17. 17

The kitchen brigade consisted of Mom, James, Jessica, and me. We'd pushed the tables together so everyone could fit: Poppy, Lily, Victorine, Daniel, Berron, and the Princess of Arrows. Since Lily was present, everyone pretended to be normal.

Or as normal as they could manage.

Poppy had a handful of dog treats and kept everyone entertained by running Jester and Georgiana through their tricks. Jester could sit, beg, shake hands, high-five, and spin in a circle. Georgiana could "dance" on command by putting her paws on Poppy's shoulders.

Victorine and Daniel, seated next to each other, looked like the king and queen in a pack of New York-themed playing cards.

Berron wore his usual hepcat gear, but must have been unable to convince the Princess of Arrows to abandon her shimmering gold getup for something less unusual. Not surprisingly, Lily spent a long time ooh-ing and ah-ing over the fabrics—gold velvet, gold chiffon, gold-embroidered linen—until I was pretty sure Lily might convince her to swap clothes in the kitchen pantry.

Berron, in the way he had of being either the most noticeable person in the room or the most hidden, chose to fade into the background. His eyes took in everything, as usual. Including me, when he thought I wasn't looking.

When I caught him at it, he gave me a small salute and an almost-smile.

Admiration, quiet enough for me to handle.

If by the end of yesterday I'd been tempted to rest my head on his shoulder, to stop for a moment, to let go, I had resisted admirably. Although why it was admirable was beginning to become hazy, like trying to see the Statue of Liberty through smog. "Coca-Cola ham ready?" I said to Mom.

"Almost," she said, readjusting the garnishes.

Jessica, who had shown close to zero interest in working with anything savory, had developed a fixation on pastry. She stood at the other end of the kitchen in an all-black kitchen outfit, meticulously putting the finishing touches on an apple spice cake frosted with fall-colored leaves.

I had once tried pointing out, in a friendly way, that her artistic background came in handy. She just gave me a patented Jessica death stare and walked away.

Her new hobby kept her out of James's hair, anyway. He was always more of a line cook kind of guy. He was currently preparing garnishes for the twice-baked potatoes: individual ramekins of sour cream, bacon, and finely chopped chives.

The Princess of Arrows rose from her chair and tapped a spoon on her glass. We didn't have sapphire-berry juice on tap, so it was filled with iced cranberry juice instead. When everyone turned, her serene smile beamed over us all. "I wish to give a toast," she said. "To thank all of you for making me welcome."

I cut a look at Berron, hoping this wasn't going to be anything she shouldn't say, but he gave me a hidden thumbs-up to say It's okay.

Lily leaned over to me. "Where did you say she was from?"

"Upper East Side. Old money," I whispered back. A close-enough excuse for her rare-orchid behavior.

The Princess of Arrows delicately cleared her throat. "May your heart never be heavy, for your friends will lift it. May your harvest ever be plenty, for your friends will share it. Though worlds and seasons change, we will drink to what remains: friendship." She took a dainty sip of cranberry juice, then puckered her lips and laughed.

Everyone drank.

"Hear, hear!" Berron said.

She blushed, curtsied, and sat.

"Dinner is served!" Mom said. She hefted the Coca-Cola ham and carried it to the table. "Of course, we call it ‘supper' where I come from."

"Dinner, supper," I said. "Who cares? Smells delicious." I delivered side dishes of twice-baked potatoes, green bean casserole, and baskets of gluten-free bread warm from the oven. James dropped off garnishes and butter.

Lily's eyes sparkled at the sight of everything on the table being safe for her to eat.

Jessica, who had been lingering in the kitchen, removed her apron and headed for the empty spot next to Daniel. He immediately stood and held her chair while she sat.

Poppy grabbed the pre-made plates for the dogs—nothing that would give either of them indigestion—and set them on the floor nearby.

The Gentry loaded their plates with the sides.

The Blessed could eat, even if they didn't exactly crave food the same as they craved the red stuff, so they picked and choosed according to individual preference. Victorine, as usual, took barely anything. Jessica, on the other hand, had as much of an appetite for eating the savory food as she had a dislike for cooking it.

"You can't tell it's gluten-free," Poppy said after a bite of fresh bread and salted Irish butter. "It tastes just like regular bread. Simply marvelous!"

"You're not eating," Daniel said to my mother.

She laughed. "I was too busy watching y'all eat."

"Me, too," I said. Something else we apparently had in common. I handed her a plate and took one for myself. When I finally sat down and looked around the table, I almost wished my mom wasn't going home. I'd never pictured her in New York, not really—but from Broadway to the Forest of Emeralds, she fit right in. There was so much more I wanted to show her, too. Maybe next time my idiot brother could show up and we could really set the town on fire.

After the meal, while Jessica was plating dessert, I snuck off to the back room. I hauled potatoes out of the way to access a plain cardboard box I'd hidden deep in one of the shelves. I took the box down, tore the packing tape off the top, and gazed down at the contents.

Brand, spanking-new West Side Sandwiches ball caps with an updated logo designed by one of Lily's many artist friends.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of newness, then opened them, took a hat from the box, and parked it on my head. I modeled it for the tiny back room mirror, turning my head back and forth, nodding it in time to a bop no one could hear.

Someone knocked.

I stopped bopping, stuffed the hat in the box, and pushed the flaps closed. "Yeah?"

"It's me."

Berron.

I set the box on a shelf. "Come in."

He entered and closed the door behind him.

Without warning, I was plunged into the memory of unmasking him as the Prince of the Gentry—trapping him against the wall, pressing my lips to his, discovering a whole new kind of magic as the bright glory of green and gold opened my eyes to his true identity.

"I thought you might need some help," he said.

I cleared my throat. "Help? No help. I'm okay." Very smooth, Zelda.

"What's in the box?"

How did he know? Damn his quiet observance. "A surprise," I said.

"I love surprises," he said.

"Not for you, you selfish thing. For everyone."

"I like everyone surprises. Can I see?"

"You'll see when everyone else sees."

"Come on. Just a peek." He tried puppy-dog eyes on me. Coming from a six-foot-something Gentry prince and not a miniature poodle, it was definitely an odd look. "Please?"

"Fine." I opened the box again and held it out.

His elegant fingers caressed the hat I'd just worn. "Oh," he said, reverently. "Oh, these are very nice. Is this… is this for me? To wear?"

I nodded, playing it cool but secretly pleased he was so excited.

He lifted the hat and lowered it onto his head slowly, like he was crowning himself. He turned to the mirror to admire himself. "How do I look? Do I look official?"

"You look like a dork. Not in an ironic, Brooklyn hipster way, but like a regular Joe off the street."

He beamed. "I look normal!"

"You look…"—my tongue suddenly tripped on the words that nearly came out of my mouth: You look like my ride-or-die—"really nice," I finished.

The cowardly chicken sounds were so loud in my own mind I was surprised they didn't bring everyone in the restaurant running to find out why I kept live poultry in the back.

Ride-or-die. An expression that meant handing someone your shining golden heart and asking them to kindly not smash it.

I didn't know if I was ready for that—but there would be time to figure that out.

"I think dessert's ready," I said. I dropped my hat back in the box, then took Berron's, too, so as not to ruin the surprise just by walking out.

Berron opened the door and held it for me. I marched out carrying the box, Berron behind me. "Listen up, people. I am about to grant you access to one of the most sought-after artifacts in the known world." I dropped the box on a table with a thump, then beat it like a drumroll.

Everyone quieted.

"Behold," I said. "The official West Side Sandwiches hats!" I whipped two hats out and raised them triumphantly.

"Oh, my!" Poppy said. She hopped out of her chair and hurried forward.

I grinned and handed her one, then tossed the rest like hot dogs at a ball game. Everyone gamely put them on, except Victorine and Jessica. Victorine examined hers like it was an antique medical device: interesting but slightly distasteful. Jessica muttered, "I'm not wearing this," and returned to the kitchen.

"How do I look?" Mom said, preening and patting her exposed hair.

"Marvelous," Victorine said.

"Don't you want to put yours on?"

"Oh, but I must keep it in mint condition," Victorine replied.

The hat suited Daniel fine. Made him look even more like a real New Yorker. Lily, of course, could easily rock a hat. James, too. Even Poppy looked pretty sporty. The Princess of Arrows, on the other hand… let's just say that gold robes and black ball caps are an unusual combo. She didn't seem to be fazed, however, and beamed at everyone like a benevolent sun goddess.

"Too bad they don't make dog hats," I said to Jester. Jester tilted his head to one side, then changed position as if he was considering making a jump for my hat. "Don't even think about it," I told him.

Jessica approached carrying plated cake slices, but I intercepted her. "You're sure you followed the gluten-free procedures?" I said.

"Of course I did. I'm a vampire, not a monster," she said. Then she marched past and gave the first slice to Lily, quietly explaining the measures she'd taken to prevent gluten cross-contact.

Pride burst like fireworks.

I took a seat and dug my fork into the deep end of the cake slice, making sure to get lots of frosting, and then hit something green and squishy. I fished out a green candy worm: the proverbial worm in the apple cake. I shook my head and chuckled.

For now, everyone was here—and everything was going to be fine.