Tiny Glitches: A Magical Contemporary Romance (21 page)

I took a deep breath and cleared my thoughts. I’d held men’s hands before; I’d entertained the fantasy of a long-term, slow-paced relationship before. The euphoria of last night’s activities predictably amplified my giddy, new-lover emotions, making this normal, couple-type moment feel more significant than it was. Which is why I sidestepped any further analysis of my disproportional bliss.

“This is us,” I said when the bus stopped.

Hudson followed me to the sidewalk. The bus pulled away in a cloud of exhaust.

“I don’t have a clue where we are,” Hudson said.

“Follow me.”

We walked along streets that grew more residential and quiet, trailed by a silent red wagon pulling an oversize Monopoly piece. I found a collapsible hat in my satchel and settled it on my head. Then I rummaged for trail mix snacks I’d added earlier. I handed Hudson his own bag.

“That thing’s like Mary Poppins’s bag,” Hudson said. “Are you sure your cell isn’t lost somewhere in its bottomless depths?”

“I’m sure.”

He sighed. “No hidden laptop?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe a moped?”

I laughed. “And risk getting oil in my bag? No way.”

Hudson kept his own council for several blocks while the road curved steadily upward. I’d ridden this hill on my bike more times than I could count, and we had almost reached the point where I got off and walked. We were both breathing hard. Hudson offered to carry my bag, but I declined. Ari would have told me I was being too possessive of my security blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Hudson said. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad earlier.”

I peeked at him under the brim of my hat. He looked lost, and I could only imagine his confusion. In the last two days, he’d been dragged into a world where everything he relied on—cell phones, Internet access, vehicles—had failed him. This was my norm, but I tried to look at it from his perspective.

“It’s frustrating when things break,” I said. “I understand.”

“It’s just,
everything
has broken lately. I really do think Kyoko, or maybe Jenny, is cursed. I didn’t have these problems before them.”

“You didn’t have them before you met me, either,” I felt compelled to say.

“You’re the one spot of good luck in this whole mess.”

Guilt ate my stomach lining.

* * *

Sofie met us on the porch. Whether I came by foot, bike, or taxi, she was always outside waiting when I showed up. I accused her of having another gift she’d never told me about, but she called it motherly intuition. Something my real mother knew nothing about.

Dali rushed to greet us, sniffing my fingers and toes, then Hudson’s, before doing a happy dance around us. On the porch, another set of canine eyes watched us, this one a familiar divination of a waist-high wolf with leopard spots. Its eyes shifted between Hudson and me, and I glanced up at Sofie. She cocked a single eyebrow at me, and I flushed. It was impossible to keep secrets from Sofie, especially not one as big as the fresh bonds of emotion-laced sex.

“Ari phoned to say you were coming,” Sofie said after hugs were exchanged and we were all inside. Dali raced to the sliding glass door and I let him into the backyard. The once manicured oasis looked like it’d suffered through a tornado. Leaves and grass and floating clumps of dirt layered the pool, divots pockmarked the yard, and crushed petals wilted in the trampled flower beds. Kyoko—oblivious to her destructive nature—stood in the shallow end of the pool, tossing water with her trunk.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sofie!”

“Nonsense. Kyoko has been a veritable angel, and my yard could do with a makeover.”

“At least we’re moving her before she can totally destroy the place.”

“Yes, that’s what Ari said. Moving her to Annabella’s.” She gave me a flat look. I did my best to hold her gaze. “She’s going to do far worse damage there, you know.”

“That’s the point.”

“Eva.”

“Leave it.” My face contorted, and I clenched my jaw to contain the ugliness. Annabella—my mother—had that effect on me. Her betrayal was a thorn in my heart, a festering wound that never fully healed. Her greatest contribution to my life had been giving birth to me. Sixteen and unable to cope with a child
and
high school, Annabella had relied heavily on the help of Sofie, her older sister. But after high school, Annabella hadn’t let a toddler slow her down or interrupt her plans. With a dozen top-tier acting schools in Los Angeles, she’d moved to New York to attend the Lee Strasberg Theatre and Film Institute. I saw her three times a year between the ages of two and six. I’d stopped looking forward to her visits when I was seven, or at least that’s what I told Sofie and myself. There should be a finite number of times the same person can break your heart.

“You should get packed,” I said. “Ari told you we’re moving you, too, right?”

“She was vague about why.”

“We don’t want Kyoko to do any more damage here, and—”

“Does this have to do with two men and cupcakes?” Sofie asked.

I should have known better than to try to keep anything secret from Sofie. She simply saw too much. “Yes. Oddly, it does.” I glanced at Hudson coming back from the bathroom and launched into my story as if I’d brought up the topic, explaining my bizarre kidnapping yesterday, glossing over my fear, and leaving the handcuffs out completely. “If Jenny thinks someone new and dangerous is looking for Kyoko, I want to make sure you are nowhere he can find you,” I concluded.

“And you think that’s Annabella’s?” She looked more around me than at me. A tendril of a plant wove through her hair, growing into a crown of greenery that blossomed into wild roses. In the center of the crown sat a large Fabergé egg. Unsurprisingly, Sofie had mixed feelings about my decision. While she may have been concerned about her sister’s reaction to us using her house and yard, my sole concern was keeping Sofie safe, pettiness notwithstanding. If we found Jenny today and forced her to take back Kyoko, this whole experience would be an amusing footnote to our spring. But Atlas and Edmond had spooked me. Hiding Sofie—and Kyoko—somewhere unexpected was the best option.

“No one is going to think to look at Annabella’s.”

“There are other places,” Sofie said.

“None as perfect.”

“How long are you going to keep punishing her, Eva?”

“Until we’re even.” I turned away and let myself outside.

* * *

Loading Kyoko into a horse trailer backed up against the yard’s side gate proved surprisingly easy. Dali raced in first, eager to smell everything, and Kyoko trundled after him. Hudson introduced Milo, the short, bowlegged driver in charge of the truck and trailer, as a family friend. Milo had a tanned and weathered face, and his eyes said he’d seen it all, including baby elephants in private backyards. He was all business, and though he was polite to Sofie and me, his briskness precluded conversation.

Milo’s trailer made Jenny’s look like a pile of junk. Thick rubber mats covered the floor of this trailer, the insides gleamed white and glossy, and the metal accents shone with polish. The outside sported an outline drawing of a stylized horse in mid-gallop, mane and tail streaming, with a windup key in its rump. The same logo repeated on the truck’s front doors. The truck and trailer matched perfectly, down to the cherry red stripe bisecting the white exterior of both vehicles. This wasn’t a rental.

“How do you two know each other?” I asked Milo once we were on the road. I sat in the back, Milo drove, and Hudson navigated a convoluted route, frequently checking the side mirror for a tail. Hudson’s apparitions alternated between the blue, short-brimmed sombrero and the cowboy boots. The images should have belonged together, but the hat was pristine and clean, the boots old and dirty, and I’d never seen them at the same time before.

“Known Hudson since he was hock high,” Milo said.

“Milo taught me how to ride.”

“You know how to ride?” I had a hard time picturing Hudson on a horse, despite the cowboy boots apparition.

“Yeah.” A computer monitor plopped into Hudson’s lap, like one I’d seen in elementary school, with a tiny slate-green screen and a huge body.

Milo’s eyes flicked to Hudson, then to me, and his eyebrows twitched. Not even Kyoko had warranted an eyebrow twitch from Milo. What was I missing here?

“And then you moved to LA, Milo?”

“No.”

Slender lightning shot from the truck’s ceiling, narrowly missing Hudson’s elbow. Another skittered across his lap. I flinched backward, then tried to pretend I’d been reaching to scratch my back. This conversation was making Hudson . . . not nervous—that would have involved sea creatures—but tense, maybe irritated.

“My parents own horses,” Hudson said after the silence had grown uncomfortable. “Milo works for them.”

“Really?” I’d ridden horses a few times as a child, and I’d loved it. “What type?”

“Thoroughbreds.”

“Racehorses?”

“Yep.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Not really.”

Milo’s simple divination of reins in his hands changed to a golden glow of light that shot from him, embraced Hudson, then slapped him. The marble cherub burst into existence between me and Hudson’s back. Looking through the apparition was like viewing Hudson through soft stained glass. The lines of his indistinct body wavered with each pulse of the cherub’s wings. I swallowed to loosen the queasy constriction of my throat, turning to look out the side window. I wanted to press for more information on his family and their racehorses—something that hadn’t come up yesterday over dinner—but Hudson’s body and voice had gotten tight, and the lightning crackled faster around him. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to talk about his family. I smothered my curiosity and spent the remainder of the drive concentrating on crushing my curse.

Annabella’s and Sofie’s houses fit into a lot of the same categories: both were located in Santa Monica, both had views of the ocean, and both were expensive. But Annabella’s was the insecure image-hound version of Sofie’s house. My mother’s mansion poised over the driveway for a desperate, look-at-me first impression. The architect had confused
avant-garde
with
sharp
: Square windows and bony triangular columns faced the driveway, and the featureless backyard housed a rectangular pool defined by grid work of square flagstones. With its canvas-colored stucco siding, the house had all the appeal and individuality of an emaciated runway model who had traded away her humanity in a quest to look like a mannequin.

The entire property looked as untouched as the day my mother purchased it. She hadn’t added an ounce of her personality, and she’d made sure her landscapers didn’t add their own style, either. The lawn was clipped to golf-course-regulation heights with a similar cross pattern, and the only trees were palm trees—just like every other home in this neighborhood.

“Are you sure your friend’s going to be okay with this?” Hudson asked, staring at the spotless floor-to-ceiling glass walls along the back side of the house.

“She’ll love it.” I finished my lap around the lawn, making sure it hid nothing dangerous to Kyoko.

Milo tapped a blunt finger on the glass enclosing the dining room. A teapot sprang to life next to him. At least, I thought it was a teapot. It had a handle and a spout, but the middle part looked like a small, round house with a sod roof.

Dali flew out of the trailer when we opened it, danced around our legs, then tore off to explore Annabella’s backyard. Kyoko bugled and trotted after him. Her attention snagged on the pool, and in less than two minutes, Dali and Kyoko were soaked. Milo jogged back to the truck and left. Hudson and I fled to the safe, dry vantage of the white-on-white living room. Since I didn’t want to explain my petty reaction, I gallantly suppressed my urge to giggle while savoring the casual destruction of Annabella’s pristine yard.

“I canceled the landscaping services this week,” Sofie said as I helped her unload groceries from her car. “We should be secure and visitor-free until you locate Kyoko’s rightful caretaker.” The Fabergé egg on her head now supported a tiny elephant ballerina. The egg appeared as one of Sofie’s apparitions for Annabella. I was pretty sure the ballerina—usually human—on top represented the fragility of Sofie’s relationship with her sister. From what Nana Nevie had let slip, Sofie and Annabella had been a lot closer before my birth. I’d stopped feeling guilty years ago about the rift my existence had torn between the sisters. That was Annabella’s burden.

Even though this latest apparition indicated Sofie worried about Annabella’s reaction to Kyoko’s impromptu visit, I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty today, either. Honoring our rule—or hiding behind it—I didn’t say anything about the divination. Sofie wisely said nothing about the emotions that walking through Annabella’s house had stirred in me.

“I’ll have Ari call you the moment we know something,” I said.

* * *

The ride back to Mid-Wilshire was uneventful. I spent it looking out the window of our taxi and envisioning what the wind flowing past the cars on the freeway looked like. The visualization served as mental white noise and prevented me from dwelling on the tornado of emotions associated with Annabella or on my growing anxiety about Kyoko. The taxi dropped us off at a mechanic’s shop. I walked across the street to pick up sandwiches from the local café while Hudson talked with his mechanic. The blue coveralls said his name was Mike. I would have called him Sherlock, because according to his divinations, he’d stepped from the pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books, complete with the funny cap, century-old gentleman’s smoking jacket, and pipe. The outfit might have looked good except for Mike’s shaggy surfer hair tied back in a ponytail.