Page 86 of Flames and Frying Pans
And hungry. The salty air made the food taste even better.
When we were done eating, and all the magical introductions had been made—who had which elemental magic—a beautiful white dog appeared, as if out of nowhere, on the grass.
Jester jumped up, alert, his tail pouf held high.
The two dogs play-bowed, exchanged sniffs, then dashed off together.
“That’s Luella’s familiar,” Aunt Belinda said.
I watched the two dogs dash around: one magical, oneextra-magical. I might have been biased, but I was pretty sure Jester was the extra-magical one.
Berron had wandered to the edge of the picnic area, where it overlooked the water.
I joined him. In the distance, the Sparkle Beach lighthouse was visible by its rotating light. “Still thirsty?” I said.
He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
I led the way back to the sand. Took the box out of Berron’s bag and undid the clasps. Lifted the glass to catch the first light of the moon and stars.
Berron had the orange juice bottle.
I held out the glass.
He poured.
The sharp scent of citrus made my mouth water. I lifted the glass. The juice flowed over the salt on my lips, like a cocktail, and as I drank, I looked out to the sea.
Limitless.
I raised the glass to Berron and took a second sip, unable to stop from smiling even as my lips curved on the rim of the glass.
“You going to drink it all?” he said.
“I’ve been known to do things like that,” I said. But I handed him the flamingo-stemmed goblet with half the juice still in it.
He caught my gaze, then tossed it back in one go.
Everyone else was making their way back down the stairs, back to the beach. Jester dashed to me, a midnight blur against the white sand.
I scooped him up and smoothed his velvet ears. He sparkled, from the famous sand, and from whatever magic lingered in his soft coat.
And maybe you shouldn’t drink orange juice from magic-forged flamingo cups.
Or open long-gone sandwich shops.
Or go on road trips with newly-licensed Gentry.
Or let miniature poodles lick your face by the light of the moon.
But where would be the fun in that?
