42. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Two
The Price We Pay
SAL
On the last day of the art fair, Willow stuck the little sold sign on the grimoire’s case. They had done it; they had sold the infamous grimoire and were about two million richer. Now, all they had to do was wait for the critics’ appraisal and hope for the best.
“Guys,” she said, looking half-exhausted, half-elated. “Just a few minutes till the end of the show!”
“When will we know the results?” Willow asked.
“They’re going to count everything and let us know by tonight.”
Sal let out a breath. “I need some air,” she announced, tightly embracing Theola. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Theola. Thank you.”
Sal let go of Theola and walked out of the Wedding House. Willow followed her. “You're getting nervous again?”
“Please. I’ve got nerves of steel after everything that’s happened.” Sal rolled her eyes and walked over to the tsokolate stand across the street. She ordered for herself a cup of hot tsokolate, and then turned to Willow, “Want some?”
Willow nodded. “Sure.”
“Dalawa po.” Sal grinned at the server while holding up two fingers.
“No matter the outcome, we’ll get through it,” Willow reassured her, leaning against the stand.
The man served their tsokolate, and Sal allowed herself a long, languid sip.
She closed her eyes as the nutty and chocolaty drink warmed her and took a deep breath.
She had risked everything: her time with her cats, her livelihood, her burgeoning career in the art world, and most importantly—Rafa, a great love.
Willow sipped her drink and let out a satisfied exhale after. “Hey.” She elbowed her friend. “You’re the best, you know? And there’s nothing more we could’ve done.”
“You too, Will,” she replied, elbowing her back.
“I mean it…You’re really too hard on yourself most times and don’t see your strengths. You’re determined and have a quiet strength to you, and a vulnerability that’s honest, but kind,” she said, looking down at her drink.
Sal eyed the people around them; considering what Willow had just said.
They had given them hope and livelihood; some of them were Filipinos managing small businesses, others were talented artists who just needed a break, and Taal Heritage Town had been brought back to life.
“We did this,” Sal said as the night shrouded them and the fairy lights flickered to life.
“Yeah, we did this, babe.” They clinked their cups together and finished their tsokolate drinks in silence.
Then, not a moment later, Theola came rushing out. Her cheeks were covered with tear streaks, and she had a smile so big it could have brightened up the world.
“You guys…!” she trilled. “We did it!” She lifted her mini-iPad to show them a report on the screen.
Thanks to the grimoire, they had crossed the minimum threshold for sales, and they had overshot Harmon’s art show attendance by a mile.
What made them win was the sheer turnout from the Filipino crowd against Harmon’s and the final critic’s score.
The critics had given them a score of 84, and Harmon’s was 82.
They had won. It was over. They would keep Autumn Town.
“Holy shit!” Willow yelled in disbelief.
Sal stood there, still holding the iPad, tears gathering in her eyes. Suddenly, she heard a loud round of applause. Theola’s cousins who helped, the vendors, and all the other artists who came through clapped. Relief settled in, and she felt like she could finally breathe.
“Oh, my God,” she cried. “Oh, my God!” All three of them embraced, and for that moment, all the hurt, all the sacrifice felt worth it.
The light and happiness Sal felt almost spilled over, and the only other person who should have been there to celebrate with them was Rafa.
She grabbed her phone, still elated, tearful and breathless, when she saw about five missed calls from him.
Rafa had probably heard the news. Sal called him. His phone rang three times before he answered. “Hello? Rafa, we won!”
“Sal…” Rafa whispered. “Sal, I hope you didn’t sell the grimoire.”
“What?” Sal’s stomach dropped. She moved to a quieter spot away from the crowd. When she was alone, she asked, “Why?”
“You need to bring it back,” he said, his tone sounding grave. “Bad things have been happening in St. Stephenshire.”