•••

This story ends in a familiar place, a high school. The small-town kind. Where a football field is being mowed, bleachers are being polished, and freshly washed windows reflect a crystal clear sky. The storm has passed, and it seems the only rational thing to do is melt, as the sun has returned to the Oaks, and nothing else of interest remains.

Peneloper is first to arrive at the school, and for once the bookbag hefted over her shoulder contains actual school books. Her steps are measured as she bounds up the curb, reminiscencing about Crispen's arrival. Parking in a fire lane. Exiting the car like some sort of celebrity. A Walkman attached to his jeans, filled with a Phil Collin's cassette, certainly. It seemed so long ago. She smiles, recalling the first girl to succumb to the Heavensley charm. 

Patsy. The girl's name had been Patsy, she remembers.

Peneloper enters the school, quietly, and makes her way to the Northern Corridor, where she pauses briefly and cranes her neck toward the ceiling. She senses someone's talking about her but isn't in the know deep enough to understand where it's coming from, why it's happening, or who it is. She does find the voice annoying, which I take offense to.

 Her journey ends at locker #157. Setting down her bag, she unzips a pocket and takes out an old rag and can of polish, much to the astonishment of everything.

• You Touch My Heart •

Peneloper Auttsley stared at her locker's smudges with all the disgust of someone who realized their mistakes. And with a mindset honed in on correcting said mistakes, she dropped her bag to the floor, opened the can of polish, and dug her rag deep into the black goop. Behind her, the wall clock, mounted between the set of windows, continued to tick and tock its way nearer to the beginning of class. Shockingly, she didn't abhor the idea of school beginning.

After her dip into the magical pool of absurdity, she rather relished the return to the mundane. Sure, it had its share of absurdity - Mr. Howell - and useless - all homework. But Principal Gale was here, and in another three seconds, her other reason for tolerating school would be shuffling down the hallway.

Speak of the devil, as Stormholden might put it. Crispen Heavensley rounded the corner, hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched, Walkman clipped at his waist, headphones resting around his neck.

She smiled.

"Miss Auttsley," he said, giving a quick shake of his head. He eyed the locker, then her hands.

Peneloper didn't need to read auras to understand his expression. "It could use a bit of a shine, don't you think?"

The corners of his lips pulled into a smile, not one bright enough to goad the sun into imploding, or cause a flood of girls to fall to their knees, but even the slightest movement of his lips stirred inside her that dreaded warmth, that, admittedly, she didn't dread all that much anymore.

That was, of course, as long as Crispen stayed out of her thoughts, and he'd promised her he would, and since he'd never given her a reason not to trust him, she'd believe him until he proven otherwise. She didn't think he'd prove her otherwise.

The honest boy of crows leaned against the locker rows and kicked the floor with a sneaker. "Cleaning a staple of the high school? That's unheard of for you. What's next? You start liking microwaves?"

He snorted as Peneloper scowled and set to the task at hand, wiping the handle of her locker off before anything else. "There's no way, Mr. Heavensley, I would ever become an acquaintance of such an abhorrent appliance." He nodded as she dipped her rag back into the polish. "But this locker's been good to me. I figured it deserved a new beginning, too."

Crispen took the sleeve of his shirt, dipped it in the grease, and began to polish a spot nearest him. Usually, she hated the silence, but there was something comforting in this one. She knew things needed said, and that the silence couldn't stop time from marching on, but for one moment, it stood still, and it was just herself and Heavensley, together. Until, it ended.

"You're becoming a Council member when you turn eighteen?"

Peneloper squeezed the rag. "You read my thoughts or see that bit of information weaving through my aura?"

"Neither," he said, reaching to do the locker's handle, "When the Council emailed me their 'how did we do' feedback questionnaire, they mentioned the soon-to-be newest Council member." He furrowed his brow. "I believe it was something along the lines of, 'With the ferocity of Mildrea and the determination of Rayburn, the Council of Four, presents the next Fourth, the sexually unashamed, Peneloper Rayburn Auttsley.' They seem really excited about all you'll do. A fresh face like yours will do wonders for their public opinion."

Peneloper hung her head. "Did they really-" She didn't need to finish her question. Of course, they had. It was the Council after all. She grimaced. "The sexually unashamed?"

Crispen smiled. "Welda's doing." He eyed her before nudging her shoulder. "She's a fan."

"Great." Peneloper threw her dirty rag and got another out of her book bag. "My father wasn't going to give up his seat and retire otherwise."

"Yeah."

Peneloper kept her back to the boy of crows as she continued, "He was going to keep pretending he was dead, keep suffering all alone, just so I could have some semblance of a normal life." She got to her feet, rag in hand, and turned to face Crispen. "Thing is, my life was never normal." She started to wipe at any stray smudges. "But Carma? Mom? Dad? They deserve a normal life. One where all four chairs seated around the dinner table are properly filled."

"I'm sure Rayburn wasn't thrilled."

She tensed. "He'll understand. I'll finish school, enjoy the summer, then after my birthday, I'll be the official new Fourth." Crispen frowned. "Don't look at me like that, Mr. Heavensley, as though I've made some catastrophic deal with a devil-"

"Three devils, more like."

"I have clout now. I got them to return the captain to his true form, didn't I? And with plenty more persistence, I plan on securing Gideon further accommodations. Perhaps visitation rights. You and he can start finding that middle ground."

Crispen grunted. "And what of the dog?"

Peneloper smiled. "Cat Chant? I tried to get him to come with me this morning, but he refused to stay still inside my bookbag. Shredded my history book to ribbons in protest." She shrugged, brought out the tattered remains, and then tossed it promptly in the trash.

"What a loss."

"Devastating." Peneloper cocked a grin. "The Council has made him a sort of ongoing homework assignment. I'm to work on returning him to his natural state. Though," she chewed on her lower lip. "I much like this compact version of him. Sure, I may not get as many green M &Ms and I miss out on whatever dessert recipes his household plants murmur about, but he's much more complicit, especially since I threatened to get him neutered. Have the veterinary hospital on speed dial now for whenever he acts up." She snickered and Crispen, being at his most Crispen, let the conversation lapse again into silence.

He stopped cleaning, opened and closed his mouth a few times before blabbing out, "I'm-"

"-on your way out in search of Genesis?"

He nodded, but didn't look her way. He just stared into her locker, his expression reflecting in the metal. Soft, regretful.

She elbowed him. "Have you any idea where he might have flown off to?"

Crispen shrugged. "One. The forest where he was hatched."

She nodded. "You know, the student body will mourn your loss. It'll be as though you've died. Everyone wearing black and eulogizing you. I imagine Miss Markle will be one of the firsts to lead a Crispen Heavensley vigil on the football field." She smiled. "And what with the drastic reduction in swoons-"

Crispen's warmth spread across her back. Peneloper's stomach clenched as she breathed him in, the boy of crows. His arms tightened around her. Yet they were gentle as if cradling something fragile, beloved. Something irreplaceable.

The nerves inside her raged to unheard of levels, so much so, she thought she might melt, no sun required. "You're stronger than you look."

"I'll miss you, too, Nep."

"What I'd tell you about reading my-"

"I didn't," he admitted, his hold around her strengthening. Admittedly, it wasn't the worst way to be held. "I just let you in on what I was thinking. You told me once I was like a book, locked tight on the highest shelf, unattainable to most everyone. But since then, you have grown wings, Miss Auttsley, and have given me the strength to unlock those parts of me I kept hidden away. I am no longer the mystery you assumed I was when we first met."

"Crispen--" She whirled around, her breath heavy, her eyes seeing him and little else because nothing in that moment seemed to matter more. "I--"

"I hope you won't find me boring now that I don't speak in vague riddles and antiquated turns of phrase."

"You?" A chuckle escaped her lips. "Never. Even at your most honest, Mr. Heavensley, rest assured, you will continue to confound me, from now until the end."

"Good. I'll look forward to that time then."

After a few seconds more of comfortable since, Crispen drew away.

"Here." He held out his hand as he had so often when offering Genesis a slice of peach or birdseed. But what was sat in his palm now, was a gift, one she suspected was for her.

The small box was no bigger than her palm. "Is it a cow-shaped creamer?" she asked, taking the gift with wide-eyed, glimmering excitement.

Crispen grew flustered and, reaching up, scratched the back of his head. "Would that have been better?"

She tore off the paper and peeled off the lid. With careful movements, she plucked the charm bracelet from its cushion. Silver baubles dangled off the chain, each one in shapes she recognized. Crispen cleared his throat and pointed. "A ship for the captain, a chocolate candy for your father, a pen for your magic."

"A crow," she said poking at the delicate silver bird. "For you?"

He nodded. "And a raven's feather for Gideon. Though, don't show that to Gen when I find him." When, she thought. When was good. "He'll get himself worked into a fit. Feathers flying everywhere."

She giggled. "I promise to keep your treason secret."

Taking the bracelet from her, he placed it over her wrist and clasped it tightly. Then, as Peneloper looked back at him, he offered another gift - a leather-bound notebook.

She took it, her hand gently grazing his. A familiar electricity zipped up her spine.

"Do me a favor, and don't open it yet," he implored. "I've written something and it's-" The tips of his ears ignited and little wisps of smoke started curling toward the ceiling.

"I'll open it after you've left." She clutched the notebook to her chest. "Thank you." Then she turned and looked at the reflection in Locker #157. She was all smiles, rendered in crystal clear detail. Seeing so much of herself, so plainly made her squint. "I'm going to have to wear sunglasses every time I want to retrieve something from my locker. The gleam could prove deadly."

Peneloper opened her locker, and instead of throwing her bag into the bottom, placed it on the hook, where it ought to go.

"I'll visit."

She knew he would, but only after he'd retrieved Genesis. "When you find him, tell him I'll have one of Mrs. Brokkin's finest peaches ready for his celebratory, welcome back feast."

Crispen nodded, and as if he planned it, which he hadn't, but coincidences always seemed to pop up around him, as though someone were writing it to be that way, the first teacher's car pulled into the lot.

He turned, waved, and stalked down the Northern Corridor, no one waiting to catch sight of the boy of crows. He disappeared as quickly as he come, this time catching a ride on the back of a crisp, autumn breeze. Peneloper was left in his wake, the scent of leaves and wet asphalt lingering.

Definitely not the worst way to smell.

Sighing, she gathered her things, and trundled toward homeroom, where she would continue to refuse to learn anything while under the tutelage of Arthur Howell.

She shuffled to her desk at the back of the classroom, plopped down in it, and realized she had forty minutes before homeroom started. Javing nothing better to do, she ran a finger over her new notebook, her charm bracelet crow releasing a tiny, tinny squawk.

Crispen had filled with inside cover with chicken scratch that rivaled her father's for title of 'the literal worst.' But still, when she angled it just right and narrowed her eyes, she could make out every word.

I've always lived in a world filled with magic, but it wasn't until I met you that I saw how wonderous it truly was. If I've learned anything, aside from your disdain for my invasive mind-reading, it's that magic is wonder made. That you are wonder made. 

She slammed the book shut, her face an ugly, ketchup stain held up by a neck she wasn't sure wasn't jelly. In fact, all her bones felt wobbly and calcium-deficient.

She couldn't believe Crispen capable of such things, but sure enough, when she opened the book again, his words were there, each one purposeful and terribly embarrassing.

With a smile that would last well through lunch and PE, Peneloper took up her pen, pressed it to page one of her notebook, and determined, set about making good on a promise. 

The ending of the story, this time, would be a happy one. 

*

"Not long after her heist gone awry aboard the Mistress, the Scarlet Reef returned to her home town of Gavin's Red. The stretch of road leading up to her parent's cottage seemed unfamiliar now beneath her boots. When she reached the hedges, Dahlia and Lilian dropped the baskets they'd been filling. Lavender sprigs covered the cobbled walkway. The pair of them ran to where Scarlet was, throwing their arms over her with abandon.The embrace was something the Reef had never dreamed of feeling again, but there it was, warmer than the sun. 

'We've missed you,' came Dahlia's low, calming voice. Her calloused fingers ran through Scarlet's hair. 

Her eyes misted. 'Do you--'

'Hush now,' said Lillian. 'You don't need forgiving. We're just so pleased you came back. Mama and Papa will be thrilled. Come on.' The sisters turned, and the Reef, still wiping her tears, glanced up at the family cottage. 

'They're inside?' she inquired, the quiver of fear and anticipation making the words catch on her lips. 

Lilian nodded, sliding an arm around the Reef's waist. "I'll make us tea. Is wild rose still your favorite?'

She nodded. 

'Papa named you well,' Dahlia jested, a smile broadening like the horizon upon her face.

With her sisters at her side, the Scarlet Reef took the hardest steps of her life in stride, walking toward the place she had thought she'd left behind all those years ago.

The family's wild Rose had finally returned home."