by Erin Johnson
I shook my head. This was an impossible task.
Horace lifted a brow ever so slightly. “Additionally, the officers and guards will be clad in a specialized armor. It allows magic out, but none in. This way they can cast spells, but the armor deflects any attack magic hurled at them.”
Wiley pinched the bridge of his nose and Maple trembled. She’d been quiet this whole time.
Horace turned toward me. I gulped. “This armor is quite effective against every magical creature… except for a swallow.” The corner of his mouth pulled up slightly. “We can pull the magic and life force right out of them, since the armor allows magic out.”
My chest tightened. “I’m not killing anyone.” I gritted my teeth.
Horace pursed his lips. “Your choice. But you can still pull from them without killing.”
I hated doing it, though. I’d done so before, in an emergency, but always worried—what if I pulled too much accidentally and hurt someone… or worse?
“I have a thought.” Annie lifted a finger. “Going back to earlier, what if we spelled the cookies or whatever we bake and drug some of the—”
We all froze as the door behind us swung open and voices bounced off the clean, minimal surfaces of the bakery. Horace locked eyes with me for the briefest of moments, but the intensity in his glare sent tingles up my spine. In a blur of movement, he stretched out a hand. Drawers slid open and sharp-looking knife flew out of one into his hand. He swung into a crouch, hidden from sight behind the U-shaped counter. As Maple turned to see who’d entered the bakery, Horace lifted the point of the knife to her lower back and held a finger to his lips.
Wiley’s eyes grew so wide that the whites were visible all around his irises. His hands balled into fists, his knuckles white against his red skin, and his entire body shook.
I nudged him. “It’ll be okay.” I nodded at Maple, whose chest heaved as she stood ramrod straight. “Won’t it?” I hissed down at Horace.
“Hola, amigos!” Rhonda swept into the kitchen, arm in arm with Amelia.
We all whirled toward them and stood at attention. We closed ranks till we stood shoulder to shoulder and blocked the blueprints laid out behind us on the kitchen island.
Rhonda waved and tried to peek behind us. “What are you guys making?”
Oh great. Just what we needed, a psychic. I prayed that her visions’ streak for predicting the mundane held and she didn’t suddenly get a flash that Horace was holding us all hostage. Who knew how ugly it could get. I bit my lip, hard. I wanted to punch my brother for holding a knife to Maple.
“It’s a—” Maple swallowed. All the color had drained from her face.
“A surprise!” I cut in.
“Boy, what a surprise,” Iggy muttered.
They sauntered up. Rhonda wore denim overalls and a kimono jacket, while Amelia stunned in her signature white. Today she looked especially sharp in a white power suit with a bow tie and pointed-toe stilettoes.
She held a dark finger to the gumdrop-like communication device in her ear. She rolled her eyes as she spoke to a member of her team. “No. I did not say literal springs. Spring—as in springtime, when everything blooms?” She mouthed “sorry” at us. “Blooms, not boings. Blooms.” Her eyes widened. “You bought how many? What are we going to do with five thousand springs? Well, return them.” She shook her head and pushed the device. She turned to us. “Sorry about that.”
Rhonda grinned. “I take it party planning is going well?”
Amelia pressed her eyes shut. “I’m giving the Air Kingdom event planner a break and coordinating the last night of celebrations and—” She waved a hand. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about it.” She scanned our little group till her eyes landed on Sam. Her face softened. “Hi, Sam. Have time for a cup of tea?”
Amelia wandered into the bakery at least once a day to have a snack or tea with Sam. They’d become good friends and I got the feeling that as busy and socially connected as Amelia was, she didn’t have much time for a life, nor too many actual friends.
Sam froze, his eyes giant behind his thick glasses. His chin receded deeper into his neck.
Amelia frowned. “Sam? You okay?”
Rhonda cleared her throat and spoke in her stuffed-up sounding voice. “Yeah. You guys all seem a little wigged out.”
I held still but my eyes slid down to Horace.
He mouthed, “Get rid of them.”
My eyes slid back to Rhonda and Amelia. I plastered on a smile, though my eyes felt tight around the edges. I probably looked terrifying. “Well, you know, we’re just way behind with baking. We don’t know where anything is and—”
Amelia flashed her bright white smile. She stepped forward. “Oh, well I can help if you—”
“No!” Six voices shouted at once.
She froze and her smile dropped.
“We mean….” I gulped. “Nooo, you’re already working so hard.” It sounded weak even to myself.
She frowned and looked to Sam. “No time for a quick break then, Sam?”
My shifter friend stood with his mouth hanging open and his face scrunched up in pain. He looked like he was going to be ill. He closed his mouth, tears welling in his eyes, and shook his head. “No. I’m sssorry.”
Amelia frowned deeper and planted a hand on her hip. She started around the side of the counter. At the same time Horace pressed the tip of the knife to Maple’s back and she inhaled sharply and stiffened.
“Stop!” Wiley bellowed.
Amelia froze, wide-eyed.
My chest heaved as my heart raced.
“Stop.” Wiley licked his lips. “You guys are—are a big distraction.” He looked around at each of us horrified bakers. “Maple and, and Sam are too nice to say anything, but we’ve all talked about it, and you—you can’t come into the bakery and interrupt us like this.”
Amelia’s face fell. She looked only at Sam. “You all agree?”
Sam whimpered, but managed a quick nod.
Amelia looked down at her pointed-toe shoes, her arms hugged tight around herself. When she lifted her chin, her dark, glossy eyes couldn’t meet ours. She pressed her lips into a tight line. “Fine. Event planner Amelia gets it. You’re being professional.” Her throat bobbed and she lifted her eyes and her voice. “But friend Amelia thinks—well, thought we were friends.”
She started toward the door and Rhonda slid up beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders. The Seer cast a look back and clicked her tongue at us. “Fish below, you come in for a cup of tea and half a dozen scones with your friends, you don’t expect to be treated like—”
Rhonda froze. Her body contorted and she threw her head back. A golden circle of light glowed on her dark forehead. I held my breath. What would her vision hold? I bit my lip and hoped for another prediction about my bowel movements. I knew it was bad when that was my best hope.
She slumped and let out a long sigh. Amelia held her shoulders to steady her. “Rhonda? Are you all right?”
I leaned forward, my hands on the cool countertop. Airships zoomed past the enormous window behind them.
Rhonda shook her head and her black, tight curls bounced over her shoulders. She pressed a hand to her head. “That was a doozy.” She turned to us and pulled her mouth into a wide grimace. She held up her hands with their multicolored, neon nails. “That one was for all of you.” She wagged a finger at us bakers. “Whatever plan you’ve got going, it’s not going to end well. And when I say not well, what I mean is horribly. Everything that can go wrong, will, and you will either die or get caught.” She leveled us a serious look, and then flashed a bright smile and linked her arm through Amelia’s. “So good luck with that. We wouldn’t want to distract you. Toodles.” She winked and they left, Amelia’s shoulders slumped.
As the white shiny door closed behind them, we all exchanged worried glances. Tears trickled down Sam’s cheeks, and Annie rubbed his narrow shoulders.
The door flew back open and Rhonda stuck he
r head in. We all froze.
She held up a finger. “Almost forgot. Also, got this: T6E5H7J8. No idea what it means, but the spirit world is telling me it’s really important so you better remember, because I’m not talking to you guys.” She shrugged and slipped back out the door.
Horace straightened from his crouch. His eyes flashed. “Quite the dire prediction.”
“She said we’re all gonna die!” Iggy shouted. “Not that I couldn’t have told you that!”
I raised my brows at him. “You have told us that—often!”
Wiley ignored the knife that Horace still held and stomped up to him. He stood several inches taller than my brother and growled down into his face. “You want to threaten someone next time, threaten me. Because if you ever hold a knife to her again I’ll—”
Horace bared his teeth in a snarl of a smile. “You’ll what?” His voice came out deceptively soft.
Wiley narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re this big bad dude, but you don’t know me. I grew up on the streets and I’m scrappy and frankly don’t care what happens to me. But you hurt her,” he pointed a trembling arm at Maple, “and I don’t care if it’s the last thing I do, I will kill you.”
Maple gasped. “I care! I care if it’s the last thing you do.”
Wiley’s gaze swung to her and his scowl faltered.
“Get out of my face.” Horace’s eyes nearly glowed with anger.
Maple grabbed Wiley’s arm and tugged him toward her.
Horace dropped the knife to the floor. Its point stuck in the soft cork. “I suggest you work on your plan. I’ll be checking up on you soon.”
A whoosh of magic blew my apron up and rustled the blueprints. A swarm of moths occupied the spot where Horace had stood a blink of an eye earlier. They fluttered to the ceiling and disappeared through a metal vent.
Annie folded her arms and glared. “Remind me to buy some mothballs.”
9
The Salon
I perched on the edge of the sofa and fiddled with the hem of my dress. I’d worn a black, long-sleeved A-line with a white Peter Pan collar and peep-toe pumps. Considering that just a few hours earlier my evil long-lost brother had ambushed us and then I’d had to bake like a madwoman to catch up on all our work, I felt pretty good about how I’d cleaned up.
My eyes scanned the sleek, rich drawing room and the beautiful women who adorned it, and I tugged my skirt lower. I sighed. No point in trying too hard to fit in. Because, to be honest, I just didn’t.
A massive sheet of curved glass formed the ceiling high above me. Clouds and airships floated past, and roots and upside down farms hung from the earthy bottom of overhead sky islands. A string quartet played in the corner of the huge room, which was subdivided by little groupings of simple, stylish sofas, chairs, and side tables. I’d positioned myself next to the snack table, of course. I looked around, but no one paid any attention to me. I reached to my right and snagged my tenth cucumber sandwich. I popped it into my mouth whole. Which was of course when someone called my name.
“Imogen!”
I turned, my cheeks nearly bursting, and tried to hold my lips together. I raised my brows when I spotted Emmaline and waved back.
She tottered over in tall heels that didn’t do much to boost her tiny stature. A couple of enormous cosmetic cases swung from her arms. She plopped down on the blue velvet sofa beside me and dropped the cases onto the white marble floor. She looked around the room. Women in gorgeous dresses and pearls clustered in groups together.
She frowned, her lavender brows pulling together to form a crease between them. “The invitation said this was a salon.”
I nodded. “It is.” I lifted my nose and did my best impression of an aristocratic British accent. “Where all the brightest minds gather to discuss the topic of the week…” I peeked at the card in Emmaline’s hand and read, “Exclusivity.” Of course that was the theme. Apparently, this was just the first of several gatherings we “upper-class” women would be having since all the best and brightest of the kingdoms were gathered here for the spring festival. Hank’s mom and other sisters-in-law stood in the corner and chatted.
Emmaline’s face fell. “Oh no.” She looked down at the cosmetic cases. “I thought it meant like, beauty salon.”
I stifled a smile.
She gestured at the cases. “I brought all my nail polishes and makeup. I thought we were giving each other makeovers.” She groaned and I chuckled.
“Easy mistake.” I grinned. “To be honest, that sounds more fun.”
Louella sauntered up to us with a couple of brunettes at her sides. She tossed her glossy blonde locks and simpered at Emmaline. “Did I hear that right? You thought this was a beauty salon?” She played with the short strand of pearls at her neck. “How droll.”
Emmaline waved her hand and the cases magically vanished. “Ha. Right? So droll. I was just kidding.”
Louella smiled brightly, though her hawk eyes fixed on Emmaline. “Of course you were. Can you imagine if you’d been serious?” Her friends snickered.
I shot her a flat look. “Great party, Louella. Thanks for the invite.”
Her gaze swung to me. “It’s not a party, Imogen, it’s a salon. We’re here to share knowledge and culture.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Something I daresay you both could benefit from.”
I so wished Iggy were with me right now. He’d have the perfect inappropriate comeback.
I dug my fingernails into my knees to hold back my temper. “And what fascinating knowledge will you be dropping on us today?”
Louella swept her thin arm toward a man in the corner with huge glasses, dressed all in gray. A cluster of women fawned over him, petting his shoulder and edging closer to catch every word. “As the hostess of the first salon this week, I’m bestowing on you an exclusive experience. Ferdinand D’Lin is joining us today.”
She waited for our reactions, a look of triumph on her face. Emmaline and I exchanged confused looks.
I cocked a brow. “Who?”
Louella’s expression soured. “Only the most talented fashion designer in the kingdoms. He designs one garment a year. One. No one knows where he lives, or his contact information. Until today he’s never appeared in public. You don’t find Ferdinand D’Lin—he finds you.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Then how’d you find him?”
Louella grew grim. “You don’t want to know.”
“Okay, now I really want to know.” I grinned wider.
She planted her hands on her thin hips and huffed. “You know, Emmaline, Lady Devos had to back out of hosting the salon on Friday.” Her eyes flashed. “We haven’t found a replacement yet. Why don’t you step in?”
Emmaline’s mouth dropped and she stammered something incoherent. My eyes widened.
Louella beamed. “Perfect! It’s settled then. I’ll let the committee know you’ll be the hostess. And remember, the theme is exclusivity. Which is a bit challenging considering you’re entertaining the wealthiest and most powerful women in the kingdoms.” She tapped a slender finger against her pink lips. “You’ll have to think up something so chic and elite and unique that it’ll blow them away, and yet be something they can’t have already bought or done for themselves.”
Emmaline whimpered. “By Friday? That’s only four days away.”
Louella giggled. “Good luck.” She and her posse strutted away. She stopped suddenly and her minions nearly crashed into her. She shot them withering glares, then flashed at smile at Emmaline. “Did I mention he’s putting on a trunk show for us?” She turned and her perfect golden waves fanned across her shoulders.
Emmaline slumped so low into the sofa she nearly slid off it. “I’m doomed.” She stared straight ahead, eyes unseeing.
I grinned at the melodrama and shook her shoulder. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”
Her eyes slid to me, full of horror. “These women, you don’t understand. They’re brutal.” She leaned closer. “I didn’t even know
what a salon was, and now I have to host one? In four days?” She fell back into the sofa and looked as exhausted as if she’d just run a marathon. “What am I going to do?”
I patted her hand. “Come on, let’s go listen to the fashion hermit. I’m sure you’ll think of something. I’ll try to help.”
She nodded and let me help her to her feet, though her mind was far, far away. I snagged another couple of sandwiches and we joined the group of elite women. We stood behind the sofa where Hank’s mom and the other Water princesses sat.
“Something exclusive… something no one’s experienced before….” Emmaline looked at the floor and muttered to herself.
Poor girl. I looked up as the famous designer dusted off a stool with his handkerchief. He then snapped his fingers and the handkerchief burst into flames and disappeared. He opened his mouth and spoke in a nasally voice. “Dirty.”
The women twittered to each other and nodded their heads in approval.
I frowned. Seriously?
He perched on the stool. The longest moment of silence of my life stretched on as he looked at us and we looked at him. And looked. And looked. I turned my head and tried to surreptitiously devour a cucumber sandwich. I choked on it when a loud, high note pierced the silence. Mouth full, I spun to find the man with his head thrown back and mouth wide.
“Eeeeeeeee!”
He stopped and stared seriously at us as his voice reverberated around the enormous drawing room. He folded his hands in his lap. “That is the sound of creativity. The exact note. I will now display my creations.”
The women golf-clapped and gasped as a line of tall, thin models strutted in from a side door, modeling flowing gowns made of what appeared to be burlap, peacock feathers, and chicken wire. So, pretty much what I’d expected.
