Storefront after storefront, one thought took center stage: how many damn fudge shoppes does one town really need? I suppose Willow Bay didn’t need to be the hub of modernism. I wasn’t expecting a Radio Shack on every corner or anything, but I thought there would be some practicality to the stores that lined the avenues.
I followed back and to the left of Emma who strolled through the streets with a swagger befitting a celebrity with no appearances for the day. Grin beaming, she nodded or said “hey” to nearly every person she passed. Occasionally someone would throw her a curt nod or not completely sidestep her by three feet, but mostly they kept their distance, finding their way across the street at the last possible second.
“What’s with this town?” Emma commented. “Sheesh.”
Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was just that good ol’ fashioned—”townie vs. out-of-townie”—attitude for which small towns were so well-known.
Or maybe the librarian was right.
Just in case, I tried my best to fast forward through any conversation that smacked of alchemy.
“Do you know what potassium sulfide is good for?”
“Hm-mm.”
“Well, I’m using—”
“How far is this place?” I interrupted.
Emma gave me a little scowl. “Just up ahead.”
Was I nervous? I wouldn’t say nervous, per se. But I also didn’t want to see my best friend fall victim to a hate crime on the verge of us patching things up. Who knows how far this “mage town” would go?
It was almost comical in a way to think that this quaint little town, with all its oak benches carved with hearts and fish and bear paws, could be harboring a hatred of, well, anyone at all. Every little bookstore was like your grandma’s attic and a few of the cafes had pies cooling on windowsills. That librarian was probably just an old magist, set in her ways.
“There it is,” Emma announced. “Svengali’s Pizza.”
Pizza? Well, my interest was piqued. It was only my favorite food on the planet. While I hadn’t tried it before, I suddenly remembered the phrase “Svengali’s Pizza” from a hundred different bumper stickers in AHL’s parking lot over the last couple years. Apparently it was the premiere pizza joint on the North Shore.
The building itself didn’t look much different from any of the others as we crossed the street towards it. Same pleated storefront, same faded paint, but with a movie theater-like marquee that boasted “Pizza, Brews, and Elixirs” beneath the store name.
The theater theme didn’t stop there. Inside the walls were awash with old movie posters, mostly from the film Svengali, but a few other trippy ones from the Vertigo-era of design. The film thing was fighting with a sort of “Dungeon Chemistry” theme: apothecary bottles of all sizes topped all the round tables, filled with parmesan cheese and crushed red pepper, and the soda glasses appeared to be wide-mouthed beakers.
Little weird, but also kind of cool.
Emma turned to face me once I was comfortably within the door. She shut her eyes in an extra-long blink and I noticed her fingers were wriggling the air at her sides. Granted it did smell really good in there, but Emma looked as if she might float away.
“What is it?” I asked.
Before she could answer, a blaze-white-haired man with bushy, peaked eyebrows appeared behind the counter. His long beard was bottle-necked by beads and tucked neatly into the shirt behind his apron.
He grinned as he noticed us. “Welcome, travelers, welcome!”
Emma was still a little zoned out, so I had to take point on the greeting for once. “Uh, hi.”
“So eloquent is the young master!” the man joked. “You must be weary from your travels. May I interest you in a slice of my wares, hmm?”
Like a statue come to life, Emma shook away her stony exterior and practically leapt to the glass-cased counter displaying the pies. “Absolutely!”
“Ah! She stirs!” the man said. “And who might you be, milady?”
Milady? Oh, come on.
“I’m Emma. This is Quinn,” she replied.
“Mistress Emma and Master Quinn,” the old man addressed. “Welcome to Svengali’s.”
“Are you Svengali?” Emma asked with a cheerful laugh.
The bearded man winked. “Just Sven to the rest of the world.” Mostly dropping the medieval accent, he wiped a hand on his apron and extended it across the display case to Emma. “Pleased to meet you.”
Emma took Sven’s hand in a very ladylike grip, nose primly cocked skyward. “How do you do?”
Sven seemed to melt at her little show.
“Well, what can I get for you today, good travelers?” Sven asked, toweling off.
“What’s good?” Emma shot back.
“None of it, I’m sure!” Sven chuckled. “The arugula and wild rice goat cheese has always been a favorite of mine.”
“Uh-huh,” Emma considered. “What’s this one?”
I followed her index finger to the display, feasting my eyes on giant pies topped with an array of meats and vegetables. All of them made my mouth water.
“Ah, you have very discerning taste, I can tell,” Sven told Emma. “That, my dear, is spiced wind elk and avocado.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll have a slice of that. With a Coke?”
“Right away, your majesty!” Sven wasted no time floating an industrial-sized pizza cutter into his gnarled grip and cutting a generous triangle for Emma. From there, the old mage scooped up the slice with a large wooden paddle and shoveled it into a brick oven behind him. He then bent down and opened a furnace below the oven, revealing raging green-tinged flames which became even more raging with a toss of something from a pouch at his waist.
“Shouldn’t be more than a minute,” he told Emma, then turned to me. “Howsabout you, young squire?”
So engrossed in Sven’s show that I forgot to check prices—and my pockets. I tried to subtly pat myself down, hoping I managed to remember some sort of currency on this trip. “Oh, I—uh—”
“I got this,” Emma whispered. “Penny gave me some cash for lunch.”
I knew she was lying. I fought the frown that was forming just above my chin. “Thanks.”
“So what’ll it be, son?” Sven pushed.
I eyed up my choices again. “Do you have any plain cheese?”
Sven cleared his throat less-than-jovially. “I suppose I could whip one up.”
Emma groaned to my right. She shook her head and stepped in front of me, pointing to a pie. “He’ll have this one, whatever it is.”
I tried to protest, but the look on her face zipped my lips and tossed the key. I nodded, first at Emma, then at Sven. “Sounds good.”
Sven smiled again. “Smoked turkey and roasted prickly pear. You’ll love it.”
“I’ll have to,” I said, glancing at Emma.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said with a shrug. “And they can’t be boring either.”
After Emma paid, I followed her to a smaller table for two near the giant porthole-of-a-window that looked out over the Willow Bay harbor. She dug right into her plate-sized pizza wedge, washing it down with a swig from the caramel-colored soda in her beaker. “By the elements, this is good!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” she confirmed, hiding her second mouthful from me with a cupped hand. “Try yours!”
I sighed. “Here goes nothing.”
I heaved the massive slice to my mouth and tore off the tip, running a bridge of cheese from my lips to the pie. My mouth sang almost instantly with notes of tender, salty game and then a chorus of sweet fruit as tender as the meat.
Perfect. The most perfect bite of pizza ever consumed. And all the while Emma’s eyes were watching me from behind the horizon of bubbly crust.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Amazing,” I mumbled before swallowing. “It’s amazing.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Amazing. Totally.”
We passed the next several minutes in silence, save for the smacking of gooey cheese and the occasional whimper—whether they were on account of the taste or because every bite meant the slice was almost gone, I couldn’t tell.
I wanted the slice of pizza to last forever. And not just because I couldn’t afford another.
Emma set down her slice, savoring the flavor, as Sven reentered the room through a swinging door. Truthfully, I hadn’t noticed him leave.
“How’s everything tasting, my friends?” he asked, grabbing a broom to sweep up.
Quickly I took another bite to avoid answering. Emma nodded, finishing her bite. “It’s incredible, Sven. You do good work.”
Sven laughed heartily. “Why thank you, milady. You certainly know how to put a spring in this old man’s heels.”
“Can I ask you something?” Emma said as I took another bite.
“Anything, my dear.”
Emma wiped her mouth on a paper napkin before returning it to her lap. “Why all the Tungsten?”
I froze. The pizza solidified in my mouth, gluing it shut.
“How’s that?” Sven asked, squinting. I prayed to every deity available that Emma wouldn’t pursue the question. Please, Father or Mother Solstice—anyone! Don’t let her finish that thought!
“Tungsten,” Emma said again. “I can feel it everywhere. I’ve never been around so much of it.”
I had to be trembling at a wavelength on par with a hummingbird. I flicked my eyes back to Sven, watching his gap-toothed grin collapse to a slit.
“You’re an alchemist,” he stated simply.
I felt like I was in a saloon waiting for a gunfight to break out. I wondered if Emma had any clue she’d stumbled into a showdown.
“Yeah, of course,” Emma replied. “Aren’t you?”
Nope, clearly she did not know.
“Oh, boy! Okay,” I choked out. “There’s a lot of things being said here, huh? Wow! Can we get back to this pizza, Sven? Wild stuff, sir. Really wild stuff.”
Both stared at me as if I’d just been struck by lightning. Looking at Emma’s confused gaze, part of me wished that was the case. The momentary hiccup in time passed as though I’d never opened my mouth.
Sven cleared his throat, returning his leer to Emma. He rummaged behind the counter and lifted out a thick, perforated discus of metal. “Pure Tungsten pizza pans. Cold-cast and imported from Italy.” He knocked on one for effect. It was a dull thump next to the cymbal-like twang I was expecting.
Still loud. It straightened my spine.
Emma eyed the pie pan queerly. “Pardon the expression, but that’s a lot of dough just for pizza pans, Sven.”
Sven finally allowed a tinge of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. He raised his eyebrows and motioned towards Emma’s lunch. “It’s worth it, no?”
Emma just nodded.
Sven mimicked the nod. “If you’ll excuse me.” He shuffled back through the swinging door.
I reeled on Emma. “What are you doing?”
Emma shrugged, taking another bite. “What?”
“Are you trying to get us thrown out or something?” I replied. “You can’t just run around accusing people of being an alchemist.”
“Accusing?” Emma repeated, scowling. “Is that what I was doing? I thought I was having a conversation. He’s the one who got all weird.”
“Yeah, well,” I whispered. “Just let it go, all right?”
Emma set down her beaker of soda. “What’s with you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Thanks for agreeing with me, by the way,” she said sarcastically. “You don’t think that was a little weird.”
I shifted in my seat. “Not really.”
“Are you serious? Quinn, he was like—”
“Emma,” I interrupted. “Will you just let it go? Please?”
Her gaze burned through me. “Why?”
“Just—”
“What is it, Quinn?” Emma pushed. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I met you at the library. What gives?”
I sighed. Of course Emma figured it out. It was Emma.
I finished my mouthful of pizza and set the boomerang of crust back on my plate. “They just—Willow Bay doesn’t really, um, care for alchemists so much?”
Emma squinted at me. “What do you mean?”
The next three seconds went quicker than the final round of Mousetrap: the backroom door swung open, Sven stepped out, Emma’s head snapped in his direction, Sven looked up, Emma narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hey, what’s the deal with your town?”
And then my heart beat a second time.
Sven straightened. “Excuse me?”
“Your town,” Emma repeated. She motioned at me. “My associate here tells me you guys hate alchemists—what’s the deal?”
Sven looked from Emma to me, then back to Emma, picking his slack jaw up off his chest. “Young lady, I think you’re a little misinformed—”
“Then inform me.”
“Emma.”
Sven gave a solemn nod. “Thanks for stopping in. Safe journey, young travelers.”
“Aw, yellow cake!” Emma spat. “Out with it, Sven!”
“Emma!” I said again, standing. “Let’s go. Please?”
Emma bit her lip and stood up hotly. She dumped what was left of her pizza in the receptacle. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome,” Sven replied, retreating to the backroom.
“Magist,” Emma muttered under her breath. I prayed once again that Sven wouldn’t hear but apparently all the local gods weren’t listening to me that afternoon. Sven shot out from the door once again and aimed an index finger at Emma. For a second I thought he might be tossing a spell at her and I started to raise my hands to counter.
Instead he just wavered his finger at her, trembling. “Never. You will never say that to me, you understand?”
Even Emma was taken aback by his voice. It wasn’t the booming tone we’d both expected, but a shaky warble that cracked in the middle like a piece of straw.
Emma’s rage immediately drowned. “Well—”
Sven swung his finger around and pointed out the window. “If you want to know what this town’s ‘deal’ with alchemists is, young lady, you can see it for yourself. Take a hike down the shore to the city limits—can’t miss it.”
Emma’s fists balled up. “I just might.”
“I hope you do,” Sven finished. “Now good day.”
The old man disappeared through his door for the last time and, just like that, lunch was over.
“Can we go home now?” I asked Emma. Sure I sounded like a little kid but, to be honest, I felt like one too.
“Pretty soon,” she answered, heading for the door. “Let’s take a walk first.”