7. Davy
Davy
“Go tell Heron,” Flora said as they stopped just beyond the mossy gate with the faded red flag. “And check on Perri, if you could. I want to talk to Sona.”
Noec nodded, the remnant heartache on his face not lost to her as he turned away.
“And Noec?”
He paused, barely looking back before choking on a startled wheeze.
It was more of a thoughtful assault than a hug. Brief but tight, Flora smacked her arms around him like a limp noodle embracing a granite statue. It looked like it was her first day having arms, and like he was stuck in the middle of a software update.
It was, without a doubt, the worst hug of all time.
But when Flora went to pull away, Noec squeezed her tighter.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his steady grip slowly easing away. He smiled, but this time, his smile seemed a little more real.
Flora nodded.
Once they had parted ways, Flora knocked on the frame of Sona’s hut. “Sona?” she called before entering. “Sona? Are you alright?”
Sona was seated at the edge of her ravaged workstation, staring wide-eyed toward the far side of the room.
“Flora!” she said, startled. She rescued a dark vial before it rolled off the desk. “Hi, lovely. Can I help you?”
“I... I think Noec and I were just approached by a scythe.”
“Here?” Sona asked, her mask of conviviality sinking. “When?”
“On the way from the meadow,” Flora replied. “But it just... wanted to talk. Just walked right on past us.”
“Talk?” Sona raised her brows in disbelief.
“But there’s more. Something more important.” Flora paused and shook her head. “It looked like Feya. Noec’s cousin, Feya. But it was definitely a scythe.” Flora met the dread in Sona’s eyes and continued, “Sona… what does… what does that mean?”
Sona looked off, deliberating for a moment. She let out a heavy sigh and hopped down, walking over to the chaotic pile of books and letters from doctors in the city. She shuffled some papers, searching for something.
“Take this,” she said finally, handing Flora an ornate journal wrapped in black leather.
“Page 258. That’s the best I’ve got on the topic.
Frankly, it may be an outdated theory.” Sona sighed.
“I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m too busy right now.
With Perri. Too much to do tonight. Read it.
Bring it back tomorrow. You’re going to have questions, and I can talk to you more about some of our newer theories in the morning if you don’t like what you see. ”
“I—okay.” Flora looked down apprehensively at the journal. “Can I help with anything? With Perri?” Flora asked, wishing she could do anything at all, but knowing she had nothing to offer. If the cleric of the Shrouded Village couldn’t fix Perri, then no one could.
Sona scratched her head, looking as though the stress of the past months had aged her years. “No, lovely. Thank you.”
“How about Sona?” Flora added, seeing the red in Sona’s eyes. “What can I do to help Sona?”
Sona looked up at Flora, a bittersweet smile on her lips.
“Come here,” Sona said, pulling Flora in for a hug. She murmured tiredly into her ear, “Just take care of Flora for me, okay?”
She pulled away and smiled that bold smile, brushing Flora’s cheek with just a hint of melancholy pride in her dark eyes.
“I will,” Flora assured her. “But I’m well taken care of whenever you’re around.” Flora paused, seeing the tired shadows beneath the cleric’s eyes. “And when all this is over, I’d like to learn how to help you with your medical work. So maybe next time, you won’t have to do all this alone.”
“Careful,” Sona said, with a brief glimmer in her eyes as she spoke. With a soft grin, she continued, “Or I might just whip you into the best cleric Emyre has ever seen.”
“I’d very much like that,” Flora replied.
“For now…” Sona cleared her throat, her brows scrunching as she fought the welling in her eyes. “It’s getting late. Wouldn’t want your parents up before you. Go on,” she said, shooing Flora away.
“See you tomorrow,” Flora called back as the clattering beads fell in place behind her. “Goodnight, Sona.”
Sona’s lovely and bittersweet voice called back softly, “Good morning, Florabelle.”
Flora wiggled her toes excitedly in bed. Biting her lip, she brushed her hand over the worn black leather. The edges of the journal were adorned with golden paint, forming delicate, lacy patterns much like Sona’s black tattoos. At the center was a red wax stamp of an “S”.
Touching it, she felt a thrill of anticipation. Sona had no idea that just peeking inside this pretty book had been a dream of Flora’s since she was a kid. Much of what Flora called magic, Sona considered ordinary science.
But there was nothing ordinary about Sona’s endless capacity to wonder and learn.
Flora had skimmed through the other journals—those filled with medicinal diagrams, ingredients for potions of herbs and healing, and observations of slight enchantments derived from Lunara’s sacred water.
But Sona’s curiosity reached far beyond traditional medicinal knowledge.
Supposedly, the dark and ornate journal between Flora’s hands was where the cleric hoarded the greatest discoveries of her favorite extracurricular specialty: the Night Sky Scytherax.
Flora exhaled slowly. This diary, this tome—it knew something about Feya.
It was spring break, and there was nowhere to be. Flora could spend all day delving through Sona’s journal if she wanted to. She smiled at the thought.
Just as Flora began to open the cover, her ears were accosted by a chime-like rhythmic progression.
“Hello?”
“Rise and shine, bitch,” said the feral demon on the other end of the phone.
Flora shut the journal and sat forward. “Lila?”
After many years, Lila had gone from Flora’s arch nemesis to her favorite villain—and her most unlikely friend.
It all started on the day when Flora finally bit back against Lila’s taunting snarls. Lila, as it turned out, was a fortress made out of glass. And with one strike, she came crashing down.
All it took was a single game of sad chicken.
“Okay, me first,” Lila had insisted. She inhaled with a sharp grin. “You’re?—”
Immediately, without even waiting for the rest, Flora punched Lila in the face.
Lila staggered back with a slow-building whimper, and as Flora shook out her hand, Lila’s first bumbling tear fell.
“No, you,” Flora muttered. And without a single crafty taunt, she’d won sad chicken.
“Listen,” little Lila had said later, icing the bruise on her cheek as she sniffed. “I... don’t know why I say the things I say.”
Flora gave her a skeptical glare, rubbing her sore knuckles.
“I have a birthday party coming up,” Lila said. She handed Flora an invitation, handwritten on an index card. “... show up, if you want. I don’t care.”
Lila was tightly wound, but she soon unraveled at what Flora could only take to be her first taste of empathy.
This cruel and squirrely blonde was just a powerless child, desperate and grasping for some semblance of control.
From the outside, Lila’s condition wasn’t apparent.
But the second Flora stepped into her home, the holes in the drywall should have told her all she needed to know.
Lila’s mother was debasing and critical, and her new stepfather spent most of his time at the bottom of a bottle.
And to blame for all their suffering was, as they saw it, Lila.
“I just sort of repeat the names they call me,” Lila had said, head in her hands. “I don’t really know how else to talk to people.”
Fortunately, that was no longer the case.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” Lila now scolded through the phone. “Pull it together, sugar tits.”
Well… mostly.
Flora rubbed her head. “What’d I... What day is it?”
“Did you actually just wake up? Flora, I’m halfway to your house. If you’re still in bed when I get there, I’m filling your car with glitter. Again.”
“Oh… OH.” Flora looked at the time. “Oh, shit!”
“I still have the emergency glitter, Flora. Don’t fucking tempt me.”
Flora tossed the journal aside and swung her legs out of bed. “I’m up, I’m up!” she cried.
She heard a witch’s cackle from the phone on the bed.
“Yeaaah baby,” Lila crowed. “It’s fucking Tuesday!”
It was Wednesday. But more importantly, it was Davy’s birthday.
Shit. Flora needed to get ready. He would be home from college by noon.
“Good morning, sunshine,” her mother sang. Flora had rushed down the stairs in her bathrobe, her hair still soaking wet in a towel.
“Morning,” Flora replied with a curt wave.
“Hey, honey,” her father said, stopping her. “There’s something we’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
Flora paused and looked at her parents. They sat at the dining room table with a shared look of exaggerated concern.
“We just wanted to make sure you know we love you,” Flora’s mother said with a nervous smile. “No matter what.”
“Uh... well, thanks. I love you guys too.” Flora stood confused, barefoot on the carpet. “Is something going on?”
Mr. Fray sighed, tapping a finger against the table. Cautiously, he began, “It’s okay if you’re…” He cleared his throat and glanced at his wife. “It’s okay that you don’t like boys.”
Flora blinked. “I... what?”
Her mom fluttered her wide, reassuring eyes. “We want you to know that we think Lila seems really nice,” she said.
“Mom…” Flora almost wondered if this was going to disappoint them. “Thank you. And she’s definitely not nice, but…”
Mrs. Fray shared an eager smile with her husband.
“… I’m not gay.”
Mrs. Fray leaned on her hand and raised a brow.
“Right.” Mr. Fray was not convinced. With a not-so-subtle wink, he added, “But there would be nothing wrong with it if you were.”
Flora was dumbfounded. Her parents nodded at each other proudly.
“Uhh…” Flora stuttered. “I love you guys, but… uh…”
This was... well, she had things to do. Flora awkwardly snatched her bag from the table and ran back upstairs.
“But, Flora… you’re a walking ad for cargo pants?” Flora’s mother trailed off, confused.
“Not gay,” she called down the stairs.
“So proud of you, honey!” Mr. Fray called back.
“I just like pockets!”