Of Ginger & Spice

R&N: A Pyre of Peonies

30: R&N: A Pyre of Peonies

12:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden

"Just a sixth sense, I suppose," stated Morgana briskly. "I keep an eye on several young children of kindergarten age, and Maya's come to know a few of them besides. She enjoys spending time with one of the kindergarteners, idolizes her, really. Charming girl, goes by the name Tory."

3:45 pm, New York Luxury Apartment

"Abigael, how'd the Council meeting go?" Mel entered the airy apartment once more and spotted her partner at the Ashford dining table. "I met Morgana at the gender reveal, you won't believe what she said—"

"As well as could be expected, and typical of Chupacabra behavior—act first, and never once think," Abigael muttered, writing what appeared to be a letter, in her fancy calligraphic script. Mel strode toward her and peered over her shoulder.

"Is that a letter?" Mel grabbed the piece of paper out of a rather weary-looking Abigael's grasp. "Why are you writing to Rani?"

Abigael massaged her head, trying to sweep away the mental anguish and exhaustion of the past three hours. "She's coming here—tonight."

3:46 pm, New York Luxury Apartment

Mel stared at Abigael. "Like, as in," Mel gestured around them both, "here, as in here to this apartment?" Abigael nodded mutely. "No. No. No with a capital. NO!" Mel exclaimed. "Why would you invite her—"

"I didn't," replied Abigael slowly.

Mel halted her tirade, extremely confused. "So if you didn't invite her, but she's showing up...?"

"Rani invited herself," said Abigael, pulling out a thick piece of high-grade watercolor paper which stated, in Rani's own red scrawl:

"I'm visiting tonight. -R2"

"But—you don't have to let her in, right?" Mel asked. "You can, I dunno, refuse her entry? Barricade the door? Use a curse or two? You're a powerful person, you've got to know something about door-blocking. Right?" Abigael shook her head resignedly.

"Rani has a special talent for art and orbing. Whether its due to her unique heritage or her Whitelighter-hued hair or whatnot, she can appear in any room she has a photographic memory of...and this apartment was featured in an architectural magazine two years ago." Abigael averted Mel's gaze. "Her sense of color goes beyond differentiating red from white. She knows at least twenty different shades of the color white—eggshell, cream, pearl...the list goes on."

"Why hasn't Rani entered our place before?" Mel inquired.

"Because she has a flair for the dramatic—and always did, even years back in London. Not to mention a particular sense of propriety."

"You're saying...that we need to leave here? Now?" Mel asked, now in a quiet tone of voice. Abigael nodded. Mel rolled her eyes. All she had wanted was a peaceful weekend of family and fun, and now this. Where could the two of them go—where would they find a safe haven? She suddenly had an idea.

4:30 pm, New York Luxury Apartment

They spent the past fifteen minutes frantically packing their overnight bags, stuffing them with casual clothes, blouses, and toiletries, before finally declaring themselves done. Abigael had put the finishing touches on her letter, which she left next to a pile of ashes.

"Why the ashes?" Mel inquired.

"A warning," Abigael replied simply. "In case she gets any funny ideas. Shall we?" Abigael offered her arm and Mel took it.

Afternoon, Vera Manor, Second Floor

The fancy light sconces and surroundings vanished instantaneously; Abigael and Mel found themselves parked outside the bedroom of a certain Maggie Vera. Mel stepped forward and knocked on her door, which opened before she could knock a second time.

"Mel?" Maggie exclaimed. "Abigael? But—the party ended hours ago—"

"We know," the couple replied in unison.

"What's up then?" Maggie asked then, puzzled.

"We need a safe place to stay for the night," answered Mel. "I know it's super last minute, but Abigael's apartment isn't safe right now—" Maggie made as if to glare at Abigael. How dare this woman endanger her older sister..."It's not Abigael's fault—well, actually—" Mel paused again. "It's a long story. Can you help us?" Maggie, without missing a beat, made as if to say yes, beckoned them in, and closed the door behind her.

8 pm, New York Luxury Apartment

Rani's pale leather gloves gingerly plucked the letter from where it stood adjacent to a Mason jar halfway filled with water. Looking to her left and right, she noticed that her ex's apartment was elegant, but oddly empty of human presence. No matter. She began reading her former lover's missive, which was as follows:

Rani,

I still remember our holiday in London, and how you made a lonely girl feel special and cared for. I request that the same care and due course be given to the current situation.

A hooded figure in Sarcana robes came behind a mother in her garden shed, as if to attack her unprovoked. Her toddler acted in self-defense, blowing the figure out of the shed and onto a nearby flower bush.

The mother's family asked me to dispose of the unconscious hooded Sarcana, which I did in a dumpster located on the outskirts of Seattle at 1 am. I never thought to look beneath the hooded robes, a gross oversight on my part. All I felt was coursing rage, coupled with the instinctual need to protect this mother and child from imminent attack. (Full disclosure, my partner is the mother's younger sister.)

My actions cost you your great-aunt. For that, I sincerely apologize. I ask of you, in the words of Charlotte Brontë herself, to temper justice with mercy.

P.S. I appreciate the flowers, and I know you will find me soon—but if you so much as side-eye said family, I will hunt you down till kingdom come.

-A

Rani put down the missive, now noticing the dainty pile of ashes. Her sweet peony. She reread the "P.S." portion, and everything began to make sense. Rani reached within her frost-hued vinyl jacket and pulled out a small chiffon pouch, meticulously sweeping the ashes into it using the Mother-of-Pearl knife she always carried with her.