38. The Perils of Empathy
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE PERILS OF EMPATHY
When a crow dies, its companions gather in a solemn, ritual-like manner, cawing and circling above the fallen member. These gatherings, often called “crow funerals,” seem to transcend instinct, as the birds pause to share a collective moment of mourning.
This practice is believed to help the community assess the cause of death while expressing a shared sense of loss.
It is a striking example of empathy in the natural world, reflecting the crows’ deep intelligence and strong social bonds.
These rituals reveal a profound connection among the flock, where even death is met with understanding and respect.
–EXCERPT FROM THE MUDPUDDLE MANUAL OF NATURAL MAGIC
Maida kicked at the dead leaves on the sidewalk as she and Arthur made their way back to the Mudpuddle.
It was a clear, crisp day with bright sunshine that had made short work of the dusting of snow in Primrose Court.
But it was still quite cold. The air had the snap of incoming frost, and wood smoke wafted from the chimneys.
Maida rubbed her hands together and blew on them.
“Here.” Arthur removed his right glove and passed it to her. “Put this on.” Then he took her bare hand in his and tucked both their hands into his coat pocket. “That’s better, no?”
“Yes,” Maida said. He could feel her fingers flex against his pocket. This was reckless. But life was brief. If anything, the visit to the morgue reinforced that. He gave Maida’s hand a quick squeeze.
“Warmth in winter is a perk of having creature blood. At least for some of us. I can’t speak for the doctor,” Arthur said.
“Witches get cold easily. There’s a cottage industry built on that fact.
I once had a client who worked in a witch’s cloak atelier.
He was accused of stealing woolen cloaks for his family.
I had the case thrown out because there was no reason marmot shifters would covet witch cloaks. ”
“Those poor marmots!” Maida wiggled her fingers against his again and he had to concentrate to keep his feet moving forward. Was it static electricity? Magic? His imagination? Holding her hand felt dangerous and wonderful at the same time.
“Do you think Zephyr’s tears were real?” Maida asked.
“The chamber was already quite humid and absolute truth can really mess with the atmosphere. It might have been condensation,” Arthur said. “Amrita didn’t think we should place too much stock in it.”
Maida balled her hand into a fist, then spread her fingers back out and interlaced them with his. Tiny sparkles fizzed against his palm and crackled between his digits. Even in minute doses, he liked the feel of her flesh pressed up against his, so very, very much.
“This is dangerous. But I also like it too much to stop,” Maida murmured.
“Is that what you were just thinking?” Arthur asked. “Or can you do mental magic now too.”
“I’m not trying to read your mind. It’s just what I imagined you were thinking.” Maida gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Or maybe I’m projecting this on you because it’s what I’m thinking. It’s all very confusing, Arthur.” She kept her eyes straight ahead and her pace steady as they walked.
“Does it even matter if we were both thinking it?” Arthur asked.
Maida slowed to gaze into the apothecary as they passed. Arthur could see Lucretia bustling around behind the counter, fetching products for a cloaked customer. She seemed to be making quite a fuss.
“I feel bad about the bee,” Maida said. “When I looked at the label, I was thinking that it looked a lot more like a carpenter bee than a honeybee. Carpenter bees get a bad rap. Especially the giant ones we have in California. They’re fantastic pollinators and they almost never sting—only if seriously provoked.
Plus, they’re so exquisite. Have you ever seen one?
I was thinking about how misunderstood they are.
I don’t think my manifesting that bee served any real purpose.
Lucretia was genuinely terrified and so was the bee. ”
“Will got to be the hero. Lucretia’s been a lot kinder to him since that day. She even made him some special ‘OPF face cream’ to use while porting.”
“OPF?” Maida was puzzled.
“Oblivion protection factor?” Arthur surmised. “I suspect you’ve been blessed with an extra helping of empathy, Maida.”
“Blessed or cursed?” Maida mumbled.
“Both, most likely. Empathy can be a heavy burden, to be sure.”
“What’s the point of empathy if one is powerless to change things?” Maida asked.
“But that’s the point—you aren’t powerless.
You can create change in impossible ways.
It’s a fantastic power and one that’s going to require a fair amount of practice to master, I imagine.
” Arthur took a deep breath. “But what an amazing opportunity you have to repair the world, Maida. You can see into hearts and change dreams into reality. It’s not just bees and butterflies. It’s hopes and dreams and…”
“Love?” Maida stopped at the gate to the Mudpuddle and turned towards Arthur.
“That too.” He swallowed.
“Do you think Zephyr’s at peace?” Maida asked. Her brow was wrinkled. “I’m worried about him. What if it wasn’t just condensation? What if he’s pining for Minerva?”
“I don’t want to talk about Zephyr anymore,” Arthur spoke softly, pulling her closer as they climbed the porch steps. “I want to apologize about the way I left things the other evening.”
“You were upset…The wrapper…” Maida nodded.
“I don’t want to talk about the wrapper right now either,” Arthur said. He slid his free hand beneath her curls, reveling in the short shiver this caused, and how she moved still closer to his warmth.
“What do you want to talk about, then?” Maida asked, her lips so close he could taste her breath.
“I don’t actually want to talk at all,” Arthur admitted.
“I want to kiss you.” He moved close enough for his lips to graze hers as he spoke the words against her mouth.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time.
” He pulled her into an alcove on the porch where they were blocked by a bay window and were no longer visible from the street. “I’m not sure I can resist any more.”
For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes.
He ripped off his other glove with his teeth and threw it to the ground. Traditions, history, all of it be damned. Her face felt delightfully cool against his overheated hands.
She tangled her hands in his hair, ran them down his back, and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck.
“Arthur? I’d really like to see all of you.” Maida’s lips buzzed against his Adam’s apple. She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.
Arthur bit his lip. It was already taking superhuman effort to stay completely in his human form. This level of desire was spurring his animalistic qualities to express themselves.
“I wouldn’t want to frighten you,” he said. It was all too easy to imagine a look of horror on her face. Or worse, revulsion. He closed his eyes tight, willing the image away.
“Look at me. I’m not frightened.” Maida placed her hands on his cheeks. Her eyes were wide, dilated pools, beckoning him in. He could drown in those eyes.
He touched his forehead against hers. “Soon,” he breathed. “Just not now.”
“I think you’re beautiful,” Maida spoke. “I always have. Even when I thought I dreamed you.”
Arthur pressed his lips against hers. Maida didn’t pull away.
Her hands formed fists around the cloth of his coat and she pulled him closer, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm.
He heard the roar of the ocean where there was none and saw stars that had nothing to do with space.
It was a bit like stepping into oblivion.
Engaged with each other as they were, it was all too easy to ignore the sounds of tapping on glass, and the polite thwunk thwunk thwunk of a gently used door knocker.
It was only when the knocking refashioned itself into a more insistent pounding on the bookshop door that reality registered, breaking the airlock they’d generated between them. Maida gasped and Arthur drew in a long breath as they struggled to regain their wits.
“Hello? Maida? Anyone? Is anybody here? I’ve come to collect that bonsai book!”
Hildegarde Fish rattled the front door of the shop. She had worked herself into quite a state. “Surely someone must be here? I was told my book would be in today. I must say, Minerva never shut the shop during regular operating hours.”
“Where’s Rosie?” Maida mouthed. She smoothed her rumpled clothing.
“I don’t know!” Arthur mouthed back as he straightened and buttoned his overcoat.
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Rosie was rebellious, but not irresponsible. She wouldn’t leave the bookshop unattended.
“And where’s Granny?” Maida whispered and frowned.
They both strode briskly towards the entrance, startling poor Hildegarde as they came around the corner of the porch.
“Oh! Were the two of you there all along?” she exclaimed, clutching her chest. Her lips formed a perfect o as she stared dumbfounded at them. “Quite rude not to let me in. You’re lucky I didn’t hex you both. You gave me such a fright.”
“We’ve just come from a council meeting,” Arthur interjected. “What seems to be the problem?”
“You tell me!” Hildegarde folded her arms across her chest and pointed at a handwritten sign tacked up in the door.
Gone to help a friend with something. Back shortly.
- R
The note was written in Rosie’s hand.
“Gone to help a friend?” Arthur could feel his eyes bugging out.
His daughter was grounded. He could feel a hot wave of outrage settling in.
What was she doing? Unless she was carrying home a bag of books for a differently abled customer, his daughter was in a lot of trouble. “Back shortly? Define shortly!”