Celeste Winters's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Celeste woke before dawn. The rose bush outside held one last bloom. She counted the petals still in the copper pot and found only a small handful. One more fire, maybe two. Then the oven went cold and the bakery died. Moon sat on the windowsill, his black fur catching a faint silver glow. He stared at the garden path and went still. A knock came at the door. Too early for customers. Celeste opened it and found a stranger holding a wooden box against her chest. The woman wore a gray traveling cloak damp from the mist. She did not smile. She did not wait to be asked in. "You burn roses," the stranger said. "I smelled it from the bridge. Rose petals burn out fast. You know this already." Celeste's throat tightened. "Who are you?" The stranger lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay flowers Celeste had never seen. Their petals glowed soft, like light held under water. "Moonbloom," the woman said. "One flower burns a full season. It does not die back to a single bud." She set the box on the counter without asking. "Your fire would never go cold again." Celeste reached toward the glowing petals. The warmth off them touched her fingers. Her whole plan could live on these. She thought of full shelves and strangers becoming friends. Then she saw the cost in the woman's flat eyes. "What do you want for them?" Celeste asked. "The bakery." The stranger spoke plainly. "You sign the cottage to me. You bake. I own it. The flowers are the rent." The fire crackled behind Celeste. Moon jumped down from the sill and crossed the floor. He stopped between Celeste and the stranger, back arched, and hissed low. His silver glow sharpened. The stranger stepped back one pace, watching the cat. Celeste looked at Moon. She had built this place with her own coins. She had painted the sign herself. The moonblooms could save the fire, but they would cost her the thing the fire was for. "No," Celeste said. She closed the box and pushed it across the counter. "The cottage is mine. I'll find my own fuel." The stranger's jaw tightened. She tucked the box under her cloak. "You have two days of petals. Maybe one." She pulled the door open. "When the fire dies, I'll be at the bridge. My price won't be lower then." She stepped into the mist and was gone. Celeste leaned against the door, heart pounding. She had kept the cottage. She had also turned away the only fuel she was offered. Moon rubbed against her leg and looked up at her. The copper pot held a single handful of petals, and the rose bush outside held one last bloom. She had chosen to keep her bakery. Now she had a day, maybe less, to find a way to feed the fire herself.