Iona got coffee in the morning which she never did and she walked like she never did before. The air filled her lungs and burnt the edges of her throat. But oh it felt great! It felt incredible.
“It would be wonderful if you could get me an iced mocha cappuccino” the words felt good coming out of her and it felt better in the air. She could almost see the words as they spewed out of her mouth in illusory pink-golds. The barista looked at her and smiled.
A full smile, end to end, white to pearly white, he’d make a great liar with that face of his. For a second, Iona stared at him, her eyes falling over his grin. Then she was jostled away and the man didn’t stare at her anymore. He glanced though, he glanced.
Her voice changed and in that everything changed. She whispered under her breath just to listen to the faint beautiful tinkle. As she got her coffee the man gave her the same smile, a smile nobody ever gave her before. Sultry voice indeed. She couldn’t control this change. She tried to sound normal but no matter the pitch or growl or screech or bite, the verbose rhythms came out just the same.
As she sat whispering, someone sat watching, staring, at the place above her eyes. She didn’t see him, she couldn’t see anything. Her eyes glossed over with colors immeasurable. With joy.
But he sat and he stared and he drank his coffee. He looked at her shoulders, and at her ass. He looked her up and down. He sat thinking. His hair hung at the sides in a shag. It was dark and curly. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, he would’ve been very attractive if his ears weren’t so big or his eyes weren’t so small. But nobody would call him ugly.
For the first time in forever, Iona didn’t want anything. She kept on searching her heart for an inch of anxiety or a piece of loathing but nothing came out right now.
She went to school and found nothing wanting. She didn’t speak of course, what if someone noticed her voice change? But nobody would notice, but what if someone did. The RSAT was coming up. The school made everyone take it before college. College. By the time she went to college, she’d be ready. Nobody would remember her. Not a soul wouldn’t be able to see her.
Teacher after teacher droned on about last minute winter break assignments, she’d have to visit her advisor after school. That would be fun. She still hadn’t sent out any of the essays or projects she needed for college, not that they would be hard. She still had months before the deadlines. Maybe she’d get a writing card again for the essays.
The bell for school rang and she made her way to the advisor's office. Mrs. Burlsworth was a heavy-set woman in her mid-thirties. She wore wide thick glasses (apparently one of the strongest prescription glasses ever made, they even had little runic swirls to enhance sight). She stunk of depression and hardwork. Public school advisors rarely had enough time in the day. Underneath the thick glass, her brown eyes exuded tired.
“Mrs. Ionescu, we need to discuss your future plans.”
“Yes, Mrs. Burlsworth. I’m already half-way done with my UC application.” Mrs. Burlsworth groaned.
“Your GPA looks good enough for some private schools, have you thought about any?”
“My mom went to Harvard Runic Studies and still sometimes goes there for conferences.”
“Maybe not that good but legacy helps. Any extracurriculars of note?” Iona paused. Extracurriculars. She hadn’t thought about that for so long. The cards distracted her. Her fingers tapped against her leg.
“Nothing yet.” Her eyes glanced at the ground, grazing against the side of the table.
“Well, you might be too late to start doing any extracurriculars, but if you can do a project or create a business or something of that sort, colleges would accept that too, if it was big enough.”
“Understood, I’ll get something right away.” Mrs. Burlsworth looked at her.
“Have you thought about choir or something of that nature? Mrs. Delgado is always looking for new members.”
“I’ll probably check it out.” The fat women snorted.
“Probably. Well the mid-level UC schools should still accept you with a good essay. That should be it. Any questions? I’ll see you in a month Mrs. Ionescu.” Iona thanked her and left. Extracurriculars. Choir? Words and words upon words.
The afternoon was orange. Purples glanced across a four o’clock sky. Lingering students meandered on the front lawn of the school. Athletes coming back from practice, theater kids about to perform a bad play. A group of stoners sat in front of the statue at the front of the school. Big puffs of clouds waved in the afternoon light.
She walked past all of them without looking.
“Hey you.” She kept on walking.
“Tall girl.” She turned. The man from the coffee shop sat with his back against the wall, he was a couple of paces away from her, he smoked something.
“Hello?” He walked over to her.
“Hello, hello, hello, hello, I saw you in class the other day, we had like English together freshman year. You’ve like glowed-up Iona.”
He didn’t look like he’d been in an English class for years. A five o'clock shadow sat smeared on his face. He looked old.
“I don’t think I’ve met you.”
“Oh yeah you did. George Elvarado? I used to have a really curly afro? Jewfro? You’d remember me.” She didn’t.
“I really don’t remember you.”
“I’m just sooooo memorable aren’t I. You’ll remember when you make me laugh. I got a distinctive laugh. Anyways, what’s your Snapchat, or number, or what have you.”
Iona didn’t want to respond and if she did respond would there even be a good response to her response? It wasn’t worth it. She backed away and the man kept getting closer, she took a step back, and he took a step forward, she took another and he stopped. Thoughts ran along his face and he walked away.
It was a cold December afternoon and the sun was almost falling and she didn’t want to walk home. She didn’t even know what she would think of on the walk back. The sky filled with orange colors, purples and all sorts of other colors and she just looked and stared as the colors filled the sky like a painting.
Later in the afternoon, she went to boxing class, another instructor besides Marie attended them. The class sparred very lightly against the stouter older boxer. His eyes stared beyond them though. He didn’t even try.
After class, Iona looked at herself in the mirror. Her muscles poked through the flesh. She’d never been in such good shape, her body looked good, even by other people’s standards. Even by the world’s standards. As she left the gym bathroom her phone rang. She picked it up and heard Christian’s voice on the other end.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m calling her. Hello? Iona? So you need to come claim this book, no I don’t make the rules, you have to do this. His wife wants to give it to you personally, she’s at 1147 Arroyo Dr. Wait, you don’t have a car or anything.” He paused and said something in the background to someone she couldn’t hear.
“They’re sending a driver to your house. Should be a black Sedan, the driver’s name is George. And uhhh, be careful, like really careful, like super duper careful, she is not someone you can afford to upset. The driver will be there at 5:35 sharp.”
At 5:30 she stood in front of her house when she saw the car. Her fingers tapped on her hips, she looked around everywhere. The driver slipped right in front of her, got out of the car and opened the door without making a sound. His large hands gripped the door handle as he held it open for her.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
They took the ride in silence, riding from Venice through Santa Monica and up into Malibu. She watched as they drove along the beach, they were so far from the center of Junktown that only little encampments lined the shores. After about thirty minutes driving along the coast the driver took a sharp turn onto a dirt road leading up into the Santa Monica mountains. They went higher and higher, and she looked down as a nauseating view greeted her. There was only a slim railing between her and the sheer drop of the mountain. Rich houses that she could only tell were rich houses by their austere white and gray block colorings, the remnants of modernism butchered.
At last they arrived in front of a small bungalow near the top of the mountain, the driver pulled in without a word and opened the door for her.
“Knock twice miss. I’ll be back at 10:00.” The remnants of late afternoon purples hung in the sky in a dazzling array. But Iona couldn’t really see it all. All she saw was the door. She knocked once, paused for a moment, and knocked again. She waited. A minute went by. Another minute went by. The person who opened the door looked like an old boot. Her skin was dark and tan, weathered by ages, weathered by the sun. She opened the door quickly and with force and stared at Iona. They both took each other in.
The eyes of the old women radiated green light, they shone in the sun.
“Welcome. I am Mrs. Boucher. Come in.” And turned immediately around and walked inside the house. Iona nodded and followed behind, she couldn’t think of anything to say back.
The inside of the house was covered in things. All manner of things. The hallway she entered was littered with photos on every surface, diagrams of plants, pairs of shoes, but not a single photo of a person. Three large paintings hung on either side. One on the left depicted a forest that couldn’t have possibly existed in reality. Blue trees and red trees, purple flowers littered the floor. One on the right depicted an intricate pair of ornate dancing shoes. She recognized Mr. Boucher’s style but along with the intricate carvings on the shoes, a pair of tiny butterfly wings fluttered on either end.
The final painting lay at the end of the hall, it was about the size of a person, and yet only a small image resided on its black canvas. Half of a face with an eye staring directly at Iona. A shock ran through Iona’s body, a tingle starting from her face that spread everywhere through it. She stood frozen, paralyzed, in fear? She couldn’t move at all. The feeling passed and she shook to wake herself up. Was the eye on the painting always closed?
The old women paused in front of the painting, staring at it for a little while, she nodded and the painting swung open onto an expansive living room.
The room was separated in two. On one end two large leather couches sat parallel next to each other with a coffee table in the middle. Pots of flowers lay strewn across the table, purples, and blues, and a spiky flower with shimmering copper petals. Half-drunk cups of coffee and newspapers sat haphazardly on the ends. Large thick vines hung on two glass doors overlooking a garden. Curiously, the vines were not on the house but on the walls inside of the house. The room smelt thick with the perfume of flowers and spicy Sequoia. On the right end of the room, a sleek modern kitchen sat in perfect juxtaposition to the controlled chaos of the other end of the room. No coffee cups or newspapers lied in the kitchen but a singular spindly plant, more like a stick, sat next to the stove.
“Prasino, make our guests some tea. Number three please, I’d like some as well.” The old woman said in a thick, almost Eastern European accent. She led Iona to the couches and sat down with a groan. Iona looked around for Prasino but didn’t see anyone else in the room. But as she scanned the room, the stick-like plant began to move in its pot, its wood shuddered as it grew larger and larger, it began to open a cabinet and take out a jar full of reddish tea. Iona stared at it.
“Ah don’t mind Prasino, he was one of my first creations, so inelegant don’t you think. But he serves his purpose, if a little sassy. He does make an excellent baklava, if a little heavy on cinnamon for my taste.” The plant reached its wooden limb and turned on the oven (electrical so as not to burn the poor creature).
Iona sat in the doorway watching the creature. The older women grunted and Iona moved to the couches. They sat opposite each other. Iona tried not to look directly at the other.
“I am Adara Boucher, wife of the man you dared to defend. Now I don’t quite understand how you could defend such a creature but my husband must have charmed you somehow. He has that way with women. Has anyone told you to turn off the magic in your face?” Iona didn’t quite know what to say.
“Magic in my face?”
“Oh yes, it’s not clever glamor, definitely not in the style of the Canadian beauty schools for that but for someone so obviously untrained it is well made. Ah, our tea is ready.” Prasino extended his wooden branches to the two couches carrying steaming mugs of tea. The mugs were made out of a blue glaze, and glimmered in the remnants of the sun. Adara accepted her mug and began to sip.
“Prasino, again this is too hot. You’ve ruined the leaves but it will do. He doesn’t quite have a good understanding of heat. You will have to be patient with him. Please drink your tea.”
Iona accepted the mug and raised the tea to her face. It smelled like day-old Earth mixed with the tiniest hint of Passionflower. She took a sip, and then took another sip, and then a third, and then a much larger gulp. It tasted like the color orange distilled into a tea. But beyond simple taste, it felt like she felt the flavor in her mind, like it woke her up, the colors in the room brightened.
“One of my finest works, don't you think? You’re drinking a tea that sells for half-million dollars per pound on the open market. How has it affected you?” Adara leaned in, bringing her face parallel with the table.
“I feel so different. I, I, I don’t know quite how to describe it.”
“Ah yes, well you’re obviously not college educated so you wouldn’t know the proper words. I’ll provide them for you. It has made you see different perspectives. The colors in the room have brightened, no? You feel amazing now don’t you? Those rune professors at UCLA love it for that reason. You should see how much Professor Whitehead drinks. Ah but it is a waste to drink it all the time but nevermind that.” Iona nodded and kept on drinking the tea. The room shone under her eyes, it felt like the light itself in the room had turned into particles and dust mites. She watched as shimmering clouds drifted in and out of her vision.
“To see young idiots like you drinking it for the first time is quite a pleasure I think. I can practically think of the lies you’ll tell me. Please explain to me your reasoning for defending my poor stupid husband.” Iona’s mouth dropped. She saw the words in her head appear in the air. Could everyone see that?
“I just. Didn’t think it was quite right for them to do that to him when nobody knew if he was going to Wonderland.” Adara laughed, a thick barking unfunny laugh.
“He was going to Wonderland, I could tell you that, and I am an expert on such things. Much more than a non-Master idiot such as yourself. Did you know I reported him myself? Oh that hurt, but it would not have hurt as much as the stain of having another Wonderland disaster caused by this family.” Iona’s words caught in her throat, the words in the air rewrote themselves over and over again, her own thoughts made into reality.
“But you had no actual proof.” Adara smiled.
“They had no actual proof, they are weak, they are not practiced enough, they are not deep enough. I am different. I could smell it on him when he walked into bed. I am so much deeper than they would ever claim to be. I should be able to recognize my own kind. I told him how much I loved him as a journeyman but he would never listen, always practicing more, always thinking more. It is unwise for us Masters to think too much. But I didn’t come here to lecture, I do that enough already, I came to see you and you are very interesting. I thought you would become a sputtering mess after the tea but it seems you have enough magic in you to stop the major effects of it.” Iona stopped drinking the tea. Her head hurt, the room was too bright, too much for her.
“What?” Adara gulped down the tea herself, almost faster now that Iona stopped drinking.
“Oh yes, a powerful tonic such as that would destroy a normal person quicker than any poison, and it would leave you a sputtering wreck for months. But you are not a normal person, I don’t know why those Junkers didn’t tell me this. You used to be quite ugly right? Oh well, I suppose some people would say you still are but I disagree. I can see how the fat on your body has changed. Quite a unique job I’d say, have you been training as a Physical.” Iona clutched at her head and closed her eyes.
“I, haven’t been, I think, I hope. Why did you? Why did you?”
“Why did I poison you? Simple enough answer, because you might be dangerous, and because I needed to see your character and nothing shows character more than looking paralysis right in the face. I can see it in your eyes now and it’s so interesting. Now I understand why he left you his book. It makes so much sense to me, poor poor girl.” Iona put her hands on her face. Was there something on it? She felt the mole right underneath her left eye, she felt the vague wisps of mustache that she really should’ve shaved.
“I forget myself. You’re a public schooler, you know I went to the same school as you when I was a kid, Go Gondos! You might learn this in college if you go to the right school and major in the right thing. Most people you know have mana signatures, it’s like a social security number of the soul, but what most people don’t know is that you can read mana signatures. It doesn’t really tell you anything that important, just a general impression of the person. Yours is black, black normally is the color of a serial killer or someone about to commit suicide, but your black, this is very interesting stuff to a scholar you know but I digress, your black is tinged with purple. This purple is directly fighting against the black. It’s quite beautiful I think.”
Iona could only half listen, she propped her head against one of the couch cushions and tried to quell the violent churn inside her brain.
“Putting you through the ringer eh? Let me get Prasino to fix you up. Prasino, number two please, and put a lot of sugar in there. Anywho, my husband is an appreciator of mana signatures, his work demanded it. I remember in 69’ he brought me to a mana signature museum on our second date, he really wasn’t that romantic but I was so impressed by him. Your signature denotes change and it’s why he gave you this book. Ah thank you Prasino, again way too hot, way too hot. Here take this tea, it will make you feel better, I promise.”
Iona took the steaming mug but didn’t drink, only smelled it, it smelled like the ocean, like the smell of fisheries, the waterfront, it smelled like the small cabin in Delaware her mom took her when she was a kid, they never went again after her dad left. She took a sip and the colors in the room faded a bit. It tasted like salt water and ash, but to her it tasted like pure ambrosia.
“This is good tea. Very good tea.” Iona said.
“Aww you think? I’m proud of this one, it tastes like nostalgia doesn’t it. Much less popular than the other one. It clears your head and centers you. It’s supposed to taste like a distant childhood memory, it tastes like Coke to me. Here is the book you’ve been promised.” She took out a slim journal, a pair of shoes with wings on it lay engraved in silver on the cover. Various filigree flourishes lay along its spine. Adara held it up in her slim hands.
“Are you feeling better? Can you walk?” Iona nodded.
“Let’s walk in the garden then, it’s a fine day for it and there’s something important in the garden to show you.” The older women got up before Iona could respond and opened the glass doors overlooking the garden, as she opened them, a perfume of smells hit her nose, like a cacophony of birds, like a storm on a summer day, almost every single smell imaginable hit her at once. Iona followed her.
She couldn’t describe the plants. Adara led her along a marble path, but the garden was not a garden but a forest and the most mystical forest. Thick silver trees grew out of the Earth, their bark shone in the late afternoon sun, vines full of every type of flower imaginable, flowers with filigree designs, flowers that twinkled and moved and twirled and pulsated with life. A layer of purple grass had been planted underneath the trees, it moved without a wind and in any direction it seemed to want to move. As they walked along, she noticed some trees with fruits but apples and pears didn’t hang on the trees, she noticed one where pairs of shoes hung along like ripe plums, one where various different types of cupcakes sagged the branches, one even and she blinked as she looked at it, where the bark of the tree seemed to be made of paper, and the fruits of the tree were multi-colored books, with covers and words that she couldn’t make out.
They walked for minutes in silence as Iona took in the wondrous place.
“Is this, is this a Wonderland?” Iona shook as she spoke.
“In a way it is, it’s my life’s work, The Garden of Hesperides. But this isn’t an uncontrollable Wonderland, it doesn’t threaten the land, partly because of me, but also because, well you’ll see.”
They didn’t say much after that. The two women only walked along taking in the beauty. The garden extended far beyond where it should have ended. They walked for ten minutes but didn’t leave the property. At last the path ended, and where it ended, lay a tomb. It was made out of the same marble of the path. It was a box, and laying on the box, in utter beauty, in utter joy, lay a woman. Moss covered her arms, and she’d been partially turned into marble, but pale flesh stuck out from underneath her hips, and a little bit on her shoulders.
“What is she?” Adara didn’t respond.
“A God. She manages the gardens with me, not that I’ve ever spoken to her. She’s more of a watcher than a talker, but she is definitely alive. This whole garden is a result of her.” She watched the marble God, she watched closely, and she noticed at last the chest of the God slowly going up and down. The lady breathed.
“Why are you showing me this?” Iona asked.
“Because I’m planning on helping you and the help that I’m giving you requires that you know who this is.” They both watched the God breath. Neither said much of a word. Iona knew Gods existed, she knew they walked and created and destroyed. She’d heard of viking Gods in Europe destroying whole cities because they’d given up their plundering ways. Most of Canada was infected with Native Gods, who did much as they pleased, one of them was even a senator.
“You’re going to work underneath me, and I am going to teach you everything that you will need to have in this world. Right now you are under the impression that the world is easy, it is not. It is hard, and tough, and spiney, and awful. And with him gone, I need to pass this on. I am a Master just like my husband. But I am infinitely more powerful than he was. Each one of these plants is mine. You will learn to be in the garden.” The old woman said, not looking at Iona. Both paused again in speech.
“No.” And the old woman laughed. A barking, awful, laugh. A cackle, a cacophony. As she laughed, the mouth of the Goddess opened and laughed with her, joined with her, and Iona couldn’t tell the difference between the old woman and the Goddess.