In the unforgiving light of day, the Big Tent was far less enchanting. Trash and windblown sand littered the street in front of it, and the breeze carried the sharp scent of spilled beer and seaweed. This close, mismatched patches marred the tent’s swirling purple and black stripes. Still, Roger swung open the double doors like a king returning to his palace. “Home sweet home.”
Without the tourists, the pit seemed strangely empty. A few men mopped the sticky floors while younger Revelles dragged crates bearing Dewey’s logo backstage. Behind the bar, Roger’s aunts polished glasses, laughing uproariously until the contortionists onstage shouted for them to pipe down. Luxe, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t going to make this easy for me.
Trys sighed as she lowered herself into a folding chair. She rarely complained about foot pain, but the dancing last night had worsened her limp today.
Nana smacked Roger with a towel as he sank into the chair beside her. “When you’re here, you work. You too, Jamison. And . . . Chronos girl.”
“It’s Trysta, ma’am.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “She knows your name. Nana, have you seen our lovely star?”
“She’s getting changed.” Nana pointed to the bar. “Help your aunts while you wait.”
The Revelle women greeted us with enthusiasm. Most of them had come by the barn to fuss over Roger while he was recovering from Luxe’s injuries—and to tease me relentlessly. Apparently, my attempts to climb over the executive suite balcony had not gone unnoticed.
Caroline Revelle handed me a glass. “Stick your nose in this. What does it smell like?”
I did as she asked. “I’m not sure. Dust?”
“Tell me the truth, boy.”
“All right.” I took another whiff. “It smells like piss.”
She dropped the glass back on the bar. “No matter how many times we wash ’em, they still smell like piss.”
“The whole tent smells like piss,” Trys pointed out.
The Revelle women blinked at her. Once Roger had told them of my orphan roots, they’d welcomed me into their fold, insisting I call them aunts. Trys, however, they’d mostly ignored.
“She’s right,” Nana said. “The boozed-up fools always find a way to piss in the corner.”
“Have you tried lemon? It’s excellent for getting rid of the smell.” Seeing their blank stares, I added, “I, ah, had to clean up after the little boys at the orphanage.” Not just the little boys. The friars made me clean my own bedsheets—naked, in the blistering cold courtyard, so homesick I couldn’t speak—after those nightmare-fueled accidents during my first year there.
Nana arched a brow. “Lemons are imported from the mainland. Not cheap.”
“What about these?” I grabbed a lemon garnish from a dirty glass on the bar. “If you scrape the rinds, add vinegar, and drain it through a cheesecloth, then voilà. Lemon cleaner.”
Roger clapped me on the back. “See? I leave and return with a bona fide genius.”
“Ah yes, this makes up for the years of chores you missed.” Nana grabbed another glass. “How did you all meet, anyways?”
Roger placed a hand on my chest. “Let me tell it, Jamison. You see, we were on a transatlantic voyage.”
Aunt Caroline frowned. “You told me you were all arrested for public indecency.”
The truth was far less interesting than either. Roger and I had both discovered that the Library of Congress Building in Washington, DC, had the best bathrooms—and the staff didn’t check the stalls before locking up for the night. Imagine my surprise when one rainy night, while searching for something new to read, I stumbled upon Roger Revelle eating a sandwich he’d charmed from one of the librarians. I’d been out of St. Douglas’s for a few weeks, failing miserably in my foolish quest to either find my family or settle down and find work. Enigmatic Roger was like no one I’d ever met. All night, he spoke of Charmant, of the parties and the magic, but most of all, he spoke of the Revelles. He’d lived so much in sixteen years while all I’d done was clean, pray, and study. And he was intrigued by my solitary, sheltered life. By morning, we’d mapped out a cross-country adventure on a stolen atlas.
A few days later, we stumbled upon an elegantly dressed teenage girl at the train station, beating a bunch of unsuspecting men at cards. Recognizing the mayor’s daughter, Roger hadn’t been able to resist the chance to toss a gem into a game. Once he’d won it back from Trys, we boarded the train. To our surprise, Trys followed us to berate Roger for tricking her. When the train started, she was stuck, but after a whole night of Roger’s relentless teasing, she agreed to join us for another day or two. The rest was history.
“You’re all wrong,” Roger drawled. “We were on a sparkling beach in Miami. Trys got stung by a jellyfish, and Jamison and I volunteered to piss on her.”
Trys rolled her eyes. “He’s lying. I’d never let them piss on me.”
“Not even me, Trys?” I teased.
“You, maybe. But Roger Revelle? I’d never be clean again.”
That earned a laugh. Trys smiled shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“What’d we miss?” Colette glided through the pit with Millie, their cheeks shiny from rehearsal. The entire family was unfairly good-looking, even when they were sweaty.
“Come to steal our booze, Roger?” Colette teased.
“You’ve got plenty to spare.” Roger kissed his sister on the cheek. “Ankle’s all better?”
“As if it never happened.” She flexed her foot. “Worried about me, big brother?”
“Always.” Roger leaned against the bar. “We’re here for Luxe, actually.”
“The ice princess?” Colette didn’t try to hide her surprise.
“C’mon, Col, don’t call her that.”
“Okay, fine. Why are you looking for our dearly beloved star?”
Roger’s gaze slid to mine. “She’s taking Jamison to the beach.”
That earned me more than a few curious stares. “She’s not taking me anywhere,” I said quickly. “She’s helping me find one specific beach.”
“As much as I’d love to see this for myself, we were about to get doughnuts.” Colette tipped her chin to Roger. “Care to join us at Sweet Buns?”
“You still go to Margaret’s bakery?” Roger pretended to look affronted, though the flash of sadness across his face seemed genuine.
Millie smiled guiltily. “We’ve tried to stop, but the Effigens make the best doughnuts.”
“Traitors, all of you.” He slid off the bar. “Let’s go to Studebaker’s instead.”
“I’ll come.” Trys tucked her cane under her arm.
Roger quirked a brow. “Weren’t you meeting your brother?”
“Dewey can wait.” Catching my eye, she shrugged. “What? I’m hungry.”
As they walked away, Colette whispered something in Trys’s ear, and Trys snickered.
“It looks like I warned the wrong friend away from Revelle ladies,” Roger mused. He clapped me on the back. “Meet us after?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As I sorted lemons and waited for Luxe, the Revelle aunts peppered me with questions about everything from life at the orphanage to Betty. That one, at least, was a quick story to tell: an orphan boy so desperate for a family of his own that he thought he’d marry the first girl to give him attention. The Revelles listened intently, shaking their heads as I told them how she’d dumped me by letter, and cackling when I described how Roger and Trys had crashed her parents’ dinner party in retaliation.
I reached for another lemon rind—and found Luxe standing behind me. For God knows how long.
One day, I’d be able to look at her without my heart leaping into my throat. But not today. Without her evening makeup, freckles dusted her button nose, and her eyes seemed wider. Younger. Dark curls sprang free from beneath the wide brim of her hat.
Magical hangover indeed.
“Luxie girl,” Aunt Caroline cooed, pinching Luxe’s cheek. “I didn’t see you at breakfast. Did you stay at Dewey’s mansion last night?”
Luxe twisted her lips into a haughty smile—not as fake as the one she flashed around Dewey, but guarded nonetheless. “Of course not. You know I need my beauty rest.”
“Good.” Aunt Caroline’s teasing tone faded as she leaned closer. “It’s never a good idea to let the customers get too close. They tend to get a little obsessed.”
“Good thing Dewey’s not a customer.” With a reluctant nod in my direction, Luxe sauntered outside.
“Make sure she eats something!” Aunt Caroline called after me.
As if she’d listen to me. I gave them a little wave before I trailed behind Luxe.
Daylight blinded me as I stepped outside the Big Tent. Luxe stuck out her hand, something sparkling in her palm. My mother’s brooch.
I moved to snatch it but stopped myself. A Revelle and a jewel? Dangerous combination.
She shoved it into my hand. “My magic only works if you give me the jewel.”
So everyone kept saying. “I didn’t give you a jewel last week, yet I almost broke my neck climbing out of the mezzanine.”
She batted her lashes in feigned innocence. “That was just my natural charm.”
Without another word, she began walking, leaving me a half step in her wake. Tourists spilled out of bars, their brunch drinks sloshing on sidewalks as they halted to watch the Radiant Ruby pass. Each of her steps fell rhythmically with the street band’s song, her head remaining high without a glance toward her awestruck admirers.
Her pace was so brisk, I found myself breaking a sweat just to keep up with her, but I wasn’t about to let her lose me.
She paused at the corner. “Do you need to rest?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you ever tell the truth?”
I met her stormy eyes. “I’ve never lied to you. Not even that first night.”
“And yet you said you’d give me ‘all the liquor in the world.’”
Christ. What a fool I’d been. “I was bewitched, to say the least.”
At least she didn’t deny it.
“How is the liquor man?” I asked. “His ankle must be in bad shape this morning.”
“He’s fine.” Something I couldn’t read passed over her face.
“‘He’s fine’ as in resting up?”
She twirled a loose curl, tucking it behind her ear.
“Or is his ankle someone else’s problem now?”
Her gaze cut to mine. Jackpot.
“Interesting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He’s got twenty-four days to win the election. It’s better for everyone if he’s on his feet. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I wasn’t looking at you.”
Loosing a breath, she turned down a narrow alley. Gnarled weeping willows blocked the end of the street, but Luxe paused only to push back the thick branches, revealing a foot-trodden path. I followed her through the thicket, the earthen scent of dirt and leaves replacing the stale stench of Main Street. After a few minutes, she ducked under a branch and pushed away the leaves, revealing sparkling ocean.
“We’re here.”
With each step, my feet sank into the golden sand. Thick groves of weeping willows sheltered the beach from either side. No wonder I hadn’t found it on my own; I would have had to swim out past them to even see this stretch of sand.
“See where the waves swirl a little strangely?”
I blocked my eyes from the relentless summer sun. In the lull between waves, a mooring pole jutted out of the water. Half-broken, covered in barnacles. “The dock’s still there?”
“Barely.”
There it was, between the waves—a dock. The same shape and size as the one in my photo.
Hope squeezed my rib cage so tightly, I couldn’t breathe.
She settled onto the sand, curling her legs to her chest. “Why do you care so much about seeing this dirty old beach?”
My photo beckoned from my pocket. I longed to take it out, to map out every similarity, but I couldn’t stand it if Luxe were to be cruel about it. “My parents visited here.” A truthful answer, just not a full one.
“So you’re a mama’s boy, then? Desperate to follow in your tourist parents’ footsteps?”
“Actually, I’m an orphan.”
That wiped the haughty mask right off her face. “Oh. I didn’t know.”
Clearly, she hadn’t asked anyone about me. “You don’t have to stay.”
“And be accused of abandoning Roger’s best friend, the one everyone seems to like oh so much, on a seedy Night District beach? Not a chance.”
“I can find my way back.”
“I don’t mind. Really.”
There it was again: pity.
Luxe or no Luxe, I’d waited too long for this beach to not make sure it was the same one.
Her eyes widened as I removed my shoes. My shirt next.
She shielded her eyes from my bare chest. “What are you doing?”
“Swimming.” I considered removing my trousers, just to watch her run off the beach in horror. “Want to come?”
“I don’t swim.”
“Can’t ruin your hair before a show, I suppose.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Since my mother drowned, I’ve lost my taste for it.”
If I could have eaten my words, I would have. I’d known Roger’s mother had drowned with two of his aunts. Or more accurately, had been drowned. Roger still blamed the Chronoses, though there was no proof they had any connection to the magic-less people who’d taken the women out on a boat, then fixed cinder blocks to their ankles and pushed them overboard. A hate crime, the police had called it. Even on Charmant, some people thought magic was an abomination. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She leaned against the dunes and lifted her face to the sun. “I’ll wait here.”
Resisting the urge to study her unguarded face, I made my way to the waves.
Swimming near a wrecked pier was a lot more difficult than I’d imagined, so I half floated, half hopped out to the mooring poles. I couldn’t risk the waves knocking me against the ruins, but I waded as close as I dared, then ducked my head under the surface.
The water was freezing, despite the heat of the day. And cloudy, too, the salt burning my eyes. Still, I squinted into the abyss, desperate for any sign of the dock.
The waves settled, and there it was: dark wooden poles jutting into the sand below, rickety old boards covered in rectangular grooves. Intricate carvings of a cityscape, like the Manhattan skyline. The algae covering the faded artwork swayed in the waves as I swam closer. This really was the dock.
In Charmant, of all places—the home of my two best friends. What were the odds?
A pair of sunbathers were kind enough to lend me a towel when I emerged. I dried myself hastily, turning back to the ocean over and over for more glimpses of the dock. With the tide rising, it was hard to see, but it was here.
I’d actually done it. I’d found one definitive place that my parents had once stood. If the hotels kept records, I might be able to find out exactly where we’d stayed. Or even better, their home address.
Home. I might be able to track down my real home. And maybe my family.
With my heart in my throat, I watched the sunken dock appear and disappear in the sea. I had the photograph memorized by now. The carved dock to the right, over my mother’s shoulder. My father’s heels sunk in the sand. His arm around my mother’s waist, like it belonged there. My beautiful mother, leaning into him while gazing down upon an infant wrapped in linens that billowed in the ocean breeze. Me.
I located the exact spot the photo had been taken, where none of the surrounding overgrowth could be seen. I stood where my family had once stood and breathed the salty air they’d once breathed. The upward angle of the camera wasn’t the result of an incline, but a very short photographer. Someone kneeling, perhaps?
Or a child.
Goose bumps formed on my forearm as a breeze swept over the beach.
“Well?” Luxe kept her eyes trained on the horizon as I pulled my shirt over my head.
“It’s the right beach. The dock’s still there, underwater.”
“Like I said.” Her dress rode up her thighs as she stood and stretched her hands over her head. I looked away. The last remnants of her magic still lingered in my system, stirring up a longing I didn’t dare acknowledge.
In silence, we wove our way back through the maze of branches and leaves. Once we emerged in the alley again, she leaned against the wall while I retied my shoes. “So your parents visited here before they died?”
“I don’t know if they’re dead or not,” I admitted. It was foolish, telling her. Betty had outright laughed when I suggested my parents still could be alive. Roger and Trys were kinder about it, but even they thought I was making too much of my fragmented memories.
Luxe, at least, didn’t laugh.
I reached into my pocket. “Here, let me show you their picture.”
“It’s okay.” She examined her manicure. “When you swam, I went through your things.”
Of course she did. “The price I pay for leaving my belongings with you.”
During the walk back, she didn’t speak again, but she also didn’t walk ahead of me. Once we reached the doughnut shop, she pointed to where Roger, Trys, Colette, and Millie sat inside, their backs to us. For a moment, she looked as though she’d join us, but then started to walk away. Before I’d even reached for the door, she pivoted, her face uncertain. “I’ve been thinking . . . tourists almost never go to that beach. They don’t usually know it exists.”
That explained the rare peace and quiet. “So my parents were trespassing?”
She hesitated. “Or they weren’t tourists.”
“Oh.” I rested my head against the brick wall. “Oh.”
My parents left me with two things: a photograph of a Charmantian beach and a jewel-encrusted brooch. Gems. Common possessions for citizens of Charmant.
“What were their names?”
“The Ports.” The plural of my last name sounded strange to my ears. For so long, I had been the only Port. “I don’t know their first names.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Nana knows just about everyone who’s ever lived around here. Perhaps if you show her that photograph—”
“She may recognize them.” Even as the plan formed in my mind, I couldn’t shake the absurdity of it. I couldn’t be from Charmant. Jubilant Roger? Of course he was raised here. Trys, with her pristine style and unflappable confidence? Absolutely. But I was mere rocks to their glittering jewels. This wonderful, mystical island couldn’t be my home, too.
Could it? Plenty of magic-less families lived here.
“If you’d like, I can bring you to her now.”
“I couldn’t take up more of your time—”
“It’s fine. Unless you’d rather have a doughnut.” She blinked up at me with those whiskey eyes, waiting.
My foolish heart quickened. “If you truly don’t mind.”
“It’s back this way.” She headed down the empty alley beside the doughnut shop.
Not empty.
A man was lying across the cobblestones. A bit early for drinking, but this was Charmant. Another man shook him by the collar, his face contorted.
That’s when I saw the blood: a riot of red dripping from the prone man’s temple, staining the white shirt underneath his suit.
“Do you need help?” I called.
Luxe gripped my arm, sending a wave of pinpricks rushing over my body. But she wasn’t looking at me.
She was looking at the unconscious man, and the diamond-shaped clock sewn to his lapel.
