16. Bibbidi Bobbidi Bingo at the PCC #2
By the time Ariel reaches our table, two extra drink vouchers have appeared in the tidy pile of prizes beside her.
They rest on a twenty-five-dollar gift card to The Magic Bean, a glittery pumpkin carriage keychain, and a dildo so large and realistic it looks more like a medical emergency with veins than a sex toy.
I stare at the vouchers.
Then at Ariel.
Behind her, the woman in the gold romper is lifting her drink and bingo cards, shuffling through her purse, searching while her friend does the same.
Ariel blinks up at me. "What?"
"Nothing."
Ariel immediately holds the Magic Morsels out to me. They are the Grandma's Embrace Brownies. "For you. I don't like these ones."
I eye the box as my throat tightens.
Because I know she loves them.
I take the box. "I accept your pity carbs."
She smiles at me, bright and smug. "Isn't this better than staying home?"
I don't answer.
The queen calls out, "N, thirty-eight. N as in no, I will not call him back after that performance."
The room howls.
As Ariel continues to mark her card, I look down at mine and realize I've missed the last four numbers.
Again.
The club is too loud, too bright, too full of sequins and sweat and sugar-rimmed glasses for my mood. Which basically matches the sour scowl of gold romper chick, who is now openly fighting with her friend, presumably over some missing drink vouchers.
I wave over the waitress and order another round for us, sneaking an arm past Ariel to snag the two tickets. Ariel simply pats my head, her eyes still trained on her bingo card.
Then I tear open the Magic Morsel wrapper and take a bite.
Chocolate, rich and fudgy, melts over my tongue. The magic follows a second later, warm and soft, spreading through my chest like someone wrapped a blanket around the part of me that still hurts.
For one dangerous second, I almost let myself lean into it.
But the blanket tightens until it cuts off my breath. The magic presses against my ribs like it's trying to fuse with bone, and I feel the lie of it. This warmth belongs to someone else's spell, someone else's grandmother, stitched onto me like a second skin that will never learn my shape.
The little pulse of borrowed power settles beneath my sternum.
The empty place in me strains toward it, hungry, stupid, desperate.
Of course it does.
But the magic is already making my chest hurt because it isn't mine. It never is. It’s nothing more than a hug made of sugar and magic that will leave as soon as my body burns through it, and I'll be standing here hollow again, tasting ash where the chocolate was.
I take another bite anyway.
The comfort presses deeper, sickly now, cloying, and my stupid brain goes straight to him.
Not even the sex.
Me standing under streetlights, holding up my hand like a complete idiot, pretending to slide my finger off at the knuckle because it was the only magic I had. A dumb little trick I threw at the most interesting being I'd ever met, hoping he might look at me and see something worth keeping.
Something special. Something more than human.
Fae lords, I'm pathetic.
"G, forty-six," the queen sings. "G as in girl, stop checking your phone. He is not dead. He is just disappointing."
I laugh too late, too sharp, and Ariel's eyes flick to me.
My gaze drifts past the stage, past the glitter curtain, toward the hallway that leads to the dressing rooms.
Bad idea.
My brain goes there anyway.
One's hand on my face. His voice calling all my jagged pieces beautiful. The taste of ozone on his tongue.
His loneliness pressing into mine until I thought maybe two hollow things could become something whole together.
Then his words after. Just a human.
I swallow the rest of the snack cake like it might force the memory down with it.
It doesn’t.
Three rounds later, Ariel wins again and laughs so hard the queen accuses her of hustling the entire club. My best friend is glowing, delighted, cheeks pink, the oversized dildo now tucked under one arm because we only brought our tiny clutches.
At least I have her. It's the two of us against the world, and that's all I need.
"Wasn't Kiki supposed to be on tonight?" Ariel asks as we head toward the bar to close our tab. "I love it when she announces Bingo because she sings a lot."
"Yeah." I sit straighter, scanning the side stage. "She always does Tuesdays." Honestly, it was a big reason why I let Ariel drag me out. I needed to thank Kiki again.
At the end of the bar, Prudence Pea is adjusting her headset with one hand and smoothing a wrinkle out of her pencil skirt with the other.
The club manager is all silk blouse, horn-rimmed glasses, and tightly pinned hair, the kind of woman who could feel one pea under twenty mattresses and file a formal complaint about it.
"Hey Prudence," I call as we approach her. Prudence is just as much a regular at Poison Apple as we are here. "Is Kiki sick?" I ask.
Prudence stills. "You haven't heard?"
"No," I say slowly. "Heard what?"
She glances toward the stage, mouth pressed thin. "Kiki hasn't been in for days. No calls. No texts. Nothing."
Cold slips beneath my glittered skin. Ariel's hand finds my wrist.
"We filed a missing person's report," Prudence adds, voice lowering.
"Cops barely cared. Said a lot of people have been leaving town.
Said she's probably on summer vacation, lying by a beach somewhere.
" Her nails tap once against the bar. "As if the Dame would ever miss a performance without notice.
" She rolls her eyes, but behind it is real worry.
The tiny, borrowed magic inside me flickers out.
And for once, I don't even miss it.