“Yes.”
The boy thought some more, biting his lower lip. Finally, he sighed.
“If you make this wish come true,” the boy said, holding up the figurine, “then yes.”
Thorn smiled in victory. He slipped the obsidian from his pocket and felt the dance of magic inside, his prized universe of wishes, a handful of potential and possibility.
He pulled on a thread of magic, teasing it from its swirling shape and out through the glassy rock. He wrapped that thread around the little figurine, never taking his eyes off it. His lips moved soundlessly, crafting the shape and size of his wish, the parameters of its probability. The magic flared, no longer dormant as it had been between Mr. Lichen’s ribs, but glowing now with purpose.
The boy gasped as the figurine stretched like a housecat and sat back on its haunches in the center of his palm, looking up at him as its striped tail swished from side to side. He lifted it to his eyes and grinned, a world of amazement on his face. Wonder, Thorn realized, was beautiful; it banished what was impossible and made room for belief. When he thought about it, he supposed that could very well be a force stronger than most things—even wishes.
He met Thorn’s gaze with all the weight of that wonder. Thorn felt a quiver of it in his chest, and it was warm.
The boy held out his hand, the one not holding the tiger. Thorn hesitated, then took it in his own. They shook.
“Welcome to Cypress’s Funeral Parlor,” the boy said.
* * *
The boy’s name was Sage. His family owned the parlor, and he’d grown up among coffins and caskets, scalpels and forceps, crystals and incense. The dead did not bother him. In fact, they were considered something sacred, making Thorn’s treatment of poor Mr. Lichen all the more atrocious. Sage made him help stitch the body back up and return it to its capsule before he was allowed to leave for the night.
But Thorn returned the next night, and Sage was waiting for him. The little tiger prowled on his shoulder, occasionally batting at a curl of his hair.
“How many wishes do you have stored in that thing?” Sage asked, referring to the obsidian.
Thorn made a face. “Why, so you can haggle more out of me?”
“I think three is quite enough.” He reached up to pet the little tiger, who allowed it a moment before biting Sage’s finger. “Ow. No, I’m only curious. I’m not sure why you harvest them if you don’t plan on using them.”
“I’m going to use them,” Thorn mumbled. “That’s why I’m saving them.”
For a wish that was bigger than any other he’d made before. A wish that in all likelihood was too improbable, a thing not even belief could conjure.
But he had to try.
Sage shrugged his unoccupied shoulder. “All right, then.”
Thorn frowned at Sage’s back as they made their way down into the morgue. He’d never met someone like this before, all curiosity and no calculation. Who else on earth would think three wishes was “quite enough”? For that matter, why waste one of those precious three wishes on a tiny tiger that bit you if you petted it too much?
Sage tapped the jade lantern on and lit the incense inside a thurible. Its cloudy perfume rose in thin ribbons, infusing the morgue with a dark, hazy scent, like a night without stars. Thorn caught hints of anise and cedar, and the musky, earthen undertone of myrrh.
He followed Sage to a capsule at the far end of the room. Sage opened it to reveal an older woman with long silver hair.
Sage donned gloves of fine black leather and wheeled over a tray of tools. “Where is the magic located, exactly?”
Thorn told him, and he watched as the morgue boy got to work. He was quickly bewitched by him: the focus that hooded his gray-green eyes, the steady, methodical way in which his hands worked. The tiger was still sitting on his shoulder, peering down as if it were just as enraptured as Thorn.
When the woman’s torso was exposed, her ribs standing stark against the incense-tinged air, Thorn felt a curious trickle of self-consciousness go through him. No one had ever observed him do this before. Sage stood on the other side of the crystal slab and looked on just as intently as Thorn had been watching him, which he guessed was only fair.
He licked his lips, tasting the first vestiges of magic as he pulled the obsidian from his pocket. The woman’s magic was weaving across her ribs; unlike Mr. Lichen’s, it seemed restless, and Thorn wondered if she’d been more attuned to the secret power within her than most people tended to be. He’d noticed that women’s connection to magic was always a little stronger, a little more prominent.
Easing the magic across her ribs took a few minutes. It was stubborn, but eventually it gave in and curled itself within the safety of the obsidian. Thorn stepped back and nodded, signaling that he was done.
Sage looked confused. “That’s it? But I didn’t see anything.”
“Did you feel anything?”
“Maybe a bit of goose bumps, but it’s cold down here.”
Thorn shrugged. “Most humans don’t know how to pay attention to magic. If you focused, you’d probably be able to sense it better.”
Sage glanced behind him, at the jade lantern and its steady emerald glow. “So…you say that humans don’t know about magic. But the stones are magic, aren’t they?”
“In a sense. At least, it’s the only form of magic that’s readily accepted. We excavate the stones and use them for their different properties, but it’s chalked up to rich soil or unique mining conditions.” Thorn snorted. “If only.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” He held up the obsidian. “This is what makes the stones magical.”
Sage looked between the body and the rock in Thorn’s hand. “I don’t understand.”
“People go on living with this inside them. Different abilities, different strengths.” He touched his side, where he could feel his own little galaxy, warm and sleeping within him, primed for wish making. “Most don’t know about it, or they can’t tap into it. So when they die, what happens? They’re buried in the earth. As they decompose, that magic strays from them and is absorbed into the earth around them. That’s what makes the stones, like lapis for water dowsing, and ruby for heat.” He gestured at the lamp. “Jade for light. They’re just different abilities we carry.”
Sage’s brows furrowed as he thought. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said after a long moment. “But if it’s true, then how do you know about it? How come no one else does?”