50. Fairy Tale Nonsense
FIFTY
FAIRY TALE NONSENSE
Let it be known: no sacrifice is too great to preserve the purity of one’s bloodline. Better to spend your final days alone in a crumbling tower, with only the whispers of your ancestors for company, than to tarnish your heritage by mingling with shifters, fairies, or—perish the thought—Ordinaries.
Should the grand halls of your home fall silent and your name fade from memory, rest assured that you, at least, remained unsullied. The fleeting comforts of friendship, love, and family pale in comparison to the eternal triumph of an untainted lineage.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
On the morning of Minerva Lathrop’s return to Mudpuddle Bookshop and Cafe, the Primrose Court Town Council met to decide the fate of Zephyr Nightshade’s remains.
As the esteemed witch made her way past the picturesque shops that lined the central square in Primrose Court, she was surprised to see the shopkeepers coming to their windows to wave and welcome her home.
At least a couple of them clapped, and several, still in their pajamas, leaned out their windows to shout a greeting, telling her how much they had missed her.
She was deeply touched by the display, but she did not slow her pace.
She needed to get to the morgue.
Three people walked alongside Minerva that morning. She was accompanied by her great niece, Maida Westabrook, her niece’s solicitor, Arthur Hart—though anyone could see their relationship was closer than that—and Amrita Berman, the Director of the Society for the Protection of Natural Magic.
The sun was shining, and the air was clean and crisply cool with the coppery edge that told her more snow was coming.
Minerva set the pace at a fast clip. She was anxious to get there and see what she might find.
She reached her right hand into her empty pocket as she walked.
Then she pulled her hand out again, not sure what to do with it.
Her hand had no place to go, and nothing to do without a wand or a tail.
She shifted the basket she was carrying on her other arm and rested her free hand inside atop the contents.
There was a fresh batch of her lemon biscuits, bundled up and still warm from the oven.
All respect to Rosie and her snickerdoodles, but the lemon drizzles had always been Zephyr’s favorite.
A herring sandwich garnished with petite cornichon pickles was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a bit of twine.
She’d included today’s newspaper, and of course, Zephyr’s mirror.
If he was to be buried in his earthly form, it was Minerva’s wish that he might be buried with it.
Inside that basket, she had everything she needed to prepare an altar.
The only thing missing was a bit of Zephyr’s dust.
“There’s been no deterioration,” Amrita assured her. “His body is just as we found it.”
At first when Amrita had told Minerva about Zephyr’s strange state, Minerva had been quite upset.
She didn’t want to think about the way Zephyr had looked when she last saw him.
She preferred to remember him as he was in her visions.
But if she was being honest, she didn’t care all that much.
She was simply grateful for the chance to see him one last time.
She wanted to lay her hand on his brow and apologize for the way she’d tossed him out of the shop so unceremoniously.
What a terrible last impression that was.
Minerva couldn’t think of a single reason his body had not moved on. And what about his soul? Was it trapped here as well? Was that the reason he’d been able to come to her in dreams?
“We’re here now.” Arthur held the door open for Minerva. The coroner didn’t waste any time showing them back to the private chamber where Zephyr’s body was still being held.
It was just as they’d said. He was perfectly intact, stretched out so peacefully on the marble slab that he might have been sleeping. But of course he wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t snoring. He wasn’t even breathing.
She laid her hand on his cheek.
“Stubborn old pishogue,” Minerva said. “You just refused to leave, didn’t you? Were you waiting for someone to chase you out?”
“Perhaps we should give you some privacy?” Amrita suggested.
“I would appreciate that.” Minerva nodded. “I’d like a few moments alone with him. Zephyr was quite special to me.”
“I’m sure he felt the same way about you,” Maida said, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Minerva.”
“Thank you.” Minerva nodded. “I appreciate that.” She placed the basket down on the slab beside him. She bit the inside of her cheek to stave off the tears. “Now leave me, please.”
“Of course,” Maida said, and began backing towards the door. Amrita took her hand and Arthur held the door for them.
Minerva waited at the center of the freezing cold room, until the door clicked shut, then she kicked off her shoes and unbound her braids. She removed her hat, her glasses, and her overcoat, and climbed up on the slab next to Zephyr.
“I’ve got your favorite biscuits here, Zippy, still warm from the oven.” She removed the plate of biscuits and placed them to his far side.
“You should probably save them till after the sandwich, though. Don’t worry—I didn’t forget the pickle. Granny Luna picked up the herring fresh this morning.”
One by one, she unpacked the items she’d brought, narrating it like a story as she passed the items before his unseeing eyes.
She smoothed out the newspaper and laid it beside his open hand. The lead headline read Mudpuddle Mystery Solved, Missing Witch Returns! There was even a photograph of Minerva and the Mudpuddle bookstore. The photo was taken a few years ago, but she didn’t think her appearance had changed much.
“There’s so much more to the story that they left out.
” Minerva laid herself down and curled up beside Zephyr.
She draped her arm across him. “I’m sure you would have figured it all out so much faster.
You suspected something was different about me all along, didn’t you?
Is that why you didn’t want to marry me? ”
But, of course, Zephyr did not answer. Minerva inhaled, still smelling Zephyr’s pipe tobacco.
He still smelled like himself, but his body was cold.
She shivered a bit and pushed herself up on her elbow to study his face.
It was just so strange, seeing him like this.
Like visiting a familiar figure in a wax museum.
“You were right about Nocturnaturals, and that boy as well.” Minerva brushed the hair out of his eyes.
“I should have listened to you. That mage was bad news. And poor, poor Bardo Chan. I don’t know if he could have been saved, but if anyone could have found a way, it would have been you. I know you certainly would have tried.”
There was so much she wanted to tell him now. About Maida and Arthur, and about Rosie too.
“You were right about dragons, Zephyr. They aren’t extinct. I’m sorry I argued with you about that.”
Minerva sighed and rolled onto her back.
“I was wrong about so many things, and so full of pride. Honestly, Zephyr, I was insufferable. How could you even stand me?” She swallowed and continued.
“I’m sorry. So sorry. Sorry, I was so stubborn.
Sorry, I kicked you out like that. Sorry, I was such a stick in the mud.
” She stared up at the chamber’s ceiling, which was enchanted to display a starry night view.
In the blur of her tears, the stars grew streaky, wavering and running together like watercolors.
“At least your view’s not too bad,” she commented. “Though I imagine it would get boring after a few weeks. I can imagine wanting to get out and about for a bit.”
She gathered herself for a moment, then stood up and walked away from him.
She wasn’t sure what she expected, but this was not going so great.
It was nothing like speaking to the real Zephyr.
It wasn’t even like speaking to the one who came to her in her visions.
This was like speaking to a shell. Perhaps she was just being foolish.
She considered shifting and showing him what she could do.
But what was the point? He couldn’t see her now, and perhaps he never really had.
She would never know. Just like she would never know if his tale about the mirror was true.
Frustrated, Minerva paced around the space.
“Was that really you there with me, Zephyr? I’d like to believe it was. I’d like to believe you led me to the mirror, because you knew something. But perhaps I’m nothing more than an old fool.”
Kneeling beside him now on the narrow plinth at the base of the slab, she reached into the basket one more time and pulled out the mirror. It was so much easier to lift now that she was her old size again. Old size, but not old self.
She placed the mirror beside him, face up, reflecting the stars.
She could still recall the days when Ordinaries used a mirror to check for signs of life.
Witches were more sensitive. They didn’t need tools to detect the absence of life.
But still she noted that the mirror sitting beside her dearly departed’s face, remained crystal clear.
“You know, I used to be afraid that one day I’d be discovered. That nobody would love a mousy old shopkeeper. And that would be the reason I’d end up alone. Always alone. But somehow I still hoped.”
A single tear fell from her eye and landed on Zephyr’s hand. She watched the trail as it slid down towards his thumb and into the crevice formed by his tightly clenched fist. It was then she remembered what Amrita had asked her this morning.
“Do you have any idea how Zephyr might have come to possess your wand?”