Wish Upon a Star (36 page)

The courtyard was quiet. Dusty. It felt empty, bare, and it took me a minute to realize that the outside tables were missing. Not pushed to the side. Not chained together to prevent theft. Missing.

As I moved closer, I saw a sign posted in the window. For Rent, it said, in stern letters. Restaurant Kitchen. A phone number shouted from the bottom of the placard.

I actually staggered backward.

I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to palm open the door, to pluck the sign from the window, argue that the restaurant couldn’t be for rent—it was under lease to Timothy. But then I remembered the date.

August 1.

The days had flown by as I prepared for
Menagerie!
’s premiere. When had I last been here? Three weeks before? Timothy had been drowning in Amy’s papers then, floundering in the business plan that she had drawn up just for him. I closed my eyes, recalling that conversation. He’d been tired. Frustrated.

But he’d had lots of ideas. Lots of possibilities. Lots of dreams. There’d been plenty of time for him to implement the new vision for his restaurant. Plenty of time for him to beat his landlord’s ultimatum.

Even as I gibbered my protest, though, I corrected myself. There
would have been
plenty of time. But Timothy had spent his days at the theater. He’d stuck around for our rehearsals. He’d brought us unparalleled food and drink, and then he’d hung out to watch the show. To watch me.

All of a sudden, I realized why he hadn’t taken a seat in the audience the night before. He had lurked in the back of the house the way he had during rehearsal, day after day, so that he could hurry back to Garden Variety. The entire time that Teel was buying rounds after the show, the entire time that Amy and I were laughing, that Justin was curled up sleeping on the hard bench of a restaurant booth—Timothy had been here alone, working.

While we’d been singing show tunes, Timothy had been shutting down his restaurant, once and for all. He’d been burying his dream.

I flew across the courtyard and jiggled the doorknob, but it didn’t give a millimeter. I pounded on the door, using the palm of my hand against the glass. “Timothy!” I shouted.

Of course he didn’t answer. He wasn’t inside. He didn’t have any right to be inside anymore.

I put my face up against the window, cupping my hands around my eyes to cut out the glare behind me. All of the familiar tables were pushed against the walls, bare of their customary butcher paper. Chairs were stacked haphazardly. One had fallen to the ground, and it sprawled like a body in the middle of the room.

“Timothy!” I shouted again, knowing my cry was useless. I turned around and slumped against the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the flagstone step in front of the defunct restaurant.

For weeks, I’d been too focused on myself. I’d been too wrapped up in my own drama. I’d held the Master Plan between Timothy and me, manipulated it like a shield. I’d told myself not to think about him, not to dwell on anything he did, because I was all wrapped up in my miserable dating history, in my lousy track record with guys, in my stupid, selfish needs.

I didn’t deserve Timothy.

As I stared at my knees, a glimmer of light caught my attention. For a second, I thought that it was the flash of an insect, an iridescent wing hovering at the edge of my sight. It wasn’t, though.

My attention had been caught by my flame tattoo, by the feather light markings on my right forefinger and thumb.

I knew all the reasons why I should continue to keep a wish in abeyance. Justin was only five years old; there was no telling what danger he could get into. Derek was still overseas; who knew what horrors his military service might bring? Freeing Teel might bring back the demon child inside my nephew.

There were dozens of reasons to hold on to my fourth wish. But, suddenly, not one of them mattered.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger together and said, “Teel!”

The shimmer of light was immediate. The entire courtyard filled with jewels, with minute shards of ruby and silver, sapphire and gold. Without consciously thinking, I expected to see them coalesce into Dr. Teel. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Erin,” Teel said, almost before the thrumming energy had subsided. His baritone thrummed with vitality, with power. He glanced over my head, taking in the locked restaurant door, the sign in the window. “If Garden Variety’s closed, there are plenty of other places to get breakfast. You don’t need a genie to find a decent restaurant in this town.”

“Ha, ha,” I said.

He sauntered over to the step where I huddled disconsolately. He hitched up his trouser legs and slid down to take a seat beside me.

“So,” he said. “Hunger isn’t the diagnosis.”

I grimaced at the medical word. “Not exactly.”

“Let me guess, then.” He held the back of his hand against my forehead, as if he were taking my temperature. He folded his lean fingers around my wrist, nodding as he pretended to count my pulse. When he tried to peer into my eyes, though, I squirmed away, sighing in exasperation. He merely shook his head, muttering, “Patient shows distinct dysphoria upon examination.”

“I’m not your patient,” I snapped. “And you’re not a doctor.”

He shrugged. “That hasn’t really bothered you until now.”

The words were heavily laden with suggestion. I blushed, immediately thinking of the narrow bed we’d shared in the hospital. Even now, I could feel the magic of his kiss, the purity of sensation that had coursed from my lips to my fingertips, to the very ends of my toes. Dr. Teel defined charisma. He emanated pure, unadulterated male power.

I caught myself leaning toward him. My breath stuttered in my throat as I thought about the fire of his lips against my own. I was swimming in pure temptation.

But Teel had used his magic to make himself alluring. He’d fashioned his guise of the doctor because he wanted to get his own way. He wanted entrance into the Garden, and he’d thought that he would get it sooner if he created a bond with me. An emotional attachment. An obligation.

And for far too long, I’d played along with his game. I’d fallen back on that idiotic Master Plan, told myself that whatever happened between Teel and me was outside the real world. Immaterial to my real life. To my real obligations.

Besides, it had been fun kissing him.

I swallowed hard, and when I looked at him again, whatever spell he’d been building between us was shattered. Sure, he was still gorgeous. Certainly, I could remember how his kisses had reached inside me, had turned me over, had seared me in ways no human man had ever done.

But that was it. He wasn’t human—and he never would be. He didn’t play by anyone’s rules but his own. He didn’t show up at my apartment, carrying eggs and cheese for a midnight omelet. He didn’t sacrifice his own welfare for mine.

I sighed and asked, “Is Jaze still in the Garden?”

A bolt of energy shot through Teel. All of a sudden, he seemed to understand why I’d summoned him. What I was asking. He nodded an affirmative answer to my question, but he didn’t speak. I hadn’t realized that he could be overwhelmed by emotion, that he could be knocked speechless.

“Good,” I said. I tested my next words inside my head. I needed to make them perfect. If I screwed up, I wouldn’t have any chance to correct them, any chance to make them right. I’d have no more wishes in abeyance, no more options for straightening out the crazy chaos of my life.

I stared into Teel’s astonishing blue eyes, and I said, “I wish that Garden Variety was a wildly successful restaurant, true to every one of Timothy’s ideals and secure from any interference by his landlord.”

“That’s it?” Teel asked.

I wondered if I should add more. Should I force Timothy to include me in his vision of success? Should I make him love me, once he had all the professional satisfaction he’d ever dreamed of? Should I bind him to me, now and forever, before Teel disappeared for good?

I shook my head. Timothy had already proven himself to me. He’d already done what was right. Every step of the way, he’d been there with a steady goodwill, with a constant respect for my idiotic rules and restrictions. I realized that he’d believed in me, even when I’d been at my most insane. He’d trusted me to come to my senses. The least I could do was trust that he’d do the same.

“Yes,” I said to Teel. “That’s it.”

He nodded and clambered to his feet. He held out a hand to me, and I felt like a medieval queen, being attended by a knight. “The lamp,” he said, when I was standing in front of him. “If you pass it on while I’m in the Garden, the magic won’t work.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Measuring in your time? I can’t say.”

“But how will I know when you’re out? When it’s time to pass the lamp on to the next wisher?”

“If the brass is still polished, then I’m—” he interrupted himself, clearing his throat “—otherwise engaged. It will be tarnished when I’m available to grant wishes again.”

“Fine,” I said. I could picture the brass lamp, nestled in the box that Becca had given me so many months before. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, whom I would give it to. I suspected that, by the time I made up my mind, Teel and Jaze would both be back in the world at large.

Teel took a step back. He raised his hand to his ear.

“Wait!” I said. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you did. For me. For Amy.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. His reply was serious, solemn even, but a jangling sense of urgency grew beneath his words. Teel’s entire being yearned for the Garden, for the freedom he’d been so long denied.

Still, I couldn’t let him go without finishing what I wanted—what I
needed
—to say. “Especially, thank you for Justin. He needed you more than any of us did.”

“He’s a good boy.” Teel shrugged, as if he’d had nothing to do with Justin’s behavioral turnaround. “He’ll remember what we shared. He’ll be strong until his father comes home.”

Somehow, when I heard Teel say it, I believed him. “Well,” I said, strangely reluctant to let him go. “Thank you. And good luck. I hope the Garden is everything you dream it will be.”

For answer, Teel returned his hand to his ear. “As you wish,” he said, and then he tugged twice.

The electric shock was stronger than I expected. I felt the jolt in the marrow of my bones. It shot through my heart, fired through my fingertips. I closed my eyes involuntarily, screening out the light, the noise, the sudden flaring power of Teel granting my last wish.

And when I opened my eyes, everything had changed.

THE COURTYARD HAD turned into a movie set.

Folding canvas chairs were scattered in a loose semicircle on the flagstones. Metal stands held bright lights, and white umbrellas reflected the brilliance onto Garden Variety’s front door. A half dozen people swarmed the flagstones; all of them wore headsets with rectangular electronics packages clipped to their belts.

I glanced at the restaurant window. The for-rent sign was gone, erased as if it had never existed.

Someone was calling for a sound check. Another person was ordering the lighting instruments to a different corner of the courtyard. Staff scrambled around like pieces of glass in a high-end kaleidoscope, falling in and out of endless patterns. No one seemed to notice me; I felt as if I were invisible.

I edged up to the restaurant door. When no one hollered at me to keep my distance, I tested the knob. It turned immediately; someone had unlocked the restaurant. I slipped in before anyone could order me not to.

The inside of Garden Variety was an island of calm after all the chaos in the courtyard. The tables were arrayed for dinner; each was covered with a sheet of butcher paper. Someone had taken care with the random dishes and pieces of silverware; absolutely nothing matched at any table, and yet the overall look was perfectly balanced, flawlessly ordered. Fresh flowers sat on each table—sprigs of lavender, I noted with a sudden breathless grab of my heart.

A headset-bound technician hurried past me, rushing from the kitchen out to the courtyard. She frowned at me as she jogged by, and I braced myself for her to challenge my presence. Instead, she pulled her mouthpiece closer to her lips and enunciated, “They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, tops.” I leaped out of the way, lest I impede her passage. She pulled the door closed behind her with enough force that it slammed.

I realized that the woman’s twin remained in the dining room. She was circling the tables, one by one, tweaking the already-perfect place settings. She swapped out one knife for another. She polished a water glass against a linen towel. She turned one spray of flowers slightly to the right, another to the left.

I was mesmerized as I watched her. Her job was clearly to create the illusion of perfection. And I could see that she was very, very good at her job.

In the eerie stillness, I could make out sounds from the kitchen. Timothy’s voice flowed from the back room like maple syrup over waffles—smooth and even, despite an underlying sense of disruption. I glanced through the window in the galley door, and I could see two people, strangers, huddling by the stainless-steel center island, the same horizontal surface that I had last seen snowed under with the pages of Amy’s unsuccessful business plan.

As I turned my head to catch a better angle, I realized that I knew both of the people in the kitchen. There was Lena, the homeless woman who had occupied the two-top on my very first visit to Garden Variety. She had pulled her hair back into a ragged ponytail; her face looked round and vulnerable. Her fingers plucked at the black apron that she wore over a plain white T-shirt and ragged jeans.

Having recognized Lena, it took me less time to identify Peter, the man who had sent Sam running from Garden Variety. He had shaved his scraggly beard—only that morning, by the bright pink rawness of his cheeks. He, too, sported a black apron.

Both Lena and Peter held large knives, the sort favored by Iron Chefs and serial killers. As I shuffled forward a half step, Timothy came into view. He held a matching knife. His fingers, though, were comfortable on the handle; he looked as if he’d been born with a blade in his grasp. I watched as he took a carrot out of a mesh shopping bag. He trimmed the ends with two clean chops, then reduced the vegetable to a perfect pile of orange coins. He narrated his action as he cut, as he changed angles, as he folded the fingers of his noncutting hand, guiding the blade with his knuckles. Even with his steady patter, I was astonished by how quickly he worked.