Glimmers of Glass (A Glimmers Novel #1: Cinderella)

Chapter 8

I was stupid for thinking this was a good idea.

I scanned the dark room, trying to find an empty table. Daniel's event, Poems in the Key of F-This, was being held in the banquet room of a grungy restaurant in downtown Portland. Tables and booths ringed the room in a vague half-circle around a cheap stage draped with black fabric.

There were more people here than I'd expected, and I made a beeline for the first empty booth I saw. I settled in, looking around at the youthful crowd, and then did another scan for magic. 

There wasn't much. Daniel was avoiding me from a far corner. He'd only told me where the event was when I'd threatened to tell Mom where he was going. A couple other faeries in their twenties sat at a table near the front of the stage, bright blue drinks in their hands. Everyone ignored me, except for a woman with dark skin and curly gold-streaked hair in the corner who stared vacantly in my direction without seeing me, but she wasn't Glimmering, and neither was the rest of the room.

At least I didn't have to worry about this group revealing the Glimmering world to Elle tonight. It wasn't much, as relieving things went, but I was willing to take what I could get.

Imogen floated across the room while the band started setting up on the stage. She'd given Elle a ride.Trying to manage tonight and a long car ride was more than I could have handled, but Imogen was a master at small talk and didn't mind being in small enclosed spaces with strangers. I didn't understand her, but I couldn't help being thrilled by our differences on nights like tonight.

"Interesting place," Elle said, sliding into the booth beside Imogen. Her hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder. "Cool decor in the restaurant out front. The grunge thing is old enough to be kind of cool again. I wish I'd thought of it."

"You want to open a restaurant?" Imogen asked, and I cut my eyes at her. Too much, too soon, I thought, and she rolled her eyes. Stop being so paranoid, she seemed to be thinking.

Elle missed our silent conversation and said, "Sure, someday. It'd be brilliant." She dug in her purse for a minute while I tried to convey back to Imogen that I wasn't being paranoid, I was being sensible. She thought the two were the same thing when it came to me. Elle's hand emerged from her purse with a tube of lip balm. She slicked it over her lips and said, "I mean, I basically already run my dad's place."

"No kidding?" I said. I couldn't disguise my interest; fortunately, that just make me look sincere instead of like the creepy stalker of a faerie godmother I was.

"I'd run it a little more but he's really trying to push me out," she said. I held my breath. Was it really this easy? "He's going to have to deal with me, though. I'm not giving up."

"That sounds dumb," I said. "Why would he push you out?"

"Yeah, hello," Imogen said in a sing-song voice. "Free labor?"

Elle rolled her eyes. "He's afraid of change," she said. "I'm trying to bring us into the twenty-first century, where we care about things like coffee plantation workers' rights, but apparently that's too new-fangled for Mr. Play-It-Safe."

"I hate that," Imogen said, and leaned her chin on her hand. If I didn't know better, I'd think Imogen was exactly in the same boat as Elle. I glanced over the top of my glasses and saw a faint rosy shimmer around Imogen. She was glamouring my client to make her feel safe. I squeezed her hand to say thank you under the table.

"Right?" Elle said. "It's ridiculous."

"So what's the story?" I said, also leaning forward on my elbows and putting my chin in my hands. "It sounds like there's a story."