“People see what they want to see,” Goldie said to Octavia. She’d make do with the costumes she had on hand. And worst-case scenario, she could always claim to be Goldie’s granddaughter. At least through the film festival. And possibly beyond. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to leave you and Kitty just yet.” She patted Octavia’s beautifully bulbous head. “I like it here!”
Setting down her coffee cup, Goldie suddenly remembered something. The package! It might contain film cells for the festival, which she ought not to leave out in the sun. She leapt to her feet and jogged around the side of the cottage to the front courtyard. Sure enough, the box was labeled with “fragile” and “keep cool” stickers. And of course the driver had thoughtlessly left it out in full sun. Fortunately, not for long.
She checked the box for a return address, expecting to see the stamp of the film institute, but the label on this box was different. It was old-fashioned looking, with a distinctly art nouveau font. It read “Portal Productions” and the return address it listed in Los Angeles was simply impossible. Goldie was pretty sure that the small studios that once flourished in that area had long ago been leveled to build more freeways.
Curious, she carried the box around the back of the house and into the shade of her kitchen. She set the box on the kitchen table and fetched a butter knife to break the seal. Cautiously, she slid it around the paper taped edges, careful not to damage anything that might be inside.
Once the seal was broken, she eased the flaps aside to reveal wads and wads of crumpled blue paper forming a padded nest. Nested within were two metal film reels and a plain manilla folder. The folder was labeled “Ondalune,” scrawled by hand in faded blue fountain pen ink.
Goldie flipped over the cover of the folder. It was full of newspaper clippings, old photos, and most inexplicably, a vivid blue peacock’s feather, similar to something she might have once worn in a hat.
She leafed through the articles, which had been so meticulously clipped. By whom? Who’d bothered to keep such a detailed record of her? As she sifted down further, she discovered more personal and clearly sentimental items. Party invitations, snippets of ribbon and wrapping paper. Ticket stubs. Some of it she recalled, some of it she did not.
A rogue wave of nostalgia washed over her as she turned a matchbook over in her hand. It was missing the name of the nightclub it was from, but it could have come from many places or events. It had been a popular party favor to rent a machine that printed a couple’s photos and turned them into matchbook mementos. And sure enough, there she was, with whatever man she’d been coerced by the studio to grace with her company that night. They’d all blurred into one long, boring conversation. The trick was to get them onto the dance floor before they got to talking too much. She didn’t remember the faces of a tenth of her dates from those days, couldn’t recall a single name of the men upon whose arms she’d pouted in those photos.
Except for this one. She’d recognize that dark hair and those eyes anywhere.
She ripped a match from the book and struck it against the sanded strip on the base, not the least bit surprised to find that it still lit up. Things were made so much better back then.
She held the flame above the photo for a moment or two, willing the golden flickering light to conjure a memory of this night. She wanted somehow to bring it to life and color it like a movie. But the wish was a spell that refused to be cast. She tossed the match in the sink, wrinkling her nose at the sudden smell of sulfur and the infuriating hole in her memory.
Clearly, she hadn’t just met Cosimo here in Catalina. She and he went way back.
Item No. 419-W | Because getting lost is lonely
Pair Tags
Roughly the size of a guitar pick, these unassuming tags click onto bags, belt loops, or enchanted familiars with satisfying precision. They are available in brushed copper, silver, or a mysteriously light titanium.
When your traveling companion strays more than thirty feet away, the fob warms gently and hums with a rhythmic pulse, not unlike a polite magical nudge saying, “This way, darling.”
I first spotted them in use during a rowdy street parade in San Francisco. It was a glitter cyclone of music, movement, and at least one spontaneous conga line. Amid the chaos, one couple glided effortlessly through the crowd, drawn together like lodestones.
Pair Tags work across just about any terrain: moors, markets, or midnight hedge mazes enchanted by minor trickster gods. They’ve even been field-tested in dense Scottish fog, subterranean catacombs, and one impromptu broom race in New Orleans.
A word of caution appears in minuscule script along the edge of each fob:“Temporal displacement not recommended. May trigger overheating and minor existential alerts.”
Chapter18
Twin Flames
Rosie waited patiently while Will surveyed the items in the glass-fronted bakery case. “I want to pack something for this trip that’ll keep my porting energy up. I’m thinking of somethinghistorical.” He was taking his time choosing.
Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Historical?”
“The best snacks stand the test of time, no?” Will’s eyes creased at the corners as he smiled at the teenager. “I’ll take two dozen of these macaroons.”
“Will! That’s all of them!” Rosie moaned. “You couldn’t leave some for everyone else?”
“Now, now, Rosie. Don’t be shaming a poor creature for needing fuel!” Granny Luna said as she marshaled the colorful cookies into a takeaway box for Will. They floated through the air and assembled themselves in a checkered pattern. “We’ll just bake some more for this afternoon.”
While Will debated the porting merits of various pastries with Rosie, Maida slipped into the chair beside Zani. She watched Zani as she recalibrated the Pair Tags. The last thing Zani wanted was to get separated from Will and get lost in the past. How would she ever get home again without him?
“So,” Maida said quietly, “you and Will are headed off on a ‘research’ mission. Care to share any more details with me?”
It pained Zani not to tell Maida everything about her plans to travel with Will. She settled on a half-truth instead. “Will’s helping me gather more information about the bloodstone. I needed to go to France, and obviously, I can’t leave the archives for very long. I can’t go anywhere for very long till I get it into a state that the Society will sign off.”
“And then?” Maida asked tentatively. “You’ll go back to traveling full time?
