Roxie Noir

I’m entranced by her, by her rapture, by the way her face moves as she looks over the art like she’s asking for its secrets. If I were that flower, I’d tell her. How could I do anything else?

I step closer to her, bend low, like we’re conspiring.

“There’s a sealed pocket of air inside each flower,” I say. Her hair smells sharp and sweet, citrus and rose.

“What next?” he asks, giving my hand a slight squeeze, maybe unconscious. “The Serpent’s Orchard or Moondial?”

He looks down at me as he talks, his voice sending a shiver down my back.

“Which of those am I?” I tease, and she looks up at me, eyebrows still raised, mouth moving into a smile.

She’s close. So close I think I can feel her body heat, though it’s impossible for me to tell if that’s true or just my imagination.

“That’s a trick question and I’m not answering it,” she says. “They’ve only ever gotten me into trouble.”

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” I ask, shifting closer to her.