Once Upon Stilettos

Melisande ducked it without mussing a hair on her perfectly coiffed head. “I must have hit close to home to get you this upset,” she shot back, punctuating her words with a glowing snake of light that Ari easily sidestepped.



“Or I just don’t like you,” Ari replied.



I took a deep breath and threw myself into the fray, feeling like I was getting myself into a dogfight and wishing there was a water hose handy to use to break it up. My hair seemed to stand on end from all the power being tossed around. “Enough!” I shouted. “Do you two want to get in real trouble? Do you know what the boss would say if he knew what you were up to?”



The level of power in the air declined. They glared at me, but they seemed to have quit trying to kill each other. There was a tense moment as I waited to see what would happen next; then Melisande turned wordlessly and headed toward her office. Ari made as if to go after her, but Trix caught her arm. I hurried to grab the other arm, and the two of us marched her toward R&D.



“So, do you have any plans for the holiday?” I asked, forcing my voice to be bright and cheerful in an attempt to defuse the situation. “I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so I’m taking my parents sightseeing. And then on Friday, my mom and I are going shopping. She’s always wanted to go to Bloomingdale’s.”



Trix caught on quickly to what I was trying to do. “Oh, you have to show your mom those red shoes.”



“I should,” I agreed, as chipper as a morning news anchorwoman.



“Do you think you’ll buy them?”



“What would I do with shoes like that? But they probably wouldn’t even have my size. They always seem to run out of the sevens first. You can find fives and tens on the sale rack, but the sevens are usually gone as soon as they come into the store.”



“Guys, I know what you’re doing,” Ari said. “And thanks, but you don’t have to babysit me anymore. I’ve calmed down. I’m not going to kill anyone anytime soon.”



Trix winked at me from the other side of Ari. “I knew it. Shoes always work. And they say music has soothing power.” I knew everything was going to be okay when Ari joined in the laughter.



The apartment was empty when I got home that evening, but not for long. I’d barely changed out of my work clothes when the front door opened and my parents came in with Gemma. Their arms were loaded with shopping bags. “Did you have a good time?” I asked, then did a double take when I realized my dad had one of those foam Statue of Liberty crowns on his head.



“We had a wonderful time,” Mom said. “I found the cutest snow globes at the Empire State Building. Now, where’s your kitchen? I’ve already started shopping for Thanksgiving, so we stopped by the hotel on our way here to pick up the food I bought at the market this morning while your dad took a nap.”



“Here, let me take these,” I said, stepping forward and taking the shopping bags from her. “The kitchen’s around the corner.” As I led her to the alcove that passed for a kitchen in our apartment, I glanced into the bags. “These are gorgeous pumpkins. Which market did you go to?”



“The one Gemma told me about last night. While we were waiting for her to get off work, I wandered over there. You were right, they had the nicest vendors.”



I hesitated, that far-too-familiar sick feeling forming in my stomach again. The Union Square market wasn’t open on Tuesdays and Thursdays, as I’d learned not so long ago. On those days, there was only a magical market that most people couldn’t see. No, she couldn’t have been shopping there. Maybe she’d been turned around and had found the market in front of St. Mark’s Church. That one was open on Tuesdays.



“Was it the market in front of the church?” I asked.



“No, the one in front of the big bookstore. And you call this a kitchen? How do you cook in here?”



I felt dizzy. My mother could not have gone shopping at a magical market. Then again, this was Thanksgiving week. Maybe the schedule was different. The early part of the week would be prime food shopping time. That had to be it.



Fortunately, my mom didn’t notice my confusion. She was too busy complaining about the lack of counter space. “And is this even a full-size oven? Can you cook a turkey in this?”



“I did last year,” I said, putting the bag of pumpkins on the dining table. “The one I bought this year is the same size, so it should fit.”



Gemma joined us in the kitchen area. “I think Katie’s the only person in New York who actually cooks, so they don’t make very big kitchens here. We usually go out to eat or order in.” She opened the refrigerator, then turned to yell at Marcia, “You forgot to buy water again.”