Clara sits up. “Oh?” She reaches for the box with one hand, her cutters with the other.
“I call dibs on half, caramel is like, my kryptonite.” She hands the box over, perching on the edge of her bed as Clara opens the box.
Clara laughs brightly when she sees the caramels, sculpted into eight dairy cows. On the card, instead of the normal inscription, was ‘On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight Brach’s maids a-milking’.
“Brach’s milk maids,” Sarah laughs. “Oh, that could not have been easy to find.” She swipes one of the cows, breaking off a leg.
Clara wrinkles her nose. “They’re cows. It’s not like eating Easter bunnies.”
Sarah shrugs. “Caramel’s caramel. I’m not picky.”
Clara shakes her head but grins, grabbing a cow for herself.
The box this time was cold and heavy as Clara carried it inside. “Keep refrigerated,” she says. “Sounds promising.”
Sarah arches a brow. “Sounds troublesome.”
“Holy shit,” Sarah says plainly. “How long do you think that took?”
“I don’t know. Supposing he sculpted the swans himself that took at least a day on its own, and then setting the swans and designing the water? Two, three days, minimum.”
“He’s devoted,” Sarah says warmly. “He’s devoted, rich as hell, and talented. And these are some amazing confectionaries he’s got.” Sarah’s kind smile twists into a teasing grin. “Maybe he is your Candy Prince.”
“Oh my god, would you drop that already?” Clara moans, unable to keep the grin off her face.
“C’mon, your Highness, let’s see you in that crown.”
“No fucking way, that thing is way too expensive to play around with.” She shakes her head. “I haven’t gotten it appraised or anything, but I know real diamonds when I see them.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re shitting me.”
Clara shakes her head. “If I wasn’t already set for college, I could have sold it and paid for the entirety of my education.”
“Christ.” Sarah looks at the tiara again in a new light. After a moment of contemplative silence, Sarah murmurs, “Remember that… that dream-story I told you about…?”
When Clara returns to the apartment, there’s a large box in the middle of their room. “I hope there aren’t actual, living geese inside there, I don’t want to clean up that mess.”
“How did that fit through the door?” Clara marvels, dropping her gym bag at the foot of her bed.
The descriptions caught her. “Have you seen them before?” she asks urgently.
Sarah shrugs. “Once or twice, I think, on campus. Not enough to really recognize them, y’know, but they were… familiar.”
Clara hums. “Six geese a-layin’, huh?” She cuts through the tape and folds it open. She laughs brightly, pulling out six stuffed geese and tossing them at Sarah.
Sarah squawks indignantly, shoving the geese aside. “There’s the geese, where’s the laying?”
Clara tips the box over; several dozen gold-wrapped eggs spill out, the same size as goose eggs. “They’re chocolate,” she declares. “Solid.”
Sarah whistles. “That could not have been cheap.”
Clara shakes her head, glancing down at her ring. “Worst comes to worst, at least he’s loaded.”
Clara finds Sarah backstage. “Oh thank god,” Sarah exhales when she sees her friend. “Did you bring food?”
Clara lifts the Subway bag in her hand. “Just as you ordered.”
Sarah takes it from her thankfully, unwrapping it and starting in on it. With a full mouth, she asks, “Anything from your friend?”
Clara laughs, almost hysterically, and nods. She pulls a black ring box from her coat pocket.
Clara shakes her head. “I couldn’t do it without you.”
Sarah turns away from her sandwich, tugging around a director’s chair for Clara to sit in. “You got a card, I suspect?”
Clara nods. “Same as always, Fifth Day, no name, no clues,” she says. “It was under this in my locker after my exercise class.”
Sarah shifts into a more comfortable position, facing Clara. “Let’s see it then. Five golden rings. I have a feeling these aren’t going to be candy.”
Clara giggles helplessly, fingers curling around the lid. After a breathless moment, she shoves the box into Sarah’s hands. “I can’t do it!”
Sarah sighs and shakes out the prickly feelings in her hands from adrenaline before opening the box. “Holy shit, Clar,” she breathes.
Clara crowds over her. “What? What is it?”
Sarah gapes for words. “Five golden rings,” she answers finally, handing the open box back to Clara.
Clara’s eyes blow wide. “Oh my god it’s a puzzle ring,” she says reverently, pulling it from its box and sliding it easily onto her right ring finger. “It’s an old engagement ring, a king had these invented for his wives so he could tell if they were having an affair. If you don’t take it off right it falls apart and it’s a bitch and a half to put back together.”
Sarah grins. “Dare you to try.”
Clara cradles her hand to her chest. “No way! I have to get this to a jeweler, find out how high quality.” She grins. “And I know just the person to call.”
“Been waiting for you to get back,” Clara says the moment Sarah enters their apartment.
Sarah drops her things at the foot of her bed, flopping down. “Yeah, sorry, closing was a nightmare tonight. And then tomorrow has two shows, so you may have to come visit me if you don’t want to wait.” She props up on an elbow. “Anyway, what’s today? Four calling birds? This I gotta see. Can’t’ve been easy, but he’s been doing marvelously so far.”
“Hey, hand me the mockingbird one. I know the call of those little shits way too well.”
Clara snickers and hands over the bright blue whistle. Sarah brings it to her lips; the sound it released was an almost perfect replication of the birdcall. Clara expects Sarah to hand the whistle back, but her friend pauses, licking her lips contemplatively. “Sugar floss,” she announces finally. “These whistles are candy.”
“What? No way,” Clara bursts, picking up the neon green barn owl whistle. Sarah claps her hands over her ears as the whistle screeches. “It’s watermelon!” Clara cries.
Sarah mumbles under her breath; it was impossible to make out her exact words, but it sounded something like “not enough glitter”. Shaking her head at Clara’s confused glance, she says, “Any more hints to who your secret admirer is?”
Clara shakes her head, handing over the card. “Nothing more than before. Guess we’ll have to wait until the twelfth day.”
Clara practically bounces through the door that evening. Sarah looks up at her, brow arched over her textbook.
“I got another one,” Clara says, bubbling with excitement.
Clara opens the slightly larger package with practiced precision, folding it open and scooping out two chocolate doves. She pulls out the accompanying parchment card, the same sentiment as the day before. She hands the card off to Sarah before inspecting the doves.
“They kinda fall short on the ‘turtle’ bit,” Sarah comments. “Though really, what can you do to make turtle doves some kind of confectionary?”
Clara slices one of the doves open to reveal the caramel and pecan center. “That’s how,” she says, extremely satisfied.
“Whoever they are, they’re brilliant. I would not have thought of that.”
Clara nods slowly, chewing her lip. “Whoever they are, they know their candies. Almost…” she shakes her head.
Sarah’s eyes dart up to Clara’s nutcracker. “Almost like your Candy Prince, right?”
Clara throws the tissue paper at Sarah, blushing furiously. “Shut up or I won’t share these with you,” she threatens teasingly.
“Of course, your Sugary Highness,” Sarah tosses back with a laugh.
“Hey, Clar, I think you have a secret admirer,” Sarah teases, gingerly handling a small cardboard box. A bright yellow ‘FRAGILE’ sticker was plastered across the top. In very elegant writing, ‘Clara Stahlbaum’ was scripted across the top.
Clara perks up. “Well, they know exactly when to strike. I love Christmas.” She set the box on her desk, snatching up her X-acto knife and slicing the box open. “Oh my god, this is adorable,” she says reverently, scooping out a candied pear shaped like a bird.
Sarah grabs the tissue paper the candy was wrapped in and smoothes it out. “Looks hand-drawn,” she says.
Clara inspects it. “It’s a pear tree!” she exclaims excitedly. “Oh my god. Oh, my god.” She gently traces the intricate tree painted on the fragile paper.
Sarah pulls out a parchment card. “Any hints?”
Clara reads it aloud; almost as expected, it was the first line of the old Christmas carol. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree.” She flips the card over, looking for a name. “Nothing.”
Sarah grins. “Well, whoever this S.A. is, they like to imagine themselves as your ‘true love’,” she teases.
Clara sighs, tossing an almost longing glance to the old nutcracker on her dresser. “Good luck to them, whoever they are.”
“Come on babe, don’t be like that!” one of the boys yells to raucous laughter.
Knife’s hands fist, revulsion rolling off of her in waves. Bullet takes one of her hands, forcing it to relax. Thief and Trick are tense as well.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them,” Knife mutters.
“Go fuck yourselves,” Thief snarls.
“Don’t be a bitch!” Another shouts.
“Learn how to take a fucking compliment!”
“’Nice tits’ is not a fucking complement!” Trick snaps back.
The boys surround them then; each girl goes rigid. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” Knife repeats.
“Don’t,” Bullet murmurs, still massaging her hand.
One of the boys laughs. “Fuckin’ dykes, shoulda guessed.”
Bullet tenses, face going blank. Knife snarls wordlessly.
Thief pulls back and decks one of them, sending him to the ground, broken nose bleeding profusely. Trick catches her before she could do it again. “Walk away,” she warns.
Thief growls but follows, stalking away. Bullet tugs Knife away, glaring back at them.
“Pleasure doing business with you, boys~!” Trick trills with a laugh, skipping backwards. She dangles several wallets and a rather expensive watch, cackling when the boys frantically pat themselves down. Knife laughs, surprised, and the others join in, dashing off before the boys fully realized what had happened.
