Page 36 of Witch You Would

Miami weather was its usual wet self, turning the street into a mess of puddles under the gunmetal-gray sky. No party bus

to transport us this time, just regular vans with cast and crew piled in. I probably should have gone with the other celebrities,

but Penelope was a fridge and I was a magnet. And honestly, I felt way more comfortable with her group than mine.

Sam would probably say that meant I should spend even more time with the stars, so I could get used to it and network. I couldn’t

bring myself to care right now. I’d have plenty of time to be in their space on the ship.

Traffic to the port hadn’t hit rush-hour nightmare yet, but it still took us a while to make it down Biscayne, partly because

the rain turned driver brains into mush. As if it wasn’t like this every other day. Then we had to sit through a security

checkpoint, where dudes with radios and guns checked whatever paperwork Rachel pulled out of her messenger bag. Finally they

waved us in and we drove past a line of empty docks and parked ships to the one waiting for us.

I’d never been on a cruise ship before—my parents preferred resorts. The Argent Siren towered above the parking lot, white and gray and shiny, easily twenty times as big as our hotel. It had to have thousands

of rooms, and I counted ten decks above the silvery bottom part. So many balconies.

We were hustled through an area similar to an airport terminal, across a tunnel and into what felt like a combination hotel

and shopping mall. It was two stories high, with a marble tile floor and thick wooden columns leading up to a fake-skylight

ceiling. A massive sculpture of a hibiscus flower lit one end of the room, its stamens sending out a slow stream of glowing

magic bubbles that drifted across the space, bursting into silvery glitter.

“Ours was cooler,” Penelope whispered.

“No, it wasn’t,” I replied.

“It super was not. Can you imagine having the time to make something like that, though?”

“And the materials. It must have cost a bazillion dollars.”

We silently did the math and shook our heads together. In our dreams. Though, if we won, maybe Penelope would have the chance.

Rachel and Little Manny hustled to get all of us in and out of hair and makeup. Since we were all in fancy dress clothes,

we got similarly fancied up compared to our usual show looks. I wondered if they’d do a classy version of the anime eyeshadow

and double buns they kept giving Penelope. When she got out, though, she looked... wow. Sort of a half-up, half-down hairstyle

curled down her back with strands on the sides of her face. They’d done sparkles around her eyes in gold, and a bit around

her lips, too, which were dark red to match her dress.

I could almost pretend we were on a date, heading to some event together as a couple instead of temporary partners. Then again, my pretend date would involve me wearing a nice suit or tux instead of this yellow nightmare.

“Do I look less waifu?” Penelope asked.

“Totally,” I said. In her ear, I whispered, “I’d still use you for a body pillow, though.”

She blushed and smacked me, and I grinned.

We were led into a huge dining room, three stories high and full of tables with everything laid out like we were going to

eat. Since they’d just done our makeup, I found that hard to believe. The camera crews had positioned themselves in a few

places, but we hadn’t been miked yet. After we found our assigned seats, Tori clapped to get our attention.

“Meals are going to be brought out,” Tori said. “They’re not real. Don’t touch them. Look excited and hungry.” She looked

straight at me. “Seriously, do not touch them.”

I raised my hands, palms out.

It went like she said. Servers put extremely delicious-looking things in front of us, but they smelled like... yuck. Vaseline

and hair spray? I didn’t pretend to eat anything, but I did do a couple of spinning tricks with my butter knife that Nate

caught on camera.

After that, we were scooted into the casino, all dim mood lights and bright, blinking machines chiming and jangling like a

toddler band. It smelled like bergamot and tobacco, though I was pretty sure smoking wasn’t allowed except in the clearly

designated cigar room.

Syd played slots, their face painted in flashes of greens and purples and yellows. Hugh, Dylan, and Zeke sat at a blackjack

table for a round. Fabienne and Doris were handed bingo cards with a bunch of spots already marked, and Doris had to pretend

she’d won.

Charlotte and Felicia stood at the roulette wheel with piles of chips in front of them.

Tori made Felicia lean forward to put chips down several times, and judging by the camera location and the deep cut of her dress, anyone watching later would get an eyeful.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked from my angle, but I wasn’t optimistic.

Penelope and I were sent to a poker table, and they handed me a deck of cards.

“Do a trick,” Tori said, crossing her arms and staring at me.

I tried not to feel like a trained dog as I warmed up with some one-hand single cuts, then multiple cuts, then two-hand shuffles.

By the time I’d worked up to table flourishes, she was about to stop me, but I held up my hand.

“One more,” I said. Then I boomeranged a card toward the camera and caught it when it came back, winking at the lens.

“Perfect,” Tori said. “All right, moving along.”

We clapped for acrobats whose enchanted costumes changed colors and moved in counterpoint to their twists and leaps. We sat

at a bar and pretended to drink magical cocktails that sent up spirals of smoky images to match their flavors. We banged each

other around in bumper cars. Dylan and I took off our jackets and had a rock-wall-climbing race. It was like a speedrun through

all the stuff on the ship, though it took at least four hours. Through it all, Penelope and I laughed our asses off, even

when it was totally fake—sometimes especially when it was fake, because now we could enjoy how ridiculous that was together.

Finally they led us to one of the smaller restaurants, where actual food awaited us, along with the eliminated contestants, a string quartet, and a bunch of strangers.

They were all dressed up, too, in fancy tailored suits and dresses from stores I didn’t even glance at when I passed them.

Their haircuts looked expensive, and unlike us, they seemed to be using a combination of makeup and glamour for that extra chicness level.

“Who are they?” Penelope asked.

I shrugged. “No clue.”

Isaac strolled in, wearing a tuxedo whose fabric twinkled like it was covered in diamonds constantly catching the light. I

couldn’t decide whether it was tacky or incredible. His hair seemed sculpted, and his beard had been trimmed into a goatee

that made him look satanic.

“Hey, everyone,” Isaac said, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “It’s time for our midpoint mixer, as we

like to call it. You all get to rub elbows with important people in the industry, and I get to drink on the company dime.”

Some people laughed politely. Tori’s face did that statue thing I realized was her version of wincing.

Next to me, Penelope tensed. I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. This was a big deal for both of us, potentially.

She needed a job, and I needed to raise money for AKSAM. Forget sitting together in a van; this was where the real networking

would happen.

“Eat or mingle first?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m starving. Will it be more embarrassing if my stomach growls in the middle of a conversation,

or if I anxiety-barf on someone?”

“Barf for sure.”

“Mingle first, then.”

Neither of us moved.

“Should we go together?” I asked. “Or do we not want to seem too...”

“Couple-y? Arm candy?”

“Exactly, Jelly Bean.”

“Don’t start with me, Gummy Bear.”

We grinned at each other. Someone cleared their throat and we both jumped.

“Penelope,” said Charlotte Sharp. A champagne glass dangled from one hand, but it looked barely touched. “We haven’t had much

time to chat. Let me introduce you to a couple of people.”

Yes! I shook my internal fist at the sky triumphantly. Penelope would probably do the same later, but right now she looked

shocked.

“Unless you’re busy?” Charlotte asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.

“She’s extremely not busy,” I said. “I’ll catch you later, partner.”

I gave her a double thumbs-up as I backed away... straight into Tanner.

“Whoa, nelly,” Tanner said. “How many have you had already, son?”

“Nada nada, limonada,” I replied. “Just trying to do Penelope a solid.”

We chatted until he drifted away, and I watched the patterns of the crowd as groups formed and dissolved. I was supposed to

be networking, but instead I was, I don’t know, vibing? The music was nice, and some of the glamours people wore were interesting;

I mentally invented recipes for a few of them as I grabbed appetizers off passing serving trays.

A gray-haired man in a toned-down charcoal suit came up to me. The low lights reflected in his glasses made it hard to see

his eyes.

“Mr. Presto,” he said. “Happy to catch you alone. Could I persuade you to join me in a more private venue for a quick chat?”

“Sure, Mr. . . . ?”

“Jones,” he said. “Robert Jones.”

I followed Mr. Jones to a small table with two chairs in the corner of the room. A single flickering candle lit his angular face from below; honestly, it was a little creepy.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Presto,” he said, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. “I have an offer I

think you’ll find lucrative. For your charity, specifically.”

“Oh yeah?” I smiled, trying not to seem too eager. “Alan Kazam’s Schools Are Magic is a really great organization, and we’re

always looking for new donor support at whatever level you can manage.”

Mr. Jones smiled without showing his teeth. “I’m glad to hear that. I represent an anonymous donor who is interested in offering

you a sizable contribution.”