An Elemental Tail by Shona Husk Page A

from his
table, yet as she worked she couldn’t help but steal glances,
memorizing his features so she could sketch him when she finished
work for the night. There was something about him that needed to be
captured. He sat so still, but his eyes were alive. He didn’t go
through the motions of living. He lived.
    Isla turned around to take another look, but
he was gone. If it weren’t for the empty plate, she’d have believed
she’d imagined him into existence. She sighed and shook her head as
she picked up the plate and glass. The only thing she’d imagined
was that he would be interested in a dirt-poor no one like her.
Between the scholarship and the waitressing she kept her head above
water. If she got distracted, she would drown.
    ****
    Isla unfolded the protective brown paper and
ran her fingertips over the supple leather for the hundredth time
since discovering the book in the box. If she kept stroking the
cover, she would wear a hole through the leather. The book was the
most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. From pale cream to black,
shot with crimson and turquoise. Colors rippled over the surface,
shimmering in the light as if the book was alive. Even the pages
inside were divine: thick cream paper with a hint of translucency.
Impossible, but the illusion was mesmerizing.
    The book was a work of art.
    She blinked back tears she’d thought spent.
Sarah had bequeathed Isla the book in her will; it was more than
she’d ever expected. Great Aunt Sarah had been the one person who’d
understood her obsession with art and encouraged her. The five
years she’d spent living with Sarah held all her happy memories
from her childhood.
    When her mother’s boyfriend had eventually
tired of her mother and left, Isla had been dragged back home to
help with the new baby, and her mother had gone searching for the
next man. Her mother’s run-down three-bedroom house was devoid of
beauty. No paintings on the walls, no well-tended garden, no
books.
    All the books she’d loved as a child had also
been in the box of things Sarah had left her, along with a small
amount of cash stashed between the pages and a necklace. A solitary
pearl, still partially embedded in the shell and tied with a
leather thong. The leather had disintegrated in her hand, so Isla
had hung it on a silver chain. It was the only piece of jewelry
she’d ever been given.
    She’d never seen the blank leather-bound book
in Sarah’s house. But Sarah had always been at antique fairs
looking for a rare find. The book had obviously been packed away
with care. The brown paper was old, the string tired with age. She
gave the book one last caress and set it down, ready to be
rewrapped. Isla bit the inside of her lip, reluctant to pack the
treasure away. A book like this should be filled with drawings and
on display, not hidden in a box.
    Isla tilted her head. It was a decent size.
More than a hand-span tall and wide. She flicked open the cover and
rubbed a page between her fingers. It was almost made for drawing
on. Sarah must have meant for her to use it as a sketchbook. Why
else would she have left it for Isla, and not her own sensible
lawyer or accountant children? She reached out and picked up a
pencil, writing her name in the front, then the year. The lead
glided over the paper. She rubbed her thumb over the letters. They
didn’t smudge. A smile curled her lips. Perfect.
    Images of the mystery man from the restaurant
flickered in her mind. The tilt of his jaw, the curve of his lips
as he almost smiled begged to be captured on paper. An idea began
to form.
    Her cell phone rang with a snippet of Mozart,
and the thought-bubble popped. She glanced at the number. Her
mother. She was tempted to let it ring out to hear the rest of the
tune. Three calls in twenty-four hours—no doubt her mother had
realized she’d missed out in Sarah’s will. Another measure played
as Isla readied herself to answer.
    “Hi, Mom.” She forced enthusiasm into her
voice.
    “How nice