Peter released her so quickly, she felt as if she had fallen off a cliff with no rope to cling to. She could not tell what expression he wore. If it was that of curiosity or worry. "Natalie?" he said. "Natalie, why are you crying?"
The mind weaver did not realize it, and wiped at her face. Silence had fallen. The rain outside had quieted, falling into rhythm with the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. She started when something soft brushed her ankle and looked down to see a fluffy black cat. It scampered away as she moved to sit down on the armchair.
"What happened? Are you able to continue, or was it too much?"
Natalie shook her head, unable to get the woman's face out of her mind. She had thought perhaps she would recognize her, but was wrong. The woman had no memorable features, just rounded and plain, not unlike the statues on the fountain at Coldton Palace. Even her hair was plain, wrapped in a dull blonde braid, and she wore a simple black coat and wool scarf. She reminded Natalie of just another smudged face in the back-ground of a painting. A lot like herself.
She was not sure exactly what she had expected. Almost all of her questions seemed to have found some sort of answer, but turned out to be wrong. Did she expect the woman to have been indeed herself? Natalie could not decide if she was disappointed, or relieved. Either way, she felt a withering amount of foolishness.
Peter knelt down beside her. "I am sorry to have put you through all of this mess." He picked at a loose thread in the arm of Natalie's chair. "It's my fault."
"What happened, Peter? What happened to you and... this woman you had loved? What is her name?"
He tried to rest his hand on hers, but she moved it. It was meant to appear an absent-minded shift in her seat, but even she knew Peter knew better. He smiled, dropping his hand, and then said, "Just call her Flower."
***
When Natalie found her assistant, she was in the ball room, her arms locked with other dancers in a sort of jig, the drums playing in tune with their quick, airy foot falls. The witch wore a white dress embroidered with silvery designs. Her corset was buttoned close, the hems flouncing around her legs with each bouncy movement. Her mask was of white silk, covered in feathers on one side, and came to a black point over her nose. Her black hair was wrapped into a bun, braided through with strings of pearls.
The mind weaver watched as Piper swung around, trading partners every couple of minutes, until she almost tripped on someone's dress tail and landed in the arms of a male middle person. He helped her upright, and the two spun around each other, Piper throwing her head back with laughter.
Everyone seemed to suddenly move in slow motion, for Natalie could almost see their silhouettes trailing after them like lost shadows. Even the sound of the accordions faded for a few moments. The mind weaver blinked, looking closer. In the candelabra's flickering shafts, she could just make out the wispy shapes of large, layered dresses tied with silk bows, hair powdered white and rolled into tight ringlets, and hear laugher like faint echoes, causing a chill to seep down to the very marrow of her bones.
The transparent dancers broke apart over and again as Piper and everyone else twirled around the ball room, straight through them like they were no more than steam breaking in a train's speed.
She did not realize she had cupped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle a scream. Nobody seemed to notice or care. Peter came to her aid as she stumbled, snatching the back of a chair in the foyer to keep from falling. He held her upright. "Are you okay?"
Skin cold as ice, she touched the back of her hand to her forehead. "You don't see them?" she whispered.
"I do." He swept her away, out of the foyer and into what looked to be a smoking room. Though a lot of middles dominated most of the chairs in this space, it was a lot better than being out in the ballroom taken up by spirits. She could still hear the music, which was upbeat as much as it was sly and haunting, reminding her of music she would hear at a circus.
"I saw Piper," Natalie said once Peter had made her a seat with a pile of throw pillows.
"You say it like you sound disappointed. Did something happen?"
"What didn't happen, is the question."
His brows shot up.
She sighed. "We do not have to talk about it. I suppose I just... feel jealous of anyone who can make her laugh like that."
He sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees, but did not say anything. He let her mull over her own thoughts, and brew in it. She wished he would not. She did not trust herself alone with this feeling, afraid she would not come out of it at all without turning into a crumpled ball of paper.
There was the smallest speck of wonder that Flower was somehow herself. To her it all made perfect sense in the end. She could never seem to see her face. She does not seem to remember the secret she shared with Piper the night they had met. Those blue flowers that kept showing up...
She wanted to ask Peter about the memory of he and Flower on the boat, the name of the flowers he put in her hair, but could not, because she had taken that memory away from him, for her own, so she came up with another idea.
From her coat pocket, she pulled the letter he had written to her, and revealed the pressed blue flower, the pistil yellow and shaped almost like a star. "Is this flower special to you?"
He peered at it in the dimness. The fireplace was lit with blue and green flames, and middle people were sitting around mumbling to each other. Sweet smelling fumes rose from the seats, and it took Natalie a minute to realize they were smoking something, most likely made by witches.
Mr. Sheinfeld touched the flower gently. "It is the color of your eyes."
"But is it special?"
He dropped his hand. "Yes, it is."
"What do you remember about this flower?"
"I am having a hard time trying to remember, if you could understand... And I think you do." His eyes seemed to cut into her for a moment, but she told herself it was only the reflection of firelight. He sneezed, wafting his hand through the smoke, which had become overwhelming. "Sorry. Not for sneezing. For losing my patience for a moment."
She shook her head. "No, I am the one who should be sorry. I should not ask you to try and remember. It will not help the healing process. I only ask a client what they remember after I weave it. But I have never taken them like this before."
Peter suddenly rested his cheek to his palm, looking as though they discussed something as normal as what they wanted to eat for dinner. He smiled when Natalie stopped rambling, looking irritated. "Were you even listening?"
He nodded. "Yeah, of course." His eyes dropped to her dress, traced the rose patterns, and for a moment she could almost feel it like an actual caress across the tops of her knees. She waved a hand in front of his face, surprised to find it clasped in his own the next second. He kissed the back of her hand, and she felt it in her stomach. She wanted to ask if he was alright, if the smoke was affecting him somehow, but a selfish part of her did not want him to stop. Another, more daring part of her wanted a lot more.
The mind weaver let Peter raise his lips to her cheek. His breath tickled her ear and her lashes fluttered. She turned slowly until their lips brushed, and that was all it took. Peter laced his hands through her hair on either side and crushed his mouth to hers. She felt all the breath leave her, and a giggle she did not recognize fumbled from deep within her chest as he joined her on the pillows, the kiss deepening, slowing, like a calm before the storm.
And then the door flew open. "Natalie?"
Peter did not seem to notice or care as Piper walked around the nearest chair and rooted herself in front of them. He did not care until Natalie pushed him away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the way she did after stealing chocolate truffles at her old job. Her normal job.
The smoke had turned a soft cotton pink color, and it floated around the room, which was filled with laughter and chatter neither of them had noticed until now. The witch shook her head. "You both should not be in here. These fumes come from rolled witch brewed components that will make you so dizzy, you won't even remember where you are anymore."
For such a petite frame, Piper was still able to haul both Natalie and Peter out of the smoking room, Peter unable to control the toothy smile on his face. The witch shook her head. "What a fool. Did he know this would happen?"
Natalie shrugged. She was both relieved and annoyed. "I feel fine, though."
"Yeah, well, that is one thing about mind weavers middles aren't jealous of, and that is your immunity to many witch potions."
"But your pills worked just fine. And I am almost positive whatever was in that small glass bottle you made for me worked, too."
"I had to make them very powerful if they were to have any effect on you at all."
"Well, that explains why I had no reaction to the drink I took earlier."
Piper shook her head. "Natalie Gorman." Then she smiled a little. "I have a feeling you have a lot to tell me."
***
The train's steam rolled over the platform, cloaking Natalie and Peter in its puffy gray world, but as it broke apart, the mind weaver was able to look around. People moved about, purchasing items from vendors, bouncing on their toes while waving at someone on the train, a family latching onto each other's scarves to stay together in the throngs. Natalie watched each of them, wondering what their thoughts held, if they had known someone, or even was someone, who had come to her or a mind weaver in the past.
Peter shook her shoulder a little and she looked over. "Sorry."
"You zoned out a minute. Wondered if the train smoke had gotten to you."
She met his eyes and watched as a slow smile stretched his mouth. The two of them started laughing, thinking of the night before. She quipped with, "I think you planned all of that on purpose."
"I was not so gone that I did not hear Piper say that on the way out of the manor." He shook his head and smiled. "I did not plan it."
"I was joking!" The mind weaver bumped her shoulder to his and turned to look for Piper.
She was to meet with them to assist her next session with Peter, having concocted something that would help clear up Peter's subconscious memories, like leaves left after raking a yard.
The sky overhead was crisp blue, but a tumbling white breeze from the mountains sent Natalie's cloche hat askew. She tried to reach for it but missed, and the wind snatched it from her head. She turned, watching as Peter ran after it, the soles of his shoes catching the platform just in time before he plummeted into another couple, and trying to keep his elbows from hitting anyone, he weaved through the crowd, the hat rolling on its brim and drifting left and right like it was playing a game of tag. The mind weaver followed, and put a hand over her smile when at last Peter caught the hat, just before it landed in the train station's fountain. He heaved a breath of relief and braced his hand to the side of the fountain, holding the hat out with the other toward Natalie, who took it, unable to stop grinning.
"Thank you. What do I owe?"
He looked into the water fountain. "How about a coin?"
From her pocket, she pulled out a couple of coins and a paper clip, and offered him his pick from her palm.
Taking one of the coins, he said, "Great, two of them. One for you, too, then. Are your ready?" He started to toss his in the fountain.
She tugged his elbow back down. "Ready for what?"
"Wait, you never made a wish on a coin and tossed it in a fountain?"
Natalie peeked into the bubbling fountain of water. At the bottom, she could only make out shiny pebbles and rocks. "I heard of dropping them in wells or the ocean, but not a fountain."
He gently cupped her hand around her coin. "We can only hope it will work just the same, then. Make a wish."
She just stared at him.
He laughed. "Close your eyes, and toss it in."
The mind weaver closed her eyes as she was told, and Peter steered her by the shoulders so that she faced the fountain properly. After a minute, she released the coin, and a moment afterwards, he did, too. They were instantly lost in the churning water, and Natalie imagined them clinking against the bottom of the fountain in slow motion, both of their wishes waiting patiently to come true.