A Lion in a Flower Field

Mira woke to the sound of someone sobbing in the living room.

She didn’t remember making it to her bed—or even walking to her room—only that the day had gone by in flashes she couldn’t be bothered to remember, stuck somewhere between fatigue and exhaustion, a hazy fog. What even was her last coherent thought of the day? And what time was it?

The crying—no, wails—permeated the walls and Mira sat upright in her bed, her brain gears slowly turning to put pieces together. The anguish in them was clear and the tone distinctly female. And there was only one other woman in the house.

Amelia.

Those sounds belonged to Amelia.

Mira didn’t want to get out of bed. She feared that, if she did so, there was no turning back, no shoving her head in the sand that was her bed covers and no more running. But something had happened to Magic while she was asleep. It was the only explanation for why Amelia sounded as distraught as she did. Had he gotten worse?

Had … Had he died?

No, he isn’t dead, she thought. He couldn’t be. There was no way he was and if that was the case, her father would’ve woken her up to tell her. Sure her brother was a little worse for wear, but Magic was too stubborn to give Death the time of day. Unless, of course, she’d overestimated him.

Mira shuddered at the thought and decided it was best to just not think about that right now. First, she needed to investigate.

She pushed her door open gingerly and navigated the house the same way she used to do as a child: tiptoeing through the hallway to avoid bothering her father when he had his bouts of drinking and falling asleep on the couch.

Silver light pooled in from the moon through the window, spilling out onto the living room floor, casting an eerie silver glow over her father and Amelia. They were still as stone, sitting on the floor in front of Magic like mourners holding vigil. The seamstress was clutching something to her chest, hunched over a little as though to guard it, her sobs turning to desperate shrieks.

“Give it to me, Amelia,” Benji said in a little hushed voice that wasn’t supposed to carry as much as it did. “Hand it—”

“I can’t,” Amelia sobbed, gasping for air between her words. “I can’t; I can’t—I can’t do this—I told him, I—”

“You aren’t. Give it to me.”

“Huh?”

“You aren’t going back on your word because I’m making the call. Fortunately for us all, I never promised Magic shit.”

“Benjamin, please, I—”

Benji took Amelia by the shoulders; Mira could see the shock in the woman’s eyes even from where she was standing. “Blame it on me!” said Benji. “He can hate me all he wants for this, Mill, I don’t care! But Chrome’s clinic cannot help him in the state that he’s in. Look at him! He won’t make it through the day.”

Mira felt ill. Her legs sagged a little and she pushed a hand flat against the wall, leaning into it.

No.

No, no, no. Dad, no.

“Give me the walkie, Amelia,” whispered Mira’s father. “Let me call Tammi for the transport.”

There has to be another way.

The seamstress looked from her son to her friend, the expression on her face growing more and more anguished until she eventually offered up the walkie to Benji, who gently took it away from her. He gave his friend a small hug, forehead pressed against her temple before he stood and departed down the steps to make the call. At least he had the sense to not do that in Amelia’s presence.

Once her father was out of sight, Mira shuffled down the hallway, her fingers lingering on the wall for support until there was no longer anything to keep her stable. She knelt beside Amelia who immediately grabbed onto her shoulders and hugged her tight. Mira wrapped her arms around Amelia’s neck, the side of her face resting on the woman’s shoulder. Tears gathered in her eyes despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

“I just want him to be okay,” Amelia sobbed.

“I know,” Mira replied. “So do I. But my dad and I will be here now. You two won’t be alone there. It’ll be different.”

Heavens, she wanted to believe that would be the case. There was no way of guaranteeing just how similar or different Magic’s stay in Grimmshollow would be, but each time Mira’s thoughts lingered there, the angrier she got. It should never have gotten to this point. It should never have gotten to a point where her peers thought tormenting Magic was some sick, twisted way to pass the time. Just another game to play at recess. Nothing more.

It should never have gotten to a point where he deteriorated so quickly to land himself in Grimmshollow. Again.

And she promised…

Creaky steps alerted both Mira and Amelia to Benji’s presence on the second floor. He went to grab his jacket without once turning around to see that Magic’s mother wasn’t alone. “We have five minutes,” he called, tossing a coat over his shoulders. “You should get some of your stuff together and in the meantime, I’m—” Benji stopped halfway between turning and tossing another jacket in Amelia’s direction. His pale and dark eyes found Mira’s immediately. “I didn’t know you were up already, Bella.”

“Hard to sleep with all the noises here,” she replied, trying to restrain her anger. Amelia got up and took the jacket from Benji before returning to her spot on the floor beside Mira, one hand protectively on her shoulder. “Were you going to consider waking me up?”

“We can talk about that later. But, since you’re awake—”

“We can’t bring him there, Dad. We can’t just ship him off to Grimmshollow!”

“Mirabellis, please. I already went through this with Amelia, the clinic—”

“We promised,” she hissed.

“No, you promised,” Benji replied, his voice strained. “I never promised anyone anything. Only that we would do what we needed to.” He pushed his hair back with both hands, holding onto the base of his skull before putting his hands in front of him, clasped together. “Bella,” he said, tone noticeably softer, “please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I know you don’t like it, but something has to be done. If we do nothing, he will die on that couch.”

Three words buzzed in her mind.

He will die.

It felt wrong to face that truth even though she knew her father was right. Of course he was. Who better to know Death than her father, who met with him since the day she was born and in the hallways of hospitals or the comfort of his bed when the hangover withdrawals came back to drag him into drink?

The idea of relinquishing Magic and Amelia to relive their own individual versions of hell in Grimmshollow still didn’t sit right. They needed help. Heavens, she knew they needed help. If Magic’s breathing was any indication of how well he was doing, it certainly put more points in her father’s favor than she wanted and Mira desperately wanted to believe that—given more time—they could’ve been able to quell the silent torment going on in Magic’s head.

When her silence said it all, Benji sighed and waved towards Amelia. “Mill,” he called, “get your stuff together. Bring it downstairs to take with you in the transport. Take it with you to the clinic. Mirabellis, do whatever you need to do. When you’re done, put on something warm to greet the transport with.”

“I don’t like it,” she muttered.

She’d meant it only for herself, but her father’s scoff made his knowledge of her words apparent. “I don’t either,” he said. “But the hard decisions need to be made. Regardless of whether or not we like it.”

Mira couldn’t bring herself to respond. She shuffled closer to her brother as Amelia stood and retreated down the steps after gathering her bags from one of the corners of the living space.

A nagging sense of guilt prodded at Mira’s chest as she rested her head against the arm of the couch, one hand resting gently atop one of her brother’s. Crackling wheezes were the only noises to accompany his delirious speech.

She stayed for a while until she felt able to process her father’s request and gave Magic’s hand a brief squeeze. “We’ll suffer through this together,” Mira murmured. “I wish we didn’t have to. But we’ll find a way through this, I promise you.”

The word came automatically. Promise. How many promises could she make before their weight crushed her? She’d already broken several, but this one felt different and Mira clung to it as if it could rebuild the ones she’d failed to keep. And maybe if she said it enough, perhaps she could will that to be true.

As usual, Magic didn’t respond. He said nothing and made no acknowledgement of her presence. He wasn’t the slightest bit lucid and Mira was perfectly content leaving the conversation at that. But his wrist turned under hers slowly and, though it was pitifully weak, his hold on her hand was tighter.

“Promise?” he rasped, his voice a whistle. Mira could’ve sworn she’d seen just the faintest glimmer of an evergreen in his one open eye.

“I promise you,” she replied, the weight of the words a suffocating thing. “You and your mom won’t do this alone. I promise you.”

Her brother fell silent afterwards, his presence denoted by little more than desperate gulps for air. His hand went limp beneath hers.

Mira fled to her room and closed the door, collapsing on the bed to pour her heart into the pillow until her throat went raw.