“Stop peeping in Ms. Nicolas’s backyard,” I muttered out of parental duty. Ms. Nicolas created horrendous paintings and sculptures that were impossible to ignore. How they sold, I did not know, but it was a train wreck Daisy hated to miss.

“Okay.” She waved the comment away. “But it’s really sturdy. Check it out.”

I was a little afraid to touch it.

“Instead of your TV trays—”

“He’s moving,” Frank yelled. “He’s on the move. Where are you going, you—”

Frank’s voice drifted away.

“—we have a lovely little breakfast bar.” Daisy lifted the edge of one of my rugs, revealing a length of badly pockmarked wood with a stretch of empty spider web spanning the top. I shrank away. “It needs a bath and a paint, and it will look just fab. Check out those legs. Strong and sturdy. That’ll give our clients confidence.”

“Our?” I asked, pushing the pad of my finger against my temple and rubbing.

“We’re all going into business together,” Mordecai said, and he wasn’t being sarcastic.

“No”—Daisy pointed at my face—“don’t do that. I can see you about to pull hero and try to go it alone like some cowboy out of the Wild West.”

“Cowboys in the Wild West were actually farmers in most cases,” Mordecai said. “Hence the term cowboys. The fabricated idea of gun-slinging cowboys was made famous by Hollywood, and nowhere near depicts real events—”

“We don’t care,” Daisy interrupted.

“I care,” I said. “I did not know that—”

“Okay, then, we’ll table that for circle time.” Daisy used her pen to point at the top of the tent, which was two peaks at different heights held up by leaning broomsticks. “Everyone else has a tent, so we need to join that parade. It makes us look legit. Once we have more working capital, we can replace these blankets with more scarfs, but for now—”

“I’m impressed with the lingo,” I said, smelling the coffee and heading back to the kitchen.

“This has actually been a good independent study for us,” Mordecai said, drifting after me. “It’s empowering, creating a business.”

“Uh-huh.” Empowering meant it would take longer for them to give it up. How annoying.

“Your chair is still the same,” Daisy continued, and I wondered if she’d even noticed me leaving the room. “You need it light. I like the idea of you moving your chair around. It creates a sense of urgency in the client. They’ll want to impress the Great Seeing Eye in order to get her help.”

I paused in pouring the coffee. “The what?”

“It’s a working title,” Mordecai assured me.

“Keep working.” I eyed the messy stack of mail in the middle of the counter. Daisy had been so busy with this new venture she wanted to force on me that she hadn’t insistently alerted me that she’d gotten the mail.

“We still need a sign. I need to get some poster board and pens, but I figured we should work on a budget first,” Daisy went on, scribbling on her clipboard.

“Uh-huh. What’s the pencil behind your ear for if you’re using the pen?” I asked before taking a sip of my coffee. I wandered to the table and pulled the stack of relevant pieces of mail closer. Daisy had sorted the junk out already.

“Because that’s what builders use,” she said.

“Right.” I frowned as I noticed an envelope from the city’s Parks and Rec Department. Daisy’s voice drifted to the back of my awareness as I set my coffee down. Unease flowed through me—a sense that I was waiting for the shoe to drop. A moment later, the air dried up in my lungs and a feeling of helplessness washed over me.

“It isn’t fair.” I pulled out a chair and plopped down, my eyes stinging in frustration. “It isn’t fair!” I yelled.

The kids were next to me a moment later. “What happened?” Mordecai asked.

“What’s not fair?” Daisy peered over my shoulder.

I set the letter on the table and dropped my face into my hands. “The freak show has been shut down.”

“What?” She snatched up the letter. “‘Dear Patron,’” she read, then mumbled, “Off to an intimate start… ‘Dear Patron. Due to circumstances beyond our control, the Magical Showcase, held at Pier Thirty-three’…yadda yadda…‘has been permanently cancelled. All permits have been suspended, and access into the area has been closed to all persons of a magical nature.’” Her voice drifted away and her eyes roamed from side to side, reading on down. “Oh look! Here we go. ‘Plans have commenced to move’”—she gave Mordecai and me poignant looks—“‘the Magical Showcase to a neutral location wherein magical and non-magical people alike will be welcome to showcase their talents. Permits will be granted to those applicable. For more information, please contact your specific governing body.’” She beamed at me. “So you see? This is good news. They’re moving it to the dual-society zone and opening it up to everyone. It’ll be bigger! We’ll get more people actually interested in magic instead of just looking for entertainment.” She nodded and tapped the letter. “This is a stroke of luck. This will be great for our brand.”

“First, we have to actually create a brand,” Mordecai said dryly.

Daisy glared at him. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, Mordie. Instead of pointing out the flaws, why don’t you help solve the problems?”

“Permits will be handed out from our specific governing body,” I said, my head still resting on my palms.

Mordecai exhaled loudly. “Oh,” he said.

“Why is that bad?” Daisy asked.

“Because a certain stalking Demigod wants me cornered,” I said, “and now he has the power to deny me the ability to make money he isn’t supplying. The ball is in his court.”

38

Alexis

“Like hell the ball is in his court.” Daisy slapped down the letter. “He’s not in charge of this city. His dad is. And his dad doesn’t give two rats about us. We’ll apply, and if he sticks his big nose in, we’ll appeal. Worst case, we’ll fire up the computer and create a fake profile. We can get around him.”

A knock sounded at the door. I glanced around at the others. “Did you guys hear that?”

“Yes. It was a real knock,” Mordecai said.

I lugged myself up, suddenly too exhausted for any of this. I was tired of being kicked in the jugular. Tired of Kieran getting his way so easily.

Tired of this life.

“The other one left, and this one took his place,” Frank said, standing behind one of Kieran’s minions, this one with wavy brown hair, piercing gray eyes, and a sun-kissed face that beamed raw hostility. “Don’t let the suit jacket fool you—he’s just like the others in their black jumpsuits.”

“Thanks, Frank,” I said, eyeing the pristine, tailored suit of this minion and noticing a thick manila envelope in the hand resting at his side.

“Alexis Price,” the minion said in a thick, scratchy voice.

“Stalking creep,” I answered.

On a normal day, his animalistic stare promising pain if I sassed him might make me zip the lip. Right now, he could suck it.

Without another word, he held up the manila envelope. After I took it, glaring all the while, he turned and made his way to a Beemer double-parked in front of my house. He revved the engine before speeding away.

“I probably don’t want to know what this is,” I said, dropping it to my side. “Kieran seems to have a flare for timing. It’s like he knows exactly when to kick me when I’m down.” I remembered the cameras, stepped out a little farther onto the porch, and flipped the bird.

“Well now, that’s not ladylike,” Frank said in distaste.

“Go ahead and keep talking, Frank. Find out what happens…”

His lips thinned, then whitened. Clearly the effort to hold back was intense.

“They’ve been roaming around all day,” he finally said before walking to my side and turning, staring out at the street with me. He braced his hands on his hips. “One was peeking in the front window when I got here this morning. There was a crack in the curtains. Well, I gave him a good kick.”