Chapter 21
PANDORA’S DIARY
Disgruntled Inn guests: Most of them
“Nothing that springs from your heart can be bad.” Leo’s words warmed me as I pushed through the front doors of the Inn.
I still worried that getting a gift betrayed my previous self, but that was nice to hear.
I was hoping to find my poor wasp-stung father but ran into Mom in the lobby, trying to placate a guest. She was wearing her blue T-shirt that read “With the Grace of God,” and a matching blue skort and white sneakers.
Her hair was a wild mess of platinum curls that told me she was on the verge of shouting.
“—packs of enraged squirrels throwing nuts?” she asked a guest.
“Are you saying I’m lying?” the gray-bearded guest demanded, wiping his sweaty face as his bosomy wife frowned at his shoulder, looking as outraged as possible while draped in hot pink.
“I just don’t know if I’m responsible for the squirrels,” Mom said.
“Pest control!” the wife cried.
Mom spotted us and said, “There you are! Come explain to these fine guests that we don’t allow rampaging squirrels on Inn property.”
I slipped past—abandoning Leo to the drama. I heard him saying, “Where were you? It can be windy up toward…”
I pushed through the private door leading to the residential section of the Inn, planning to check my parents’ room for my father. But instead I intercepted him in the hallway, holding a wicker basket of acorns.
“Dad! Why aren’t you in bed? Mom said you were stung a dozen times.”
“Five times.” He turned to show me his horribly swollen eye. “Including this one.”
“Ouch! Dad!”
“I’m okay. I just don’t understand how it happened. I mean, the only way a wasps’ nest could’ve ended up in the garden is if someone threw it. Given the ward against insects. And who would do such a thing?”
“A strong wind?” I suggested, then looked at his basket. “What’re you doing with those?”
“Collecting evidence.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Your mother told me to get them. I’m a little shaken up.”
I took the basket and led him toward the kitchen. “Did you put anything on your stings yet?”
“I used one of Deja’s concoctions, they already feel better. Oh! And speaking of Deja, we’ll have to thank her for sparking your gift.”
“Why? I never asked for a gift! And she didn’t have anything to do with it anyway.”
“How soon one forgets sitting in a circle of crystals beneath a grumpy apple tree,” he tutted at me. “Speaking of which, now you’re awake to hear it, I’ll say it again: Laurels and laudations.”
“Thank you, but…”
I trailed off and pulled him into the kitchen.
The sweet and savory smell made my stomach growl as I dragged Dad into the pantry for a private word.
I was afraid Mom would interrupt us, demanding her acorns.
I turned on the overhead light, and stood between the canning equipment, sacks of spices, and the multitude of jars of dried beans and herbs.
“What’s wrong?” Dad took the basket of acorns back and set it on a shelf beside the buckwheat flour.
“First, I’m starving,” I told him.
He handed me a jar of pistachios. “And second?”
I stuffed a bunch in my mouth. “I still feel tingly.”
“That’s fine, Pandora. Getting a gift can lead to all kinds of physical reactions. Hunger, laughter—”
“Not an earthquake, though!”
“Well, no.”
“So what’s happening with the wasps and acorns and the waves? When was the last time Beane had a traffic accident?”
“Probably just some dumb kids having a good time.”
“But it all happened exactly when I got my gift. I’m worried it’s my fault.”
“How would that even work? Why in the Dame’s green earth would you think that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I spent so much time shouting that I didn’t want a gift, that I didn’t care about gifts.” I took a shuddering breath. “What if that made me get a bad one?”
“Oh no, Pandora.” Dad hugged me tight. “You just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Was it hard for you?” I asked, my face pressed against his shoulder.
“No, but your mother certainly pissed off a lot of people with her gift.”
I knew that story. For the first few years, Mom used to sneak into faerie-kin houses and stores and redecorate them without asking. Like a Martha Stewart burglar, except she didn’t steal anything.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to make you understand that you need to give it time.” He pressed a kiss to my head. “And that we love you, no matter what.”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Even though you’re gifted now,” he added.
I snorted a laugh. “Ha ha.”
“I really am so proud of you, Pandora.”
“Don’t be proud of me yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I am proud of what you do,” he said, “but I’m more proud of who you are.”
The pantry door opened and Leo poked his head in. “A little help? The guests are threatening to call the cops.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Dames knows. Assault with a deadly acorn. Also, your mother’s not helping.”
Sheila stepped into sight behind him, holding a tray containing a steaming teapot and treats. “Laurels and laudations, Pandora, now bring this to the guests. These tea sandwiches will make them forget about the police. Not you!” she said to my father. “Let’s keep that eye of yours out of sight.”
So Leo and I brought the food to the lobby.
I chased my mother away via the subtle art of shoving and glowering, then Leo and I commiserated with the guests until the crisis passed—though Sheila’s offerings did most of the work.
The sandwiches were some kind of savory sweet cheesy amazingness that made anger impossible.
When we were alone again, I didn’t want to say goodbye to Leo.
I couldn’t think of any reason to stay together, though.
Well, other than my desire to rub against him like a cat against a chair leg.
Not in a sexual way! I just felt touchy-feely from my gift, honest. And he seemed just as reluctant to part, gazing around the lobby like he’d never seen walls before.
Still, I eventually said, “I should shower and change. Shave my legs.”
“Nah. Let them get furrier.”
“Ha!” And that, dear Diary, was when I finally noticed. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”
“So are you,” he said, looking embarrassed.
“Don’t try to confuse me. Did you spend the entire night in the library with me?”
“Sort of, I guess.” He looked guilty as a little boy. “I mean, not really, but… yeah. Yes.”
“I’ll text you later,” I told him, turning toward the stairs so he couldn’t see my smile.
“We still need to figure everything out. The manuscript, my gift, your missing book. Uh, the earthquake.”
He didn’t say anything, but I felt him watching me. I liked his eyes on me. I liked knowing he wanted me.
“Leo,” I said, without turning around.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I kept going up the stairs, straight into the bathroom, so I wouldn’t race back down and jump into his arms.