𝓢𝓱𝓸𝔀𝔂's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Showy pressed her palm to the cafe wall and felt the cold bite through her white sweater. Tomorrow she planned to open the coziest cafe in Fangfrost, a place where every frozen traveler could thaw. But the old stove in the corner was dead. Its iron belly held nothing but ash. Outside, the storm hammered the windows, and inside, her breath came out in small clouds. She knelt and struck a match against the stove's grate. The flame caught a scrap of wood, flared, then died. She tried again. The wood was damp all the way through. Every log in her pile was soaked from the leak in the roof. Showy sat back on her heels and pulled her knees close. Without heat, no one would stay. They would stomp their boots, glance around, and leave for somewhere warm. The door swung open. Snow blew in, and with it came Luna, her black hair dusted white, her earmuffs pushed down over her ears. She dragged a canvas sack behind her, and a small black-and-brown kitten poked its head from her sweater collar. "You never answer your door," Luna said. She dropped the sack with a heavy thud. "So I let myself freeze on your step for ten minutes." Showy stood fast. "My stove won't light. The wood's wet. I open tomorrow and I can't warm a single chair." Luna crouched by the dead stove. She ran a finger along a crack in the iron and frowned. "This thing's older than both of us. Even dry wood would leak smoke out these seams." She looked up. "You need a real firebox, not this ruin." "I don't have one," Showy said. "I don't have money for one." Luna kicked the sack toward her. "My father closed his workshop last month. This was his forge stove. Cast iron, sealed tight, burns hot on almost nothing." She unrolled the canvas. Inside sat a squat black stove, scratched but solid, its door hinged and true. They hauled it into the corner together. Showy's arms shook under the weight. Luna fed dry kindling from her own pack through the little door. Showy struck the match. This time the flame took hold and climbed. Heat rolled out in a slow, steady wave. The kitten leapt down and curled before the glow. Showy pressed both hands near the door and laughed. The cold in the room began to break. Chairs, tables, the frost on the glass—all of it softened in the growing warmth. Then she saw the pipe. The old stove had vented through a rusted flue in the wall. The new firebox burned hotter, and smoke already pooled against the ceiling, thick and gray. Luna waved a hand through it and coughed. "It works," Luna said. "But this smoke has nowhere to go." Showy watched the gray cloud spread. She had her heat at last. Now she needed to send the smoke out before it choked her first customer.