Page 62 of The Art of Exiley

“That’s the price if you want it.”

I don’t want to give this crotchety man my hair to do who-knows-what with, but the spoon is so lovely.

“Who did it belong to?” I ask.

“An old friend. He told me to hold on to it till he comes back, but I have a feelin’ he won’t be comin’ back anytime soon.”

I should just buy a new, simple spoon for a normal price, but my hand itches to holdthisone, as if I’m meant to have it. “Okay, I’ll take it,” I find myself saying before I’ve even finished deciding.

The man assembles and attaches all my chosen mods to the spoon and then uses the new scissors to discreetly clip off his payment from an underlayer of my hair.

With my hand in my pocket clutching my new spoon, I join Michael, who’s still distracted at the book stall. Among the piles, I find a beautiful deck of hand-painted cards with dragons, wind horses, and unicorns instead of royal face cards. It makes me think of Izzy. She’s always been excellent at card tricks. I miss her so much. I’ll have to ask Kor if he’s learned anything new about what she’s up to and see if he can convince Roman to put her in touch with me.

When Michael sees the cards, he says he wants to teach me a Maker game called Beg and Plea, and he purchases the deck.

“A Quorum gift,” he says.

We find a table near the fountain, and a girl in a gauzy dress brings usglasses of fresh spiced juice. I listen to the instructions for the game with half an ear, and we casually play as we chat, but I keep losing because I’m too distracted by how very perfect the day is.

Michael presses me a bit on why I didn’t choose the Sophists. What I don’t say is that I’m relieved to be in a guild where—besides Foundations class—I can easily avoid having him as a teacher. Not that it should make a difference anymore. We’ve found a rhythm in which Michael is my mentor who I am fond of, in more of an elderly brother kind of way, all awkwardness behind us.

His eyes gleam as he wins another round of the game, and my heart speeds up when his hand brushes mine as he grabs the rest of my cards.

A brotherly kind of way? Blah. Who am I kidding?

Something neither of us has yet mentioned was my invitation to the Mystic guild. There’s a niggling doubt at the base of my neck tormenting me over whether I should have taken their offer more seriously.

Michael deals me a new set of cards, but instead of starting another round, I say to him, “I didn’t realize your sister was a Mystic.”

He smiles. “Yes, it shocked a lot of people when she left the Genesis Ciphers. But physics and mysticism have more in common than you might think. Especially when it comes to theories surrounding the Universal Tapestry—similar to what is known as string theory in the provincial world. Have you heard of it? As I recall, you’re a fan of theoretical physics.” He winks.

I shake my head, unsure whether I’m comfortable with the fact that he’s brought up a reminder of our first date. That is, ouronlydate. This is not a date.

Michael continues. “The Mystics haven’t extended an invitation to a Genesis apprentice in my lifetime, and Ari was one of very few Master applicants in that time.”

“I don’t understand. Then why did they invite me?”

“I guess I’m not the only one to realize you’re special.”

I feel a blush spread up my neck in a sensation that starts as pleasure and morphs quickly into irritation. We’re supposed to have boundaries. That kind of teasing is not boundaries.

“Seriously,” I say. “Should I have considered their offer?”

“Oh, absolutely not. Avant is no place for you, and mysticism is hazardous.”

“But your sister—”

“Ari has always… painted using colors no one else can see. I understand why she needs to do what she’s doing, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying about her.” He nibbles on his thumbnail, and I instinctively reach over and push his hand away from his mouth.

Why did I do that? It’s not my place to police his habits. I drop my hand as I realize I’m still touching his.

As twilight paints the sky an inky lavender, the faire takes on new life. More of the stalls begin to serve food and drinks, and the mood shifts to one of feasting and dancing.

“Ada! Honor a Maker!” Kaylie passes our table, and she pulls me up into a hug. We invite her to sit with us, and Michael gets more drinks and a platter of scroll pastries (dough rolled up with chocolate, cinnamon, and jam into flaky spirals of deliciousness).

A young Valkyrie runs over to Kaylie. I thought I was used to seeing humans with wings, but this little girl—with her rosy cheeks, blond locks, and wings spread wide—looks exactly like a cherub from a painting. Kaylie dances with her and some of the other children, and Michael makes them all giggle by playing a silly song on a borrowed lute.

Soon a band—Simon’s band, the rest of the members in town for Quorum—starts to play, and Kaylie pulls Michael into a dance. They twirl in happy circles.

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