Elves Invasion

7

Zuro and Mia stepped off the trolley and he led her into a scent bar. Mia figured if she was expected to wear perfume, she might as well pick out something she liked enough to wear every day. An elegant woman, dark skinned and dressed in a sari, stood behind the bar waiting to be of assistance but too refined to inject herself into their browsing.

“Do you have those a lot?” Zuro asked as he slid a glass rod out of a crystal bottle filled with a honey-colored liquid.

“A lot of what?” Mia asked.

“Strange dreams.” He dabbed one drop of the liquid onto a strip of paper, let it dry, and waved it under Mia’s nose. She breathed in bergamot and blood orange.

“All the time.” She shook her head at the scent. “Too sweet.” Zuro moved down the bar and lifted a glass rod from another jar.

“After what you’ve been through—” He broke off. “I can’t imagine it. To go out among the Woven, into the unknown. No map. No idea of what’s out there—mountains, deserts, uncrossable rivers.” He waved the strip under Mia’s nose. Lemon and verbena quickened her thoughts.

Ah, actually, we sort of knew how to get to California. I’m not exactly Sacajawea, she thought, suppressing a grin. But there was no one to tell that joke to. Joel would have gotten it.

“You’re sad again,” Zuro noticed.

Mia didn’t reply and moved down the row. She lifted the next rod for herself. It was a powdery grandma smell. She dropped it immediately and decided to follow Zuro’s cues instead.

“Have you always been adventurous?” he asked, dabbing another strip of paper with scent.

“Not at all! In fact most of my life I couldn’t go anywhere. The most exciting thing that happened to me was a trip to the hospital.” Mia breathed in Christmas. Gingersnap and snow. “I like this one,” she said about the scent, “but it’s not for me.”

“What’s for you?” he said musingly. “You’re a woman who goes from happy to sad in a second. A woman who claims to be unadventurous, who’s just had the adventure of a lifetime. You’re a powerful woman who I could toss into the air with one hand.” He shifted closer, his face dipping toward hers. “What’s for you?”

Mia looked down and shook her head. “I’m not who you think I am, Zuro.”

“No one’s who we think they are,” he said, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

He drew a rod out of a tiny glass jar that had only a few drops of a dark and unctuous liquor. The sales woman stiffened, about to say something, but Zuro smiled and nodded at her.

He didn’t waste any of the precious liquid on a strip of paper, but waved the rod under Mia’s nose. Smoke and spice. Bruised-to-sweetness sap bled from a young tree. Salt. And something underneath it all—something animal and almost revolting that she couldn’t place and couldn’t stop smelling. She inhaled it over and over, unable to pull herself away.

“Now tell me why you’re sad.”

Mia opened her eyes and saw Zuro watching her with concern. She swallowed. “I lost someone.” The grief and guilt trembled right behind the words, which she spoke as plainly as possible to keep herself from bursting into tears. “He died to protect me.”

“Did you love him?” Zuro whispered.

“Of course.”

“Then lucky him.” He tore his gaze away from Mia and looked up at the saleswoman. “We’ll take a twenty-fourth of this,” he said crisply.

Mia c****d her head at him. “You do that a lot,” she remarked.

“Do what?”

“End the moment before it gets old. Or out of your control.”

Zuro nodded pensively. “I’ve learned not to wait for applause. For anything.”

“You’ve got a story,” Mia said, half smiling.

“Some other time,” he replied, his expression darkening.

“Oh, great. You’re soulful.” Mia said, rolling her eyes.

He looked hurt. “You don’t give anyone a break, do you?”

Mia made an effort to soften her tone. “No, I don’t,” she admitted. “But I actually like soulful. It was a compliment.”

He dropped his eyes so Mia couldn’t read him. The saleswoman came to his rescue, returning with a tiny vial that she placed carefully inside a tissue-paper-lined bag. She looked anxious.

“It’s okay,” Zuro reassured her again as he took the bag. “Thank you.”

Mia waited until they were outside to speak. “I’m guessing I picked the scent that costs a fortune?”

“Yes, but money’s not the issue,” Zuro said. “Only one other person in the entire city wears that scent.”

A chuff of a laugh escaped Mia. She knew who it had to be. “Grace.”

“Yup.”

“Interesting,” Mia said. “I know why I like it,” she added, thinking of the smoke, the tree sap, and the salty animal smell of her own sweat sizzling in the pyre—thinking of the power and the rush of pouring herself into another person. “But why would she if she doesn’t have mechanics?” Mia stopped and turned deliberately to Zuro. “Are you her claimed?”

“No,” Zuro said, genuinely shocked.

“Look, I’m not the smartest person in the world, but I know one thing.” She jabbed a finger at the little bag in his hand. “That scent is something a witch only becomes acquainted with by firewalking, and it’s a scent she learns to crave only by giving the Gift. You know, there’s been a lot of talk about how claiming is s*****y, butI don’t buy it.” She smirked at him. “Don’t tell me the people of Bower City are so pure that they’re not tempted to claim.”

“They’re more than tempted,” Zuro said hotly. “It happens—of course it happens. And when it does, it’s a huge scandal and there’s always a public trial. It’s very, very messy. Claiming is the only crime that gets committed here, and it’s punishable by banishment.”