1. 1

I'm trying to show Jessica—for the third time—how to slice tomatoes correctly, and it's rapidly becoming one of those moments when I regret ninety percent of my life choices.

"You like sharp things, Jessica," I said. "How can you possibly be so incompetent at using a knife?"

"I like using sharp things on people. How can you blame me if tomatoes don't hold my interest?" She tried again. Half the slice you could see through. Half the slice was as thick as a Zagat guidebook.

"Just give it to me." I grabbed the tomato and did it myself, wondering whatever possessed me to accept Jessica's oath of loyalty, and why I ever thought training her at the restaurant would be a good way of instilling discipline that wasn't bloodsucking-related. "Go roll silverware."

"Yes, Zelda." Her little curtsy was perfectly correct and also made me want to smack her face.

"James!" I called out.

My other vampire kitchen assistant—the competent one—looked up from monitoring the hot breakfast sandwiches.

"Are we ready?"

"Ready, boss."

"Let's go." We swung into action: wrapping, bagging, passing everything off to Lily, who sorted out the orders and the money before the morning customers scooped up their prizes and hustled out the door. Every time the door opened, cold air swirled in, a reminder that summer was behind us.

James, Lily, and I danced through the rest of the rush. Jessica found a niche in rolling silverware and occasionally taking to the floor with a broom with an industriousness that surprised me. When the open fire hydrant of customers finally weakened to a trickle, we were in good shape, with time enough to get ready for the next rush. Lily disappeared to the back to check supplies, and James went to work on cleaning up the kitchen.

I checked the morning's receipts and allowed myself a satisfied nod. Not bad. Not bad at all. I wouldn't be a millionaire anytime soon, but West Side Sandwiches was making it. Grandma would be proud. The occupational license with her embellishment, West Side 'Wiches instead of West Side Sandwiches, had some smudges on it, so I scrubbed it down with a clean towel. "There," I said, nudging the frame so it would hang exactly straight. "That's better."

I'd added framed pictures around it: me and Poppy at Central Park; Lily holding Jester; and a very old photo of the one time my mom came with me to New York, when I was a kid, to see Grandma. That one was so old the colors were washed out.

No photos of Berron or Daniel, yet. But I used Daniel's knife every day, and every time I wiped down the wooden bar or the tabletops, I was reminded of Berron. Beautiful and useful things were always my weakness.

Jessica appeared behind me with the stealth of a ghost. "Why didn't you put Daniel to work? He's your Initiate, too."

"Because Daniel has a job, and you don't. You've been out of the workplace since the nineties. Consider this your retraining program."

Jessica sniffed. "I was an art major."

"Very practical of you." I didn't have anything against pursuing dreams—hell, Lily was a fashion major, and I'd opened the type of business rated most likely to fail in the first year—but I wasn't going to let her sniff at me. "Floor needs mopping."

She flounced off.

I could have used a second cup of coffee. Instead, the bells jangled, and someone came through the door with another blast of cold autumn air, a relief from the heat of the grill. I was momentarily blinded by the flash of sunlight. While I was still blinking, the door swung closed, and I heard a familiar Southern voice.

"Zelda, girl!"

I rubbed my eyes. Surely I wasn't seeing right. Short, fluffy hair. Wide smile. Sparkling, expressive eyes. Posture so straight you could almost be fooled into thinking she wasn't actually petite.

And she was carrying a suitcase.

"Mom?"

My mother laughed, lightly, but with an edge of nervousness. "I thought I'd come try this new restaurant I heard about."

Seeing my mom standing in West Side Sandwiches was like ordering a hot dog from a street cart and having them hand you a live marmoset instead. "You flew up from Florida? Why didn't you call me?"

Mom moved hesitantly through the tables and chairs, her free hand tracing the seatbacks as she went. "I thought I'd surprise you! Isn't that fun?"

What do you even do with a live marmoset? I mean, I suppose it was fun, in a way, but maybe not ideal, for various reasons.

Also confusing. My mom didn't do surprises, and was in fact one of the least surprising people I'd ever known. Mom had predictable down to an art. "Yeah!" I said. "That's—um—fantastic." I sounded like an idiot and I knew it. "Did you eat yet?" I said, falling back on creaky old Southern manners out of sheer panic.

"Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble—"

"Aunt Effie!" Lily cried. She rushed forward and threw her arms around my mom. "Zelda didn't say you were coming to visit!"

"Zelda didn't know she was coming to visit," I muttered to myself.

James came out from behind the counter and introduced himself. "Ma'am, I am so pleased to meet you. There are so many stories I could tell you about your daughter—"

I cleared my throat.

"But I'm sure you'll want to hear them directly from her. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Eggs? I do a mean omelet." He pulled out a chair and ushered her into it.

"An omelet would be lovely." She put a hand on his arm. "Do you have Cracker Barrel extra sharp cheese?" James looked blank. "Never mind, whatever you have will be fine, I'm sure." She patted his arm reassuringly.

James retreated, no doubt in search of the mythical Cracker Barrel extra sharp.

I tried to think of a good way of asking why are you here without just shouting it. Nothing came to mind. So I went sideways. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"I expect there's a Holiday Inn or something around here. Or a bed and breakfast"—she looked at Lily—"I love a good B&B, don't you?"

Lily nodded happily. Of course she did. It wasn't her mother showing up out of nowhere.

"I mean, if you'd have called me—"

Mom waved the thought away. "I didn't want to stress you out."

"So you came here to stress me out?"

That earned me a well-deserved look. "I came," she said, "to see my daughter."

I looked at her more closely, as if I could see a clue in the lines of her face. If she wanted to travel, why hadn't gone to my brother's? She had always seemed to approve of him more than me. Why was she here? "Lily," I said, "could you check in the produce delivery?"

Lily hesitated, her gaze going back and forth between my mom and me, before she disappeared into the back again.

I leaned toward Mom, ready to get the full truth, when I caught Jessica, out of the corner of my eye, using the mopping as a pretense to skulk closer and closer. "Jessica, go help Lily."

Jessica huffed a sigh and marched off, nearly mowing down James, who was carrying a plate.

"Watch it," he said. Then he put on a smile and delivered the omelet to our table. "Cheddar cheese omelet, ma'am. Enjoy." He leaned close to me. "I'll keep everything under control," he murmured.

"Thank you, James," I said. Mom just sat there, looking oddly guilty, like Jester when I busted him with a mouthful of scrunchies. "Mom. Your omelet?"

Mom started, then daintily unrolled the silverware and laid the napkin across her lap. "I'm fine, really."

"I never said you weren't fine."

"Well, I am." She stabbed the eggs with her fork.

I waited.

Mom chewed and swallowed, looking anywhere but at me. Then she laid down her fork. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to confess."

I slid into a seat across from her. "No offense, Mom, but this isn't like you. You don't just pick up and travel on the spur of the moment." To a city you don't even like, I could have added.

She took another bite of omelet, then waved the fork around. "Isn't it enough that I want to see my daughter?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, all right. Fine." She leaned in. "I'm getting older, Zelda. I feel like…" She shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "I feel like we're not as close as we should be. And—maybe if we spent some time together, I don't know…"

"So you just—" I made my hand into an airplane and flew it through the space between us.

"Yes," she said, her voice turning firmer. More familiar. "Yes, I did. Your Aunt Belinda said she had a wonderful time up here with you and Lily, and so I thought to myself, ‘Why not, Effie? Before you're too old for such foolishness?'"

"You've never been foolish."

"Maybe I should have been."

I looked at her and our gazes struck like two stock pots colliding, hard enough to ring your ears and vibrate your bones. My wild, secret hope—that she would sensibly decide to hop on a plane and go home—vanished.

I had always known we were both stubborn.

I had never known we were both prone to bold, reckless moves. It goes to show that people you've known all your life can still surprise you. "I'm glad you came," I said, finally. "In fact," I continued, swallowing my misgivings, "you can stay with Poppy and me. You can have my room. I'll take the couch."

"Oh, no," Mom said. She looked down and fiddled with her napkin. "I couldn't possibly put you on the couch."

"I insist."

She raised her gaze to mine. "Really?"

"Really."

She perked up. "Thank you, honey." Genuine gratitude, but also a faint hint of triumph. "I'll just—enjoy the changing of the season," she said, gesturing to the air as if leaves were turning inside the restaurant. "I won't be any trouble, I promise."

Trouble. I'd dealt with a never-ending run of it since coming to New York. What was a little visit from my mom?

No trouble. No trouble at all.