BOOK 1:
The fairies presented the princess with their many magical gifts, until the final one, the wickedest one, cried "In the princess's fifteenth year she shall prick herself with a spindle and fall over dead!"
Chapter One
Crap, she dropped her tray again. Ivy swore under her breath as she attempted to pick up the jagged glass shards up off the floor without slicing her knees open. Just her luck this happens on the one day her cousins let her work in the café, finally giving in to her constant begging.
"Sorry, I'll get you a new one, on the house." She apologized to the customer whose gumbo and iced tea she just wasted. The man just nodded, neither mad nor sympathetic to the novice waitress and going back to a conversation with his wife. Ivy had gotten all of the bigger shards back onto her tray and swept the tinier harmless pieces away with her hand before picking up her serving tray and scurrying back to the kitchen to get a mop to clean up the rest of her mess. As she swept some locks of her brown hair behind her ear she grabbed the mop but was stopped before she could get back to her table.
"That's coming out of your paycheck you know." Vega chirped as she wiped down an unbroken glass with a rag, her honey gold curls pulled back into a ponytail and that ever-present teasing smirk on her face. "Try to take it easy kid, Phoebe can handle the cleanup."
"No, it's my mess, so I have to clean it." Ivy snipped before shoving past her and weaving through tables before coming to the puddle of shrimp gumbo, not looking back to see her cousin's frown. Her mop gathered up the broth and caught a few bits of shrimp and veggies, but she'd have to sweep later to get up the rest of it before Ceres noticed.
The customer's wife, who had already received her meal, looked at her working and spoke kindly, "Oh it's no problem dear, no need to fuss over some spilt stew." Ivy looked up from the ground with a polite smile,
"It's alright ma'am, I'll be cleaning a lot more than this floor today."
That made the woman laugh, which I guess is elderly language for let's spark up a chat. "Such a nice girl, but so pale, a pretty one like you should get some sun when you get the chance." Her comment was meant to be advice, but it made Ivy cringe on the inside. She wasn't allowed to go outside much, or at all. She wasn't even supposed to be working today, but she'd begged Vega and Phoebe to let her help, and like the big pushovers they were, they caved and gave her busgirl duties.
The couple finished their meal, after the man received a new bowl of gumbo from Phoebe, and left a generous tip, Ivy finally getting the last speck of slop off the floor with her mop and rolling the bucket of water back to the closet where it belonged. She took a minute to rest her elbows on the counter and take a deep breath, feeling it expand in her lungs and sting slightly coming back out. The serving bell dinged and she blinked her honey colored eyes at Vega, who held out a plate of house beignets for her.
"Try and not drop it this time around?" she teased.
Ivy rolled her eyes and took the plate, "I'll keep it in mind." The house beignets were their most popular dish; little fried pastry donuts covered in a layer of powdered sugar. Many New Orleans restaurants served them, but the Star Café had won about a dozen awards for them and were often known throughout the French Quarter as the best. She could see in the back corner a man in a button-up shirt and slacks sat sipping a rose-petal expresso with a small untouched macaron sitting before him, nose buried in a newspaper. Probably some business man on his lunch break, judging by his combed black hair and cleanly shaven face.
Her feet carried her to his side as she set down the plate of beignets and waited for him to acknowledge her, in case he wanted anything else. He looked up from his article to thank her when his gaze caught hers; his eyes were small and brown, slanted slightly upwards giving away his oriental origins. He wore glasses and even in his chair Ivy could see he was tall, if he stood up he'd probably come to be at least a head above her.
"Thank you, could I get a few extra napkins, please?" he asked, stopping her from staring too long and creating an awkward moment. She blinked and nodded, turning and walking back to the kitchen to grab a handful of paper squares with the café's signature swirling cursive S printed into the corner along with a little gold star beside it. She returned and set the napkins next to his finished expresso and took the cup and plate,
"Anything else you needed, sir?" she asked politely, seeing that he was already on his second beignet, she smiled. He shook his head, mouth full of food and covered in white powder unable to reply until he swallowed and wiped his mouth covering the little star in a blanket of white.
He shook his head with a smile that reached his eyes, different from other people she had served today. "No, the beignets are really good. I can see why so many people were urging me to come here." She felt her cheeks heat up slightly at his compliment, though she couldn't place why. "But," he added, "Aren't you a little young to be waitressing here?"
Ivy blushed again, wringing the hem of her apron creating creases her aunt would scold her for later. She was only fourteen; going on fifteen in a week, and looked as young as she was. With fine brown hair and skin that, by Ceres, was described as milk with honey. "It's my first day."
The sharp high-pitched clangs of the serving bell interrupted their small chat as Vega grew impatient waiting for her to pick up another order. She gave the tall man a smile before going back to the kitchen in a slight scurry. "Already flirting up the customers are we?"
Ivy sneered, "Shut up."
Vega only snickered, "Doesn't surprise me, you are mature in looks, especially with that hair." She flipped the crepe she was cooking as Ivy twirled a piece of brown and grey hair around her finger. Since she was little her hair had taken streaks of grey and silver making her look like an old woman with a face that resembled a porcelain doll. "Why don't you just cover it up? You have more than enough energy for it."
She twiddled her fingers, finding the mole between her thumb and forefinger to be more interesting than this conversation, even if the mark was false and a mere blink of her glamour. It was an ability most lunars possessed, but due to their illegal residence on earth, Ceres encouraged their glamours to be small, almost insignificant so that it wouldn't be noticed. The woman herself only wore the black, glossy shine of her fingernails, Vega and Phoebe the curl and softness of their hair, and Ivy had nothing but the beauty mark on her hand. Yes, it was small but it was enough to stand off the lunar mind sickness that plagued anyone who refused to use their gift for too long.
She had so many questions when she was little; why did they leave home, why couldn't she go outside etc. etc. Ceres always said it was because the Queen Levana of Luna was not the sort of queen she wanted her girls to grow up knowing. That she was wicked and cruel and no queen of ours. Whenever she was so much as mentioned on the netscreen, the woman changed the channel and no one spoke any more of it.
"Ivy? You better not be makin' a mess of things." a warm southern voice asked as she descended the stairs in the back of kitchen that lead to their apartment above the café. A woman with long dark braided hair, half of it piled high on her head, with a black robe-like dress with white lace lining and enough dangling jewelry to make her royalty, gave them the warm upturned curve of her lips that was somewhere between a smile and a smirk.
"She's already charming the men into giving bigger tips Aunty," Vega quipped, earning a well-deserved punch in the arm from Ivy. Ceres laughed from deep in her belly, placing a hand on her hip and pointing to both of them, gold bracelets jingling lightly on her arms.
"Get your derriere back to work, don't think I didn't notice you sneakin' around earlier!" The brunette blushed with embarrassment, swearing to Luna earlier that stealth was her middle name, guess she was mistaken. Ceres picked up a bowl and started throwing together more batter for the beignets, folding the batter delicately with a rubber spatula that she'd perfected after years of making them. "Keep your aprons clean and we'll have a feast of a supper for Ivy's birthday next Friday." She promised, dropping a spoon of batter into the deep fryer. Two minutes later, she showered them in powdered sugar and wrung the bell.
Ivy took the plate as well as Vega's order of bacon and eggs with hot sauce, planting her high-top sneaker clad foot into the door and stepping back out onto the freshly mopped floor. The tall man with the glasses had disappeared, his ten univs tip tucked under one of the napkins she brought him. She tucked the money into her apron pocket and started cleaning his table, when she noticed something under the chair where he sat. Bending down to pick it up, she held the unlocked portscreen in her hand.
He must have dropped it, or maybe it fell out of his pocket and he didn't notice. Knowing she should return it, Ivy scrolled through his coms and information, hoping to find his name or even his identification code. Sadly, she couldn't go to his address, since he was listed as an Eastern Commonwealth citizen of New Beijing, but she did find his name in a com he sent to a coworker.
His name was Oshang Li, he was 22 years old, had AB positive blood, was an organ donor, and he was a research assistant for the royal letumosis research team of New Beijing, ID #0085636119. A big deal doctor like him couldn't afford to go too long without his portscreen. Ivy pocketed it and set the dirty dishes on the counter before going to walk out the door without either of her cousins noticing.
"Where are you going all sneaky like that?" Ivy's cringe was obvious. Vega had her arms crossed with her pointer finger continuously tapping the crook of her elbow. "You know Aunty doesn't like you going outside, especially with the curfew still up."
In the last few weeks New Orleans had issued a mandatory state curfew due to the serial attacks of the Lunar soldiers. Ceres had hidden the four of them as well as many customers caught in the crossfire in the storm cellar beneath the basement. It was over in two hours, but it took days for the residents to hose the blood off their pavements. They'd been safe for the time being, but the attacks were still happening, to Earthens and Lunars alike. The massacre was over, but people were still being killed by Lunar soldiers. No one was safe from Levana. Not anymore.
But Ivy was not afraid of Lunar monsters. She was afraid of her heart randomly giving out one day, not being able to say goodbye to her aunt and cousins, making a mess out of things like she always did. But if Ceres didn't fear Queen Levana, then neither would she. Neither was Linh Cinder.
The cyborg from New Beijing had rebelled in every sense of the word. Evading capture by the queen because of rumor being she was a Lunar fugitive. Just like them. Ceres referred to her as insane, but Ivy could see the admiration in her eyes whenever her face appeared on the netscreens. Ivy lacked such praise. It was true she supported anyone brave enough to stick it to Levana, but stoking a war against Luna that Earth would no doubt lose by kidnapping the emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth was not the most solid way to bring about prosperous change.
"I'm just going down the block, a customer left their portscreen." She reassured. Vega cocked an amber eyebrow, not looking convinced in the slightest. She opened her mouth to add something when her younger cousin cut her off. "I promise I'll be careful, I've got my portscreen and my pocket knife," she held up her switchblade with the toothpick blade as proof. "I'll be fine."
She pushed open the door with a jingle before Vega could say anything else.
The thing about New Orleans, is that the first thing to hit you is the smell. Sewage and booze brought to a boil by the unrelenting southern sun. it was around eleven AM, so people were still bustling about before the curfew started at four PM. Ivy could still see the smashed windows and police tape around the openings of what used to be Madame Lilia Crowe's occult store from across the street. Lilia always came to the café for her morning espresso, and hadn't come in for the past three weeks. Ivy didn't want to think about that, or the Closed for Business sing hanging from the bent, misshapen metal remnants of the shop's front door.
Instead she scanned the road for any passenger hovers, spotting one a little ways past Madame Crowe's. she knew she found the right guy, because he was shuffling around her pockets and leather messenger for the device he didn't have. Before she could think about how ridiculous she looked, Ivy called out to the man's name while waving his portscreen above her head. Hearing his first name being called in a city he'd never been to before got his attention, as Li noticed her and perked up at the sight of his identity in her hands.
He jogged up to her, taking his portscreen back when she handed it to him. "You're a life saver." He praised. Ivy scratched her cheek as she felt them get increasingly warm, but that might've just been the sun in her face.
"Yeah, wouldn't want you to get mugged without your stuff right?" the awkward pause that followed was crippling. Mugged without your stuff? Who says stuff like that?! She'd forgotten that it was normal for Earthens to track all their residents through chips in their wrists to confirm their identity. Ceres had once said it took her years to save up the money to buy four identification chips that once belonged to four now dead Earthens. In spite of her tragic attempt at a joke, Li chuckled.
"I would hope not, thanks,"
"Ivy."
He nodded, "Ivy," he turned back to his hover and entered the amount of univs he needed to pay, the machine scanning his wrist for confirmation. "Well, I'll be seeing you." He said as he got into the hover and closed the door.
Ivy smiled, feeling warm in her cheeks again, "Just come to the Star Café more often, I'm one hell of a busgirl." Li smiled back at her before the hover pulled away and disappeared around the block. She dusted imaginary dust off her palms before shoving them in the pockets of her jeans and walking back to the café.
Maybe if I'm lucky he wasn't creeped out by my obvious social awkwardness.
An object as solid as a brick wall connecting to her nose interrupted Ivy's thoughts, throwing her to the pavement with a painful scraping of fabric against concrete. She groaned and nursed her throbbing face as her heartbeat increased and her lungs contracted, making it harder to breathe. A normal person wouldn't be panting after a fall as small as that, but Ivy was not normal.
"Oh, so sorry miss, my eyes just got away from me." A large hand obscured the light shining on her frame. She firmly grasped it and let the stranger pull her back to her feet. She dusted real dirt from her scraped palms, hissing at the irritated redness that had formed on her skin. The man before her offered a look of apology, but it was crooked and showed the hint of amusement he failed to hide.
Your brain must've gotten away from you too. She would've loved to spit at him before storming off, but her manners told her to just accept his shallow apology. "It's okay, thank you." She purposely did not meet his eyes; they were at least a head and a half above her, and a disturbing shade of brown that reminded her of rotting swamp trees Vega once tried to convince her would reach into her window at night and get her. The man was a giant, with many pale chicken scratches up his bulging arms and what Ivy swore was a disturbing red stain on the hem of his unwashed shirt.
"Name's Calor, what's yours? Or are you just a silver fox running away?" Calor scanned her up and down, like he was looking for something specific to ogle at. Manners thrown in the trash, Ivy sneered and shoved past him to continue on her way. It was no easy task, the man was a building, but each step that put distance between them cooled her disgust. She could still feel him watching her, so she stead of walking through the café's front door, she walked further down the road and turned into the alley that lead to the back entrance they used for the grocer and the stairs to the apartment.
Ivy glanced over her shoulder to check if Calor hadn't followed her. Seeing that he hadn't, she chose to explain her disappearance to Ceres at supper. She rushed up the stairs, extended her arm for the ID scanner to detect the chip beneath the scar on her wrist, and spilled into the loft as her breaths began to shorten and sweat began to bead on her forehead.
She closed the front door, collapsing with relief at the sound of the lock automatically clicking into place. She slid down the two-inch thick oak to the floor, and pressed her hand hard against her chest, feeling her heart thunder inside her ribcage. Why does this always happen?
Every time Ivy ever got nervous, or scared, or moved too fast in the kitchen, her heart sped up and it felt like her chest was on fire. Her body cannot take stress of any kind without going into shock and having an attack. She hated always being so weak, she hated not being allowed to go to school and having no friends save for Phoebe, Vega, and Aunty. When she was little, Ceres sometimes brought her to Bayou Lafourche to get fish and shellfish for their gumbo, and would let her play with Mr. Jacobs' daughter Maeve. Maeve came by the café every occasionally to deliver for her father, and tried to persuade Ivy to come to the lake with her and some other people. She failed to ever mention that she wasn't allowed to go swimming, not that she could if she tried.
She hated being so lonely, cutting off budding friendships all because her heart couldn't take it.
"Ivy? You up there?" Ceres called from the café. Her pulse had finally calmed down enough for her to attempt to get back to work. Maybe it would help take her mind off Sir Calor the Creepy.
She checked her appearance in the decorative mirror that hung on the mantle, wiping sweat from her forehead and running her fingers through her warm cocoa hair. "I'll be right there!"
Even from upstairs, she could hear Vega barking at Phoebe for watching the newsfeeds when her break ended five minutes ago. They reminded everyone about the curfew once again before sliding into rumors and speculations about Linh Cinder, her whereabouts, and her accomplices. She heard a supposed eyewitness talk about seeing her ship – a class 11.3 Rampion cargo ship – above Baton Rouge a few days ago.
Ivy rolled her eyes. If it was a few days ago, why come to the authorities with it now? She tuned it out as she trotted back down the stairs.
Why should she care what some lunatic cyborg does with her free time anyway?