Love Fortunes and Other Disasters

by Kimberly Karalius

  After being exposed to so many kissing couples, and having entirely too much time on her hands when the library traffic dwindled, Fallon’s thoughts went somewhere she hadn’t intended: she compared Sebastian’s kisses with the boys’ she caught in the stacks. He must have learned something from kissing so many girls, because he had a neat, tidy way of kissing. No drooling. No wandering hands. No animal-like noises. He might have kissed coldly, but that was a detail she was willing to forgive after what she’d seen.

  If Anais was here, she’d be calling me a prude, Fallon thought wryly. A messy kiss means love. Not that I’d know. She pushed the cart down the aisle, past the boy in the headphones tapping his foot to his music.

  “Sit over here, Martin, by the window,” came Camille’s voice.

  Fallon flinched. She peered through the cart to see Camille claim a table near the window. She darted into a row, pretending to be engrossed in shelving. The books felt slippery in her sweaty palms.

  Martin carried a box of paperwork. His glasses sat on his nose at a crooked angle and his arms shook from the weight of the box. “Not so loud.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re in a library. You have to whisper.”

  Camille stood on her toes and breathed in his ear. Her question was anything but a whisper. “Like this?”

  Martin shivered and almost dropped the box. “We have work to do,” he said thickly.

  “Nope, only you do.” They sat down.

  “I could have asked the other officers for help,” Martin said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Camille snorted. “I don’t think so. They’ve got lives.”

  That was a tactless, hurtful statement, but Martin just seemed to take it. He grabbed the first paper from the stack and sighed. “You’re right. I’m the president. I can’t give my responsibilities to other people.”

  Camille sank back in her chair. She took something out of her purse and dabbed her wrists. A strong scent of musk and caramel liqueur made Fallon’s nose itch; she pinched it shut to keep from sneezing. “I don’t see how serving on student government is going to help us after graduation. I’m only here for you, Martin. I do what I can because I care about you.”

  Martin opened his mouth, then shut it. He blinked a few times as if he couldn’t focus. “Yes,” he mumbled into his paper.

  “At least I’m going somewhere at the charm shop.”

  Fallon stopped shelving. For the rebellion’s sake, she needed to pay attention. She knelt down, pretending to read the titles off the bottom of the cart.

  “I know Zita’s shop intimately,” she said, “from every shelved potion to the dust under the counters. While you were moping this summer, I became an assistant manager. Me, a high school student. Zita said I had promise.”

  Martin looked up. “You talked to her?”

  “Over the phone. We have a phone in the break room that’s used exclusively for phone calls with Zita. It’s pink.”

  “Pink,” he echoed. He returned to his work.

  Camille twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Zita has such a squeaky voice, but there’s authority behind it. She told me that she liked how I conducted myself at work. It won’t be long before I become a full-fledged manager, and then, perhaps, I could even meet her and learn from her.”

  Martin signed a sheet of paper and reached for the next one.

  “She’s as old as my grandma. It’s only a matter of time before she retires and hands the shop over to someone else.”

  Fallon gripped the orchid book in her hands tightly. So this was Camille’s aspiration.

  Camille smiled fondly at Martin and planted a kiss on his lips that put the sneaking couples to shame. “I’m glad we had this talk,” she said, touching his cheek. “We might not be dating anymore, but I can’t bear leaving you alone. You’re so helpless without me.”

  Martin touched his lips, slow and stunned, while the pen fell from his hand and rolled onto the floor.

  Fallon couldn’t watch anymore. As smooth as she could, she stood up, grabbed the cart, and pushed it into another row far from Camille and Martin. Nico shouldn’t hear about this, she thought. I can’t tell him. He’ll only cry.

  The image of the pink phone stuck with her as she finished the shelving. Up until now, she hadn’t heard anything about Zita’s interactions with people, but the phone made sense. She’d need to keep tabs on her shop to make sure it ran correctly. But where was Zita, that she needed a phone? Maybe the great love charm-maker hopped from train to train, attending private conferences and hiding from cameras. That would explain why no one in Grimbaud had seen her in years.

  “Have you finished?” Ms. Ward said, coming around the corner with a handful of books. “I’ve got more returned books to shelve.”

  Fallon took them from her.

  Ms. Ward hesitated. “If you don’t mind my asking, is something wrong? You look upset.”

  “I’m just tired. I stayed up late doing homework.”

  Ms. Ward looked unconvinced. “I want you to know that you can confide in me. That may sound silly coming from me, but I remember receiving that fortune at your age and having no one to turn to. It was a miserable time. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  “Thank you,” Fallon said. “I’d like to hear about it sometime.”

  “It might make you sadder.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Ms. Ward smiled warmly. “Good girl. You’ll need to be brave. It took me a long time to feel that way.”

  The librarian’s words would have been a bitter comfort if the rebellion hadn’t existed. Fallon returned to the shelving, fixated on the prospect of Ms. Ward becoming an ally for the cause. Her sympathy might make her receptive, but in the meantime, Fallon needed to get to know her better.

  * * *

  “Oh, it’s almost time,” Anais said, clapping her hands. She plugged in the radio and ushered Fallon over to the register. “Thanks for listening with me. It’s lonely being here with only Hal’s voice for company.”

  Maybe if you told Bear where you lived, he would stay awake with you, Fallon thought.

  The night wound down quickly inside the drugstore. Mr. Jacobs, fully awake this time, let Anais turn up the volume so Hard-boiled Hal’s voice reached every corner of the store.

  “Mind the register,” he warned, carrying a bucket of receipts upstairs to file.

  “Okay, Dad,” Anais mumbled. Chin on her fists, she waited to be entertained by Hard-boiled Hal’s antics.

  You won’t find anything sappy on our show. Stick around, grab a beer, and we’ll talk about the other things that matter in life. Yes, other things do matter.

  Hard-boiled Hal’s agenda was different that night. He made jokes about the high school kids spending the last of their pocket money on charms to make each other miserable. Although he kept his promise of avoiding sappiness, recent events in town had obviously upset him as well. He took a deep breath over the radio waves, interrupting his own rant on last night’s baseball game held at the middle school. Look, there’s something I can’t get out of my head. You’re probably thinking about the same thing as me, so we’re going to banish it from our thoughts together. Let’s pointedly ignore the statue’s removal. Ready? One. Two. Three. Ignored.

  Anais snickered. “He’s that upset?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Everyone is. But I didn’t think that a statue would break him.”

  If Robbie could step out of his world of textiles and clothing to get mad about the statue’s removal, then anything was possible.

  As late as it was, Fallon was glad that she got to spend time with Anais while doing work for the rebellion. She’d need to listen to Hal’s show every night if she wanted a good chance of discovering his identity. Maybe everyone in the club could take turns. Memorizing his voice was the best strategy she had. If she could hear him in a crowd …

  Fallon’s eyes widened. Didn’t the rebellion already have a sound expert? Sebastian spent wh
o knows how many hours each week collecting silence. To the point where he could probably identify sounds better than the average person. Fallon needed to speak to him about listening for Hal. In her excitement, the temptation to jog back to the complex with the question on her lips was almost irresistible.

  The door jingled. Anais tensed, ready to flee in case it was her boyfriend, but only Nico walked into the store. He wore his cutoff jeans, soaked with canal water, and shivered as he approached the counter.

  “What’s the matter?” Fallon asked, noticing his puffy eyes.

  “Did Camille put tacks in your locker?” Anais joked, but she turned down the volume on the radio.

  “Worse than that,” Nico said. He dried his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Something’s wrong with Martin. I can feel it. My stomach’s been in knots all day.”

  Fallon grabbed a blanket from underneath the counter (in case of spills) and draped it over Nico’s shoulders. He was cold to the touch, and not just because of working the night shift at the ticket booth. The episode at the library had happened a few days ago; she hadn’t told him about it for fear of upsetting him, but she should have known better. Camille and Martin’s continuing relationship wouldn’t have escaped Nico for long.

  Anais dropped a few dollars into the cash register and poured cups of tasteless coffee. “Many things could be wrong with Martin. He’s the president. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Nico held on to the coffee like an anchor. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. I thought that Camille was just being pushy when she made those moves on Martin. We’ve had an officer meeting every week since September, and only recently have things changed between them. Martin doesn’t lead the meetings anymore. Camille does. He just sits there, looking at his paper, like he hasn’t been sleeping. And worst of all, he lets Camille push him around. God, when she kisses him…” He paused. “She has no shame. And neither does Martin, for that matter. He just lets her kiss him in front us.”

  “I hate to say it, but your fortune wasn’t very positive about you and Martin,” Anais said. “Things like this happen. Exes get back together. I’ll never understand that, but they do.”

  “No, wait,” Nico said, grabbing Anais’s wrist. “I’m not saying it right.”

  “Try again,” Fallon said.

  “When Martin’s not near her, he seems almost normal. Kind of sick, like he’s getting over a cold, but better. He calls me Nicolas.” He took a sip of the coffee. “During the officer meetings, he loses himself. And I know Camille spends as much time as she can with him when she’s not working at Zita’s. When they’re together, something hurts him. I know it.”

  “That can only mean one thing,” Anais said.

  Fallon’s breath caught. “Camille’s using a love charm.”

  chapter 12

  SUN

  “I saw Martin and Camille in the library,” Fallon admitted. “I don’t know Martin that well, but after what you’ve just said, I agree with you. He was very passive with her.”

  Nico’s brow furrowed. “Passive, how?”

  As usual, he fished for more details that would hurt his heart further. Fallon had no intention of indulging him. “Along the same lines as what you said happens. So what are we going to do about it?”

  Nico took a shaky sip of his coffee.

  Anais steepled her fingers in the fashion of a calculating villain. “Oh yes, we’re doing something. Camille’s gone too far this time.”

  Fallon thought about what she’d learned so far about love charms. “Manipulation is a fact when it comes to love charms, isn’t it? Either you do it to yourself or to someone else. But turning someone into a zombie has to be illegal. The police should get involved.”

  “That would take too long,” Anais said. “Charm crimes aren’t that common because there’s a fine line between using a charm as it’s meant to work and using it for an awful purpose. Remember when Alard Carlier got suspended from school for using a charm to cheat on his final exam in history? He could have gotten expelled if he hadn’t claimed his retention charm malfunctioned. Of course, we all knew he tinkered with the charm so that his pen would gravitate toward the right choice on the bubble sheet. The administration believed it, though. If Camille hasn’t been caught yet, that means that no one’s noticed a problem. It’s up to us to help Martin.”

  Fallon felt a rush of pride for having a friend like Anais. “What should we do first?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? We go to Zita’s shop and look for the deplorable charm.”

  “Nico and I aren’t allowed to buy anything there,” Fallon said. Even if Nico tried, they’d deny him any purchases in case he thought about using them in pursuit of Martin.

  “My fortune was just fine,” Anais said. “I’ll go in and find out what I can. You two will wait outside. I can go tomorrow evening. Dad will just have to cover for me.”

  Nico put his coffee down and hugged Anais tightly. “Thank you.”

  “No one messes with my friends,” Anais said bashfully. “I may be small and cute, but I’ve got a sharp tongue and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Fallon grinned. “We wouldn’t expect any less.”

  * * *

  Pigeons occupied Verbeke Square the next day. They cooed and picked at the waffle crumbs leftover from the food carts. Fallon sipped milky orange blossom tea at a café overlooking Zita’s Lovely Love Charms Shop. The pink-lemonade shop had been busy as usual when Anais went inside.

  “She’s been in there an awfully long time,” Nico said, sitting opposite Fallon. He rubbed the extra salt off his hot pretzel and took a bite.

  “She won’t find anything,” Fallon said, dejected. The plan had been so exciting, so hopeful, when they first formed it, but now she wasn’t so sure. Would it really be that easy to find the potion Camille was using on Martin?

  “It’s good exercise for her,” Nico said. “Besides, maybe she’ll find something that’ll help her open up to Bear.”

  Fallon almost choked on her tea.

  “What?”

  “I wish.”

  Fallon hadn’t spent much time thinking about Anais and Bear’s relationship—and with good reason. They seemed perfectly happy together. Anais’s had the energy and adorableness of a lapdog with her fluffy blond hair and big eyes. She fit him in a way opposites do, with her head tucked into his side as they strolled through the school yard. Bear was just her type—big, strong, protective—but it was his gentleness that kept Anais interested. If only Anais could show that she trusted him back. Fallon hated to think how Bear would take being lied to.

  After half an hour of waiting and another cup of tea, Fallon spotted Anais holding a little pink bag with a devious grin on her face.

  Nico chewed the last of his pretzel. “Did you find it?”

  “Not really,” Anais said, pulling up a chair. “But I can be pretty persuasive when I want to. I had a long conversation with Camille Simmons about ex-boyfriends. As you know, I can’t stand spending even a second in the company of a boy I broke up with. But I pretended that I still cared in order to wheedle information out of Camille. And it worked.”

  When Anais had found Camille, she asked for a charm that would keep her ex-boyfriends interested in her.

  “We don’t sell anything like that,” Camille said, toying with her headset.

  “You don’t understand how lonely I am without my exes fawning over me,” Anais said, batting her eyes. “I know they still love me. They just need a little encouragement. Surely Zita has a charm for that.”

  Camille tugged her headset off. She crooked a finger for Anais to come closer and whispered, “What would you do if you got their love back?”

  “Use them.”

  Camille smirked. “Are you looking for a job here? You might fit in with that attitude.”

  “Just the charm, thanks.”

  “Zita won’t sell anything like that,” she said, “but I’ve cooked up a little charm that fills a boy’s head with lake
fog. Ripe for using. Maybe I’ll be able to sell it to you soon.”

  “Why not now?”

  Camille picked up the headset. “I’m not the boss.”

  Anais stepped back as another customer quizzed Camille on the display of heartache-be-gone potions. She bought a hanging charm that was supposed to enhance peacefulness in torrid relationships (“It smells like chamomile,” Anais had said) and left the shop as quickly as she could.

  Fallon trembled when the gravity of Anais’s discovery hit her. “Camille made the charm herself,” she said, sharing a stunned look with her friends. “It isn’t Zita’s creation. How did she get away with using it without getting in trouble?”

  “Camille’s quite the businesswoman,” Anais said. She snatched Fallon’s empty teacup and poured herself some orange blossom tea from the pot. “She had a twinkle in her eye. Some people would call it smugness.”

  Nico crossed his arms. “Zita, or at least one of the managers, must already know about Camille’s love charm. We can’t get her in trouble that way.”

  “That makes sense,” Fallon said. Could there be another way? “If we could find out where and how Camille makes the charm, then we can steal the ingredients and prevent her from making more.”

  Nico pressed his hand to her forehead. “No fever.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound like the Fallon Dupree I know. Breaking and entering?”

  “I like this Fallon,” Anais said, “but he’s right. We’re not thieves. It sounds like something out of an action film.”

  After leaving Verbeke Square, Fallon asked Nico to walk back to the complex with her. She told him more about what she had seen at the library, though she was careful to leave out the details that would upset him. The pink phone. Camille’s desire to succeed Zita’s legacy. “Regarding poor Martin, I have another idea.”

  Nico’s thinning hair twisted in the wind. He burrowed into his jacket. “Another one? I’m not surprised. You’re just as clever as Anais.”

  The compliment warmed her. “Thanks. I just have a feeling that Zita’s shop won’t have all the answers. Lucky for us, our rebellion has a love-charm expert.”