Shin'nen trailed her finger along the stark white wall, then glanced at it, half expecting it to come away sticky with still-wet paint or chalky with the dust that always seems to settle on fresh satin-matte surfaces. It didn't, and she supposed that made sense, too—he wouldn't have let dust come in if he could help it, would he? Even the books and jars in the basement somehow escaped dust, she'd noticed, as if by magic—and that's what it probably was, she reminded herself, and shuddered to remember what sort of world she'd been thrown into.
The room still smelled sharply of latex paint and the chemical tang of new carpet. She'd tried to air it out, but the scent lingered. There was no way to escape the way the apartment looked. It was so empty, like her dorm room back at Puget had been, except here there weren't even stains on the carpet or old tape painted into the walls. It was as though no one had ever lived there, at all, and she was supposed to somehow fill it with life and make it someplace warm and safe.
Once she unpacked, she told herself, it would be different. Somehow, people everywhere managed to turn black, barren apartments into homes. The main room was scattered already with Rubbermaid tubs and taped boxes, the remnants of her room with Chelsea back at college all packed away again. She'd thought it was so much stuff while carting it out of the rented U-Haul back in September, but now she had no idea how she'd manage to fill all this space. Even if she spread her belongings as sparsely as possible, they could hardly begin to dull the edges of even this small, engulfing space. God, she didn't even have sheets for the bed!
“Okay,” Shin'nen said aloud, and had the odd feeling the fresh paint was sucking up her voice like some creepy white hole vacuum. “Okay,” she tried again, bolstering herself, “you're here and you're gonna do fine. The carpet's not a bad color. You can go shopping. You can buy those cute little beaded pillows. Just start unpacking and it'll all work out. It's just like college only . . . only bigger.”
Bigger and scarier, she added silently, and not even your choice. “Ah, dammit, what am I doing here?!” She couldn't think of the answer to that one—goddamn that man and his secrets!--and kicked the nearest tub to ward off tears. The lid popped off with a snap, revealing the mass of stuffed animals she hadn't been able to bear crossing the country without. Dropping to her knees, Shin'nen dug her hands into the bin and buried her face in them, hugging as many as she could at once. Okay, she thought, that's it. You're a big girl, Shinny, and you can take what the world throws at you. Now go make this place awesome and throw it in his face.
Standing, she set the stuffed animals about the room, balancing them on unopened boxes, tubs, the microwave, the bed with its institutional green sheets and fleecy blanket. She opened the box of cds and the battered, paint-splattered boom box and plugged it into the wall. She put on the Pokemon movie soundtrack she had danced to with her friends back in the nineties, and set to work.
It didn't take long to unpack—just long enough to require one more cd, and she threw in a battered old DDR compilation to stay upbeat. The room still looked empty, as she knew it would, but at least the walls weren't so bare. She'd used up all her 3-M tabs, though, and had to break out the sticky tack, which would certainly scar the walls when she decided to move things. Well. That was just one more way she could annoy him, and it wasn't as though he couldn't fix it if it was such a bother.
He was downstairs, she knew, even though she hadn't seen him all day. He was always there, always working on something, and though Shin'nen knew he must go home sometime, she had yet to figure out when that might be. Of course he'd have put her up in the apartment above the agency—it was vacant, it was easily accessible, it made perfect sense—but she couldn't help but feel like she'd been saddled with the worst luck in the world. So he was always around, always there, like some piece of hideous art a friend had made for you that you couldn't possibly tell them you hated.
After she'd rearranged her stuffed animals as many times as she could in good conscience, she gathered Grumpy Bear in the crook of her elbow for moral support—Grumpy Bear, because she was grumpy when it came to him—and headed downstairs for the inevitable confrontation.
It wasn't that she hated him, though she desperately wanted to—she'd originally intended to fall in love with him, after all. That's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it, when someone saved your life and nursed you back to health? Especially when that someone was a young, mysterious wizard. That's how it always went in the stories. But, God, they couldn't have possibly meant him. He was so damned impossible. And boring. “Boring,” she muttered, “like a drill to the head and a ten course meal of mashed potatoes.”
When she reached the main-floor's office, Asque was exactly where she'd expected him to be: seated at his desk, bent over some godforsaken paperwork, chin-length hair falling into his face. It was the sort of white-blond color you see on little kids, and it was something Shin'nen had originally intended to find exotic, but now just found annoying. Why couldn't he have some real hair color, or at least some real fake hair color? If nothing else, that would make him more interesting.
He didn't look up to greet her. “I expected you down three hours ago.”
“Yeah, well, I was unpacking. Some people don't like living out boxes.” At least he made it easy to be annoyed. She flopped herself down in the spinny-chair at the office's second desk and glanced around the room. It was so boring, too, all bare walls and generic plants and old, stately oak paneling that Shin'nen continually found herself wanting to chuck a rock at. “Besides,” she said, “it's not like you didn't know where I was.”
“Mm.”
God, what was it with him and these noncommittal noises? Did all men do this, and she just didn't notice it before? It was like she wasn't worth an actual word. Bah. She scowled. “Okay. Whatever. So I'm late. I'm here now. Explain to me again why I'm here now and not at college or at the very least at home, 'cause I have absolutely nothing against going back upstairs and packing up and catching the next plane back to Minnesota.”
He didn't reply—of course he didn't. Balancing her chin on the top of Grumpy Bear's head, Shin'nen glared at Asque across the office. At least he could have made fun of her run-on sentence.
Asque reached into a drawer and removed a manila mail envelope, held it out to her. “This arrived for you this morning.”
Shin'nen considered the packet for a moment, then dragged her chair over to face Asque's desk and took the envelope. She noticed it was addressed not to her, but to the office, written in the neat capital letters of someone who addresses hundreds of packages a day. It had already been opened. After a quick raise of her eyebrow at Asque, she shook the contents out into her hand.
It was a bracelet, silver, chain-link with a rectangular band of steel. Even through the stapled plastic bag she recognized the symbol inset into the steel. She'd seen it once before, on a bracelet worn by her old choir director back home after a surgery. “What is this?”
His fingers were steepled before his nose. “It's a medical alert bracelet.”
“Well, yeah, I can see that.” Shin'nen wrinkled her nose and broke the plastic open, sliding the bright metal into her palm. She flipped it over and ran a finger over the engraved letters, then felt oddly guilty for smudging it with fingerprints. “I mean—why is it?”
Asque frowned. “I thought that should be obvious. I do suggest you wear it.”
“Shin'nen Aisley,” the bracelet read. “Praecantrix.” Then, in smooth, garish capitals: “DO NOT HOSPITALIZE.”
“Oh,” she said. She put it on. The band was cold and heavy around her wrist.
It had been three weeks since the hospital, if the date on her laptop was to be trusted. Three weeks since she'd started volunteering, gathering experience for a possible career in medicine. It had seemed like such a good idea, then, and it should have been, shouldn't it have . . . ? It was funny, wasn't it, how you could spend your whole life dreaming, praying something was real, and then when you found out it was true you'd do anything to make it go back to being a dream.
She shifted the bracelet on her wrist and rubbed it, trying to raise its warmth to that of her skin. “This doesn't mean I believe any of this stuff.” Asque gazed levelly at her, and she knew that she hadn't convinced him any more than she'd convinced herself. She hugged her bear, trying to regain the frustration she'd been fueled by earlier. “What does 'praecantrix' mean?”
“It's Latin.” Asque was digging in his drawer again, and Shin'nen wondered how it was that he could be so organized and still spend so much time searching. “Obscure. It means 'witch', loosely, or 'sorceress'. We've adopted it for use with the medical community, since they seem intent on categorizing everything as a medical condition. If nothing else, it aught to force an EMT to consult your medical history before taking any drastic measures.”
Finding herself gnawing on her lower lip, she forcibly clenched her teeth and squeezed Grumpy Bear's paw for grumpy support. “Okay,” she said, standing abruptly, “so I guess I unpacked for nothing. I mean, I should be set, then, right? I can finally leave, get on with my life?” Forget about this whole damn magical world and get back to reality? Her mind was racing again. It seemed like the bracelet was dragging her hand back down to her seat, so she nervously used its hand to brush back orange curls.
“I wouldn't advise that.” He wasn't looking at her again, gaze still focused on whatever it was he was searching for in that steel hulk of a desk. She saw him shut a drawer, then open it again, as though whatever hadn't been there before might suddenly reappear if he caught it off guard.
“And why not?” She had meant it as a challenge and was pleased to find it sounded solid enough to be one. “I'm fine now, thanks and all that, but I can't stay here. This isn't where I belong.”
“You have much more to learn before you aught to return.”
“You can't keep me here!” Her voice was careening out of control, she realized, and she tied it back down, leaning in toward Asque's desk before turning toward the door to the street. “You have no authority to keep me here.”
She wasn't sure what happened next, except that there was a flash of something silvery behind her and suddenly her arm was burning with someone else's pain and she was back in the hospital, seeing pearly white and feeling something rushing out of her in a gasp—and then she was clinging the office chair, fingers digging into the cushion to compensate for knees that had somehow given way.
Gasping, she turned her head to see Asque pulling down his sleeve over a scar that seemed to lace white and vanish, leaving smooth skin beneath crisp white. There was a splash of red across the desk, across the silver knife upon it. Knife? Shin'nen thought desperately. Dagger--! Oh, God! Asque's face was impassive as he began to methodically mop up the blood with an odd handkerchief, its once white slowly turning an even-growing pink. “This,” he said, “is what will continue to happen unless you learn to control your abilities. Suppose you witness a car accident, or a suicide. I hardly think four words and a steel bracelet will keep a well-meaning nurse from inadvertently killing you while you're unconscious. Not to mention the work you will inevitably cause someone attempting to explain how there is so much blood about while its previous owners have not so much as a scratch.”
His words were stumbling past her ears, and although she understood their meaning, they seemed more like a wave of syllables than true speech. She hauled herself upwards, clutching her bear in one arm as she fought the vertigo that had overcome her. “Ms Aisley,” came the voice from behind her, and she ignored it, plunging for the door. “Ms Aisley.” Sterner this time, and she could only manage a fragmented reply: “S-sorry, can't stay here—can't gotta get out--”
She fumbled with the doorknob and threw the frost-glassed door open. For a moment, walking through it felt like striding though deep mud—and then she was out in the street, the sunlight, and safe.
Shin'nen sagged against the heavy door of the office, closing her eyes against the sideways stares of tourists and letting the late morning sun beat against her face. Finally outside, she felt a little exposed—too exposed, she realized, opening her eyes to the chill of a soft breeze off the nearby river. Immediately, she regretted her haste in exiting and wished she'd thought to grab a coat. Portland February was warm compared to what she was used to, but two and a half weeks of heavy blankets and a cranked thermostat in the bare apartment hadn't prepared her for forties in a t-shirt.
Rubbing her arms, she turned to stare at the building that had become her impromptu home for the past few weeks. It was so inauspicious: old brick, just this side of crumbling, reaching up two stories to the apartment she'd already come to hate. What passed for windows were sparse on the main floor; what did exist were set into the brick and heavily curtained, hiding whatever life might theoretically exist inside. She could see now why she had never noticed anyone other than Asque inside. Even the door was uninviting; heavy wood, it was painted a dull grey, its only ornamentation the stylized black lettering on its frosted glass pane: “E.I.D.O.L.O.N.” and below it, in letters not small, but oddly shimmery such that Shin'nen had to squint to read them: “Extraordinary Individuals in the Direction of Orderly Liasons between Oddities and Normals.”
“'Orderly Liasons', huh? They're not going so great liasoning to me.” Then, feeling the weight of the steel around her wrist, Shin'nen remembered that she was no longer one of those “Normals”. She shivered.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Grumpy Bear hanging off her arm, Shin'nen moved into a brisk walk, taking in the street and trying not to think about her folly in running out. For as long as she'd been in the city, she'd barely been outside; a quick walk around the block or a half-hour's time on the roof for air was all Asque had allowed as she recovered. Now that she thought back, she wondered how she'd let herself be so closely controlled—but then she hadn't wanted to think for herself, had she, because thinking meant remembering and remembering meant making it harder to pretend that the last three weeks wasn't some dream and the world really had been turned on its head . . . and God, if it wasn't a dream, where did she go from here?
Shin'nen walked faster now, but made sure to keep close tabs on her surroundings. As much as she had needed to leave that trap of a building, she knew she'd have to find her way back, too—a fact she much begrudged. She'd left everything back there, in the upstairs apartment, and even if she'd want to run off she'd at least need her ID, some money—A sweater, she added with an audible snort. Here she was, wandering down the street in a t-shirt and jeans, with nothing on her person but a battered old Care Bear. “Oh, God, I must look like an idiot.”
Across the street, a man was vigorously attempting to tempt a siamese-patterned stray down from a tree. Perfectly nonplussed, the cat sat, paws crossed, kinked tail swishing slowly back and forth. Shin'nen wished she had that sort of poise, just to sit there, all-knowing, and smile as people made fools of themselves. Or to just stare down Asque because I know everything he doesn't.
“Good luck, guy,” Shin'nen snorted to herself and was startled to see the cat swing its gaze to meet hers. She had the odd feeling she was being laughed at, and, staring furiously at the street, she hurried to move on.
“If you had any sense,” she told herself, “you'd go right into one of these shops and call the police.” This sounded so reasonable that she almost veered into the nearest business—then noticed the sign hung above the door: “The ADULT BOOKSTORE”
“Oookay no,” she decided quickly, and hastened her pace down the street. Why would the police believe her, anyway? Did people believe you when you'd been abducted from a hospital by a wizard? And it wasn't, she had to admit, as though he'd actually held her against her will. He'd told her not to leave, but he hadn't done anything to stop her. “Except stab himself,” she admitted, and then clapped a hand over her mouth as a pair of pedestrians shot her quizzical looks. “Sorry,” she muttered, but they were already long past.
Her hands were growing chilly, and she shifted the stuffed bear in her arms to breathe heat into her palms. This district seemed almost flooded with restaurants, and Shin'nen was quickly remembering how long it had been since breakfast. Even the less reputable-looking establishments were exuding marvelous smells.
Shin'nen dug in her pockets, searching to see if any loose change had survived from whenever she had last worn the pair of jeans. Hidden in the back right pocket, she found a crumpled five. Hot chocolate, she decided at once, and scoured the street for the first likely shop. A Chinese restaurant—definitely no—a home-style café—closer, but no—and then a most appreciated smell found its way into her nose. On the other hand, she changed her mind, a cookie would be just fine.
The scent came from a bakery, full-wall windows speckled in posters advertising local bands and small-time theater. The sign above the shop looked like it might be on its last legs, the letters spelling out “Bakery” almost devoid of what was once a glossy golden sheen, but the smell overpowered any misgivings she might have held. It reminded her of home, all cozy and comfortable and yeasty.
Stepping into the over-warm shop from the street was such a shock, Shin'nen found herself shivering involuntarily. She brushed a hand over her arms and gave Grumpy Bear a squeeze. The bakery's interior was just as edging on disrepair as its sign; though certainly clean, the paint was certainly faded, and Shin'nen could just make out where it had begun to chip in the corner of the room. There were tables and chairs scattered across the floor, all vaguely mismatched, but painted a similar, worn color. It made her feel a little embarrassed, as though she had inadvertently peeked at an old woman in the shower, trying to look her best with an aging appearance.
The woman behind the counter, however, was anything but old. If Shin'nen had to place her, she'd guess the woman wasn't much more than twenty-five, thirty at the oldest, and between her chocolate skin and the speckling of flour across her face and arms, Shin'nen had the odd sensation that the woman was an odd, human extension of the baked goods she sold. “Enjoy those crepes, Mr. Pavani!” the woman called as an elderly man waved on his way to the door. “We'll have some more baked up for you tomorrow! Hey, there,” she added, turning her attentions and a smile to Shin'nen. “What can I help you with? Oh, honey, why are you not wearing a coat?”
“Ah—I forgot to grab one,” Shin'nen stuttered out, feeling her cheeks redden from something other than the outside chill. “Can I just look a minute?”
“Yeah, sure.” The woman's smile broadened accommodatingly before the door dinged. “Oh, hello, Ms Roxwell! I've got your dozen bagels all packaged up, fresh this morning—lemme grab 'em for you!”
While the shopkeeper vanished into the back room, Shin'nen bent to peer at the goods behind glass, identifying at least a dozen items she'd never heard of and a dozen more that looked like the word decadence had been mixed, kneaded, and golden-browned. There was, of course, the little voice in her head reminding her of the uncountable calories, fat, and carbs the creations contained, but, in a small scene of mayhem in her mind, the voice was quickly and brutally murdered by several other small voices in her head who were sick of being slowly weaned off of baby food and boring grain products for the past weeks.
“That'll be ten thirty-two, Ms Roxwell. A pleasure as always!” Sorting the money into an old-model cash register, the woman returned her gaze to Shin'nen. “Well, honey? Made a decision yet?” When Shin'nen shook her head, embarrassed, the woman reached under the counter and removed a crispy item Shin'nen could only categorize as something between a donut and a croissant. “You'll want this one, I think. Fresh out of the oven, not five minutes ago, so it's nice and warm, too.”
“Okay, okay, sure,” Shin'nen agreed, and fished the crumpled five from her back pocket.
“Of course sure. I'm especially proud of that batch.” The woman accepted her money, counted out change, and handed Shin'nen the pastry on a flowered plate.
Shin'nen took the plate, shoving the change back in her front pocket. “You . . . bake all this yourself?”
“Not all of it, usually. I've got someone who helps mornings, but she's out sick. But yeah, this is all mine.” She surveyed the room with an obvious pride, then let her smile fall sideways as she brought her gaze back to her customer. “Ah, alright, it's a bit of a dump, but I love it. Go ahead, take a seat to eat. I swear, whatever they look like, all the chairs are perfectly sturdy.”
Shin'nen nodded and, a little self-conscious, took a table near the wall, looking out the window. The woman hadn't given her a fork, so she assumed it was alright to eat the pastry with her fingers. She did, nibbling first at one corner as a test. It was as good as promised—flaky and buttery, with just the right amount of sweet glazed on so as to contrast without being overly sticky. Her subsequent tiny bites were to savor the flavor, and she found her mind veering back to office and apartment and what the hell she was supposed to do.
She was quickly absorbed in her food and thoughts, and nearly jumped to find the baker standing behind her. “Whatcha thinking?”
“Ah—um--”
The woman grinned. “There's a story behind that look, and I'm dying to figure it out. I've heard all the stories of the locals—it's just your bad luck to be new around here. Look,” she said, waving a hand toward the back of the shop, “my costumers all know I take an early lunch. How 'bout I put on some hot water and you can brighten my day with some gossip, huh? I'll throw in a sandwich for your trouble.” Without waiting for an answer, the woman strode off toward the kitchen. “If that's okay, you just wait there and I'll be back in a jiffy.”
Shin'nen considered leaving, then deflated with a sigh. Well, the woman seemed nice enough, and God knows Asque would never listen to her. And even if the woman thought she was crazy, she could just leave and never come back, right? And she really had no desire to head back out into the February chill.
The woman returned in a flourish of flour, bearing a steaming pot of water and two mugs. “What'll you take?” she asked, dumping a handful of various instant beverage packets on the table. “I've got Apple & Spice, hot chocolate, Earl Grey, and Red Zinger. But hurry up and decide, 'cause it's guests first, but I've got my eye on the Earl Grey.”
“It's all yours,” Shin'nen replied vehemently and made a grab for the packet of Swiss Miss.
“Thought you might go for that. Oh! What's your sandwich of choice? I've got salami, bologna, turkey, and maybe some ham.”
“Actually . . . I'm not really a meat eater.”
“Oh, I see. How's PB&J?”
Shin'nen found herself smiling. “That'd be great.”
“Fantastic. You'll have to make it yourself, though—I've got no patience for putting that stuff together.” The woman vanished off into the back once more, and Shin'nen stirred at her chocolate. The woman appeared again bearing two plates, one loaded with sandwich and the other still in bread and jar pieces. An orange balanced awkwardly between them. “I found an orange in the fridge, but there's only one, so we'll have to split it.” She set the items down on the table and took a seat. “Okay, then. Let's start this out right. I'm Rebekka Danielson, nice to meet you. I run this lovely little bakery here on third street. Call me Bekka. Now your turn.”
“Shin'nen Aisley. I . . . you're not going to believe me.”
“Try me. No, no, wait, let's make this easier. Question: resident or tourist?”
“I . . . don't know.” Shin'nen's face fell into an immediate frown. She didn't belong here, she didn't want to stay, but-- “I'm staying above the E.I.D.O.L.O.N. Office.”
Something dawned on Rebekka's face. “Oh-hh. So you're Asque's new project.”
“Wait, what?” Shin'nen nearly choked on her hot chocolate. “What do you know about Asque?”
“Hey, slow down there!” Rebekka held up her hands in surrender. “Lemme guess: you got fed up with him being all insufferable and ran out sans coat with your bear, right?”
Clutching her bear as though hoping it might vanish if she hugged it tight enough, Shin'nen sunk back in her seat a bit. “That's . . . yeah. About it. Does that mean you're . . . ah . . .”
Seeming to understand Shin'nen's awkward question, Bekka laughed. “Nope, I'm completely boring-ordinary. 'Normal,' as I think the acronym says. Nah, I just found a dragon in the ovens when I was six.”
Shin'nen found herself sputtering again. “A what?”
“Dragon.” Fixing Shin'nen with a piteous grimace, Bekka shook her head. “Oh, dear. He hasn't explained much to you, has he?”
“I guess not. A real dragon?”
“Oh, yes. A gorgeous, fire-breathing dragon. Got in a car accident and thought our oven was a nice warm place to heal up. The bread tasted off for weeks. Well,” she admitted, “he wasn't a dragon at the time, I suppose. He wouldn't have fit. But it was plenty big for his walker shape.
“That's how I know of Asque. Sammy mentions him sometimes.” She caught Shin'nen's sour look and skewed her smile. “He's not a bad guy—he seems to mean well, I think. But I get the feeling his people skills are lacking. I heard he's had four people living in that apartment over the past year. You're the first I've run into, though. You okay, there, honey?”
Shin'nen had pulled her legs up onto the chair with her, hugging Grumpy Bear between her chest and knees. “God, this is all actually real . . .”
“Terrible time to learn about it,” Rebekka agreed, finishing her sandwich and reaching over to spread peanut butter across Shin'nen's untouched bread. “I don't think I'd have wanted to know if I hadn't found out as a kid. But it's sorta hard to take back. Even if I don't like this Asque character, I gotta respect him. E.I.D.O.L.O.N. does a lot to make sure most everyone can stay ignorant about that sorta thing. Of course,” she added, grinning wickedly, “I could just be part of a huge conspiracy. Or crazy. Small-time baker, you know, that's only a couple steps up from cafeteria lunch lady, you know.”
Shin'nen glowered at her from over her bear.
“Okay, okay, joking! Eat,” she instructed, shoving the finished sandwich in Shin'nen's direction. Shin'nen reached out a hand mutely and took an obedient bite. “So, how did you get dragged into this?”
Haltingly, around bites of sandwich, Shin'nen recounted what she remembered. It was less than she'd thought, considering the time frame, and by the time the sandwich was finished, so was the tale: arriving at the hospital, wishing she could do more to help, suddenly feeling exhausted and collapsing, then awakening here, in the apartment's large bed, two and half weeks and hundreds of miles later. Rebekka made an attentive listener, and, no matter what the baker's intentions, she was immediately glad to have met her if only to have someone to talk to.
“So . . . I guess I heal people. Except I'm bad at it.” She held up her right wrist, displaying the bracelet still jingling around it.
“Or maybe really good at it,” Rebekka suggested, tossing Shin'nen a 'may I?' glance before fingering the bracelet such as to read it better. “I've heard it takes just as much energy, magical or otherwise, to heal something as it would to heal naturally. So if you can learn how control it, well. That'd be something. I think Sammy's got one of these,” she added. “My dragon friend. Except his is a dog tag and says something like 'volucris' or something so they hopefully leave him to people who don't freak out that he's got extra organs. What?”
Shin'nen was laughing in a way she hoped wasn't bordering on hysteria. “Oh, God. It's just . . . three weeks ago I would have been worrying about Calculus and Human Anatomy and whether Jill and Amie had hooked up yet, and now I'm sitting in Portland talking about dragons and wizards. I think I should be freaking out. In fact, I'm pretty sure I should be freaking out. This is like a movie, or a book, or some stupid reality tv show.”
Rebekka squeezed Shin'nen's wrist briefly. “Pretend you're a kid. I bet you'd have loved this if you were a kid. Think Peter Pan. You get older, you forget how to appreciate all this stuff, but sometimes you've gotta go back to being a kid to grow up. It's a weird world out there, but it's a pretty amazing weird world.”
“Yeah, I—I'll work on that.” She swallowed down a gulp of cooling chocolate and gave Grumpy Bear another squeeze.
“I mean, hey, it's magic. The world is magical. That's pretty awesome. Like this orange,” the baker offered, digging fingernails into the rind and expertly peeling the fruit. “Pretty interesting in general, maybe some people don't like it much, but it's alright and all. But then,” and she blew into cupped hands, rubbed the pink palms together and blew a hundred sparkling flakes into the air, “fwoosh, something happens and it just glitters.”
A smile snuck into the corners of Shin'nen's mouth. “That's . . . yeah, magic.”
“That's my one trick. Ah, shoot.” Bekka was glancing at the clock on the wall, frowning at the time. “I'd better get back to work. And you'd better start figuring this stuff out. Hang on there a minute, I'll find a jacket you can borrow.”
“Thanks.” Shin'nen helped the woman pile plates together and carry them back to the kitchen. “Thanks, for . . . all this.”
“Hey, don't thank me,” she said with a lopsided grin. “I've got ulterior motives. If you get this all worked out, I might be able to get you or Asque to take care of the ghost in my oven.”
“G-ghost?”
“Oh, honey. You have got to get someone to give you the lowdown on this.” After filing the dishes away in a battered dishwasher, Bekka paused at the rusty coat rack by the back door. “Ah, damn, he's got my jacket now. Well, s'long as I don't need to go out . . .” After a moment's frowning, she grabbed a leather jacket shook flour from it, holding it out to Shin'nen. “This aught to work for you. It's a little . . . dusty, but it'll keep the wind off you. Wear it home, find your own, and you can update me when you bring it back tomorrow.”
Shin'nen slipped the jacket on, feeling the seams in the lining where the arms hung too long. It felt handmade and lovingly repatched and smelled strongly of cinnamon. “Thanks. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “And then I'll put you to work. Can't let the wizard have all the fun.”
Shin'nen tried out a smile and found it fit comfortably on her lips. “Alright. I'll try to bring lunch this time.”
“I'll hold you to it! Now shoo—I think I've got customers waiting.” Motioning with her arms largely, Bekka directed Shin'nen toward the door. Shin'nen trailed outside obediently, waving as she turned back down the street. She liked how the smile felt on her face, and decided maybe things couldn't be so bad if, as she suspected, she'd just made a friend.
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