Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Archie
There’s glitter in Leo’s coffee.
He doesn’t know it yet. He’s currently standing by the refreshment table at the Henderson-Blackwell residence, surveying the chaos of a dozen or so nine-year-olds with the expression of a man calculating exit strategies.
I slipped the edible glitter into his cup when he was unloading the prop bags. Just a small sprinkling, enough to make his next sip sparkle in ways coffee shouldn’t.
Call it payback for the incident at the Morrison party two days ago, when he somehow convinced the birthday girl that Professor Giggles needed to sing the entire “Happy Birthday” song in an operatic falsetto.
Honestly, the last week of escalating pranks with Leo has been incredibly entertaining. He’s proved to be a worthy opponent in competitive mortification. It’s like chess, only there are more sequins and tiny witnesses.
I watch now as Leo takes a sip of coffee.
He frowns. Looks down at the cup. Then looks at me.
I arrange my face into an expression of innocent concern. “Everything all right?”
“There’s something…” He peers into the cup. “Sparkling.”
“Must be the fancy coffee. Rich people put gold flakes in everything.”
“This tastes more like a craft store.”
“Maybe your palate is becoming more refined.”
His eyes narrow. Just enough to let me know he knows exactly who’s responsible.
Heat prickles across my skin in a way that is entirely disproportionate to a man squinting at me.
Which is concerning.
I really need to stop finding his suspicion attractive.
“Children!” I clap my hands, projecting my Captain Giggles voice across the enormous conservatory. “Who’s ready for some magic?”
The response is deafening. I hobble toward my setup on my crutches, and Leo falls into step beside me, still holding his glittery coffee like evidence.
“You’re going to pay for this,” he says quietly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The glitter, Archie.”
“Glitter? In this economy? I’d never waste such a precious resource.”
He doesn’t respond. Just takes another sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
My pulse does something inconvenient. What is it about this man that makes my body react like this? It’s happening all the time now, this constant hum of awareness my body seems to do anytime Leo is near.
I catch myself tracking his movements across a room.
Noticing when he rolls up his sleeves. I’ve developed a whole thing about his hands, which is ridiculous because they’re just hands.
Ordinary hands that happen to be attached to a man who makes my stomach flip every time he raises an eyebrow at me.
My life is too complicated right now for a man. Especially this man, with all the secrets between us.
But it appears my body didn’t get the memo.
The magic show goes smoothly. The children are an appreciative audience, shrieking at every reveal, gasping at every transformation.
Leo, in his role as Snugglesaurus today, looking like a very irritated prehistoric marshmallow, hands me props on cue and only threatens me with extinction-level events twice.
It’s during the balloon-animal segment that I notice the boy.
He’s sitting at the edge of the group. He’s small for his age, with curly dark hair and glasses that keep sliding down his nose. While the other children jostle for position, fighting to be next in line for their balloon creation, he’s pressed against the wall like he’s trying to disappear into it.
Samuel. I remember his name from the party briefing. The client’s nephew.
I watch as two larger boys elbow past him to get closer. One of them knocks Samuel’s glasses askew. Neither apologizes.
Samuel just adjusts them and shrinks smaller.
Something cold settles in my stomach.
Because I know that posture. The way you learn to take up less space when the world keeps telling you that you’re taking up too much.
Leo is beside me, inflating a balloon with the grim efficiency of a man who’s made seventeen balloon dogs and has accepted his fate.
“Leo,” I murmur as he hands me another balloon.
“Mm?”
“The kid by the wall. Glasses. Dark hair.”
Leo’s gaze flicks over, then back. His expression doesn’t change, but something in it sharpens. “I see him.”
“The two bigger ones have been—”
“I noticed.”
Of course he did. Leo doesn’t miss much.
“We should do something,” I say.
“Agreed.”
I blink. I’d expected more resistance…. Maybe suspicion about whether this is somehow another elaborate prank.
Instead, Leo just looks at me with those dark eyes, waiting. Ready to follow my lead.
The warm feeling in my chest intensifies.
It’s dangerous. Very dangerous.
“I have an idea,” I say.
I finish the balloon segment, handing out dogs, swords, and one very ambitious giraffe.
Then I clear my throat.
“All right, everyone! Time for Captain Giggles’s super special assistant selection!”
The children freeze mid-chaos.
“As you know, Snugglesaurus is my faithful companion.” I gesture at Leo. “But today’s magic requires something more. Today’s magic requires…a hero.”
The children start bouncing, hands shooting up. “Me! Me! Pick me!”
“But not just any hero,” I continue, letting my voice drop to a stage whisper. “This hero needs to be chosen by the magic itself.”
I produce a velvet bag from my props.
“Inside this bag are special tokens. Most are silver. But one is gold. And whoever draws the gold token will become…the supreme magical champion.”
The children’s eyes go wide.
“Everyone, form a line,” I instruct. “One at a time. Reach in without looking. Show us what you draw.”
They scramble into formation. Samuel hangs back, letting everyone else push ahead of him.
Exactly as I predicted.
Child after child draws a silver token. Some look disappointed. Most just shrug and run off to play.
The line shrinks until only Samuel remains, still hovering at the back like he’s hoping no one will notice if he doesn’t participate.
“You there!” I point at him. “Young wizard! Don’t be shy!”
He startles and looks around like maybe I’m addressing someone else.
“Yes, you! Come draw your token!”
Samuel approaches the bag tentatively, his hands shaking slightly. The two bigger boys from earlier are watching, smirking.
Samuel reaches in and pulls out the gold token.
Samuel stares at it. Then up at me. His face cycles through disbelief, confusion, and something that looks terrifyingly like hope.
“We have a champion!” I bellow.
The children cheer. Even the two bullies look impressed, their smirks fading into something almost like respect.
“Supreme Magical Champion, what is your name?”
“S-Samuel,” he whispers.
“Samuel!” I repeat, making it ring. “Samuel the Magnificent! Samuel the Brave! Come, take your place beside Snugglesaurus Rex!”
Leo waddles over and extends one tiny dinosaur arm. Samuel takes it, still looking stunned.
I catch Leo’s eye through the mesh of the costume. He grins.
My heart gives a traitorous thud.
I wrench my attention back to Samuel.
For the next thirty minutes, we make Samuel the star of everything.
He gets to wave the magic wand. He gets to say the magic words. He gets to pull the rabbit from the hat.
With every reveal, his spine straightens a little more and his smile grows wider.
The other children crowd around him.
“You were so good at that,” one girl tells him.
“How did you make the scarf change colors?” another demands.
Watching Samuel blossom under the attention reminds me exactly why I do this job, and exactly why I’ll never stop.
The children are herded off for cake, leaving a trail of glitter and balloon debris in their wake.
Leo deflates the suit and steps out of it, surfacing like a man escaping a green plastic prison. His hair is damp with sweat and his T-shirt clings to his chest in a way I’m choosing not to notice.
Leo catches my eye. Neither of us says anything, but we don’t need to.
Then Leo reaches over and straightens my pith helmet, which has been listing to the left for the last half hour. His fingers brush my temple as he adjusts the strap.
It’s nothing. A practical gesture. Three seconds at most.
His hand drops, but I can still feel exactly where his fingertips were.
We stare at each other for a few heartbeats before he looks away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“I should go put my clothes back on,” he says.
I don’t watch him leave, instead focusing on sorting silk scarves into their designated pockets with hands that are not quite steady.
“That was wonderful.”
I look up. Mrs. Henderson-Blackwell, or Camilla as she insisted I call her, has appeared at my elbow.
“Samuel’s mother was almost in tears,” she continues. “Happy tears. She says he’s never volunteered for anything in his life.”
“He was brilliant,” I say. “Natural performer. He just needed permission to shine.”
Camilla laughs, touching my arm lightly. “You’re very good at what you do, you know? It’s quite remarkable.”
“Children are actually easier to read than adults. They haven’t learned to hide yet.”
“So, are you any good at reading what adults are hiding?” Her tone has shifted, becoming warmer and more personal.
Oh.
Suddenly, the lingering eye contact and the unnecessary touches take on a new meaning.
I’m flattered. Camilla Henderson-Blackwell is an attractive woman. But I’ve never been interested in attractive women, and even if I were, sleeping with clients is a spectacularly bad business model.
“In adults, I think they’re hiding how they wish they could go back to believing in magic,” I say lightly.
She laughs again, and I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
A man has detached himself from a cluster of fathers by the drinks table and is heading our way. He’s tall, graying at the temples, and wearing a cashmere sweater. And he’s got the rigid posture of someone who’s just watched his wife laugh too much at another man’s jokes.
I don’t need my deductive powers to work out that this is Mr. Henderson-Blackwell.