He returned to his laptop, searching his history for "Astral Push" delivery. This led him to a Reddit link containing an image of a fax mentioning Bookazon.mtou and a $145.00 used book titled *Druidics Rituals*.
" *Druidics Rituals* must have information on flower magic, or Bookazon.mtou will have other books," he reasoned. He opened a new tab and typed in bookazon.mtou.
Bookazon.mtou proved even more antiquated than flashflowers.biz. The light gray page, dominated by a large, plain black "Welcome to Bookazon.mtou Books!" in the same font as the rest of the text, felt strangely familiar. A large light blue "B" in a dark blue square occupied a third of the top left corner. Underlined blue headingsâ "An Earth bookstore," "Titles consistently priced," and other banal phrasesâoffered little help. Scott scanned the page, searching for anything related to flowers, dragons, flying, or magic. Below the "Many Titles" headline, an invitation to search the "Title catalog" beckoned. The link, unremarkable in its simplicity, led him to the next page.
This page was even more austere, featuring a large heading: "Search by Author, Title, and Subject," accompanied by two oversized text fields. One field, labeled "Author," offered radio buttons for "Exact Name," "Last Name, firstname or initials," and "Start of Last Name." Below a full-width horizontal black line sat the second text box, labeled "Title," with options for "Exact Start of Title," "Title Words," and "Start(s) of Title Word(s)."
Scott couldn't find a subject search, no matter how many times he reread the page.
"Where's the subject search?! I don't know the author or title of anything... except for..."
He typed "Druidics Ritauls" into the title search, selecting "Exact Start of Title," and clicked "Search Now." The page reloaded, displaying "Title Not Found" at the bottom.
"What?! How the... I have the exact title of a book that was bought on this site? Oh!"
He realized his typo: "Ritauls." He corrected the spelling, resubmitted the search, and saw "Druidics Rituals" in large print, followed by a smaller description: "A historical and practical guide to druidic rituals using verse and stone monuments."
This didn't seem relevant to flower concoctions. "Where's the stupid subject search?" he muttered.
He tried the "Title Words" option, entering "Flowers" and "Magic." The result? "Title Not Found."
"Ah, shit, it was worth a shot," he sighed.
His only option was to search for "Flowers." The results: 376 entries. He skimmed the first twenty-five summaries: "Pixie Flower Communication," "Flower Garden Shapes and Political Influence," "Flower Arrangements, Conception and Gene Expression"ânothing related to flower magic. He clicked through pages, his frustration mounting. On page seven, "Flowers Hearts" looked promising, but it turned out to be about the secret love lives of perennial flowers. On page eleven, under "Flower Showers," a guide to influencing rain with prime-numbered flower arrangements, he almost missed it: "Posology & Flowers." Three entries later, after "Flowers of the Trollfelds," curiosity piqued, he scrolled back up. The description read: "Dosages of Varietal Flower Parts for Potions."
Bingo!
Scott added "Posology & Flowers," a rare, 251.44 limited edition, to his shopping cart. He glanced down at his legs, levitating an inch off the chair, and clicked "checkout." Overnight delivery via Astral Push was $57.98 âexpensive, but guaranteed on-time arrival. The fine print stated: "Next-day delivery is available only for orders placed before 8 PM Eastern Time, but will deliver anywhere in the world. Otherwise, deliveries will arrive the following day." His laptop clock read 3:42 AM.
"Shit," he muttered.
He couldn't float for another day and a half, not with the growing pile of animals in his backyard. He floated to the window, peering out. Nearly a third of his yard was a dark slumbering mass. It was bad, and would look worse at sunrise. Could he wait a day and a half? Did he have a choice? He looked at the morter and pestle stained with flower parts on the kitchen counter then his eyes focused past that to the drying rack where there was a clean Tupperware container.
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"That might work," he said to himself.
He quickly opted for second-day delivery, bringing the total to $309.42. Expensive, yes, but worth it to walk again, to sleep in a bed. He could maybe pretend not to float for a day, hopefully. Tober could be kept occupied; his wife wasn't due back until tonight. She'd take an Uber from the airport. Maybe, just maybe, he could get away with floating, but the animalsâ¦
He floated into the kitchen, grabbed the Tupperware and lid, and drifted out the side door to the backyard. He hovered silently over the dark mound, watching the slow, rhythmic breathing of countless creatures. He remained quiet, though he doubted anything would wake. Still⦠At the highest point, about eight feet up, he carefully began lifting birds and insects, gently setting them aside with a ring of his hands. The streetlight a block and a half away was the only illumination left. The larger animals had all arived, their travels no longer provoking backyard motion detectors. Soon, only a few deer remained on the pile, requiring more careful maneuvering. Then, only the dragon. He traced the creature's spine, from wing to head, and moved aside a few rabbits to reveal a small plate holding the flower mixture. With utmost care, he lifted the plate and placed it in the Tupperware, angling it slightly to fit. He secured the lid, floated back to the side door, and then to the kitchen, placing the container in the freezer. He returned to the window, hoping it was the aroma that had lulled the animals to sleep, and that before sunrise, they would awaken and depart. Except the dragon⦠if it woke, he had no idea how to keep it out of the house.
Scott checked on Tober, then meticulously secured every window and door, double-checking latches and bolts. He washed the food processor, saucepan, and everything used to prepare the magic flower mixture, even his lunch plate. He created a "Magic Flowers" tab in his recipe index card box. Throughout, he kept glancing out the back windows at the large, shadowy mound of animals. It hadn't grown, which was good, but the creatures hadn't awakened and left yet, which was also good, he wasn't ready to face a potentially house-invading dragon.
He practiced the illusion of walking, focusing on stride length and speed. Something felt off, though; even when his simulated steps touched the floor, it felt wrong. Pretending to sit would be easier than pretending to walk. He could move when everyone was distracted, asleep, or away. Yes, maybe he could get away with that. After triple-checking everything, even putting away suitcases from their July beach trip. Scott sat at the dining room table, willing the animals to depart before sunrise. He checked his phone: 5:34 AM. Sunrise in 1 hour and 12 minutes. When would the creatures wake? Would the dragon sleep longer because it was near the flower mixture? "Shoot," he muttered, hoping Tober slept late.
He glanced at his phone again: 5:35 AM. He hated waiting. There had to be something he could do. Watching shows or browsing the internet only led to sleep and fear-induced jolts awake. His gaze fell on the only item not yet put away: the recipe box. He pretended to stand and walked to the counter. Opening the box, he flipped to the "Magic Flowers" tab (thankfully, his wife didn't use recipes). Inside were five recipes, neatly cut from the cardboard backing of shrink-wrapped flower packet, 3x5 index cards. He flipped past the two he'd already examined, searching for clues about the dragon bait or flower flight. Nothing. He pulled out the remaining three recipes.
"Ogre Hide," "Brownies Repair," and "Leprechaun Luck": the top three recipes. Scott wasn't going to make more flower magic, certainly not while still reeling from the consequences of the first two, but what else was he supposed to do at 5:35 AM? He checked the backyard creature pile, reassuring himself that familiarity with more flower magic would give him a head start when his book arrived. "Ogre Hide" promised "the toughness of an enraged she-ogre", was that tougher than a he-ogre? It involved a complicated sun-warming, ice-cooling, half-boiling sequence, and required fresh frog droppings. He could probably find those near the small pond at the park, but he'd used up his violet stamens with the dragon bait. Still, he wasn't actually going to make it. "Dragon Bait!" he muttered, checking the window again. No movement yet, but false dawn hadn't arrived.
"Brownies Repair" required a diluted tea of three flower parts, two of which he still possessed. Again, he wasn't foolish enough to attempt a third concoction. "Which reminds me," he said to himself, verifying his floating remained consistent. He checked the window for any hint of pre-dawn or awakening creatures, but saw neither. "Leprechaun Luck" called for a gold coin, "placed in a copper pot full of distilled water, then brought to a boil."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed, but then remembered an old copper pot his wife had acquired at a yard sale. A search through the garage, three shelves and eight boxes, revealed the gleaming pot, clearly polished by Mel. Back in the kitchen with the unused copper pot, he considered the recipe's requirements: gold coin, distilled water... Wait. Hadn't his father given Tober a "real" Pirates of the Caribbean gold coin with black pearl on one side and mouse ears on the other?
A copper pot, a gold coin, but distilled water? He could use the condensate from the basement dehumidifier, essentially distilled water. He wasn't going to do it, of course. But what else did the recipe require? He returned to the recipe: boil the coin in the water, mash a wad of clover into a pulp, strain the gold water through it, and drink the resulting concoction. Easy enough; there was clover in the backyard. Looking up, he saw that dawn was approaching, and the backyard was rapidly emptying of groggy creatures. Deer tumbled, rabbits lurched, birds and bees flew in erratic loops.