Luna Brightwood's Arc

Chapter 4 of 22

Luna lowered the camera an inch and held still. The footsteps in the blossoms came closer. Through the petals she saw a small figure step onto the path, no taller than her knee, with white hair pinned up and pink wings folded neat against a purple dress. The little person waved. Luna waved back, slow. Behind the arch, the winged shape between the columns had not moved. Pink and gold. Wings still folded. Luna could not tell if it was watching her or waiting for something else. The small one tilted her head at Luna's camera. "You point that at her yet?" "Not yet," Luna said. "I don't know what she is." "Her name is her own business. Ask before you shoot." The small one crossed her arms. "Last person came through here lifted a lens without asking. She left. We didn't see her for a season." Luna's hands went cold on the camera body. She thought of every frame she had taken this week without asking, because the subjects were animals, or flowers, or ice. This was different. She could feel it in the way the figure beyond the arch held its shoulders. Not a wonder. A person. She stepped through the arch anyway, because she had to see, and stopped at the edge of a cracked white courtyard scattered with fallen blossoms. Green vines climbed the columns. Overhead the sky ran green and violet in slow bands. The winged figure stood at the far end. Close up, Luna saw a pink coat, gold feathers along the shoulders, a single horn catching the light. A face turned toward her. Calm eyes. Waiting. Luna set the camera down on the broken step at her feet. She raised her empty hands. "I'm Luna," she said. "I take pictures of rare things for a book. May I photograph you?" The figure looked at her for a long moment. Then it shook its head, once. Luna nodded and picked up the camera by the strap, not the grip. She turned away from the courtyard. The dragon on her shoulder made a small sound. The owl watched from a pale bare tree near the wall, perched on a wooden platform half-hidden in the branches. A ladder leaned against the trunk. At the base of the ladder, a small white cat with silver-pink horns sat washing one fluffy paw, watching Luna leave with clear blue eyes. Luna framed the cat in her mind and did not lift the lens. At the arch the small winged one was still waiting. She looked up at Luna with a different face now, softer. "You asked," she said. "That matters here. Come back tomorrow. I'll show you what you're allowed to see." Luna nodded. Her camera hung at her hip, unused, and the towers stayed open to her. She had lost the shot and kept the door.