Chapter Twenty-Two
The deluge threatened to begin. Alora pulled the hood of her Opulence cloak lower on her head, the invisibility coat draped over her arm, as she rushed for the gate. She couldn’t waste time on umbrellas.
Madam Feebledire had been shocked to see her still within the grounds, which Alora had smoothed by saying she’d been kept busy with more measurements. A horse and wagon would arrive at the carpenter’s tomorrow morning. That rule, at least, she’d followed.
She rang the bell, bouncing on her toes as she waited for the gate to swing in.
When it did, she hurried out into an abrupt downpour without bothering to say goodbye to the ill-tempered guard, though she did glance at him, and noted his paint ran in rivulets down his face.
It reminded her of Reginald, and sorrow filled her.
Thunder cracked and lightning zipped across the sky in an aggressive display that mimicked her feelings. She couldn’t see far ahead due to the rain, and it left her with a sense of isolation she couldn’t shake. She didn’t know what to do.
Her thoughts tumbled over one another so relentlessly, she felt like she’d been tossed into the ocean, but near the shore.
One with cliffs and very large rocks. She couldn’t escape them.
Briefly, she contemplated setting the entire mansion on fire.
But how many would be lost to the blaze?
The mermaid for certain, and who knew how well all that stone would burn anyway.
The frame would likely only end up scorched and be rebuilt, the arson traced to her.
She’d grown up hearing stories about the spectacular enchantments of Opulence Mansion; she could have never imagined it to be so corrupt.
For its contracts to be akin to shackles, and its dealings built on a foundation of greed.
And it had managed to leech into Enver. Beautiful Enver, which she loved so much.
Kind Ellie Turkens and strong Ms. Merryweather.
Eager Mr. Whitters and Hector Zanfold, her curmudgeonly neighbor.
None of them deserved to live in the gilded, poisoned shadow which Merridon created.
He needed to be stopped and held accountable. Him and every Urchin he employed.
But how?
How could one person topple such a scheme? Especially one anchored in gold?
Her cowl drooped, muddling her vision. She entered the cobbled streets of Enver and ripped it off, shoving the blasted thing in her satchel. She didn’t care if it wrinkled or mildewed. She was so upset, she could have stomped it into the puddled road, damn anyone who witnessed her.
Lennox had thought to make her day better, and Alora hoped, at least for her friend’s sake, that it had worked for her.
But it had done the opposite for Alora. That childhood memory was one of the purest she had, when her heart was full of pride and possibilities.
It had ended tragically for her. For her and the blacksmith’s daughter, and even for the rabbit.
Her enchantment did not, in fact, make anyone love her.
Mugwort Alley was the shortest route home, and she took it.
The dark sky and endless rain made the lane of gray and black buildings even more dreadful in appearance, but for once, she didn’t scoff at how the town could allow it.
Instead, she thought of how it matched her mood.
Maybe she should move here. Give up her flowers and terrace and become a witch who resided in the muck, growing mushrooms to sicken those who stared at her too long.
Lightning lit the sky, brighter than any she’d seen yet, and she halted at once in the middle of the street. The subsequent thunder rattled windows all around, but she didn’t pay it any attention. She’d become distracted. Unashamedly so. Relievedly so. It gave her…ideas.
Bash lowered a bag filled to the brim with who knew what onto the soaked porch of Potions and Peculiarities, a hand deep in his pocket.
She’d not seen him since the evening she’d woken on his back stoop, when he’d offered her all sorts of unsolicited advice before, bafflingly, requesting to see her home.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Or maybe he had and pretended not to.
What brings him out into the storm? He must have been caught in the rain at least as long as her, considering his hair was curled and clinging to his forehead, and his shirt was soaked through and practically adhered to his skin.
She could see every dip and swell of him.
He rolled up his shirtsleeves upon swinging the door in, revealing quite nice forearms.
Goodness.
Bash bent to retrieve the bag he’d discarded. She was near enough to notice rain dripped from his nose and from his chin. She watched it run down his cheekbone and was jealous. It was all the push she needed. Alora started toward him.
“Excuse me, sir! I’d like to purchase a Dirededron. Do you have one lurking about?”
“Miss Pennigrim?” Bash straightened, the bag slung once more over his shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”
“Same as usual. Weathering another storm.” She’d meant to make her tone mysterious, or at least brave. But it came out as neither, and her voice broke at the end.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” she managed. Then, with her voice turned falsely bright, she said, “And everything. I’m in over my head, I think. But that isn’t what I wished to discuss with you now.”
His eyes narrowed at her. They were so deeply green, like everything after the rain.
Her glance strayed from them to follow along the angles of his face.
Callous and distant, his emotions probably never freed, she thought he looked precisely the type who’d be up for what she wanted. How could he not be?
“Well, get under the awning at least,” he replied. She did as he told her, climbing the step until they were nearly touching beneath the overhang, both spared from the storm. “Do you not own an umbrella?”
“Don’t you?” She scoffed at him, but not too seriously.
She couldn’t have him mad at her. Or, on second thought, maybe she could?
His brow remained furrowed, and she decided she liked it when he looked at her that way—as if she were something he wanted to desperately understand, annoyed that he couldn’t.
“Where have you come from then?” she asked.
The mingling scents of dust and sage leaked from the exposed room beyond them. Bash stepped firmly into the doorway, the bag plunking down at his feet with a disturbing jangle. “Is that what you wished to discuss with me? I didn’t know you to be concerned over my whereabouts.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not.”
His lips curved, another one-sided smirk, and Alora scowled. This was not how she pictured things would go. His arm lifted to lean against the doorframe, and she stopped herself before she asked after the scrape across his knuckles. He’d only leap upon that, too, thinking she was worried over him.
“It’s growing late. Out with it, Miss Pennigrim.”
Dammit. Never mind, she couldn’t do it. Maybe if they’d not started as they had, now to the point of arguing. Alora stepped back down, into the rain. “It was nothing.”
“Good grief,” he groaned. “Come on.” Before she could protest, his hand reached to encircle her wrist. He dragged her back up the step until she stood in the doorway with him, barely room at all to move. “What has you bothered?”
She snatched her arm away. “That I don’t care to talk about right now. Actually, I can’t even if I wanted to. I only thought…” She trailed off, her eyes on their boots. Bash’s were muddied, with bits of moss clinging to the sides.
“Thought?” he coaxed.
Alora felt her body flush when she glanced up at him.
At how his dark hair lay dripping and tousled to one side, his eyes wide and impatient—kohl-smeared from his time in the storm.
“I only wanted a sort of…distraction.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, disbelieving she’d actually said the words aloud.
“A distraction,” he said. When her cheeks flushed the same as the rest of her, he seemed to finally maneuver through her maze of a meaning. He angled his head, though, as if he wasn’t sure how to react over what he’d found. “And you thought to find that distraction here?”
“Actually, no. I beg you to forget this happened.” Alora meant to back away, but jolted when her back met the doorframe, unable to move farther. She pasted on her best smile. “Have a good evening with…whatever you’ve foraged for.”
Bash’s arm stopped her where she would have bolted down the step and away. She stared at his fingertips digging into the wood before tracking his arm all the way up, again to his eyes.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“That smile. I know you aren’t happy. So why do it?”
Alora opened her mouth to defend herself, but no explanation came. Instead, she felt herself deflate. Her shoulder sagged into his arm, and still he didn’t remove it. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “An old reaction that became habit, I suppose.”
He nodded as if this, at least, he could understand. “So what are you, then, if not happy?”
Alora laughed humorlessly, her fingers rising to tick off her emotions. “Oh, hmm, where to begin… Angry, I suppose. No, furious, really. Frustrated beyond comprehension. Scared. And still a little hopeful, despite it all. I just feel like I need—”
“A distraction.”
“Yes.”
“To what extent?”
Alora felt her entire body must be cherry-red, imagining all she could ask for. “Nothing so great. Just something to pull me out of my own head a little bit.”
He nodded slowly. “A kiss, then.”
“Oh!” Did he have to come right out and say it? “I mean…”
“Just ask for what you want already, Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora huffed a frustrated breath. “I already told you. My name is Alora.”
“Is that what you’d have me call you?”
“Well, yes. I wouldn’t have told you otherwi—”
“Done.”