Page 17 of Florescentia

I took my eyes off her cousin before pulling one more card.

I turned it between my fingers.

The ice on my chest again. A sickening twist of my stomach.

The first time, ironic. A coincidence. A second time? More like a cruel reminder.

Altair in Eclipse.

Again.

Clara leaned over to peek, wincing when she saw. “Oh, Lucia . . .”

“It’s all right. I know myself, a brief burnout is inevitable for anyone,” I reassured her, clearing the lump in my throat. “They’re just cards.”

“If only your mother could hear you!” Mrs. Fairfax teased, slapping her fan on the table.

“I’ll tell her when I see her today,” I said, smirking. “I never mind a good debate with my mother. Not sure if Clara ever gives you lip—”

“Not unless I want a boot in my backside,” Clara mumbled.

Which prompted a laugh from Mrs. Fairfax, then a nudge at Ava.

“Speaking of”—my mother-in-law dug in her bottomless purse—“give this to your mother for me, since you’ll be there anyway.” She handed me a card, a professional font and a doctorate suffix.

The most irritating thing about Dorian’s father being a doctor was the number of cards we got for peers of his, for all sorts of ailments. Unfortunately, none of their suggested specialists had been able to help my father. No one knew what to do when a relatively healthy man suddenly presented with memory problems, as if he were twice his age.

“I will make sure she receives it.” I tucked it into my purse. My mother wouldn’t accept the help, I would gander because she was tired of unfulfilled promises. Therefore, I wouldn’t bother her with it.

We continued our session, enjoying the tea and snacks as the trays came and went. Even with such pleasant amenities, the card was always in the corner of my eye. The reversed eagle, the third eye seemingly watching. Like I was waiting for the metaphorical talons to snatch me. With the way my day had been going, I knew something was afoot.

Negativity was banished from my mind in an instant.

No negative thoughts, you are going to visit your father. Keep your mind sharp, keep it pleasant.

Crowds in Aisl Park were expected; nearly a million people lived on this little peninsula. It was busy along the water, through the parks. The food—in a restaurant or on the street—was like no other. A unique and specific combination of cuisines that could be found nowhere but here, in this city. A fusion of culture, of history, all gathered in one densely populated peninsula.

The magic of Astraea wasn’t just in its chaos; it was also in the quieter parts my parents and I took for granted, the whispers and secrets, the romanticism of empty corners.

As you walked south, the storefronts became increasingly infrequent before disappearing completely, a quiet café of independent Everium on the corners, marketplaces scarcer than anything.

After you crossed the bustling boulevard, everything silenced.

The difference a block or two could make was astounding. The tourists disappeared until the locals, even the fashions, were quieter. Loud groups looking for excitement were replaced with mothers pushing their strollers, a dog walker on their route, and the occasional businessman with a brisk pace.

The townhomes were shaded by flowering trees lining the road. Even after the warm-season blooms wilted, the greens were rich.

On the corner was my parents’ townhome. My mother couldn’t stand not having more windows, so she’d taken an end corner apartment. The entire tenement had been converted into my parents’ residence when I hit my later childhood years. I didn’t know it at the time, but my friendship with the shadows had granted my family immense luck. They were fortunate enough to buy out the other apartments, then turn them into a home. What was once considered cheap housing was now a quickly growing nest egg, based on the location alone.

Dorian’s folks may have also benefited from their proximity to us, but there was no saying for certain. His father became a doctor who’d had the fewest casualties while performing herniorrhaphies. Then they suddenly inherited four tenement buildings from a relative they didn’t know they had.

Even still, Mrs. Fairfax spent beyond her means and found herself asking us for loans here and there.

I lifted the heavy brass knocker, letting it heave against the wood.

There was nothing for a moment, one last chance to marvel at the neighborhood.

A click, and a clunk, then a slap.