We Make Magic

The Bringer of Late Frosts and Freezes lounged on his favorite cloud, watching mortals scurry about below like ants preparing for winter. Zerio—for that was his proper name, though few bothered to use it—twirled an icicle between his fingers, its crystalline surface catching the afternoon sun. His latest masterpiece of meteorological mayhem had turned three counties' worth of spring flowers into frost-bitten disappointments.

"I leave you alone up here and now you're brooding again," a firm, warm voice called from behind. "I should've known better."

Zerio didn't need to turn to know it was Gladia, the Bringer of Early Spring. The temperature around him had already risen several degrees, and the scent of thawing earth and blooming flowers filled the air. His cloud began to lose its rigidity, softening at the edges where her warmth touched it.

"I'm not brooding," he protested, straightening his back. "I'm contemplating my next strategic deployment of seasonal adjustments."

Gladia settled beside him, her presence making his cloud glow with inner warmth. She wore her usual outfit—denim overalls covered in rich soil stains, sturdy boots caked with spring mud, and that ridiculous wide-brimmed hat she'd decorated with whatever flowers caught her fancy. Today it was daisies and lavender, their sweet fragrance mixing with the earthier scents that always surrounded her.

"Strategic deployment?" She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling random acts of frost now?"

Rather than answer, Zerio stood and walked to the nearby floating corkboard, its surface adorned with maps he had marked with his planned frost patterns. He selected another icicle from his collection and took aim.

"The people of—" he squinted at the map as he threw, watching the icy projectile embed itself in the paper "—Hartfield shall bow before me. 'Tis April, but they shall believe it be January. Their hearth fires are best kept warm." He folded his arms across his bare chest, muscles flexing beneath pale skin that sparkled like fresh snow.

Gladia rolled her eyes. "BTW, I haven't touched Hartfield so, duh, your spell will hardly be noticed. Sorry to say, but their hearth fires yet burn warm and bright, honey cheeks. And quit talking like that. You sound like bad Shakespeare."

Zerio's shoulders slumped. He pulled out a pair of polarized wraparound sunglasses and slipped them on, trying to hide the hurt in his silvery eyes. The remaining icicles in his hand melted away, dripping between his fingers. "Must you always make this so difficult?"

"Difficult?" Gladia stood, stirring up a warm breeze that set her dark curls dancing. "We go through this every year. Might help if you grew up and paid some attention to us and not just yourself."

The words stung more than usual. Zerio had been watching her work for weeks now, seeing how the mortals celebrated her arrival. They planted gardens in her honor, held festivals when her warm breezes swept through their towns. Children laughed and played in the mud she left behind, and parents indulged them, smiling at their dirty faces and clothes.

"That's easy for you to say," he said, hands on his hips. "But you really don't understand the situation."

"Go on." Her tone was gentler now, carrying the patience of someone who had watched countless springs unfold.

"People love you. They hate me." The words came out in a rush, along with feelings he'd been freezing beneath the surface for centuries. "They curse my name—when they remember it at all. They celebrate when I leave and dread when I return. I have no real purpose. I may as well just quit. Give up."

Gladia stepped closer, and Zerio had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes. She was one of the taller demigods, her height matching the great trees she helped coax from winter slumber. She ran a hand over his long blond hair, down past his neck and broad shoulders, leaving a trail of warmth that made him shiver.

"Zerio," she said, her voice soft as spring rain, "without you, I am nothing. Without you, they would not love me. Together, we make magic." Her hand came to rest over his heart, which beat with the rhythm of winter storms. "We are the cinnamon in coffee, the flutes among the strings and drums. We are life!"

He stared up at her, pulling off his sunglasses to meet her gaze fully. Her eyes held all the colors of spring—rich earth browns, new leaf greens, flower-petal pinks. "I never thought of it that way."

She smiled and removed her flower-crowned hat, placing it gently on his head. Another breeze swept around them, warm at first, then chilly, raising goosebumps on her cocoa-colored skin. The mixing temperatures created swirls of fog that danced around them like playful spirits.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked, her voice carrying hints of both spring rain and winter frost.

"Yes." Zerio felt a smile tugging at his lips, the first real one in weeks.

"Then let's go," Gladia whispered, her breath hot against his cold skin.

Zerio nodded and turned toward Hartfield, well aware of how his clam diggers emphasized certain aspects of his divine form. "Time to show them what we can really do together."

They descended to Hartfield hand in hand, their combined powers creating a meteorological symphony. Zerio's frost patterns traced delicate designs on windows and leaves, while Gladia's warmth ensured no lasting damage. Together they painted the morning with their magic—frost flowers that bloomed and melted in the same breath, rainbow-casting ice crystals that danced in spring sunshine, and clouds that alternated between snow flurries and warm rain.

The people of Hartfield emerged from their homes to witness the spectacle. Children ran out with their tongues extended to catch snowflakes that melted into spring rain before touching their skin. Parents stood in doorways, smiling at the strange but beautiful weather that would surely become part of local legend.

As the sun rose higher, Zerio felt the familiar urge to retreat, to pull his frost back and hide in the clouds until next winter. But Gladia's hand remained warm in his, anchoring him to this moment of shared creation.

"See?" she said, gesturing to the wonder-struck faces below. "They don't hate you. They just needed to see all of you—not just the cold, but the beauty you bring. The way you make them appreciate my warmth more by knowing your chill."

Zerio watched a small girl catch one of his snowflakes on her mitten, showing it to her mother before it could melt. They both laughed with delight at the tiny artwork he'd created, a sound that warmed him more than any summer day.

"I suppose there's room for both of us in spring," he admitted, adjusting the flower-crowned hat that still sat somewhat crookedly on his head.

"There's room for both of us in everything," Gladia corrected, pulling him closer. "The magic is in the balance, in the dance between warm and cold, growth and rest, endings and beginnings."

Above them, their cloud had transformed into a masterpiece of meteorological art—part winter white, part spring gold, creating patterns that would inspire painters and poets for generations to come. Together they ascended to their celestial perch, leaving Hartfield with a morning they would never forget, one where winter’s last breath danced with spring’s first kiss.