8. Chapter Eight
1911 Words
8. Chapter Eight
Elle
For a week after my Queen of Hearts adventure, I feel super groggy. Turns out, facing vampire queens is a real energy drain.
Lesson learned.
This morning marks day three of my sleep deprivation fest. I drag my bum out of bed and into the kitchen. It’s a neat space with lots of white tile and mint-colored appliances. On the counter I find an empty coffee cup and bagel crumbs, but no sign of Dad.
Odd. I check the clock.
9:06 AM
Dad’s normally cleaned up his dishes and stuff by now. Huh. Thuds sound from below. That’s where the store is located. Dad must be there. But why?
The truth hits me. Agatha and Ivy were supposed to work the shop this morning. Marchesa thought it would be good for them to have a summer job. Of course, the sisters rarely show up. Dad’s probably hustling to cover for them. Customers expect the doors to open at 9AM.
Time to step in.
After marching downstairs, I make my way through the first floor warehouse. Sure enough, I find Dad in the store and fiddling with the register. His hair sticks up at odd angles; his T-shirt’s on inside-out; and his eyes are totally bloodshot. Long story short, my father’s the very definition of the word frazzled.
“What’s the access code for this thing again?” Dad pounds random numbers onto the register’s keyboard.
“Hey there,” I say gently. “What’s up?”
Dad braces his arms on the countertop. “Your mother had a rough night. I need to open the store.”
Part of me wants to ask what he means by saying rough night. But Dad needs sleep far more than question and answer time.
I step up to the register. “I’ll get it.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks, Ellie Belly.” Dad takes off at double speed.
The front door swings open, sending a wave of summer heat into the small space. A woman enters. Everything about this human screams New York, from her fashion model strut to her grey suit, matching heels, and long black hair. An access badge dangles from her pocket that reads, Ms. Coco Tao, MingMart Inc. My brows lift. MingMart is the new hot retailer in the city.
“Is this Cynder Mercantile?” asks Coco. Living in New York, you get a feel for accents. Hers carries a touch of Mandarin.
“Yes, it is.”
By the way, the store’s full name is Cynder Mercantile of Manhattan’s Second Avenue. Not catchy, but my folks are experts in magic, not word play.
Coco slowly scans the room. I picture things from her eyes. It’s a small wooden space packed with hand-made stuff. Then there’s me, a fifteen-year-old whose blonde hair is tied off into pigtails. I stand behind a tall wooden counter wearing pajama bottoms and a hoodie.
Not my best day, fashion-wise.
“Aren’t you rather young to be running a*****e?” asks Coco. “I saw adults in here the other day.”
“Those were my parents. And I’m fifteen. That’s a legal age to work in New York.”
“Ah.” She eyes my fuzzy bunny slippers and … yeah, I get it. No matter what the age, I’m not your typical salesgirl.
“Look, it’s my parents’ place and our regular help is late, so here I am.” I’d explain how we live upstairs, but meh. This is New York. We don’t over-share.
“Chirp, chirp.”
My eyes widen. That can’t be …
“Chirp, chirp.”
It is.
The top two floors of our building are studio space. The artists up there make stuff; then we sell it down here. Although artist really isn’t the right word for them. They’re more enchanted objects; we call them animates. And that chirp comes from none other than Ooks, our enchanted statue of a baby phoenix. Clearly, Ooks has broken loose again.
Where can that little phoenix be hiding? I scan the nearby shelves. The store isn’t that big. A small statue can’t hide forever.
“Chirp, chirp.”
Yipes. That’s Ooks again.
Coco taps her chin. “Interesting.”
“CHIRP, CHIRP, CHIRP!”
Wow, Ooks is on a tear this morning.
I plaster on an innocent stare. Did Coco hear anything? When it comes to magic, most humans notice zero. At least, not right away. Eventually, humans do sense that something is off, however. And that’s when animates like Ooks end up in the trash. It’s also why Cynder Mercantile was formed. Dad wants to give animates a future outside of a dumpster.
“Your parents should write a book.” Coco holds up an imaginary novel. “The title could be, Inspiring Children. My son won’t finish his homework, let alone run a*****e. Mark my words. That would be a best seller.”
“Um, okay.” I exhale. Coco didn’t notice Ooks. Good.
Speaking of the baby phoenix, the four-inch tall porcelain statue hops onto the countertop. Ooks is all red feathers with a long tail that curls under her in a graceful arc. Her head looks more like a dove than a hawk; that’s how you know she’s a baby.
Coco steps closer. “That’s a unique piece. Is it … moving?”
Sure enough, Ooks jumps up and down on the counter. That’s how it looks to me, anyway. Coco just sees a small sculpture that twitches in a non-existent breeze.
“How could it move?” I throw up my hands. “That makes no sense.”
This is a classic way to derail humans, by the way. They want everything to be logical. Magic isn’t.
I point to a random wall. “Besides, there’s much cooler stuff over there.”
Coco turns to look, which is great. Sadly, Ooks takes the opportunity to leap atop Coco’s head. Wincing, I wonder if Coco will notice. She doesn’t. Animates can be very sneaky that way.
“Oh, those are gorgeous.” Coco heads over to a shelf stocked with hand-blown glass statues. “I’d love to meet your supplier for this. We need new goods for MingMart’s private customers.”
This triggers my standard speech for just such an occasion. “Everything here is made by New York artists who only work with Cynder. Sorry.”
“Can we work through Cynder on volume discounts? I have an event coming up where these would be perfect.” She lowers her voice. “It’s for the Le Charme family.”
“Sure, you can ask my parents.” I scoop up a business card from the counter and hand it over.
“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” Coco steps toward the exit. While Coco’s back is turned, I take the opportunity to jump up and scoop Ooks down. Thankfully, Coco still notices zero. Just to be safe, I watch until the door fully swings shut and Coco is gone.
Whew.
A voice sounds behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. “Good morning, Elle.”
Spinning around, I find Jacoby. He’s a dark elf who works with Doc Eight, one of the Cynder animates. Jacoby looks about my age, but you never really know with elves. His hair is short, dark, and tousled. It’s a look that offsets the strong bone structure of his pale face. Per usual, Jacoby wears jeans and a T-shirt. To humans, Jacoby seems like one of them. Only folks like me notice his pointed ears and silver irises.
“I’ve told you a hundred times,” I groan. “Don’t materialize behind me like that.”
A sneaky smile curls his mouth. “I can’t help it. I’m a classic.”
When it comes to fairy tale life templates, most fae live by the classic pattern, which means a life of mischief. Jacoby steps a little closer. “What’s your life template, Elle?”
Ooks hops off my hand to skitter behind the carved pumpkin display. I don’t blame the phoenix for avoiding a dark fae. After all, these elves trick humans into stepping off cliffs for fun. That said, I’ve known Jacoby forever. He’s harmless.
“I’m a Cinderella template. You know that.”
“Sometimes, I wonder.” Jacoby sets a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wish you’d confide in me.” His silver eyes get all dreamy and sweet. You can’t knock elves for looks.
Even so, I’m not telling him a thing. I’m the warden of all fae magic. And with any luck, no one will discover that fact. Especially Jacoby. I take a half step backward.
“You’re such a drama elf. I’m boring old Elle, nothing else.”
“You’re fae.”
“Barely. I don’t even have wings. No one’s interested in a fairy who can’t fly.”
Technically, my parents had my wings removed when I was a baby. Brilliant move, by the way. Most fae wardens don’t live past age ten. I’m some kind of record.
“I grew up in the Faerie Lands,” says Jacoby. “They might get interested in you. Best to be prepared. I could help you, if you let me.”
I consider how to tell him no for the hundredth time when the door opens once more. At last, Ivy and Agatha walk inside. I go to grab Jacoby’s hand—those sisters are much less nasty with him around—but the dark elf has already vanished.
Thanks for nothing, Jacoby.
“Hello, Ellie Belly.” That’s Ivy, by the way. She stands tall, bright-eyed, and blonde with the same pinched features and perma-scowl as her mother, Marchesa. Like always, Ivy wears a bright plaid dress.
“Hel—”
“Quiet, Agatha.”
“Lo,” finishes Agatha. Like always, Marchesa’s youngest daughter dresses like she’s in a witness protection program. Today that means a boxy dress, floppy hat, and big sunglasses. All black. I’m pretty sure she’s pale with long brown hair under everything, but you never know.
Ivy slowly scans me from head to toe. “You look rather sloppy today, even for you.”
I shouldn’t let Ivy get to me, and I don’t. Mostly.
“Guess what?” asks Ivy. She communicates a lot in questions, by the way. It’s as annoying as it seems. “We didn’t plan on working this morning.”
“Well, you were both on the list,” I state.
Ivy sighs. “I can’t believe the schedule was so unclear.”
“Ask your mother,” I counter. “She made it.”
Which is true. Marchesa is supposed to help run Cynder Mercantile, but nothing she touches ever seems to go right. Even so, my parents won’t fire her.
Ivy checks her watch. “The party starts now, right?”
I shake my head. The animates are throwing my parents some kind of celebration today. Leave it to Ivy and Agatha to try and show up right before things start.
“Nope,” I reply. “It starts at noon.”
“Oh, noon?” asks Ivy.
I force a grin. “That’s what the slobby girl said.”
Ivy twiddles her fingers at me. “Since you’ve got things covered, Agatha and I will hit the warehouse until noon. Ta!”
Fact: I happen to know that to Ivy and Agatha, the definition of warehouse hitting means hiding behind the wall of wooden pumpkins while playing Bubble Breaker on their phones. Now, it’s true that I could force those two to stay and work with me in the store, but that’s more hassle than it’s worth. So I simply watch as the sisters step out the back door. Buh-bye.
I’ve got time to kill before noon, so I hang by the register. After a few minutes, Ooks comes back out of hiding to chirp and dance across the counter. There’s nothing cuter than a baby phoenix doing the cha cha. Sunbeams shift across the store. The gentle music of car horns and voices echoes in from the street. With every passing second, more warmth and happiness seeps across my chest.
Cynder Mercantile is my little cocoon of perfect. Living upstairs with my parents… keeping my warden identity secret … taking online lessons … And helping the animates. It’s a pretty awesome life, even if I do have to deal with Marchesa and her spawn.
At that thought, a ball of worry settles into my stomach. I’m a Cinderella. A perfect life isn’t exactly in the cards for our kind. Still, I’ve got back-up plans. I can handle whatever happens.
At least, I hope I can.
- Writer
