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Chapter Seven: Housekeeping - Part Four
Calla
Taurus: Strong-willed and determined, you will always succeed in whatever you attempt, even if it is not exactly as you intended.
Calla watched Rowan set the steaming mug down in front of Mei. The poor woman was all but gone, her features a distorted echo of what she’d been behind the swirl of steam wafting up in the empty, chilly dining room.
“You’re sure this is safe?” Flax asked as Mei wrapped her hands around the mug.
Rowan rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “Well,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “considering what’s she’s already facing, I don’t think the risk is unreasonable.”
Flax huffed, his shoulders bunched disapprovingly.
Mei lay her hand on the man’s wrist, patting comfortingly. Too far gone to talk—the vague outline of her lips no longer made for speech—Mei tried to communicate wordlessly. Her eyes, deep and dark and still hopeful in spite of her sadness, were more expressive than words.
Yeah, what with the threat nipping at her heels already, Mei wasn’t too afraid of a little Earl Grey.
“I still don’t really get how this all works,” Calla said as Mei took her first tentative sip with her barely visible lips. “She drinks a little spell-spiked tea and buys a bit more time from the boatman?”
Rowan scratched the back of his head, ruffling his bright red hair into short spikes. “Well, according to the book, the ancient figure called by the spell represents the passage into life, a gateway of sorts. The pennyroyal herb, as a poison, acts as a counter doorway. The spell paired with the potion, in theory, then opens two passageways—much like the rip in suite 315—one in the world of the living and one in the world of the dead, creating a bridge between the two—a temporary space outside of both.” He gave a little laugh. “An in-between of sorts.” He shook his head and shrugged. “My hope,” he said, “is that, in that space, whatever hold the hotel has over Mei will be suspended. For a bit.” He frowned. “In theory.”
Yeah, that didn’t really help any. “So how long is it supposed to last?” she asked. “How long till the bridge comes tumbling down?”
She watched Rowan’s face pinch. “I don’t know.” Turning to Mei as she drank more deeply, her lips plumping and flushing a pale pink as the liquid passed through them, Rowan sighed. “It’s my first try at magic and I am Widdershins. So I can’t guarantee anything. The spell is supposed to grant you three times the third hour—nine hours,” he clarified. “But it may not last that long. I’ve never had the best timing in the world and, if my luck has taught me anything, expect it to wear off at the very worst moment.” His face fell as he turned away, disappointment and regret weighing him down. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, but—”
He looked up when a hand covered his gently. Calla watched his and Mei's hands intertwine, the small fingers offering comfort and thanks. Calla let her gaze look up from the woman's soft, graceful hand to the delicate wrist, up lithe arm, past the sweep of shoulder, to her face.
Calla gasped. “Oh, Mei,” she breathed, her voice hushed and low.
She’d almost forgotten how beautiful and kind the woman’s smile was. Or maybe it was because she’d never taken the time to really look until it was gone. The other woman’s face, while perfectly pretty in a superficial kind of way, held more than just an aesthetic appeal. It was there in the brilliancy of her eyes, in the sweet tilt of her smile.
Mei was beautiful in a way no cosmetic line or plastic surgeon could bottle or copy. It was something that shone from the inside out. It was something that nothing—not age or accident—should be able to destroy.
But the hotel…
Calla shook her head.
The hotel—or whatever was causing this—had reached inside of Mei and stolen, bit by bit, that indefinable and untouchable part. It had insidiously stolen her beauty.
But, for a brief moment, it was back now, warm and grateful as ever, as she beamed at Rowan.
“Thank you,” the woman murmured, her voice so soft and very weak, but still wrenchingly melodic.
Calla broke into a smile, shaky with tearful happiness, as she saw Rowan’s eyes well and Flax’s jaw tighten with barely contained emotion. Rowan, too choked up to talk, just nodded, placing a hand over hers, holding it between both of his.
Flax coughed as he stood, his chair screeching back on the tile. “Come on, Mei,” Flax said, his voice rough with strain. “I expect you’ll want to see Olive first.”
Mei nodded and took his offered arm before allowing the man to escort her out of the dining room.
Rowan stood, watching them go before gathering up the empty mug again.
“It worked,” Calla said, more than a little surprised. She’d hoped that it would, but she’d never really believed.
“It worked,” Rowan repeated, sounding pleased, proud, and profoundly relieved. He gave a short laugh. “I can’t believe it did. I really thought it wouldn’t. I was so worried it might make things worse.”
He shook his head and shot her a sorry peek. “I’ve never done anything like this; I hardly knew what I was doing the whole time. All the while, I kept thinking, what if my only power is being Widdershins, being a jinx and a klutz; what then?” He sighed, relieved. “I’m just glad it seems to have worked.” He shrugged, his brow furrowing. “For however long it does.”
Calla gave him a shocked, exasperated look. “Why are you down playing this?” She punched him on the shoulder. “You did good, Rowan.”
Calla grinned as she saw the boy hunch his shoulders and blush a furious red that almost matched his hair. “It wasn’t much, but I was glad to do it.” He picked up the book that he’d been carrying around with him fa or the past few days like a security blanket. “For the first time since I got here, it felt good to work toward something. To have a goal and a plan. I felt,” he said with a shrug, “close to something. Close to an answer.” He hugged the book to his chest and looked at Calla with hope and faith in his eyes. “Close to my family.”
For a moment, the grief that had weighed heavy on him from the moment she’d first seen him had lifted—just a bit. She wondered if she was seeing Rowan as he was before all this. It was nice. “Will you keep doing it?” she asked. “The magic?”
Rowan’s fingers idly stroked the book’s spine, the worn leather looking soft and loved beneath his gentle touch. With a small smile, Rowan nodded his head. “I think I will.”
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