Anger and Sorrow pretend not to care.
Wonder whispers to him. “She’s darling. You have an admirer, dearest. What did you do to deserve that?”
It’s more than a quip. She’s nosy and fishing. Therefore, she’s wasting her time.
“Of course, you would promote sentimentality,” Anger criticizes.
“Oh, Anger. Wouldn’t we all,” Wonder says, her locks springing beneath the floral headband and falling over her exposed shoulder.
The passage of time, and everything that happened with Love, has altered his class. Envy and Sorrow have been reconsidering their purpose, their companionship morphing into friendship, their friendship mutating into fornication.
In Wonder’s case, she’s never needed much convincing, because Love isn’t the only deity in history to experience that tentative emotion.
Wonder has felt it once, too. Or something akin to it.
She’d defied the rules. Over a hundred fifty years ago, she’d taken liberties, becoming infatuated with a mortal and trying to make contact with him. A grave offense.
Instead of banishment as retribution, she’d been tortured per order of the Fate Court. Hence, the mangled hands.
Merry has an excuse. Her illusions have crammed in her head, likely a symptom of solitude. She’s a faulty love goddess who’s misinterpreting ardency. Maybe that’s what makes her a dud in the Court’s estimation.
It doesn’t repel Anger like it should. Rather, he’s covetous and wary of the angle through which she sees the world. A perspective that he’s never entertained before.
What has he done to deserve her admiration?
In answer to Wonder’s question, he’s not certain anyone will ever earn Merry’s light. Least of all the prick who’s planning to demolish it. And all because he lacks the backbone, not to mention the balls, to recycle the indomitable pieces of himself without resorting to backdoor deals and faking a rebound.
If Anger were a real god, he would staple together what’s left of his resilience. He wouldn’t need to scam Merry, and he wouldn’t need one final interaction with Love in order to move on.
Too bad he’s already fist-deep in this pile of shit.
Too bad he’s a selfish deity, as if any other genus exists.
Remorse won’t do him good. Not when he’s got a challenge ahead of him, tension to rectify, a goal to attain. He needs to double his efforts while pacing himself from now on.
Time to get working. Time to break a heart.
12
Merry
Time to get working. Time to win a heart.
This is going to take more finesse than she’d anticipated, now that she knows of Anger’s occupied affections. It’s merely a detour. Well, not merely, but the art of soul-mating must be a trial. If it were a piece of angel food cake, creating a love goddess wouldn’t have mystified the Fates for millennia.
A bubble inflates from Merry’s lips, a sugary blimp swelling in front of her vision. The orb dilates, then detonates and shrivels, and she suctions the gum back into her mouth. Candy doesn’t help any more than the lemonade had, so she chucks the elastic glob into a wastebasket, where it disappears.
The record player spins, alleviating her inner strife and the recent influx of setbacks, like the Fate Court’s attack, her random quarrels with Anger, his lack of jealousy, and her lack of pacing. Not in that order.
Last night, they’d fallen asleep listening to her player, which she’d left in the fern alcove, atop the hammock. This morning, they’d sparred yet again, their principles at an impasse. Gracious, it’s always back and forth with him.
Standing in her woolly robe and slippers, Merry rifles through the rack of clothes in her sanctuary, the armoire hangers clattering. A distinct wildflower breeze blows into the space, making Merry grin.
She plucks a sapphire tulle mini skirt from the wardrobe. “What do you think of the color? I like to imagine that I’m wearing the sky.”
Another hand, maimed with starburst scars, reaches past Merry and selects a worn Pisces T-shirt. “Then embellish it with a constellation.”
Merry spins around and embraces Wonder while balancing the outfit in her fingers. Pulling back, Merry admires the female’s fountain of tresses and the posy of blooms at her temple, but most especially her bottomless eyes, bona fide wells of contemplation.
She and the goddess clasp their free hands, swinging them between their bodies. They’ve known each other for a scant amount of days, having met only twice, yet Merry cherishes their bond.
Being birthed from stars and unable to conceive, their people don’t have families and suffer no desire for them, not like mortals do. Be that as it may, this connection with Wonder feels intrinsic.
“I leave you alone for a moment, and already you have a tale to tell,” Wonder says. “Several tales, come to think of it.”
“Kindred,” Merry greets. “You heard my call.”
She hadn’t expected Wonder to answer so quickly. While Anger had been gone from the observatory—spending the day doing whatever he’d been doing—Merry had awakened on the lounge chair, needing to talk to someone about everything that’s happened since encountering Anger.
The meet-cute. The attack. The chase. The cable car.
The rejection. The hope.
She’d sent a message to her friend, because who better to discuss this with?
Initially, Wonder had made a stunning appearance in the Carnival of Stars not ten days ago. Through nomadic research, she’d learned of Merry’s existence and sought her out, wanting to see Merry in the flesh.
A failed love goddess? And the only failed attempt to survive birth?
Wonder had bounded to the Celestial City, on a mission to quench her fascination. They’d connected instantly, and by the second visit shortly thereafter, Wonder had an idea. While snooping in the Archives, she’d previously uncovered a legend, which spoke of winning a deity’s heart. Restoring Merry to the Peaks had been an appealing notion, which felt like the right thing to do after hearing Merry’s tale.
Not only that, but Merry has spent her life trying to find an outlet, a way to redeem herself in the Fates’ eyes. She’s ruminated and conversed with the stars. She’s studied human couples, love triangles, and crimes of passion. The mortals who pine, and the mortals who grovel, and the mortals who self-destruct, and the mortals who break up, and the mortals who cheat, and the mortals who say their vows, and the mortals who live happily ever after…happy occasionally after.
Without a Guide to teach her the nuances of matchmaking, Merry has attempted to educate herself, just as she’s learned to skateboard by spying on mortals and then improvising, just as she’s cultivated centuries of musical appreciation by attending every local performance known to man.
But as far as becoming a redeemable goddess, she’s gotten nowhere. The more she has tried, the farther she’s felt from her origins.
Upon Wonder’s arrival, she and Merry had shared their theories about fate versus free will. Wonder had believed in Merry’s potential to be a fair goddess, the sort that Love had beseeched for the future, a sentimental goddess who cares for mortals more than anyone the Fate Court will recreate.
Wonder had taken a chance on Merry. And only one day after the archeress told her about the legend, Anger had shown up, passing out in Merry’s arms.
Yes, there are several tales to swap.
“Have I lead you astray from archeress business?” Merry asks Wonder. “I promise, I’ll make it quick. I would have confided in you on the roof, but we had company—though it was marvelous to meet the illustrious Envy and Sorrow. But when I saw you vanish right in front of Anger, I began to fret that maybe you’d left for good, without saying farewell. I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Oh, dearest,” Wonder chides. “Didn’t you see me wink before I disappeared?”
“Yes, but it could have been just a wink. It’s an attractive gesture.”
“I don’t wink for the sake of winking. That’s Envy�
��s job.”
“Anger’s the one.”
The announcement pops out of Merry like a ping-pong ball. She winces and peeks out the doors to the deck, hoping the god hadn’t heard that. Matter of fact, that he hadn’t heard Wonder and Merry at all, since he’d already taken note of their acquaintance. To say the least, it’s best if he doesn’t know she’s conspiring to romance.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Wonder waves her hand. “He’s delayed Envy and Sorrow from leaving, asking them for updates on the Fates’ progress recreating a new God of Anger. It isn’t going smoothly, which is to be expected. They have standards, and it’s hardly an expedient process.”
“I can’t imagine replacing him,” Merry declares. “Anger’s a stubborn elitist. But he’s ridden a carousel, he longs to make memories, he likes blueberry lemonade even if he won’t admit it, and he squeezes his bow or drums his fingers to calm down. He loves placid waters and minerals, he’s afraid of snowstorms, he favors the color blue, and he yearns for a home of his own. He’s the one whose heart I’m supposed to win. He’s the yang to my yin, the fire to my hearth.”
Wonder rubs her temples. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Which part?”
The goddess plops onto the bed, her rump making the ruffles bounce. “The moment you called to me and included the words soul mate and Anger, I did the math. I’d been wondering how long it would take for him to drift here. But Merry, he’s—”
“I know about Love.”
“How much about her?”
That implies Wonder’s well-versed on the matter. She must have learned quite a bit during her upbringing with Anger.
Actually, it sounds more complicated. It sounds like they share a common memory, like something occurred in their past, something strictly between them, which has both sealed and sundered their relationship.
Does the common denominator have to do with Wonder’s scars? Or another event entirely?
Merry’s confidence dims—for a second. “We spent a night in the Carnival of Stars, revealing our secrets.”
Wonder admires the neon fonts adorning the room, particularly the beaming four-letter word in question. “Soul mates before friends. You’ve detoured from chronological order.”
“Love at first sight, love at last sight,” Merry lists while opening a dresser drawer, sifting through a medley of beaded necklaces and headbands. “I don’t know everything, or close to everything about love, but I’ve been an earthen homebody and an attentive bystander of mortal weddings and tear-jerkers my whole life. The art of love has no timeline or structure, Kindred Wonder.”
“Then you’ve got your matchmaking work cut out for you, Dearest Merry.”
“I’ll consider this training for when I return to the Peaks. I’m smitten, which means I’m halfway victorious.” Merry dismisses her accessories, clasps her hands, and twirls. “Anger is all that remains between a plot twist and a resolution.”
“How do you know he’s the one? Did the stars flash? Did your hearts glow?”
“I was too busy looking at his unconscious face to check.”
“Destiny-wise, that isn’t encouraging.”
“Anatomy-wise, it is. I felt it from my toes to my scalp, all queasy and delirious; it was so provocative that I felt like a criminal. Do we really know all the signs of ardor?”
A melancholy shadow crosses Wonder’s face as she glances at her mangled hands. “Perhaps not,” she says, her voice dipped in memory, the texture of which carries a petal-soft longing.
Merry is ready to cup Wonder’s bare shoulder, to ask what’s wrong and whom the goddess is thinking of. But Wonder clenches and unclenches her fingers, which appears to soothe her. And so, Merry’s not about to intrude and resurrect that momentary pain.
She strips out of the robe and nightgown, wiggles her cumulus-clad feet through the sapphire skirt, and dons the Pisces tee, adding a baggy blazer to mix. Then she kicks off the slippers, finishing the ensemble with striped knee-high socks and her sneakers.
Wonder smiles at the discarded slippers. “If this works, and you return to the Peaks, please make sure to pack those. I’d love to see the look on the Court’s faces.”
Merry joins her on the bed while strapping her hair into a ponytail. “Did they attack because they know about the legend?”
The goddess sobers, her off-the-shoulder blouse sliding lower. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine how they would unless they’ve assigned a deity to spy on one of us. I’ll learn what I can. Promise.”
Wonder vows to drag Envy and Sorrow aside, to tell them everything once they’ve left the city. They’re her classmates, and they need to be careful.
This romance is entangling more souls than Merry had foreseen. But as agreed, she’ll do her part. She’ll be on her guard and rummage her kindreds’ territories for any news or rumors.
And she’ll do her best to court a rage god.
13
Merry
Three objectives harmonize in her mind.
One, woo Anger away from his unrequited past. Two, love him down.
Three, and most importantly, find out what the Fate Court knows, what they’re up to, and then evade the consequences long enough to succeed in One and Two, thus becoming immune to the Court’s ire and winning a ticket to the Peaks.
Actually four: Live happily ever after.
After Wonder leaves, Merry rolls her shoulders and fluffs her ponytail. Vaguely, she considers exchanging her outfit for something elegant and goddesslike.
But no. She may be unwanted by the universe, she may crave its acceptance—and yes, okay yes, she may be tempted to adapt for the stars—but she draws the line at replacing her sneakers and tulle, and certainly not her fishnet gloves. That would set an inauthentic precedent.
Merry wants Anger, but she’s read enough mortal books, listened to enough mortal music, and watched enough mortal movies in theaters. If there’s one thing she won’t do for Anger, it’s change who she is. If she’s gleaned anything about love, it’s that he has to want her for her.
If he’s truly her soul mate, he’d better.
Merry hops to it. She sets the stage, springing into courtship. Returning to the outdoor deck, she skips across the planks with her hands bundled behind her.
In the maze of hedges, Anger gropes the roof’s railing, his head bowed. His reclusive profile produces conjoined reactions, tremulous and excruciating. When he turns her way with a scallop of worry between his brows, it’s a slam dunk to the soul. Had he sensed her approach?
They stare at each other. He checks the perimeter of her face, and she counts his eyelashes, as thick as tassels. Someday, she might recline across those plumes of hair and drift into slumber.
He waits for her to speak, and she waits for the same thing from him, and this interlude goes on for so long—that they chuckle sheepishly.
“That was a calamitous sunrise,” she admits.
“Deplorable,” he agrees with a rueful expression. “I apologize for—”
“Me, too. After such a profound evening—”
“It would be a disaster to spoil things.”
“Utterly,” she says.
“Certainty,” he finishes, looking as though he wishes to kick himself, which is a mutual feeling.
“Soooo…” Merry screws her toe into the ground. “Everyone’s gone. Just us. You and me.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She extends her hand. “Let’s be calamitous, and deplorable, and profound together.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the granules of his eyes alight. As he folds his fingers with hers, bolts of lightning catapult up her arm.
From morning until evening, they tour the city via rooftops and sidewalks and paseos, wandering from parks to urban villages. Everywhere, there’s starlight and moonlight, trees dotted with twinkle strings, and pavilions of star lanterns.
At first, getting Anger to unravel is more laborious than extracting teeth. Not that Merry has ev
er yanked on a molar, but mortals use that metaphor a lot. It’s like he wants to give in but has no idea how, motivated yet reluctant to try. His attitude is vexing, but she gets him to snicker at himself.
It’s a juxtaposition, a double standard that makes him seem more human than he knows. It’s a Study in Angers.
And it’s a Study in Merrys, considering how often he challenges her perspectives, how often she experiences epiphanies of the mental and bodily sort. She does the unexpected, snapping at him or clenching her thighs whenever his eyes swallow her, when he thinks she’s not looking.
Over time, his shoulders lose their tension, and his voice loses its strain. Their excursions massage the kinks out of him, the conversations growing increasingly fluid. Anger relaxes, and he becomes talkative, even impulsive.
She narrates like a docent, walking backward in front of him while they stroll across a bridge lined with telescopes. “This city was founded by a band of rebel astronomers. They wanted to prove the sky had its own sorcery as well as a system, and while they didn’t succeed, technically they were right, though few believed them.”
“The collision of magic and science,” Anger articulates. “Imagine that detonation. They weren’t far off the mark.”
“I wouldn’t call it a collision or detonation. I’d call it a marriage.”
“You would.”
She smacks his shoulder while he mirthfully tries to dodge it. Collapsing against the bridge’s arch, she regards the heavens carbonated with stars. “Magic is a wonder, and science is a fact. But their majesty doesn’t exist exclusively, because they’re equally dazzling and inspirational. They’re timeless and infinite, which means they remain mysterious.
“This place began with exiles of the stars, right from the beginning. They prayed to the galaxy, and studied its composition, and measured its light from atop the buildings—that last part is how they discovered the city’s radiance.” She boosts herself atop the balustrade. “The stars are luminous in deserts and mountains, but as cities go, this is the metropolis where they shine the brightest, more than any other. Over the centuries, it’s been the home of planetary theorists, and the dreamers and wishers who’ve pilgrimaged here and tried to catch lunar light in jars.
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