61
SUPERPOWERS WILLY-NILLY
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” said Mik, holding one of the saucer-broad wishes in his hand. “What exactly is a samurai, really? Do you think that’s something we should know before we wish it?”
“Good point.” Zuzana held a matching wish on her own palm. It dwarfed it, and weighed even more than it looked like it should. “It might turn us both into Japanese men.” She squinted at him. “Would you still love me if I were a Japanese man?”
“Of course,” said Mik, without missing a beat. “However, as cool a word as samurai is, I don’t think it’s what we really mean. We just want to be able to kick ass, right?”
“Well, definitely don’t phrase it that way. We’d probably just become highly skilled at kicking people in the ass. Don’t turn your back on them,” she intoned. “They never miss.”
Wording was important when it came to wishing. Fairy tales could tell you that, even if Karou herself hadn’t, plenty of times. Zuzana had wished on scuppies before, but she’d never held a true wish in her hand, and the weight of it cowed her. What if she messed up? This was a gavriel. A mess-up could be severe.
Wait. Back up. This was a gavriel.
Of which there were four in Mik’s violin case.
The case sat at Zuzana’s feet now. She was still in awe of Mik, swiping the mother lode of wish stashes right out from under Evil Esther’s nose. The sweetness. Had she noticed yet? How frenzied was she? And did revenge even count if you didn’t get to see your enemy’s anguish?
It definitely counted as one of Mik’s tasks, anyway, though they were in disagreement as to which. Zuzana said it was the third and last, because she was still counting his getting the air conditioner working back in Ouarzazate. He said that didn’t count—not by a million miles, because it had been in his own self-interest, so that he could pounce on her—and he still had one task to go. Zuzana could only argue up to a point before it would begin to seem like she was begging him to just propose marriage already, so she let him have it his way. Besides, their hands were a little full right now: the sky still ominously empty, and her phone silent to match. They didn’t know what they could or should attempt. With flight and fighting skills, could they help? What could they do that Akiva, Virko, and Karou couldn’t? Zuzana didn’t suppose you could wish for battle experience and strategic good sense. Could you?
And there was Eliza to think of, too. Even if they glutted themselves on wishes, gifting themselves superpowers willy-nilly and soaring off to save the day, they couldn’t just leave her sitting here, could they?
Hey, wait.
Zuzana looked at Eliza, then at Mik. She perked an eyebrow. Mik looked at Eliza, too. “Well, yeah. Of course,” he said at once.
And so, quickly, feeling the press of time and need, they formulated the best words they could think of for the mending of a young woman whose ailment was a mystery to them. In a reverent hush, Zuzana spoke them to the gavriel in her hand. It felt almost as though she were talking to Brimstone.
“I wish that Eliza Jones, born Elazael, will be granted full power over herself in mind and body, and be well.” Something possessed her to add at the end, “May she be her best possible self,” because it seemed, in that moment, to be the truest of all wishes—not a betrayal of self that came from coveting others, but a deepening of self. A ripening.
When a wish exceeds the power of the medallion it’s made on, nothing happens. Like, if you held a scuppy and wished for a million dollars, the scuppy would just lie there. Mik and Zuzana didn’t know if what they were asking was within the realm of a gavriel’s power. So they watched Eliza closely for some small sign that it might be taking effect.
There was no small sign.
That is to say… the sign was not small.
Not even a little bit.