Chapter Forty-Nine
Alora closed the paper, pleased both with her newfound skill in opening the locked boxes of memories in people’s heads, and with the ad.
It had been the second time the good printer, Mr. Zanfold, had spoken to her. The first being, “Your wild rabbit ate my laces.”
She glanced over the cursed and broken tub, across the Room of Forgotten Memories, to where Bash labored, his shirtsleeves rolled tight across his upper arms. He swung the sledgehammer again, at last sending part of the wall crumbling.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, which he wiped with one forearm. It glistened on his collarbones. When he caught her watching, he shot her a glare. “You could have imagined it loose from the beginning.”
“You were already started when I arrived!” said Alora, grinning as he swung again. Who was she to interrupt?
A third blow, and the wall came free. Behind the mirrors had been stone, thick and gray, and behind that—
Alora edged closer now that the dust had begun to settle. Her shoulder pressed against Bash’s arm, both peering into the gloom. A gold vat waited for them, a pipe leading from its end, traveling beneath the floor.
“The vat is full of memory oil?”
“A fortune’s worth. Hundreds could live out their lives on it.”
“How did he get it in there?”
“I’m not sure. Though I doubt it’s ever needed refilling. It only takes a few drops for the bath.”
Alora straightened. “Was this what you brewed most often?” Bash nodded and cleared his throat roughly. She’d made him uncomfortable, talking about his past, but he’d asked her not to stop. That it helped. “Should I?”
“Unless you’d rather I pull it from the wall and heave it off the balcony.”
Alora feigned needing time to decide. When Bash realized she teased him, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her against him. She faced the dust-streaked container, her back to his chest, the scent of vetiver all around.
It was quite nice, considering.
Only water, she imagined.
“Done. Memory oil is officially purged from Opulence.”
“And outside it,” said Bash. “I burned the batons and shredded the recipe. Though, do you know what I found in that old book while doing it?”
“I certainly don’t.”
“A potion to regrow bones.” Alora spun in his arms. A corner of Bash’s mouth lifted. “It’s a painfully long and particular list, but for not fitting the role of a potion-master, I should be able to manage.”
Alora could not close her mouth no matter how she tried. Instead, what she managed after some moments was, “I’m incredibly in love with you, Bash Syntaine.” He tensed beneath her hands, but she rushed, “And if you’re an obsessive type—well—so am I.”
In response, she received one of his rare, full smiles, dimple and all, and she relished the lightning strike.
“In your singular case, Alora, I am. I knew I’d be in trouble from the first step you made into my shop.
I tried to fight it; you were too bright and too beautiful for someone like me.
But...” His thumb pressed to her lower lip then, and he murmured, “I undeniably love you. Beyond even what I thought myself capable of.”
Alora grinned beneath his touch. “Our fates are linked, yours and mine. I felt it from the start.”
Bash stared down at her awhile, gaze heating, and Alora could only fidget, her heart near bursting, the rest of her on fire down to her very marrow, when he asked at last, “Do you think it’s appropriate to kiss you in such a miserable place?”
“More than fine,” she rushed.
His thumb left her lip at once to cradle her face, angling it higher. His opposite pressed hard into her low back. “You are divine. I’m only sorry I’m covered in dust,” he said, his breath brushing her mouth.
Alora grinned with her sudden ideas. She imagined three things all at once:
A room free of dirt and debris.
A luscious bed in place of a bathtub.
And Bash, every button, zipper, and lace undone.
He laughed as his mouth met hers, not protesting at all when she fed her inspiration and tacked on a final fourth.
And the feeling overwhelmed her. It was so much more now.
More than satisfying any craving or grasping for a distraction.
Bash shrugged out of his shirt in the same breath he dragged at her lacings, and Alora broke from him gasping to kiss each scar she could see.
The wound she’d inflicted upon him with the hairpin did not leave a lasting mark, but she hated that he was marred from the time he’d known her.
She would add a new layer of memories over those harsh ones now.
They wouldn’t ever go away, but perhaps she could dull their sharp edges for him. She was nothing if not hopeful.
“What have you done, Alora?”
She allowed Bash to tilt her chin away and toward the wall.
And she looked at the pair of them. Standing there, skin to skin, bared to the room.
His kohl-lined eyes were dilated and dark to mimic her own, his fingers pressed firmly into the soft flesh of her hip and her jaw.
She flushed in seeing them together this way; it almost felt unreal.
And she could only smile. “I cleaned the mirrors,” she said—and promptly pushed him onto the bed.
***
Outside the grounds, Bash wrested the chains holding the gate back into place.
The key on the padlock clicked, echoing against the pale stone.
It didn’t look so intimidating now, and not only because there was no gold-armored guard.
It looked tired. Worn. Not the least bit enchanted.
Alora shoved her mangled membership card into the links.
“That’s that, then,” he said, seeing it.
This time, it really did feel like the blessed end.
“Did I mention Reginald is Reginald again, and Ellie Turkens hired him for her bookstore? She said she’s always wanted a handsome young man about, and he’s happy to be out of the sun.
Mister Macaw did take your advice, too, and rented that land for his nursery.
Also! Lennox bought her own flat! It might have more windows than mine. ”
“Good, they deserve it.” But a muscle feathered in Bash’s jaw. “And that bakery?”
“You know the name.”
His tone dropped, almost a growl. “Have you gone?”
“No,” sighed Alora. “But I did see Mister Whitters the other day and he seemed happy with the arrangement. He doesn’t remember anything at all, Bash.”
“I’d rather he not be anywhere near this town.”
“He goes by Will now, I’m told. Mister Whitters says he’s hardworking, wakes up to start the ovens every morning. Likes the heat, he thinks—”
“He should be clearing sewer drains.”
Alora pursed her lips. She’d neither forgive nor forget what William had done either, and she might always have her bakery items delivered by bicycle. But Mr. Whitters knew the entire story and seemed willing to report any concerns. So far, there’d been none.
If there were, Alora knew Bash would see William removed in a heartbeat.
Bash whistled and Necros trotted toward them. When the horse neared, he gripped her waist, lifting her up behind the saddle. He followed soon after.
They’d made it onto the not-so-secret-anymore path through Renwick Forest when Alora, smiling devilishly, dipped wandering hands beneath Bash’s coat, pressing her body against his.
She yelped when his hand gripped her wrist, hauling her around the front and into his lap.
His mouth bent to her ear, where he rasped, “This won’t end the same as last time.”
Thank heavens, she thought.