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The grey, dreary morning sky set the proper mood as the two visitors pushed the aged metal gate aside and entered the cemetery. The taller of the two walked slowly but steadily down the worn dirt path, knowing the way to their destination. The shorter companion followed reluctantly behind, shoulders slouched.
“Mother, why are we here?” she asked, clearly wishing to be anywhere else.
“Because I promised your grandfather we’d come.” She continued her firm, confident stride. “This is a very important day for him, and I don’t want him to face it alone.”
“Fine, but why meet here? It’s an Imp cemetery, for Satan’s sake! And from the look of it, it hasn’t been kept up in years. Why would he come here?” She looked around and wrinkled her nose in disdain. “Why would anyone willingly come here?”
Her mother abruptly stopped and turned. “Aria,” she said calmly and firmly. “I am quite aware of your reluctance; you’ve certainly made it crystal clear. Again, this is for your grandfather, who loves and adores you very much. The least you can do is provide him with your support.”
Aria rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “Very well, Mother.”
“Good. As it so happens, we’re almost there.” She nodded to a cluster of graves nearby; a tall, willowy figure stood in front of one stone, lost in thought. “Father?” she called out.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto her. “Octavia. Thank you for coming. And Aria as well. I very much appreciate it.” The grief was clearly etched into his face.
“Of course, Dad.” Octavia gave him a quick hug, then gave her daughter a stern glance. She rolled her eyes but moved to embrace Stolas as well.
He smiled tiredly at her, then looked around the cemetery. “I believe I’m going to have to have a talk with the caretakers. Someone is taking a bit too much liberty with my endowment.”
“Perhaps later,” Octavia suggested.
“Yes, later.” He returned his attention to the stone in front of them. “So long ago,” he said softly. “And yet it feels like yesterday sometimes.”
Octavia nodded. “I miss him. At the oddest times, it’s like I can hear his voice.” She smiled slightly. “And it’s very profane.”
Stolas chuckled. “It was his trademark, wasn’t it?”
“Wait a minute,” Aria interrupted. “This stone.” She pointed down at a nearby grave. It was covered in clown memorabilia, as well as more than a few air horns. “Who’s this?”
“The Great Fizzarolli,” Octavia answered. “One of the greatest clowns of his age. It’s nice to know that some still remember him. He and Blitzø were brothers of a sort.”
“Asmodeus believed, based on the evidence he was able to find, that they shared a father,” Stolas added. “It was certainly within the realm of possibility.”
“Huh?” Aria knelt and frowned; she blinked in surprise. “‘Francis? His real name was Francis?”
“Indeed.” Stolas nodded. “He once dared Asmodeus to find his true name. And he was quite put out when the Sin of Lust succeeded during his genealogy research.”
“Has he been by already?” Octavia asked.
“I believe so. Asmodeus prefers to grieve in private.” Stolas shook his head.
Aria peered down at the stones. “They died on the same day? How’d that happen?”
“Fizzarolli passed away in his sleep,” Stolas informed her. “Unfortunately, Blitzø was his passenger when it happened.”
“Oh, come ON, Grandfather!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Stolas apologized. “I was attempting to lighten the mood a bit.”
“They died during the Imp Flu Epidemic,” Octavia said. “It was a very difficult time; it struck without warning and was extremely difficult to treat until a cure was finally found. Unfortunately, it came too late for them and many others.”
“I stayed with him the entire time,” Stolas said quietly. “I held his hand to the very end.” He turned away.
“I’m very sorry, Grandfather,” Aria said, touching his sleeve gently.
“It’s quite all right, my dear,” Stolas replied, wiping a tear from his eye. “We had many good years together, and I will treasure those memories for all eternity.” He returned his attention to the gravestone; Octavia drew closer to him, putting a comforting arm around his waist.
Aria took a deep breath and began to hum a tune under her breath; slowly but surely, the dismal clouds parted, allowing the sun to shine down on the city.
Stolas looked up at the sky. “Ah! That’s better.”
“Father,” Octavia said as she took his arm. “Why don’t we have lunch at that diner across the street? A hot meal will do us all good, and I think I saw baked iguana on the chalkboard.”
“Oh, that would be nice,” Stolas nodded. “Coming, Aria?”
“Of course, Grandfather,” she replied, taking his other arm and guiding him out of the cemetery. Behind them, a circle of flowers sprouted, encircling the two graves.