I let the handles of my bags slide into the crooks of my elbows so that I can wad up my hair in my fists. “Gahh!”
He peeks into a bag. “One of those lollipops for me?”
“Get away, cretin.” I dash past Bowerbird’s Nest, Gilda Halifax’s costume shop, with the same dusty mannequin dressed in a gold sequin tuxedo that’s been fading in the window since I was in grade school. Tacked to the eaves is a neon sign with the purple outline of a hand on it, advertisingPalm Readings,plugged in with a thick orange extension cord taped to the brick siding. Next door, the glass walls of Laser CraterArcade are dark, but every few seconds there’s a flare of blue or yellow strobe light within.
“You need to walk more carefully,” Morgan warns. “Those boots are going to kill you.”
“These boots are going to killyou.”
“So this is the thanks I get for intervening! That date was horrendous—pickleballiseasy, I’ve played it, and I’m seventy-eight percent certain he was trying to scam you into buying a hair dryer.”
“This isn’t the 1960s! There aren’t door-to-door salesmen anymore.”
“If traveling salesmen aren’t real, explain where my dad was from 2002 to 2005.”
I hurry faster, leaving him behind.
“Aw, c’mon!” Morgan calls after me. I throw a quick look over my shoulder. He’s still at the corner, arms raised up over his head with one hand gripping the other wrist, a silhouette against bright shop fronts. “Wanna go back to my place and make out? Or review my notes on the gingersnappus? We can discuss it on my podcast! Why aren’t you responding? Hey! Miss Boots! Are you mad at me?”
I jam my key into the front door of The Magick Happens. “I’m putting you on probation. You will not accompany me on investigations until further notice.”
“What! Is this because I lied about my height? I’m five eleven! That’s the same height as Michelle Obama.”
The door slams on his pained “MissBoooooots!”
Twenty-Two
The sky is a thick green haze today, which Henriette takes as a good omen. The most powerful magics are almost always green—the oxidized particles produced by alchemy, the indole scent of live cultures in a spell jar, the flag of chrysolite gas that smokes up from the graves of those raised by necromancy.
The Heartbreak Vampire,
Zelda Tempest
Let’s go, Icommand myself, straightening in my seat as if that will rearrange the contents of my brain and knock anything good toward the front where I can access it.
E T O
S G L ’
Book Proposal: Take Eight
Why is this so hard? I used to be a cauldron bubbling over with ideas no matter how many distractions were in play. Time became meaningless when I was writing or dreaming about writing; four hours felt like one. There were so many stories I wanted to tell, I was bursting, wishing I didn’t ever have to sleep so that I could get them all down on paper. I skim mymeatless buffet of concepts and all of them are too embarrassing to show my editor.
“Come on, Zelda. You’ve got this.”
A flash of movement catches my attention, and my gaze slides to Morgan, walking through the door of The Magick Happens. He folds himself cross-legged into the deep window ledge where Snapdragon likes to rub his face against the glass. His eyes meet mine and a butterfly leaps into my throat.
He’s wearing glasses.
I return my stare to my screen, heart thumping.This is me typing, I type.I am typing typing typing. I am not noticing anything else but all these words.
“What’re you wearing those for?” Trevor pipes up.
Morgan’s reply is lazy and delayed. “Wearing what?”
“Glasses.”
“I’ve always worn reading glasses.”
