Chapter 19

  The soft patter of rainfall drummed on the roof above her. It was always raining. A light sprinkle danced along the cobblestone, pooling in the cracks of the road. Fishermen splashed through deep puddles, making their way down to the docks. Even in her dreams, she could see it. The men, the streets, the light of fresh candles blinking in tiny shop windows. Washed in the silvery gleam of dawn.

  It was comforting, the steady rhythm of its fall called to her, drawing her into the waking world. No matter what happened, it would always start with rain.

  A flash, as lightning struck. And in the distance, the rumbling of low thunder. A second flash. This one burned into her mind’s eye. A tower. A spiraling monolith, climbing towards the heavens. A sinking feeling. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Why was she back at the beginning?

  Fia opened her eyes. It was as it always was. Canvas, scattered across the floor, spattered paint drying on the table. She was home. Again. She wanted to scream.

  The stone doors led to nothing. They were not part of her prison. It was so obvious now. There was an end to her loop; what should have lain outside could not exist because Sophie had not left it for her. She had not meant for Fia to leave this world. Perhaps her sister had not even known that you could. Fia would never see the tower because it was already gone, toppled centuries ago… There was no way out.

  She lay in bed, wrapped up in so many blankets. Twisting them around her as she buried her face in their warmth. The faint smell of Sophie’s perfume still lingered amongst the sheets. It had stayed with her for so long. But thanks to Timor, it was finally beginning to fade.

  The rain had stopped and the sun had already begun to fall before she finally rose.

  Her stomach growled, but there was no more food. She had eaten all the bacon, and though there was bread, it sat molding on the countertop. Timor’s little gift…

  Fia gathered her things. Her purse was so light, nearly empty. She had grown accustomed to its bulging weight, replenished at every turn of the loop. But no longer. She needed some customers, and soon.

  Down below, the shop was in ruins. Torn pages, shattered glass, deep gashes clawed into the wood, it was all still there. And the magnitude of Timor’s changes hit her, knocking her to her knees. Her life had been one of somber routine, a monotonous existence in a world indifferent to her sorrow. But Timor’s magic had changed all that. The world was turned against her, delighting in her pain and reveling in each tragedy that befell her. She began to sob.

  “Now, now,” a voice called. “Stop that crying. I’ve already started tidying up. If we work together, we’ll be done in no time.”

  Across from her, sitting in Sophie’s armchair, was a rather rotund lady. She was elderly and wrapped from head to toe in great furs and fine jewelry. Her sharp eyes and thin lips gave her a haughty, aristocratic look. But her voice had been soft and sweet. And there was a smile hidden beneath her wrinkles.

  “There, there, it’s nothing to fret over, dear. See?” She waved her hand as the room shimmered. And all at once the shop started to put itself back together. “Come sit with me,” she nodded to the chair beside her, whose arms were frantically stuffing the padding back into its seat. “I’ve brought biscuits.”

  “Did Timor send you?” Fia asked, rubbing her eyes as she sat.

  “Indeed, he did. You came highly recommended, though I suppose first impressions are not always what they seem.” She winked, smiling kindly, and handed Fia a biscuit. “You may call me Amani. And you must be Fia, yes?”

  She nodded. She wasn’t sure what a biscuit was, but it tasted incredible. It had felt quite hard in her hand, and at first, she had thought it might have been burnt. But the first bite had crumbled beautifully, flaking into her mouth in a sweet crunch of rich buttery flavor. She couldn’t help notice how many more of them lay, neatly arranged, on the side table.

  “Excellent, excellent. Well, Fia I…” She paused, her head turning from Fia to the biscuits and back again. “Oh, just take them, girl!” she exclaimed, holding out the tin. “Better not make a habit of it, though,” she called out as Fia devoured one after another. “You really shouldn’t have so many.”

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  When she had finally picked the last crumbs from the bottom of the tin, Amani spoke again. “As I was saying, I have been advised that you may be able to help me with a little supply issue I am currently navigating.”

  “What kind of issue?” She choked. Her mouth was so dry, and sticky, her lips clung to each other, trapping the words between them… was this why you weren’t supposed to have so many of them?

  Amani regarded her curiously. “You are a peculiar girl.” She waved her hand, and a steaming teacup appeared on the table. “Drink up. I won’t stand for any more delays. Now where was I?”

  “A supply issue?”

  “Indeed. I am the creator and sole provider of a rather delicate potion in my world. It has gained me a great fortune but also a great number of enemies.”

  “Interesting.” Were there any more biscuits? Would it be unprofessional to ask? “I suppose one of the ingredients is found here?”

  “Just so. The main ingredient, in fact. Functionally extinct where I come from, though I had my own greenhouse for it. That is until…”

  “Someone destroyed it?”

  “A particularly foul competitor of mine. My stores have nearly run dry, and I’d started to think I’d have to close up shop. It really was a stroke of luck, Timor finding you.” She paused, patting Fia gently on the arm. “Though I am sure it must be terrible for you. How horrible it must be, to be trapped here.”

  “It is…Any chance you might want to help me get out of it?”

  “Oh, but dear, you must know that I would!” Amani gasped; eyes wide. “But there’s nothing I can do! I am simply,” she sniffed, “not the mage that Timor is.”

  “How are you getting out then?”

  “Well… It's sort of a round trip deal. You see, Timor places a seal on me, which brings me here. When I want to leave, I remove the seal, and I am returned home.” She took Fia’s hands. “I know it's not fair, child. But let's try to make the best of this, shall we?”

  “I suppose…”

  “That’s the spirit!” Amani beamed, and then as if reading Fia’s mind, she leaned in and whispered, “I’ll even leave a couple of boxes of these biscuits. I know it’s not much, but some days you just need a little extra kick to get you going.”

  Though she was loath to admit it, this brightened Fia’s mood tremendously. And she squirmed in her seat, struggling to maintain composure. “Tell me about this ingredient.”

  “It’s a flower. We call it a Snowy Lilac, it's—”

  “—Purple and white?”

  “Yes.” From deep within her furs, she drew a small scroll. Carefully unrolling it before handing the parchment to Fia.

  It was a simple sketch of a small plant, painted with a dozen tiny blossoms, ivory petals, their edges dusted in periwinkle.

  “Moonshade…”

  “So, you’re familiar? Excellent. I’ll need—”

  “—What kind of potion uses wildflower?”

  Amani coughed uncomfortably, her face turning its own shade of violet. “I’d rather not say,” she finally muttered.

  Had Sophie ever mentioned it? She didn’t think so…

  “It solves a very personal issue in my world,” Amani stammered. “I promise you it's nothing bad! Just not something one normally speaks of in polite conversation. Please, let us speak no more of it.”

  “Well alright…” Perhaps Berta would know; she would have to ask later.

  “Good,” the old woman sighed, her relief washing the violet blush from her face. “I’ll need at least twenty samples to restart my grow, but I’ll take as many as you can get your hands on. When you’ve finished, contact Timor and he will let me know.”

  “First, we need to discuss my fee.”

  “Oh goodness!” Amani clutched at her breast, “I am terribly sorry. I thought that had already been arranged. How rude of me! Going on and on about myself when what we really need to iron out is what you need. You take your payments in gold. Is that incorrect?”

  “Yes. I mean no. That is to say, I accept gold.”

  “Well,” she began to twirl her fingers as gold coins dripped from the nails, stacking neatly on the end table.

  “That’s good!”

  “Oh?” Amani’s head tilted quizzically.

  Was that too little? “Good for half!” She blustered. “Which I take up front…and then the same amount…the second half, upon delivery!”

  “Hmmm,” she pondered, crossing and then uncrossing her legs. “Let's make it double, shall we?”

  “Are you… Are you sure?”

  Aman leaned in, “You’re already giving me such a good deal as it is,” she whispered gently.

  “Well then, then, make it triple the gold!”

  “Don’t push it…”

  “Then… I’ll take the biscuits up front!”

  Amani laughed, a twinkling titter, like chimes dancing in the wind. “I accept your terms, Fia! And I hope that this is the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership.” She held out her hand.

  Fia took it. “Amani?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you,” she hesitated, “tell me about your world?”

  The aristocrat grew small as she sank deep into the armchair, folding her hands, head bowed in thought. “Timor thought it best not to speak of such things,” she murmured, half to Fia, half to herself. “But what is the harm…” She fell silent.

  “Amani?”

  “Yes, dear,” she raised her head, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I haven’t much time, but I suppose I could indulge you one question.”

  Just one question. She would have to make it count.

  “Timor told me he acts as a middleman for an entity in your world.”

  “Yes,” Amani replied. Her voice was soft, guarded, but the sparkle had not left her eyes.

  “What exactly is it?”

  “The Vise Company? My dear girl, where do I begin?”

  Cycle: Timor 4-1