November Storm & Albert Tempus

Chapter Eight

When I woke, I felt my body enveloped in a warm cocoon of blankets and duvets. I was no longer at the faerie spa; Albert must have carried me back to his place after I fell asleep. The sun was just about to rise above the pines across the field, casting a lavender glow throughout the entire landscape.

I wrapped the blankets around my shoulders, pretending that there was no world outside of the bed's four wooden posts. Soon enough, the low crying of the sheep outside broke the illusion, and I rolled over reluctantly.

A knock on the door jolted me fully awake. I sat up in bed to see Albert poking his head in the room, carrying a tray full of pancakes, bacon, juice, coffee and a small bouquet of daisies.

"Is that all for me?" I asked, stretching my arms overhead with a yawn.

"No, it's all mine. I thought I would just come into your room and eat my breakfast in front of you," he said, rolling his eyes with a sly smile. "Yes, of course it's for you. I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I spoke harshly, I should have been more understanding."

"So you'll do it then? You'll save my mom?" I asked, my eyes growing wide and hopeful.

"I'm sorry, November. I can't possibly," he said, setting the tray down beside me and brushing the hair from my eyes. "The Council already wants to throw me in prison for a century, and besides, my powers don't work that way. I can only fix things that are meant to be fixed."

"So you're saying my mom was meant to die?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I can't tell you why. I'm not God. But I would have seen it if she wasn't meant to die."

I slumped back against the pillows, snapping a piece of bacon between my teeth. Despite Albert's strong refusals, I wasn't willing to give up the idea of saving Mom, not yet. Once I had an idea in my head, it was impossible for me to let it go. I would find a way to save her, but for now, I needed to show Albert that I had given up.

"Okay," I said softly, looking down at my breakfast. Syrup was slathered generously over the stack of pancakes, and two small edible flowers, one purple and one white, sat atop the creation. Steam from the coffee drifted up towards my nose, and I breathed in the mingling scents hungrily. I hadn't eaten in hours. "This looks amazing."

Albert sat down on the edge of the bed and watched me eat, which sounds creepy but was oddly comforting. His expression was content, satisfied, as if it made him wildly happy to see me enjoying myself. I felt like I had always felt on Christmas morning with my parents watching me open presents, each one more extravagant and magical than the last. A twinge of nostalgia set into my chest, and I wondered briefly if that word even held meaning any longer now that I knew what I knew about time. How could I mourn over a period of my life that was still happening in the universe, right now?

"How do you feel now?" Albert asked, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"Better, now that I've eaten. Thank you," I said, setting the tray down on the side table and sitting up to face him. "What's on for today? Have you heard anything else?"

"No, there's no news. Lucinda and I barely slept," he said, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Leopold has been travelling between the dimensions to find out just how bad it's gotten. Lucinda and I aren't so brave."

I watched him lower his head towards his hands, slumping his shoulders and rounding his upper back. Although I had only known him for a short while, I had seen enough of Albert to know that this was extreme. I had never seen him look so defeated, and it made me want to stand up and slap some sense into him. How could someone so powerful feel so helpless?

"There must be something we can do," I said, my tone cheerful. He needed a positive influence in his life, and while Lucinda was lovely, she was too close to the problem. I prayed that my humanity would have some effect on his mood and outlook. "Look, my Dad is a surgeon. He deals with all sorts of crazy, impossible-seeming problems every day, but do you think he ever just gives up on the patient? No, he rolls up his sleeves and puts his thinking cap on."