Flora's Dare

Wilce delivers her second novel featuring Flora Frydracca, who in this installment gambles all to confront a bouncing boy terror and save the city of Califa from a shaky doom (despite being confined to her room).

YSABEAU S. WILCE is a remarkable new voice in fantasy. In addition to Flora Segunda, her debut novel, she has written acclaimed short stories for The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and Asimov’s Science Fiction. She lives in Chicago, Illinois.

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ONE Dirty Dishes. A Brief Recap. Woe. Finally, the term was over and two weeks of freedom loomed. Two weeks of freedom from Sanctuary School, that is. There was no escape from Poppy. "I think," I said, sorrowfully, "that I liked Poppy better when he was drunk." My back hurt from leaning over the sink, and the dishwater was now cold and greasy. Happily, I was on the last pan. It was crusty and black, but it was the last. The last pan, the last chore, and then, I would be free for the first night of term break. "There is no pleasing some people," Valefor replied from his vaporous perch high on top of the kitchen dresser. Valefor was the one who should have been doing the dishes, and everything else as well. Thanks to his banishment, he was a mere wisp, and his helpfulness was limited to criticism, which I did not find helpful in the slightest. And he had to lay low, too. If Mamma discovered him flitting about, he would be in a World of Hurt. Valefor continued. "You complained when Hotspur was drunk and wallowing all the time; now hes straight as straight, and you complain about that, too, Flora Segunda." I put the last pan in the dish drainer, then straightened up, feeling a hundred years old, and as though Id been washing up for ninety of those years. It was only Mamma, Poppy, and me at home, yet somehow we were generating enough dirty dishes for an entire regiment. Poppys fault, really; he was cooking meals big enough for an entire regiment, even though Mamma ate only breakfast at home, I ate dinner at Sanctuary School, and it was usually just Poppy and me for supper. "I never thought hed turn out to be such a tyrant," I said. "Hes a hundred times worse than Mamma. At least Mamma isnt around enough to crawl down your throat. Poppy never leaves the house. Hes always here. Theres no escaping. Flynnie, get out of there." At my gentle kick, Flynn slunk away from the garbage can, looking dejected, as though hed never been fed before in his life. Which was, of course, false, as hed not only already had dinner, but had licked the plates before I washed themsaves on the scrubbing, you know. "Hotspur is overcompensating," Valefor explained. "He always goes too far. When he was brave, he was the bravest ever. When he was in love, youd have thought no one had ever loved so much. When he was crazy, no lunatic ever howled so loud. And now that hes sober, hes so straight you could rule your paper with him." "Cant he just be somewhere in the comfy middle?" I pulled the plug and let the nasty water glug out of the sink. There, that was it. Punto finale for Flora and the dishes. Punto finale for my last chore of the day. And not a moment too soon. The kitchen clock was about to chime eight. If I didnt get a move on it, I was going to be late meeting Udo, and I hate being late. The only thing that its good to be late for, said Nini Mo, is your own funeral. "No Fyrdraaca ever sat in the comfy middle," Val pronounced. "We are all about the ra

Excerpted from Flora's Dare by Ysabeau S. Wilce
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