Chapter Forty-Nine
Alora closed the paper, pleased both with her newfound skill in opening the locked boxes of memories in people’s heads, and with the ad.
It had been the second time the good printer, Mr. Zanfold, had spoken to her. The first being,“Your wild rabbit ate my laces.”
She glanced over the cursed and broken tub, across the Room of Forgotten Memories, to where Bash labored, his shirtsleeves rolled tight across his upper arms. He swung the sledgehammer again, at last sending part of the wall crumbling.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, which he wiped with one forearm. It glistened on his collarbones. When he caught her watching, he shot her a glare. “You could have imagined it loose from the beginning.”
“You were already started when I arrived!” said Alora, grinning as he swung again. Who was she to interrupt?
A third blow, and the wall came free. Behind the mirrors had been stone, thick and gray, and behind that—
Alora edged closer now that the dust had begun to settle. Her shoulder pressed against Bash’s arm, both peering into the gloom. A gold vat waited for them, a pipe leading from its end, traveling beneath the floor.
“The vat is full of memory oil?”
“A fortune’s worth. Hundreds could live out their lives on it.”
“How did he get it in there?”
“I’m not sure. Though I doubt it’s ever needed refilling. It only takes a few drops for the bath.”
Alora straightened. “Was this what you brewed most often?” Bash nodded and cleared his throat roughly. She’d made him uncomfortable, talking about his past, but he’d asked her not to stop. That it helped. “Should I?”
“Unless you’d rather I pull it from the wall and heave it off the balcony.”
Alora feigned needing time to decide. When Bash realized she teased him, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her against him. She faced the dust-streaked container, her back to his chest, the scent of vetiver all around.
It was quite nice, considering.
Only water,she imagined.
“Done. Memory oil is officially purged from Opulence.”
“And outside it,” said Bash. “I burned the batons and shredded the recipe. Though, do you know what I found in that old book while doing it?”
“I certainly don’t.”
“A potion to regrow bones.” Alora spun in his arms. A corner of Bash’s mouth lifted. “It’s a painfully long and particular list, but for not fitting the role of a potion-master, I should be able to manage.”
Alora could not close her mouth no matter how she tried. Instead, what she managed after some moments was, “I’m incredibly in love with you, Bash Syntaine.” He tensed beneath her hands, but she rushed, “And if you’re an obsessive type—well—so am I.”
In response, she received one of his rare, full smiles, dimple and all, and she relished the lightning strike.
“In your singular case, Alora, I am. I knew I’d be in trouble from the first step you made into my shop. I tried to fight it; you were too bright and too beautiful for someone like me. But...” His thumb pressed to her lower lip then, and he murmured, “I undeniably love you. Beyond even what I thought myself capable of.”
Alora grinned beneath his touch. “Our fates are linked, yours and mine. I felt it from the start.”
Bash stared down at her awhile, gaze heating, and Alora could only fidget, her heart near bursting, the rest of her on fire down to her very marrow, when he asked at last, “Do you think it’s appropriate to kiss you in such a miserable place?”
“More than fine,” she rushed.
His thumb left her lip at once to cradle her face, angling it higher. His opposite pressed hard into her low back. “You are divine. I’m only sorry I’m covered in dust,” he said, his breath brushing her mouth.
Alora grinned with her sudden ideas. She imagined three things all at once:
A room free of dirt and debris.
