"You sold me the wrong ingredients!"
Not a chance. I always triple-checked everything. "Sir, I can do the casting for free, but I have to charge for reagents unless you bring your own. I—"
The door to the back opened behind me. I jumped sideways and tripped over a box of quartz crystals, landing hard on the non-pepper-spray pocket.
My boss, Ofelia Espinosa, loomed over me like a telenovela villain. Her bottle-blond hair and pore-free skin gleamed with glamour, and her navy wrap dress had a neckline so plunging, I would see her soul if she bent over.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, smiling at the customer.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Your assistant ruined my hair."
My official title was "spell technician."
"She's more of a salesgirl." Ofelia propped her boobs on her crossed arms, giving the guy a show. He bought front-row seats.
"Why don't you tell me the whole story? Penny, take a break."
Whatever. I stood up, squeezed past her and headed for the front door.
Sunlight reflected off parked car windshields as I stomped down to the Castillo de las Frutas, an oasis of blaring salsa music and whirring blenders. The tables in front of the combination restaurant, juice bar, and café were always full. Old men played dominoes and complained about politics, people in suits cooled down with batidos, and delivery drivers loaded orders into spelled hot-cold bags. Pigeons puttered around, which meant the owl statue wards in the overhang needed to be replaced. The smells of fresh coffee and fried things reminded me that I'd forgotten to eat lunch. Again.
Life always seemed to happen around me, not to me.
Rosy waved through the counter window while she pushed and pulled and twisted things on the giant espresso machine. I didn't know how she kept her orange uniform shirt from getting stained—she swore no magic was involved. Her dark curls and skin weren't greasy or sweaty, either, while I needed a paper towel wipe-down in the store bathroom.
I banged my forehead on the ventana's counter. "Why am I such an asshole magnet?"
Rosy poured Cuban coffee into a foam cup, perfect espuma on top. "What do you mean? You haven't been on a date in six months."
Eight. "This comemierda says I messed up his reagent blend. His hair looks like New Year's Eve fireworks. Stop laughing!"
She did not stop. "Come on, that's hilarious." Rosy made an explosion noise. "It's like a Leandro Presto video."
I rolled my eyes. "That guy."
"Come on, he's funny."
Leandro Presto was funny like someone faceplanting into a cake. He recorded himself casting spells that always went wrong, then posted them on Jinxd for his billion followers...and Rosy was pulling out her phone to show me a new one.
"Is that Dolphin Mall?" I asked.
"Totally," Rosy said. "I can't believe they let him."
Me neither. Mall security rolled around on stand-up scooters, harassing you for breathing.
Leandro looked our age, with slicked-back dark hair, black-rimmed safety glasses, and a waxed mustache with curled ends. The nicest thing I could say about him was he explained what went wrong—after it happened. And he was kind of hot, aside from the mustache.
"That's way too much lady's mantle."
"Shh, don't ruin it," Rosy said.
He dropped a pinch of powdered carnelian into his cauldron, then dramatically threw his arms open and yelled, "Presto!" Nothing happened. He tilted his head like a confused puppy and peeked into the pot.
A massive cloud of foggy butterflies blew into his face. Leandro stumbled backward, coughing, his skin rainbow-stained. The creatures spread throughout the room, leaving bright smoky trails. Anything they touched looked blasted with colored chalk dust. Some people tried to catch them, and some ducked and dodged. It was a huge mess.