Fiona stirred from her slumber to the sound of something like a motor. Not the motor of traffic just outside her apartment. A certain feline motor sound.
She opened her eyes, and saw nothing but sleek black and blue fur–and a distinct heavy weight on her chest. She mumbled something softly to the cat to politely stop trying to suffocate her in her sleep, and the cat sprawled out further, purring and kneading his claws.
“Tucker, get off. I’m getting all sweaty and gross between your immense body heat, and the comforter,” she grumbled. Tucker responded by grooming her hair with his tongue, purring louder as he did it. “Ewww, I know you love me, but I don’t taste that good.” She lightly pushed the cat away, and he edged his claws into the blanket to root himself in place.
This cat knew how to annoy her, and she pushed a tangle of red hair out of her face. “Tucker, I’m gonna get up. I have work. I know you love cuddles, but mommy dearest has a career, and a tax debt to get rid of.”
“Meow.” She couldn’t help but feel the cat was sassing her as she pushed him off and threw off the covers. She rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes, and raised her arms over her head with a loud yawn. “And how’s the Wingding doing this morning–”
She stared at the blank spot where Wingding would be, and an instant panic ensued. She jumped out of bed in a heartbeat, staring at the blank spot, ignoring the sweaty grossness, and feeling her fatigue burning off in an instant. “Wingding? Where did you go?”
No response. But she could feel a faint…presence in the back of her mind. A tingle of something that wasn’t herself. She rolled back the sleeves of her nightwear in a frenzy, looking for Wingding. It’s not like she could take off, right?! “Wingding, if you are playing a game of hide and seek, this is so not cool!” she bellowed out loud.
Both arms turned up nothing. Both legs turned up nothing. She hoped Wingding wasn’t hiding somewhere she shouldn’t–
She took off her nightshirt and examined herself–not in admiration of her fit body, but, more like looking frantically for a lost child. Where was she?!
A furry paw touched her back, and Tucker was batting at her playfully. Fiona whirled around, and glared at him. “This is no time for play, Tucker! Wingding is gone!”
“Mrow.” Tucker seemingly pointed his paw at her, and then, a thought occurred to her. Maybe he was trying to tell her something? “Mow-mow.”
“Tucker, are you saying something? Is there…something on my back?” She turned her head to examine her back, and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, there you are, you little rascal!”
She couldn’t quite see it by craning her head, but the mirror by the dresser revealed Wingding hiding by her spine, midway up her back, wings flapping softly–almost like an ornithopter, and bobbing up and down lightly. She swore she could feel the wingbeats on her back, too, and she pointed at her mark. “Hey, not cool! I didn’t know you could move! Oh, but thank goodness you didn’t get lost!”
A knock on the door practically made her jump, and she cursed quietly–she was an elf, no one should sneak up on her, on account of her sensitive ears! Then again, the sneaks didn’t knock. “Who is it?” she called out, and threw her nightshirt back on.
“Fiona dear? I heard a shout, who were you talking to?” She let out an exhale of relaxation as she got to the door, once she recognized Granny’s voice.
“Oh, talking to Tucker! This little booger, uh, he wouldn’t get off, and I have work soon!” she explained. It was the truth. Mostly. She doubted anyone ever actually talked to their marks–that she knew of.
“Who is Wingding, then?”
“Uh, It’s a nickname! For the cat! He can be such a Wingding!” she called out, anxious that she might have been in a bit of a panic mode, a little too loudly. Tucker yawned in protest, and proceeded to lick his paw.
“Oh, alright then dear. Are you headed into the store, soon?” She opened the door and looked like only a slightly hot mess when Granny chuckled and saw her appearance. “Oh, I guess not dressed like that. You look like you just woke up.”
“I did. Do you ever get the feeling that something is missing? And that you never really lost it, and it was hiding there the whole time?” she asked abstractly.
Flap. Wingding let her answer be known, while Granny raised a paper bag.
“Don't I know that feeling, dear. Oh, since I was here, I bought an extra muffin over at Fannie’s bakery, just down the row. Do you mind cinnamon chip?”
“Oooh! I love it! Thank you so much!” Her smile cracked past frazzled hair and the early hour, and she took the treat in hand. “Alright, guess I better go downgrade to less of a hot mess and get ready for work, I’ll see you later Gemma!”
“You too, dear,” Fiona closed the door gently and took a sniff of the still-warm bakery treat, and felt that cinnamon scent fuse with all the receptors of delight in her brain. Granny was always so nice to her!
One enthusiastic flap later, Fiona glanced at the mirror, and smoothed her hair. “Alright, shower time, then I suppose we need to talk to Bonnie about you, and your new game of hide and seek!” she added as Wingding hovered in place on her wrist, and gave a wave of one wing–with what almost looked like a thumbs-up.
One quick shower, hairdressing, and change of clothes later, Fiona was ready for the day. All the while, Wingding showed her new mobility. Fiona found it a little odd that the mark wasn’t content to rest on her wrist anymore. What, exactly, did that mean?
----------------------------------------
The lake was beautiful, even with the overcast sky, the full autumn bloom of leaves put out a prominent display of bright colors. She swore that fall didn’t last this long, back on Earth–maybe there was something about the world that was a little different, maybe they were closer to the equator?
Either way, she took a deep breath of that cool, crisp air and the scent of leaves fluttering nearby. The shop was just in front of her, with a hint of frost glazed on the windows. The sun would make short work of it as it started creeping over the buildings adjacent to it. Greg was coming up the row from his apartment, and Bonnie was right next to him, looking as fluffy as ever, cozy in a light sweater and leggings.
“Hey guys, morning to ya!” She had this feeling those two had been more than a little cozy of late. About her only hint of this was seeing them holding hands for a split second, before they both abruptly pulled away, smiling and waving back. Oooh, what’s a mischievous elf to do, call them out on it? Nah, some other time, when maximum matchmaking can be attained! She wasn’t used to waiting, but this one seemed like it would be worth it. She wondered if Bonnie had taken the leap of faith when they'd talked, a couple of weeks ago.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Morning Fiona! Are you ready to slay some sales, and possibly lay some dragons?” Bonnie heckled as they closed the gap.
“Hah! You know, I don’t mind dating other Folk, but uh, I’ve had bad experiences with dragons already, Bon-bon. Doug was polite–even if he was having a low-key meltdown as I was using him like a punching bag!” She unlocked the door with the runic key, just as Bonnie and Greg closed the distance, and she politely held the door for them. Darla was already inside at her station, having gotten to work at grinding beans and preparing for the day. She gave them a wave, and a sultry air kiss that left Greg looking more scarecrow than usual, and a sly smile from Bonnie. That scent of roast beans and other hints of confectionery delights left Fiona with a beaming smile.
This was the best kind of morning, she figured–free of past life apocalypses–
She froze in her steps, and fought against that horrible memory, trying to will it away.
That thought again. No. I’m past this. That life might be gone, and there was still hope that the military could pull a win out of it. I hurt one of those monsters with nothing more than a lot of luck and willingness to die, to make that happen. Others could have done the same. The thought brought back her brimming good mood–somewhat. Bonnie’s right, I don’t know what the end result was. Maybe there are other people with powers on Earth? The thought brought an even more puzzling thought:
What if she didn’t die? What if she’d had powers that had triggered at the last second? She glanced at Wingding, on her wrist.
Girl, were you there this whole time, but you had to hide?
More worrying, was the complete lack of response by Wingding.
“Fiona, you’re puzzling over Wingding again–which, by the way, I can see as clear as day.” Bonnie’s hand on her shoulder broke her focus, and she peered at her softened expressions and even softer red fur. “You okay?”
“Bonnie, how often do the marks change?”
“Well, for some who want to take a new class every other month, quite a bit. They become a tapestry of our souls, in a way. Ah, listen to me talk, I’m gonna scare you with all these big words!” she grinned pointedly, and Darla handed her a cup of coffee, much to her surprise. “Thanks, Darla.”
“I need my partners at the top of their game. You guys do well, I do well, that kind of jazz. I’m like the party support class,” Darla purred with a flash of teeth and soft golden eyes, the sunbeams from the window dazzling on her blue skin. She was dressed in her typical black tie, vest, and collared shirt, with a small apron to avoid spills. Her nails were painted a deep purple today, and she peered at Fiona’s wrist. “Hey. Wasn’t Wingding on your left hand, before?”
“Little Miss Mystery can apparently move! Girl, show them your trick!” Fiona declared aloud. All eyes were on Fiona as Wingding disappeared up her sleeve, tickling her skin and running along her back and shoulders, before making her way, much to the amazement of everyone. Bonnie gasped when she saw Wingding fluttering.
“So? We’re all staring at the spectacle of Miss Swiftheart?” Greg asked dryly.
“Greg, marks don’t move, and don’t respond to people’s voices!” Bonnie glanced at him and animatedly pointed to Fiona’s wrist. “This is exceptional. I’m calling it, I think Wingding isn't just a mark!”
“Bonnie, there are many strange magics of the world, and the classes are well established in their effects. Well, most of them.” Mister all-too-serious just won't let us have this moment, Fiona thought acidly.
Behind Fiona, there was a flutter of wings, and Kali dropped in with a perfect landing–though his clothes were a little ruffled, and he happily took a cup of coffee from the darling, golden-eyed darkling once he was inside. “One thing I love about wings? I’m rarely late if I can just fly over the foot traffic,” he announced proudly, before taking a sip out of the mug awkwardly with his beak. Darla chuckled softly at that when he let out a hoot of excitement.
“It’s just coffee. What do they feed you at that orphanage?” Darla asked, tail swaying back and forth slowly, and her lips creasing upwards as she leaned on the counter.
“Staggeringly mediocre meals. Thank you for the drink, truly,” he praised, and glanced at the others. “Hey, what’s with the looks at our resident zany business owner?”
“Oh, you better mind your tone, mister flight risk,” Bonnie snapped, but Fiona gave a hand of restraint. “What, he doesn’t get to call you zany!”
“From him, it's a compliment, and I am zany. Me saying otherwise, would be a lie!” Fiona showed the little magical trick that Wingding had picked up, and his raptor eyes dilated.
“Why does weird stuff always happen when I’m around you guys?” he asked anxiously.
“I know, right? It’s not like I can’t just run my business without magical drama. Well, shall we get ready for the day? We open in fifteen minutes,” Fiona reminded them, and gave them all a nod of approval. “Let’s make this place shine!”
The doors opened to a small crowd of eager customers, who all took a liking to Darla’s delightful treats at the front counter, and she gave them all a polite nod. Fiona could hear the clink of numerous copper, some silvers–even gold coins as people left generous tips and donations, and sat back in the handful of tables and chairs. The fireplace nearby gave off warmth and light, much to their benefit. The older folks took their time with newspapers and baked treats, and sipped coffee sparsely while talking to each other quietly, ruminating about old times and hearty tales.
All she had to do, this early, was lean back and smile, sipping coffee from the coziness of her kiosk. The real crowd would be here usually a short time later, and Greg was busily adjusting the displays. “I think we should move these smaller items up by the kiosk. People always want these little potions and remedies at the last second, not thinking about them until they’ve left–Fiona, are you humming?”
She continued to hum to an old tune, smiling contentedly. It was a small comfort, thinking of the world that came before. She stopped to take a glance at Greg, smiling. “You know something? Six months ago, I was lost. Now…now I feel like I found something I was missing. Except…it wasn’t. I think I had it a long time ago.”
“And what’s that?”
“A place to put my heart into.”
Greg smiled faintly at that notion, and set his datapad aside. “There’s value in that, Fiona. One beyond measure. Sure, Barrimeth might have dealt us a bad hand, but we’re beating expectations, ever since the harvest festival.”
“I’ve read the numbers. Things are looking up!” She did a fist pump for emphasis, and even his stoic face couldn’t help but show a smirk. It was then though, that she saw over his shoulder, someone come in the main door–someone she hadn’t heard back from, ever since her first day of being a merchant. “Hey, Greg. We have company here.”
He took the cue and turned around, wearing a polite smile and an arm extended outward. “Greetings, Clarke. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
The professionally dressed clerk was holding a notepad tucked in a vest pocket, and looking at Fiona with keen interest. “I’m here for Miss Swiftheart. Can we talk in private? This concerns her merchant license. Not in a bad way, mind you."
Fiona stood up, and smoothed back her hair. “Yeah, let’s go into my office. We’ll talk there. Greg, can you attend to the kiosk for a bit?” He nodded silently, and she gestured to Clarke to follow.
Wingding, why do I get this feeling this is going to be something really weird? You think this is going to be some kind of massive surprise?
One wingbeat was all it took for her to confirm it. Once she latched the door to her office and gestured for Clarke to take a seat, she hopped into her slightly worn office chair. It was still cozy, if a bit of a second-hand effect. She leaned in, waiting for him to make the first move.
“I’ve seen the store. You’ve done excellent work, Miss Swiftheart, for only being in business for less than a month,” he offered in a congratulatory tone. “It’s rare to see people kick-off that quickly from an opening.”
“We had some tailwinds helping. So, uh, what’s up? The last time I heard from you, you said you were still digging for my uh…situation.”
Clarke put the notebook on the table, and the inkwork came to life–just like Greg’s strange abilities. Letters and images started whirling into the air, projecting findings–and even animations of various ancient battles–and winged beings fighting in the skies. “Okay, I like the kids' picture book, but–” she trailed off, she had a feeling she knew this was not going places she wanted. His solemn expression was highlighted by the dancing lights of the illustrations.
“Fiona…there is a history to your mark.”
She leaned forward. “Okay. What about it? I mean it’s pretty cool and all, and Wingding here has been acting out, like a…tattooed teenager.”
Clarke closed the notebook. “It’s the mark of a goddess that has been dead for almost five thousand years. No one has had this mark, until you showed up.”