The large rack of tourism booklets just inside the entrance had been knocked over, the contents spilled out across the terrazzo floors. The wind whipping through the open door was creating a vortex, she surmised. It lifted the leaflets for theme parks, apple orchards, natural caverns, and whale watching tours and sent them swirling. A virtual swarm of possibilities. Goldie reached out and caught a colorful pamphlet advertising private studio tours in Los Angeles. These were the same studios she’d once known like the back of her hand. She wondered if she’d recognize anything on the lot now. She tucked the slick paper in her pocket.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone here?”
Her voice echoed in the empty chamber. There was no response. The papers continued to swirl overhead and the air felt thinner. There was a faint smell of solvents, like something flammable. It was at once familiar and ominous. The chemical scent reminded her of her father’s theater. It made her feel dizzy and a bit lightheaded. Instinctively, she reached for something to steady herself, remembering her age. She’d lost more than a few friends to tragic falls, and despite the fact that she was still spry, she didn’t want to become a statistic.
She recognized the ironic inconsistency of her thoughts. Mere moments ago, she’d been considering her exit, stage left. And now here she was, gripping the iron railing beside the two steps down to the lobby, struggling to regain her equilibrium.
Her will to live was alive and well, it seemed. Even when her spirit felt lonely and broken.
“Hello?” she called out again, taking a tentative step forward toward the closed double doors to the mezzanine of the theater. She could swear she heard machinery, the sound of a projector firing up, the click and clatter of a platter being loaded, the whir of the reel spinning. Was the door to the projectionist’s booth ajar?
Goldie took another step forward into the dim lobby, thankful for the grippy tread on her walking shoes. She could make out a faint flickering now, visible in the crack between the doors to the theater. She reached the door in three more steps. Locked. She pressed her face against the crack, squinting to see what she could. Numbers flashed on the screen. It looked like the Academy Leader before the opening credits. Goldie was quite familiar with the countdown progression, which helped projectionists get their reels cued up.
How was this possible? Who’d gone up to the booth to fire up the old projectors?
Herprojectors,she thought possessively. Goldie had practically moved the heavens and the stars to acquire the old projectors from the Oceana theater and bring them here to the island where they could be kept safe. They were still in perfect working order, but they weren’t something to be toyed with. One didn’t simply fire up a machine of that vintage and throw on a film like watching a television show. She felt her anger flaring at precisely the same time she saw a blinding burst of limelight. The whole building shook as if there were an earthquake.
She landed hard on her bottom, praying to whatever gods had favored her for this long that she hadn’t broken a hip.
Item No. 177-M | For those tired of losing baggage—and sleep over it
The Lugubrious Luggage Tag
Hand-tooled from recycled leather that somehow feels both luxurious and vaguely melancholic, the tag appears perfectly Ordinary until attached to one’'s belongings.
I picked up the Lugubrious Luggage Tag in a curious little shop down a narrow Venetian alley, where the proprietor, a woman with eyes that looked older than her face, insisted it would “solve my recurring luggage theft issues.”
Since then, I’ve witnessed petty thieves at train stations across Europe approach my unattended bags, only to pause mid-reach, frown deeply, and scurry away in a sudden fit of misgivings.
The enchantment works with remarkable psychological precision. One baggage handler in Istanbul later confessed that, upon rifling through my suitcase’s contents, he was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of every disappointed glance his grandmother had ever cast his way. A pickpocket in Barcelona reported experiencing “the emotional equivalent of watching a movie about sad puppies while simultaneously remembering every unkept promise from childhood.”
The manufacturers include one stern warning: For occasional use only. Remove the tag from your bags between journeys as prolonged use can lead to an inexplicable urge to call estranged relatives and apologize for childhood transgressions that may or may not have occurred.
Chapter4
An Open and Shut Case
It was dangerously close to dawn by the time Zanfira and Cosimo reached the station. The station was empty. Zani had changed into her Boundless Boots, which added almost two inches to her petite frame. She was almost, but not quite, as tall as Cosimo’s shoulder.
His eyes glowed a feral shade of amber, reflecting the dim lamplight as he scanned the platform, watchful for danger. Zani kept one hand in her wand pocket, only withdrawing it when she saw his sigh, and observed his shoulders relax.
The letters on the sign began to click and flap, rearranging themselves to announce the imminent arrival of the train bound for Paris.
“So I guess this is where we part?” Zani knew the vampire would not be traveling with her on the train. Cosimo had clarified that he had other business of his own to attend to once the stone was secured. And, she suspected, he wouldn’t want to risk traveling on public transportation during daylight hours.
“Be very careful. But most of all, be safe.” Cosimo leaned forward, kissing Zanfira on the forehead again, with lips as cold as ice. The gesture sent fever-like chills through her body. She couldn’t quite decide whether they were pleasant. She wanted the chance to find out. This couldn’t be the end, could it? She knew she’d see him again in a little over two weeks time, but that suddenly felt like a long time to wait. She tipped her head backward and closed her eyes, meaning to brush her lips against his.
Her lips met with a different sort of cold. The emptiness of air, which was a frozen nothingness. When she opened her eyes, she was shocked to realize she was standing alone on the platform. Her satchel was slung over one shoulder. The lead-lined train case that she’d brought along to transport the stone was resting on the ground between her feet.
It took a moment to process his absence. She still clung to his presence like one clings to a dream upon waking. Realizing he’d slipped through her fingers so easily infuriated her.
In the distance, a train whistle sounded. The PA system came to life with a screech and clatter, a sleepy voice on the staticky line announcing the imminent arrival of the early morning train. Zani reached with both hands to hoist the heavy case. She didn’t dare spell it to be lighter. The sheer unexpected weight of it was another layer of protection on top of the multiple wards she’d cast. It weighed at least ten kilos.
Besides the weighty case and the wards, she’d outfitted the bag with an Aura Eraser charm to mitigate any leaked magic from the stone, and a Lugubrious Luggage Tag designed to instill immediate, near crippling remorse in any soul who even dared to consider stealing the item. Zani wasn’t taking any chances. Because it was so unique and important, she’d done everything she could to keep it safe. Sore muscles were a small price to pay.
Once aboard and ensconced in her private first-class compartment, she leaned back into the plush velvet seat and perused the breakfast menu. She realized she was starving! She hadn’t had dinner last night, and slaying vampires was a lot like going ice skating on a frozen pond, in that both activities always left her famished and craving sweets.
Thank goodness she’d booked herself into first class. This was an excellent menu, complete with photos of the items, a touch she always appreciated. It was nice to get a visual of what you were ordering. There were omelettes with cheese and mushrooms served in tiny cast iron skillets. Baskets of croissants came with jam and honey. And charming little glass pots of fresh yogurt were served with bowls of berries and muesli. Zani decided she’d order all three, and a steaming hot pot of coffee as well. Her stomach gurgled approvingly. She was looking forward to eating.
