Page 36 of Of Love and Treason
CITY OF ROME
OCTOBER, AD 269
Stomach in knots and sweat on her hairline, Iris entered the perfume shop to a gaggle of high-pitched voices and the clashing aromas of rose and basil. She sneezed.
Valentine had not been back to the bakery, or if he had, Iris had not been aware. Paulina had returned, smug and triumphant, claiming she had single-handedly overthrown the tyranny of the Guild of Grain Millers. Iris had not run into Valentine again, nor had she any other glimpses of sight, despite her renewal of devotion to the gods. She had held off visiting the perfumer, hoping Valentine would show up, but her desperation had won out in the end. She wanted answers. So she’d braved the crowds and cloying smells and stepped inside.
“Good afternoon!” a bright voice called over all the others. “Welcome! I’m having a sale today. Everything on the left side of the shop is half-price.” The voice grew quieter as it drew closer. “Ah, you’re the girl from Paulina’s.”
“I’m Iris.”
“Beatrix.” The woman spoke as if her name was every bit as exciting as the sale. “But most people call me Bea. What can I help you find today? I have a lovely new scent called Summer Holiday.”
“Actually...” Iris swallowed. A bead of sweat ran down herhairline toward her ear. If Valentine wouldn’t answer her questions about the Christian god and had run away instead, how could she be sure the perfumer wouldn’t do the same? “I have some questions, but not about—”
“Excuse me? What is the price on this basil balm?” a female voice interrupted.
“One moment.” Beatrix patted Iris’s arm. Her voice went loud again as she called, “Excellent choice! The basil balm is on sale and one of my most popular scents!” Beatrix moved farther away to collect payment from another customer.
Iris chewed her lip. She didn’t like crowded spaces. Nor spaces filled with small breakable things. Someone bumped her shoulder and she shifted out of the way, her hip knocking against the edge of a table. The sound of bottles clinking against each other made her cringe and freeze.
“I’m so sorry.” She clutched her walking stick close to her chest and didn’t dare to move an inch.
“Excuse me?” A woman tapped her arm. “Excuse me, can you hand me that blue bottle? The one over there with the red stopper?”
“I—me?” Iris’s face went hot. “I can’t.”
“Oh.” The woman reached past Iris, jarring her elbow.
Beatrix did not return in “one moment,” getting accosted on all sides and bombarded with questions. Iris carefully shuffled toward the door and the fresh air beyond. A sale day was not the time to come asking questions.
“Now, dear—” Beatrix suddenly blocked her exit—“what can I do for you? I’m so sorry for your wait. Today has been a little hectic.” She gave a frazzled chuckle.
“Valentine told me you could answer some questions about the Christian god.” Iris’s voice dropped near a whisper. “But today’s not a day for conversation.”
Beatrix didn’t answer right away, and Iris could feel the weight of her hesitation. Then she took a breath.
“Ladies?” Beatrix turned away, directing her voice back toward the interior. “Forgive me, but I’m going to have to close earlytoday. The sale will still be running in the morning, if you’d like to return.”
“Oh, don’t close your shop. I’ll come back later.” Iris turned to leave once more. “It’s fine. My questions can wait.”
“Nonsense. You’re here now. My sale is not as important as your questions.”
Despite the moans of protest, the shop emptied quickly. As women filed past her, Iris stood dumbstruck that a stranger would close her bustling shop simply to talk toher. No one talked to her. Much less a stranger.
Stillness descended as Beatrix closed the door after the last customer.
“Blessed silence.” Beatrix sighed and touched Iris’s arm. “Come,” she said. “I have some chairs in the back room and we can heat a little water forcalda. Would you like peppermint or lavender?”
Iris allowed herself to be led, curiosity banishing her unease. “Either one.”
In the back room Beatrix released her arm and Iris froze, afraid if she moved and broke something, Bea wouldn’t answer her questions. Beatrix fumbled with a little iron brazier, flues screeching open and coals scraping as she poked them and blew them to life.
“Oh, please, sit,sit.” Water trickled into a kettle.
Iris shifted, uncomfortable. “Where would you like me to sit?”
“Oh, goodness! I’m sorry.” Beatrix’s hand once again found her arm and she shuffled Iris a few steps. “There, the chair’s right behind you.”
