by Emma Savant
“Are we sure she’s Humdrum?”
“Positive,” I said. I’d studied Aubrey enough times over my glasses. Nothing surrounded her except a constant air of superiority.
“It’s weird.”
“Maybe she remembers from when it was there before?” I said. “A lot of people went there before we went Glim.”
“Yeah, she used to come by all the time,” Elle said. “She loved the place. But the glamour takes care of that. I’ve got a whole memory charm layered over the thing. Humdrums show up and get a vague idea that we moved and the real estate business took over the spot. It looks so boring that no one remembers it was there in the first place.”
“Then I have no idea.”
She picked her tea back up. “She’s been taking photos,” Elle said. “Right at what should be the dividing line between the two other buildings.”
“Maybe she followed you back from the Saturday Market,” I said.
Elle frowned. “She has come to our stall a couple times.”
“But she still wouldn’t be able to see the café,” I said.
Elle pulled her phone out and started tapping on it. A few swipes later, she held the screen out to me. The words PursuitOfVerity were smashed together in the search bar above a list of results.
“This is Aubrey,” she said. “Kyle set up an alert for Pumpkin Spice mentions on the Humdrum side of the internet. These started coming up when a couple of her posts mentioned the Pumpkin Spice stall. She goes to a lot of effort to stay anonymous, but it’s not hard to put the pieces together.”
A string of results marched down the page in black and blue letters.
“Pick one,” Elle said. “They’re all her. If she were to start getting ideas about the Glimmering world, do you realize how many people she could tell by hitting a couple of buttons?”
Aubrey—username PursuitOfVerity—wasn’t a hard person to find. She was on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and had her own website. I clicked the Facebook link. Here, she was named Verity Pursuit. I surveyed her page. She had way more friends than any person could juggle. I was pretty sure she had more followers online than I actually knew in real life. Twitter showed the same thing, and so did the sites after that.
Every profile picture was identical. In each, her face was hidden by a giant black bar, like she was being censored on the news or something. I recognized her red lioness hair.
Her posts ran the gamut from the pretentious to the cliché. Comments about probably-obscure bands followed mirror selfies, and she seemed to spend a lot of time talking about where people could find “real” Indian food or see “real” films in Portland.
“Ew,” Elle said, reaching over my shoulder to point at a link to Aubrey’s blog. She sounded disgusted. “I read that one. She’s claiming that no one in America really understands miso soup, because she tried it in Japan and it’s so different there.”
“Gross.”
I kept scrolling. It was strangely transfixing. In Aubrey’s world, she was a very important person.
The scary part was, she might be right. Anyone with that many followers had at least some influence. If Aubrey was getting suspicious about the Glimmering world, she’d be able to share her thoughts with thousands of people. It would only take a couple of status updates that would take ten seconds to write and even less time to read.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t get a picture,” I said.
Elle propped her feet up against the edge of the coffee table. I hoped Dad wouldn’t come home any time soon. He hated when people “disrespected” furniture.
I put my feet up, too.
“She’s one of those self-obsessed regulars who came a lot right before we went Glim. The posts Kyle found said we have real coffee. She comes by our Saturday Market stall almost every week asking when we’re going to find a new place.”
“What do you tell her?”
“I say I have to focus on school and I’m running the business out of my house for now,” Elle said. “But she’s not buying it. And she seems convinced the café’s in the same spot it was in before, which shouldn’t be possible, but maybe I’m a terrible witch. Whatever it is, she’s not about to let any annoying spells keep her away. Which is flattering, but—”
“But totally awful,” I said.
“The Pumpkin crowd isn’t really helping convince her the world is as it seems, either,” Elle said. “The enchantments lock Glims out if Hums are watching, obviously, but you can only have so many faeries hanging around outside a real estate office before things start looking weird.”
“The Council would never be able to do damage control,” I said. “If she actually got a photo, I mean.”
“People would think it was faked,” Elle said. “Wouldn’t they?”
I frowned and kept scrolling down the page.
“Yeah, probably. But we’ve had internet fiascos before. You can only make so many people look like morons or con artists before people notice a pattern. Aubrey’s one person. But if other people jump on the bandwagon with her?”
Normally I’d have brushed this off and told Elle to stop worrying.
But things had changed. The Oracle had started rewarding people who did horrible things to Humdrums a while ago. Now, people were holding Oracle parties to advocate for the right to live openly as Glims, and I wasn’t about to assume they were looking for a peaceful coexistence. This was not a good time for a narcissistic Hum like Aubrey to start trying to expose the city’s best Glim café.
“This could blow up really big,” I said. “You know my dad’s on the Council, right?”
“Yeah?”
“The Council members have been kind of disagreeing with each other lately,” I said.
It was an oversimplification, but I couldn’t tell Elle everything that was going on. Unless Elle came to me with information the way Isabelle had, I needed to keep her at a safe distance.
“Basically, some of them have different ideas about how the Glim and Hum worlds should be connected. Or not connected. Or whatever.”
“I’ve heard people say that,” Elle said. “Which, whatever. I don’t get what’s wrong with the way it is now. We’re way progressive when it comes to social issues.”
I lifted my hands. I was helpless to explain. The only real answer was Because the Oracle is a nincompoop, which wasn’t going to cut it.
“People are greedy, I guess,” I said. “It’s not enough to be Glim; the rest of the world has to know about it. Maybe the rest of the world even has to admit we’re superior. Glims talk like that sometimes, when they don’t think they’ll get in trouble for it. If the Council members don’t get on the same page with each other, it’s going to be a nightmare trying to assign Erasers to clean up the mess.”
“Hold it,” Elle said, raising her hand. “Erasers.”
Elle had taken to our world so easily that it was hard to remember she hadn’t always been one of us.
“Erasers are from the Office of Cross-Cultural Relations,” I said. “They work under direction of the Council. Erasers glamour the memories of Hums who shouldn’t have been exposed to our world. They’d be in charge of crisis control if Aubrey did manage to actually get some, I don’t know, evidence. And then the Inkers do the opposite—they make sure that important Hums know everything they need to know to work with the Glim world. Like, when a new governor is appointed, the Inks introduce them to our world and then enchant them so they remember all the details they need to remember in order to keep things running.”
“Those sound like horrible jobs,” Elle said.
“Says the barista.”
She pointed at me. “Don’t knock it,” she said. “Baristas probably know as much as the Council. Aubrey isn’t the only thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
This couldn’t be good.
“I’ve heard a little about people wanting to change how we relate to the Humdrums,” Elle said. “Mostly, people seem to think that we should let the Humdrums know about us,
which is… I don’t know, I don’t think I have an opinion on that yet. But it’s also happening the other way around.”
“What is?”
“Like, the Humdrums want to know about the Glims. Have you heard of Huntsmen?”
Something about the word sent a chill down my spine. It was the same feeling I got whenever I thought about the Oracle, a sort of intuitive sense that something horrible and super stressful was about to land squarely on my shoulders.
“Like, people who go hunting?” I said. If only I could be so lucky.
“I wish,” Elle said. “You could just give them a season every year and be done with it. No, Huntsmen are, like, magic-hunters. Kyle found some stuff online, where groups of these people get together and talk about where they’ve seen ‘magic’ lately. Some Hums are starting to get suspicious. And I don’t know why.”
“Oracle parties,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s a thing Glims do when they’re trying to advocate for blowing up our world all over the Hums,” I said. “They go perform magic—”
“In front of one of the Oracle’s fountains,” Elle interrupted. “I didn’t realize that’s what they were called.”
“They’re screwing a lot of things up,” I said. “The Council’s cracking down hard.”
“Good luck with that,” Elle muttered. “It’s going to get beyond the Council soon. These magic hunters are all Humdrums who’ve noticed weird stuff going on. And they’ve started talking to each other—thanks, internet—and they’re actually organizing. They’re like ghost hunters, except instead of ghosts, they’re trying to catch us.”
“I haven’t heard about them,” I said.
“It’s not a major thing,” Elle said. “There are a couple of small groups here and there, not anything you’d take seriously. The kind of people who go Glim hunting are the kind of people who go Bigfoot hunting. But I catch rumors. You wouldn’t believe how much stuff I overhear at Pumpkin.”
“I’m glad you do,” I said. “Keep an ear out. I don’t want to blow this out of proportion or anything, but…”
I trailed off and swirled my tea around my mug. It had cooled, but I didn’t bother to re-heat it.
“Something’s happening,” Elle said. She looked at me, waiting for me to look back and tell her the truth.
The truth was too much, and too complicated. But I nodded.
“Just let me know if you hear anything else,” I said. “It could be important.”
Chapter Nine
Christmas music blared from the gold bells Mom had strung over the kitchen entryway. These were all classic Christmas songs, sung by crooners who sounded like they were trying to seduce us while we worked on dinner. The whole house smelled like spruce branches. For the first time in months, I was happy to be home.
Dad being on his third glass of mulled wine probably had something to do with it. He sat in his office, drinking and doing only he knew what. Mom, Daniel, and I were in the kitchen, up to our elbows in the ingredients for Christmas Eve dinner. Mom twirled her wand with some extra flair over the pan I was working on, and a thin stream of fragrant butter poured from its tip and into the mashed potatoes.
“And a happy new year!” she sang, directly into my ear.
The doorbell rang. A moment later, without anyone having answered it, Mrs. Dann walked in, a giant poinsettia tucked in her curly hair and a cellophane-wrapped loaf of lemon poppyseed bread in her hand.
Mom hugged her. I smiled and waved. Imogen might be the stupidest person alive, but I still loved her family.
“This is for you,” Mrs. Dann said. She tossed the loaf my way. It hovered gently in the air and settled like a feather into my outstretched hand. “Poppy seeds for—”
“For good dreams,” I finished with her. Mrs. Dann’s poppyseed bread was a tradition, one that stretched back to the first Christmas after our families had met.
My mom asked how the Danns were doing, and Mrs. Dann asked how we were doing, and I tuned them out while I finished the potatoes and got started on the baked yams. I wasn’t nearly as good at cooking enchantments as Mom was, and it took all my focus to heat and soften the yams in their glass dish without turning them into mush.
“Olivia.” Mrs. Dann’s voice broke into my thoughts. I looked up.
“Sorry?”
“I have a box of your mom’s stuff in the car,” she said. “Would you come get it before I go?”
I blew on the tip of my wand to cool it and stuck it in my hair.
We went out to the car together. The wind was cold and strong tonight. There was no snow—Portland wasn’t big on the white stuff—but it still felt like the holidays. Dazzling Christmas lights covered the old houses on our street, half the buildings competing for the most spectacular flashing displays and the other half trying to prove how understated they were with their wreaths and simple white lights. Behind me, a single white strand of lights lined the edge of our roof.
Mrs. Dann opened the back of her silver minivan. A box was there, loaded with Mom’s old silver tea set and a few vases.
“We used these for the school fundraiser months ago and they’ve been sitting in my entryway ever since,” Mrs. Dann said. “I’m happy they’re going home!”
“I hadn’t even noticed they were gone,” I said.
“Well, how often do you use heirlooms in real life?” Mrs. Dann said. She started to lean over and pick up the box, then stopped. She looked at me.
I felt it coming before she spoke.
“How are you and Imogen?” she said, her voice hesitant.
A chilly breeze crept down the back of my neck. I wished I’d put on a jacket. “We’re not really talking,” I said.
“I gathered that much,” she said. “I haven’t seen you around lately. But, well, can I ask why? I know she misses you.”
A tiny seedling of hope sprouted inside me.
“Did she say that?”
“No,” Mrs. Dann said. The seedling drooped. “But I know she does.”
I folded my arms, but more against the cold than against her questions. I didn’t want to talk about Imogen, but Mrs. Dann had a way of making even prying questions feel natural. She was such a mom that nothing seemed like a secret from her.
“I promise, that’s not the case,” I said. “She’s really upset with me.”
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Dann said. She eyed me, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
“We’re going off to college soon anyway,” I said. “We’ll find new friends.”
My throat closed up. She patted my arm.
“You know she’s been busy, right?” Mrs. Dann said. She tilted her head. I felt her energy reaching out toward me, trying to intuit what I hadn’t said.
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s working with the Oracle.”
It wasn’t a secret. Everyone at Wishes Fulfilled knew that Imogen Dann had been chosen as the Oracle’s protégé. Some people whispered she’d be the Oracle’s intern until she left for Institut Glänzen; others thought the Oracle might be training her for even greater things. She’d stopped Proctoring at the Department of Tests & Quests, at any rate.
“I hope you aren’t…” Mrs. Dann trailed off and pursed her lips.
“Jealous?” I said.
I could feel the question hovering around her. I wished I could reassure her, but the truth was worse than anything she could be imagining.
“No, I’m not jealous,” I said. “I’m happy for her. I hope she finds everything she’s ever dreamed of.”
I just hoped her dreams weren’t about destroying the world Queen Amani worked so hard to protect, and ruining the lives of who knew how many Hums in the process.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Dann said immediately. “I’m so sorry, honey. Enjoy the evening.”
She handed me the box. It was heavier than it looked, but I didn’t reach for my wand. It felt nice to b
e doing something.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
I wished I knew what to do with the sympathy in her eyes.
“You too,” I said.
I propped the box against my hip as Mrs. Dann walked around to the driver’s seat. As she was about to climb in, a dark blue car pulled up to the curb. It was older, and the sight of it made me smile before I’d realized it.
Lucas climbed out, wrapped in a black coat and blue scarf. I nodded at him.
Mrs. Dann’s aura seemed to jerk in surprise. By the time I looked over, her face was smooth and pleasant.
“Lucas!” she said brightly. “What a surprise.”
“Mrs. Dann,” he said. “How are you?”
Of course. They knew each other from that whole Imogen-stealing-the-guy-I-liked thing. I plastered on a smile and tried to pretend it wasn’t awkward.
She said something about everyone being well, then wished us both another cheery “Merry Christmas!” before climbing into the van. I watched her pull out and drive away.
“Get the door for me?” I said.
He was already halfway up the front steps. I edged sideways through the door, careful to not jam my fingers between the box and the doorframe, and carried it into the kitchen. I sent a quick mental image of Lucas ahead.
They got the hint. Mom and Daniel both had their wands hidden by the time we made it into the kitchen. I put the box on the kitchen table. The house felt weirdly quiet. The bells, triggered by the Humdrum shield that covered our property, had stopped playing music before Lucas entered the house.
“Oh, hello, Lucas!” Mom said. She was a shade too enthusiastic. “How are you? It’s so nice to see you again!”
“Hi, Mrs. Feye,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
“You too. What on earth are you doing here tonight?” She tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’m making assumptions. Do you celebrate Christmas?”
“Yeah,” he said. He smiled, and Mom relaxed a little. She always got flustered around my Humdrum friends. “My mom’s a nurse,” Lucas explained. “She’s working tonight. We’re going to celebrate in a couple days.”
