Was It Simply Luck
How did Jovas find her? Was it simply luck?
“Bad luck,” Ava muttered, nibbling a beignet. Powdered sugar misted her shirt as she walked through the French Quarter. She’d grown fond of the soulful city’s late nights and lazy mornings.
Clopping hooves announced the satyr before Jovas wrapped an arm around her shoulders, assuring she couldn’t slip him. “Time’s up, petite chérie.”
His impressive antlers and significant beard showed he approached the age in which he would unwind time. Ava had stolen the magical pocket watch from his younger self to stop him.
She brushed powder from her shirt and took the timepiece from the pocket, letting it dangle by its chain. Eager to unravel and re-weave time, Jovas tightened his grip on her. Maybe Ava and New Orleans would exist afterwards. But maybe not.
She let the chain slip through her fingers. The watch struck the pavement, scattering the resident crows. Jovas dove for it, but Ava ground it beneath her boot heel.
On his knees, Jovas cradled the fractured timepiece, then slowly rose, shoved it into her pocket, and placed his hand over it. “Unable to slip time, your soul will wither.”
She slapped his hand aside. “Luckily, the city has plenty to spare.”
“You’re trapped in time,” Jovas snarled.
“Beignets’re worth it.” Ava grinned and fell into step with the passing parade dancing down Bourbon Street. In response, a mechanical heartbeat reignited against her breast, keeping time with the brass band.
Ava patted her pocket. “Not yet.”
Photo by Morgan Petroski
