there’s no chance of that working,” Serena said. “If you stop putting in effort, he’ll just double down and make you work harder.”
“So what do I do?”
“You’ve got to be stronger than him,” she said. “You’ve got to be willing and able to carve some space between you. You need boundaries. Big, solid ones.”
“Like what?” I said. “I don’t know the right spell for this.”
“I’m not talking about spells,” Serena said. “I’m talking about emotions.” She waved her crimson-manicured fingers at me. “You need to untangle your stuff from his stuff. More than that, you need to mean it.”
“I do mean it,” I said. “I’m creeped out by all of this. I want it to stop.”
“Yeah, and you still want him to make you famous,” she said. She tossed her hair out of her eyes. “You and all the rest—you want everyone to love you. Being desperate like that makes you weak.”
“I don’t care if August loves me,” I said.
The way my stomach lurched when I said that let me know it was a lie. I didn’t want any kind of tender emotion from him, but I did want him to value me as an artist. I wanted him to think I was important.
“You might not care about him, but you care about the rest of the world,” she said. “August is your ticket to all the love you can stand from audiences all over the planet. Don’t kid yourself. We both know how this works.”
Frustration welled up inside me. All this talk was great, but it wasn’t going to help me next time I was face-to-face with my manager and his silky voice and dazzling smile.
“What do I do?” I said. “I need action steps here.”
Serena slid her legs off the bed and stood up. “You need to deal with your shit,” she said. “And then set some boundaries.”
I jumped up. What kind of advice was that? It wasn’t enough to save me. It didn’t even make sense.
“But how?” I said. “How do I set boundaries with someone who doesn’t recognize them?”
“Make them,” she said. She slipped her shoes back on. “Deal with your shit,” she said again. “I’ll make you an amulet. I’ll be in touch.”
She was gone before I could beg her to stay. From down the hallway, I heard the shouts of the crowd watching the Orbs game on the television, then the click of the front door.
Chapter 14
My feet pounded a steady rhythm on the treadmill, and I blew out in a steady stream to try to keep my lungs from exploding. I still couldn’t believe no one had ever come up with an enchantment that would mean I didn’t have to go running, but exercise was one area where magic still lagged behind biology. Sadie privately thought it was all part of a vast conspiracy on the part of the medical community, and I was inclined to believe her when my lungs and legs felt like this.
On every side of me, glamoured holographic images passed by as if I were running through a forest. Ahead of me, a translucent young woman in a red cloak ran along a dirt path. Behind me, a ghostly wolf with sleek fur and gleaming teeth stalked between the trees. If I ran fast enough, Little Red would make it in one piece to her grandmother’s house and I’d level up. If I didn’t meet the pace my August-appointed trainer and I had agreed on, she’d get devoured and I’d have to start the level over.
It was almost motivating, and almost distracting.
I focused my eyes on Little Red’s wavering image. Through her billowing cloak, I could see the treadmill ahead of me, and the story playing for that person’s run. It looked like the second level of The Three Little Pigs, which I remembered as being distinctly ridiculous and fun. To my right, someone on a climbing machine was surrounded by the projection of a giant beanstalk that stretched into clouds overhead.
Grandmother’s house was just ahead through the trees. I picked up my pace for one final burst of speed, heading toward the small thatched cottage. Little Red threw herself inside the door and slammed it shut, and the game faded as the machine slowed to a cool-down.
I picked up my phone from the tray on the handrail to keep up the distractions, and my already speeding heart jumped ahead a few beats.
Clarence had finally texted me back.
I couldn’t open the message fast enough. My sweaty fingers left fragmented rainbow streaks on the screen, and I wiped them off on my sports bra.
Clarence: Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. Been busy.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. I breathed deeply—or tried to, anyway—and attempted to compose a message that didn’t make me sound like a blithering moron.
Dior: You’re telling me. Listen, I wanted to apologize for how I was acting at the party. It’s a long story, but the point is I was behaving stupidly and I’m sorry.
I stared at the phone for a long moment after hitting Send, as if he was going to miraculously text me back in an instant, then forced myself to put it down. The treadmill slowed to a stop and I waved my hand over the sensor on the treadmill’s screen, where the stats from my workout were displayed in glowing blue numbers. The sweat coating the handles faded away into nothing and the machine gave off a faint scent of bleach and lavender. I wrapped a towel around my neck and headed for the locker room.
August was waiting.
It shouldn’t have been a surp
rise. Just like my apartment and the dance studio and apparently my free will, the Glimmering gym was in his building and belonged to him. Even so, I felt my breath catch in my throat and had to fight the urge to run and hide.
He’d already seen me, though, so I pasted on a smile and kept walking toward him.
“Dior,” he said, as though he were delightfully surprised. “It’s good to see you hard at work!”
“Have to stay in shape for those performances,” I said brightly.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “That’s the kind of commitment I like to see. I’m here to supervise another client, but I’m pleased I ran into you.”
I couldn’t imagine what he could possibly be supervising, but I wasn’t about to ask.
“Mari has booked you some studio time for the week after next,” he said. “We’re about ready to start recording your next album.”
My stomach sank. I forced excitement onto my face.
“What great news!” I said.
It was impossible to tell whether I was laying it on too thick. Anything aside from punching him felt like laying it on too thick.
“You be sure to call Mari and get the details,” he said.
I felt a tiny hint of calm come over me, and I fought it.
I fought it like my life depended on it. I was not happy. I was not excited. I would call Mari and get the details, but I would do that for my own edification and not because he told me to. I kept a smile on my face and I pushed back against him with everything I had.
He should have noticed, but his attention had already slid away from me. He flashed his sparkling teeth, patted my shoulder, and walked on. I grinned like an idiot until I heard his footsteps receding, and then I ducked inside the locker room and held the door shut behind me.
I’d made it. I’d encountered August and I’d made it out intact.
I was exhausted. It wasn’t the run. Going for a run was miserable, but it didn’t make me tired like this. I made my way to a bench between the lockers and collapsed with my head resting on my knees.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up, silently praying for good news.
Clarence: Long story, huh? You feel up for telling it?
Dior: Ready when you are.
Clarence: My afternoon’s empty.
He wanted to see me now? I leapt up and started peeling my clothes off, then realized I should text him back first, then dropped my phone. I scooped it up, heart racing.
Dior: Just finished a run. Free in half an hour-ish.
He sent back a grinning emoji almost immediately, and I threw my phone in the locker and booked it for the shower.
I met him downtown outside a Chinese garden hidden behind walls that circled a full city block. He already had our tickets in hand.
“Hey,” I said.
Awkwardness crawled up my arms like a living thing; I smiled hugely at him and let myself feel like an idiot. I could cast a glamour to hide my blushing face without even touching my wand, but I didn’t want to. I’d been stupid around him before. He may as well see me being stupid because I, Dior Miller, genuinely liked him, and not because August had whispered a command in my ear.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“I’m not convinced this is going to be the best tea I’ve ever had in my life,” I said.
“Well, you’re wrong,” he said flatly. Then, amused by his own deadpan expression, he giggled.
If the pit of my stomach could talk, it would have squealed like a thirteen-year-old girl.
I’d messed things up, and I was going to fix them, hard.
“You really ought to take my word for it,” he said. “I’m English. We know about tea.”
“Yeah, well, I make tea sometimes,” I said. “In the microwave.”
He cringed. I grinned and bit my lip, and he marched toward the garden’s entrance, too horrified by me to care if I followed. I skipped ahead and caught up.
He made me feel like my bloodstream was made of bubbles.
We showed our tickets at the gate. The Humdrums around us carried white paper with black print. Ours were pale silver, and the ink on them glinted deep purple in the watery, overcast sunlight. The elderly woman taking tickets glanced at them.
“Have you been here before?” she said.
“Many times,” Clarence said, just as I answered, “Nope.”
He grinned down at me and said, “I have. Don’t worry, I’ll get her where she needs to go.”
The woman winked and waved us in.
The garden instantly took my breath away. The air felt different in here, not from any enchantment but from the mere presence of the plants. I didn’t know how Humdrums felt when faced with greenery, but I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks. The leaves seemed to produce fresh air more quickly than science would suggest was possible, and I could almost feel tree roots growing beneath us. The whisper of leaves brushing against one another mingled with the melodies of birds and the babble of a water fountain, and beneath them all was the most delicious, bone-deep silence.
Clarence was watching me, and I looked up at him, studying his face to see if he felt what I felt. It was impossible to say, but he was certainly feeling something. The crinkles at the corners of his dark, warm eyes told me that much.
I didn’t need to talk to him or sense his aura to know that he liked me, and the bubbles in my blood and the fluttering in my stomach told me everything I needed to know about my feelings for him.
“You give me butterflies,” I blurted.
The light in his eyes brightened, though he still held back, just enough to let me know all was not forgiven and forgotten.
“A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope, did you know that?” he said.
I shook my head. He reached for my hand and pulled me deeper into the garden.
“I want to explain about the other night,” I said.
He didn’t look at me, but I could feel him listening while we walked.
“August—my manager, you’ve met him—is very hands-on,” I said. I tried to think of how to explain it without going too deep. “He has a gift for influencing people. I’m using that word loosely; it’s more of a… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s hard to say no to him.”
I dared a glance up. Clarence was frowning, but not, I thought, at me.
“He had me at that party so I could network,” I said. “He was pressuring me pretty hard to flirt with people, so they’d like me or remember me or whatever, I guess. I wanted to stay with you, but… I don’t know. I was stupid. I’m sorry.”
“It sounds like you shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” he said.
“Maybe not,” I said. “But I am sorry, whoever’s fault it was. I like you. I wish I hadn’t made you uncomfortable.”
“I like you too,” he said. He squeezed my hand, slightly enough that I might have been making it up. “Perhaps that’s why I was uncomfortable.”
We stopped at the edge of a pond and I leaned against the wooden fence that surrounded it. Ducks paddled through the water between islands of lily pads. Far behind them and above the walls of the garden, the tall buildings of downtown towered, not quite tall enough to block light from coming through and suffusing the garden with a gentle glow.
“I do find it amusing that your manager wasn’t having you throw yourself at me,” Clarence said. “Prince and all.”
He had a point. Maybe August wasn’t as savvy as I thought. Wouldn’t a Glimmering prince be seen as a better catch than a mere actor?
On second thought, I was glad August hadn’t told me to flirt with Clarence. I planned on flirting with him plenty, but I wanted it all to come from me.
“‘Course, tabula rasa might have something to do with it,” Clarence said, mischief in his voice. He grinned. His smile was so different from August’s. They had similar sparkling, straight teeth, but Clarence’s face looked less airbrushed, and all the more attractive for it.
“What’s that?” I said.
“It means blank slate,” Clarence said. “It’s a spell I use when traveling. Bit convenient for people like me. It means strangers have an impossible time trying to recognize me. Even if they think they have an idea who I am, the details will slip out of their grasp, and they won’t remember if anyone else tells them. Lets me maintain some anonymity.”
“But I remember who you are.”
“Yes, because I told you,” he said. “That’s the only way to make an impression. Your manager hasn’t got the faintest idea who I am, and he won’t unless I tell him.” His grin widened, and the corners of his eyes crinkled to accommodate it. “I rather suspect I won’t.”
I laughed and we kept walking, making our way around the pond toward the tea house.
The inside of the building was cool and dim. Wooden walls framed large open windows that looked out onto the garden, and people sat around small tables, drinking tea and talking or reading. Clarence caught the eye of a host; when the man approached, Clarence said in a low voice, “It’s like a fairy tale here.”
The host nodded sharply and led us past all the tables and up a flight of rickety wooden stairs in the corner of the room.
The stairs opened onto a second floor, this one brighter than the first, but our guide kept going up. On the third floor, the stairs let out onto a dazzling rooftop garden edged with an elegant wooden railing. There were tables here, too, these of sparkling glass and ringed by spun glass chairs. Across the roof, in a crystal gazebo, a rosewood piano stood with its legs covered in twining vines. A profusion of plants grew from polished raised beds and elegant black pots, and thousands of leaves rustled with every breeze.
In all this beauty, we were alone.
“Someone will be up soon to take your orders,” the host said. He smiled and disappeared back down the stairs.
I turned a slow circle, trying to take it all in.
“This is crazy,” I said. “I had no idea this was here.”
“It’s a well-kept secret,” Clarence said. “I only discovered it on my last visit.”
“Just for Glims?”
“Just for Glims,” he said. “It’d be hard to explain some of these away.”
