5. 5

With a stop at West Side Sandwiches to check on everything, it was dark by the time I arrived home. Jester greeted me at the door with circus poodle hops and doggy kisses, and I found my mother settled on the couch with Georgiana like a shaggy electric blanket across her lap.

"You're home!" she said. "I had the most wonderful idea!"

"Oh?" My mother's wonderful ideas could range from the truly wonderful, like let's have ice cream for dinner, to the less wonderful, like why don't we go get you a nice dress, you always wear those darned tank tops and shorts.

She waved her phone at me, looking immensely pleased with herself. "I bought us tickets to a Broadway show tonight."

"Which one?"

"Does it matter? It's Broadway!" She did jazz hands.

"Guess I'll be surprised, then."

"I invited your friend Poppy"—she leaned closer like she was about to discuss someone's embarrassing illness— "but she said she didn't like to go to the theater very often."

"Yeah, she only goes to shows where she can buy out a box and sit by herself. It's not that she doesn't like company, but when you can pick up the thoughts of everyone within six feet, it's not ideal for trying to pay attention to a show."

"Poor girl," my mom said, patting Georgiana's long back. "Can we bring her something instead? Is there anything she likes to eat?"

I chuckled. "Poppy likes anything sweet. Maybe we could bring her dessert."

My mother looked satisfied, then concerned. "Will they still be open after the show? It'll be so late."

"Mom, this is New York. You can get dessert twenty-four hours a day." I picked up a rubber ball and threw it. Jester bounced after it.

"How marvelous," she mused. "I could get used to that."

An eight o'clock showtime left enough time to shower, change, make a sandwich, and hail a cab for the theater district—once I managed to get the actual name of the theater out of my mother.

"The Hudson," she said, eyes bright in the streetlights. She wore heels and a pantsuit with a statement necklace, and an overcoat borrowed from me that nearly dragged the ground thanks to our height difference.

"Oh, I know that one. Isn't that the one with the Sondheim revival?"

"That's the one. There'll be singing, and dancing, and that cute young man from those movies, and that other cute young man from that other movie…"

"Are we going to see a musical or cute young men?"

She nudged me playfully. "Why choose?"

The evening wind twirled fallen leaves as we got into the cab. Anticipation made the short ride feel like slow motion. The city came alive at night as if everything was electrified—not just the lights, but the people themselves, buzzing with energy that flung itself against the early darkness of the season.

We were dropped off on 44th Street a few steps from the theater itself. A marquee trimmed with gold overhung the sidewalk, and wood and glass double doors led into a small but ornate lobby. Green marble with gold veins covered the walls. Stern female statues in gold flanked each of the two ticket windows. Since we already had our tickets, we continued to the inner lobby.

Unlike the heavy green marble of the ticket lobby, the inner lobby glowed with an illuminated bar and mirrors set in arches along the walls. Overhead, three large stained glass domes shed a warm light on the crowd.

My mother excitedly grabbed my arm and pointed to the domes. "I read about those! They're Tiffany." She whipped out her phone and snapped pictures.

She was right to be impressed. You couldn't see the intricacy of the decorations and not be impressed. So I stood patiently until she'd filled her camera roll and then gently dragged her toward the theater when the showtime announcement rang out.

We settled in our seats, and in a few moments, the show began.

After the curtain rose, I'm not sure I followed the plot so much as I sat back and let it wash over me. Sitting next to my mom in the darkened theater made me even more aware of her presence—that she was really in New York, after all these years of avoidance, happily doing the tourist thing as if this trip had been planned on purpose. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her smile and laugh at all the right moments, as caught up in the show as anything I'd ever seen her do.

At times, I wanted to stop the show, to turn to her as the orchestra fell silent, and ask: Why are you here? But before she could answer, even in my imagination, the orchestra leader would strike up the music once again and the actors on stage would swing into motion like they'd never stopped.

Intermission brought another chance to meander through the lobby, and, at Mom's insistence, a chance to push through the crowd and peek into the private lounge upstairs. By the time the second act had begun, she was bouncing in her seat with excitement. I hadn't seen her so delighted in years—and that entertained me more than any amount of song and dance onstage.

When the curtain finally fell, my mother leaped to her feet and applauded enthusiastically. "Wonderful! Oh, my! It was just wonderful. Didn't you think so, Zelda?" she added, as we made our way outside.

"Definitely," I said. "But aren't you tired, Mom? I know you said you wanted to pick up something for Poppy, but—"

"Nonsense! I'm brimming with energy." She turned around on the sidewalk like Jester chasing his own tail pouf. "Where's the nearest bakery?"

"The one up the street is open late," I said.

"Lead on!" she cried, with a merry flourish.

We continued on foot, away from the bright lights of the theater district. Rarely were the streets of Manhattan not occupied by pedestrians and cars, even at a late hour, but the traffic had thinned until the closest people who shared the street were only vague silhouettes in the distance, and the cars slid by one or two at a time.

Drafts bolted out from between the buildings and ran down the street from east to west. I pulled my hat down and offered Mom my scarf to add to hers.

"I'm fine, Zelda girl. Don't you worry about me," she said.

I had already started formulating a plan about what to order for dessert when we reached the tiny cupcake shop. The shop wasn't tiny—not with its broad, shining steel counters, and generously-sized display cases—but the cupcakes were.

The flavors marched in perfect rows: miniature peanut butter and jelly cupcakes, chocolate chip pancake cupcakes, tie-dye-colored cupcakes, cookie dough cupcakes, and many more. Every kind of cupcake flavor you could imagine, all in bite-sized form. If you were going to buy a dozen, it paid to have a battle plan going in.

While my mother wrung her hands and hemmed and hawed over the many choices, I confidently rattled off eleven of the best. "Did I miss any you wanted?" I asked her.

"What about the white chocolate hot cocoa one?"

"And one white chocolate hot cocoa cupcake," I finished, to the shop clerk.

They boxed the order in a clear plastic container and slid it across the steel counter.

We took our prize and returned to the cold night, heading back to a more populated street to catch a cab. The walk was quieter than usual, the neighborhood emptied like the Hudson Theater stage after a show.

So quiet, in fact, that I heard a soft voice down down the alley we were passing.

A soft voice saying my name.

Zelda.

I stopped short. "Was that you?"

"Was what me?"

"You didn't say my name?"

"No, I didn't say your name."

I peered down the alley. Nothing but dripping gutters and a shattered wooden crate.

Zelda. The voice drifted like a dry leaf, scraping along the stone sides of the buildings.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Someone is in that alley, and they're saying my name."

Mom clung to my arm. "Don't you even think about going in there. Someone will bop you on the head and steal all your money."

"All five bucks? Oh, no!"

"Don't sass your mother."

I squeezed her hand with affection as I removed it from my arm. "Hold the cupcakes. I'll be right back."

"Zelda Hawkins, don't you dare leave me here!"

I was already moving into the alley. No normal person would go into a dark alley late at night. But I wasn't normal, not by a long shot. I'd left normal behind when I first crossed the threshold of Victorine's Upper East Side mansion.

The spinning drafts of cold air increased. Discarded candy wrappers tumbled across the ground. Above me, the moon hung in the gap between buildings. Behind me, my mother's anxious silhouette.

Zelda.

"All right," I said, slowly turning to survey every bit of the alley I could see. "I've been to a Broadway show. I've had enough theatrics for one night. What do you want?"

The wind shifted. My hair danced in my face, obscuring my vision. Beyond the now-tangled locks, a blue glow appeared.

I pushed my hair back and watched the blue glow crackle through the air before me. In the center of the glow, an outline formed.

Human-shaped.

Details sketched themselves in blue light as if they had to be conjured from memory. A jacket. Trousers. A full head of hair. A neatly trimmed beard.

A hand holding a cane.

A curse slipped out before I could even think about whether my mother would be offended.

The whispery voice firmed into the buzz on an electric fence. "Zelda…"

I swallowed, finding my own voice had gone into hiding somewhere in my shoes. "Prospero." I stepped one foot back, making myself a smaller target, and I ignited silver flames in both palms. "You're dead."

His hand rose, reaching for me.

All of a sudden, a screech erupted behind me. The sound ricocheted off the walls like a silver bullet, accompanied by the clatter of high-heeled footsteps over uneven ground.

"Mom! Stay back!"

She barrelled past me, a compact whirl of bouncing hair and flapping jacket and wildly waving hands. "You leave my Zelda alone, you monster!"

"Mom, no!" But before I could say another word, she flung the cupcake box through the air.

It hurtled end over end, catching the moonlight before bursting open with a plasticky pop—and then, all twelve bite-sized cupcakes showered down on Prospero and exploded like icing-covered grenades.

Fire rolled up the sides of the buildings. My arms went up instinctively, covering myself as the smoke of burned sugar filled the air. Heat warmed my bones and fiery afterimages blinded me. Despite the panic that surged through me, I was already trying to feel my way forward. To find my poor mother, who had run straight into danger.

To protect me.

Guilt surged along with the panic. "Mom? Are you okay? Where are you?" My eyes stung from sugared smoke and tears. Finally, I stopped where I stood and scrubbed my face with Poppy's scarf.

When I looked up, a cloud of smoke veiled the moon.

In the blackness of the alley itself, I could see nothing—

Until I saw a hunched figure, heaving with breath.

The figure straightened. Coughed. And displayed tiny flames, like pilot lights, in both palms.

Another attacker? I raised my hands, ready to fight fire with fire. Where was Mom?

"Where'd it go?" said a very familiar voice. "Did I get it?"

"Mom?" I said, unable to stop looking at her lit-up hands.

"I didn't expect all that smoke," she said. "Is it always like that?"

My brain slowed to a stop like rush hour traffic.

My mother. Fire magic.

"Hello?" She waved a flaming hand at me. "Are you all right?"

"Fire magic," I said. "How long have you—" I paused, thoughts falling into place like ham cubes falling into a skillet. "You wouldn't hug me when you got here. You said you were sick. You weren't sick. You didn't want me to know."

"I didn't know how to tell you—"

"Like this: ‘Zelda, I have fire magic.'"

"It wasn't that easy!"

"And throwing a cupcake fireball was?"

The discomfort on her face rapidly turned into annoyance. "Don't be ridiculous. You were in danger. What else was I supposed to do?"

We weren't supposed to be discussing any of this out in the open, but after your mother's hurled a frosted fireball at a blue ghost, discretion really isn't on the menu anymore. "You didn't come here for a visit," I said. "You came here because of this." I gestured at the scorched walls.

Mom lifted her chin. "I did come for a visit," she said. "I just had a little extra reason."

"A little extra? A little extra?" A laugh burst out and echoed off the stone walls. I laughed so hard it puffed out in vapor clouds in the moonlight. My mother, the witch. I should have known when she walked in the door. I should have known when she wouldn't get close to Poppy. I should have known when she wouldn't hug me.

We were all magical now, the line unbroken: my grandmother, my mother, my brother, me. My aunt, my cousin, her daughter. Embrace it or hide it, the magic would come for you in the end.

I closed my hands, extinguishing my own flames. My mother, watching me, did the same.

We learn fast when we learn from each other.

"Come on," I said. "We have to get out of here before someone notices your attempt to burn down New York."

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" She looked genuinely concerned.

"No, Mom." I put my arm around her and felt, for the first time, the sensation of my mother's magic: a library stamp leaving fiery traces on my bones. An imprint that said I love you, and I'll protect you. I hugged her, and it didn't matter that she'd spent my whole life acting like magic didn't exist as long as we never talked about it.

She was one of us, now.

Patty Melt, deep in the fireplace of my mind, blinked in sleepy surprise, then twitched her whiskers with satisfaction.

"Let's go get some more cupcakes," I said.