Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ihave faced warlords. Survived assassination attempts. Almost lost my life. Lost the love of my life. Braved the Wound and lived to tell the tale.
Nothing, nothing, prepared me for this.
Casie is at work and I’m enjoying a day off.
Calida is perched on the back of the couch, utterly transfixed.
Her tail is flicking rhythmically to the beat as a golden-clad woman dances across the television screen, glittering under an impossible number of lights.
The crowd is screaming — actually screaming — and Calida keeps throwing her head back and roaring in response.
I threw a sound shield around the apartment after the first one made me jump. I was not prepared.
The singer is — Ash told me this — Taylor Swift. And this is the “Eras Tour,” which, by my best guess, is some kind of magickal ritual where one woman shapeshifts through a series of very sparkly emotional phases. And apparently millions are compelled to worship her.
I’ve gotta respect it.
Calida, however, has gone beyond respect. She is besotted.
‘Look at her!’ Calida squeals, wings fluttering with glee as Taylor struts out in yet another glittering outfit. ‘She’s like a queen and a bard and a warlock. All in one! Ohmygods — Bejeweled is coming up!‘ Pause. ‘I’m gonna shimmy!!!!!!!’
Gods help us all.
Calida turns to me with deadly seriousness in her molten-silver eyes.
‘Flint.’
I brace and don’t even fucking know why.
Isn’t there a villain I can fight? They’re less scary.
“Yes?”
‘We need to make friendship bracelets.’
I blink.
And again.
“Friendship what?”
‘brACELETS! Like they wear at the Eras Tour! It’s a rite of bonding, clearly. Taylor says they make friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. That’s… like a prophecy!’
I open my mouth to respond, maybe to ask what, exactly, a Taylor prophecy entails, but Calida bops into the air and flutters in front of me, nose-to-nose. Her expression is unyielding.
‘I want to make one for you. And Casie. And me. Oooooh, and Betsy. And then we wear them forever. Or until they fall off or get melted in battle or something. It’s the LAW.’
I sigh. Dramatically. “Fine. Where do I get these sacred ingredients?”
If you had asked me, at any point in my life, if I ever expected to be using a cell phone to help a young dragon find a store that sells craft supplies, I would have heartily said no.
I have seen battlefields littered with chaos, with the bodies of those I knew in life.
None had ever been quite like this.
I am a warrior. I keep repeating it in my mind, like a mantra. It doesn't help.
We are standing in the middle of what is labeled the “beading aisle.”. There are tiny containers everywhere, filled with what appears to be glass, plastic, metal, and sparkling letters. Each is shinier and more threatening than the last.
Calida is on my shoulder, shielded from sight and vibrating with glee.
‘Okay! We need letter beads, colored beads, stretchy cord, and maybe little charms! I saw one that looked like a pizza slice and I need it.’
“I have no idea what any of that means.”
‘Follow your heart, Flint. And if your heart gets confused, ask the nice teenager in the rainbow apron. She’s seen things. And don’t forget to pick colors!’
“Colors?” I mutter. There are so many choices.
‘Yes, colors! What vibe are you going for?’
“…Battle-tested, but emotionally available?”
She makes a choked sound.
Eventually we leave the store with three bags of colorful supplies, a dragon-sized level of excitement, and my dignity mostly intact.
It’s later than usual when I get home. Flint had made some over-protective male noises about walking me back from the store – even on his day off – but I protested until he gave in. If I can’t even walk home with some sense of safety, then Brett and all the assholes like him have won.
Fuck that.
So what if I jumped at least five times and constantly felt like someone was stalking behind me? It’s not like the roads were deserted. There were people around if I needed help.
I’m still muttering affirmations to myself as I reach the apartment, keys fumbling in the lock – then pause. That’s… music?
Loud music.
Is that Taylor fucking Swift?
I freeze, one hand on the knob, trying to make sense of the sound flooding through the door. When I push it open, the sight that greets me stops me cold.
Yes. That is, indeed, Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour blaring from the TV at top volume.
And yes – Flint and Calida are sitting on the floor in the middle of what looks like an arts-and-crafts tornado.
Dozens of containers of colored beads are spread out around them. Glitter sparkles on the couch. It’s in Calida’s snout and – oh gods – it’s in Flint’s hair.
He’s hunched over, massive hands trying to maneuver a minuscule pink bead onto a flimsy piece of cord.
His brow is furrowed in intense concentration, jaw set like he’s diffusing a bomb.
Calida is beside him, shaking her tail in perfect rhythm to You Belong With Me, clearly unbothered and thriving in this chaos.
My kinda girl.
Flint, very seriously, is muttering to himself. “So the little pizza charm must go between the heart and the F... right?”
Calida, without looking up says, ‘Flint, no. The pizza charm goes at the end. It’s like a period, okay?’
“I don’t know what that means.”
I cough into my hand. “Am I interrupting some sacred ritual?”
Flint startles – “Fuck” – as the bead squirts from his fingers. He looks up at me with a face I’d almost describe as… sheepish? Is this man blushing?
“It was her idea,” he says dryly. “I was merely recruited.”
Yeah. I think he’s blushing.
“You’ve got a bead stuck to your cheek.”
He frowns, swipes at it, and misses. “Have I? Where?”
Calida lets out a squeal that bangs against my mind and launches herself across the room like a glittery missile, twining around my legs.
‘CASIE!’ She yells. ‘You’re home! We’re making friendship bracelets! Taylor told us to.’
I blink. “Taylor... told you?” What are these two using? Maybe they’ve been breathing in fumes for too long.
Flint groans, holding a bracelet in one hand and struggling to collect bead containers before Calida’s tail knocks them all over. I kneel to scratch under her chin, and her thoughts batter against mine like hail.
‘Oh my GODS, I was playing on your tablet and then I found her. Taylor – her majesty – Swift. And she sings and she tells people to make bracelets and trade them and the girls bring like, HUNDREDS of them and she goes from city to city like some kind of sparkly goddess of JOY.’
I blink at the speed of her thoughts, my grin growing with every sentence.
She’s practically vibrating with joy, dancing in place like she’s had six espresso shots and a glitter IV.
Flint meets my eyes over her head. There’s amusement, yes, but also something warm.
Something soft. Despite how it looks, it doesn’t feel like a mess. It feels like home.
Finally, the smell of burning plastic registers.
“Flint?” I ask, setting my bag down cautiously. “Is something on fire?”
“No,” he replies, solemnly, “but I did melt one of the cords trying to seal the knot. We don’t speak of it.”
I glance down and feel my mouth drop open.
The coffee table looks like it’s been through war.
There’s a sticky granola bar next to a spool of pink string.
Alphabet beads are everywhere and I’m pretty sure that tiny pizza charm is glued to the tabletop.
Near where Calida now stands is a haphazard, half-finished, proudly chaotic bracelet that says TAYLOR-4EVR-CASIE-CALIDA-FLINT.
I take a closer look at Flint, who is holding another semi-completed bracelet in his lap. I squint.
“Is that a tiny pink sword?”
He lifts it like it’s a sacred relic. “It’s for you.”
My breath stutters. Yes, I’m ridiculous. Sue me. “You made me one?”
“I didn’t want to forget,” he says simply, holding up his own wrist.
The bracelet there is purple and silver, delicate in contrast to the ink and scar of his skin. It spells C-A-S-I-E encased between a heart and what looks to be a tiny ink bottle charm. He’s wearing my name.
The tension in my body – the lingering tremor from walking home alone, Brett’s shadow still curling in on the edges of our lives – melts like ice in the sun.
Calida flaps into the air, glitter storming off her wings. ‘Alright! Casie’s here now and she needs to make one! Alphabet beads incoming!’
I’m not sure how, but a container flies at me with frightening accuracy.
“Alright,” I say, stretching. “I want in. Thanks for the letter beads—I have things to say.”
‘Make mine say ‘Snaccident Queen!’’ she demands. ‘Also yours needs to have a cat – even if it isn’t giant.’
I catch Flint watching me again. Not amused or embarrassed – just watching, like I’m something he’s anchoring himself to.
He says nothing as I take a seat next to him, stringing beads, but his knee brushes mine and stays there.
As we settle in, the three of us cocooned in warmth and music and beautiful chaos, Flint finally murmurs, “This is a magickal trap. I keep accidentally spelling ‘FART’ instead of ‘Flint.’”
I snort so hard I almost drop my beads.
“You’re hopeless,” I giggle, leaning into his shoulder. “Let’s switch. I’ll fix yours if you help me find charms.”
Calida perks up. ‘A sword for Flint, a book for Casie and a sparkly heart for me.’
We string them together – me, a girl who was losing faith in magick; a warrior trying to pretend like the softness in his hands is new; and her, a tiny dragon who thinks Taylor Swift is a divine messenger of friendship.
Calida creates another bracelet for Flint that says “Mostly Fireproof”. Rather than laugh, he very seriously tells her “I will wear it into battle.”
‘You better,’ she says fiercely, ‘or I might cry actual fire tears.’
We finish our last bracelets in time for the final song of the concert. Flint carefully knots one onto my wrist: more glittery purple. This time with a tiny dragon, a pizza slice, a book and the phrase WITCHY WORDSMITH in gleaming white and black.
I tie his on, too. Threaded in black and green, with a tiny sword, a heart, and a tag that says “Anchor.”
He holds my eyes for a long moment before leaning in to brush a whisper of a kiss against my lips. As Calida dances to the music, Flint and I sit wrapped in each other, wrists shining with handmade magick.
We’re not quite a family yet but, I think we’re getting there.