Once Upon Stilettos
Page 49

Mom came to an abrupt halt, pulling Dad and me to a stop with her. “Now, she’s good,” she said. She released her death grip on her purse and opened it. “I want to give her a dollar.”
I turned to see a fairy hovering above the sidewalk. She wasn’t a street performer. She was the real deal, just going about her business. That sick feeling in my stomach came back in full force. My mother could see the fairy.
It would have been nice if the fairy had been someone I knew, someone I could get to play along with me. Unfortunately, she was a total stranger. Before I had a chance to react, Mom tried to hand her a dollar. “I don’t know how you do that, but I’m impressed,” Mom said. “Lovely costume, too.”
The fairy looked at her like she was crazy. “What the f—” she started to say.
“Mom!” I interrupted, dragging my mother away even as my head spun trying to think of what I could do for damage control. If she was magically immune, that would make things infinitely more complicated. Automatically, I scanned the area, looking for anything else magical I might have to explain, but Times Square was so full of oddities, it was impossible to spot the magical oddities in the midst of everything else.
“Kathleen Elizabeth Chandler, I did not raise you to be that rude,” Mom protested.
“Mom!” I hissed. “Hush and listen. That wasn’t a street performer. I think you insulted her.” I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure a pissed-off fairy wasn’t following us, but I didn’t see anything. It wasn’t until I was about to turn back to my mom that I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked back again, and there was the fairy, a shimmering haze around her so that she looked like she was blurring. I grabbed my parents and pushed them into the nearest doorway, in case she was putting together a spell to use against us. I’d be safe and apparently so would Mom, but I wasn’t so sure about Dad. What if she was one of Idris’s people? Worse, what if she’d actually been stalking us on purpose?
The doorway turned out to lead into a souvenir shop. “Look! Postcards! You’ll want to send one to each of the boys, right?” I said with forced enthusiasm. The huge rack of cheap postcards would distract my parents for a good five minutes while they argued over which ten to buy and which view of the skyline was nicer.
That gave me time to check out the situation and figure out what to do next. I ducked back out of the souvenir shop and looked up and down the sidewalk. It didn’t seem like the angry fairy lady was going to come after us, so maybe I’d been overly paranoid to assume she was working for Idris. I was sure I’d feel better if I could spot one of my MSI bodyguards and verify the situation, but I didn’t see anyone I recognized, human or otherwise. There was never a gargoyle around when you needed one.
That brought up my next problem: what should I do about Mom? My first instinct was to call the office and ask for advice. Rod knew all about immunes. He’d know what to do. Then I realized that would be a very bad idea. The company was desperate for immunes to help them guard against other magic users, and we were increasingly rare. I couldn’t let them try to recruit my mother. If she knew what I was mixed up in, she’d haul me back home, magical immunity or not. We were going to get through this visit, and then I’d put her back on a plane to Texas where she could live a blissfully unmagical existence. All I had to do was keep the secret for a few more days. Fortunately, my mom was primed to think New York was exceptionally weird. I’d lived here a year before I learned the truth. Surely I could get my mom through a few days.
I counted to ten to steady myself before going back into the store. Mom and Dad were still arguing over postcards. “This night view is a good one,” Mom said.
“But you can’t see anything other than lights,” Dad pointed out. “The sunset one’s nicer.”
“Get both,” I suggested. They turned to look at me, and I realized they hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone. They finally settled on ten cards, and I got them to the cash register before they could start discussing which card to send to which person.
As we left the store, Mom asked, “Now, Katie, what was that all about?”
Dad gave one of his long-suffering sighs. “Lois, you tried to give some girl on the street a dollar. I know she was funny looking, but if you tried to give a dollar to every funny-looking person you saw on the street in this town, you’d run out of money awful fast.” He put his hands in his pockets and walked ahead of us, like he was ashamed to be seen with us in public. I couldn’t entirely blame him. In fact, I wanted to join him.