CHAPTER THREE
Baroness Thyme inclined her head. “I regret that is your decision. But perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
Stephen didn’t like the way her eyes lingered on him. So he tugged his dad toward the elevator, everyone except the three fae following them. The jeweled button was emblazoned with an UP arrow. He pushed it.
The elevator doors opened with a bing.
He glanced back to see a blue-skinned creature with long black hair appear behind the desk and pass keys to the baroness. The younger fae—Lady Sarabel—winked at him.
Stephen whirled and boarded the elevator.
The space inside was much larger than a normal elevator, with gilded mirrors and another tiled floor showing the Octagon symbol. Carmen pulled a shiny black pass card from her jacket pocket and slid it into a slot on the control panel below the rows of green gemstone buttons. She hit the top button, and the car began to rise.
“Before you ask, no, I can’t make them leave,” Carmen said in a low voice to his dad. “They’re here for the festivities this weekend. We knew they’d show up.”
“But not so soon. Not before the La Doyts get back.”
“The boy—”
“You mean Stephen. His name is Stephen.” His dad’s voice was sharp.
Stephen wanted to sink through the bottom of the floor and disappear, anything other than listen to them talk about him and whatever had just happened back there as if he weren’t standing right there. He wanted to be alone with his dad and get the promised explanations. Those fae were related to his mother. What was it Ivan had said at the cemetery? That Chef Nana hadn’t gotten along with the fae?
And the rest of this . . . His dad had been lying to him for his entire life.
A placard at the back of the elevator car caught Stephen’s attention, and he slid past Ivan and Sofia to read it.
OCCUPANCY OF THIS ELEVATOR IS NOT TO
EXCEED TWENTY HUMANS OR LIKE-SIZE PERSONS,
OR EIGHTY PIXIES, OR THREE OGRES.
OUR LARGER GUESTS ARE INVITED
TO USE THE STAIRS.
PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE THE ELEVATOR
IN CONVERSATION.
At this point, Stephen was desperate for a change of topic. So he asked, “Why would anyone talk to an elevator?”
A deep sigh sounded, coming from every direction.
“That’s what they all say,” said a disembodied voice. “Why indeed? How could an elevator possibly have anything more interesting to say than ‘Second floor: infinity pool, spa’ or ‘I’m sorry, you do not have access to that floor’? Why would anybody waste time on a little basic politeness? Why ask, ‘How’s your day been, Elevator?’ Why bother with the ups and downs of such as me?”
This was followed by another deep sigh.
“Um, sorry,” Stephen said. His dad came back beside him. He put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder and shook his head. Stephen shrugged him off. “How has your day been, Elevator?”
The elevator ground to a halt.
“I’m so glad you asked!” said the voice. “As it happens, I’ve had quite a dull day, and it’s not helped matters that my left lift chain needs to be lubricated. But try to get maintenance to do anything about that before it’s scheduled! Can you imagine? Them lifting a claw to help me feel a tiny bit better? And as for today’s passengers, well, let me tell you! That vampire lord and his gaggle of zombies hit every call button on the way down from nine so they all could jump up in the air every time I started down. Do I look like a toy to you? Do I look like some sort of amusement park ride?”
“Elevator!” said Carmen. “I’ve hit the call button for the roof, and I’ve inserted my pass card. Don’t make me use my override code.”
For the third time the tremendous sigh came from every direction. The elevator started upward again, though Stephen heard some soft grumbling as it did so. He couldn’t blame it. Its day sounded about as frustrating as his own.
“Can’t you read?” whispered Ivan.
And Sofia added, “Don’t you ever follow directions?”
Stephen looked at Ivan and said, “Of course I can.” Then he answered Sofia. “Yes, but not always.”
“Figures,” Ivan said.
His dad said, “Stephen sometimes tests rules out before he learns to follow them.”
“I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise,” Ivan said.
Meaning what? Stephen had no idea. And then, while Stephen watched, Ivan removed a tiny spiral notebook from his pocket and scribbled something in it with a small pencil.
“Are you writing something about me?” Stephen asked him.
But he didn’t wait for Ivan’s response because the elevator doors opened onto a scene that should have been impossible. The buildings of New York surrounded them, so they were on the roof of the hotel and hadn’t been magically transported to some other location. But the roof of the Hotel New Harmonia was occupied by . . .
“This is the Village,” said Carmen, “where most of the staff live.”
Thick grass grew right up to the elevator, which was set into an open-sided shed with stone walls and a thatched roof. Old-fashioned black streetlamps illuminated the scene in front of them, showing a green central lawn with a low hill. There was a croquet setup, a gazebo, and several picnic tables. A gravel path led from the elevator across a footbridge to a half dozen or more cottages that also had stone walls and thatched roofs. Some had blooming flowers on top, vines and roses climbing the sides.
A dark shadow shot through the night sky and landed in a crouch in front of Stephen.
“We are so very sorry about Lady Nanette!” the small, bulky creature said in a high-pitched voice. It had skin as gray as stone and features sharply defined by thick folds and ridges and points.
It was—Stephen realized, blinking—a gargoyle.
Three more gargoyles careened down, fluttering and making sympathetic noises of agreement. The first one said, “But we’ve brought all your stuff!”
Another of the gargoyles chirped, “Lady Nanette would be so happy you are back, Sir Michael!”
“Thanks to you and the entire clan,” his dad told the gargoyles. He waved to the Gutierrezes and Ivan. “We’ve got it from here.”
The gargoyles flew ahead, leading the way across the bridge to a small cottage with an open door. As soon as they neared the entrance, the gargoyles shot up into the sky, calling, “Good night! Sleep well!”
Stephen watched one drop in the direction of a roof corner. That made sense. Well, it made sense here.
“This was where I grew up with Chef Nana,” his dad said. “She wanted us to live here.”
Chef Nana’s house. Stephen had always wanted to see it. But she had always come to visit them instead of the other way around.
The inside of the cottage was homey. It smelled like Chef Nana: a warm, fresh scent that shifted depending on which spices she’d used most recently. There was a big rug embroidered with flowers and vines and chef ’s knives, and two comfy-looking couches. But their TV and bookshelves from Chicago were also set up in the living room, without a packing box in sight.
“All your clothes will be put away in the dresser if I know the gargoyles. Let’s check out your room; it’s the first door here.” His dad bustled up the short hall beside a cozy kitchen, and Stephen trailed along behind him. Did he really think Stephen cared about his clothes right now?
There were two more doors past his, presumably another bedroom and a bathroom. The room couldn’t have been more different from his in Chicago, but his stuff did seem to be in it. One wall had a curtained round window, like a ship’s porthole but bigger. Opposite it, his graphic novels and other books were already on bookshelves, along with his old sketchbooks. His suitcase lay on a bed with a blue blanket.
“So this is you,” his dad said. “I hope you like it—”
Stephen held up a hand. “Stop it.”
This wasn’t home, not yet. This wasn’t his room, not yet. He turned and marched back down the hall to the kitchen. He sat down at the wooden table and waited.
His dad must have hesitated to come after him because it took a few moments for him to appear in the kitchen. He placed the big old book the man at the cemetery had given him on the table between them.
“So that was Chef Nana’s cookbook,” Stephen said.
His dad took the seat opposite him. They’d always had important talks in the kitchen back home. They would have this one here, in Chef Nana’s kitchen. No, Stephen corrected himself. In their new kitchen. None of this seemed real, but it was.
“It’s called the Librum de Coquina,” his dad said. “Like I said before, the Librum isn’t just a cookbook. It has all our family’s collected wisdom in it, and more besides. This may be hard to believe, but culinary alchemy has stopped wars before. Probably started them, too.”
Stephen stared at him. His dad was stalling.
“Wow, you really don’t want to tell me what’s going on, do you? Why did you lie to me?”
“I’m sorry. There’s so much I didn’t—I couldn’t— You have every right to be angry.”
Stephen was angry. But he also knew his dad must be tired . . . and sad, like he was. It had always been just the two of them, together against the world. “Is my mother fae, like those people downstairs? What does that mean? Why did they ask me to go with them?”
“Yes,” his dad said, nodding, “that’s a good place to start.”
But he hesitated again. Stephen asked, “Was any of what you told me true, about her leaving us?”
“It was. But your mother didn’t just leave us, she left . . . everything.” His dad looked at him. “She was the fae representative on the Octagon. The knights—Chef Nana, me, Julio, and Carmen—we serve the Octagon. The Octagon has eight members—seven who represent supernormal factions and one human representative.”
“What are the supernormal factions?” Stephen asked.
His dad looked up, thinking and probably picturing the glyph symbols. “The furred folk, sea people, the undead, subterranean dwellers, the winged folk, the fae, and the witches.”
“And knights?” Stephen had been thinking about this, about what he knew about knights. “Do you mean knights like King Arthur and the Round Table?”
“Yes, exactly like the knights of the Round Table. That tale was a cover story. All of it is to maintain the peace between humans and—”
“Monsters,” Stephen supplied. So not only was his dad a knight, he was basically a knight of the Round Table. Which was cool, but he sure was taking the long way around to answering the question about his mom. “My mother was a monster?”
His dad shook his head. “You— They’re not monsters. The term is supernormals. A big part of maintaining the peace between supernormals and humans is through places like the New Harmonia. There are similar hotels all over the world now, and there used to be inns and taverns. They have always served as neutral territory because guests are protected by the right of hospitality. We also ensure that humanity at large doesn’t find out about supernormals and try to wipe them out.”
“You said my mother was the fae representative. She’s not anymore?”
His dad swallowed. “The fae used to steal human or half-human children, so a treaty was signed forbidding the fae from having children with humans. We, your mom and I, we broke that treaty. And there were consequences. For me, it meant being exiled for at least ten years. It could have been forever. For her, because she was highborn, there wasn’t a direct punishment, so she gave herself one. She exiled herself, and she’s been gone since then. The fae seat on the Octagon is vacant because she left without officially resigning.”
Stephen tried to wrap his head around this. The way Ivan and Sofia had described his dad as a scandal at the cemetery was starting to make sense. “So you got kicked out because of me.”
His dad leaned down to make Stephen look him in the eye. “I got kicked out for breaking the rules. And I don’t regret any of it for a second. You are the most important thing in the world to me.”
Maybe, but . . . “So, where is she now?”
“No one knows where she went, but the La Doyts are off in Faery trying to find her.” He squared his shoulders. “There’s something else.”
“Okay,” Stephen said, feeling uneasy. What could be a bigger shock than the rest of what he’d learned today? “Just say it.”
“What happened downstairs— Fae politics are complicated. The rules of succession state that as your mother’s closest living relative with fae blood, you would be entitled to her seat on the Octagon in her absence—but only once you reach adulthood. In the meantime, if you became the ward of another fae, like the baroness, then it would entitle her to your mother’s seat.”
“What do you mean ‘with fae blood’?”
His dad spoke directly. “You’re half fae, half human. One of the conditions of my exile was that a spell was cast on you that suppressed your fae nature. The powder of True Seeing removed it. You may experience . . . changes now.”
“Wait. What?” Stephen looked down at his arms and legs. His skin wasn’t tinted green like the other fae. It was normal. He jumped up and found a mirror on the wall. Were his ears slightly pointed at the top now? He touched them to confirm. They were.
Stephen turned to face his dad. “I’m a monster. That’s what you’re saying.”
“That is not what I’m saying.” His dad got up and walked over to him. He pulled Stephen’s hand down away from the top of his ear, his pointed ear. “You’re still you. But there hasn’t been a kid like you in a long time. Some half fae were almost entirely human; others get more fae traits. We’ll just have to see how that part of you expresses. But you’ll still be you.”
Stephen couldn’t understand. He wasn’t fully human? Then how was he still himself ?
“We couldn’t be part of supernormal society until now. There was no use in worrying you. There was a chance you wouldn’t have been able to come here until you were an adult. I wasn’t allowed to share any details with anyone as long as I was in exile.”
“You still should have told me.” Stephen was reeling, his mind seizing on all sorts of random things: the way he’d never quite fit in with the other kids at school; how he was always having trouble following rules, like Baroness Thyme and her smoking. “Wait. Did I get the rules stuff from you or from my mother?”
“Obviously I have my own issue there, but it is true that the fae like finding loopholes. They have trouble sticking to rules that they didn’t make themselves.” His dad rubbed his hand up and down Stephen’s arms, the way he used to when Stephen was little and didn’t feel well. “You are still you. So you didn’t get our family’s talent for cooking. You have your mom’s artistic talent instead. You’re still a Lawson.”
And also the lost son of the Primrose Court. That was what the fae lady had said. “I don’t want to be like those fae downstairs. Is Mom like that?”
“No,” his dad said. “And Chef Nana didn’t exactly get along with those particular fae. The Court of Thorns and she had a history—she once showed the baroness up by her skill in cooking. I think that’s part of why the baroness wants to take over the seat so badly, to mess with me through you. Just like any kind of people, there are good and bad fae. That does bring up something important, though: one of the reasons Carmen was able to hire me, bring me back, is that there’s a big occasion coming up, a birthday party I have to cook for. Those fae will be here at least until it’s over. So just . . . do your best to avoid them.”
“No problem.” He meant it.
“Hopefully, the La Doyts will find your mother and convince her to come back to her seat. But time passes differently in Faery. It may be awhile. And in case you’re wondering,” his dad said, “Chef Nana didn’t want to lie to you. So she never did. I called them stories so you wouldn’t have to be confused about what world you belonged to until it mattered. Can you forgive me?”
Stephen didn’t know how to feel about any of this. He was upset with his dad for keeping this from him, even if he’d had a good reason. But it was his dad. It had always been just the two of them. And he wanted the chance to meet his mother, fae or not.
He didn’t say yes. He said, “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.” His dad smiled. “You will like it here once you get used to it. I promise. Stephen, you’re still you. I’m still me.”
His dad got up and reached out to give him a hug, but Stephen stepped back and nodded. “Good night, Dad,” he said, and went to his room.
Unable to absorb everything his dad had told him, he paced around the edges of the bed.
His dad had said all his stuff would probably have been put away by the gargoyles, and so he opened the top drawer of the nightstand to see what was in it. He hadn’t even had a nightstand at home, just a dresser. Instead of his own things, he found a book he’d never seen before. With its smooth edges and nonleather cover, it looked mass produced, like the kind of book that would be in every room in any hotel, until he checked out the title: An Almanack of the Mores and Ways of Supernormal Kind.
Carefully he opened the cover and saw his grandmother’s familiar handwriting.
To my dear Stephen—I’m so sorry I can’t be here for your first time at the hotel, but so very glad that you and your father are here to stay. It has long been my dream. And I’ve left you something to help you—my own copy of a book that you can use as a guide. That said, take what you read about fae kind with a grain of the finest sea salt. Remember, our characters are determined by our actions. Love, Chef Nana
He looked in the mirror at his newly pointy ears and hoped she was right.
Stephen gave up on sleeping. What if his fae side did outweigh his human one? His dad had pointed out that he’d never exhibited the Lawson talent in the kitchen.
He got up and moved over to his bookcase. Since he was eight, he’d kept a flashlight hidden behind his volume of the collected Doctor Strange comics (Stephen was named for the Sorcerer Supreme). Were the gargoyles that detail oriented? He pulled out the book and laid his hand on the flashlight. They were.
He crept out quietly to the kitchen. As he’d suspected, his dad had left the Librum de Coquina on the table. A book like this belonged in the kitchen. It was heavy in his hands as he flipped open the cover and held the flashlight with his chin to read the recipe his dad had used on him earlier.
RECIPE FOR A POWDER OF TRUE SEEING
INGREDIENTS
1 pinch sea salt (salt sourced from the Arctic Ocean is best)
1 scruple the finest cinnamon
2 smidgens recently harvested saffron
½ pinch ground cardamom
1 minim dust grated from a cracked green jasper stone
½ drop lark’s tears (tears of joy preferred over tears of sorrow)
INSTRUCTIONS
In a mortar, combine the salt, cinnamon, saffron, and cardamom, mixing lightly with the fingers of the right hand. Lay a fine rasp atop the mortar, oriented northwest to southeast, and grate the jasper dust into the mixture with three quick motions, left to right. Set aside the rasp, and lastly add the tears of lark, then take up your pestle, and grind the ingredients into a fine powder, which should be barely moist.
The powder becomes efficacious when a pinch is taken and thrown backward over the left shoulder. Any beings previously unable to see supernormal kind because of the effects of the Great Dweomer should now see clearly. It may also be used to flavor soups particularly loved by giants, golems, and other such beings bound to the earth.
HISTORICAL NOTES
This recipe is based on one first developed in the eleventh century by the famed culinary alchemist Lydia of Knossos. Lydia invented the powder in secret, as its principal effect was to circumvent the Great Dweomer of the year 999, the worldwide spell that conceals supernormals from normal humans and some half humans. In the centuries since the Octagon adopted the First Treaty of Harmony, however, it has become legal in certain circumstances to provide the powder to normal humans or other affected half humans, particularly those affiliated with the knights of the Octagon or their families.
Stephen didn’t know where Knossos was, or even how to say it, any more than he knew what a dweomer was, though it sounded like some kind of spell. He turned a few more pages, reading the names of the recipes at the top of each:
AMBROSIA LOAF GLAZED WITH GIANT HONEYBEE NECTAR
DINOSAUR EGG SOUFFLÉ
SPEED OF MERCURY HOT SAUCE
FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH PUNCH
There was handwriting at the bottom of that last recipe, reading “Ingredients no longer available.” He recognized the writing. It was Chef Nana’s.
Of course she would have written in the book; it belonged to her, after all. She had always encouraged him to write in his own books, take notes of what he thought about what he read, or even draw little sketches of the characters as he imagined them.
“Wait,” Stephen whispered. “If it was her book, then . . .”
He flipped through the pages faster, barely glancing at the recipe names until he came to a place where the book fell open naturally, as if these particular pages had been turned to many, many times.
“Xocolãtl con el Azúcar de la Familia de Lawson” was written in grand looping letters across the top. And below that, in his grandmother’s much more sensible writing, he read “Special Hot Chocolate.”
Stephen remembered the times his grandmother had made him hot chocolate when she visited Chicago during the cold-weather months. She always made him wait until just before bedtime because, she said, “It’s for dreaming.”
I can do this, he thought. I’m a member of the—the familia de Lawson. And I wouldn’t mind some nice dreams after today.
He peered up the hall toward his dad’s room. The door was closed, and no light showed through the crack at the floor.
It took him a few minutes to find all the ingredients or, at least, things that he thought would do for the ingredients. Chef Nana’s pantry was well stocked, but all he could find was plain sugar, not “beet sugar crystallized by the gaze of a feathered serpent.” And he figured the box of powdered chocolate would work as well as “Cacao seeds ground beneath a new moon.”
Not making a mess was even harder, though there were only a few ingredients. Stephen worried more about the sound of the water boiling in the teakettle waking up his dad than he did about anything else.
After about half an hour of hunting ingredients and pans, then mixing and boiling and pouring, Stephen found himself sitting in the darkened kitchen with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. It certainly smelled like Chef Nana’s recipe.
He blew on the surface of the dark liquid to cool it a bit, then took a cautious sip.
It was pretty good. Not as good as Chef Nana’s, he thought as he cleaned up the kitchen. But pretty good.
I don’t care what they say or who my mother is. I’m not a fae, I’m a Lawson.
He yawned and stretched and realized he felt very sleepy, after all. He put the Librum back where his dad had left it, then went to bed.