by Kim Smejkal
Warmth.
And the scent of her: soft and reassuring, subtle, like petals in a pond, enveloping Celia in love.
Celia allowed all those tiny bits to rise up and overtake her. Xinto landed on her shoulder, and six fuzzy legs tickled along her neckline as he got comfortable, as if reminding her that he was as real as anything . . .
It would be easy.
It would hurt.
It would be marvelous.
What if all of this—coming to Wisteria, meeting Halcyon, working, and learning—was meant to open this path to her?
Celia examined the ink-Anya. Near perfect to anyone who didn’t know her well. As she took a step forward, the ink-Anya approached as well. Celia glanced down at Anya’s hand, her littlest finger ready to hug Celia’s. It could be she and Anny once again, linked pinkies since the beginning.
With a gulp of air, she turned back toward the fountain. She wanted it so badly, even though she knew it was wrong. The only thing stopping her from shouting Yes! immediately was the thought of what actual Anya would say about this.
“I’ll think about it.” Celia felt like she hadn’t spoken in years, her words came out as a croak, as if her voice box were shredded. Perhaps her words weren’t even heard over the sound of the fountain, it was so loud suddenly.
The ink-Anya disappeared, the feeling of calm presence behind Celia vanishing as if it had never been there to begin with. Because it hadn’t.
But oh, the lure of it still teased at her.
Halcyon intruded into that space behind her and looked down.
“I would have done this for my Martina already, but I know in my heart she’s still out there, waiting for me, and I’m going to bring her home one day.” He paused, hesitated, lifted his head away from their reflections. “With you here, tending this place, I’ll finally be able to search in earnest. And if I get what I want, it’s only fair that you get what you want.”
Celia was suspended in some other place, surrounded by things that became real with wishes.
She turned around, finally, and peered up at him without shame. She already knew he would be the one person who wouldn’t judge her for what she wanted.
The bright sunlight, his miraculous Wisterian sun, shone down and cast shadows along his face. She still didn’t know what to make of him, whether he was a friend or a mentor or a manipulator. He was just Halcyon—everything and nothing at the same time, and whatever he was, she was going to be forever bound to him, and to this place. He’d never let her leave, not with the ink in her blood and the secrets she knew, that much she’d already surmised from his let’s-make-deadly-poison-together encounter. He was entrusting her with so much.
“When this is over for you,” he said, “and your friends are safe from Diavala’s Touch, you’ll have a lot of time here. And Wisteria has always been a place of perfection.”
Perfection would be having Anya back again. Perfection would be mastering scent, protecting Griffin from the Touch, and defeating Diavala for good. They hadn’t spoken of revenge again since that first day, but it lingered in the far recesses of Celia’s mind like a thorn: if Halcyon knows how to kill people so efficiently, perhaps he knows how to kill immortal Diavalas as well. He was, after all, a passable apothecary.
“Maybe we all need a break,” Halcyon said, stepping away from her. “It’s Stomp Night tonight.”
Celia’s gaze snapped up to his, her reverie shattering.
She couldn’t show up with Halcyon. “I don’t really feel like getting drinks.”
He cocked an eyebrow as he moved back toward the house. “Lyric tells me you’re at the pub every night.”
Damn it, Lyric!
“My headache is pretty fierce today . . .”
His eyebrows turned frowny. “The tea should be helping.”
She couldn’t think of any other excuse, but she’d have at least a two-hour head start to figure something out. He’d disappear to chat with Martina’s ghost; she could try to keep Griffin away.
Celia nodded. “It is helping. A lot, actually. I’ll see you there, then. Maybe you can tell me why you started Stomp Night, what it means.” She was already walking away as she rambled, poor Xinto startled by the movement so he flopped over into the flowers again and nearly plummeted to the ground.
Celia had to come up with something to avoid a meeting between Griffin and Halcyon so all her lies didn’t blow up in her face the way Lyric had predicted.
“Lyric,” Celia called when she was back in the house, running down the halls. “Lyric!” She sent Xinto to scout up ahead, but he was a slow giant bee, unused to heavy exercise, so he ended up back on her shoulder soon enough.
Lyric popped their head out of one of the libraries.
“Lyric!” Celia called again. “Heeeeey, Lyric.” Celia stopped, bent, and tried to catch her breath. Lyric had already gone back into the room and closed the door on her.
Celia pushed the door back open and strode in. “I might have a problem.”
“You have many,” Lyric responded as they reshelved all the books Halcyon had pored through that day. Xinto, the traitor, mustered up the last reserves of his energy and abandoned her shoulder for Lyric’s.
“Halcyon’s planning to go to Stomp Night. Tonight. Shortly.”
“Of course he is. He always goes if he’s in town.” Lyric kept on shelving, frowning at the spine of a book as if doubting the letters they were reading.
“Griffin will be there.”
“Okay?” They dropped the book on the bench to deal with later.
“Halcyon and Griffin will be there at the same time.”
“They won’t,” they said, brushing the dust from their hands. “I already took care of it. You don’t have to worry.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean Griffin’s at the lakes with Michali right now, harvesting river lobsters.”
So little of that sentence made sense to Celia that she didn’t know what to address first.
“Look, I know you two have some”—Lyric waved their still-dusty hands around vaguely—“domestic issues, but I’ve been under the impression for a while that it’s not in anyone’s best interest for the two of them to pal it up. And if I can do one thing really well, it’s look out for anyone.” They pointed at themselves, with the emphasis on anyone.
Celia exhaled and doubled over again. “Oh, thank mercy.”
“Now either get out or help me shelve the rest of these books.”
Celia helped. She even allowed Xinto to nuzzle into Lyric’s neck, giving them a fuzzy bee hug.
Chapter 11
The Outside Inn was even more lively for Celia’s second Stomp Night. By the time she and Lyric walked in, people were already on tables, their noise echoing into the night. It looked like the entire town was packed into that one room: there was barely any air or any space to move, yet they were moving.
“Is that . . . ” Davi motioned at Celia’s shoulder, her mouth open.
“Oh, him?” Celia said nonchalantly. The giant bee sitting there, as big as a teacup, vibrated his wings in greeting. “This is Xinto. Don’t worry, he’s harmless.” Celia laughed, riding the high of her creation. “Unless you get between him and some flowers.”
“He’s so cute! Can I pet him?” Davi tittered as Xinto leaned into her attention, snuggling up to her hand like a striped puppy. “What a darling! Celia, where did you find him?”
In the real world, people would be running away, screaming at the unnatural creature on her shoulder. But this wasn’t the real world, this was Wisteria. The people here were accustomed to seeing strange things all the time.
Celia tilted her chin, and Xinto pressed his wee nose to her. “It took some doing, but I finally convinced him to come out.” Without Griffin around that night, she could finally show Xinto off.
With Davi still cooing over him, Celia looked around the busy room. “Is it someone’s birthday?” she asked, yelling to be heard over the din.
; “No,” Lyric said, their lips stretching into a genuine smile for the first time since Celia had known them. “But Aspen and Blue have been together for fifteen years today, and this is a celebration of their commitment to each other.” Lyric waved to a couple in the corner, unstomping but with drinks piled high in front of them like offerings at a shrine. “They’re well-loved here,” Lyric said before leaving Celia to greet them.
Fifteen years with one person. That was a lifetime. Celia daydreamed for a moment, about a different life. Maybe, in fifteen years, she and Griffin would have a couple of goats and read books together by the fire on chilly nights. Zuni and Dante would come over for the occasional drink, perhaps with Kitty Kay and some of the Rabble Mob. Maybe they’d started their own miniature Commedia troupe, using fresh characters, telling new stories, where no one knew of the plague doctor or the Devil in the Bell Jar. Where no one cared anything about trickster deities, and it was all for fun. She’d always imagined that place would be Kinallen, but perhaps Wisteria would work just as well. Maybe, maybe, he’d choose to stay. Maybe he’d like helping her take care of the town, although his whimsy would be decidedly too much for Halcyon’s sensibilities.
What would Griffin look like in middle age? Celia imagined his stubble peppered with premature gray—because the past couldn’t be entirely undone—with an echo of gray at his temples, highlighted against his dark hair. A few more lines, laugh lines, living among the constellation tattoo by his eye. Weathered hands, but deft. He’d still be able to amuse her with his purple and blue flames.
Maybe, at the hearth, there would be a dark-haired Kid, almost ready to choose their name . . .
“Another headache?” Halcyon asked now, his face etched with concern. “I really have to talk to Rian about our mixture.”
The imagining had been almost painful, she wanted it so badly, and he must have seen it on her face. She forced herself to relax. Forced the happy images away. “No. I was just visiting another world,” she said. It was nice there. “Dia, but you got ready quick,” she said. He was dressed in a different suit from the one he’d worn all day, his hair freshly washed and combed. Either she’d been standing alone and daydreaming for a long time, or he’d somehow made the clock wind faster. Time was different around him, she’d noticed.
“And you’ve brought your friend out,” he commented.
Celia panic-looked around the room for Griffin before realizing that Halcyon was referring to Xinto.
“Your people are okay with him,” she assured him. Told you!
Celia shook off the last of her fond daydream and found them a table near the back. Since most people were already standing and stomping, they had their pick.
Davi had said that Halcyon had started Stomp Night, yet Celia couldn’t imagine him dancing or bouncing around. There was an almost religious observance to it; amid the hoots and hollers and laughter was an undercurrent of necessity.
Halcyon ordered them drinks as Xinto made his rounds, snuggling into whoever seemed interested. “Stomp Night actually started when Diavala came a few years ago.”
Celia became very interested indeed. Halcyon rarely talked about the past. “What happened?” she asked. She tried to mimic Lyric’s detached composure about everything, taking a sip of her beer and looking around as if she weren’t wholly invested in his answer.
“I was ever out of the reach of Diavala’s mistico. I made sure I never broke any rules of Profeta, because nothing of my work has to do with tattoos.”
Ah, the dance of skirting Profeta’s doctrine. Celia knew it well.
“She came and tried to deal with me herself.”
“With the Touch,” Celia said. Another sip of beer.
“She came,” he repeated, “then I pushed her out and slammed the door.”
He clapped and stomped his feet for emphasis, matching the beat of the song people were still pounding out around them.
So Stomp Night was an anthem for besting Diavala and driving her away. It was his claim to Wisteria, and all the ink work he did there. Celia loved the sentiment behind it with her entire soul, but that story really needed a better delivery. There was nothing about Martina, for one. Nothing of his heartbreak. And no juicy details about how Diavala had run away scared, realizing that someone more powerful than herself existed.
Lyric turned the extra chair around with a flourish and sat on it backwards, joining them at the table with their drink, still smiling. “Aspen and Blue are so happy right now,” they said.
Another song had started in earnest, making it difficult to carry on a conversation. The stomping echoed in Celia’s heart, beating like a drum in her chest. She stood, pushing her chair back so the legs scraped on the floor. She listened for the beat of the music created by the happy people of Wisteria, and she caught it, pulling it into herself. The thumping of their feet and the clapping of their hands infused her. It was a powerful sound, made all the more powerful now that she understood what it meant.
Every thump was against Diavala. Every stomp beat her down. Altogether, it was a warning for her to never set foot in Wisteria again.
Celia moved her feet, tentatively at first, then with more surety when she didn’t misstep. She reached toward Halcyon, inviting him to join her.
Halcyon stood, towering over her. With a stomp stomp, he joined the beat, mirroring her movements.
They stomped together in the middle of happy Wisterians celebrating fifteen years of commitment between the elders, Aspen and Blue, and with each strike of her boot into the floor, Celia imagined Diavala’s faceless face underfoot. Perhaps sensing Celia’s ardor, Xinto flew across the room and joined her, zigging and zagging in between her and Halcyon, begging to be part of the fun.
“You’re so close to creating your own stomp, Celia,” Halcyon said. “Scent is giving you a hard time, but if you can do it—”
“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice hot. “Stop doubting me.”
She’ll do it! Xinto agreed, landing on the top of her hat in solidarity.
Halcyon smiled and climbed onto the table.
“People of Wisteria!”
Celia saw the exact moment when Halcyon allowed them to recognize him. Their faces transformed from guarded to delighted, and even with arms tangled together and drinks in hand, everyone began clapping for him.
“We have another something special to celebrate!” He turned in a circle, yelling loud enough so that all of Wisteria could hear him, and his gaze landed significantly on Celia. “For the past little while, you might have noticed her around the town. Celia Sand has been helping me, learning, and proving herself. At long last, I’ve found an apprentice. She’s vowed to take care of our home when I’m traveling, and she’s perfectly suited to the task in every way. I’m delighted for all of us!”
Everyone smiled and hooted. Cheers and applause rose up.
“You’re all invited!” he shouted. “Five days from now, bring your stomping shoes and clapping hands to the main square, and we’ll drink, eat, and dance all evening and formally welcome her to our town!”
“Congratulations, Celia!” Davi skittered closer, with the bartender, Giada, in tow. “What an honor. And Halcyon throws the best parties!”
Giada responded with an excited squeal, offering Celia a drink on the house and spilling most of it in their excitement. “Does that mean Griffin is staying too?”
“I’m counting on all of you to make her feel welcome here,” Halcyon continued, stepping down from the table into the swarm circling him. No wonder he disguised himself most of the time; he couldn’t handle all the people trying to talk to him at once.
Celia tried to keep up with Davi and Giada’s chatter, all the people who wanted to shake her hand and tip their hats to her, and the drinks people plied her with. In a daze, she gravitated toward Lyric, hard back pats urging her along at every turn.
“A celebrity in our midst!” Lyric said.
Celia’s smile faltered. She had no idea what was going on in Lyric’s
mind half the time, but she’d become a master of catching their Contraryish. Different from the plague doctor’s Riddlish, where meaning was hidden in vague nonsense, Lyric’s language was saying the exact opposite of what they meant.
“Five days is plenty of time,” Celia said.
Then Griffin would be protected from Diavala’s torture. From her threats. And he could take the inoculation to others, protecting them. Diavala truly would have nothing on Celia then.
“Halcyon just gave you a very public deadline,” Lyric pointed out.
Looking up mid-conversation, Halcyon nodded at her and tilted his head.
“He gave me motivation.” Celia bowed to Halcyon across the distance. A couple of Xinto’s legs dangled for a moment, and he nearly fell before he righted himself up on the hat.
“He also just gave everyone in the town a heads-up about what you’ve actually been doing all this time,” Lyric said with an arched eyebrow. “How long do you think it will take Griffin to hear the gossip himself—immediately, or immediately?”
The answer turned out to be even more immediate than immediately, because that was when Griffin walked in.
Chapter 12
Griffin’s gaze roamed around the lively room. Everyone was arranged in swarming, swirling clumps.
“Doesn’t look like he caught many river lobsters,” Lyric said offhandedly. “He’d be a lot more muddy.”
When Griffin’s gaze landed on Celia, his eyes widened. He should have smiled. He should have started moving toward her.
Something was wrong.
With one thought pounding through her head—Everything will unravel if Diavala finds out!!!—Celia shrank into herself. She had no idea what to do to head this off, so she just stood there, mute and unmoving.
Lyric shoved Celia toward Griffin, hard enough for Celia to spill her drink all over the front of her shirt. Reluctantly, she pushed her way through the crowd and approached him, hoping, praying, that everyone stayed occupied long enough so that she and Griffin could leave.
“So this is where your dandelion seed is leading you,” Griffin said slowly. His words weren’t cold, exactly, but they were guarded.