3. 3

We made our way around the outside of the park itself, strolling and casually pausing to whisper to wayward vines. I was investigating a tiny vine wrapped around a carriage light when a familiar presence entered my perception like the scent of toast reaching peak golden-brown. I turned, knowing who I would see, knowing he would be outlined in red, like banked coals waiting for a breath.

"Daniel," I said. "What are you doing here?"

He stood before me dressed to the nines as usual. Beautifully draped slacks over fine leather shoes. Trench coat layered over suit and tie. He turned and pointed up. "I saw you from the window."

The picture window facing the park, in Prospero's apartment. Of course. "Cleaning it out?"

His eyebrows rose. "Why would I clean it out?"

Berron, who had been kneeling to inspect the sidewalk a short distance away, rose and approached.

"To sell it," I said.

"Sell what?" Berron asked. He nodded cordially to Daniel, who raised his chin in greeting.

"Prospero's apartment," I answered.

"Oh, right." Berron nodded.

"Who said I was selling anything?" Daniel said.

Cue the record scratch. My mouth opened, and for once, I couldn't think of anything to say.

Berron smiled like it was Christmas and his birthday all at once. "You're keeping it?"

"Daniel," I said. "You almost died there. Why would you want to keep it?"

He rubbed one hand over his head, looking less like the Lord of the Blessed and more like a boy caught with his hand in the pickle jar. "I thought Jessica might like her old room back, you know? And it gets her out of Victorine's hair."

This was accurate, thoughtful, and also suspicious. I'd known Daniel long enough to know that. So I waited. One of the best ways to get people to talk is to just shut up.

Berron wouldn't have looked out of place with a tub of popcorn, the way he was watching Daniel and me.

"Besides, I like the building. It has style," Daniel said.

I kept waiting.

"I could even sell my own condo, you know—"

"What?" My breath blew out like dragon smoke. "You're moving in? You're moving into Prospero's apartment? With Jessica? Are you insane?" I got right up to Daniel's chest and poked a finger in his silk tie. "She nearly killed you!"

He shrugged. "I'm not afraid of her."

"I'm not afraid of her, either." Not strictly true. I still wondered what she was capable of. "But it's different," I said.

How was it different, though? I'd kept her around; kept her close, even, working at the restaurant. And on the face of it, he was doing the same.

But he wasn't. I was sure of it.

I just couldn't describe it in a way that made sense.

Berron's obvious delight was distracting. I threw up my hands. "Fine. Shack up with Jessica. Who am I to tell ‘Lord' Daniel what to do?"

"I still outrank you, by the way," Berron said.

"And yet here you are," Daniel replied, "cleaning up my sidewalk."

"Are you two done?" I said.

"As you wish, my—" Berron stopped, cleared his throat. My name hung in the air unsaid. "My, what a lovely day."

I was about to respond when I heard something in the distance. Something jingling. A high chime like tiny bells carved from crystal.

Ice cream truck, I thought. It's only an ice cream truck.

In the fall, though?

They were both staring at me. Daniel waved at me. "Zelda? You okay?"

"I'm fine." Ice cream truck, ice cream truck, ice cream truck. If I kept thinking it, that would make it so. Or it would have, if a scent hadn't slipped between the everpresent exhaust, the nearby green and growing plants, and the lingering taste of apple on my lips.

Star fruit.

Berron had his hand on my shoulder. I hadn't even noticed him put it there. "Hey," he said, giving me a shake. "You zoned out on us."

"It's nothing." They looked doubtful. "What? I can't stop and think for a minute?"

"No offense," Daniel said, "but it's really not like you."

"Shut up," I said. But on the inside, I seized the memory of their embrace, the one that held me together as I reflected the magic of the Arcade, and wrapped it around me like a warm blanket to stop the chill crawling over my arms. A chill that had nothing to do with the season.

And just like that, the scent of star fruit faded away as if I'd only imagined it.

"Why don't you guys come up?" Daniel said.

"Hm?" I said, barely coming back to the present in time to register what Daniel had said. "Oh." I glanced up, toward Prospero's window. No—Daniel's window. The change was too bizarre. "Sure," I said.

We walked back to Daniel's building.

Outside, there was still a gap in the hedge where Berron had pulled up a shrub and used it to restrain Jessica when we ran off with the stolen Mirror. Poor Mirror. So beautiful, now smashed into a million pieces. Not knowing what else to do, Poppy and I had swept them up and put them in a box in a closet for safekeeping, along with the empty frame.

We squeezed into the too-small elevator together, only to have Berron lunge for the doors and slip out just before they closed. "Be right back," he called.

The door slid shut, and our body heat made the air temperature rise even as the elevator did. I exhaled when the doors opened and we stepped into the cooler, darker hallway.

Daniel led the way to his door, wielding a key before turning the handle and letting the door swing wide. "Come on in."

We stepped inside. I shrugged off my jacket, removed my scarf, and tossed both over the back of the nearest couch. I did a pretty good job of looking nonchalant, I think, even though being in Prospero's apartment still gave me the heebie-jeebies. Too many memories tinted red.

"It smells like someone's grandma lives here," I said.

"Dried flowers and a candy bowl," Daniel said, helpfully pointing to the relevant items. "I'll open a window." He unlatched one and pushed the sash upward. It slid into place with a creak.

Cold autumn air poured in. Prospero's apartment had always seemed hermetically sealed, like a time capsule—the Victorian dollhouse decor didn't help—but by opening a window, the modern world blew inside. "You gonna keep all this stuff?"

"Why not?" Daniel said.

"It's not exactly your style," I replied, thinking of his high-rise condo, sleek with glass and metal.

"Neither was drinking blood, Zelda, but we all have to adapt."

Berron burst through the unlocked door carrying an uprooted plant. Dirt rained down on the oriental carpet as he brandished the shrub. "I'm back!" His gaze swept the room and landed on a probably priceless porcelain Chinese urn decorated with painted goldfish. He dropped the shrub into the urn, poked at its drooping leaves and frowned, then cracked his knuckles.

Green and gold magic enveloped the plant. Healthy new growth doubled the length of the branches, and spring green leaves unfurled. Tiny flower buds appeared, grew, then burst open with pink petals and a fresh, delicate scent. "Ta-da!" Berron said, gesturing to the rosebush. "Housewarming present."

I moved closer to examine the roses, and found an old book sitting next to the pot. I picked up the book and read the title aloud: "‘Manners for Men.'" Then I flipped a few pages. "Published in 1897. Oh, listen to this: ‘Woman's Ideal Man.' This ought to be good."

"Pray continue," Berron said, throwing himself down on one of the sofas.

I cleared my throat. "‘I suppose there was never yet a woman who had not somewhere set up on a pedestal in her brain an ideal of manhood. He is by no means immutable, this paragon. On the contrary, he changes very often.'"

"See?" Daniel interrupted. "‘Changes very often.'"

"Be quiet, I'm not done reading. ‘Like every other woman, I have my ideal of manhood. The difficulty is to describe it. First of all, he must be a gentleman'—"

"Simplicity itself." Berron lounged more comfortably and aimed a smirk at Daniel.

I read on. "‘Gentleness and moral strength combined must be the salient characteristics of the gentleman… He must be thoughtful for others, kind to women and children and all helpless things, tender-hearted to the old and the poor and the unhappy, but never foolishly weak in giving where gifts do harm instead of good—his brain must be as fine as his heart, in fact."

"Ah, so much for Daniel, then," Berron said.

Daniel heaved a long-suffering sigh but didn't rise to the bait.

"‘There are few such men,'" I continued, "‘but they do exist. I know one or two. Reliable as rocks, judicious in every action, dependable in trifles as well as the large affairs of life, full of mercy and kindness to others, affectionate and well-loved in their homes, their lives are pure and kindly.'" I closed the book with a snap and dropped it back on the table.

Daniel and Berron traded a dubious expression. "‘Pure and kindly'?" Daniel said.

"That might be going a little too far," Berron agreed.

I snatched up embroidered pillows and threw one at each of them. Berron simply caught his one-handed in mid-air, while Daniel caught his in both hands and flung it back at me.

I dodged. "Missed me."

"What else is in here, anyway?" Berron said. He glided from lounging to prowling, followed by opening and closing drawers, looking behind picture frames, and chucking more pillows around as if to see if anything was hidden underneath. "There's got to be something interesting." He pulled a sword cane from the round stand and unsheathed it. Then he aimed it at the sofa.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Daniel.

"Investigating," Berron said.

"Not on my couch, you're not."

Berron held eye contact with Daniel and punched the sharp point through the fabric. White clouds of stuffing burst from the slash.

"Dude, what is your problem?" He lunged at Berron, who—instead of whipping the blade back like a game of keep-away—simply aimed the point at Daniel. Daniel froze rather than be impaled.

"No problem," Berron said cheerfully. "No problem at all."

"Berron," I said, "put the sword away and stop wrecking the furniture."

"Bah." He re-sheathed it and dropped it back in the stand. "No one lets me have any fun."

Daniel examined the sofa's wound.

"Where's Jessica's room?" I said.

Daniel straightened. "Over there. Why? You want to punch holes in her furniture, too?"

"I didn't punch holes in anything. Mr. Gentry Prince did that."

Berron grinned.

I walked toward the door of Jessica's room.

"Wait," Daniel said. "You can't just go through her stuff."

"Who said I was going through her stuff?" That had been exactly what I was going to do, in fact, but I was willing to be flexible. "I just want to see what her room looks like." Before he could protest any more, I turned the heavy knob and opened the door.

A heavy mahogany bed frame nearly filled the room. A vanity table with small drawers and a mirror sat to one side. A tall folding screen stood in the opposite corner. It looked as if dozens of cut-outs from Victorian prints had been glazed onto the panels: roses, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, a child with a dog. Swans and battle scenes and bowls of fruit. Carriages and pretty ladies. One of the strangest pieces of furniture I'd ever seen.

I stepped into the room with Daniel on my heels, followed by Berron.

Her vanity table held black eyeliner, black mascara, red lipstick, and a dark, almost apple-shaped bottle of perfume. I picked up the perfume. "Poison," I said, gazing at the familiar bottle, one that had sat on many a bathroom counter in the nineties. "That's almost too obvious."

Berron took the bottle from my hand, uncapped it, and spritzed it into the air.

"Stop it," Daniel said. "She'll know you were in here."

Berron, unbothered, sniffed the air. "She'll think you were in here."

I waved a hand in front of my face. "My God, I'd forgotten that smell."

"You don't like it?" Berron said.

I wrinkled my nose. "Spilled grape soda and cinnamon? No, thanks."

Berron peered at the bottle. "For something called ‘Poison,' it's awfully sweet."

"Great," Daniel said, taking the bottle from Berron's hand. "We've all had our fun, now let's go back to the living room."

"How about Prospero's room?" I said.

"Daniel's room," Berron corrected.

Daniel shot him a look. "Sure. Anything that will get you out of here."

"Lead on," I said, the perfume still tickling my nose.

We left Jessica's Poison-scented Victorian boudoir behind.

Prospero's bedroom door was exactly the same, but inside, everything was different. The larger space permitted a thick Persian rug on the floor. Prospero had a dark wooden bed frame, but this one had high columns and curtains like it belonged to Ebenezer Scrooge. A matching dresser next to an old Victrola phonograph. In place of a vanity table, there were bookshelves filled with volumes decorated with gold lettering on the spines. And instead of a screen, Prospero had a marble fireplace with a mirror hanging above the mantel.

I passed through the doorway and rested my hand on one of the bed columns. In a strange way, it was similar to my own room—poster bed, fireplace, bookshelves—but dark and stuffy where mine glowed with sunlight. "Are you actually going to sleep in here?" I pictured Daniel's bedroom, where all the wood was light-colored and Scandinavian smooth, and the sheets were the latest high-tech fabric.

"I already do," he said.

And I nodded as if it was nothing, while I wondered if ghosts would haunt his dreams.