Page 71 of The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities

“Be happy, Little Butterfly. You’re going home tomorrow,” he said. And left me all alone in the room.

Heartbreakingly, I recalled how he’d called me earlier abad decisionand finally realized what he meant. Apollo had made a mistake coming into my Shop. He had made a mistake by taking me with him through the Celestial Door. He had made a mistake by getting close to me. He had made a mistake by kissing me.

To me, he was the greatest adventure of my life. But to him, that was all I was. A mistake in a life that was already full of them.

22

Apollo

She kissed me. She kissed me, and my chest flooded with stars. If only stars didn’t die so cruelly.

23

Nepheli

Magical wasn’t a magical enough word to describe Thaloria.

Apollo and I reached the city the next morning after an unsurprisingly awkward breakfast with Isa and an equally uncomfortable journey in the meandering switchbacks of the Dragonfly.

I knew Apollo hadn’t slept last night because our rooms at the manor had only been separated by a wall and were connected by a large balcony. With a steaming cup of peppermint tea and a quilt around my shoulders, I’d perched on the little chair on my side of the balcony and watched all night long the light drift from his room, an oblique, orange band on the mosaic floor. I had hoped that he would come out and talk to me—just talk until there was nothing more to talk about. But he hadn’t come out, and I, fruitlessly, had tried to make some sense of it all in my reeling head. His confession, our kiss, Walder’s conviction that love could break all curses.

I agreed with Apollo about that, at least. I did not believe love could break his curse. Walder was a spirit, and his sense of possibility was much wider than the reality of mundane creatures such as ourselves. But somethingwaschanging Apollo, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He was starting to feel again. I just didn’t have anything to do with it.

But that didn’t matter now. Now, I was in Thaloria. Now, I was going to go home and leave all this madness behind me.

In the hot, sun-dazed brilliance of midday, the dense body of trees dispersed and the narrow, hazel-flanked path at the edge of the Dragonfly widened before it gave in to long, provincial roads. Sizzling gravel. Prairies for miles. Tall, verdant mountains in the distance with sheep grazing along the slopes and little quaint houses scattering around the crests. The openness overwhelmed me after days under green canopies and shadowy treetops. The sky was huge and inhumane, so vast that I felt both freed and oppressed by it.

We crossed strawberry fields and orange orchards. We passed by vineyards and farms and opulent manors. We encountered traveling chariots, horses dragging enormous plows, and sunbaked farmers who did not recognize Apollo but welcomed us with warm smiles and invitations to lunch that we had to politely decline. We paid tolls and treaded over a massive cobblestone bridge that arched over a gurgling river, its cyan waters overflowing with kelpies, their phosphorescent bodies looking brilliantly distorted underwater.

Then Thaloria emerged in the distance. A kingdom of endless possibility and inexhaustible magic.

The city was made up of endless slabs of sun-kissed stone buildings and glittering temples. Storybook-worthy streets dotted with shops in colors supernaturally bright led to narrow, cobbled passageways that weaved intricate, almost maze-like patterns. The air was alive with magic and lush with the scent of honeysuckles that trickled out of the towering townhouses’ window boxes and the tall cypresses that lined the pink-hued sidewalks.

People were dressed in rainbows, a sea of elaborate, over-bright garments, and funny, ornamented hats. Buskers were singing in every corner. Vendors were calling behind their portable counters, swimming in delicious-looking food, mysterious talismans, or heaps of magical herbs. A fortune teller with jingling wristlets was shuffling her oracle cards over her workbench, and the blushing group of girls that was gathered around it giggled at the prediction.

I had the impression of walking into a rapidly unraveling spell. Everything compelled me all at once, yet I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I was thrilled and buzzing with curiosity, my eyes rounding to take it all in. All of my worries dissipated. The Shop, Apollo, the daunting mystery of my future, everything faded into the unremarkable realm where misery went to hide in moments of unexpected happiness.

Apollo stopped in his tracks next to me, closed his eyes, and took a long, cathartic breath. When he opened them again, they were more blue than grey, and his face, perhaps for the first time since I met him, was truly calm, not just cold. His broad shoulders relaxed under his black cape. His hair flew off his forehead under the pleasant morning breeze. “I forgot,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“What did you forget?” I asked.

“How beautiful the city is. How the magic here makes you feel that everything is possible.”

“Is it hard for you to return here? The memories…” I hesitated, slipping my hand into my pocket to clutch my pendant. “I mean, even after everything, you must miss her.”

I didn’t ask if he still loved Verena because I knew he would only evade me by reminding me yet again that he was incapable of love.

But Apollo seemed different here, softer, and there was no sarcasm or bitterness in his voice as he admitted, “Three years ago, I bumped into Verena and Finn in a village outside of Cerlia. They got married. Had a child.” He glanced down at me through his thick, dark lashes. “I have forgiven them, Nepheli. The question is, how do I forgive myself?” He turned around and gazed at the view behind my back, looking truly mesmerized.

I veered too. And there it was. His home. The Dreaming Palace. A tremendous rose-colored daydream emerged high on a succulent-green hill. Sparkly sky-blue copulas and ornamental spires upsurged in the hazy distance as purple flags with golden seven-pointed stars in the center danced in the wind, everything piercing right through the frothy skyline.

“I always wondered why the journalists called it the Dreaming Palace,” I sighed, breathless in awe. “Now I understand. It looks like it’s sleeping amid the clouds. It looks like it’s dreaming.”

Apollo came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. It was the first time he touched me since last night, and my body instantly responded. I leaned back against his chest, my head lolling on his shoulder, as I took in a deep breath to fill my lungs with his scent.

He bent to whisper in my ear. “Is it everything you expected?”

Drunkenly, I smiled at the glittering horizon. “More.”

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