Chapter 18
Sunset Cruise
SOPHIE
It’s nearly three; I’m staring out the kitchen window, thinking about clipped wings and pack meetings, when my smoke detector starts blaring.
Zosia shrieks, “Pah!” and tears out of the kitchen as I dash over to the oven and pull open the door.
Dang! I just burned the batch of almond-crunch cookies I was planning on bringing tonight.
I grab a pair of oven mitts, pull out the offending tray of singed cookies, and put them on the stove to cool before dumping them. Then I climb up on one of my kitchen chairs, twist off the smoke detector’s cover, pull out the battery, and pitch in in the trash.
I’m sure Teddy would lecture me about fire safety if he saw me, but I’m so frustrated with him and Jake for their mysterious “werewolf business” that I feel like stomping right over to the fire station and demanding an explanation.
And then there’s Granny Catbeam, who utterly humiliated me by binding my magic for half a year!
That’s practically barbaric! Auntie Dragonfly’s magic was only bound for one lunar cycle, according to the archives.
Frowning, I’m surprised to discover I’m just as upset about Teddy’s weird departure as I am about my missing magic… which is a revelation I’ll need to ponder when I have more time.
Staring at my pan of ruined cookies, I realize it’s time for me to choke down my pride and beg my mom for a tray of her caramel-fudge brownies; I can’t turn up empty-handed at the boat, and I don’t know anyone who can resist Phoebe Spellman’s brownies.
The last of the café’s customers have just left when I slip through the back entrance.
I poke my head inside my dad’s shiny, stainless steel kitchen; he’s whistling as he wipes down the counters, but he glances up when he hears me enter.
Then he opens his arms and wraps me in a bear hug that makes my eyes water.
“How are you holding up, honey?” My dad’s a huge, baldheaded, bearded Irish kitchen faerie, commonly referred to as a brownie; he’s also a big softy, and I absolutely adore him.
Since it’s after hours, he’s dropped his glamour.
Dad’s wings are tightly furled against his back to prevent any feathers from catching fire; his dark eyebrows slant upward, and his faerie ears rise into points.
“I’m alright,” I sniffle. “I don’t have any choice but to carry on.”
“If you need any… er…” Dad lowers his voice. “Help of a magical nature, let me know. Just between us.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you talking to yourself again, Nash?” asks my mother from the passthrough; she’s heard whispering but hasn’t spotted me yet.
“No, Mom. I’m here too,” I step around my dad, go through the swinging doors, and enter the restaurant’s sunshine-yellow dining room.
Our faerie ancestors, dressed in Renaissance-style garb or old-fashioned military uniforms, are in various states of repose on the walls, dozing inside their picture frames.
Antique oak booths line three walls, and a large counter runs along the back wall.
Five gargoyles, one per carved corbel, stand beneath the counter.
They’re behaving for now, but they’re cheeky little monsters.
A pretty, middle-aged woman, my mom is still glamoured; not a single hair is out of place in her auburn bob.
We’re complete opposites; Mom can work a fourteen-hour day and still look fresh as a newborn unicorn (I suspect her faerie magic is involved), while I’m barely functional after eight hours, with wild hair, streaky mascara, and droopy wings.
I wait for Mom to say something, anything, but she purses her lips and gazes steadily at me; looks like it’s up to me to break the silence.
My lower lip wobbles slightly as I say, “I thought you would’ve defended me yesterday with Granny.
It really hurts to know your own mother won’t stick up for you with the elder council. ”
Mom blinks rapidly, like I’ve wounded her somehow, and now I feel both sad and guilty. “It tore me up inside to watch my mother strip away your magic; I cried myself to sleep last night.”
“You did?”
She nods. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I disagreed with the punishment. Your grandmother has to follow the ordinances established centuries ago to protect supernaturals everywhere… and the misapplication of magic is a serious violation.”
I heave a sigh. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be like you and Granny… a powerful gatekeeping faerie… and not just an ordinary kitchen faerie.”
Since Mom is still in her human form, it’s a lot less dramatic when she quirks one auburn eyebrow.
“I love kitchen faeries; they have amazing magic! It was your father’s incredible cooking that first attracted me…
and then when I got to know him… well, I was lost.” Her face softens as she gazes at me.
“You have no idea how relieved I was when I realized you’d inherited your father’s magic—and not mine. ”
My forehead puckers in surprise; my mom has never told me this before. “You were relieved? But why? I’d think you would have wanted your daughter to inherit your magic.”
“Quite the opposite; I never wanted you to be encumbered with the weight of my magic.”
“But you can do practically anything! You instinctively know what our customers need to eat as soon as they enter the restaurant; you make incredible desserts. You pinch-hit for Granny when she can’t attend the elder council meetings, and you keep those little stone fiends in line.
” I point at the five gargoyles beneath the counter, who are fake-crying and patting each other’s wings.
Stars above! Those stinkers are making fun of my clipped wings!
Mom turns around, glares at the horrid creatures, and murmurs an incantation. I hear five loud thwacks; each nasty gargoyle hops to attention and stares straight ahead. “Did you just—”
“I just spanked their bottoms.”
“See… that’s what I mean!” I exclaim. “You have wonderful magic.”
“No, sweetheart, I have burdensome magic. Sure, I enjoy helping my customers, and I love baking treats with a little extra faerie dust inside… but not the rest of it… and especially not looking after those gargoyles. Ugh! I wish I’d never crossed their mother.”
I pause, not sure I heard her correctly; Mom has never disclosed how she wound up with those five obnoxious gargoyles. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you think you’re the only impetuous faerie in the family?” My mom shakes her head. “I challenged Matron Verda, one of the gargoyle elders, to a ‘friendly’ magical competition many years ago… and I lost. Now I’m stuck babysitting her five sons for a hundred years!”
My mouth gapes open. “So that’s what really happened? There are all sorts of stories floating around town about how you bravely battled five horrid gargoyles and eventually won, forcing them into a hundred years of servitude for their wicked behavior.”
“Hmm…” says Mom. “I wonder who could have spread such falsehoods?”
“You started those rumors?” I’m shocked that my Goody Two-Wings mother was ever such a baddie.
My mother winks. “Some secrets are best kept within the family.” Then she drapes an arm around my shoulders. “I think you need some of my caramel-fudge brownies to go… don’t you?”
“How did you… oh never mind,” I chuckle, realizing Mom’s magic is giving her insight into what food would make me feel better. “Actually, I could use a dozen.”
We both laugh, and some of the tightness in my chest loosens. Mom sends me away with brownies, a fresh batch of sugar cookies, and another hug.
After much internal debate, I decide to wear my red, two-piece swimsuit under a long, red-and-gold sarong and a golden linen top that floats just above my waistline. I have strappy, flat sandals on my feet, the kind with rubber soles so I don’t slip if the deck gets wet.
I arrive early at the dock to help Pru carry the food and beverages onto Vreeland’s sleek new yacht.
At five-thirty we’re ready to depart, but there’s no sign of Rafe.
Vreeland and I both check our phones; there’s no message from him either, but we’re in an area with poor reception.
Vreeland glances over at me. “I’ll wait fifteen minutes, but then we should head out. ”
“Fair enough.” I know how antsy sailors get when they’re ready to depart and something or someone holds them up.
“I’m sorry everyone,” says Rafe sheepishly, turning up at five-thirty-eight.
“I wound up at the wrong marina and had to backtrack.” In black jeans and a long-sleeved gray tee, Rafe is just as muscular and good-looking as I recall, and he’s giving off the same tough-guy vibes as the first time we met.
But all the talk about stranger-danger, lone wolves, and the hand of fate must have shaken something loose inside my head, because suddenly I’m a lot less attracted to him.
In fact, I really don’t like how his eyes are raking over my figure.
A little male appreciation is one thing…
but there’s a possessive quality in the way Rafe’s irises darken that makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Why, oh why, does Cassia always have to be right? Probably because she wound up falling for the wrong guy and then having her heart smashed to bits.
I resign myself to making the best of the situation. I adore Pru and Vreeland, it’s a perfect night for a cruise, and I’m on a low-risk double date. What could possibly go wrong?
Vreeland points his boat toward one of the small, heavily wooded, private islands in the bay, which happens to be owned by his uncle. He drops anchor near the sandy shoreline, and we all decide to take a dip before dinner.