Slippers and Thieves Special Edition Read online

  That might be the most troubling part of all.

  7

  Alec

  Days later

  I lounge on the couch in my family’s penthouse. This is my favorite spot since it sports a fireplace and awesome view of Manhattan. And let’s not forget the kick-ass gaming station that’s set into one wall.

  My buddy Knox is camped out on the same couch, too. We’re playing a new game called Magicorum Killers. Humans can pretend they’re a shifter, witch, or fairy and then go fight evildoers. It’s hilarious, considering how I’m a wizard and Knox is a shifter. We’re also wardens of magic, which make us tops in power for our Magicorum type.

  Long story short, there definitely are times when Knox and I must kick some troll butt or whatever. It’s just bizarre to see it on screen. And did I mention that I’m seriously losing this game? My skills are way off this afternoon. Not that I’ll admit such a thing to Knox.

  I shoot my buddy a snide grin. “My controller’s broken.”

  “Is not. I just kicked your ass, fair and square.” Knox is tall and ripped, same as me. Early growth spurts go with the whole warden situation. Unlike me, Knox has black hair, heavy brows, and a super-short temper. I’m more of the blond haired, blue eyed, and charming type.

  “Best out of nine,” I counter.

  Knox shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

  Once we restart, I keep screwing up all the electronic spells. It’s like my fingers won’t move fast enough or something. On screen, a pack of vampires corner me in short order.

  A note on vamps. It’s funny how humans know all about the Magicorum, but they’re oblivious to trolls, vampires, and the like. Sure, humans sense the danger when a vamp or whatever is near, but that’s it. The reason? Those supernatural folks—what we call the shadowcoe—are experts at staying hidden. Good for them.

  In the game, I’m finally able to take down the vamps. Still, something feels off. On reflex, I pause everything and look to Knox. A question falls from my mouth. “Do you ever think about our fairy tale life templates?”

  One great thing about Knox: when he isn’t enraged, my bud is super calm. At this point, anyone else would complain that I stopped the game. Knox stays totally chill.

  “Nah,” Knox replies. “I think about how to kick Jules’ ass, only worse than I’m kicking yours.” Jules is the leader of a group of zombie-mummies who murdered Knox’s parents.

  “Makes sense. Normally, I’m right with you. Unless my parents are going on about my Glass Slipper Ball, I don’t think about my life template at all.”

  Knox tilts his head. The movement reminds me of the massive black wolf he carries inside him. “What’s up?”

  I debate about lying or restarting the game. Once again, those are my plans. But different words tumble from my mouth, all on their own. “I had this crazy dream last night.”

  “Was it a dream … or a magical message?”

  “Hard to tell. I saw the Queen of Hearts.”

  Knox’s upper lip curls with a look I like to call his protective growl. “She’s dangerous.”

  “The queen told me that Legend would one day form an evil alliance to keep me from my true love.”

  “Huh.” Knox purses his lips. “Not a surprise that the Queen of Hearts would get interested in a warden’s love life. But Legend forming an evil alliance against you?” Knox gives me a look that says, we both know who he really wants to hurt.

  As if on cue, my father saunters into the room. Legend is all blonde hair, blue eyes, and magnetic charm. Tonight Dad looks like an older surfer in a three piece suit.

  Beside Legend stands my mother, Diamond. She moves with a ballet dancer’s grace, mostly because she used to be one. Her long brown hair falls in waves down her back. My mother looks runway-ready, even if she’s wearing a sweat suit, which is what she sports today.

  Speaking of Diamond, she rounds on me. “Tell your father that he needs to attend the Le Charme grand opening in New Jersey.”

  Legend lifts his chin. “Tell your mother that I’ll attend when the opening is actually scheduled.”

  Welcome to the ongoing battle over Le Charme Jewelers that is my parents’ existence. Once in a while, I get in the middle of their marital war. Whenever I’m dragged into such a fight, I find it’s easiest to put on my mental armor and battle fast.

  I look to my mother. “Diamond, he’ll go to the opening.” Next I focus on my father. “Legend, she knows you hate Jersey, so don’t try to weasel out at the last minute.” My gaze flicks between them. “Are we done here?”

  Without another word, my parents march off to their separate rooms, slamming doors behind them as they go. Normally, this scene would prompt me to want to punch someone. For some reason, their actions today only remind me of the Queen of Hearts.

  I return my focus to Knox. “About that dream.”

  “What about it?”

  “It makes me wonder. My parents both have life templates for the Cinderella story.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The queen talked about my true love. That’s Cinderella template stuff. But with my parents?” I hitch my thumb in the direction where they marched off. “I don’t think they’re each other’s true loves.”

  “I get that.” Knox itches his neck. It’s a move that means he’s thinking something through. “Unless you say their one true love isn’t a person. It could be Le Charme Jewelers.”

  Those words are totally foreign and familiar, all at once. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I’ve known you forever? It’s the only thing your parents really care about … outside of you. I mean, stop me if I’m wrong. I’m just your friendly neighborhood werewolf.”

  “No, you’re not wrong.”

  “And?” prompts Knox.

  I lean back into the couch and admit the awful truth. “I don’t want to turn out like them.”

  “I get that, too.”

  All of a sudden, it feels like the walls of this spacious penthouse press in around me. “Do you think we’re locked into our fairy tale life template?”

  Knox bares his teeth. It’s the face he makes when disgusted. “Fate … Fairy tale life templates … Those are things adults talk about because they screwed up their own lives and want an excuse.” Knox fixes me with his most serious stare. “You get what I mean, yeah?”

  Nodding, I try to process all this. Are fairy tale templates real? And do my parents truly love Le Charme Jewelers most of all? Good questions. Yet whatever the answer, I meant what I said to Knox.

  I do not want to end up like them.

  “So.” I raise my not-so-broken controller. “Are we playing best of nine or what?”

  Knox chuckles. “Prepare to get your ass kicked.”

  “Maybe.” And somehow, it feels like that statement is about far more than this game.

  8

  Elle

  For a week after my Queen of Hearts adventure, I feel super groggy. Turns out, facing vampire queens is a real energy drain.

  Lesson learned.

  This morning marks day three of my sleep deprivation fest. I drag my bum out of bed and into the kitchen. It’s a neat space with lots of white tile and mint-colored appliances. On the counter I find an empty coffee cup and bagel crumbs, but no sign of Dad.

  Odd. I check the clock.

  9:06 AM

  Dad’s normally cleaned up his dishes and stuff by now. Huh. Thuds sound from below. That’s where the store is located. Dad must be there. But why?

  The truth hits me. Agatha and Ivy were supposed to work the shop this morning. Marchesa thought it would be good for them to have a summer job. Of course, the sisters rarely show up. Dad’s probably hustling to cover for them. Customers expect the doors to open at 9AM.

  Time to step in.

  After marching downstairs, I make my way through the first floor warehouse. Sure enough, I find Dad in the store and fiddling with the register. His hair sticks up at odd angles; his T-shirt’s on inside-out; and his eyes
are totally bloodshot. Long story short, my father’s the very definition of the word frazzled.

  “What’s the access code for this thing again?” Dad pounds random numbers onto the register’s keyboard.

  “Hey there,” I say gently. “What’s up?”

  Dad braces his arms on the countertop. “Your mother had a rough night. I need to open the store.”

  Part of me wants to ask what he means by saying rough night. But Dad needs sleep far more than question and answer time.

  I step up to the register. “I’ll get it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, Ellie Belly.” Dad takes off at double speed.

  The front door swings open, sending a wave of summer heat into the small space. A woman enters. Everything about this human screams New York, from her fashion model strut to her grey suit, matching heels, and long black hair. An access badge dangles from her pocket that reads, Ms. Coco Tao, MingMart Inc. My brows lift. MingMart is the new hot retailer in the city.

  “Is this Cynder Mercantile?” asks Coco. Living in New York, you get a feel for accents. Hers carries a touch of Mandarin.

  “Yes, it is.”

  By the way, the store’s full name is Cynder Mercantile of Manhattan’s Second Avenue. Not catchy, but my folks are experts in magic, not word play.

  Coco slowly scans the room. I picture things from her eyes. It’s a small wooden space packed with hand-made stuff. Then there’s me, a fifteen-year-old whose blonde hair is tied off into pigtails. I stand behind a tall wooden counter wearing pajama bottoms and a hoodie.

  Not my best day, fashion-wise.

  “Aren’t you rather young to be running a store?” asks Coco. “I saw adults in here the other day.”

  “Those were my parents. And I’m fifteen. That’s a legal age to work in New York.”

  “Ah.” She eyes my fuzzy bunny slippers and … yeah, I get it. No matter what the age, I’m not your typical salesgirl.

  “Look, it’s my parents’ place and our regular help is late, so here I am.” I’d explain how we live upstairs, but meh. This is New York. We don’t over-share.

  “Chirp, chirp.”

  My eyes widen. That can’t be …

  “Chirp, chirp.”

  It is.

  The top two floors of our building are studio space. The artists up there make stuff; then we sell it down here. Although artist really isn’t the right word for them. They’re more enchanted objects; we call them animates. And that chirp comes from none other than Ooks, our enchanted statue of a baby phoenix. Clearly, Ooks has broken loose again.

  Where can that little phoenix be hiding? I scan the nearby shelves. The store isn’t that big. A small statue can’t hide forever.

  “Chirp, chirp.”

  Yipes. That’s Ooks again.

  Coco taps her chin. “Interesting.”

  “CHIRP, CHIRP, CHIRP!”

  Wow, Ooks is on a tear this morning.

  I plaster on an innocent stare. Did Coco hear anything? When it comes to magic, most humans notice zero. At least, not right away. Eventually, humans do sense that something is off, however. And that’s when animates like Ooks end up in the trash. It’s also why Cynder Mercantile was formed. Dad wants to give animates a future outside of a dumpster.

  “Your parents should write a book.” Coco holds up an imaginary novel. “The title could be, Inspiring Children. My son won’t finish his homework, let alone run a store. Mark my words. That would be a best seller.”

  “Um, okay.” I exhale. Coco didn’t notice Ooks. Good.

  Speaking of the baby phoenix, the four-inch tall porcelain statue hops onto the countertop. Ooks is all red feathers with a long tail that curls under her in a graceful arc. Her head looks more like a dove than a hawk; that’s how you know she’s a baby.

  Coco steps closer. “That’s an unique piece. Is it … moving?”

  Sure enough, Ooks jumps up and down on the counter. That’s how it looks to me, anyway. Coco just sees a small sculpture that twitches in a non-existent breeze.

  “How could it move?” I throw up my hands. “That makes no sense.”

  This is a classic way to derail humans, by the way. They want everything to be logical. Magic isn’t.

  I point to a random wall. “Besides, there’s much cooler stuff over there.”

  Coco turns to look, which is great. Sadly, Ooks takes the opportunity to leap atop Coco’s head. Wincing, I wonder if Coco will notice. She doesn’t. Animates can be very sneaky that way.

  “Oh, those are gorgeous.” Coco heads over to a shelf stocked with hand-blown glass statues. “I’d love to meet your supplier for this. We need new goods for MingMart’s private customers.”

  This triggers my standard speech for just such an occasion. “Everything here is made by New York artists who only work with Cynder. Sorry.”

  “Can we work through Cynder on volume discounts? I have an event coming up where these would be perfect.” She lowers her voice. “It’s for the Le Charme family.”

  “Sure, you can ask my parents.” I scoop up a business card from the counter and hand it over.

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” Coco steps toward the exit. While Coco’s back is turned, I take the opportunity to jump up and scoop Ooks down. Thankfully, Coco still notices zero. Just to be safe, I watch until the door fully swings shut and Coco is gone.

  Whew.

  A voice sounds behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. “Good morning, Elle.”

  Spinning around, I find Jacoby. He’s a dark elf who works with Doc Eight, one of the Cynder animates. Jacoby looks about my age, but you never really know with elves. His hair is short, dark, and tousled. It’s a look that offsets the strong bone structure of his pale face. Per usual, Jacoby wears jeans and a T-shirt. To humans, Jacoby seems like one of them. Only folks like me notice his pointed ears and silver irises.

  “I’ve told you a hundred times,” I groan. “Don’t materialize behind me like that.”

  A sneaky smile curls his mouth. “I can’t help it. I’m a classic.”

  When it comes to fairy tale life templates, most fae live by the classic pattern, which means a life of mischief. Jacoby steps a little closer. “What’s your life template, Elle?”

  Ooks hops off my hand to skitter behind the carved pumpkin display. I don’t blame the phoenix for avoiding a dark fae. After all, these elves trick humans into stepping off cliffs for fun. That said, I’ve known Jacoby forever. He’s harmless.

  “I’m a Cinderella template. You know that.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder.” Jacoby sets a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wish you’d confide in me.” His silver eyes get all dreamy and sweet. You can’t knock elves for looks.

  Even so, I’m not telling him a thing. I’m the warden of all fae magic. And with any luck, no one will discover that fact. Especially Jacoby. I take a half step backward.

  “You’re such a drama elf. I’m boring old Elle, nothing else.”

  “You’re fae.”

  “Barely. I don’t even have wings. No one’s interested in a fairy who can’t fly.”

  Technically, my parents had my wings removed when I was a baby. Brilliant move, by the way. Most fae wardens don’t live past age ten. I’m some kind of record.

  “I grew up in the Faerie Lands,” says Jacoby. “They might get interested in you. Best to be prepared. I could help you, if you let me.”

  I consider how to tell him no for the hundredth time when the door opens once more. At last, Ivy and Agatha walk inside. I go to grab Jacoby’s hand—those sisters are much less nasty with him around—but the dark elf has already vanished.

  Thanks for nothing, Jacoby.

  “Hello, Ellie Belly.” That’s Ivy, by the way. She stands tall, bright-eyed, and blonde with the same pinched features and perma-scowl as her mother, Marchesa. Like always, Ivy wears a bright plaid dress.

  “Hel—”

  “Quiet, Agatha.” />
  “Lo,” finishes Agatha. Like always, Marchesa’s youngest daughter dresses like she’s in a witness protection program. Today that means a boxy dress, floppy hat, and big sunglasses. All black. I’m pretty sure she’s pale with long brown hair under everything, but you never know.

  Ivy slowly scans me from head to toe. “You look rather sloppy today, even for you.”

  I shouldn’t let Ivy get to me, and I don’t. Mostly. “Guess what?” asks Ivy. She communicates a lot in questions, by the way. It’s as annoying as it seems. “We didn’t plan on working this morning.”

  “Well, you were both on the list,” I state.

  Ivy sighs. “I can’t believe the schedule was so unclear.”

  “Ask your mother,” I counter. “She made it.”

  Which is true. Marchesa is supposed to help run Cynder Mercantile, but nothing she touches ever seems to go right. Even so, my parents won’t fire her.

  Ivy checks her watch. “the party starts now, right?”

  I shake my head. the animates are throwing my parents some kind of celebration today. leave it to Ivy and Agatha to try and show up right before things start.

  “Nope,” I reply. “It starts at noon.”

  “Oh, noon?” asks Ivy.

  I force a grin. “That’s what the slobby girl said.”

  Ivy twiddles her fingers at me. “Since you’ve got things covered, Agatha and I will hit the warehouse until noon. Ta!”

  Fact: I happen to know that to Ivy and Agatha, the definition of warehouse hitting means hiding behind the wall of wooden pumpkins while playing Bubble Breaker on their phones. Now, it’s true that I could force those two to stay and work with me in the store, but that’s more hassle than it’s worth. So I simply watch as the sisters step out the back door. Buh-bye.

  I’ve got time to kill before noon, so I hang by the register. After a few minutes, Ooks comes back out of hiding to chirp and dance across the counter. There’s nothing cuter than a baby phoenix doing the cha cha. Sunbeams shift across the store. The gentle music of car horns and voices echoes in from the street. With every passing second, more warmth and happiness seeps across my chest.