A Disease of Magic

Two weekends in a row had been spent organizing my new room and doing a good purge of old belongings. I had just thrown everything into moving boxes in my haste to pack and move into Leo’s apartment, and as I’d started unpacked I decided it was as good a time as any to sort through it all thoroughly. I’d finally finished last night, and I’d hauled several bags worth of trash out. I was all but dead on my feet on Ravi.

How people used to work five days of the week with only two off was beyond me. I was grateful that had changed a few decades before I was born, although I still had older customers every now and then refer to the old days of the week and months. They didn’t like the change to eight days and how there were now five nine-week months. And some even still wished me a Merry Christmas, even though religious holidays were consolidated and now belonged to the first day of each month. It even had its special “day” and was outside of the normal days of the week.

My shoulders hurt from holding up jewelry to customers for them to see against their expensively moisturized necks, my feet were throbbing from walking a gazillion laps around the locked cases in toe-pinching shoes, and the day had flown by like a fart on a breeze. It was over quick, but still shitty. Summer was coming to an end in a just a few weeks and sales of Summer wear were now full-blown. Autumn inventory was starting to arrive in heaps, our back room absolutely cluttered, a twisted ankle waiting to happen. My first day back was always one of the busiest, though usually not like this. People were out in droves on the first day of their weekend, the break in the heat wave the likely cause.

So when the delivery of gorgeous calla lilies arrived I thought nothing of it, still trying to move from one customer to the next, until I glimpsed the card that had my name on it.

Callie,

Thank you for helping me find the perfect anniversary gift! I’m absolutely in love with the set. I can’t wait to show it off at the next big event.

- Jade

Grinning, I plucked the note from the flowers and noticed additional writing on the back. I turned it over, finding an address, date, time, and another small note.

We have a support group for people with LaShoul’s. Hope to see you there.

Reigning in my surprise, I tucked the card into the pocket that was hidden in the seam of my black dress and vowed to look into it more when I got back home.

A support group? How had I not thought of that before? In all my hopeless research of medical studies and online groups, I’d never considered looking into an actual support group. For years after my diagnosis, it had been my obsession, looking into any and everything. Was sweaty palms a possible symptom? Did taking magnesium help recovery? It was only when I had fallen so far down the rabbit hole and mentioned to Leo how raw sushi was said to help the headaches the episodes brought on that he took my phone and laptop from me and held them hostage until I promised to give it all a rest and focus on the present instead of worrying about the future.

Because that was his job, apparently, working with all this new technology.

On my lunch break, which lasted a measly thirty minutes and was over seven hours into my shift, I looked up the address Jade had written on the back of the card while eating some of Leo’s fancy lasagna leftovers. “I hate leftovers,” he had said that morning as I was getting my morning coffee ready. “Please just take them and don’t make me throw them out. My dad’s chef is a good one, but I hate reheated noodles.” I was starting to think that he was full of crap, because the lasagna was to die for.

The address was an old repurposed chapel based on the pictures, a bit out of the way, but the subway line ran close enough that it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience. I checked my calendar to make sure no books were due to release that day, just in case, before adding it in. I’d consider it. As nice as it was to have Leo to joke around with, he always seemed so…hopeful. Maybe he would even be the one to create a new program that would figure it out. But he’d fully accepted that everything was going to work out eventually, and we would be absolutely fine. He was working on it, he would remind me.

But I wasn’t so optimistic. I’d tried, in the past, to discuss my worries and fears with Leo, but he had gone and explained them away like I shouldn’t be feeling what I was. I didn’t know if he had meant to be reassuring or was just oblivious to the monetary divide between us and all that I would never have, but either way, from that day on I did my best to keep things light between us. There was no reason to drag him down with me, not when it seemed like maybe that hope was the reason why he kept trying. But…maybe talking to other people who possibly shared the same feelings I did about it all would be therapeutic.

My phone buzzed in my hand as I finished up adding the meeting to my phone. Leo.

“Speak of the devil…” I muttered, pulling up his message.

Leo: What time are you off?

Me: The time I always get off on Ravi.

Leo: Which is…?

Me: 6:30, you unobservant primate.

Leo: Good.

It wasn’t like Leo to ignore one of my many insults. I chewed my lip, wondering what he had in mind. After a moment’s deliberation, I decided it was best if I had a heads up to whatever most likely nefarious thing he was planning.

Me: …Why?

Leo: Remember our deal?

Me: Deal about….?

Leo: Dinner reservation is at 7:30.

Definitely nefarious. I’d been hoping he’d forget about my promise to go with him to some new fancy restaurant with everything else that had been going on.

Me: I don’t have time after work to get ready.

Leo: What all do you need to do?

Me: Shower, hair, makeup…? You did say it was a *five*

Leo: I’m sure you look fine.

Leo: You remembered deodorant today, right?

Me: Fuck off!

Leo: Seriously, I’m sure you look fine. If you’re that worried, I can ask my mother’s stylist to come over and help you get ready.

Me: I would rather die.

Leo: Fine then. Look like a gorilla, I don’t care.

Me: You’re so mean to me.

Another notification popped up, this one a picture. I waited for my cheap, slow phone to load it, and nearly dropped it.

Me: What is THAT

Me: You did not

Me: You found that in a garbage dumpster and rescued it, right?

Leo: Totally. And I definitely didn’t go snooping through your closet to make sure it was the right size first.

Me: Creep.

Me: Thank you.

Leo: Consider it payment for moving in with me to make sure I don’t keel over prematurely.

Me: Well, when you put it that way…

It was a gorgeous-looking dress of midnight blue, fitted through the natural waist and flaring out to end at what seemed to be tea-length. The v-neckline was scalloped with lace flowers that flowed down and tapered off into the skirt. It was exactly the type of dress I would lust over if I ever walked past it in a window and then immediately lament how poor I was, not caring that I had no occasion to wear it for.

I nearly dropped my phone again when my timer went off, signaling the end of my short lunch. I scooped the last bite of lasagna—seriously, Leo had to be lying about leftover noodles—shoved it into my mouth, tucked my phone in my pocket, and prayed I didn’t have anything stuck between my teeth as I walked back out onto the floor to greet more customers in shoes that were going to be burned once I got home.

I frowned up at the increasing numbers on the elevator, clutching my small purse in front of me and toying with its strap. I’d gotten ready in record time, and it was weird to feel the air on the back of my neck since I usually just pulled the front strands half-back and left the rest down. But the online tutorial for some French-sounding hairstyle might need to become part of my normal routine. My earrings were no longer tangled in my hair, and when I turned my head quickly I could feel them brush against my neck. It tickled, but I enjoyed it. Leo kept giving me a sideways look at them, like he’d never seen me wear earrings before, or any jewelry for that matter.

“Why did you have to pick a place so… tall?” I wondered aloud, eyes darting to Leo’s briefly before refocusing on the rising numbers again.

I felt more than saw him shrug beside me. “It’s supposed to have a great view.”

“Great.”

Leo chuckled. “Please, Callie, you’ll be fine. You’ll be so focused on the food that you won’t even worry about how high up we are, or how far we would fall if the building were to—”

I elbowed him in the ribs, and he dissolved into another laugh.

“I hate you,” I hissed without any heat.

Leo snorted. “No, you don’t.”

I just crossed my arms and tried not to tap my foot anxiously.

The elevator finally stopped, the doors gliding open silently. Leo led the way ahead to the host stand, giving his name for our reservation as I glanced around.

The smooth, classy jazz, dimmed lighting, and sharp corners of the black furniture and mirror chandeliers were intimidating. Even though I worked in an expensive jewelry and accessory store, this was incredibly out of my comfort zone. I could almost imagine the drinks being topped with gold leaf just for the aesthetics of it and not a single patron caring that it cost thousands. I hoped my dark navy dress helped me blend in with the equally dark decor enough not to attract any notice. I wasn’t anyone special, just a girl too poor to afford this place and sure that others could see it

But I was with Leo, I reminded myself, and he wasn’t too poor to afford to dine at a place like this. Tonight, I didn’t have to worry about the prices or keeping a tally in my head of my total to make sure I didn’t go over what I could afford. My dress was new and not a thrift-store find—Leo hadn’t taken the tags off, though he had scratched out the price—my shoes were a gift from a few years ago, and my earrings both a birthday gift and work-anniversary gift I’d picked out for myself with the two stacking coupons I’d been given for the occasions.

You got this, girl. Shoulders back, chin up. You’re just as good as any of them.

I took a deep breath to calm and center myself as I watched the hostess gather two menus from the stand and noticed the clamoring of the kitchen behind me in the same direction of the elevator. A large appeal of this place, according to Leo, was its layout. With the kitchen in the center, the tables were spread out along the floor to ceiling windows. No table was stuck with an unpleasant view of the city dozens of stories below.

Perfect.

After the hostess, Rachel, according to her name tag, had the two menus in hand, she turned back to Leo with a bright and flirty smile. “Right this way please,” she instructed.

We followed, beginning to head towards a larger party with lots of old men and their expensive-looking partners draped in silk scarves or elegant hair styles or covered in diamonds and pearls. The men guffawed loudly, one slapping the table and another throwing his head back in amusement at some story the man with the beard at the head of the table appeared to be telling.

Leo stepped closer to me as we approached and put his hand on my lower back. I flinched in surprise and glanced up at him. He leaned in to whisper in my ear as we continued walking, “Pretend you’re my girlfriend,” he implored. “Please. Work…colleagues.”

I frowned up at him, wanting to ask a question, or protest, or agree. But he was standing up so straight it felt like he was suddenly three inches taller. His movements were precise and controlled as we walked. The only allowance to the stoic exterior was the thumb he rubbed gently against my back.

Sparks of recognition ignited among the old-people party as we reached the long table of men and women, some in delight, others in mischief.

“Leo!” one of them shouted, raising a hand in greeting. “Good to see you, boy!”

Leo dipped his head in acknowledgment as I fixed what I prayed was a polite smile on my face.

“Jack Elias,” he greeted the man warmly. He paused, waiting for a heartbeat, before adding, “Gentlemen, and ladies. Glad to see you’re enjoying the finest the city has to offer.”

“It’s nice to finally see some return on all those investments we made into that little biotech project,” one of them answered.

“Yes,” a woman agreed. “I thought I might have to put off purchasing my new car for two months!”

“I’m glad that is not the case,” Leo soothed, this side of him that catered to the rich and entitled one I’d never seen before.

“Come, sit and join us,” the first man, Jack, insisted.

“Wish that I could, but I promised my girlfriend a quiet, romantic dinner tonight,” he lied.

My insides warmed, a flush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks as he moved his hand from my back to wrap around my waist. I instinctively put one hand on his ribs to catch myself as he yanked me close without warning. After an awkward beat, I wrapped my other arm around his back and pinched him. He wiggled his fingers against my ribs in retribution, and my smile came easier.

“Nonsense, she doesn’t mind!” someone argued. “We’ll get a waiter over here, and—”

“Actually,” I interrupted in a panic, the lie coming easily, “While your offer is so very kind and generous, we are actually celebrating tonight.” I offered what felt like a sickly sweet smile up at Leo.

“Oh, what are you celebrating?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“My girlfriend moved into a new apartment,” Leo supplied, grinning down at me.

“Is that one of ours?” A wrinkled hand pointed to my forearm resting against Leo.

“Oh.” I glanced down at the bio-screen. “Yes, it is.”

“What is it that you do, miss?” asked the man who appeared oldest, with age spots, sagging skin, and a slightly hoarse voice.

“I, uh—”

“Luxury goods,” Leo answered for me. “While it’s been great seeing you, we really should—”

“Does she design them, or just sell them?”

“Wilson!” his partner, a wisp of a women with white hair and pale blue eyes, gasped. “What does that have to do with—”

“I asked a question, and I expect an answer.”

Leo tensed next to me as I nonchalantly answered, “I sell them.”

“Ah.” Wilson leaned back in his seat and frowned. “Your connection to Leo here is why you got one, then. I bet you don’t even like him all that much.” He scoffed. “Is there no order? Anyone can just jump the line nowadays?”

I glanced at Leo, probably with wide eyes that gave away my shock at the assumption. He was frowning, jaw clenched, and almost vibrating with tension next to me. His fingers on my waist dug in uncomfortably. But he couldn’t stand up to the man. Even with only the broadest of knowledge about what Leo did working for his father’s company, I knew enough to understand how the pecking order was established. These men were likely at the top, just below Leo’s father, and had the influence and ability to cause problems if they didn’t like what he did.

Wilson continued his rant, getting more and more agitated, turning to his coworkers and expecting their agreement. They just…nodded along or ignored him. I glanced around, noticing that our hostess was standing several paces away, clutching the menus so tightly they were beginning to wrinkle.

“We’ve put our hard-earned money into this technology and it’s those at the bottom of the barrel getting it! Such a waste, and I won’t have it! Tomorrow I’m going straight to Nick, and—”

“‘Bottom of the barrel’?” I stepped closer to the table, out of Leo’s frozen arm. I could feel his eyes on me, burning holes in the back of my head. But I wasn’t going to let some entitled asshole insult me. I pointed a finger at said asshole.“You know what? I’m just going to ignore that.” I waved my hand in dismissal before placing my palms on their table and leaning forward to get closer to this Wilson. “For your information, I am a participant of the clinical trials. Not just someone off the street who decided to take advantage of the system and get one of these—” I waved my arm in front of me “—just for the fun of it. Know what that means? That I’m dying. That I won’t live long enough to do even a quarter of what most other adults get to do in life. So I have chosen to donate my time, which I have very little left of, to your company’s trial so that perhaps it might save someone’s life some day.”

Wilson was silent, his mouth turned down at the edges. I didn’t expect any sympathy from him, nor did I care if I got any. Some of the others were gaping at me like they couldn’t believe that some nobody girl just told off the old man like that. But someone needed to.

I pushed off the table, disturbing their expensive glasses of wine, and gave them my back as I strutted back towards the hostess. I grabbed a somewhat gobsmacked Leo by the arm on my way, tugging him along behind me. The action snapped him out of whatever trance he was in, and he called over his shoulder, “We’ll discuss this tomorrow, Wilson. And I think it most definitely is a good idea to bring my father in. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He shook free of my death grip and grabbed my hand tightly. He gestured to the hostess to continue showing us to our table. “Callie, you—”

“I want to go home,” I interrupted, freezing in place, my throat thick with held-back emotions. I’d been found out after all, an imposter who didn’t belong. I had donated my time, that much was true, but it was Leo’s personal reference in my application for the trial that jumped me to the front of the line. Well, front of line after the wealthiest had invested in the trial in exchange for their children or other relatives to get the first bio-screens. Money made the world go around, after all.

Leo sighed, nodding.

“I can move your table to the other side of the kitchen,” Rachel offered, “so you don’t need to see them again.”

He looked to me, waiting for my decision.

My bio-screen alerted. I glanced down to see my pulse and blood pressure elevated for more than a minute, which had prompted the notification. It was unsurprising, given the adrenaline dump I was experiencing. I watched the numbers slowly tick down until they returned to normal, the screen turning off once they were.

I realized I had stood there, silent, while they waited for an answer.

“Sorry,” I apologized. I took a bracing breath and forced a smile before addressing Rachel, “A different table would be good. Thank you.”