Sigurd shakes his head in exasperation. I don’t wait for him to chastise me again. Instead, I will myself out of the vault, away from the bank—and closer to her.
The next day
There’s a particular type of grinding irritation that only children can ever create. They always… wish for things. Their wishes don’t have the power to move the universe, too light, too trivial. But they still frustrate me, and I can never blame them for it.
In an ideal world, I could have avoided a child’s wish while carrying a bouquet of magical flowers. But this isn’t an ideal world.
“No! Mother, I want the chocolate one!”
The words hit me the moment I set foot in the Daily Grind.
The wisher is a centaur foal, the equivalent of a human four-year-old. His coat is the same pale chestnut as that of the woman crouched beside him, and his face is wet and red. His tail lashes once against his mother’s flank.
“Pavel, darling, we’ve talked about this.” His mother lets out a tired breath, her dark hair sliding out of the practical knot at her nape. “Chocolate makes you do the thing with the kicking.”
“But I want it.” Pavel digs his small hooves into the floorboards. “I won’t do the kicking. Not this time. Mother, please.”
Pavel’s mother shakes her head, not unkindly. “Not today, dear.”
The two centaurs are completely engrossed in their familial exchange. As for the rest of the people in the coffee shop… by now, they’re openly staring at me and my blue lotuses.
Vasili came through for me. The lotuses are as magnificent as promised, the type of flower only a particular breed of monster can create. They emanate almost as much magic as a djinn’s lamp.
A human man sets his coffee carefully back onto its saucer. His eyes drift from me to the bouquet, and they stay there. At the next table, a man with a laptop has stopped typing.
The lotuses in my arms shift gently. The petals brighten as if accepting an introduction.
Iris is behind the counter, writing an order on a cup with a permanent marker. She’s just as beautiful as the day before, her hair tied back with a simple rubber band and her glasses slightly steamed up from her work. “So that’s two seasonal oat lattes,” she reads back to the centaur mother. “One with the cinnamon, one without. Both six ounces. Anything else for you?”
Pavel pulls his mother’s hand off his shoulder. If he were a human child, he’d most likely launch into a screaming tantrum. But because he’s a centaur, he decides instead that the glasspastry case is climbable. He gets one small hoof up onto its edge before his mother catches him by the back of his shirt. “Pavel, honey…” she starts, sounding near tears.
Iris comes around the counter with a small wrapped biscuit in her hand. She crouches a little, holding the biscuit at Pavel’s eye level. “Hey, sweetheart. Try this cookie. Tell me what you think.”
She’s completely oblivious to me and to the lotuses. I have no idea what I’m supposed to make of this.
Pavel eyes the biscuit with something akin to suspicion. After what seems like forever, he takes it in his small hand. “Go on,” his mother encourages him, nudging him with her hoof. “You know Miss Iris makes the best treats.”
Pavel bites into the biscuit. Just like that, the tears dry up, as if they were never there at all. “Thank you, Miss Iris,” he mumbles around the treat.
“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” Iris ruffles Pavel’s hair and returns to the order screen. “That’ll be eight twenty, madam,” she says to the female centaur.
Pavel’s mother taps her card on the reader. The machine beeps, accepting the payment. “Many thanks. I’ll be back at six for my mother-in-law’s order. She likes her carrot juice pressed fresh.”
Now, with the order paid, Pavel’s mother turns from the counter. She sees me, and then her gaze travels up the four-foot bouquet of glowing blue lotuses in my arms. Instantly,her expression changes. “Blue lotuses in the morning,” she comments. “Whoever she is, she’s a lucky girl.”
I’ve learned, over three thousand years, not to expect deference from mothers. Their attention is always elsewhere, and rightly so. But even as focused as she is on her foal, Pavel’s mother understands the value of the flowers.
Yes, this was a good choice. Iris will like the bouquet. She may not have noticed it yet, but she will. I nod at the centaur mother. “I would argue we’re both fortunate.”
She laughs once, quiet and tired, already moving Pavel along. “Well said. Best of luck to you, Mr. al-Rashid.”
The centaur woman and her foal disappear toward the pickup end of the counter. The shop quiets behind me. I step forward and rest the weight of the bouquet against the edge of the counter. Its blue light spills across the wood between me and Iris.
Iris turns to me and lets out a deep sigh. “Oh no. Rakan. No. You can’t bring those in here.”
I immediately open my mouth to argue. She hasn’t even given me the chance to explain, let alone present my gift.
“You see that sign there?” She tilts her head toward the side of the register, where a small handwritten card has been taped to the edge.Fragrance-Free Zone. Please respect our sensitivecustomers.“It’s there for a reason. We’ve got people in here who get sick from a single spritz of perfume.”
