Love Charms and Other Catastrophes (25 page)

“We have
reservations
,” Mrs. Kitamura said, echoing from the staircase.

Hijiri pushed the sheets back. She ran to the top of the stairs and squinted. Yes, that was her mother standing there. “Where?” she croaked.

“Dinner, of course,” Mrs. Kitamura huffed. “Your father and I got home as soon as we could. Luckily we chose a restaurant that's open late. Put some nice clothes on and we'll leave in ten.”

Nodding, Hijiri scampered back to her room and threw on a long-sleeved dress and tights she had in the back of her closet. She slipped on her coat and brought the bell with her, unwilling to part with it. When she reached downstairs, her parents were waiting at the front door. “You're here.” Hijiri breathed.

Mrs. Kitamura frowned. “We
said
we were taking you to dinner.”

“You say those things a lot,” Hijiri said, “and they don't happen.”

“Honestly, you act as if we don't take you anywhere.”

Hijiri rubbed her eyes. Not even Stoffel's charm could distract her from this anomaly.

She sat between her parents in the cab. Her mother shifted uncomfortably, complaining about the shoulder pads in her blazer. When her father's stomach growled in response, the three of them laughed. Hijiri felt the mood lighten in the cramped cab.

They dined on raw tuna served on toasted chips covered with avocados, tomatoes, and olive oil. The butter was shaped like a puffer fish. The sharp blue lighting made her feel as if she were eating underwater; imposing octopus statues lurked in each corner of the restaurant.

They didn't talk much with the food as delectable as it was. Still, Hijiri felt a little less anxious sitting with her parents, and a little less lonely. Her father didn't complain about his boss. Her mother even asked her what kind of love charm she was working on—and listened.

“I've entered a love charm-making competition,” she said, taking advantage of their attention. “The town's going to pick the best love charm-maker on November thirtieth. I'd like you to come, if you can make it.”

Her parents exchanged a look. Mrs. Kitamura wrote the date down on her napkin and folded it into her purse. “We'll check our schedules, dear.”

Hijiri wondered if Ken's bell was in any way responsible for this wonderfully bizarre dinner. She curled her fingers around the bell while they waited for dessert. Her parents smiled at her. She smiled back.

*   *   *

The trouble with visiting working parents on a weekday was that she only had a rushed breakfast to share with them. Hijiri rose at dawn on Friday, knowing that her father was already shaving and her mother spritzing orchid perfume on her collarbone and wrists.

Hijiri raked her long hair out of her face and padded down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen. She helped herself to bread and salted butter for her toast, everything tinted pink by Stoffel's charm. Halfway through her glass of orange juice, Mr. and Mrs. Kitamura made their entrance into the kitchen.

“There you are,” Mrs. Kitamura said, as if Hijiri had been hiding in her briefcase all along.

Mr. Kitamura laid his stuffed file folder next to the unused mixer and knelt down to study his daughter. “You're still not feeling well, huh? That was quite the illness you caught.”

Hijiri frowned. “Yes, and yet you made
me
get on a train to see
you
.”

Mrs. Kitamura popped the lid on her usual breakfast shake. “Missing school is very bad, Hijiri, but we had to know that you were okay. And it looks to us that you do need the rest. I can't imagine you recovering in that rowdy apartment complex.”

“How long are you staying?” Mr. Kitamura asked, standing up and rubbing his knees.

“I don't know,” Hijiri said. “Not long.”

Mrs. Kitamura checked her watch. “Hitomu, we're going to be late.”

Mr. Kitamura nodded and kissed his wife on the cheek. Then she smiled at Hijiri and told her that they'd both try to get home early again.

Hijiri watched them dance around each other in the kitchen until they gathered their briefcases and materials. The front door shut with a lonely creak. Would the magic of Ken's bell last another night? Hijiri promised herself she'd ring it again later.

Being home distracted her from the worst of Stoffel's charm, but it was still there, slowing her movements, making her want to cry. Hijiri filled her parents' soaking tub and added her mother's orchid bubble bath. She slipped underneath the steamy water and stayed there until her skin pruned.
I've got to fight this charm
, she thought weakly.
I can make more tea here. I'm sure I have the ingredients.

Hijiri dried her hair and got dressed. Lejeune called her. A symphony of barking dogs and screeching tires when the traffic lights turned yellow, then red. Joining the early morning joggers and dog-walkers, Hijiri stayed on the path circling Juu Roku Lake. The water was pale blue, mirroring the cloudy sky. Fishing boats bobbed on the water. Minnows and catfish were plentiful. Most restaurants served them. Hijiri never got sick of eating fish, but she appreciated the variety of food in Grimbaud.
And the sweets
, she thought, missing the chocolate-drizzled waffles fiercely enough to make her stomach grumble. She didn't deviate from her walk. There was one particular place she had to go, because putting off speaking to her heart had gone on long enough.

Halfway around the lake, Hijiri found a woodsy gap between houses, partially obscured with unpruned bushes. She covered her hands with the sleeves of her coat and pushed the branches back, careful not to release them too soon and get her face scratched. The path took her deep through the overgrowth separating one house from the other. If she craned her neck, she would be able to see the skyscrapers through the tree branches. But, as most people did in Lejeune, she kept her eyes in front of her.

The path turned sharply to the right. A wooden sign, faded with age, read:

SWAN LAKE

In middle school, she had heard rumors about the dried-up lake the city drained and the secret path to get there. Hijiri had ached for a secret at that time, even if she had to borrow one. Trees still masked the lake's graveyard from sight. Snow covered the ground and fallen branches in white. She broke through more bushes and reached the lake.

Swan Lake was a pit in the ground, holding leaves, scavenging birds, and dry soil. Hijiri didn't know the lost lake's story. When had it dried out and why? Where were the swans? Why had no one thought to revive the poor lake? Grimbaudians would have found this place enchanting. She could picture amorous couples sneaking away to come here.

She walked to the center of the dead lake and sat cross-legged. Hijiri took out her golden cupid and set it down in the wet leaves in front of her. The paper heart curled at the edges. The pipe cleaners around its neck had twisted oddly while traveling in her backpack.

“Okay,” Hijiri said, breathing in the wet air. “Listen up, little heart. You and I are going to have a talk.”

“Hearts don't like words,” the golden cupid said. “Bartering with feelings would get you better answers.”

Hijiri yelped and fell back on her elbows.

The golden cupid laughed and notched an arrow. When it let go, the golden arrow whizzed past her ear and landed in a tree trunk.

When Hijiri looked behind her, she saw a figure emerge from behind the wounded tree. A woman in her late forties with golden-blond hair and foxlike eyes. A key hung from her neck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

 

Chapter 18

HEART-TO-HEART TALK

“Love,” Hijiri gasped, struggling to her feet. She ran for the woman, arms out, only to pass through her like fog.

“Sorry about that. I'm not exactly corporeal right now,” Love said, twisting a golden lock of hair around her finger. “I'm still on my inventory trip but I borrowed that cheeky cupid over there to reach you. Like making a phone call.”

Hijiri pulled the golden arrow out of the tree trunk. It fit in the palm of her hand. Her vision swam deep pink. Her chest burned with pent-up tears. “Stop this game now,” she said, bitterness straining her words. “Stop making me fall in love with Ken. You're
ruining
my heart.”

Love snorted.

Hijiri growled and wiped tears from her eyes. “Don't laugh at me!”

“Your heart needs bending and stretching to grow. Not that it wasn't already a proper size before I brought Ken to your door.” Love shrugged. “Your heart is not
ruined
. It's stronger than ever.”

“How can that be?”

“Because you're learning to pay attention to yourself.”

Hijiri inhaled sharply.

“The world's great love charm-maker cannot neglect her own heart, can she?”

“I've been doing fine so far.” Hijiri sank to the ground, her back rubbing against the tree trunk.

Love sighed so loudly that her fog-body disappeared. She rematerialized next to Hijiri and crossed her legs too. “You remind me of someone. This is not a conversation I ever hoped to have with you … but it seems you need it.”

Hijiri drew her knees to her chest and waited.

“When I offered you Zita's position last year, I meant it. I do think you're brave and honorable and worthy of being an influence not only on Grimbaud but far beyond the town. I know you are capable of great things. However, you're also a lot like Zita.”

Hijiri felt as if she'd been slapped. Never in her wildest dreams would she seek revenge like Zita had, distorting people's love fortunes in the process. “I'm
nothing
like her.”

“You could be,” Love said softly. “It's very easy to ignore your heart when you've had plenty of practice.”

Hijiri hugged her knees tighter.

“Zita chose to ignore her heart to escape the pain of Dorian jilting her. She did such a good job that when she tried listening again she didn't understand what her heart was saying.”

At some point, Zita must have decided that her heart was only a nuisance. Why listen to it when building her power and making the Barringer family miserable brought her such satisfaction?

“She interpreted it her own way,” Hijiri said.

Love nodded. “It gave her no peace.”

Hijiri moved her feet, causing the leaves to crackle around her. “Am I in danger?”

Love twisted a thicker coil of hair. “You need to keep working at it,” she said finally, “but you will be fine. You've already started listening.”

“What about Ken?” Hijiri said. “How could you give me a fake-boy?”

“Real or fake, should it matter?” Love said. “Either way, he found a way to make you care about him.”

“Of course he did. Ken's perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“For me. Just as you designed him.” Hijiri squeezed her eyes shut. “He's kind and endlessly patient with me. Best of all, he's
interesting
. I've been trying to solve him for weeks.”

“What have you discovered about Kentaro?” Love said more gently.

“You charmed his throat to make him keep your secrets,” Hijiri said, opening her eyes.

Love looked smug.

“He's got a scar over his heart that blushes when he does. He's good at archery. He also has a strange passion for hearth charms.” Hijiri frowned. “I don't know why you gave him that attribute.”

“What do you want from him?” Love asked.

To keep holding his hand. To feel his arms around her. To laugh at his bulky sweaters and dorky backpack. To know what kissing Ken would feel like. Loving Ken was like dreaming. One day, she would wake up and he'd be nothing but a series of broken charms.

“Most of all,” she whispered, “I want him to stay.”

Love's ghostly hands framed Hijiri's face. “You've earned my help. If I let you go back to Grimbaud in your current state, Stoffel would have an unfair advantage.”

Lovesickness blinded Hijiri again; she dug her hands into the snowy-wet leaves and tried not to panic. The charm crawled through her veins, burning her fingertips, dredging up her insecurities to morph into bad poetry and cutting words.

“Miss Kitamura,” Love said, adopting a clinical tone. With the snap of its fingers, Love morphed into a surgeon. Dark blue scrubs, face mask, plastic gloves. “Your heartstrings are clogged with pink muck like a bad cold. Even that wonderful tea of yours couldn't clear it up for good.”

Wind screeched through the trees, stealing leaves from the dead lake. Hijiri felt as if her heart was leaving her body. Love pulled her heartstrings taut and plucked away the sticky, cotton-candy manifestation of Stoffel's charm clinging to them until the strings were clean. Her eyesight returned with normal colors: the white of the snow, crackly brown leaves, the fierce gold of the cupid.

“You'll have to destroy Stoffel to destroy the charm,” Love said after yanking its face mask down.

“Thank you,” Hijiri said, sighing. She felt fine. More than fine. Like she was fully human again.

Love nodded. “My town is waiting for you.”

“Ken's waiting for me,” Hijiri said.

“The big question still remains. Does it still matter to you whether Ken's real or fake?” Love asked again.

Hijiri inhaled deeply and paid attention to her heart. With the lovesickness gone, her heart snuggled back into her chest, beating strong and sure again.
Does it matter? Tell me
, she thought, closing her eyes. Hand over her heart.

The answer came immediately.

Hijiri took a shaky breath and opened her eyes. “It matters to my brain because I want to solve him,” she said, a small smile dawning. “You know how much I love puzzles. But my heart … my heart says something different.”

“If you're fishing for clues, you won't get them from me,” Love said, crossing its arms. “Solving my charm-boy is still your responsibility.”