Page 84 of Anomalies

“Really!?” He laughs, the sound a bit forced with the lingering tension at the table. “You’ve been in Pirn for a month and never had a Sugarbloom? That’s outrageous!”

Gemma snickers, but Pax is serious as ever.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He practically jumps from his seat, a childish grin on his face as he holds his hand out to me. I raise a skeptical brow, glancing back at my friends, and I’m met with sympathetic stares. That’s when I realize what he’s doing.

Paxton Samora is trying to get my mind off the heavy things.

Maybe he’s more like Jude than I thought.

I take his hand willingly, catching the contagious smile he wears, though mine still feels forced. It’s impossible for it not to be. I have a demon attached to me, haunting my dreams, and the only way I know to make it stop is to use the Eldral, but Kimber won’t tell me how it works. Ivy and Jude think I’m dead, and I have no solid plan to fix that aside from asking Pax to break the rules for me. I’m living amongst the people that my mother supposedly betrayed, and someone tried to kill me last night. Not only did they try to kill me, but they picked a death with a sinister meaning.

I don’t know what these Sugarblooms are, but I doubt they can fix me.

Pax leads me through a door in the Tavern and into the kitchens, the flick of the light switch echoing through the wide space as dozens of amber lanterns come to life. The room is full of ovens, stained countertops, deep farm sinks, and dishes stacked high beside them. It’s vacant now—the hearth witches having finished dinner and gone home to do it all again tomorrow.

He weaves us through the jutted-out counters and worktables, my hand still in his. We come to the far end of the kitchen, stopping beside a small stained surface near one of the tall, frosted windows.

“Stay,” he instructs, and I scoff.

“Pax, I’m not a dog⁠—”

He doesn’t hear me as he excitedly runs around the corner and comes back seconds later with both hands behind his back, grinning like a schoolboy. “Okay, sit.”

“I’m not a—” I cut myself off, deciding not to chastise him when he’s doing something nice for me. I pull a stool out from the worktable and sit, exhaling a deep breath. Then in one swooping motion, he pulls his arms around and sets a white bowl on the table.

I peer inside. It’s a shiny red sphere, about the size of the Eldral, and it hardly looks appetizing. I point my finger at it. “You want me to eat that?”

Pax snorts, then leans down and whispers into the bowl, “Vessari.”

The orb rattles, then a puff of chilled air rises, and the shiny red surface splits, blooming like a flower right before my eyes.

“Gods,” I breathe, completely in awe.

The petals splay wide, frosted like the windows around us, with an iridescent glow to them that shimmers beneath the dim amber lighting. I’m so engrossed in what I’m seeing that I flinch when Pax speaks.

“Voila,” he announces. “A Sugarbloom.” He reaches forward and plucks a petal, then pops it right into his mouth. “She makes them perfectly every single time,” he mutters to himself as he chews.

“Who does?” I ask, tearing off a petal and cautiously biting the end of it⁠—

Holy gods. It’s like the sweetest berry frosted in sugar, but it’s cold like ice cream, and there’s a botanical taste that lingers on my tongue. I take another petal and Pax does the same.

“May,” he replies, settling against the counter. “She’s the head Hearth Witch.”

“Will she know that a Sugarbloom has gone missing?”

“Yup. But she’ll blame Callan.”

My brows rise, curiosity pushing past the heaviness in my gut at the mention of his name. “And why’s that?” I plop another petal into my mouth, savoring the sweet flavor that spreads across my tongue.

“We’ve been stealing Sugarblooms since we were boys. Callan took the blame for it once, and he’s been the culprit ever since.” Pax laughs as if he’s recalling that memory, then he points a petal at me. “But don’t worry, May never stays mad at him for too long.”

A laugh of my own slips past. “You let him take the blame every time?”

“Of course.” Pax chuckles, reaching for another petal. “His punishments weren’t anything to cry over. He’d get a smack on the hand with a wooden spoon while I stifled a laugh beside him.”

We both snicker lightly, and the longer we think about it, the funnier it gets. Our laughter bubbles over, echoing off the vaulted ceilings, and tears spring to my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I’d laughed this hard.

Pax can hardly get his words out, “And then he would⁠—”