Chapter 11 #2
“At some point, people figured out there was this force in everyone and everything,” he said.
“And with awareness and intention and the right recipes, people can convince things to work a little differently for a while. That’s the best any of us can explain it.
I mean, how did people figure out shit like cheese?
Like, let’s add calf stomach enzymes to milk and squash it, and now it’s food?
How the hell did anyone think to try that?
” He shrugged. “Spellwork’s like that too. ”
“Hmm,” said Hayleigh, sensing that was as much as she would get and leaving it there. Stephan released her hand, and where his finger had pressed, her pulse fluttered.
They snagged a spot at one of the open-air taverns, gathering around flames that flickered and roared in an iron firepit. There were blankets stacked in bulging baskets, and Hayleigh pulled one up and over her knees.
“You know what you want to eat?” asked Stephan, not bothering to sit.
Her thoughts traveled straight to the varenyky they’d passed the other night. “Varenyky, please, home style.”
“You got it, Sunshine.” Apparently, he’d decided on that as a permanent nickname for her, but she couldn’t figure out why. She was under no illusion that she had a sunny disposition.
“I’m up for something new,” said Arnauld. “Grab me a plate too?”
“You got it, hot stuff.”
Arnauld winced. “Look, I know you know that’s what my mama calls my mom, so you best not invoke it in any other context.”
“Okay, lovey.”
Stephan had to sprint to avoid the stick of kindling hurled in his direction, and Zaide followed, declaring herself on the prowl for more of the tamales. Hayleigh and Arnauld sat at the fire and enjoyed the feel of the radiant heat against their skin, until she blurted, “Can I ask you something?”
“Well, now, this should be interesting,” said Arnauld, leaning on his knees. “Ask away.”
“You know what…they are, right?”
His eyes danced. “You mean, witches?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed.
He chuckled. “Look, it’s not exactly a secret around here.
I mean, most people don’t totally believe they use real honest-to-God magic, even though everyone’s seen a thing or two that should make them wonder.
I’ve been taking Liliana Midwinter’s Stay-Well Sweets every time I’ve had an itch in my throat and haven’t been sick a single day in the last eight years. ”
“Well, you’re young, fit, healthy…”
“Yeah, but eight years? Even as a first responder during a pandemic?” He shook his head. “Too big a coincidence.”
Hayleigh picked up a stick, prodding at the heap of logs in the fire. They gave off sparks that snapped and popped in excitement.
“You never worry the magic…that maybe it comes from something possibly…Evil? Not that I’m saying they are, but like they’re being deceived?”
She wasn’t sure how Arnauld would react to the question, but his expression was understanding.
“You know, when I was a kid, I asked my mama a pretty similar question after one of our classmates noticed Stephan and me getting close and told me the rumors about his family. Mama asked me to describe Stephan by his deeds, so I told her the first story that came to mind—how he’d stopped a bully from picking on a smaller kid, without resorting to any kind of violence… ”
He leaned in. “That kid was me, by the way. I didn’t sprout till high school.
After I told her that and a few more stories, she said, ‘There’s this idea called dvoeverie, double faith, which is how your aunts in Haiti go to church on Sunday and practice voodoo on Monday.
Even the deeply faithful haven’t been able to shake the feeling that there’s more going on out there than just one book can contain.
So, personally, I say we judge people by how they move through this world. The impact they have.”
After a moment, Arnauld added, “You’re safe with him. I promise you that.”
It didn’t really answer the question she’d asked, but it assuaged the fear that ran in currents beneath it.
Stephan returned then with an armload of potato dumplings slathered in mounds of white sour cream and sprinkled with fragrant dill and curls of sweet brown onion.
He settled in a seat close to hers before passing them out, holding on to the last for himself.
His dumplings had been sprinkled with something extra—crispy bacon bits.
Arnauld immediately tried to steal them, and he snatched them away, barking, “Mine.”
“I didn’t know bacon was an option!” said Arnauld. He waved a finger accusingly. “Why was I not informed bacon was an option?”
“You didn’t ask,” said Hayleigh with a shrug, stabbing a fork into one of the steaming dumplings. She popped it into her mouth, enjoying the slick noodle and doughy potato and then—ouch!
She’d bitten down on something—hard. After a moment of fishing around, she pulled out a shining brass ten-kopiyok piece.
“Where’d that come from?” asked Stephan.
“It’s a tradition in Ukraine to stick a coin in the varenyky during Christmas dinner. Finding it is supposed to be good luck.”
“Well, you could use a bit of that,” said Stephan.
“Yes, I could,” said Hayleigh, turning her hand to examine the coin in the firelight. It featured the trident of Ukraine surrounded by stylized oak leaves and stalks of wheat. She pocketed it and then palmed the side of her trousers, feeling for the lump of where it settled.
Zaide returned with her tamale, and a short time later a man walked over from the nearby bar with a tray of mulled wine. He’d recognized Stephan as both a Midwinter and a vendor, so the first round of drinks was on the house.
Conversation bubbled with affectionate humor as bellies filled with food and wine around a fire that blazed steadily. In the distance, children shrieked in delight as the Las Posadas pinata broke overhead, spilling green, red, and silver candies in a flashing rain.
A curious feeling swam through her, a warmth she could not entirely blame on the alcohol—like everything was as it should be, if only for this moment.
Contentment. She was fairly sure this was what contentment felt like.