Slippers And Thieves Special Edition
Book 4 of the Fairy Tales of the Magicorum
Christina Bauer
Copyright
Monster House Books
Newton, MA 02464
ISBN 9781945723841
Second Edition
Copyright © 2019 by Monster House Books LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Dedication
Preface
Years Ago
Three Years Later
Epilogue
Also By Christina Bauer
BANDITS AND BALLGOWNS - Description
Appendix
Afterword
Dedication
For All Those Who Kick Ass, Take Names,
and Read Books
Preface
Dear Readers,
If you’ve been following my Magicorum series, then you know the format has (so far) started with the present day. As a reader myself, I know it can be jarring when an author changes formats.
So I wanted to give you a heads-up.
I’m totally changing formats in this book.
Namely, I’m starting the novel with things that happened years ago. Here’s why: I want to do right by the Cinderella story, and most versions kick off with some stuff on how our heroine grew up. And it’s for a good reason. I think it helps to see what Cinderella lost when she gets stuck with her evil stepfamily.
All of which is a long way of saying that this book has some historical stuff before you get to the story proper. I hope you enjoy both parts!
Best,
CB
Years Ago
1
Elle
Age Fifteen
First, homework.
Then, jewel heist.
Oh, yeah.
Rubbing my eyes, I refocus on my computer screen. A final study question appears.
SUN is to BRIGHTNESS as MAGIC is to…
a) casting
b) eternity
c) fading
I click on c) fading. A green check mark appears on screen.
Nailed it. Yay, me!
Not that my final question was super-tough to answer or anything. Everyone’s aware how magic is disappearing from the world. Shifters, fairies, and casters—folks called the Magicorum—are basically an endangered species. I should know. I’m one of them. In my case, my father’s a caster while my mother’s a fairy.
A knock sounds on the door. “Elle, may I come in?” That’s Mom.
“Sure.”
The door swings open; Mom steps inside. She’s willowy and petite with large blue eyes and long blonde hair. My heart sinks. Mom’s shoulder bones jut out against the straps of her yellow sundress. She’s getting more skeleton-like by the day. Meanwhile, I’m a younger and healthier version of her. I can’t help feeling a little guilty about that.
“How are you?” My voice wobbles as I ask the question.
“Better and better.” Mom waves me off. “Is your homework done?”
Once again, Mom veers the conversation away from her illness. In Mom’s mind, if you don’t talk about being sick, then it isn’t happening. And today, like most days, I don’t have the heart to bust up her system. If Mom says she’s better, then I won’t push it. After all, we’ve tried tons of healers. Plus, we live in New York City, home of the best cancer treatment centers ever. Nothing has made a difference.
I plaster on a fake smile. “Almost finished here.”
Mom closes the door behind her. I frown. Closed door chats are never good.
“I wanted to talk alone,” says Mom. “You see, Marchesa’s daughters are the same age as you.” She twists her fingers together at her waistline. “Both Agatha and Ivy love their high school. They’re meeting all sorts of new people.”
In this case, Marchesa refers to my mother’s lifelong frenemy, Lady Marchesa Oakwood. Lately, Marchesa has been sharing supposedly helpful tidbits about her daughters. Sadly, the stories only make Mom feel like she’s failing me. A protective urge runs up my spine. Marchesa’s supposed to run our family store, not load Mom with worry.
“Agatha and Ivy aren’t me.” I tap my chest. “Here’s one girl who likes online stuff.”
“But this is your parents’ office.” Mom frowns. “It’s not a regular classroom.”
“Come on. This is a seriously cool spot.” And I mean it. The office is small with red brick walls. There’s even a great view of Second Avenue.
Mom still looks concerned, so I go on. “Hey, I get the deal.”
There’s no need to explain more.
In this case, the deal is the fact that I’m the warden of all fae magic. It means I’m super-powered, which is certainly nice. But fae aren’t like other Magicorum. While shifters and casters worship their wardens, the fae kill theirs. That’s why I take online classes and generally avoid new people. My full-time job is pretending to be a blah fairy.
Mom’s face brightens. “I’m glad you understand the, uh, deal.”
I raise my pointer finger. “Now I must tell you—”
“If it’s about Marchesa, please don’t say a word. She’s a good friend.”
“Who upsets you all the time.” I raise my hands, palms forward. “Just saying.”
“Marchesa’s heart is in the right place. Don’t forget how her husband, Marshall, ran off right after Agatha was born.”
A nasty part of me thinks, maybe Marshall escaped because Marchesa is a horror show? Or because his daughter just got named Agatha? But I keep that bit to myself.
Mom sighs. “Then Marshall died in Amsterdam.”
Saying it that way, and it doesn’t sound too bad. But in reality? Marshall was a kind of caster called a potion master. He enjoyed poisoning his imagined enemies until, one day, he drank his own toxic brew by mistake. Hard to feel sorry for a guy like that.
“At least we never got on his bad side,” I state.
Mom shoots me a serious look, but it doesn’t last long. “True.” She smiles. “And you’re absolutely fine with online classes?”
“Do you really think I’d keep my yap shut otherwise?”
Mom chuckles. “No, I don’t.”
“Then we’re both good, right?” In my heart, I want everything to be good, not just conversations about online classes. That’s not possible, though.
“We’re better than good,” replies Mom. “We’re great.” She heads for the door and pauses. “Your father and I will work the store this morning.” On reflex, Mom looks to the carpet. Which makes sense, considering how our family store is located on the building’s first floor, right under this office. “Give us a yell if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Long after Mom’s left, I still watch the closed door. With every passing second, a weight of worry settles more deeply into my soul. All members of the Magicorum get pulled into a fairy tale life template. Mine’s Cinderella. So I can’t help but notice some facts.
Fact one. Marchesa has two nasty daughters who are my age.
Fact two. Marchesa also stares at Dad with googly eyes that make me want to puke.
Fact three. Mom has been sick for a really long time.
I’ve seen the Disney movie here. In short order, I’m heading into the not too pleasant phase of the Cinderella tale. This is the part where my parents are gone and I’m stuck with a frenemy stepmother who names her kid Agatha. Other Cinderellas may sing at their window and hope for the best.
Me? I’ve got
a plan.
Which leads to the best part of my day: the jewel heist.
2
Elle
Refocusing on my computer, I fire up Magicweb, which is the secret internet for our kind. Scanning through message boards, I look for lost valuables. My goal? Find stolen jewels that I can return for a reward. I’ve been saving up for the evil stepmother-n-sisters stage of my life. Becoming a servant in my own house? Not an option.
I flip through through the best boards for lost jewels.
JewelFinders.magic
WheresMyStuff.fae
VampLost.shadowcoe
Each site is the same—there are no new listings. So I check some web chats. A particular conversation catches my eye.
GemBabe1000 - Any new bounty jewels out there?
HuntAndFound - Nothing. Only Q of H crown in TP-CP
In regular speak, TP-CP means the Turtle Pond in Central Park. And the Q of H stuff? That’s the Queen of Hearts. She’s part fae. Part Vampire. All badass.
Here’s the deal. The Queen of Hearts is so powerful, people are always asking for her help. The good news is that the queen can do almost anything. The bad news is that she may develop an unhealthy interest in your love life along the way. I’d never ask her for help. But reaping a reward? Count me in.
GemBabe1000 - How long has that crown been sunk
HuntAndFound - 100s of yrs
GemBabe1000 - No one will ever go after that thing
I rub my palms together. Ha! I am SO going after that crown.
After shutting off my computer, I head downstairs. Once there, I speed through the warehouse part of the first floor. It’s a maze of metal shelves crammed with boxes of stuff. Soon I reach the building’s front … and a wooden door with a small window.
The entrance to Cynder Mercantile.
I enter the room. Sure enough, my parents stand inside. The shop itself is a small wooden space lined with fancy shelves, all of them overflowing with hand-made stuff, like blown glass bowls, lace doilies, or carved statuettes. The artists who make these pieces live on the upper levels of our building.
The radio plays a song, Do You Believe In Magic? It’s an ancient and corny tune, but my parents sway in sync as they stock the shelves. So sweet.
An itchy feeling crawls up my neck. Someone’s watching us. I look backward and sure enough, Marchesa stares at Dad through the little window in the warehouse door. Marchesa’s a tall lady with loops of brown hair piled high atop her head. In my opinion, she always looks like someone just offered her a small turd to eat. Right now, that regular poop-look combines with a longing stare in Dad’s direction.
Ick, ick, ick.
I take care to step into her line of sight, blocking any view of Dad. Take that, creepster.
“Hey,” I call. “You guys need any help?”
Dad spins around and grins. “Hey, yourself.” My father is handsome in an earthy way with his brown hair, strong build and easy smile. I can almost picture Marchesa craning her neck for a better view.
“How’s my Ellie Belly?” Dad asks.
I mock-gasp. “You did not say that.”
“You were such a chubby baby, what else could I call you?”
I roll my eyes. “Elle?”
“Come here and give your old man a hug.”
So I do. Dad gives the best hugs; they’re always full of love and warmth. That’s just how Declan Cynder is in general. My father’s a giving type of person. In fact, Dad founded Cynder Mercantile to help desperate artists from the magical world. Meanwhile, the rest of his life centers on me and Mom. It’s a pretty awesome set-up.
Mom stares pointedly at my purse. “Where are you off to?”
“A walk in central park.” I’m wearing jeans, Doc Martens, and a Disney Princesses T-shirt. Therefore, my morning stroll story is totally believable, if I do say so myself.
Dad frowns. “Are you sure it’s safe to go alone?”
“I’m a careful girl,” I reply. “I just want some air.” And a crown.
My parents share a long stare before Mom focuses on me again. “It’s fine. Bring your phone and be back by lunch.”
“You got it. Thanks!”
And with that, I’m off to find the Queen of Hearts’ crown. Afterward, there will be a major reward in store for me. And goodness knows, I need it.
This is one Cinderella life template who’s kicking butt and taking charge.
3
Alec
Age Fifteen
I loiter before a construction site on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. A sign on the chain link fence reads, Coming Soon: the L Center.
Reporter Rosa Langstrom stands beside the wooden placard. She smacks her lips and smoothes her short black hair. “Ready to shoot?” she asks her cameraman.
“One sec,” says the guy.
I’d keep walking, but the L Center stands for the Le Charme Center and I’m none other than Alec Le Charme. Color me curious.
“Ready,” says the guy.
Rosa grins for the camera. “For seven years now, New Yorkers have seen this sign.” She gestures toward the placard behind her. “The L Center is notorious for constantly being under construction. In fact, there have been no less than four complete rebuilds of this place. It’s a strange legacy for what’s arguably the most famous jewelry company in the world, Le Charme. But here at the Magicorum News Network, we’ve uncovered inside information that this eternal construction site may actually be finished soon. Why? There’s one simple reason. Alec Le Charme.”
Called it.
Is it strange that I’m standing on the sidewalk while a reporter does a story on me? Not too odd. Plus, I’m a pro at hiding in plain sight. I wear a baseball cap, sunglasses, and jeans. More importantly, I slump while keeping a blank face. It’s a skill.
Rosa goes on. “Le Charme Jewelers was founded in 1643 by the famous gem caster, Charles Le Charme. For any of you living under a rock, casters—meaning witches and wizards—are part of the Magicorum. As a gem caster, Charles was the perfect man to start a jewelry company. All the Le Charmes follow a Cinderella life template. The first-born son always has a Glass Slipper Ball during his eighteenth year. It’s when he chooses his wife.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. For centuries, the oldest sons in my family have been marrying someone they meet at their Glass Slipper Ball. That behavior ends with me.
Rosa continues. “As everyone knows, Diamond and Legend Le Charme have one child, their fifteen-year-old son, Alec. His eighteenth birthday ball will be here before we know it. And that’s a big reason to finish this construction. You heard it first here, folks. Now in other Magicorum news… a new season of Real Warlocks of Manhattan has just been given the green light…”
While the reporter keeps talking, I join the pace of foot traffic on the sidewalk. Soon, I approach the back gate to the construction site itself. There I find a familiar mini house that holds Gerry, our wrinkly guard. Like always, Gerry watches a small black and white television.
I pause before the window. “Hello.”
Gerry smacks his lips. Without making eye contact, he points toward the small tray under the Plexiglas window. “Identification.” I slide my company key card over. Gerry picks up the card and chuckles. “You sneak up on me every time.”
“It’s my super power.” Gerry slides my ID back; I scoop it from the tray. “Is Legend here yet?” Some parents are called Mom and Dad. Mine are always Diamond and Legend.
“Arrived a few minutes ago,” answers Gerry. He bats at a little bobblehead Yankees figure on his tabletop. As behavior goes, it’s a little weird, but that’s Gerry.
I scan the deserted construction site. “Any word on the crew coming back?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Right.”
I set my hands into the pockets of my baseball-style jacket, march onto the back lot, and wonder. Could that newscaster be right? Is construction starting up again? If so, it wouldn’t the first time the L Center w
as reimagined. Legend regularly drags me here to share his latest schemes. All of which leads to one question.
What’s Legend up to this time?
4
Alec
Minutes later, I step through a long and rectangular space that’s made from concrete. My father waits in the center of the chamber. Like always, Legend is all blond hair, blue eyes, and irresistible charm that’s wrapped in an Armani suit. I’m a younger version of Legend, only in jeans. If I think about it too much, that fact is more than a little creepy.
Legend throws his arms open wide. “Alec!”
“Hey, Legend.”
“Can you see it? This place will soon become the main studio for the Le Charme Lady Extravaganza!”
I knew the L Center would have a hotel, restaurants, and shops. That’s it, though.
“Did you just say studio?” I ask.
“It’s my new plan. Obviously, you’ll have your Glass Slipper Ball here when you’re eighteen.” Legend shoots me a sly grin. “Which is when you’ll find a bride.”
“Maybe.” We have this discussion regularly. Legend and I have agreed to disagree.
“Until then, we’ll hold an annual event right in this studio. each year, we’ll award some young woman the title of Le Charme Lady.”
I frown. “We do that already. I’d hardly call it an event, though. It’s more of a dinner.”
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