Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog (Magic Carpet Books) by Ysabeau S. Wilce
Authors: Ysabeau S. Wilce
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accusingly. I’m terrible at darning. I can sew fine, but somehow when it comes to knitting, my stitches get muddled. Valefor smoothed the sweater between his palms, and when he held it up, smugly, the hole was gone. “You are welcome!”
“Thank you, Valefor.”
“You
are
welcome.”
“Well, then, if you are going to stay, at least turn the lights down.”
The lights dimmed accordingly, and I slid the bed door shut and snuggled into the nest of dogs. Flynn squirmed his boniness between my feet, and Flash and Dash curled together against the wall. The sheets were doggy warm, but they could have smelled fresher.
I lay there and let the darkness overwhelm me. Sometimes it is very hard not to sink. Udo calls this feeling the little black ghost in my head, and while sometimes its wheedling is muted, I can never quite completely pull free of its influence. Sometimes it seems as though there will never be an end. Poppy will continue to be drunken, Mamma will continue to be gone, and I will march off to the Barracks and fulfill the Fyrdraaca family destiny, which is nothing but ruin and sorrow.
“Why are you crying?”
My heart jerked, and I lifted my head. The dogs hadn’t moved, but Valefor’s eyes, faint coldfire sparks, glimmered next to me.
“Pigface Psychopomp! I think I just lost ten years off my life.”
“Fyrdraacas die young, anyway,” Val said. “Where’s your nightcap?”
I wiped my eyes on the pillowcase. “Go away and let me go to sleep.”
“But you weren’t sleeping,” he pointed out. “You can’t sleep and cry at the same time. And if you cry yourself to sleep, you’ll only wake up with a headache tomorrow morning.”
“I wish you would mind your own business.”
“This
is
my business. I mean, I’m the House Fyrdraaca and you are a Fyrdraaca, so that makes it my business. Besides, you are getting my sheets wet. If anyone should be crying, it’s me, over the decline of our family. Once so numerous and distinguished, oh, we had generals and lawyers, artists and statesmen, we were the beauty of the world, and now down to four Fyrdraacas, and none of you particularly distinguished compared to the Fyrdraacas of old.”
He was a snapperhead, and for a savage sudden minute, I wished he’d stayed in his library and rotted. Cold feet squirmed against my ankles and I yanked away. Flynn growled and crawled to the other edge of the bed.
“Aw, finally, toasty. I get so very cold,” Valefor said. “I remember when your great-great-great-grandmother Idden Fyrdraaca made this comforter. She cut up captured battle flags to make the quilt pieces, and when it was finished, she stuffed it with the hair of her enemies. Took her four years to get enough to fill the quilt. That’s why it is so nice and warm.”
Ugh! I had come across the quilt, brilliantly colored and crazily sewn together with bright swatches of silk, in one of the huge clothespresses in the laundry room. It had been on my bed ever since, and it was very warm, but I resolved now to burn it in the morning.
“Don’t you have to get back to the Bibliotheca?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh no.” Valefor laughed. “I feel so much better right now, I just can’t believe it. Isn’t this fun? It’s just like one of those slumber parties I have read about. The girls lie in the dark and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings, and eat popcorn, and then they give each other green facials.”
“You are not a girl.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose you are right, but now that I feel better, I could be a girl, if you wanted me to be—”
“No,” I said hastily. He was confusing enough as he was. “Just stay the way that you are.”
“Don’t you want any popcorn?” the whiny dark asked.
I sat up, disrupting dogs and kicking aside cold feet. “Look, I am trying to go to sleep. I have had a long day and I have to get up early in the morning. All right? For Pigface Psychopomp’s sake, can’t you shut up?”
“Well, fine,”
“Thank you, Valefor.”
“You
are
welcome.”
“Well, then, if you are going to stay, at least turn the lights down.”
The lights dimmed accordingly, and I slid the bed door shut and snuggled into the nest of dogs. Flynn squirmed his boniness between my feet, and Flash and Dash curled together against the wall. The sheets were doggy warm, but they could have smelled fresher.
I lay there and let the darkness overwhelm me. Sometimes it is very hard not to sink. Udo calls this feeling the little black ghost in my head, and while sometimes its wheedling is muted, I can never quite completely pull free of its influence. Sometimes it seems as though there will never be an end. Poppy will continue to be drunken, Mamma will continue to be gone, and I will march off to the Barracks and fulfill the Fyrdraaca family destiny, which is nothing but ruin and sorrow.
“Why are you crying?”
My heart jerked, and I lifted my head. The dogs hadn’t moved, but Valefor’s eyes, faint coldfire sparks, glimmered next to me.
“Pigface Psychopomp! I think I just lost ten years off my life.”
“Fyrdraacas die young, anyway,” Val said. “Where’s your nightcap?”
I wiped my eyes on the pillowcase. “Go away and let me go to sleep.”
“But you weren’t sleeping,” he pointed out. “You can’t sleep and cry at the same time. And if you cry yourself to sleep, you’ll only wake up with a headache tomorrow morning.”
“I wish you would mind your own business.”
“This
is
my business. I mean, I’m the House Fyrdraaca and you are a Fyrdraaca, so that makes it my business. Besides, you are getting my sheets wet. If anyone should be crying, it’s me, over the decline of our family. Once so numerous and distinguished, oh, we had generals and lawyers, artists and statesmen, we were the beauty of the world, and now down to four Fyrdraacas, and none of you particularly distinguished compared to the Fyrdraacas of old.”
He was a snapperhead, and for a savage sudden minute, I wished he’d stayed in his library and rotted. Cold feet squirmed against my ankles and I yanked away. Flynn growled and crawled to the other edge of the bed.
“Aw, finally, toasty. I get so very cold,” Valefor said. “I remember when your great-great-great-grandmother Idden Fyrdraaca made this comforter. She cut up captured battle flags to make the quilt pieces, and when it was finished, she stuffed it with the hair of her enemies. Took her four years to get enough to fill the quilt. That’s why it is so nice and warm.”
Ugh! I had come across the quilt, brilliantly colored and crazily sewn together with bright swatches of silk, in one of the huge clothespresses in the laundry room. It had been on my bed ever since, and it was very warm, but I resolved now to burn it in the morning.
“Don’t you have to get back to the Bibliotheca?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh no.” Valefor laughed. “I feel so much better right now, I just can’t believe it. Isn’t this fun? It’s just like one of those slumber parties I have read about. The girls lie in the dark and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings, and eat popcorn, and then they give each other green facials.”
“You are not a girl.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose you are right, but now that I feel better, I could be a girl, if you wanted me to be—”
“No,” I said hastily. He was confusing enough as he was. “Just stay the way that you are.”
“Don’t you want any popcorn?” the whiny dark asked.
I sat up, disrupting dogs and kicking aside cold feet. “Look, I am trying to go to sleep. I have had a long day and I have to get up early in the morning. All right? For Pigface Psychopomp’s sake, can’t you shut up?”
“Well, fine,”
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