Chapter Four #2
I ripped the thimble off my finger and stuffed it back into my pocket. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“The thimble,” she said flatly. “My effect on magical objects lasts a day or two at most. Just long enough to be a huge inconvenience.”
If I were a fox, my ears would have been pricked all the way forward. As it was, I could barely control the hammering of my heart. “So you did make the wolpertinger speak?” I whispered.
“I did. Not on purpose, mind you. It sort of … happens.”
“To everything?” I asked, incredulous.
“Not everything, fortunately, though it can look that way from the outside. Some objects simply don’t have enough potential for magic in them. Things like forks, or clothing. Unless they were made to be magical, of course. Those are the ones that take me by surprise.”
“What about your violin?” I asked. “Is it magical? Is that why you brought it with you?”
“No,” she said with a small puff of laughter. “It gets sleepy if it’s not played every day. Not in a magical way. Just in the way violins do if they’re not played frequently. It’s my most prized possession. I haven’t gone a day without playing it since I was little.”
“Have you always had this ability?”
“The magic? Yes.”
I stared up at the ceiling, my mind racing with the possibilities for profit-making. “Then why do you need a grimoire? If you can make things magic simply by touching them, what could you possibly hope to find in a book?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbled. “But you should know that my ‘ability’ isn’t a gift. I know it may sound good, but it’s not.”
“Hmph.” I wouldn’t argue with her, but all I could think about were piles of gold coins. Swimming in piles of gold coins. I’d be trading magical objects hand over fist with her ability. “So this grimoire…”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I heard you. But I think I have the right to know if I’ve gotten myself involved in something dangerous or illegal.”
She sat up. “You’re one to talk. You con people into buying counterfeit items!”
“Con is giving us a little too much credit,” I muttered. “Most people know what they’re getting when they enter my father’s shoppe. The prices are far too modest to be legitimate.”
“Then why have a magic shoppe at all? Why not sell knickknacks and trinkets and call them what they are?”
I sighed and rolled on my side to face her.
“It was my father’s shoppe. He was obsessed with magical objects.
I think deep down he wanted the magic to be real so badly that he believed it was, even if everyone else could see he was a charlatan.
” That was how I justified his behavior when I was feeling especially low.
He wasn’t deliberately wicked. Just obstinately hopeful.
“Where’s your father now?” Bri asked, her voice gentle. She was lying down again, also curled toward me across the little room.
“He died. I inherited the shoppe.” I cleared my throat of the gravel forming there. “I suppose inheritance is too grand a word. More like burdened with the damn thing.”
“Why don’t you walk away, then?”
I shrugged, though she couldn’t see me in the dark. “Everyone else gave up on my father. I know he’s not around anymore to see it, but the thought of giving up on him, too … I’ll keep the shoppe going as long as I can.” I felt itchy and vulnerable. I’d never even told that to Finlay.
Bri was quiet for a long time. “But you understand even if I help you, the objects will lose their magic after they’re purchased. People will be angry if they don’t get what they pay for.”
“That’s not my problem, is it? Once the items are out of my shoppe, I can’t control what happens to them. Besides, most of our customers don’t live in Ardmuir. The locals know better than to trust a Stokes.”
“As long as you’re sure,” she said.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” I replied around a yawn. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a grimoire to find tomorrow.”
In the morning, I woke to Bri plucking the strings of her violin.
“Sorry,” she said when I sat up. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s fine. Better than being leapt on by a hungry kitten.” I yawned and stretched. “Speaking of, let’s eat. I’m starving.”
I’d quickly learned Bri’s “usual” for breakfast: fried eggs, toast, and bacon, with a large glass of milk.
Compared to my usual of tea and toast, it was an almost overwhelming amount of food, but we likely wouldn’t eat again until we returned to Ardmuir, so I forced down as much as I could.
Maybe my hair would start to bounce a little like Bri’s if I ate a proper breakfast more often.
The stable girl had Fergus harnessed and ready by the time we gathered our belongings and went outside. She pointed us in the direction of the conservator’s for an extra shilling.
“He’s on the outskirts of Neering,” she explained. “He’s a bit of an odd one.”
“Odd how?” I asked. “Eccentric odd or creepy odd?”
“Not creepy, no. Unless you count keeping a pet bat as creepy.” The girl shrugged, patting Fergus on the nose.
Bri climbed up into the cart while I stared at the girl.
“Begging your pardon, but I do find that creepy. Exceedingly so. Anything else we should know before we put our lives in this man’s hands?”
“Nah, he’s rather smallish, and you both look strong. I reckon you could take him, should it come to that.”
“Hurry up,” Bri said, gathering the reins.
I stared up at her in horror. “Should it come to that? What have you gotten us into?”
The stable girl had gone back inside, and Fergus was pawing at the ground, apparently ready to be on the way to his next meal. I clambered up beside Bri, my face conveying a look of “you’d better not get us killed over a damn book.”
“What?” Bri asked finally, when we’d already been traveling for several minutes. “You’ve never heard of a pet bat?”