Thorn hesitated. Thankfully, he was spared by the sudden growling of his stomach. He flushed as Sage gave him that dimple-inducing smile.
“I figured you might be a little starved,” the morgue boy said.
They cleaned up the body and returned it to its capsule, then ascended from the incense-choked morgue to the cooler, cleaner air of the ground floor. There, Sage produced a basket from under his desk. They sat on the floor by the display coffin, and Thorn watched him carefully set out jars and napkin-wrapped foods. His stomach ached with eagerness.
He didn’t want to admit that, yes, he was more than a little starved. Living on the streets tended to have that effect. Thorn had been lucky enough to find places to sleep: first a derelict apartment (which was, unfortunately, now being repaired), then the bed of a pretty girl who shared the leftovers from the inn where she worked (until she found another pretty girl who showered her with prettier presents), and now he holed up in a small office within an abandoned warehouse.
His mouth watered as Sage uncovered each item. Before Thorn could tell himself to wait, he was tearing into it all: slabs of thick bacon with mint and tamarind jellies, slices of rosewater-soaked apples, soft herb-encrusted cheese, crusty brown bread slathered with fresh butter and sprinkled with black salt.
Sage leaned back on his hands and watched him with a small smile. When Thorn realized he was making a spectacle of himself, he swallowed his mouthful and quickly wiped his fingers on a napkin.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing.
Sage laughed. It was a strangely lively sound for the space they were in, a clear, ringing song. He leaned forward and dug through the basket, pulling out two green bottles. Thorn perked up at the sight of honey beer and eagerly took the bottle Sage handed him.
The first sip was like slipping into a cool lake in the height of summer. “I haven’t had this in so long,” he said.
Sage leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The little tiger was prowling around their picnic, occasionally batting at crumbs. It found a large kernel of black salt and began to play with it, knocking it about like a ball.
“The city guard’s been on the lookout for a grave robber,” Sage said quietly. “A boy with white hair.”
Thorn lowered the bottle of honey beer and stared at him. Sage stared back. Thorn felt oddly vulnerable; exposing your hunger, your thirst, could do that to a person. But it was more than that—he was at this boy’s mercy, kept safe only by the promise of two more wishes.
And when those wishes were granted, then what?
“I won’t report you,” Sage said, reading the despair on his face. “That’s not what I was implying. I just meant that you should be careful.”
“I’ve survived this long,” he muttered.
Sage nodded. He picked up his bottle and clinked it against Thorn’s.
“To wishes.”
Thorn hesitated, then clinked his bottle with Sage’s again.
“To the dead.”
* * *
It became a routine: Thorn spent his days sleeping and his nights harvesting wishes with Sage. The morgue boy would open the bodies, and Thorn would extract the magic from within them. Sometime in the night they’d have a picnic, which was usually Thorn’s only meal.
Thorn also told Sage more about magic. “You’ve heard the legend of the titans, haven’t you?” he asked after Sage inquired about humans having magic in the first place.
“They were gods, right?”
“In a sense. They were great beings of magic. One of them died and fell to Earth, and the Earth swallowed him.”
“And his skeleton makes up the core of the Earth.” Sage nodded. “I’ve heard the story.”
“Well, it’s not a story. When the titan decomposed, he released all the magic within him into the soil. Humans ate the plants and crops that came from that magic-enriched soil.” Thorn gestured at the balsamic-glazed tomato slices before them. “The magic found a place to sit inside them, unused and dormant.”
“So you’re saying my garden is magic?”
Sage had told him about the overgrown garden he kept behind his family’s house, crawling with tomatoes and grapevines, wild with patches of strawberry and pumpkin. It was where most of the fare for their picnics came from.
“Yes, to some degree.”
Sage’s eyes were wide, and his mouth perked up like a child who’s learned a secret. “Fascinating.”
Thorn wasn’t sure if Sage actually believed him, but he seemed happy to indulge the possibility, which was enough.
Days passed, until eventually, Thorn began to worry about when Sage would demand his second wish. The morgue boy didn’t seem eager to call it in yet, content with his first wish. But it still put Thorn on edge. What would he ask for next? Something innocent, like the little tiger, or something sinister? Or maybe he was secretly greedy and would ask for money or jewels or power.
But still they crept down to the morgue and ate their picnics, and still Sage kept his second wish to himself.
They were eating sugared berries one night when Thorn thought to ask, “When did you start doing this?” He nodded toward the morgue door.
Sage licked the sugar from his fingertips. “I think I was five.”
“Five?”
“It’s a family business. My parents wanted me to get used to it. I’ll admit, it was scary at first. I had nightmares for a while. But the more I watched my parents work, the more I came to realize it’s an art. It’s sacred, what we do. The dead are to be respected.”
Thorn winced. What he and Sage were doing wasn’t exactly respecting the dead.
Sage must have interpreted his expression. “It’s not as if we’re desecrating them,” he said fairly, then quirked an eyebrow. “Not after Mr. Lichen, anyway.”
“I apologized, didn’t I?”
Sage made a humming noise and stared out the window. It was high on the wall, casting moonlight down onto the remains of their picnic. The little tiger was curled up within a mushroom cap.
“Thank you,” Thorn said after a moment. “For helping me do this.”
Sage looked at him. His eyes were pale and vivid, moss climbing over gravestones. Thorn had come to realize that Sage had his own scent, beneath the incense that crept into his clothes: something warm and clean like rosemary or lavender. When he stood or sat next to him, Thorn could smell it, and feel the heat of his body, pleasant after standing so long next to cold crystal.
“Thank you for showing me magic,” Sage replied softly.