Fantastic Hearts and When to Trust Them (2)

Supper with Wizards

The next day's class ended promptly, from noon to five, and Celia left at five-thirty with a Bakewell tart balance on one hand, still warm from the oven. She'd checked out a hot pad and the pie plate so she could carry it back to her hotel, though what she'd do with an entire tart was yet beyond her imagination.

Celia greeted the hotel owner with a smile when she passed her at the desk, then squeezed up the narrow stairs to her second-floor room. Celia had found the cheapest hotel she could which didn't frighten her, and was satisfied with the clean sheets and musty smell for the price she paid. She wouldn't lose all her savings over these six weeks, but they would be significantly diminished.

To her surprise, Celia found a curling slip of off-white paper on her windowsill, with a small, odd coin beside it. As she shook her arms free of her coat, she stood over it to read it.

Celia, we're having dinner at the Gaslamp Café again tonight if you'd like to join us. Is there any time that works best for you?

~ Queenie

PS Just write your response on the back of this, then put the knut on top of it.

Celia shook her head, and while still not entirely certain of the three's motives, they didn't yet appear threatening to her. So she extracted a pencil from her case and flipped the message over.

Queenie,

Any time from 6 to 8 works for me.

Thank you,

Celia

Celia placed the coin—which she assumed was the knut—on top of the message. To her shock the coin disappeared, and like a streak of light the slip of paper wiggled out from underneath the locked window and vanished off between the adjacent buildings.

Perhaps they were Wizards after all. Her full jury was still cogitating over that matter.

Within half an hour Celia had gotten a reply, so at six-forty-five she wrapped the tart in a brown paper bag and tucked it into her arm, hung her purse over the same shoulder, and returned to the street.

"We're so glad you made it!" Queenie said, turning around to see her before anyone else did. She stood and threw her arms around Celia's waist, making her jump.

"Oh! Well, who would turn down the opportunity to sit in the sun."

"You brought us a pie?"

Celia had momentarily forgotten Queenie could read minds. "Uh, a tart, a Bakewell tart. We made them in class today. We keep making food like this, I'm gonna double in size. Figured I'd make y'all eat it instead. Gotta give the plate back though; I don't wanna pay for it."

Queenie clapped, delighted. "That's wonderful! We'll give it back, don't you worry. We probably shouldn't eat it here though." She pulled out a chair for Celia across from Newt. "They might get offended."

Celia settled the tart on her lap and accepted the seat.

Tina patted her hand. "So what's a Bakewell tart?"

"Looks like a pie," Celia said, also accepting a menu. "But instead of cut fruit, it's got layers of jam and frangipane, then flaked almonds on top."

"What's frangipane?"

"A type of filling, made from butter, eggs, sugar and almonds. I think the French invented it."

"I like almonds," Newt mused.