“Pardon?” the cashier asked.
“Did you happen to see a young woman dressed all in gold a little while ago? Carrying a bow and a quiver full of arrows maybe?”
“Yeah, you know her? What is she, some kind of street performer?”
“Yeah, she’s a, um, street performer. Trouble is, I wanted to catch her next show but she didn’t tell me where she was going. Did she mention anything to you?”
“She didn’t say anything. Just bought a paper.” The cashier gestured to a rack.
I scooped one up. “I’ll take one, too.”
“One apple, one paper. You want a bag?”
I shook my head and took my items, and then we walked out. “Does she read the paper? Is there aForest of Emeralds Times?”
“Beats the hell out of me; and no,” Berron said as we ascended the escalator.
“Where to next?” I said when we stepped off.
“I can’t just go home and sit on my hands,” he said. Frustration gave him wrinkles around his eyes. I could have traced them with the tip of my little finger, like scores on a peanut butter cookie. “Maybe we should—”
“Hang on,” I said, stopping him with one hand. A familiar silhouette had caught my eye in the store across the way.
The sign over the door said Venus et Fleur, and the windows were filled floor to ceiling with colorful displays of dozens of roses stuffed neatly into boxes. Round boxes, square boxes, even heart-shaped boxes.
The familiar silhouette became Victorine, chic as usual in an elegant outfit that I couldn’t pull off even if I hired an army of stylists. She held a box of red roses in her hands and examined it carefully. “Victorine!” I called as Berron and I entered the flower shop. “What are you doing here?”
Victorine spoke without even turning to look. “I suspect that I live here, Zelda. And occasionally, I do some shopping.” She put the box down, finally, and faced us. “Berron,” she said, with a nod.
“Victorine.”
“And you?” Victorine said. “Are you also doing some shopping? I confess that Columbus Circle is a poor destination; you would do better by far on Fifth Avenue.”
Berron picked up the box of bright red roses that Victorine had put down, and brought it to his nose. He made a face. “They’re dead!”
“Indeed they are,” Victorine replied. “Which is what brought me here, rather than to one of my usual stops.”
I took the box from Berron. The roses were beautifully arranged, brightly colored, and definitely dead. “Why would anyone want dead roses?”
“It is most difficult to buy a gift for a wealthy person, as you can imagine. What do you buy the person who has everything?”
“Not dead stuff,” Berron muttered.
Victorine ignored him. “Instead we purchase novelty.” She gestured to the boxes of dried roses. “Flowers that will last forever. Or close enough.”
“Who’s it for?” I said.
“A normal person would not ask.”
“Who said I was normal?”
A faint smile moved her lips. “A housewarming gift for the new Lord of the Blessed. I have been remiss in welcoming him. I thought a box of ‘Eternity’ flowers would be suitable.”
“The new Lord of the—oh! You mean Daniel,” I said.
“I can’t get anything past you, can I?” She leaned in, peering at the paper tucked under my arm. “Did you pick that up off the bench?”
“What bench?”
