A Weekly Miracle
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Disclaimer: RK does not belong to me, used without permission for nonprofit, entertainment purposes only.
"Are you sure? It sounds so silly."
"Silly? My dear, its worked a hundred times over, never fails. It's a great legend passed down through one of those vast foreign nations across the sea. I guarantee it will work."
Young eyes lit with hope as she reached out her dainty hands eagerly. The matronly merchant dropped a small scented satchel into the girl's palms with a wide, satisfied smile. The cart beside the young girl was stacked full of covered bins and the air was thick with the pungent aroma of spices.
Guaranteed to work…
Misao didn't believe in merchant "guarantees". One day the shop keeper was there smiling and happy and the next they were gone in a puff of smoke, not to be seen around that part of the city for months. Even if they did show again, they often stared with blank eyes and tapped their chin with their spindly fingers and claimed an ill memory. She knew the scenario well, she also knew that most of said dealers remembered her just fine and she made absolute certain of it.
She'd gone so far once as to put no less than fourteen holes in a container full of "magic love tea". She had then danced around the leaking pitcher and danced, singing her sadistic joy while the trader fumed, cursed, and, ultimately, called for the police. Misao had made her "getaway" and had yet to repeat any violent incidents but she didn't rule them out in the future. The bad encounters, many as there were, did not stop her from visiting the "Miracle Alley" as it was often referred to by the city-dwellers of Kyoto.
Just the day before, she had been browsing one of her favorite sections of her beloved little mart, the tea & fragrances section. She had grown tired of tea and many a days preferred plain water, but Aoshi-sama and the others were especially fond of tea. Shiro & Kuro were heavy coffee drinkers, however, having become enamored with the foreign "liquid heaven." Just passing by, a snippet of conversation had reached her ears and it had been too good to pass up.
She didn't believe in guarantees, but she liked things that smelled good and she liked an argument that involved love, so she was hooked. After all, she'd thought quite flippantly, what was one little bag of spice in the grand scheme of things? It wouldn't empty her pockets of money and if it failed it wouldn't hurt her. As those were her set criteria for shopping in "Miracle Alley", she determined it was a good buy. Having done so, she marched right up, held out her hand and demanded one of what the other girl had bought.
Wordlessly, the merchant handed it over with a toothy
smile. Misao paid quickly and she was
off. There was no need to stay any
longer in "Miracle Alley". She had her
miracle for the day. No, she
reconsidered abruptly. She had her
miracle for the week.
Aoshi lifted his head, sniffing. What was that… smell?
Cinnamon?
"Good morning, Aoshi-sama!"
He turned his head toward the doorway and nodded in response to Misao's enthusiastic greeting. Misao was there, on time, with her tea set, the only thing amiss was the odd cinnamon smell. Was someone burning incense outside the little Temple?
"I brought you your tea," she announced cheerily and he said nothing while she sat down and set about her ritual. He turned his eyes beyond her toward the windows. Before he glanced away from her slender fingers he noticed the tea tray was painted with pink peonies. Strange, he'd never seen that before.
Beyond the small pane of the window, however, he saw nothing suspicious. No little plumes of smoke, no sticks of cinnamon upon the sills.
"Misao."
"Hmm?" Her tiny hands stilled their movement as she paused, tipping the teapot back so the steaming liquid stopped pouring. "Yes, Aoshi-sama?"
"Do you smell cinnamon?"
She stared at him a moment and blinked as though he'd just asked her if she had seen any purple rabbits.
"Um… no?" she asked tentatively, looking decidedly uneasy. He couldn't determine if her look was due to knowledge beyond her admission or if she was merely thrown off kilter by the odd question. He determined it didn't matter and instead reached for his tea cup, his daily cup of unsweetened tea.
His morning, minus the cinnamon scent swirling around his head, had been quite delightful. He'd seen the sunrise, he'd watched the clouds, he'd burned delicately scented incense, he'd meditated, and he'd fallen asleep for an hour, but it was all part of the daily routine.
He was a man of routine, a man of habit. Misao and her daily tea trek had become part of that habit and he had been charmed by it. The cinnamon, however, was not part of his routine and the scent seemed to be getting stronger and it was causing the oddest, most unpleasant tingling sensation behind his eyes.
Abruptly, he shifted. His foot caught the tray as he stood and it clattered. Misao leapt back as the hot tea spilled, hissing as it splashed the bare skin of her hands and fingers. Aoshi's eyes flicked toward her and he started to reach out, but instead he took a step backward and then another.
Without a word he turned and left, retreating out into the dismal rainy afternoon. He needed air, his skin was starting to feel flushed and his hands had the most peculiar splotches forming just over his knuckles but growing along the back of his hand.
He needed air.
Misao walked back to the Aoiya glumly. She'd been unable to find Aoshi-sama after he disappeared on her and her burns ached a bit. They weren't as bad as they could've been but they still hurt. She was sorry to see her idea fall upon its head so badly. She'd had such beautiful plans… and yet she'd expected this from the very beginning.
Her flash of inspiration at the marketplace had lit her world like a streak of lighting and just as quickly that hope was extinguished. She dropped the tray with the kitchen staff without a word and headed up to her room. So what if one part of the plan had failed? She was innovative, she could think of something else… after all, the merchant had said that cinnamon was the spice of love!
"Ah ha!" she gloated and laughed aloud.
The white noise of the restaurant settled and Misao looked up to see that several of the patrons were staring at her and that she had her fist raised in the air. Quickly, she slipped through the back doors and dashed up to her room.
On the side, opposite her window she had her futon cabinet. Inside, beneath the old padding she slept on, she had her private stash of firm cinnamon sticks. Maybe the scent had been a little too much all at once… sure, that sounded reasonable to her.
With one stick in hand she crept toward the door and then out. No one was around. Good. She needed perfect, complete silence and utter privacy for the act she was about to perform.
Down the hall she crept and tapped, very lightly, upon Aoshi-sama's door. He didn't answer.
Oh! This was going to be so perfect, she thought. Carefully, she slid open the door and after taking one more peek down the hall she slipped inside and clicked it closed sealing herself in.
Aoshi-sama's room!
She took a great breath, inhaling every minute trace of his scent that she could before taking a quick glance around. Futon cabinet, table, seating pad, stack of books, bookshelf, several candles…
What to touch first…
Her heart pounding, she headed over to his futon chest, a large heavy piece of furniture, and slid open the bottom drawer. His pillow was there, nestled in white fabric and she reached for it, clutching her cinnamon in her palm she brought the pillow to her chest and hugged it tight. She sighed softly, contentedly.
Aoshi-sama's pillow!
"If only this were Aoshi-sama instead," she mused aloud wistfully. "Although he wouldn't be quite this squishy."
She smiled at the thought and took her cinnamon stick and ran it along the edge of his pillow. She just wanted to lightly scent it rather than knocking him over with the smell.
Patting it to distribute the dust she returned it to its place inside the drawer and stood up.
Ah, the precious labors of love…
She slipped away from his room unseen and skipped when she walked the rest of the day. Tomorrow would deliver Aoshi-sama to her!
The next morning when Misao rose she glanced down the hall to see Aoshi-sama's door was closed. She hadn't, despite her weird dreams on the subject, expected to find him on his knees and clutching a rose between his teeth outside her door. Still, exiting her room felt a bit anticlimactic.
She headed downstairs, her mind dancing with thoughts of preparing Aoshi-sama's tea. As she reached the sitting room, however, she caught sight of a white bundle of linens and what looked like a lumpy body beneath. There was a splash of inky colored hair on the pillow at the top and… were those the extra linens typically kept in the Okashira's office?
Was that Aoshi-sama?
She crept closer and peeked over, but she didn't need to at that point. She knew, she knew it was him. His skin was oddly pale and had irregular red splotches on his face. She blinked and kneeled down and he shifted, turning toward her, his closed eyes flicking open.
"Aoshi-sama, why are you downstairs?"
Her hope faded in light of the concern that welled up and bloomed inside her. Was he sick? What happened?
For a long moment he just stared at her, his gaze unusually intent. "My room smelled of cinnamon," he finally answered.
She blinked, paling. The whole room smelled of cinnamon?
From farther down the hall came a tone and a voice she dreaded. "MISAO! Get in here, right now!"
Okina. Uh oh… was she in trouble? She stood up and padded away, her expression dim. He didn't like cinnamon? She was still pondering the mystery that was Aoshi-sama when she stepped into the Okashira's office where Okina was awaiting her.
His expression was stormy and tense.
"I didn't do it!" she answered automatically. "I was good yesterday, I was! I promise!"
"Misao, after you came home yesterday what were you doing?"
She looked at everything except him. "Nothing, why?"
"Oh, you know perfectly well why!" he snapped, his voice again rising. It made the hairs on her arms rise, this was going very badly and she didn't even know why. What had she done? "You've seen Aoshi sleeping in the sitting room, haven't you?"
She nodded. "I saw him, yes."
"Do you know why he's not in his room? Do you know why he has red splotches all over? Do you know why he's been weak and lethargic all morning?"
"No," she answered softly.
"Because, you little twit, he's allergic to cinnamon!"
Allergic? Her face froze in shock. Allergic? Aoshi-sama was allergic to cinnamon? All her beautiful plans… gone, poof, gone up in a cloud of funny smelling smoke.
What good was a love-inducing spice if the guy in question was allergic?
Oh! Was Aoshi-sama going to be okay? Was it a bad allergy? What if she caused him a deadly reaction and he died? What if he died for her feeble attempt to set a good atmosphere and promote love…
She turned and ran back to the sitting room to see Aoshi-sama, to assess his condition, to apologize profusely despite Okina's angry shouts for her to come back because he wasn't finished yelling at her. She tore into the sitting room to find the blankets folded and Aoshi-sama gone.
He'd escaped.
Were she in a better mood she might've said he'd escaped with his life. She frowned and crossed her arms as she pondered. So this attempt had failed… Okina appeared behind her and began to badger her, more, about her irresponsibility. She walked toward the door and stepped out ignoring him wholly turning her feet toward "Miracle Alley."
It was time for a new miracle.