Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (46 page)

Ivy leaned closer to the window, listening for footsteps. Not a shuffle, patter, or creak. She chewed her lip, trying to stop herself from looking directly into the window crack. Thankfully, before she could inch any closer, she was struck by an idea. “Hey, you know, I think I have an annual program catalogue in the cart. Let me just—”

As she turned, the sound of a metal lock being pulled echoed through the door. Ivy spun back around, running nearly teeth-first into the rusted barrel of an old rifle.
 

“What is this thing?” Ivy asked, grabbing the metal neck and peering into it, moving it this way and that. She spotted a gnarled oak wand tied to the left side of the barrel. “Oh.
Oh!
” Her head shot up, grinning widely. “Good morning.”

Clutching the improvised weapon was a young woman no older than Ivy, hidden under a lumpy knit cap with ear flaps and a heavy wool coat that was three sizes too big. Her brow was furrowed over amber eyes, fixed in a frown as she took Ivy in from head to toe.
 

“Who …” she started. “Who
are
you? You're not that old man with the white beard.” Scowling, she lifted the wand-rifle higher as if Ivy would argue.

“Very perceptive,” Ivy agreed and held out a hand. “Actually, my name is Ivy Stokes. I don't think I caught your name.”

“That's because I didn't give it.”

Ivy hummed. “I'll just call you Ms. Witch, then?”

The girl groaned as if struck with indigestion. “Call me Win,” she said through gritted teeth.
 

“A name for success,” Ivy nodded, smoothly pulling out the wad of pamphlets she'd stuffed in her back pocket on her way out of the Center. “Well, Win, I'm the director of operations and community outreach at the Sunnydale Community Cooperative Center. If you have a few minutes, I'd love to talk to you about how you can get involved in some of our programs. We have events happening almost every day! Of course, our schedule
always
has room for new things, especially from people with special or … unusual skills.”
 

She tried not to angle too obviously. While she may have jotted down ten or fifteen rough ideas for classes and workshops she and the witch could co-facilitate, she didn't want to scare her off before she'd even been added to the general volunteer roster.
 

“Hold on.” Win lowered her rifle, propping it at her side. “Are you the one responsible for clearing out all that putrid rot-bush from the highland roads last summer?”

“Oh, you noticed that?” Ivy shrugged bashfully. “I guess, yeah. I mean, I smelled like a year-old corpse for a solid two weeks, but it was worth it.”

Win's eyes narrowed to slits. “You know, I used the buds of the rot-bush for potpourri. Now my house smells like the lavender you planted. It's disgusting.”

Before the smile had time to slide off Ivy's face, Win stepped back into the house and slammed the door behind her. Ivy stared ahead in shock, jaw slack, eyes fixed on the door as if the wood grain would spell out an explanation. She heard the whine and clunk of the lock sliding back into place, followed by a chain she hadn't heard before.
 

“Also,” Win called out the cracked window, “I'm not paying for the stuff I didn't order.”

* * *

Joe chuckled heartily. “Well, no wonder your string beans are in a tangle. Might as well be the popular kid getting turned down for the spring dance by … well, by the witch.”

“It just doesn't make any sense. Who turns down free weekly pancakes?”
 

Joe set his gourd on the desk and patted her shoulder. “Try not to take it personally, little thing. Some people are different and have different interests. Nothing you can do about that.”

“That's it!” Ivy cried, jabbing the still-slobbery pencil towards her boss. “Joe, you're a genius.”

“Err …” He frowned, backing out of arm's reach.
 

 
“I just need to show her we can relate to her interests.” Eyes darting around in thought, Ivy ignored Joe's protests in favor of grabbing an eclectic stack of flyers and racing towards the door. “I'm taking my lunch break,” she called over her shoulder.

Shaking his head, Joe plucked a stringy carrot from Ivy's pencil mug and bit into it. “Why don't we all just do that?”
 

* * *

Ivy grinned through her wheezing as she shifted her load into the crook of her arm and knocked. Thankfully, the door opened after only one round this time, though Win looked even less impressed.

“Winnie,” she started. “Can I call you Winnie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Is it short for Winifred?”

“Nope.”

“Will you tell me what it's short for?”

“Not a chance.”

Silence yawned between them. Ivy frowned, trying to remember the speech she'd prepared on the way.

“You know, with that cargo ship you hauled up here yesterday, I'm not gonna need anything for at least two years.”

“I thought you ordered bi-annually. Doesn't that mean every two years?”

Win scowled. “No, it means twice a year.”
 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure!”

“Then what would be the word for every two years?”

“It—” she started, blinking and screwing her eyes shut. “Is this some form of hazing? I told you yesterday, I don't want to join your weird vegetable cult.”

“Well then,” Ivy grinned, lifting her laden tray, “you'll be happy to hear that there are no vegetables in these pancakes.” Waggling her eyebrows, she shoved the tray into Win's chest. “Just triple berry and fresh-ground cinnamon. No frills.”

Win stared at the plate like she wanted to set it on fire. “And what are
those
?”

“Those,” Ivy peered over the tray, deflating, “are banana halves decorated like dolphins. Yeah, I forgot to take those off. The point is, though, I have a proposition for you. I was thinking, we have our monthly craft bee coming up, and we're still looking for a host. I was going to go with my
Bee a Friend
theme if no one else volunteered, but I think people are getting tired of it. Anyway, I thought you might be more comfortable meeting people in your own home, and a craft bee would be perfect for you, don't you think?”

Win folded her arms. “Why?”

“You know … like witch
craft
.”

“Does everything have to be a pun with you?”

Ivy bit her lip. “If the cauldron fits?”

The door slammed shut between them so fast it rattled on its hinges.

“Oh come on, that was
charm
-ing!” Ivy called after the witch. Sighing, she turned and walked down the steps. “At least she took the pancakes.”

* * *

Two days later, Win opened the door to an empty doorstep.

“… Ivy?”

Without warning, Ivy hung her head down over the edge of the roof. “Morning, sunshine!”

“Aaah!” Win shrieked, grabbing her rifle by the neck and swinging it overhead.
 

“Hey, whoa!” Ivy pulled back, reaching a palm out to placate her. “Before you go to that place, let me explain what we're doing.”

Win spun around on the doorstep, gripping the rifle in both hands. “We?”

Swinging her legs over the roof's edge, she hopped down. “I noticed that a few of your solar tiles were cracked, so I thought I'd recruit a few volunteers to help me replace them.”
 

Win looked up to see four nervous teenagers clutching at a glittering green roof.

“Okay, so once we got up there, I saw that all your tiles were out-of-date, so we installed a new system. It's great though, trust me. These are at least twenty-five percent more efficient.”

Win's mouth twisted towards her nose. “I like it dim.”

“Also, why don't you fix your window? It lets all your heat out.”

“I like it cold.”

Hands on her hips, Ivy met her frown for frown. “Are you always this inflexible?”

A brow twitched up. “I can be plenty flexible.”
 

Ivy eyed her warily as she pointed the rifle towards the quivering teenagers and flicked it towards the sky. Groaning and popping, the roof began detaching from the frame, curling back like a taco until the four slid off, fruitlessly scrabbling at the smooth tiles for purchase.
 

Though not quite a smile, Win looked smugger than ever. Ivy squinted. “That's really bad for the tiles, Win. They're brand new.”

* * *

Ivy drummed on the door in a frantic beat.
 

“What?” Win called from inside.
 

“Come quick! I need your help!”

A muffled grunt. “You need more help than I can give.”

“Everyone in town—they're cursed!”

“I'll say, if they're living next door to you.”

Ivy kicked the door. “Dammit, Win!”

* * *

Ivy paced the path she'd cleared in her cluttered office, pulling a magenta marker from her hair. “There's something I'm missing here …”

She stared up at the whiteboard, almost completely hidden behind color-coded diagrams, order receipts dating back seven years, printed wiki pages on witch social mores, and her top twenty “can't fail” pancake recipes.
 

“Ivy, why don't you leave the poor girl alone?” Joe said from the doorway. “She obviously doesn't want people poking around up there or she wouldn't be keeping dragons, would she?”

Not bothering to turn around, Ivy drew a loud pink line from one side of the board to the other. “That's just gossip, Joe. You know how people in this town are when they get an idea in their heads. They just can't let it go.”

“Imagine that.” Sighing, he rubbed at his bushy white eyebrows. “Why don't you go see some of the folk in town who'd take more kindly to your help? As in, everyone else? A wet cat, maybe?”

“That's who I'm thinking of here, Joe.” Ivy brandished her marker almost like a wand. “Everyone. All of us. She's lived alone up there for how many years, and as a witch? She probably has skills that would revolutionize how this town runs. And I know there's something we can do for her too. I just have to figure out …” she stepped back from the board, trying to connect the dots, “what that is.”

* * *

It was late afternoon. The wind was growing teeth and Ivy's hair stuck up in every direction, but she didn't care.

“I know you're in there,” she called, landing slow, baritone blows against the door. “Come on, I just want to talk! Please?”

There was no answer.
 

“Win, are you okay?” Ivy pressed her ear against the door. “Are you hurt? If you can reach a broom, bang it once for yes and twice for no.”

A few faint scuffles sounded in the distance, but nothing else.
 

Stomach knotting with worry, she scanned the area around the door, not quite knowing what she was looking for. A spare key? A note? Signs of fae abduction?
 

“Aha!” she exclaimed, grasping a doorbell tassel she hadn't noticed before. “She's got to hear this.”

Ivy gave the tassel a good yank, and it yelped.
 

Down with it came a small body covered in bottle-green scales.

Diving forward, she caught the creature in her arms before it could hit the ground. It was no bigger than a scrawny cat, head lolling on an awkwardly long neck as it squirmed in her unfamiliar arms. Its wings were no help, one stuck in the crook of Ivy's elbow, the other flapping like a wagging tail.
 

“Shh, it's okay, little one,” she murmured, loosening her hold and stroking the creature's cool snout. With a tiny whine, it looked up at her with milky white eyes, sniffing and snorting puffs of air against her fingers. “Hey, that tickles!”
 

Apparently deciding to approve of Ivy, the creature dug its claws into her shirt and wriggled its head into her front pocket, poking around curiously. “Oh, uh—okay, that's fine. That's just—”

Her words cut off as the door wrenched open. Ivy spun around and saw her own look of surprise mirrored in Win's face, both of them frozen in a tense, inscrutable moment. Ivy opened her mouth to say something, but the only thing she could think of was that she'd never seen Win's hair. Usually buried under wooly hats and coats, her long black locks hung free around her shoulders, which were covered in only one layer of plaid flannel. It gave Ivy the odd feeling she was seeing Win naked.
 

“Sorry! I was just … ”

“Princess Emmie,” Win cut in, rushing forward to scoop the creature from Ivy's arms. It whined as its head was pulled from her shirt pocket, lint dangling from its mouth. “Thanks,” Win murmured, cradling the bundle of scales to her chest. “She's been missing since yesterday, and she can't see yet, so …”

Ivy nodded, head foggy and off-kilter.
Princess what?

“I think she got your arm,” Ivy heard.
 

“Hmm?”

“You're bleeding a little.”

Ivy jumped at the feel of a warm hand on her elbow. She looked down in surprise, hardly noticing the angry red scratch or trickle of crimson sliding down her forearm.
 

“Come on. I'll get you a bandage.”
 

Following the tug forward, Ivy found herself standing in a small living room, tidy but for several mangled sticks and feathers littered across the furniture.
 

“Wait here,” Win said, disappearing down the hallway. Ivy stood in the middle of the room, eyes roaming the dozens of half-melted candles lining the shelves and potted herbs perched around an overstuffed chair covered in mismatched patches. An algae lamp burbled in the corner, bathing everything in a soft green glow.
 

And just like standing still in a garden long enough brings the birds and butterflies closer, several curious snouts came peeking out from open drawers and behind stacks of books, upside down from the rafters and around the open doors. Ivy stared back at them breathlessly, afraid to move as though the scene around her might shatter.

“Sorry for the mess,” Win said, stomping back into the room. As soon as the dragons saw her, they pounced, weaving through her feet, clawing their way up her pants, flapping their stubby wings for attention. Win shooed them off, motioning for Ivy to hold her arm out.