“We can do what we want, Saskia,” Beatriz cuts in. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”
I take a long drag. The smoke makes me conscious that I haven’t eaten since getting off the plane. I pull the plate of pastries towards me and take a greedy bite of cake. It dissolves in my mouth, carrot and lemon, and... something else. The taste of hot chocolate, cinnamon and honey. I see my father by a stove, telling me that the best hot chocolate requires burnt milk. On my tongue I feel the layered taste of sweet milky film.
“What the fuck is this?” I say, with a sobering swallow.
“Memory cake,” Luisa replies. “We thought you’d like it.”
Rafi’s eyes light up and he leans forward. “What memory did you see?”
I’m not about to tell them I saw my late father making me a hot chocolate.
I hate it here. I hate that everything in the MA is about fucking control. Even your food controls and influences you.
“I told you she would have preferred the giggle donuts,” says Beatriz. Her tone is so obnoxious, like she knows me. Like she knows my magical food preferences.
Rage explodes inside of me like hot lava. “I need normal food, not these fucking theatrics!” I erupt, shoving the plate of cakes aside. “I just want a normal fucking coffee, non-sentient sugar, and a muffin that doesn’t give me an orgasm!”
I’m shaking, and tears have sprung to my eyes. God, this is so embarrassing. I’m triggered by a piece of cake.
Luisa puts a hand on mine. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“That’s a good suggestion though, orgasm muffins,” says Rafi, grinning with the joint clamped between his teeth. “Better write it down for the Stovemages. Call it The Buttered Muffin.”
I’m not amused, but my lip tugs up at the corners anyway.
Beatriz remains silent; unlike the others, she has no interest in making me feel better.
“If you don’t like theatrics, then you’re really not going to like where we’re taking you next,” Luisa says with a grimace.
Oh god.
I gesture at the waitress. I’m going to need more carajillos.
Chapter Five
Looking up at the intricate art nouveau façade of a pharmacy, I frown. “This isn’t a clothes store.”
They have these all over Barcelona. Most of them were built or refurbished at the turn of the twentieth century. They’re stunning works of art, with stained glass windows, intricate wooden window framing, and mosaic tiling. But as pretty as they are, I have no idea why we’re here.
I roll my eyes. “Are our dresses made of bandages? Is the theme ancient Egypt?”
The image of my mother being brought out on a fainting couch, carried by shirtless men, makes me shudder.
Beatriz turns to me. “Yup, the theme is mummies and mommy issues.”
I scowl at her. Bitch.
But I bite back my reply because her mother is in a Mage asylum somewhere, and that’s nothing to joke about. Mikayla told me that bit of gossip years ago. I always knew Beatriz’s mom had gone away; I just didn’t know where she went.
Rafi waves his hand across the air like a film director. “How about Penis and Papyrus?”
“The theme this year is Shadow Self,” Luisa says, deadpan. “The themes are never literal. They stay open to interpretation.”
“Your mother is Solina,” Beatriz says with contempt. “The most powerful of Witches and acting head of the MA, and you seriously don’t know why we’re here?”
“Stop being a bully, Beatriz.” Luisa holds the door open for me. “Vinga.”
Rafi takes my hand like I’m a child and the pharmacy is a candy store. I’m so shocked by his overfamiliarity; I don’t say anything. I follow them inside, the noise and warmth of the street fading away.
“Have you seen Sleeping Beauty?” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.
“Of course.”
“Remember the scene with the fairy godmothers and the dresses?”
I nod, looking around a very normal pharmacy. What’s his point?
“Or the scene in The Incredibles with Edna?”
“Magical clothes,” I say, catching on. “You know your animation.”
“It’s one of my favorite D’s.”
I raise my brows as he counts down on his fingers.
“Disney, divination and dick.”
Dick? So maybe he isn’t with Luisa? Or maybe he likes a bit of both? Not sure why I’m obsessed with cracking their relationship, or how it’s any of my business, but something about them has me invested.
“You blow at divination,” says Beatriz.
“I do not! I was able to predict when it would rain last week.”
Luisa snorts. “That’s because you made it rain.”
“What? You can make it rain?” I ask.
Impressive.
“Drizzle,” Beatriz corrects. “On two square meters.”
“It’s a work in progress,” he mumbles.
Hmm, so Rafi is an Elemental. I’ve only met a few Elementals but haven’t seen any since childhood. All I know is that they can control the elements – water, fire, air, and earth. They do really well with their own businesses, growing the most spectacular gardens for the rich and famous overnight, or helping surfers win championships by controlling the waves in their favor.
The clerk doesn’t give us a second glance as we head behind the counter to the pharmaceutical section where they dispense prescriptions. At first, it’s stark and white, with shelves full of modern packets of pills. I have no idea what this has to do with clothes shopping. But as we go deeper, I find myself in something resembling an old apothecary. Wooden shelves line the walls full of glass bottles with peeling labels, earthenware jars of tinctures, and tiny drawers smelling of dried herbs.
A pharmacist in a white coat watches us pass, then turns back to her paperwork as if she's used to people coming and going unannounced.
We stop in front of a wooden panel, and Beatriz flashes her hand at it. The wall silently slides to the side, revealing a doorway.
“Woah,” I say silently under my breath.
Rafi squeezes my hand, which I’d forgotten he was still holding, and Luisa gives me a wicked grin.
“It’s like an automatic door sensor, except it senses MA
