“We take comfort in the fact Witches and Fae are aligned with one another when it comes to purity of magic,” Galeia continues. “And with Maribel out of the picture, I’m sure the MA will be working hard to keep the peace among our two worlds.”
“I’m sure Maribel will be back soon enough,” my mother says quickly. Far too quickly.
Ping.
I note that Salvador hasn’t uttered a word yet. Galeia also stays silent. There was clearly no love lost between the Fae and Maribel.
“I must return to my prince,” the General says. “And bring him news of the progress we made tonight.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
The ambassador’s eyes narrow on me predatorily. “The prince was otherwise occupied.”
She gives a curt nod before walking away, and my mother raises her glass in parting. A moment later, Salvador excuses himself, drawn by someone in the crowd.
“So the Fae had a treaty with Maribel? And she didn’t honor it?” I ask my mother.
“Maribel thought we could do without the help of the Fae; she thought they were beneath us. Part of our agreement is that we report Para crime to one another, especially if it involves our own. A Fairy died in Barcelona a few years ago under mysterious circumstances. Maribel refused to investigate her death, and the Fae have never forgiven her.”
“And now the treaty is being honored again?”
“With Maribel gone, I invited a delegation from the most powerful Fae court to smooth things over.”
“Won’t she be upset with you?”
My gaze searches my mother’s. I answer my own question as realization dawns.
“You don’t think she’ll be upset with you because you don’t think she’s ever coming back! Oh my God, that’s why you invited the Fae to negotiate treaties with. You’re garnering support before inevitably becoming the First.”
My mother doesn't deny it.
“Mom, I’m going to ask you this one time,” I say, dropping my voice low. “Did you kill Maribel?’
She turns to me in almost slow motion. “No. I did not kill Maribel. Jesus, Saskia.”
There’s no ping, and I watch my mother drift off without a goodbye, swallowed up by a sea of Witches eager to network with her. Well, at least there’s that. My mother didn’t murder her best friend. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take it.
I stare at the faces in the crowd, and the lilac-eyed staff. Maribel wasn’t very liked, that’s for sure. My gaze catches on the Fae ambassador standing by the buffet, talking with a senior-looking Witch.
Maybe my mother didn’t kill the First, but there is someone who has more reason to hate Maribel than most. As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to ask my primary suspect a few questions. Let’s see what the Fae prince of the Winter Court has to say for himself.
“Come on,” I say, linking arms with Beatriz and grabbing another floating glass of champagne. After hours of supposed networking and truth-picking, I couldn't keep it up any longer, so I sought-out a bored-looking Beatriz and told her she wasn’t allowed to leave my side. There’s no point in me approaching anyone else; no one here knows any more about Maribel or Mikayla than I do.
“The awards start soon,” Beatriz says. “Then I can finally crawl into bed.”
“With Xavi?” I whisper, puckering my lips.
She reddens. “Maybe. I can bring him home now that Luisa knows. I have you to thank for that.”
Warm words from Beatriz are like rare sunbeams through the clouds, and I bask in her glow. Another preening woman saunters past, and I let out an involuntary sigh.
“God, these people are awful, aren’t they?”
Beatriz laughs and moves in closer to me as we huddle in the corner. This room couldn’t look any more like a Witch’s fantasy house. The wobbly walls and funny rounded doors are strange enough, but right now we’re standing next to an old-fashioned stove sunken into the wall in the shape of a mushroom. It’s like a never-ending LSD trip.
“I’m thinking of introducing Xavi to my dad,” she says, apropos of nothing.
I turn to her so quickly I pull a muscle in my neck. “Seriously?”
“Is it a bad idea?”
I think of the way Salvador looks at his daughter. He’d do anything for her. He’s not my mother and, unlike me, Beatriz isn’t the daughter of the acting First. Maybe if Salvador is open-minded it might rub off on my mom, and she’ll stop being a nasty bigot. Hah! Kidding. She’d sooner grow horns than become open-minded.
“Do it,” I say. “Even your father will be able to see how much that boy adores you.”
Beatriz beams, and I feel almost bad for her. I’m probably being overly optimistic, but for once I’m going to be an old romantic and believe love can conquer all.
A silence ripples through the crowd of guests, and in one fluid motion all the waiters turn in unison and face the stage. They stand there, stock still, like a line of magpies waiting to be fed.
My mother takes the stage, and a polite patter of applause breaks out. She laps it up, looking each guest in the eye and mouthing ‘thank you’ as if she’s accepting a fucking Oscar.
“Welcome, esteemed guests, and thank you for attending today’s luncheon. As you all know, the award ceremony is a new addition to the spring equinox celebrations and…”
Her voice drones on as I lean over a waiter’s shoulder and take a handful of churros off his plate. I pass them to Beatriz and go back for a mini pot of chocolate, the two of us stifling giggles.
The crowd starts clapping, and I watch as a Witch with gold knitting needles in her hair accepts a small golden cup shaped like a cauldron.
“...and the award of excellence, for her tireless charity work helping underprivileged girls in…”
I have no idea who the second winner is either, and neither do I care, as I’m on my fourth churro and Beatriz is refusing to answer my questions about feathery sex play. She bites her lips together, her
