Chapter 2
LEO’S NOTES
Place: St. Agnes book sale – NY Public Library
Found: On the Nature of Fae through History, by Zachariah Tenebri
Favorite quote: If we choose to believe in the fae of thirteenth-century France, then we must believe that their descendants walk among us now. Who knows what powers they possess? Perhaps their blood runs in the idols who glamour us, the writers who move us, and the artists who inspire us.
Misc: Who is Zachariah Tenebri??? Kept for personal collection and further research
As Leo Carter stepped from the rear door of his company headquarters in Boston, his left hand started to itch.
He paused, listening to the summer rain pattering in the alley, wondering if he’d imagined the sensation.
A moment later, he realized that he hadn’t.
The itch, that always started on the back of his hand, was the first sign of his gift activating.
He didn’t love itching, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The itch told him something precious was calling to him.
He resisted the urge to scratch, and armed the security system.
The last of his employees had gone home hours earlier while he’d stayed late for a video meeting with a client in Zagreb, a collector who paid in excess of a million euros for the page proofs of The Scarlet Letter and a charred copy of Fanshawe that had survived Hawthorne’s attempt to burn it.
The security system beeped cheerily behind Leo and he felt an answering ping of satisfaction. He liked being the last one to leave the office. He’d handled as much outstanding business as possible, and was ready to leave for the conference in Paris tomorrow morning.
Except the itch grew more intense.
Leo managed not to scratch as he walked toward his apartment in Beacon Hill.
The summer rain freckled his blue linen shirt and the puddles reflected the red and green street lights.
A couple scurried past him on the crosswalk, snuggled together beneath an umbrella, and he felt a moment of anxiety.
Or maybe it was jealousy. At thirty, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find the right person to settle down with.
Nah, it was just the itch starting to creep along his arm.
The sensation would only intensify until he found the book he needed, which didn’t bode well for the conference.
Still, he’d take one of the herbal pills he’d bought from Deja Shrigley when he got home.
Those always helped with the itching, and maybe his dreams tonight would point him in the direction of his next discovery, his newfound need. That happened sometimes.
The last item that had made him this uncomfortable was a 1761 book of midwifery he’d discovered at a Goodwill in Virginia.
He’d spent weeks searching for that one.
His itch and his dreams—side effects of his gift—never pinpointed his targeted book all that accurately.
Instead, he needed to research and rummage until he got closer.
But the surge of feeling he experienced when he touched the book he needed was almost better than sex. Almost.
The profits weren’t bad, either.
When he got home, his apartment felt emptier than usual.
In the bathroom, he opened a delicate glass bottle and shook one of the last pills onto his palm.
The prettily painted label said “Essence—breath mints,” and they smelled of mint and celery, though the Dames only knew what Deja’s faerie-kin herbalist supplier put in them.
Still, they worked pretty well.
Leo ordered takeout and went to bed early, to be fresh for his flight tomorrow.
Instead he had a prophetic dream of home.
No—not home. Of the island. Of the boathouse where he and Pandora had paddled the sea kayaks from, before she broke up with him.
Of the town library on the hill, and the small elementary school, and even of the lobster bake he was avoiding this year.
He’d told his mother he couldn’t miss the Paris convention but in truth he’d scheduled the trip on purpose. He was staying away from the island more than usual. He didn’t know why. When he thought about returning, he felt… wistful, somehow.
Nostalgic almost, like he’d lost something but couldn’t remember what.
That must be how his mother felt all the time.
She’d never gotten her gift, and had forgotten the central fact of her existence, and it broke Leo’s heart.
It had happened before he was born, he hadn’t known her any other way, but he’d always been aware that her life was faerie-blind.
She’d lost all awareness of the enchantment that made a faerie-kin’s life special.
He visited every few months, he loved spending time with her one-on-one, but seeing her confusion at the lobster bake had become too painful.
On some level below her awareness, his mom knew she was missing something.
She appreciated the live music, but it lacked the brilliance other faerie-kin could hear.
She smiled at the dogs chasing each other along the beach, but didn’t see that the “stick” they played with was a magically cast shadow.
At least, she smiled until she got a migraine from all the magic she couldn’t detect.
And that was just the first step; overexposure to unseen magic could actually harm normals.
Most of the faerie-kin treated his mom… politely. They cooed over her, almost like she was ill. They acted like she was a child, a helpless figure who needed to be included even though she couldn’t understand. She was a normal, that’s all, and he hated when faerie-kin infantilized her for that.
It was painful enough that he and Dad had to hide their gifts from her.
She didn’t understand how Dad could remodel kitchens and build cabinets without measuring a single piece of wood or stone countertop.
He simply knew how everything fit together.
And it had hurt when she’d argued with Dad about turning their small den into a library for him when he got his gift.
“Why would a thirteen-year-old need a special room for his old book collection?” Leo had desperately wanted to celebrate his magic with his mom, the way other faerie-kin children did.
Lately, he found himself wanting his parents to sell their house on Beane. Partly because they were in their sixties and should move closer to him, so he could take care of them. But mostly because he wanted to remove his mother from a place haunted by forgotten memories.
So he ignored his dreams of home—of the island—that night. He ignored his itching until halfway through breakfast, he found himself scratching his arm hard enough to raise a welt… and realized he was already running out of Deja’s pills.
“Well, shit,” he said.
He knew he couldn’t beat his gift with willpower alone. Of course, he never wanted to beat his gift; he just wanted a raincheck sometimes. But he was too far gone, now. So he canceled his trip to Paris, packed a weekend bag, and climbed into his BMW.
Maybe he’d cheer his mother up. At least he might stop itching when he got close enough to the book he needed. Hell, there might even be lobster left if he got there early enough.
PANDORA’S DIARY
Magical Moments: 1
Gifts: 0
Edibles/elixirs: Still 0, but I haven’t hit the lobster bake yet
After Gabe left, I gazed out the kitchen window at the grassy lawn sloping toward the shore.
A handful of chickens pecked near the coop and a row of trees flanked the old stone fence.
After a moment, I spotted Dad picking green beans in his vegetable garden.
I watched for a minute, enjoying a second-hand feeling of calm, meditative satisfaction.
Then I dug my Hunter boots from the hall closet, and headed outside to greet him.
The morning air felt damp and fresh, and smelled like home. I smiled to myself, skirted the rhubarb bush and entered the garden where blue delphinium flowers grew among the cucumber vines.
“Pandora!” Dad said, surprised to see me.
As I hugged him, I inhaled his earthy scent, which mixed perfectly with the Shangri-La of New England flowers and vegetables he’s created.
The garden is laid out in swirling patterns of sea roses and peonies, daisies and dahlias.
The gravel pathways are flanked by morning glory, grape vines, tomatoes, and sugar snap peas.
His gift ensures that every cherry tomato has a chance to ripen and every iris blooms magnificently.
He even barters with a faerie-kin whose gift for insects keeps mosquitos and ticks away.
The black flies are still a nuisance, but Dad says the blackberries lack sweetness without them.
“I wasn’t expecting you until next weekend,” he said.
“I decided to come early.”
He hugged me tighter, then gave me a quizzical look. “Uh, you know the lobster bake is tonight?”
“I do know,” I said.
“You could always… miss it,” he suggested, because he loves me enough to support my little avoidances.
“And give Leo the satisfaction?” I asked.
“What satisfaction is that?”
I’ve never told Dad the real reason I’d stopped speaking to Leo; it took me years to even tell Deja. I’d felt too humiliated to say the words aloud. So I just said, “The satisfaction he gets from being rich and successful!”
“Uh, well, he’s not coming this year anyway,” Dad told me, wiping his hands on his pants. “Leonard said he has a book convention.”
“Oh! Excellent!” I grabbed an extra basket to help him pick green beans. “Not that I care.”
“Clearly,” Dad said.
“It’s not like I’m avoiding him.”
He considered the grape trellis. “Y’know, I always thought you two would get married.”
“You love his parents, so I won’t tell you what I really think of Leo. But what I really think is, he’s a toad.”
“Why would you marry a toad?”
“I’m not going to marry him!”
He gave me a bemused look. “As if you know better than the runes.”