Spellcrossed (46 page)

Lee caught the door before it swung shut. “He’s just verklempt,” he told Rowan.

“Ver—?”

“Ask Bernie,” Lee and I chorused.

As we entered the shop, the pink velveteen curtains at the back parted and Hal emerged, dabbing his eyes with a tissue.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Lee, Maggie—talk among yourselves. I have to give Rowan the tour. Oh, where to begin? Accessories? Gowns? Nightwear!”

While Hal played tour guide, I idly sifted through a rack of camisoles and corsets.

“Who buys something like this?” I asked Lee, holding up a plaid prep school uniform with cutouts around the breasts.

“You’d be surprised. I just wish his high-end stuff sold as well as the kitsch. He makes out pretty well on the costumes he designs for the drag queens, but when he opened the shop, he planned to sell all custom-made clothing. People just aren’t willing to shell out the bucks for it.”

I glanced at Rowan and Hal who were in hushed consultation in nightwear. “Mr. Hamilton and I were talking about making up a series of postcards of the barn. What if we expanded the idea to include note cards featuring Hal’s artwork?”

Lee’s face lit up. He seized my arm and dragged me over to Rowan and Hal. “I’m taking over the tour, Hal. Maggie needs to talk with you.”

Hal was even more excited than Lee. “We could do
different versions. Reproductions of the pen-and-ink sketch on the program. Original watercolor renditions of the barn. I could do a whole Dale Collection! The barn. The General Store. The town hall.”

“Hallee’s.”

Hal shook his head. “The tourists will want Ye Olde New England Towne.” He gasped and clutched my arm. “A gift shop. We need a gift shop with theatre tchotchkes. T-shirts, hats, note cards, books, posters. My posters!”

For a moment, we were both transported into the wonderful world of merchandising. Then I descended to earth.

“One step at a time. First, work me up some prices I can show the board. Then we’ll tackle the gift shop.”

We hurried over to share our latest brainstorm and found Rowan and Lee examining a pair of black leather boots with stiletto heels.

“Just what I need. I fall over my feet when I’m wearing sneakers.”

“But think how well they would go with this leather bustier,” Rowan said.

“I’d sweat like a horse. Come on, I’m hungry.”

We made it about fifty feet down Main Street when a barrel-like figure stormed out of the Mandarin Chalet.

“So you FINALLY made it into town!” Mei-Yin exclaimed. “This calls for a CELEBRATION. A special DINNER!”

“That’s what we were planning,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Where?”

“Why, the Chalet, of course,” Rowan lied smoothly.

“GOOD answer!” She flung out her arms. “WELCOME to the Mandarin Chalet. Where EAST meets WEST. And the ELITE meet to EAT!”

When dragons flank the doorway of a giant gingerbread house, you expect the interior to be a hellish amalgam of
Flower Drum Song
and
The Sound of Music
. I’d been shocked the first time I walked into the Chalet and found nary a dragon or cuckoo clock in sight.

The snow-covered mountains in the mural would have felt equally at home in Sichuan Province or Switzerland, as would the intricately carved wooden screen that separated the restaurant from the bar. Soft pools of light illuminated the tables, while the rose and gold accents conjured a glorious sunrise. Throw in the faint music that combined sounds from the natural world with harp and flute, and the Chalet felt like a mountaintop retreat or a relaxing day spa.

“So what do you THINK?”

Although Mei-Yin was beaming, a discordant twang of anxiety shivered through me.

“It’s so restful,” Rowan said. “Exactly what I need after all the excitement today.”

Her relief surprised me; clearly, Rowan’s approval meant as much to her as it had to Hal. But she just whispered, “Makes people STAY longer. And SPEND more.”

She snatched up a sheaf of menus and marched off. Although it was only 6:30, the restaurant was already half full, mostly with the AARP crowd, all of whom regarded us avidly, all of whom expected us to stop and chat. When we finally reached the corner table where Mei-Yin waited impatiently, we both sank gratefully onto our chairs.

“Order whatever you want,” Mei-Yin said. “Chinese, Swiss, Mexican…” She punctuated each cuisine by slapping a different menu on the table. “I’ll have Max cook you up something SPECIAL.” She slapped the wine list down, too, then snapped her fingers at a hovering busboy. “YOU! Clear off these utensils and bring out the REAL silverware.”

“You keep the family silver here?” I asked.

“Just a couple of place settings. When Reinhard and I try out one of Max’s new recipes, we like to do it up in STYLE.”

More likely, she had brought the silverware in after Rowan’s return in anticipation of the day he would dine at her establishment.

Rowan just thanked her quietly and watched her march back to the kitchen.

The restful atmosphere was somewhat undermined by the staff’s obvious terror of offending their boss’ special guests. Ice rattled like chattering teeth as the busboy tiptoed over with the water pitcher. Our server’s voice shook as he announced the specials. Both relaxed so quickly that I knew Rowan must have called on his power to calm them.

Mei-Yin emerged from the kitchen with her stepson in tow. Max was a younger version of Reinhard from the premature gray of his brush cut to his stocky build. He even gave a little bow when Rowan rose to shake his hand.

“It’s an honor to have you here.”

“And a long overdue pleasure for me. But with all these choices…” Rowan waved his hand at the pile of menus. “…Maggie and I are at a loss. What would you recommend?”

As the two men launched into a protracted discussion of menu options, I brought Mei-Yin up to speed on recent developments. She demanded good dance music for Fezziwig’s party and the opportunity to play the killer in our yet-to-be-approved Halloween murder mystery. But she also suggested that until we scraped together funds for a gift shop, we set up tables on the breezeway at intermission to hawk merchandise. And volunteered to teach some movement classes for the after-school programs if I got swamped. Which seemed likely given all the new initiatives.

Max announced our dinner selections. Rowan’s main course sounded like a phlegmy sneeze, mine like the worst salad ever imagined. They turned out to be veal strips in a cream sauce and a cold sausage salad that was unexpectedly delicious. Mei-Yin and Max lingered long enough to share a toast, then left us to savor our meal.

Dinner in town—another first. And Rowan’s sweet smile made it even more perfect.

When we passed on dessert, our server brought us coffee and a small bowl filled with chocolate-dipped strawberries. What he didn’t bring was the check.

“It’s on the HOUSE!” Mei-Yin declared when Rowan called her over.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Once more, her eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. “You gonna tell me what you’ll ‘LET’ me do? In MY restaurant?”

“No, of course not. I just—”

“GOOD! It’s SETTLED.”

We thanked Max and Mei-Yin profusely. And after she had escorted us to the door, Rowan pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You are a very gracious lady. And you made this an evening I will never forget.”

Her happiness zinged through me, but all she said was, “Don’t get run OVER walking home.”

Rowan caught my arm as I turned toward the theatre. “What about the Bough? Don’t I get to see all the changes you’ve made?”

“We could do that another time.”

“Nonsense,” he said, steering me down the sidewalk. “Besides, Frannie’s feelings will be hurt if I don’t stop in.”

From the rapidity with which Frannie descended, I suspected she’d been watching our progress from the front windows. But Iolanthe still reached us first. I caught a blur of movement near the front desk. A moment later, she was draped over Rowan’s boot.

“Cats like Rowan,” I told Frannie.

“My goodness. I can’t remember the last time I saw her move that fast.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw her move.”

Naturally, Frannie insisted on showing him around. And naturally, Iolanthe insisted on accompanying us. But her burst of energy had faded and she yowled so plaintively that Rowan finally picked her up. She spent
the rest of the tour cradled against his chest. Now and then, her paw came up to touch his cheek, as if she—like Frannie—had difficulty believing that Rowan Mackenzie was actually here. The cast members in the lounge took his presence in stride, but of course, they had no way of knowing they were witnessing a minor miracle.

Rowan declined a drink, but when we returned to the lobby, he said, “The hotel looks beautiful. It reminds me of Helen’s sunroom.”

Frannie and I exchanged startled glances.

“You’re right,” Frannie said. “Maybe it was Helen’s spirit guiding us all along.”

Rowan smiled. “Maybe so. She’d be so happy to know that you’re watching over the cast.”

“And even happier to see you two together again.” As the grandfather clock struck ten, Frannie added, “It’s late. You better run along. I’ll give you the rest of the tour next time you’re in town, Rowan. I’ll even show you the room Maggie stayed in during her season. Where she laid awake nights dreaming of you.”

“Frannie!” I protested.

“Well, you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes! But you’re not supposed to tell him that. It’ll give him a big head.”

“Rowan’s head’s just fine. Now scoot, you two.”

Rowan carefully deposited Iolanthe in the inbox and we started for home. The streets were already deserted, everyone in Dale tucked in for the night. We said little, content to mosey along in silence. My heart was filled with happiness at sharing Rowan’s adventure in town and my mind was buzzing with ideas for the theatre. Astonishing that Rowan’s casual mention of a postcard could lead to so many new possibilities.

As we walked up the hill to the house, I said, “This has been a perfect day.”

“Has it? I’m glad.”

I stopped, struck by the eagerness in his voice.

“What?”

I was so stupid. I knew he’d suggested this outing because he’d seen how depressed I was. But even if he’d enjoyed seeing Hal and Frannie and Mei-Yin, he’d also had to rub shoulders with strangers, endure an endless succession of little chats, an endless exchange of stupid pleasantries. If the cocktail party with the staff had been a challenge, this afternoon must have been agony.

“What?” he repeated.

Before I could reply, the screen door creaked open and Janet walked onto the porch with Jack trailing behind her.

Hands on hips, she surveyed us with a frown. “Well, I hope
you’ve
had fun.
I’ve
been on the phone all goddamn evening. Half the population of Dale has called to inform me of Rowan Mackenzie’s historic visit. There will probably be an article in the next edition of
The Bee
: “‘Local Recluse Tours Town. Citizens Agog.’”

Rowan proffered the two beeswax candles. “By way of apology.” Then he produced the penny candy for Jack. “Maggie thought you might like this.”

Jack held the stick up to the porch lantern, then slowly lowered it and stared at me. “Licorice. My favorite.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence descended. Janet poked her elbow into Jack’s ribs. He cleared his throat and said, “I was thinking. Maybe tomorrow, we could all go on a picnic. If you’d like.”

I stared at Janet who enjoyed picnics about as much as Rowan liked long car rides, and promptly burst into tears.

Jack looked horrified. Rowan put his arm around me. Janet said, “Oh, for God’s sake, stop bawling like a constipated calf.”

I snuffled like a congested calf and said, “That would be lovely.” Then I remembered. “But Alex—”

“Alex called,” Janet said. “He forgot he had a dentist appointment tomorrow. So he’d like to postpone playing through the score until Thursday.”

I knew damn well there was no dentist appointment. I fought the return of the constipated calf and whispered, “Okay.”

“Good,” Janet said. “I am now going to reheat my dinner for the third time.”

As the screen door slammed behind her, Jack said, “I guess I’ll head down to the apartment. Unless you want me to take a walk around the pond.”

“I think we’re both a little worn out,” Rowan said. “I’ll see you down there.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

Rowan led me over to the old wooden porch swing. I listened to the mournful creak as we rocked gently back and forth, then asked, “Was it awful for you today?”

“No. Well. A little daunting. All those people…”

“I’m so sorry. I should have realized—”

“No,” he repeated. “I loved seeing Hal’s shop and Mei-Yin’s restaurant and your hotel. All the places I’ve been hearing about for so many years. I just never expected such a welcome. Such…kindness. Humans really are quite magical, aren’t they?”

“Kindness isn’t magical.”

“It is to me. Kindness, compassion, love. Those qualities are alien to the Fae. And innate to humans.”

“But they’re not magical.”

“Yes, Maggie. They are.
You
are. Look at what you’ve accomplished this season. You helped your mother come to terms with her past. You forged a disparate group of actors into a company. You made the staff partners in this theatre in a way they never were when I was director. You laid the groundwork to make the Crossroads financially viable. You pushed and pulled and dragged me into this world that I had only glimpsed secondhand. You’ve done far more with your magic than I ever did with mine.”

“How can you say that? I know what your power can do.”

“But don’t you see? No matter how beautiful or terrifying
or extraordinary the magic of Faerie is, its ultimate purpose is to disguise. Human magic…reveals. I never understood that until this summer. It’s like when I call the Mackenzies. My magic sets the stage, but human magic—your capacity to love, to change—that’s what makes the drama unfold.”

His smile was a little sad, as if the revelation had diminished him somehow.

I squeezed his hand. “I loved the nice, normal, ordinary day you gave me. But I love your magic, too. You can calm me with a touch or carry me to the brink of ecstasy. You can make paper flowers bloom and help an actress overcome her fear of heights—and help heal a lost soul like my father. Your magic is the most wondrous thing I’ve ever known in my life. Never forget that. Or think that I want you to be like other men.”