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 Page B
Authors: Ysabeau S. Wilce
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“This is much, much better,” Val beamed, balancing on the settee arm. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? You shouldn’t be lying around like this, Flora. It’s bad for your mental state. Once you lie down, you might not get up again for ages. Great-uncle Gussie once spent four years lying on the sofa in the Drawing Room of Depredations. You don’t know how hard it was to dust around him.”
“I’ve been sick.”
“Ah...” Val fished around in his long hanging sleeves, then came up with a small green bottle. “I have just the trick.”
“What is it?”
He proffered a spoonful of pinkish liquid. “Open up. It will make you all better.”
I recoiled. I knew from experience that liquids that promise to make you all better usually make you wish you could die. “What does it taste—oof.”
Valefor had shoved in the spoon. I started to choke and then the lovely buttery syrup flowed down my throat and seemed to settle into a warm fuzzy haze in my wheezing chest. Now I was really feeling pretty good.
“What was that?”
“Madama Twanky’s Sel-Ray Psalt Med-I-Cine,” Valefor replied. He’d replaced both bottle and spoon inside his flowing sleeve.
“It tasted like maple syrup.” The Madama Twanky’s Sel-Ray Psalt that Mamma forces me to take when I’m sick tastes like lamp oil.
“Well, I did improve a bit on the original, but it will fix what ails you.”
“When is it?” I asked, pushing myself back up on the pillows. Ah, the lovely warmth puffing from the radiator. Ah, the lovely warmth in my bones.
“All times are alike to me, so monotonous and boring, but—” Valefor considered. “I think it’s Sunday for you.”
“Sunday!” Panic gurgled in my throat, in my voice. Sunday! The entire weekend gone. My dress, my invitations, my speech, the fifty tamales I had to make and distribute to the poor! Everything I was going to get done this weekend, just in the nick of Mamma coming home. And now she would be home tomorrow and I had done nothing. Even if I started immediately, I wouldn’t have time to get it all done. “I’ve wasted the whole weekend. I’ll never get all my chores done!” I slumped back down into gloom and felt babyish tears prickle at my eyes.
“Never you worry,” said Valefor soothingly. “Valefor is here and he specializes in getting things done. But first, teatime!”
Out of Nowhere, Val produced a plate of waffles and a giant pot of orange tiger tea. While I gobbled the first solid food I’d had in forever, he started tidying. He twinkled his fingertips and suddenly my bedsheets were clean and the bed was made. (Pigface, I’d forgotten to get rid of that horrible comforter!) He waved a hand and my scattered Nini Mo yellowbacks hopped into a neat stack, and the painting of Mamma and Idden hanging over the fireplace straightened. He flapped my socks and they were hole-free. He fixed the upside-down sleeve of my Catorcena dress with a flip of one finger, and hemmed it with a wave of another. He tapped pen to paper and soon enough had a full stack of invitations completed, without a smudge or an ink blot. It was so wonderful to lie there, warm and full, and watch someone else do all the work. In just a few short minutes, my bedroom was cleaner than it had been in years and my Catorcena chores were nearly done.
Mamma, why are you so darn stubborn?
“Well,” Val said, finally, after I had drunk the last drop of tea and he had eaten the last waffle. He tossed the tea tray up in the air, and before I could shout, it was gone. “I have been thinking.”
I yawned again. Between the medicine and all those waffles I was feeling awfully sleepy, but in a yummy tired way. “About what?”
He leaned over the back of the settee and grinned ingratiatingly at me. “I don’t think the Elevator was being obdurate when it brought us together, Flora. That Elevator, that part of me, that is, knew what it was doing, even if you and I were slow to pick up
“This is much, much better,” Val beamed, balancing on the settee arm. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? You shouldn’t be lying around like this, Flora. It’s bad for your mental state. Once you lie down, you might not get up again for ages. Great-uncle Gussie once spent four years lying on the sofa in the Drawing Room of Depredations. You don’t know how hard it was to dust around him.”
“I’ve been sick.”
“Ah...” Val fished around in his long hanging sleeves, then came up with a small green bottle. “I have just the trick.”
“What is it?”
He proffered a spoonful of pinkish liquid. “Open up. It will make you all better.”
I recoiled. I knew from experience that liquids that promise to make you all better usually make you wish you could die. “What does it taste—oof.”
Valefor had shoved in the spoon. I started to choke and then the lovely buttery syrup flowed down my throat and seemed to settle into a warm fuzzy haze in my wheezing chest. Now I was really feeling pretty good.
“What was that?”
“Madama Twanky’s Sel-Ray Psalt Med-I-Cine,” Valefor replied. He’d replaced both bottle and spoon inside his flowing sleeve.
“It tasted like maple syrup.” The Madama Twanky’s Sel-Ray Psalt that Mamma forces me to take when I’m sick tastes like lamp oil.
“Well, I did improve a bit on the original, but it will fix what ails you.”
“When is it?” I asked, pushing myself back up on the pillows. Ah, the lovely warmth puffing from the radiator. Ah, the lovely warmth in my bones.
“All times are alike to me, so monotonous and boring, but—” Valefor considered. “I think it’s Sunday for you.”
“Sunday!” Panic gurgled in my throat, in my voice. Sunday! The entire weekend gone. My dress, my invitations, my speech, the fifty tamales I had to make and distribute to the poor! Everything I was going to get done this weekend, just in the nick of Mamma coming home. And now she would be home tomorrow and I had done nothing. Even if I started immediately, I wouldn’t have time to get it all done. “I’ve wasted the whole weekend. I’ll never get all my chores done!” I slumped back down into gloom and felt babyish tears prickle at my eyes.
“Never you worry,” said Valefor soothingly. “Valefor is here and he specializes in getting things done. But first, teatime!”
Out of Nowhere, Val produced a plate of waffles and a giant pot of orange tiger tea. While I gobbled the first solid food I’d had in forever, he started tidying. He twinkled his fingertips and suddenly my bedsheets were clean and the bed was made. (Pigface, I’d forgotten to get rid of that horrible comforter!) He waved a hand and my scattered Nini Mo yellowbacks hopped into a neat stack, and the painting of Mamma and Idden hanging over the fireplace straightened. He flapped my socks and they were hole-free. He fixed the upside-down sleeve of my Catorcena dress with a flip of one finger, and hemmed it with a wave of another. He tapped pen to paper and soon enough had a full stack of invitations completed, without a smudge or an ink blot. It was so wonderful to lie there, warm and full, and watch someone else do all the work. In just a few short minutes, my bedroom was cleaner than it had been in years and my Catorcena chores were nearly done.
Mamma, why are you so darn stubborn?
“Well,” Val said, finally, after I had drunk the last drop of tea and he had eaten the last waffle. He tossed the tea tray up in the air, and before I could shout, it was gone. “I have been thinking.”
I yawned again. Between the medicine and all those waffles I was feeling awfully sleepy, but in a yummy tired way. “About what?”
He leaned over the back of the settee and grinned ingratiatingly at me. “I don’t think the Elevator was being obdurate when it brought us together, Flora. That Elevator, that part of me, that is, knew what it was doing, even if you and I were slow to pick up
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