His eyes widened. “Oooh, that is interesting. Why did they do it?”

I glanced at Scout. She nodded. “They’re trying to take magical property that doesn’t belong to them. A spellbook.”

Kite’s mouth dropped into an “O.” “You are not serious.”

“Scout’s honor,” I said. Literally.

Kite stood up again. “That’s definitely interesting. If he comes in, I’ll call you.” He flattened out his box and glanced down at Scout’s basket. “If you’re ready, I can head over to the register and check you out?”

She picked through the stash. “Yep. Got everything I need.”

“Cool,” he said, and we followed him back to the register. He slipped each item into a paper bag with handles after scanning them in. When he was done, he pulled off the receipt and handed it to Scout, who looked it over and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket. Kite took Scout’s money and handed over her bag.

“Thanks, Kite.”

“You’re welcome, Scout. You girls try to have a nice day.”

We always tried; we just weren’t always successful.

* * *

“So now you want to follow Sebastian? Do you think he’s a bad guy?” she asked when we were out the door and a few steps down the street.

“I have no idea,” I said. “And that’s exactly my point. Maybe he really wants to help us. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t think there’s any harm in listening to him . . . or in keeping an eye on him.”

“I guess. I’m glad we went in there, but I’m not really sure it was helpful. I mean, a fairy tale? How could that possibly help us?”

“I have no idea, unless . . .”

She stopped and looked at me. “Unless what?”

An idea began to blossom. “What if the old ones don’t think it’s just a fairy tale?”

Scout frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What if they’re not just repeating the story because it’s like a symbol, but because they think someone named Campbell is going to overthrow Jeremiah?”

She waved a hand. “That’s not the way fairy tales work. They’re just repeating them because they’re nervous about what might happen if someone tries to kick him out—and someone worse gets put in charge. And PS, a little warning about Kite. He’s well-intentioned, but he tends to be kinda dramatic. Just because he heard people talking about it doesn’t mean it’s a big deal.”

“Sure,” I said, as we started walking again, but I wasn’t convinced. Maybe it was just a hunch, and maybe it would turn out to be wrong, but I had a feeling this fairy tale was more than just people talking. I think they were talking about that specific fairy tale for a reason, and I knew someone who might be able to shed a little light on it. I didn’t want to call Sebastian right here; I felt weird calling him in front of Scout. But I would later. The opportunity for more info was too good to pass up.

“Should we tell Daniel about the fairy tale?” I asked.

“For all the good it’ll do, yeah, we probably should.” She patted down her messenger bag. “Crap. I left my phone in my room. Do you have his number?”

I searched through my bag, but it wasn’t in there. I must have put it down after the battle with the cheerreaper. “I apparently do not.”

“No worries. We can tell him tonight at Enclave.”

Perfect. That would give me a little time to do some investigating of my own.

* * *

We’d walked only a couple of blocks when Scout stopped short. “How about a snack?” she asked. “I am starving.”

Since breakfast had been a handful of fruit candy and a bottle of orange juice, I was also starving. “Fine by me.”

“I know just the place,” she said, then headed down a side street. I could smell something cooking—something fried and buttery. The smell was coming from a small shop tucked between two hotels—with a line out the door ten to fifteen people deep.

We walked past the door, but the store was so small I couldn’t see what they were selling.

“This is the place?” I wondered.

“This is the place,” she said, then walked to the end of the line, crossed her arms, and faced the door, her expression all business.

Whatever they sold, this girl was serious about it.

“Any hints about what this is?” I whispered, as more people joined the line behind us. Folks were leaving, but the stuff they’d bought was hidden in small paper bags and coffee cups. Doughnuts, maybe? Muffins? Cupcakes?

“That would really ruin the surprise,” Scout said.

Ten minutes later we reached the threshold, and I could finally see inside the shop. Two men and a woman stood behind a counter. The woman was at the cash register. One of the guys stood in front of a giant round fryer, and the other was mixing a giant kettle with a wooden spoon.

“Churros con chocolate,” Scout said, in a pretty good Spanish accent. “Fried dough and this crazy thick chocolate. You’ll love it.”

Of course I would. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a hard sell. Chicken-fried grasshoppers would have been questionable. Eyeball of eel would have been a no-go from the start. But pastries and chocolate? Yeah, I’d give that a whirl.

The place smelled like grease, sugar, and chocolate. Totally intoxicating. When we finally got to the counter, Scout ordered for us and handed over some cash. The girl took the money, then used tongs to lift long fried thingies into a paper bag. Scout took the bag; I took the two small foam cups that followed.