The following morning, Patience hid Anax away again. So long as Valon prowled the area, she did not feel safe having Anax within his grasp in town. He could have ordered a crate of lavender cigarettes for all they knew. She then traveled into Keaton to send a telegram to Leland Unger. It took her longer than usual to make the trip with a light cramp berating her abdomen. But the matter at hand was too important to delay. Thankfully, before she left, Patience drank plenty of tea mixed with Heledd’s medicine that seemed to dispel the discomfort by the time she arrived in Keaton. To round off her duties, the girl left a message for Valon at his inn to meet tomorrow morning to discuss the plan.
Just as Patience stepped out of the Comstock Inn, she glimpsed a familiar motorbike parked across the square at the bakery. Her heart swelled and before she was aware, her feet had carried her across the store’s threshold. Schuler stood in line at the register. There was a noticeable absence of Seraphina. Patience presumed she was with her fiancé planning their nuptials.
Without any pretense, she sidled up to Schuler, emitting in a sigh, “Hello, Schuler.”
Surprised to see the once-reclusive girl here, Schuler spun around, sending the goggles hung around his neck swaying. “Patience. Where’s Anax?”
“At home,” she replied with her gaze down, “I don’t always have to have him with me.” Patience then looked into Schuler’s eyes. “I’m sorry again for what happened the other day.”
“No, I can’t expect you to fall into my arms on account of our friendship.”
“I do care for you, Schuler … I really do,” Patience mumbled.
Schuler stepped up to the register. She was unsure if he had heard her. He paid for four sweet rolls and turned away from the counter. Patience followed him outside into the beaming daylight.
The girl swallowed and fiddled with the sleeves of her blouse. She stared up at Schuler with doleful eyes as he packed the rolls into the case strapped to his motorbike. They continued on as the man walked his vehicle away from the square. Once on a permissible street, he pulled on his goggles and mounted the seat. Only then did he peer behind his back with a grin.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
Relief washed over Patience. The anger had left him. She matched his smile with her own. “Where to?”
“A witches’ market set up between here and Haverston. Thought you might like to check it out before they pack up and leave in a couple weeks.”
“I’d love to,” she chirped, jumping on the extended seat behind him.
The engine began to sputter. Patience wrapped her arms around Schuler as he kicked off. Before the girl could fix her boot heels against the rods on the rear wheel, they had set away to a lighter destination.
Pebbles launched and rattled into the spokes of the motorbike gliding down the road. Every bump and hitch in their path made themselves known to Patience. A recent rain must have beaten the road with prejudice. As much as the turbulence wrought her body, the girl’s mind gravitated toward the man at her front.
For now Schuler seemed to have accepted her answer. But seeing him in the brilliant sunlight struck a small chip within Patience, a chip of doubt. She questioned how satisfied she would be keeping things as they were currently. Indeed she was content at the moment; however, the future could not be spoken for. Patience felt the trim yet solid body against her chest. She felt his taut abdomen under her hands. But before Patience could make the mistake of clutching a bit tighter and feeling the shape of him, the dyed peaks of tents appeared.
Within minutes they were upon the market. Schuler parked his motorbike as Patience leapt off, marveling at the brilliant hues of banners and canvas flapping in the wind. Three large tents dominated the market, nestled between them were stalls of various sizes. Witches mingled and traded their wares. The busiest stalls were the herbariums and apothecaries, patronized by witches and townsfolk from Keaton and Haverston alike. A few curious humans bravely browsed the occult merchandise offered along the market’s periphery. It was not unlike normal markets, but aside from the difference in vendors, the very air seemed to hum with magic.
Patience scanned the aisles, unsure where to begin perusing. Boxes of strange animal parts, glittering trinkets hanging from poles, flowering plants spilling from pots, rolls of fabric painting a full artist’s palette, roasting nuggets of mystery meat dripping aromatic grease; they all beckoned her attention. She caught Schuler eyeing a stall set up with kegs and glasses for tasting.
“How about we reconvene in half an hour?” Patience suggested. “Those sweet rolls in your pack can join us for lunch.” She winked.
“All right by me!” Schuler nodded. The two broke off to adventure independently.
As Patience walked the stalls, a pang of guilt struck her. Anax would have loved to experience this. It was an impromptu trip, going back to retrieve Anax would have been far too much trouble. Perhaps she could bring him here before the witches upped and left. Speaking of Anax, Patience brought a hand up to her burn. It was naked for the world to see, yet the world did not notice. There was no shortage of things in the market to capture people’s interests instead. The girl wore a smile and flashed it as brightly as any of the baubles spread out on the tables she passed.
Completing one aisle, Patience came to a break between the stalls. The sunny green countryside stretched out beyond. Across the field, parked in the shade of a copse of alders, were several wagons. Nothing stood out about them aside from some intricate designs painted on their sides. What caught Patience’s eye stood between the wagons and herself in the middle of the field.
She would have thought them to be scarecrows at first glance. However, they had nothing to scare crows from. Entranced by these odd structures, Patience slowly walked toward them. As she neared, she saw that they were constructed of branches, rope, and bone, mostly skulls. Patience’s eyes widened. There were skulls of many shapes and sizes. Stepping closer, she found that she could only identify half of them.
Deeply intrigued, Patience moved closer to the largest of the three structures. She circled around it, poring over the unfamiliar craniums. She wondered if Valon could recognize any of these, having gone the world over hunting beasts and monsters. Right above Patience’s head, one particular mandible stopped her in her tracks. It was dark and long with a single, pointed tooth at its end. A hand slowly crept up to the glossy tooth.
“YOU THERE!”
Patience quickly retracted her arm.
“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT!”
She wheeled around to see a figure in black charge toward her from the caravan. His pale gold hair whipped around him in a frenzy.
“STEP AWAY FROM THE TOTEMS!” he yelled with an accusing finger sticking out.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was important!” Patience squeaked as she nearly fell backward.
He snarled, rushing up to Patience, “That’s just like you rucks, innit? Mess stuff up, apologize later!”
A mere few inches separated them. He was a young witch, but his face twisted into a mean and salted countenance of a septuagenarian. His crystal blue eyes blazed in the afternoon sun. The hot tobacco-laced breath smoking from between his teeth like dragon fire assaulted the girl’s face. Patience shirked back from him, but decided against completely breaking away. He seemed likely to snap if she did not hear out his entire tirade.
“Look, I gave my apologies! I would not have stepped anywhere near here if I knew what these were and their significance.”
“There’s a circle of salt around them!” he yelled, stepping closer. His nostrils flared. “Or are you as blind as you are deformed?”
Patience’s face burned. She quickly peered down to see a minuscule mountain range of salt barely peeking above the thriving spring grass.
The witch bared his teeth, snapping and spitting. “You show us no respect for our culture or values!”
“I can if I KNEW!” Patience screamed back.
“I told Dorcas not to open this market to rucks!” His spittle pelted Patience’s cheeks. He was too close. “You’re coming with me!” He gripped her shoulder.
She saw the lightning in his eyes and flinched. And in that instant, Patience punched the witch’s jaw.
Briefly stunned, the witch stared in awe at her impudence. However, his eyes quickly darkened into a deep shade of anger. Uttering a low growl, he flew at her.
Reacting on instinct alone, Patience flung out her knee and elbows. The witch was quick to dodge them. He stepped to her side and snatched her braid. Patience wheeled around, elbowing his gut. Kicks, grapples, and punches exchanged between them. Shouts and screeches rose into the air. Attracted by the noise, a crowd of onlookers began to amass.
“Help! Get him off me!” Patience yowled as he caught hold of her blouse, tugging it away from her. Fearing any possible humiliation, she sank her teeth into his arm.
“They ain’t gonna help you!” snapped the witch, not even flinching from Patience’s bite.
Her eyes flew to the witches standing around them. Suddenly she was afraid they would pile on as well, but their faces only showed discomfort. They were not pleased by her assault, but they were not going to step in to stop this male witch either. She briefly wondered if he held some clout within the community and they were afraid to obstruct him. Of course the townsfolk would not dare to intervene. But the girl’s thoughts seized to a halt when he gripped onto her scalp.
Patience screamed. His nails dug into the tender flesh of her old burn. She fell to her knees.
“HANDS OFF HER!”
Whipping her head around, Patience saw Schuler running toward her. Her heart sang out. “Schuler!” she cried.
Schuler dove into the witch, wrestling him to the ground. Patience felt the wind knocked out of the witch as his spit and breath sprayed her once again. Flopping away from the melee, Patience found some safety. She watched Schuler through bleary eyes as she held her searing burn.
“You were fighting a lady! Have you no honor?” Schuler growled, gripping the witch’s arms.
“All genders are treated equally among witches. So who are the honorable ones here?” sneered the witch.
Unimpressed with his pompousness, Schuler clocked his nose. In response the witch grappled his neck.
“Schuler!” Patience blared.
Schuler clawed at the witch’s face, thumbs hooking into his cheeks. Together they staggered in a macabre dance. Between the hair flipping around their heads, Schuler’s face shone bright red. The witch’s grip tightened around the musician’s throat. With a great heave of strength, Schuler wrenched the witch’s head to the side, leading his black-clothed body into the ground. The male witch broke his hold and stumbled. Separated the two men glared fire into each other’s eyes. Patience had never seen Schuler this angry.
The witch spat into the grass and lunged again, hurtling into the musician’s gut. Schuler kicked his feet back, not wanting to tumble into the onlookers. He began beating his fists into the witch’s back and sides. Whatever else happened in the scuffle, Patience did not follow. The pain flared in her scalp. She screwed her eyes shut to escape the light.
Just beyond the crowd, an old woman atop a black stallion veered off the road. Her head swiftly cocked toward the brawl and she kicked her steed into a run. Amid a flurry of whinnies and startled shouts, the woman parted the crowd to loom over the fight.
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“STOP!” she roared.
Immediately the men held pause and the witch disentangled himself from Schuler. He stood to attention, brushing off the grass from his trousers. Schuler hunched, catching his breath. He rubbed his red throat.
“What is the meaning of this?” barked the old woman. Underneath the wide brim of a plain navy blue hat, her gray eyes burned into the male witch’s.
“Dorcas, this ruck girl stepped into a salt circle and nearly touched a totem!” the male witch hissed. Blotches of red began to flower on his face where Schuler had struck him. “I intended to bring her to your wagon and await your return in order to receive proper punishment, but she resisted.”
Dorcas looked over to Patience who was still curled up several feet away. From atop her horse, she appeared quite intimidating. A tight bun held her white hair firmly in place. It was so tight it seemed to pull some of her facial skin with it.
Pursing her wrinkled lips, the elder witch asked, “Is this true?”
Patience nodded. “I apologized to him. I’m sorry if I caused any offense. I was unaware of the significance of those structures. I was only intrigued by the skeletal remains. Had I known—”
“Enough,” said Dorcas, raising a hand. She then dismounted, her simple dress in the same hue as her hat inflating with air. Her hat tilted forward. Coiled on the brim was the skeleton of a snake. On the ground, the elder witch barely reached the men’s armpits, but her demeanor made up for any fear her height could not command. She stepped toward Patience.
“Hold out your hand, girl.”
Patience swallowed and did as she was told. Dorcas administered a quick slap.
“Mind yourself next time. We don’t go into your churches and touch things willy-nilly, right?”
Patience nodded, rubbing her smarting palm.
Dorcas glanced over at the salt circle, then turned to the male witch. “Use more salt. Can’t barely see the damned thing,” she scolded.
“Yes, Auntie,” grumbled the male witch.
“Go on! I’ll have a more thorough discussion with you later.”
He began pouting like a child as he shuffled over to the totem. The wide-eyed crowd moved in a singular wave, gifting him ample space.
Finally Dorcas faced Schuler. “And you?”
“I just came to defend my friend is all,” he explained.
The elder witch nodded. “Good man.” She scanned the faces of the hushed crowd. “Whatcha all gawking at? Fight’s over! Get back to minding your own business!” Like leaves scattered in the wind, the crowd broke apart within several seconds.
After confirming no serious injuries were present, Dorcas stood before Schuler and Patience. She stared at her dejected nephew hunched over the salt circle.
Dorcas sighed, “I apologize for my nephew’s overreaction.”
“It was my fault. I did not need to throw the first punch,” sniffed Patience.
“Ah, I’m sure he made himself to be quite the ass to deserve it. This certainly isn’t his first fight,” huffed the crone. “Please don’t let this incident deter you from visiting us again. We welcome drybloods to come see and interact with our community. Well … not in this way.”
“If anything it made me feel young again,” Schuler chuckled, cracking his knuckles.
Dorcas snorted, mirth conquering her face for a moment before she fell back into seriousness. “I want to build a bridge of understanding between witches and drybloods. What’s the use if we keep up walls separating our communities?”
Patience and Schuler’s heads bobbed in agreement.
“Ah, I’ve held you two long enough. Be on your way. Best leave my nephew to cool off,” said Dorcas.
“Thank you for stepping in,” said Patience. Dorcas nodded to the pair and took her leave, leading her stallion to the caravan. Not wanting to linger at the scene of the fight a moment longer, the pair strolled along the perimeter of the marketplace.
Schuler clucked, “Hope your curiosity was satisfied, I don’t think we can come back for a while.”
“I’m sorry I got us into that mess,” the girl whimpered, massaging the base of her scalp just shy of where the scars began.
“Be a bit more mindful next time, huh?” Schuler cocked his head forward to rub his neck.
Patience caught glimpses of Schuler’s scuffed face behind a curtain of his unruly hair flecked with bits of grass. The girl figured she must look a sight herself. She rubbed her burn with the palm of her hand. Her scalp’s immediate fire had died down, but the sting in her palm continued echoing Dorcas’ slap. With all the action, Patience anticipated another scalp-ache this evening. Despite the pain and soreness to come, her lips cracked into a smile.
“I can’t believe we fought a witch!” she laughed.
“Not many people can claim that,” Schuler wheezed, patting his scraped arms. The two shook off their aches all the way to the market entrance.
“And I’m sorry our time here was cut short,” sighed Patience.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy it!” Schuler stopped at the drink stand to buy two bottles of dandelion cordial before they left.
The girl felt a bit relieved they were able to purchase something after all the trouble. It was not a fruitless excursion. Her shoulders slumped as they passed under the banners and flags to step foot onto the dirt road once again. She watched the world of whimsy retreat behind her as they walked to Schuler’s ride.
The musician carefully packed the cordial in his bag. Patience wearily sat behind him, rubbing her aching head. Just as they were about to kick off on his motorbike, Schuler slapped the nape of his neck.
“Schuler, what’s wrong?” asked Patience.
The man grimaced. “I think something bit me.” He lifted his hand away and shook his head as they lurched into motion. Patience peered at his neck. Stuck to it was a tiny black shape. Still dazed from her scalp pain, she tried to focus. It was in the form of a simple human figure, only the legs fused together into a single point. Before she could inspect any closer, the wind peeled it away.
The odd thing remained in Patience’s mind until they stopped near Keaton by a weeping willow. Patience’s head swam from the fight and bright sun. She wondered if it had simply been a smashed horsefly and she was imagining the strange shape.
“Come on,” said Schuler, guiding her under the willow’s shade with the pack in his other hand.
Patience plopped down, back against the trunk. She sighed her relief to be out of the sun and away from other people. Settling opposite of her, Schuler opened the bottles of cordial with his jackknife and spread the sweet rolls out on a napkin in the grass.
“I never took you to be such a scrapper,” murmured Patience.
“What can I say? Growing up I was always scrawny—”
“Still are,” the girl gibed.
Schuler shot her a feigned look of offense before continuing, “So I had to learn ways to fight that would fit me.” He took a roll to his mouth, tearing off nearly half of it. She watched the soft sugar glaze crack between his teeth. He smiled at her with full cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
“If only you could have torn into that witch like you tore into that roll!”
“Then I’d be charged with murder,” snorted Schuler. He nodded at the napkin. “There are three more. I could use a bit of help!” He finished his first roll and washed it down with a guzzle of his drink.
As tempting as the sweet rolls were, Patience took a moment to breathe. She leaned into the tree, feeling the cool bark against her sun-beaten back. There was a pleasant loneliness in Schuler’s company. He never spoke more than he needed. His presence alone was enough to reassure Patience that she was safe and cared for.
“Not hungry?” asked Schuler.
“Just enjoying the moment,” Patience simpered. Peering upward, she glimpsed the sun threading between the swaying willow branches. A soft melody of breezes and birdsong drifted through their verdant baldachin. The market seemed to have existed ages ago, and Keaton had disappeared altogether.
Patience sighed, “It’s as though we’re alone on Earth right now.”
“Sounds good to me,” Schuler drawled. Patience watched the knot in his throat bob as he knocked back another gulp of dandelion cordial, his hair gently falling away from his face.
“You know it’s funny,” he began, “friends aside, I enjoy my solitude.”
Patience lowered her gaze to the rolls and picked one up from the napkin. “Oh?” Solitude had dominated her life for three years. She had no interest in returning to it.
“I suppose I’m used to it. What with working all my adolescence …”
“Surely you had your brother for company,” said Patience, taking a bite.
“Albert and I never really shared the same interests. And then after our parents passed, he started a life of his own. Eventually he became an outfitter in the Great White North. Brought his wife and children up with him. Went straight there for the Torondek Gold Rush, but not to capitalize on gold, rather the supplies needed to get it.”
“Smart man,” mused Patience.
“He’s smart and has ambition.”
“And you don’t?”
“Like I said. I enjoy my solitude. You need a lot of people-sense to get a business rolling. I just don’t have the will to interact with them.”
“You seem to have many friends, though.”
“Hm, maybe it’s my demeanor,” Schuler hummed, “There are good folks out there. I’ll stand by my own any day. But I get tired if I’m with more than a handful of people I don’t know for a long while.”
Patience nodded, fully understanding. She enjoyed company, only if they were close and could be trusted. Otherwise her insecurities overwhelmed her.
“Guess that’s why I like traveling too. You meet folks, but you never stay long. And by yourself, you have all the new memories for company.”
Patience’s stomach curdled. She indulged in her own bottle of cordial. Having him leave again was the last thing she wanted. Perhaps she needed to present a small offering to ensure that his presence remained.
“I like spending time with you,” she admitted.
Eyeing her, Schuler smirked. “And I you.”
Once the rolls were finished, Schuler moved next to Patience to share the backrest the willow provided. The trunk had grown askew in age, and the man slumped into a reclining position. He slid down with an overly dramatic fuss. Patience reprimanded his silliness with a light slap to his shoulder. Schuler had watched too many comedy acts, which she could understand, as he was part of a vaudeville band.
They sat in relative silence, but the air between them was as full and complete as when they spoke. Patience’s eyes drifted half-closed. A tempting thought of a nap floated in her mind. But it suddenly paused when Schuler’s head fell against her arm. Bristling, Patience stiffly craned her neck to see the man’s eyes fluttering shut. She thought the heat and cordial must have gone to his head. Staring out between the willow branches, she calculated they could afford a quick nap.
Patience let her head rest on the willow trunk, feeling the breeze against her skin. It softly swept Schuler’s locks over her arm. She smiled. Closing her eyes, she allowed her free hand to travel to Schuler, and gently brush his hair. Her fingers slowly ran through his tresses, until she too drifted off to sleep.
***
“Did you arrange to meet with Valon?” asked Anax.
“I left him a message to meet tomorrow. I sent out the telegram to Uncle Lung as well,” said Patience as she chopped a couple of potatoes into halves.
“What else did you do in town?”
The girl removed a piece of grass from her blouse that had avoided detection earlier. She and Schuler had napped until sunset, and he took her home in a hurry, embarrassed they had slept for so long. A memory of a smile remained on her lips.
“I ran into Schuler and he took me to a witches’ market. We got into a fight with one of the witches. Then we had a picnic.”
“Oh, really?” rumbled Anax.
“Yes …” she answered. She was surprised the skull waved off the mention of a market and fight so easily. Her hands slowly dropped to the table, setting the knife down.
“You were with him, without me?” he growled.
“No different than when he first came back into town and I left you off for hours.”
“That was my mistake,” seethed Anax. “You’re spending an awful lot of time with him …”
“What’s the matter with that? He’s my friend.”
“I can’t see what you’re doing with him.”
“What are you insinuating? We don’t do much, I can tell you that,” spat the girl.
“Valon is a transaction; but Schuler is strictly only for your pleasure! What if I want you—” hissed Anax, “ALL for myself?”
Patience snapped, “I am not going to apologize to you if you feel like you’re receiving less attention ever since Schuler came back!”
Anax snarled. “Need I remind you the life you have is what I’ve allowed you?”
“Don’t think you can lord over me!” Patience raised rigid fingers toward the base of the skull.
“Don’t think you can’t be commanded!” Anax roared.
Coils wrapped around her wrists, squeezing them tightly to the brink of pain. Feeling the heat rise in her face, Patience struggled against the misty shackles. They coiled tighter. Her heart began to thunder inside her chest. She sucked in a breath.
“Anax!”
He was deathly silent.
Fire lashed around her wrists. It was strange, feeling a burn from cold fog. In spite of the pain, the girl continued to twist. She danced around the kitchen, knocking into the table and chairs. Anax held firm, moving along with each jerk, his fluidity making it impossible to escape. The girl gritted her teeth.
With a few fighting bursts, Patience wrestled against him. She flung her body backward, her shoulder hitting the archway into the parlor. It was enough to have the skull tip upward away from her face. Anax retracted his tendrils. The knowledge that she was only free because he allowed it fell hard on her mind. The girl stood for a few moments, breathing heavily as she rubbed at the bright red marks around her wrists. Her face stung with latent tears.
“Please don’t give me any reason to regret putting you back on the first time,” Patience whimpered.
Anax released one long hiss. He completely disintegrated his form, remaining purely as a skull. The orb of his eye even dissipated.
Shaken, Patience focused her attention to the continued supper preparation. She rolled her shoulders on her way back to the kitchen counter. The sorrow in her heart quickly turned to anger. Her anger translated into the violent grating of the potatoes. Wringing the shreds dry, beating eggs, throwing it with a fistful of flour into a mixing bowl: it was all quite therapeutic. Finally her rage fizzled away with the sizzling of potato pancakes in the cast iron pan.
Words ceased to pass between her and Anax the rest of the night. Fully aware that he could sense her thoughts, Patience had no qualms toying with the idea she could give Anax up to Valon and save her a trip to New Amstel. She wanted Anax to search her brain and discover these imaginings. As harsh as the idea was, it darkly amused the girl as she ate her supper. Anax seemed to find these ominous plans, and quelled. His eye reappeared, but still he remained silent.