Chapter Three

"Yes, our daughter is spoiled. But I spoil everyone I love-- my husband, my daughter, myself.... Maman spoiled me because Papa was a piece of shit; maybe that's where I get it, maybe not. Pearl is a smart girl, even if she doesn't act like it. She writes well, so I bought her all the journals and laptops she could desire. She has luxurious tastes, so I try to buy her the right makeup for Christmas, her birthday, etc. She also likes men and ever since her breakup, I caught her making eyes at the mailman. Wherever she goes, she packs birth control, just in case...."

---Amma Ogier Beraude Solstice

Pearl ignored the stares. She knew what she looked like, and there was no reason for everyone, especially on a crowded subway, to point it out. Ka-lick! She opened her compact mirror, examining her art. Her hair was a smooth ombre, the dark-brown roots shifting into a light caramel. Her heart-shaped face was caked in her favorite makeup-- glittery gold eyeshadow, rose-pink blush and lipstick, and endless black strokes of clumpy mascara. More Impressionist than anything, she thought with a grin. She snapped her compact shut and looked up. The suit-clad man in front of her read a newspaper. Old-school. Very. The cover page was plastered with a man's face, one with rugged, handsome features. Nice and manly, she noted, studying his muscular arms and firm jaw. A true royal! Though Japanese writing stumped her sometimes, she could clearly make out: Where's the Prince? The Imperial Family Is on the Decline!

"Excuse me," Pearl said, her Japanese clipped by a Quebec Canadian accent, "Is that Prince Hinata of Japan?"

The man looked up behind the paper. He appeared to be in his thirties, but blue-black shadows already curved under his eyes.

"Well, it says so," he replied, "Are you a royal watcher?"

Pearl folded her hands, revealing long pale-pink nails.

"You could say that."

"The Prince is stupid," snapped the man, "I can't believe he's gotten as far as he is, with a brain like that."

Pearl lifted an eyebrow.

"Can you say that?"

The man rolled his eyes.

"What do you think this is," he barked, "A monarchy?"

"I don't know. I find it fascinating. To be born under the star and shadow of power, living your whole life, struggling to follow its plan...."

"How about you shut up?" Now a few people turned to watch. "Monarchy is disgusting. It has no place nowadays-- unless you're making a Disney movie."

Pearl blinked, causing some mascara to flake off.

"I read Tatler-- and write for it."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes. But I don't know much about Japan's royals. Can I read that paper when you're done?"

The man frowned, fanning the paper out in front of his face.

"We'll see."

Pearl nodded. She knew this man was getting irritated, but she was feeling bubbly and chatty-- like her mother's parrot Rudy, or Grandma Bathilde. Never miss a chance to make someone's day, Mom would say, We could all stand to use a little fun. A little hope. A little magic.

"I'm really here to visit my grandmother. I haven't seen her in years."

The man looked down and knit his brow.

"Hm. You don't look Japanese."

"Oh. She's French. She's here visiting another old friend, who is Japanese."

"Interesting." The man couldn't sound any less interested.

"She's a witch, too." Pearl said this in a casual, even tone, like she was discussing the weather. "But she's getting old. She's lived a lot longer than most people." She clapped her hands together. The man jumped. "Grandma's giving me some of her power. Mom's a witch, too, but I didn't inherit anything. Luckily, I'm one-eighth elf, so I can learn magic if I wish...."

The man didn't respond. Pearl knew he was done talking, but the ride was so...dull! As the train roared through a slim black tunnel, her heart pounded. She hated the dark-- even at her age. Still, she had to do something. She felt for the dried herbs in her satchel, and the craggy crystals in her skirt pocket. Nothing! Maybe it needed a spell. She frowned. Grandma hadn't yet given her a Book of Shadows. Neither had Mom; there simply wasn't the use. She didn't even know which crystals helped with what, or which herbs were for soothing. There's so much I don't know, but still...!

She sighed and tried not to think too much, but it was tough. I've read too many romance novels, she thought, Seen too many movies. Then again, he'd fit right into the Solstice family. Her own father, Capybara "Cap" Solstice, had some royal blood in him...from some tiny Eastern European nation. (Hence the awkward Anglicization.) Her mother, Amma Beraude, had no royal blood but claimed to be descended from Helene de Sarault, one-half of the hip-conjoined "One-Body Twins" who lived in Picardy during the 1530s and played two piccolos at the same time. She exhaled deeply. How am I gonna balance it, magic and royal watching? The best problem there is, I suppose....

The train whimpered. Pearl saw gold-orange sunlight slowly sink through the glass, causing her to sigh in relief. With a trembling hand, she dug through her bag-- past makeup palettes and old lipsticks, tissues and breath mints. She grabbed a long piece of paper and pulled it out, studying it intently. This town shouldn't be too far, she thought, Then again, I suck at maps and reading Japanese-- and anything logical....

"Excuse me?"

She froze. It was a man's voice. Thankfully not the former man's, but an older, warmer one-- like a jolly ojisan. Smiling slowly, she turned to face a pudgy, middle-aged man with oval glasses.

"I don't mean to bother you, but didn't you say, ah...your grandmother was a witch?"

Pearl nodded, unsure of where this was going. The man stroked his chin.

"Auntie Bathilde Beraude-- I'm aware of the name. What's your name?"

"Pearl Solstice. I'm Amma's daughter, if you know her."

"I'm afraid not. Bathilde wasn't here long enough to tell us about her family."

"Oh," Pearl sighed. She opened a bottle of Pocari Sweat and drank slowly, praying she could stay here longer than Grandma did.

"Not to despair," assured the man, dabbing his forehead with a jade-colored handkerchief, "Our town's lovely. I hope you enjoy it."

"Thank you."

"No problem." He glanced around, before whispering, "Besides, our town's a royal retreat, so you'll see the Prince all you want!"

Pearl giggled. The train came to a screeching halt in the middle of lush green trees. Pale sunlight peeked through the slender, curving branches, causing Pearl to stare. Everyone lined up to depart, but she stared until someone nudged her to stand. She shuddered, then staggered off-- heavy bags in tow.

As Pearl's high heels clacked against the metallic ground, she thought about what the grouchy newspaper man said. No place for monarchy nowadays, something like that. Well! She shook her head. Maybe that was why we needed it. Along with magic, mayhem...all that stuff everyone says isn't practical. We need that fluffy fantasy, I think....

She wobbled, nearly tripping out of the train. A few children laughed, while some women stared at her heavy makeup and designer shoes. Fantasy, fantasy, she thought, walking onto the street, looking up and down for that plump little witch, Too bad it's my reality!

XXX

I know my cousin well enough to know that he's smart. He'll tell you about everything. Chef hats! Puerto Rico! Maid cafes! *wheezing laughter* Wait…should I not have said that last part? —Princess Sadako, on the Prince Hinata

Bathilde dug a plump hand deep into the sand. She pulled it out, causing white-gold grains to tumble between her fingers. Her palm was cold and moist with clay-- soft, pale-gray clay --the region's rare treat. She smiled and tucked it into her pocket. This golem will be most convincing; Hajime will be blown away!

She dug for more clay, ignoring the soft blue waves crashing against the shore. Hajime was tucked away inside, anxiously awaiting this perma-golem. He needs a break, she thought, The poor thing's worked too hard all his life; besides, it's not often I get to rekindle what I....

Sssss! Another wave hissed along the shore. The loudness rattled Bathilde's eardrums, making her freeze in shock. Her heart raced. Frothy white bubbles lingered along the shore; Bathilde giggled and squished the cool sand between her toes, before gazing up the long dark-green cliff. Hajime should be here, she thought, Any minute now.

She untwisted the bottle-cap and poured Hajime's white-silver hair into the pile of clay. I remember when it was shiny and black, she thought with a smile, But he's only gotten better in age-- in magic and beauty. Shaping the clay with two hands, she made a smooth, yet rough, bust of his head— the sunken eyes, the broad nose, the smooth, fullish lips. The body would follow.

"Bathilde!" Hajime cried, wobbling downhill. His pants were rolled up to his knees, exposing thick calves and wide feet. "I hope I'm not too late!"

She smirked.

"Don't worry, ma bichette. All in good time."

"I wish Dad told me that, but you know how fishermen are!"

"I thought your father served the Imperial Family."

Hajime frowned, thinking for a moment.

"He did, but it wore him down, and he went back to fishing. If only I'd followed his advice!"

It's a shame, she thought, He wasn't born into a magical family. He would have made them proud.

Hajime panted for breath, then grabbed a slick white Book of Shadows from his pocket. He flipped through it; Bathilde peered over her shoulder, as Japanese right-to-left books always fascinated her.

"Hajime," she said, "When Pearl's here, don't stare at her. She likes wearing heavy makeup and enough people stare at her as is." She laughed gently "You know where she gets her style!"

Hajime chuckled, blushing like a boy.

"Oh, that can't be it," he prodded, "I'm used to made-up faces-- I work for the Imperial Family; even the Emperor slathers it on!"

"It's just that. Well, she's a bit of a...royalist. A naive one, as most are. She's into modern royalty and all that. So if you mention what you do, ma bichette, don't be surprised if she wants to tag along."

"Uh-oh. Disney Princess Syndrome?"

"Not entirely, but close. But don't let that put you off-- she's a very sweet lady. Just like Amma!"

"She sounds spoiled."

"Hajime Hamamura!" Bathilde snapped.

"Eh?" The old man raised an eyebrow. "I call it like I see it. What grown woman still expects the world to wait on her hand and foot. Don't indulge her too much now, Bathilde, it's gone far enough."

"If I say she's like Amma, she's like Amma!"

"Who would have thought that a half-elf could read humans so well?" he quipped.

"The elves themselves," Bathilde chuckled, "They sense better than most humans-- those ears aren't for looks!"

"They could be."

"Ah, you...!"

"I found the spell," Hajime announced, "Hold the clay steady." He took a deep breath and recited:

"Being of clay and water,

Take the form of the soul you've felt!

Take on the life of the man who owns it,

And become too real for doubt!"

The clay figure shifted and sprouted behind a veil of soft turquoise magic. It rolled and breathed slowly, like a human. Bathilde's eyes bulged as the veil fluttered away and another Hajime stood before them. Identical! she thought, I am a genius!

"Good luck," Hajime told the golem, pointing north.

"Yes," Bathilde added, "You know what to do, ma bichette!"

"Don't I always!" laughed the Hajime-golem as it strode uphill. The real Hajime chuckled. He sat and stretched his legs across the warm sand.

"Finally, I can have some time to myself."

"Et moi," Bathilde reminded him, smirking.

They laughed, splashing each other with water and chasing each other around the beach like children. Their ribs ached with laughter, until they collapsed into the sand. Bathilde fell asleep quickly, but Hajime was too distracted by the rippling pink clouds. Rest is more of a reward to us, he thought, Than routine.

Atop the cliff, two dark eyes glistened with rage.

XXX

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point, in the early to middle parts of the 20th century-- humans accepted us as part of reality. Now, you don't hear them running around yelling, "Elf, elf!" But slowly, gradually, we have become part of a "greater" world, as more humans accidentally washed ashore to Ko'Trin Island (most likely from Western Europe or America, given the location). I understand this. The Ko'Trin lacks the impenetrable mists that make, say, the giants' Splendora inaccessible to most humans. We have become uprooted from our forests, caves, fires, and seas. We perform less magic. We lose the glow in our features, despite long lifespans and childbearing years. Sadly, I understand all of this. But what I don't understand is the intensity with which the men pursue our women; it is rarely the other way around.

If I were to pursue a human woman, I'm not sure how I would start. But I find them attractive. Those sort of relationships work. I mean, my father was an elf, and my mother is human. Who am I to question fate?

And who am I to question the Palace? The Prince has told me on multiple occasions,

"Ah, Tadashi-San, it's good you're around! No wife or kids to keep you away!" Then he laughs and adds, "You don't plan how having a wife do you." I say no. He says, "Sugoiii!" And the crowd dissolves into a great field of laughter.

If he had it his way, he would castrate me like Emperors did to eunuchs several hundred years ago. And I would take it. As Mom reminds me,

"Without the Palace, we would be starving and soiling ourselves on the streets!"

"But what about the restaurant?" I ask, dreaming of people smiling and chuckling with their friends as they stuffed my spicy noodles into their mouth. "Will I ever make enough money to start one?"

Mom's eyes glisten sadly as she knits her brow.

"Oh, Tadashi...I wish. But we can hardly afford our home-- much less a second one for strangers."

I open my mouth to answer, but what would I say? I shake my head and start scrubbing the crusty grime from a pot-- preparing for the long night ahead.

Not enough money. Yes, I think of this. But I also think of Dad in his grave, and how he loved to feed people. He would stroke my hair with a big craggy hand and say,

"One day, we'll be out of this place. One day, I'll start my own place. Everyone will eat and be happy-- even us."

Damn! Each passing day makes me want to join him.

--The diary of Tadashi, a Palace servant

Kazuki Takayasu was the best innkeeper around. His ryokan had a warm communal bath, clean tatami mats, and the softest yukatas one could find. He was a tiny, shriveled old man with a shiny bald head and jagged yellow teeth, but Bathilde adored him. When she first saw him, she wrapped her arms around him, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. He chuckled as she let go.

"You know how to make a man feel welcome!" he cried, blushing.

"Ah, no worries. You remind me of my grandfather."

"Me? Looking French?"

"No. Looking sweet."

Mrs. Takayasu, the innkeeper's wife, entered the room with a smile stretching her wrinkled face.

"Beraude-San," she beamed, "Your granddaughter, who you call…Pearl-Sama."

Pearl entered, and Mrs. Takayasu left slowly. Bathilde froze. Pearl was just as pretty as she remembered— tall, athletic, and elf-faced, with Amma's large brown eyes. Her dark-brown hair was dyed caramel at the bottom, in what the young people called "ombré" and her face was smeared in loud pink makeup. She smiled and carried a leather satchel full of herbs and crystals, but there was something…empty about her. Bathilde hated thinking this about her own granddaughter, but the girl— the lady —seemed devoid of magic. In fact, she thought, The most magical thing about her was her name— Pearl Solstice!

"Hi, Grandma," Pearl said, kissing Bathilde on the cheek, "I'm so glad to see you again."

"Ah, ma bichette," Bathilde greeted in English, wrapping her arms around Pearl, " 'Ow long 'as it been?"

"I think I was twenty-two," Pearl replied, "I graduated, and you were at the party. You loved to dance!"

"Did I? Well, your Maman did, too. But— ah! Amma was always so shy! My…!"

" 'Little Lamb,'" Pearl finished, "I know."

She hated her mother's nickname. Being known as a sweet little lamb was a lot to live up to. Then again, Mom was far from delicate. At least as far as she knew.

"And your father is still professor of 'istory?"

Pearl shook her head.

"He retired. He's still into reading about it, though. I guess he's kinda like me about it— talking to anyone who listens." She smirked. "You think that helps in witchcraft?"

"It depends on practice, not talk. But talk can increase your passion."

Pearl licked her lips.

"Speaking of passion, I can't wait to meet the Prince!"

"Sit down, ma bichette," Bathilde purred, switching to French, kneeling at the low table, "The Takayasus have been so kind as to serve us onigiri, somen, and sushi. They're delicious!"

She pressed her palms together, loudly proclaiming, "Itadakimasu!"

Pearl smiled. Grandma's Japanese was tinged by a heavy French accent, but she repeated it slowly.

"So," Pearl said, biting into a soft nigiri roll, "Where's this mystery man?"

"Hajime should be back soon. He likes the sea. It's in his blood; his father was a fisherman, you know."

"From what you sent, he sounds really sweet. I can't wait to meet him."

Bathilde frowned, somewhat insulted.

"Oh, now! Don't you want to spend time with your grand-mere?"

"Of course, but I mean...if this guy's as good as you say, I'm curious."

"We trained together many years ago," Bathilde said, "We were still...young, you could say. It's essential that an older witch keeps sharp." She chuckled softly. "We were in the same class, studying under a great witch-- I forget the name --but we took to each other oh so well...! Can you imagine, me in Japan, that long ago?" She shook her head. "If you think my Japanese is bad now, you should've heard it then!"

"I'm also interested in Japan's Imperial Family," Pearl babbled, sipping her water, "Dad used to tell me a story about how Hirohito went to Disneyland in the '70s and got a Mickey Mouse watch. After that, he wore it every day till he died." She exhaled deeply. "I hear the current Prince is...interesting. And being handsome doesn't hurt."

"He is also a fool," spat Bathilde, "And not even a funny one!"

She slurped her noodles loudly, trying to practice the Japanese custom.

"Maybe he has a secret talent," Pearl babbled, "See, I'm on the Old Hollywood Trivia Team at my library, and you'd be surprised by how many men can keep their actors straight!"

"Trust me, the man's a fool. Hajime is something of his...bodyguard. The man insisted on disguising as a woman, as Hajime told me, and he made a dreadful one-- despite the potion!"

"Hajime sounds busy, then. The Imperial family needs all the security it can get."

"Not anymore. I created a perma-golem to take his place."

"A what?"

"Golem-- a clone. But magic makes it more realistic, and a perma-golem lasts longer."

"I see." Pearl eyed a small red candle flickering in the middle of the table. "May I?"

"May you do what?"

"Show you a trick."

Before Bathilde could say anything else, Pearl grabbed one of the small black bowls. She set it under the tiny flame and chanted:

"Flame so little, flame so bright,

Bring Grandma's man before my sight!"

Crimson wax dripped into the bowl. Pearl leaned forward, feeling the warmth brush against her cheeks. After a few minutes, she watched the wax congeal and dry against the bowl.

"Look," she cried, shoving the bowl towards her, "I know exactly what Hajime looks like-- and I haven't even met him!"

Bathilde's mouth fell open. The image was exactly Hajime's face-- from the glasses to the wrinkles.

"Candle wax divination?" she asked, "How pretty-- and it looks just like him!"

"Oh, I just do a little carromancy here and there," Pearl chuckled, "I'm nowhere near as magical as Mom, though."

"Yes, but neither of us know a thing about candle magic."

"I can teach you."

"Well, that's not how this works...!"

"It does now, Grandma."

Bathilde blinked.

"Oh! Wait! There is a Giant, or Neo-Jotun, rhyme about candles, I recall Queen Clotilda translating it for me. Here, write it down: Remember, the skull shaped by a witch's hand, is strong enough to burn the land!"

Ka-rick. The door creaked open, causing the women to look up. An old man shuffled in, fanning his wrinkly, bespectacled face with a floppy hat. Pearl smirked at him, then at the bowl. It's Hajime!

"Hello, Hajime-san," Pearl said, still in English, "Grandma told me about you."

"Pearl!" Bathilde gasped, "Pearl Solstice, the man hardly speaks a...!"

"It's all right," Hajime chuckled in clear English, "I'm fluent in French, English, and Japanese. As long as you use one of the three, I'm good to go." He knelt before the table. "Looks delicious!"

As he loaded his plate, Bathilde turned to him.

"Pearl knows candle magic, ma bichette."

She slid the bowl toward Hajime, causing him to study the image closely. His bushy brows shot up. He looked at the wax, then back at Pearl.

"You predicted my arrival?"

Pearl shrugged and giggled.

"Incredible. And so immediate!" He laughed. "I'd better toss out my cards."

"What kind of magic do you do, Hajime?" Pearl asked.

Hajime blushed and shivered, dropping his sushi onto the floor.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he said quickly, "I do some divining, but with clear things-- eyes, mirrors, water." He shook his head. "The Prince thinks he can do that stuff, but that's another story."

Bathilde snorted; he went on.

"I've read the I Ching and have tried some Eastern practices, but I'm afraid my magic isn't the 'exotic' kind you're looking for."

"Oh, it doesn't matter!" Pearl reassured, "I'm no coxcomb."

Hajime's eyes nearly fell from his skull.

"No what?"

"Sorry. I said that in English, didn't I?" Pearl shook her head. "Coxcomb. It's my new favorite word. I found it in a memoir."

"It's very pretty," Bathilde reminded her gently, "But you're using it the wrong way."

"But I liiiike it."

"I never want to hear it again," snapped Hajime, "Now, back to the task at hand....

"Most of my magic is self-taught, hence the patchwork bits of it. I didn't have the luxury of a magical family."

"It's not all luxury," Bathilde snickered.

"My family was very much opposed to magic." Hajime shuddered away dark-bruised memories. "Why else do you think they disowned me? They would have put my bones in a museum, all brown and crumbling-- like the centaur's!"

"Oh, mon Dieu! I am sorry for such a remark."

"It's all right. They're all in maggot therapy."

Hajime shrugged and turned back to Pearl.

"It's still different than your grandmother's. Hers is just so...extravagant and beautiful. People could write poems about it! But mine? It's more...to the point."

"Masculine," Bathilde said, winking.

"Exactly. A wizard's magic is significantly different than a witch's. It's simpler, but no less effective."

"For example, that potion you brewed," Bathilde pointed out, "A witch would have added a few different ingredients to make for a more elegant disguise."

"And I added ones to make it last longer," Hajime said, taking a bite of onigiri, "A little hazelbell always does the trick, especially when the berries are orange."

Pearl went quiet for a few minutes. She didn't touch her food, but drank slowly, absorbing the room in her big brown eyes.

"But Grandma, if the magic is so different," she asked, "Will that affect how it transfers to Hajime?"

"Nonsense!" Bathilde huffed, "It should be a smooth transition. That is, if I remember to do it right."

Pearl scratched her chin.

"So if your magic transfers to me," she asked, motioning toward the candle, "Will I still have...this?"

"We'll see about that," Bathilde replied, her eyes soft with sadness, "Sometimes a skill stays and strengthens, or it's lost forever."

"And you don't have to become a witch to do candle magic," Hajime added, "You're a grown woman; you can choose."

"Oh, she should have some," Bathilde said, patting his hand, "She's a good girl; she deserves it."

"If I deserve it," Pearl smirked, "Then can I see the Prince? I want to see him like nobody's business!" She grabbed her grandmother's arm, bouncing her up and down. "I've waited too long! Can I, can I, can I?"

Bathilde laughed warmly. Hajime groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Maybe, in a few days, we'll meet the Prince," she said, "He has a good hearty appetite, so we could have dinner together. Or learn water-gazing? Maybe he'll learn, with the right teacher."

Pearl laughed into one hand.

"You want me to teach him?"

"I warn you, he is a fool," snapped Hajime, "And you are a fool if you tie your heart and mind together— too many knots!"

"And the magic?" Bathilde asked.

"I'll...think about it." Pearl yawned and rose to kiss Bathilde and Hajime. "Thank you, Grandma-- for everything. You too, Hajime. I'd...like to go to bed now, I'm awfully tired."

The old couple told her goodnight, and she grabbed the black bowl. As she shuffled to bed, she looked into the clotted crimson wax.

"If I were her mother," Hajime whispered to Bathilde, "I would have hit her a little more often."

"Hajime!" Bathilde gasped.

Pearl froze. The wax Hajime's soft wrinkled face shifted into a hollow skull.