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“Will you do something for me?”
“It depends on what it is.”
“You’ve shown me your magic several times now; I want to show you mine. Will you make a perfume with me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m asking nicely?” I say, inviting lightness into my voice, trying to ease the burden of our previous conversation. Trying to ease something in both of us.
“There are moments when I think I might understand you better than I’ve ever understood another person, and then you suggest something as absurd as making a perfume together, and I’m sure you’re the most baffling creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I say.
“If you insist.”
“Please do this with me. It would mean a lot.”
Wolfe watches me, and I can tell he doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to sink to the level of low magic. But then he takes a deep breath and I know I’ve won.
“Fine. One perfume.”
We walk through the woods to the east of the shore, gathering wildflowers, leaves, and herbs. And as we do, we talk. Not about magic or the mainland or sacrifice, but about life, simple daily things we have never spoken about before. He tells me about the manor he lives in, a large home that’s located near where he found me in the woods, hidden with magic. He tells me that he enjoys cooking and reading and that he once set the kitchen on fire trying to soften a loaf of bread that had gone stale. He tells me about the portraits he paints, that it is his goal to paint every single member of his coven.
“Who will paint your portrait?” I ask.
“Mine?” He pauses, as if he’s genuinely surprised by the question. “I suppose I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Well then, perhaps I will learn how to paint.”
He looks at me, tilting his head to the side as if he doesn’t understand the words that I spoke. Something unrecognizable passes in his eyes, and I’m certain there is not an artist alive who could capture the brilliance of this man.
I’m certain I would want to try.
I’m staring, so I look down and change the subject. I tell him about my parents’ shop and my love of swimming and that I used to talk to the wildflowers I picked for our perfumes, a habit I am still not entirely rid of. Wolfe smiles when I say that,and I laugh because I know it’s absurd, yet it spreads warmth through my body.
I follow Wolfe to the field where we met, and he picks several blades of grass before we head back to the beach. I grab four large rocks, and we sit on the shore as stars twinkle high above us.
“Okay, first we need to bruise the materials we’ve gathered,” I say. I demonstrate by putting the petals of the wildflowers on one of the rocks, then grinding them down with the other. Wolfe does the same, and soon we’ve gone through everything.
“What do you want the base notes to be? These will be the foundation of the perfume.”
“I suppose the grasses, since that’s where I met you.” He says it casually, but it still makes my heart pick up speed. I set aside enough material for the base notes, and then we move on to the middle and top notes. Once he’s made his selections, I measure everything out and bundle it all together.
“Now it’s time to spell it,” I say. “Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
“You decide,” he says.
I place the bundle between us and decide on peace. I didn’t understand until tonight that it’s something he’s missing, something he can’t have because he lives in terror of his way of life being destroyed. And while a perfume can’t fix that, it can give him moments of respite.
I close my eyes and pour my magic into the flowers, but Wolfe stops me. I look at him.
“Speak it out loud,” he says. “I want to hear you.”
I swallow hard, his words affecting me in a way I can’t name. I can feel it, though, moving through my body, slow and warm, blooming from my center, and I have to look down, scared that he’ll see what I’m feeling.
“Okay,” I say quietly. I close my eyes and start again. “Worries cease and tensions ease, when he smells this fragrance, surround him with peace.” I whisper the words as magic drenches the bundle, infusing it with the spell. Then Wolfe’s voice joins mine, and we say the words together, his magic softening, molding itself to the rules of my world. I’m shocked when my eyes begin to burn, and I keep them squeezed shut, pushing down my emotion so Wolfe doesn’t see it.
We speak the words many more times than necessary, but I don’t want to give it up, this moment that has somehow imprinted itself on the deepest part of me. I know it must end, though, and I go through the words one final time before falling silent.
