Eternal Spring A Young Adult Short Story Collection (32 page)

It is.

I almost cry
out with relief at the voice in my head. He’s going to do it. He’s going to do
it.

He lowers his
horn and his hooves slash the earth, smearing wet wildflower against a scar of
green and black. In this moment, my last moment, I am transfixed by the colors.

It’s so pretty
up here. Ursula would have loved it. Little, bratty, precious Ursula, who
should never have seen the blood and the death and the violence she’s seen. Who
shouldn’t even know how to hold a bow, let alone use one to kill something. Who
has a massive scar in her tummy from the time she was impaled by a unicorn.

You know what?
I don’t want to die by unicorn, either.

My hand closes
around a tiny, round-tipped twig in the grass. Bucephalus has seen far worse
than me, and he’s ready to murder rather than allow his kind to be cut down.

You can learn
quite a lot from your elders.

The unicorn
charges and I leap. I scrape the end of the match against the stone as I jump
and it bursts into flame against my fingertips. Bucephalus collides with the
rock as I land, shaking the foundation beneath my feet. The boulder cracks
beneath me and I reach out for a handhold.

The match
tumbles from my fingertips. In the slowness of time that comes courtesy of my
unicorn magic, I can see it falling, end over end, the fire traveling down its
length until it lands in the grass.

The explosion
knocks me off my perch.

Somewhere,
beyond the rock, beyond the roar of the flames, the unicorn bellows in agony.
My eyes are seared with the afterimage of a ring, a mushroom cloud of fire. My
coat’s aflame — I drag it off, rubbing my arm against the grass until all
trace of fire is gone.

And then I run.
I don’t know if he made it out, but if he did, he’s coming for me.

Halfway down
the trail, I stop to look back at the charred rock field above. The fire’s
still burning, but the rocks will contain it. It won’t spread to the rest of
the mountain.

All those
lovely wildflowers: gone. My crossbow: gone. And Bucephalus — the unicorn
that lived for a thousand years, the unicorn that saved my life by promising to
end it, the unicorn that made sure that his kind survived the last time we
hunters threatened to extinguish their entire species…

He won’t be a
problem this time around.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The world of the killer unicorniverse, as seen in this
story, is based on real myths and legends of unicorns from around the world. For
instance, contemporary biographies of the great military leader, Alexander the
Great, claimed that his famous warhorse, Bucephalus, was not a horse at all,
but rather a giant type of man-eating unicorn from Turkey called a karkadann.
To read more about Bucephalus, other killer unicorns, Melissende, and her
fellow unicorn hunters, check out the novels
Rampant
and
Ascendant
.

***

Diana Peterfreund is the author of eight novels for adults
and teens, including the
Secret Society Girl
series, the killer unicorn novels, and
For Darkness
Shows the Stars
, a post-apocalyptic retelling of Jane Austen's Persuasion.
Her critically acclaimed short stories have been on the Locus Recommended
Reading List and anthologized in The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year,
vol. 5. She lives in Washington, D.C. with her family. Read more about Diana at
http://www.dianapeterfreund.com.

Back to Table of Contents

The Language of Flowers

By

Rhonda Stapleton

 
“I want
something romantic. A bouquet that shows her how much I love her.” The lanky
older man casts his glance around the shop, gaze skipping over our vibrant
offerings. “Something…special.”

I slip from behind the counter and head toward our bold
selection of wildflowers, him right on my heels. “How about a mixed bouquet? We
can add romantic flowers in, along with sprigs of baby’s breath and other
greenery.” A small wave of excitement washes over me. Finally, a chance to do
something other than—

“What about roses? Not red, of course,” he adds quickly.
“Everyone does red. Do you have any fun colors?”

I stop and slowly turn around, trying to keep my face from
showing my disappointment. “We have a fantastic selection of roses. But if you
really want unique, maybe you can try lilacs. They’re a symbol of falling in
love.”

He purses his lips, thinking. Then he shakes his head. “Nah,
I think I’ll get…
two
dozen roses. Let’s try yellow.”

“Yellow isn’t very…romantic,” I say as gently as possible.

His brow furrows. “But Mary looks great in yellow.”

Okay, my cue to back off. I head to our roses and get
twenty-four bright yellow ones, swallowing my sighs of frustration. Aunt Becky
tried to tell me when I started working at her shop a couple of months ago that
most people go for tried-and-true bouquets, but I was convinced I could sway
people into buying more exotic offerings. Everyone knows that roses mean love,
especially red ones. But different colors actually have different meanings,
which can also vary depending on context. Yellow is more of a declaration of
friendship than romantic sentiments. So giving a girl two dozen yellow
roses
is like beating her over the head with a
let’s-just-be-buddies bat.

Oh, well. Maybe Mary will love them. In the end, that’s what
matters. I carefully prepare the flowers, wrapping them in tissue paper and
tucking a packet of flower feed between the stems. The man smiles widely,
almost patting himself on the back. He’s probably imagining the woman fawning
over him in gratitude.

After ringing him up and handing him the change, I say, “And
thank you for shopping at Eternal Spring Florist. Have a wonderful day.”

The door dings as he leaves, letting in a waft of fresh air.
Most spring days in Cleveland are rainy, too hot or too cold, so it’s a
pleasant surprise to have nice April weather.

My pocket buzzes. I snag my phone—a text from Anna.
Hey, girl! Still
coming over 2nite?

Yup! Bringing ice cream
, I write back. Hanging out with Anna on
Saturday nights is about the only highlight of my very, very lame social life.
And while I love her to death, one of the secret thrills of our hangouts is
spending time with Anna’s twin brother, Curtis. I’ve had a thing for him since
second grade, when I moved to Cleveland and Anna and I became instant besties
in class. The moment I saw his wavy blond hair and deep brown eyes, combined
with that crooked smile and deep dimple, I was head over heels. And my feelings
have only grown as I’ve gotten to know him better.

I’ve never breathed a word about it to anyone, though. Anna
would either harass me for life about my crush or be irritated about it. I
don’t want it to come between us. Not that Curtis notices me anyway. At least,
not as anything beyond his sister’s dorky, flower-obsessed friend.

So I spend my Saturday nights on her couch, one eye on the
movie and the other looking for any signs of Curtis entering the room. You
wouldn’t think that’s physically possible, but I’ve perfected the art of
looking-but-not-looking.

Awesome. I want cookie dough!
Anna texts me.

With a grin, I shove my phone back in my pocket and focus on
finishing up at work. Aunt Becky will be by shortly to close out the register
and help me shut down for the day. It’s been surprisingly slow for a weekend,
so I’ve been bored and mentally creating
bouquets
with
different themed messages:

—I’m bitter and hate you—
hydrangea to show
heartlessness, with a splash of yellow chrysanthemum for slighted feelings.

—I just want to be friends—
featuring pear blossoms,
striped carnations and, of course, a crapload of…yellow roses.

—I want to touch your naughty bits—
balsam, sprigs of
coriander, and coral roses, reflecting lustful passion.

And the list goes on and on.

Ever since my aunt told me about the meanings of flowers on
my first day, I’ve been passionate about uncovering their hidden truths. I’m
still wading my way through—who knew there were so many plants in the
world? Well, other than florists and botanists.

The door dings again as my aunt breezes through, carrying a
bunch of flat flower boxes in her arms. I rush over to help.

“Thanks, Chrissy,” Aunt Becky says, shooting me a grateful
smile. Her short red hair is crazy, sticking up all over the place, but for
some reason the messy look works on her. She rocks it. “I’m going to be here
late tonight getting an order ready to ship, so you can head out. I’ll finish
up.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, though on the inside I’m jumping up
and down in excitement. “I can stay if you need help.”

She sees through my ruse and shakes her head, chuckling.
“You’re bursting out of your skin. Go, run free. Enjoy the weather while it
lasts.”

I kiss her on the cheek and grab my purse. She doesn’t have
to tell me twice. “It’s been slow in here today, so you should be able to get
your work done. See you Monday after school!”

With that, I step into the sunshine, breathing deeply, and
dash to my crappy beater car parked on the side of the building. Then I stop
dead in place, blinking rapidly.

Underneath the driver’s side wiper is a single red tulip.

I look around the small parking lot. No one’s around. Did
someone leave the flower for me on accident, thinking my car belonged to a
different person? There aren’t any cars in the lot though, much less one that
looks like mine.

Red tulip. Red tulip. I flip through my mental catalogue to
find its meaning and draw in a shaky, startled breath. A declaration of love.

Instantly I scoff at myself. No way is someone trying to
declare anything to me. Working at a flower shop has made me read messages into
something that isn’t there. I carefully remove the wiper and pluck the tulip
from its resting place, rubbing my thumb over a soft petal. But that still
doesn’t answer my most pressing question—
who
gave me a flower?

And why?

A mystery! This may possibly be the most exciting thing to
ever happen to me. I can’t wait to tell Anna about it.

With a sniffle, I dig my spoon into my half-eaten pint.
“Every time I watch this movie, I cry,” I say with a slight whine. “Why do you
like to make me cry?”

Anna elbows me, also sniffling. “Hush. Eat more ice cream.
It’ll soothe the pain. Plus, I think he takes his shirt off soon.”

A deep chuckle comes from behind us. My face instantly
flames, and I stare into my carton for a moment.
Deep breath, Chrissy
.

I force myself to look over the couch at Curtis, giving him
a carefree smile. “Laugh it up. You’re just jealous because we didn’t destroy
our ice cream in point-three seconds, so we still have some to enjoy.” I’d
gotten Curtis his favorite, cookies and cream, while at the store. I don’t know
that he even chewed, he inhaled it so fast.

He eyes me, and goose bumps break out across my flesh. He
slowly grins, flashing bright white teeth. “Maybe I’ll just take yours.” His
voice is like a slow spread of molasses across my already warmed body.

I swallow, telling myself he’s just joking around as usual.
There’s nothing serious in that look. Of course, my sensible words don’t
penetrate my thick skull. “You’ll have to fight me for it,” I say, my voice
strangely breathless.

“Don’t make me use the force on you.” He takes a step
closer. I can see the flecks of caramel in his eyes. The smile suddenly slides
off his face as he tilts his head, studying me intently.

Star Wars cracks become forgotten as we stare into each
other’s eyes. My mouth opens of its own volition, and his gaze darts down to
look at my lips, his eyes hooded. I can’t read his expression. I fight the urge
to rise toward him and press my mouth against his.

Anna snorts, reaching behind her to swat her brother in the
stomach. “Knock it off, you two. Curtis, if you’re that hungry, go make a
sandwich or something. I’m missing the movie hotness.”

That breaks the spell. He retreats into the kitchen. I give
myself the luxury of staring for a moment at his finely crafted backside, clad
in a pale blue T-shirt and low-slung jeans, then turn my attention back to the
movie. But I can’t help the small sigh that slips out.

“You okay?” Anna asks, her brow furrowing in concern.
“You’ve been quiet tonight. Do you need to talk about anything?”

“Oh, I’m just thinking about a lot of stuff,” I say, forcing
a lighter tone. “Like who gave me that tulip. It’s a mystery, wrapped in an
enigma.”

“Nestled in a cornucopia of surprise,” she adds, turning to
face me and plopping her ice cream carton on the coffee table. “And you’re sure
there’s no note? Has anyone flirted with you lately?”

“No.” God, I wish. Could Star Wars jokes be counted as
flirting?

“Hm. Anyone at the shop come in and talk to you?”

Good question. “Well, I had that yellow-roses dude. And this
morning a guy came in looking for a funeral wreath for a neighbor who died.”

“Doesn’t exactly set up a romantic interlude, does it,” she
says with a laugh.

“No, not so much.”
That perfect tulip,
pressed against my windshield, was placed there by someone who wanted to leave
me a message
. Could this be the nudge I need to get over my ridiculous
crush on Curtis?