The kitchen is lit warm by candles. Freya stands on a step stool, singing with her mother and father. Her mother scrubs dishes clean and hands them to Freya to dry, while her father sits on the floor criss cross in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. He sorts through all the new things he and her mother brought back from their most recent trip.
Freya glances at her father when she notices his deep hum fade away. He holds a book, it looks old and the cover is made of leather. Freya hops off her stool and skips over to him.
“What's it about?” she asks, peering over his shoulder.
He startles and then laughs. “You really shouldn't sneak.”
“It's fun though,” she faux pouts. Then she rests her arms and chin on his head. “What's that book about?”
“It's a guide for learning some basic magic.” He opens the book and flips through a few pages slow enough for her to get a look. “Healing spells for minor injuries, making and snuffing out lights,” her father lists. “Calling objects over that you're too lazy to grab like normal...” at this one his tone is pointed.
Freya blows a raspberry. “Sounds useful to me.”
He smiles. “It is. My big sister is a magician. She makes potions and sells them for other people.”
“Cooool.” Freya reaches for the book and her father lets it go. She sniffs it like she does with every book he lets her look at. “Woah, this one is different! It smells like pancake syrup. Why?” She plops down next to her father, waiting for an answer. Before he answers though, she blinks, “Oh,” and turns around. “Sorry mom, I can't finish the dishes.”
Her mother laughs. “You can't or won't? It's fine, there's not many left.”
Freya grins, then turns back to her father and rests her chin in her hands. “Why's it smell like that?”
Her father pats her on the head with amusement and she swats it away. “I don't really know why. I think it's just that the book is old.” He thinks a second more. “Paper is also made from tree bark and syrup also comes from trees, so perhaps there's something to that.”
“Mmm, do they squish the bark really hard? Paper is so thin...”
He laughs. “Who knows.”
Freya purses her lips. “It's so annoying when you don't know things.” She falls onto her back and holds her book over her head. “I'll learn some things from this instead, I guess.”
Her father pats her ankle. “I'm sure you will. Now. Back to my favorite activity: sorting.”
“What method are you using this time?”
“Tsk. Distracting little Freya.”
She giggles.
He proceeds to explain anyway and she listens, both to his voice and the clink clack of dishes from her mother in the kitchen.
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Freya’s body pillow is finished! I really like this kind of shading if you couldn’t tell, and playing around with different colors and tones. One of Freya’s favorite past times is reading so she is in a library, but she also likes being a tease, hence the pose. It’s as if Vlastomil just walked in and she decided she just had to.
When they arrive at the magic shop, after passing by colorful, crowded, and pleasant scented markets, the sky is beginning to get dark. The only indication that the shop is what they're looking for is a sign overhead with the commonly accepted symbol for a place that sells magical remedies. The town physician has a similar sign over his clinic. It's different though, because he doesn't use magic.
Freya's father knocks on the door and a woman wearing a pretty maroon shawl with pink beads dangling from it answers.
“Elias!” the woman says. “You certainly traveled quick, why haven't you visited before? Come in, come in!”
Freya's father laughs. “Sorry, Maeve.”
“It's lovely to see you again,” says Freya's mother.
The woman – Aunt Maeve – nods. “Much too long since I left and came to Vesuvia. But it's lovely here.” Aunt Maeve's gaze drifts and lands on Freya. “Ah, you must be my young niece.”
Freya nods but sticks to her mother's side.
Aunt Maeve grabs a stool and sits on it to meet Freya at her eye level. “I understand my brother brought you here because of a –“
“Maeve.”
She turns to Freya's father. “Whaaat?” Then her eyes widen. “You didn't lie to her did you? Elias!”
Freya speaks before her father can respond. “I hurt my friend. And nobody trusts me not to do it again.”
She remembers stark red blood on sand. Then shouting and running, then just the crash of waves and an unresponsive Odette.
Everyone is silent for a few moments, then Aunt Maeve stands. “Nevermind. I can learn how to help later. It's late and you all should rest after your long journey.”
After a few hours, Freya finds that she can't sleep. She's used to other homes. She decides to wander around. The ball of light that she summons warmly illuminates her path. The shop and the upper floor are decorated similarly, with pink and purple curtains and carpets. It's all very cozy. She peeks into the backroom downstairs and to her surprise, Aunt Maeve is there. She's reading a letter, but she sets it down when she notices Freya and her light.
“Oh, hello there.”
Freya lowers her light and holds it with both hands. “Hi.”
“Difficult to sleep somewhere unfamiliar, isn't it?” Aunt Maeve asks.
Freya nods. “I like it though. It's pretty. I wish I was here to actually learn, not just because they don't want me around other kids anymore,” she says. “Uncle Des was really mad when he found out I had used magic. I overheard him say I was dangerous. I don't understand why, nothing has gone wrong with my magic before.”
Aunt Maeve looks angry for a second, then it goes away. “What did happen?”
“I levitated my friend, so she could do air cartwheels. But someone knocked me over and I lost concentration. And she fell. The physician said she would be fine in a few months, but it was scary.”
“I can imagine, in several ways.”
“Uncle Des wouldn't let me tell her sorry.”
“Oh sweetie...” Aunt Maeve pulls her into a hug. “That's terrible. Elias told me you needed help controlling your magic, but something isolated like that. It's silly to respond that way. Here, I know a trick to help you apologize to your friend.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Aunt Maeve stands and leaves the room, then comes back with a bottle. She opens it, dips a few fingers inside, and they come back covered in a green paste that she smears onto the backroom mirror. The paste appears to seep into the glass and then instead of a reflection Freya sees the room she and Odette usually play in.
Aunt Maeve motions her over. “Come on. Not only can you see her, you can talk too.”
“Um, Odette?” Freya calls, stepping in front of the mirror.
Someone sits up in the bed. “Hello?”
Freya bounces on her heels excitedly. “Odette! It's me, in the mirror!”
Odette had been looking all around the room, but now her gaze lands on the mirror across the room from her bed. Her face lights up. “Freya! Is this another magic thing?”
“Yes! My aunt did it for me. Odette, I'm really sorry for hurting you.”
“Why? Aydin's the one who bumped into you.”
Aunt Maeve laughs.
“Oh, who was that?” Odette asks.
Freya grins, happy Odette doesn't suddenly hate her like Uncle Desmond seems to. “It's my aunt. She can do magic too, but more than me!”
“That's so cool!” Odette says. “I can't wait for you to visit again. I miss playing with everyone.”
Aunt Maeve interrupts and whispers, “Say goodbye now, the spell is about to fade.”
“Okay. Odette, my aunt says this spell is about to end. I'll try to visit as soon as I get back home!”
The image in the mirror disappears before Odette responds, and Aunt Maeve wipes away the leftover paste. “That went well, I think.”
“It did. She's not mad at me,” Freya says, then yawns.
Aunt Maeve chuckles. “And you should probably get some rest now. We'll talk things over with your parents in the morning.”
“Good night, Auntie.”
***
In the morning, the four of them eat breakfast together. Freya butters her bread and sprinkles some cinnamon and sugar over it. After a few bites she announces, “I wanna stay here and learn from Aunt Maeve.”
Her father drops his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter.
“Are you sure?” her mother asks. “You didn't seem very happy about it last night.”
Aunt Maeve walks behind and sets a mug of hot apple cider, Freya's favorite drink, next to her plate.
“Thank you!” Freya blows on it before taking a sip. “I wanna learn all about magic and Aunt Maeve has tricks that aren't even in my book. I can live here, write letters, say hi through the magic mirror, and visit home every now and then.”
“Magic mirror?” Freya's mother says.
“Maeve, I'm sorry, we just wanted to ask if she could stay for maybe a month,” says her father.
“What are you apologizing for, Elias?” Aunt Maeve asks. “I'd be happy to teach Freya, and having an assistant in the shop can't hurt.”
“I … suppose with this arrangement we wouldn't have to worry about which friend to send Freya to anymore,” Freya's mother suggests.
Freya just barely hears it, but her father mutters, “Or which one's are actually terribly unempathetic when something goes wrong,” before saying, “Okay. So long as you come home a few times a year and write letters regularly.”
Freya cheers and her aunt says, “Then I think I'll have to change the shop sign to reflect that it's not just mine anymore. Maybe Humming and … Niece's? Remedies? Hmm, it doesn't flow very well.”
“What about Humming Magicks?” Freya suggests.
Aunt Maeve clinks her mug against Freya's. “Yes. Short, simple, and clever. We'll work well together, you and I, my little apprentice.”
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Freya stands on the back porch of her parents' house, leaning against a railing and wearing a light sweater. She's just turned 17 and it's late fall. But home, like Vesuvia, stays fairly warm throughout the winter, so an unbuttoned sweater works fine. It's merely chilly this evening.
Her belated birthday party – she celebrated the actual day in Vesuvia – has just ended. She stares up at the stars and wonders if Asra is looking at them too, somewhere. She opens the constellation book she received earlier as a birthday present from Odette, and as she pages through it – the light pouring out from the backdoor just enough to ready by – she compares the patterns of dots on the paper to the ones in the sky.
At some point, she hears the door slide open behind her, followed by footsteps with a slight limp left over from several years ago. Freya smiles. “I thought you had already left?”
“Your lovely Alma wouldn't let me. I've been giving her chin scritches since you came out here,” Odette says.
“She likes you.” Freya closes the book and turns to face her friend. The scar on her arm from the incident on the beach faces the light. It stretches all the way down to her elbow. Freya resists the urge to cringe at it and instead glances around the porch. “But I guess Alma has let you go now? Since she hasn't followed you?”
Odette nods. “She got sleepy and went to rest on her pillow. It's so cute that you bought her such a fancy thing to sleep on.”
“Have you seen her eye makeup?” Freya asks. “She's a fancy hummingbird.”
Odette giggles. “That's true.” She gestures to the book. “Are you enjoying that so far?”
Freya grins and flips a few pages until she lands on a pattern of stars that look like a cross. “I think I found this one. It's on the horizon, in the west.” Odette turns to examine where the sea – too far away from Freya's parents' house to hear the waves – meets the sky.
“Oh, I think I see it.”
“The book says it's supposed to be a swan. You used to love swans.”
“I still do, they're elegant but also willing to fight anything that threatens them,” she says. Then, quieter, “I wish I could be that way.”
Freya takes her hand, the one with the scarred arm. “You know I never expected you to fight your dad for me seven years ago, right?”
Odette furrows her brow, staring at their hands. “I wanted to, though. He wasn't being fair, and it wasn't your fault.”
A northerly wind blows, making them both shiver. Odette lets go of Freya's hand to hug herself against the cold. Freya grabs a blanket from a nearby porch chair and wraps it around both their shoulders. “There, cozy,” she says.
It's almost imperceptible, but Freya feels Odette go still.
“Is something wrong?”
Odette turns her head and Freya only has a moment to process the metaphorical gears turning behind Odette's eyes just inches away from her own, before Odette closes the distance with a kiss.
Time seems to slow down but speeds up back to normal when Odette pulls away, leaving the semi hug they were in. The blanket follows and slips off Freya's shoulders. She blinks several times, various memories clicking together in her head.
“You – for how long?”
When Freya looks at her again, Odette is blushing furiously. She almost seems to wilt at Freya's response. She shrugs. “I don't know, years?” There's a silence only filled by wind until she says, “You … don't?”
Freya sighs. “Not like that, I don't think so. I love you, Odette, but not like that. I'm sorry.”
Odette smiles, a little wryly. “I love you, too. Both ways. Worth a try. I think.”
She heads toward the porch stairs to leave. As she drapes the blanket back over its chair, Freya says, “We're still friends, right?”
The wind wooshes in another silence until, “Yes. Give me a few days of space, but. Yes.”
Freya feels the relief rush through her. “Thank goodness. I will, Odette.”
After Odette is out of sight, Freya goes back inside and collapses on the couch. Her parents give her concerned looks. “Did something happen?” her father asks.
“The second scariest moment of my life is the aftermath of a kiss.”
Freya's familiar is a Mexican Violetear hummingbird. Image from this article.
~~~~~~~~~
After living with Aunt Maeve for a few months, Freya finds that she misses the honeysuckle bush that grew near her parents' house. So she and Aunt Maeve plant one of their own around the corner from the entrance of the shop. It takes a while to grow, but Freya loves the new routine of going out to water it every afternoon. After a year, it even begins to attract butterflies and, Freya notices, one specific hummingbird. It's a lovely turquoise with blue tail feathers and some blue around it's eyes, like a dramatic wing of eye makeup.
“Aren't you fancy,” Freya says to it, while watering the honeysuckles one overcast afternoon. The hummingbird seems to glance at her then flies over and makes a few circles around her head. Freya giggles. “What are you so excited about?”
Ting!
“Colors! Colors!”
Freya jerks her head to look over her should for the source of the chime and tiny voice that she assumes is an excited younger child, but there's nothing of the sort behind her, and at the sudden movement of her head, the hummingbird flies away.
“No, come back!” she calls. “I didn't mean to startle you.”
The hummingbird doesn't return and a few passersby give Freya strange looks. She sighs and picks a honeysuckle to make herself feel better.
The hummingbird doesn't come by once after that. When Aunt Maeve portions out their most recent earnings again, Freya spends all of hers in the marketplace on a few books about hummingbirds and their habits. She learns that this one was likely a violetear, which like nectar from salvia plants and beardtongue, both of which have pretty purple flowers.
No wonder it liked her, she was wearing a deep purple shirt that day.
The next month, when she gets some more money, Freya buys both salvia and beardtongue to plant next to the honeysuckles, and hopes to whatever is out there that they attract the hummingbird back.
Aunt Maeve leans against the wall outside as Freya pours soil into a wooden box for her new plants. “This is quite a bit of effort for one creature,” Aunt Maeve says.
“I liked seeing her visit so frequently and I hate that I startled her so bad that she hasn't come back.”
“Hm.” Aunt Maeve stares at the clouds for a moment, then pushes off the wall. “I'll be right back,” she says, patting Freya's shoulder as she walks past and around the corner into the shop. Freya starts digging holes for her flowers in the meantime and when Aunt Maeve returns, she has a book in hand. She stops walking next to Freya, who's crouched on the cobblestone, and taps her head lightly with the book.
Freya turns. “Hey!”
Aunt Maeve laughs. “Here. Set aside what I assigned you to read yesterday about health potions until you finish reading this.”
Freya takes the book. It's thin and the title is missing. “What's it about?”
“Familiars.”
Freya narrows her eyes. “I thought you said they were useless.”
“Useless, except for companionship. Which is a lovely purpose, I just haven't been lucky enough to find my own.”
Freya props the book up against the shallow box of soil. “You think I've found one, then.”
Aunt Maeve chuckles. “It depends on if your attempts to coax her back work.”
Freya keeps a very close eye on her new flowers. She gets frustrated after a month and starts wandering the city during her delivery trips for the shop, taking longer routes and looking for similar flowers where the violetear hummingbird might frequent.
One morning, before she leaves, she sees Aunt Maeve use magic to locate a misplaced document and recalls that the book about familiars said there's a thread of magic which connects familiars to their person. So, Freya loads her satchel with the necessary potions, poultices, and trinkets ordered by the shop's patrons, and after she delivers the first one, she wills her magic to search with her. Threads of gold leave her fingers and wander into the streets.
She goes to continue on her way, but a chime sounds in her head – the same ting! she heard when the hummingbird circled around her head – and she feels a thread of magic go taut while the rest dissipate. The thread ends somewhere in the opposite direction she was heading, so she spins on her heel and follows it with quick feet.
She reaches the end of the thread in a carefully curated garden. She can tell she's in a richer part of the city and she'll probably get in trouble if someone catches her here. But if Aunt Maeve and the book were right, she has to find her familiar.
For a few minutes, Freya wanders the garden, but soon she catches movement in the corner of her eye and there it is. A deep turquoise and blue hummingbird flitting around the same sort of purple flowers she has in her small garden.
She approaches it from an angle it can see her from and kneels next to the flowers.
“Um, hi.”
The hummingbird immediately abandons the flowers and flits around her head like before and in a similar voice she hears, “Pretty girl! Flower girl!”
“Oh! It was you shouting 'colors', wasn't it?” Freya says.
“Yes! Colors! Pretty!”
Freya laughs. She's certain, this is her familiar. The book said that they could speak to their person.
“What's you're name?” Freya asks.
“Name! Name is Alma!”
“That's pretty. Like your feathers.”
Alma doesn't respond. She just continues flitting around Freya.
“Alma, do you want to be friends? I'm sorry for startling you earlier.”
“Friend? Yes! Friends with pretty girl!” Alma says.
Freya chuckles. “My name is Freya.”
“Freya! Freya!”
“You're so cute! Come on, I have deliveries to do. You can follow me.”
“Follow! Follow!” Alma lands on Freya's shoulder.
As the two complete deliveries, the recipients complement Alma's feathers and when they arrive back at the shop Aunt Maeve congratulates Freya on her newfound friend.
