Page 194

“Two soot lattes, coming up,” Ms. Maeve huffed with finality and waved her hand in the air. The espresso machine hissed to life. She turned around and stalked away.

“For fuck’s sake.” Ronin rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Naia slid next to him and interlocked their fingers. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

He tapped his card on the little device pinned on the counter that allegedly subtracted money from their bank account. Despite her doubts, Naia still wasn’t convinced the device lacked magical influence.

“It’s not sweet enough for you,” he said under his breath.

She studied the side of his face, admiring the pieces of hair in face and the puffy white scar on his neck she’d recently discovered how much she loved kissing. It elicited the most feral reaction out of him every time.

She stole a quick kiss on it. “We can stop for cream puffs on the way home.”

“And takoyaki. I’m starving.” He twirled the band on her ring finger with his thumb, something he started doing after they got married. A subconscious act Naia wasn’t sure he was aware he did.

“Oh! Pasta, too. From that place you took me to last week.”

He embraced her with his other arm. “Who the fuck eats pasta at ten in the morning?”

“Says the man who wants takoyaki,” she teased, easing her weight into his side.

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, grinning.

Life with Ronin was cozy Sunday mornings; the house smelling of freshly iced cinnamon rolls; night drives with the purple and blue neon lights of the city streaming through the window; dishes in the sink scrubbing themselves, and the laundry folding itself on the sofa; teaching Ash how to walk in the lounge with members of the Blood Heretics cheering him on; Damian and Noah casting a spell on the hard floor to cushion it in case he fell; days wasted away in bed with cartoons on the television, Naia wearing Ronin’s oversized t-shirt, and him resting back on the headboard bare-chested and skin covered in goosebumps, with Ash propped in his lap, in a trance on the television; an IPA and a plate of cookies on the apartment balcony, tipsy with Ronin’s mouth on hers.

They returned to Nohealani Island every year for the Summer Solstice Festival.

Together, they meandered around.

Naia wore her yukata, the color of blush and lavender haze, gifted to her by Ronin—who’d taken a few months of sewing lessons from Avi to make it with his own hands. Despite how much he wanted to give in and cast a spell to do the work for him. She appreciated his effort and took pride in wearing it alongside Akane and Yuki.

Along with Wren pinned in the small updo of her freshly cut hair. The ends of her strands met the tops of her shoulders, pulled up in a tight half bun with her butterfly hairpin keeping it in place.

No matter how many times she set Wren free, the ancient relic appeared on her bedside table the next day.

Ash held Akane’s hand and led him to her favorite game stand. Yuki and Avi bickered over the moral ethics of entrapping goldfish in a tank for the mere sake of children’s entertainment. Ronin’s arms overflowed with all of Naia’s delicious treats while Theon gave him continuous sidelong glances, thoroughly amused.

The islanders danced and chanted around a new statue of a High God with its gaze fixed on the sea. A High Deity of a serene disposition with baby’s breath scattered throughout his hair, and an arm held out, offering his followers a flourished peony in his palm.

Naia’s heart ballooned as she gazed up at the magnificent stone carving of her father. Her fingers touched Wren in her hair. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill out.

I love you deeper than the earth, Father.

His memories kept her company while she walked the shore where Ronin had first found her. Above her, the night sky was a backdrop of warm, twinkling lanterns. To honor the High God of Nature trapped in the Land of the Dead.

“Mommy!” Ash tugged on her arm, jumping exuberantly, his silver strands bouncing on his forehead. “Look!”

She looked down at him, attempting to concentrate on what he held up. A large disk of a deep red flower sat in his palm.

Her breath hitched. She accepted the blossom from Ash. “Where did you find this, Ashy darling?” she asked, her voice wobbling.

Dahlias did not grow among the island flora.

“They’re growing in my footsteps!” He spun around, pointing to the trail of footprints he left in the sand. In each one, a stem sprouted up from their center and unfolded in layers of sharp petals.

Ronin and the others carefully walked to the side, avoiding stepping on them.

She regarded Ronin with a look of implication, silently asking if he was the one doing this.