The Search
IT had been a few days since Sophie pushed herself free of Kurt’s embrace.
She was in the salon, reading.
No, reading wasn’t the right word.
Holding the book in her lap was more like it. She’d been staring at the same line for half an hour, eyes dragging over the letters again and again, without a single word landing.
“I want you, Miss Sophie Olzon.”
That voice—so intense, so fiery—still rang in her ears every few seconds. The thought of it alone brought tears rising again, ones she had to force herself to swallow down.
She knew how hypocritical it was. She was the one who had turned him away. She was the one who’d told him no. And yet, even now, her ears strained toward the door, listening, hoping—absurdly—for that familiar square, grating voice to speak her name again.
But then, she did pick something up.
But it wasn’t Ozhorn. It was a scuffle. Some sort of ruckus outside the salon.
She sat up. “Martha? Claire? What’s going on out there?”
A shrill cry came in reply. “Sophie!!!”
“Ms. Isadora? Is that—?!”
And there she was—a lightly flushed Isadora. And a bewildered Martha, hanging from her hips, being dragged across the threshold. The former dancer who had once graced Sophie’s salon burst in again. Little Al, notably, was nowhere to be seen.
She rushed forward and seized Sophie’s hands in both of her own.
“I found him, Sophie! I found him!”
“You’ll get dirty if you touch me, Ms. Isadora,” Sophie gently chided on instinct. “Found who? What are you talking about?”
She half-turned, meaning to offer the woman a chair, but Isadora’s next words stopped her cold.
“Him! The person who can heal you!” So she cried, so full of life and trembling, panting like she’d run a marathon, sweat glistening on her brow. “He can heal you, Sophie! You can be healed!”
Without further ado, she then launched into a quick explanation.
A rare daytime job had come her way. After her last visit to Sophie’s salon, she’d started advertising herself as a “normal” dancer, pinning flyers on bulletin boards all around town. A friend who could write had helped her with the wording. The effect the flyers had was limited. Nothing but the usual night work had been trickling in. Isadora had accepted this and resigned herself to the long haul when the letter arrived. It was an invitation for a potential gig at a party scheduled sometime soon. They wanted a trial performance first, just to see if she was a good fit.
So, she went. Spoke with the organizers. Danced for them. They told her they’d get back to her in a few days. She felt she’d done well. She left the venue, a light spring in her step, when—
“Where’s little Al during all this, by the way?” Sophie interrupted to ask.
“An old lady neighbor’s watching him for me,” Isadora said.
Sophie’s face lit up. “My!”
Isadora grinned. “I did what you told me. Started greeting them every day. They ignored me at first, of course. But then, one day, Al was crying, so I screamed for help as loud as I could. And five old ladies came running. Five! Can you believe it? I would’ve settled for one!”
“My, my!”
Thank goodness, Sophie thought, a wave of relief washing over her. She’s not alone with that child anymore, not in that cramped little apartment.
“Thank goodness,” she said aloud this time, the tears brimming.
Isadora’s eyes narrowed on her fondly. Then she jolted, suddenly remembering she was in the middle of something. “Right, right— Where was I… Ah! On the way home, I ran into this pickpocket acquaintance of mine.”
“You have friends in low places, Ms. Isadora!” Sophie gasped.
“Yeah, well. She and I just get along. Anyway—”
Isadora and her friend had decided to stop for tea and catch up. As they sipped and chatted, the conversation drifted to Sophie and her salon.
When Isadora mentioned Sophie’s condition, her friend tilted her head, thoughtful.
“That reminds me of something,” she said and launched into a story.
It had happened about a year ago. In a quiet corner of the territory where she worked, a little beggar girl suddenly appeared.
Now, beggars weren’t uncommon. But a child, so young and all on her own? That gave the woman pause. She crept a little closer to get a better look.
What she saw made her stomach turn.
The girl’s skin was brown and craggy, like tree bark. Cracks ran through it, oozing some kind of strange fluid. She looked more like a creature than a human.
Her parents had definitely abandoned her because of that. She pitied the girl, but what could she really do? She was scraping by herself, living hand to mouth like everyone else in her line of work. Still, she found herself coming back to check on her. If she’d had a particularly productive day, she’d leave a bit of bread behind. It was the sort of kindness one might show a stray cat.
“She sounds decent,” Sophie said.
“A decent pickpocket, maybe,” Isadora replied with a snort.
Then, one day, during one of her usual check-ins, the woman spotted someone crouched beside the girl.
An old man.
At once, her guard went up. Her first thought was the worst—that maybe he meant to hurt her. She crept closer, ready to step in.
But what she overheard was this:
“Yes, yes,” the old man murmured, his voice low and kind. “It’s a bit curled here, isn’t it?”
He seemed to feel something above the girl’s head, though the friend could see nothing.
“You’ve had a rough go, haven’t you? Poor thing. Poor thing. There, there. Must’ve been a heavy burden to carry. But I’ll fix you now.”
His fingers curved around empty air.
“Pa-pop!” he said.
The friend blinked. Pa-pop? What popped? The air?
“There we are,” the old man went on. “That should do it. Give it about a month. Your skin will shed off, and underneath, it’ll be healthy, clean as can be. When that happens, don’t stay here, understand? Find an orphanage. They’ll take you in once they see you’re better. No one will pick on you anymore.”
He paused, smiling. “You’re still young. When you turn… Oh, let’s say, fifteen, you’ll discover you’ve got a bit of magic in you. Use it well. Don’t let the cruelty of the world twist you. Study hard. Use your gift for something good. That’s all I ask.”
Then, as if nothing at all had happened, he hoisted his luggage onto his back, settled a worn hat on his head, picked up his cane, and shuffled off down the road, slow and steady.
At first, the friend figured she’d just witnessed the actions of a man whose wits had long since gone. But she kept an eye on the girl, just in case.
Day by day, the bark-like scabs began to peel off, flaking to the ground in thick, curling sheets. The bumps smoothed out. The ooze dried up. And by the end of the month, the girl who’d once looked more monster than human was now as bright-eyed and lovely as any girl her age could hope to be. When she started crying, saying she didn’t know where to find an orphanage, the friend had dragged her there herself, grumbling the whole way, muttering curses under her breath. But she couldn’t help herself. She was a compassionate soul.
“So what do you say, Sophie?!” Isadora said, nearly bouncing in place. “Let’s go find that old man. I’ll help!”
But when she turned to look at Sophie, her excitement drained away.
“Sophie?”
“I…” Sophie’s voice was barely audible. “But we don’t even know who this man is—or where he’s from. We don’t even know if that girl had the same sickness as me…”
“What happened to you?” Isadora’s brows knit. “Usually, you’d already be up on your feet shouting, ‘Let’s go look for him now!’ That’s what I thought you’d say. That’s why I ran all the way here—to tell you even one second sooner. I thought it’d make you happy. So why do you look like that? This isn’t like you.”
Hearing this, Sophie grimaced. A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Isadora’s face softened. “Sophie?”
“It’s true,” Sophie said quietly. “I haven’t been myself lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but…I feel so fragile. Like I’m made of glass, and even a whisper could crack me.” She smiled, but it was thin and self-mocking. “And after all the condescending things I said to you back then…I’m sorry.”
She dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.
Isadora stared for a moment, then let out a sharp snort. “You’ve gone and fallen in love, haven’t you?”
Sophie froze mid-wipe, handkerchief still pressed to her cheek. Why did hearing Isadora say it fill her with so much chagrin?
Isadora burst out laughing, cackling like a hyena as she swayed from side to side. “Oh, Sophie! You’ve finally turned into a girl!”
She struck a dramatic pose and adopted a falsetto. “I love you! But with my face like this, I’m too afraid to say it! Oh no! Please stop! You can’t! Ahhh!” She twirled around the room like she was back on stage, mock-dancing and singing her teasing lines.
The fact that she wasn’t exactly wrong made it sting all the more.
Then, mid-spin, Isadora suddenly stopped. Her expression shifted.
“Then isn’t that all the more reason?” she said. “You want to be beautiful, don’t you? You want him to see you that way. Sitting here sulking won’t fix anything. So, let’s do what we can do. Al’s not here today anyway. I’ll help you.”
Sophie looked up, sulking. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“Oh, you’re such a buzzkill.” Isadora rolled her eyes. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Her face—stubborn and steady—made something click in Sophie’s chest.
True, she thought.
“All right,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let’s go.”
And together, they hit the town.