The Golden Butterflies

A swarm of glowing golden butterflies flowed out of the entrance, as if the

building had exhaled light and beauty into the night. The butterflies bounced

on the draft, trailing tiny gold sparks, swirled toward me, and melted into the

night air. Like magic.

No, not like. It was magic, not distant like the Mage Tower zapping the lorsses, but right there in front of me. A wonder. It was impossible back home, but here it was real. It existed and it was beautiful.

I caught my breath, swallowed, and walked unsteadily into the Garden of Soft Blossoms.

A man strode to the stage and halted by the red moat. He wore a light gray doublet and dark gray trousers tucked into tall boots. A teal cloak hung off his left shoulder, more of a fashion statement than a protective garment. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, only his curly dark hair, cut short, and the color of his skin, a russet brown.

He pondered the empty stage as if puzzled and waved his hand. A globe of red water shot up from the moat fifteen feet into the air and snapped into a monstrous fish.

Oh!

The creature swam above the stage, circling it. Its long eel-like body kept going and going, long and slightly translucent, the sharp ridged fin along its back bristling with red spikes. It was big enough to swallow a human in one gulp.

Goosebumps crawled up my arms.

The fish’s grotesque jaws snapped, catching its tail. It exploded into a dozen stelkas. They rained onto the center of the stage and dashed into the dining room, darting between the tables. To the side a waiter gripped his tray and jerked it up over his head as a beast shot by his legs. People chuckled.

The stelkas burst into geysers of crimson flower petals. They swirled, flashed with light, and turned into golden butterflies.

Oh wow.

The glowing swarms floated over the dining floor, bouncing on the draft, spreading in all directions. It was too much. Too bright, too colorful, too everything . . .

The nearest group of butterflies changed its course, drifting close to each other instead of fanning out. They were heading right for me.

No time to react. A second, and they swirled around my body, clinging to my cloak. One landed on my shoulder, one tried to wedge itself in my hood, and the third rammed my right cheek . . .

People were looking at me.

I didn’t belong here. I was wearing a cloak that smelled like a corpse. There was river muck in my hair. My bare feet had probably left muddy footprints in the hallway. I couldn’t have been more out of place if I had set myself on fire.

The butterflies exploded in a puff of soft sparks. Something zinged my skin, like a weak rubber band slapping against my face.

“What about gold butterflies?” I asked.

“Ah. You’ve met Ciste. Is he still hanging out at the Garden?”

I nodded.

“His mother sold her body,” she said. “He grew up in a place a lot like the Garden.”

“What happened to it?”

“Nothing good,” she said. “Damaes tolerates his moonlighting, because Ciste is a gifted summoner. Did you see a swarm of glowing butterflies?”

“Yes. He summoned a sea monster and stelkas, too.”

She smiled. “Was it beautiful?”

“Very.”

“Ciste doesn’t summon illusions, only weapons. Everything he conjures is

created for violence.”

Oh.

“Those beautiful golden butterflies feed on your blood. The more magic you have, the richer their feast. A larger swarm can turn a living being into a husk in moments.”