Chapter Twelve #2
“Oh, he was fine. I was half his size and not a particularly adept fighter. The following week, he was commended for his charitable heart. Got an award, in fact. We’ve despised each other ever since.”
Bri looked like she was about to find Trystan and kill him herself. My shriveled black heart swelled at the sight. “He sounds like a real piece of shit.”
I snorted and threw my hand over my mouth. “Brianna Hargrave. Is that the first time you’ve ever sworn?”
She exhaled. “Pfft. Hardly. I’ve been on my best behavior since living at the Four Swans. But I suppose since I don’t live there anymore…”
We grinned in unison.
“He is a real piece of shite,” I agreed. “But his father is a pillar of high society, and his mother a beloved member of the community, so nothing bad ever happens to Trystan.”
“Maybe not,” she said with a wink. “Until now.”
I leaned in. “Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I’m not one hundred percent certain yet. But trust me, come Monday, Trystan Shilling will be eating a hefty dose of humble pie.”
I looked up at the sky, a beatific smile on my lips as I envisioned Trystan eating from a plate piled high with excrement. “You know something,” I said, reaching for the door to the print shoppe, “the wolpertinger was wrong about you. You may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“What brings you two into my shoppe this afternoon?” Jack Turner, the owner of the print shoppe, asked as we stepped inside. To my relief, Finlay wasn’t around. I knew if he was, he’d feel obligated to invite us upstairs to his apartment.
“I was wondering if we could take out an advertisement,” I said to Jack. Bri eyed me questioningly.
“Of course. Here’s a list of our prices. I just need to fetch something from the back. Take your time.”
“An advertisement?” Bri asked when Jack was out of earshot.
“I figure the fastest way to find out if anyone has seen your grimoire is to put it in the paper.” I’d devised this plan on the fly, which meant it was even less thought out than the rest of my life.
If Wexley was as dangerous as I suspected he might be, an ad that could lead him right to us was not a good idea.
He’d implied to the Sapphire Islander that he dabbled in illegal trading and paid off the authorities, and he already knew Bri and I had been searching for the book.
At the same time, this might provide us with a means of learning more about the trader without interacting with him. He was still our best lead, even if I wasn’t ready to tell Bri about him. I took a piece of paper and a quill from Jack’s desk and scribbled out the copy.
Wanted: trader in the rare and magical. Discrete buyer looking to purchase for a private collection. Willing to pay handsomely.
“Do you really think people will answer this?” Bri asked over my shoulder.
“It’s worth a try. If your grimoire is here, it’s likely in the hands of a trader or collector.”
I added another line to the advertisement.
Serious inquiries only. Leave information with Jack Turner at the Ardmuir Print Shoppe.
Jack returned with a stack of fresh paper in his arms, setting it next to the large wooden press that took up most of the shoppe. “All set?” he asked, skimming what I’d written.
I nodded. “Aye. I hope it’s all right I listed you as the reference.”
He glanced up at me. “Finlay told me about your recent sales. A reporter even inquired about doing a story on you. I told him to bring it up with you directly.”
A story? On my shoppe? That was the kind of free advertising a business owner could only dream of. “Thank you,” I breathed, passing over the money for the ad.
“Your da would be proud of you,” Jack said, eliciting a bloom of warmth in my chest that immediately collapsed under his next words. “You should go up and say hello to Finlay. His ma wasn’t feeling well so I let him off early, but he’d be cross if he found out you were here and I didn’t tell him.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to disturb Mrs. Barrow,” I protested, but Bri was already thanking Jack and heading for the stairwell.
“She won’t mind,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve met his mother before. I think she likes the company.”
I followed, but my insides screamed in protest. It wasn’t right to surprise someone like this, particularly when they were ill. “You … spend time with Fin?” I asked.
“A little. He invited me to supper once, and I like to drop in on his mother when I’m nearby.”
Something cold and clammy and entirely unpleasant washed over me. I didn’t have time to process what it meant before Bri was knocking on the door and entering without waiting for a response.
I’d only been to Finlay’s apartment once, back when he first met me and invited me upstairs.
I’d been too caught off guard to say no.
The apartment was as neat and tidy as my shoppe was chaotic.
Somehow, despite her illness, Finlay’s mother kept everything spick and span.
A plaid tablecloth in autumnal browns and oranges was laid over the table, a pitcher of dahlias, cosmos, and amaranth set on the adjacent windowsill.
I stared at my feet as Bri greeted Finlay, sure everyone could see the discomfort radiating from my body, though Bri seemingly had no such reservations.
At least the apartment didn’t smell of illness.
“I’m making tea if you’d like some,” Finlay said, removing a kettle from the stove as it was beginning to whistle. “It’s lovely to see you both.”
At this, I glanced up to find Finlay looking at me. I searched his blue eyes for some sign of resentment or bitterness, but they were as clear and kind as ever. I knew in that moment I didn’t deserve him. I never would.
“Nice to see you, too,” I said. “Thank you for having us.”
Bri had gone to check on Finlay’s mother, who was resting in the adjoining bedroom. Finlay slept on the sofa, which was far too short for his tall frame.
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d ever step foot in this place again,” he said, arranging three teacups on a tray.
I wouldn’t have, not by choice, but I didn’t need to tell him that. “I hate to disturb you.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, Willow. It’s not a disturbance. Ma likes the company.”
He had told me probably closer to a thousand times, and I’d never believed him.
As gregarious and open as Da was in his shoppe, he hadn’t liked people coming to our home.
I suspected that was because he didn’t want anyone to know our lives were perfectly ordinary.
After all, a man who sold magical objects should certainly have some in his own home.
I supposed I thought everyone felt that way, that to step into someone’s house was to see something too personal, rather than the public persona we all wore.
If I were sick in bed, I’d never want anyone to see me that ailing and vulnerable.
Once someone saw your weakness, you were easy prey.
If you couldn’t fight back, the only option left was to hide.
But there wasn’t an ounce of shame in Finlay’s eyes, only his constant sweet, open generosity.
If we were alone, I might have told him then that I was sorry about the way we’d left things yesterday, but Bri had returned from her visit with Mrs. Barrow.
By the time I found my voice, they were sitting at the little square table together, nattering easily like old friends.
I sat down next to Bri, adding milk and sugar to my tea while Bri told Finlay all about our successful morning and our plans for the grand reopening.
The milk bloomed like a night flower in the inky tea, and I stared at it as if it could transport me somewhere else.
Somewhere I didn’t feel twitchy and self-conscious.
“Do you think you can help us this weekend?” Bri asked Finlay. “I know you’re busy, but we’d pay you for your time. Wouldn’t we, Willow?”
I startled, bumping my knee against the table leg and sloshing everyone’s tea. “Aye, of course we’ll pay you.” I reached into my pocket where I’d kept the three pounds from our first sale and placed the coins on the table. “We can pay you now, in fact.”
Finlay curled his fist around the coins and pushed them back toward me. “I’m happy to help. You don’t need to pay me. That’s what friends are for.”
How? I wanted to shout. How can you pretend I’m a good friend, when I can’t even visit your sick mum?
Instead, I took the coins from him, our fingers brushing. Heat raced up my chest and into my face. Get ahold of yourself, Willow. “Thank you.”
“I can come before the print shoppe opens, if that will help,” Finlay said, more to Bri than to me.
“What about Claire? Doesn’t she need help in the mornings?”
“Jack will look after her,” Finlay said, lifting his cup to his lips. It was a wonder his teeth were so white, considering how much black tea he drank. “It’s been a slow news week, fortunately.”
Bri smiled, all easy charm. “All right, then. Tomorrow morning, dawn. We could really use your help moving the larger furniture, and then we can work on the back of the shoppe, where it’s even more cluttered.”
“You really think you have enough magical artifacts to make something of this?” he asked me. “How did your father know what he was buying, if nothing works until Bri touches it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, finally dragging my eyes up to his. “I don’t even know how to price the objects we do have. Da always let people make an offer and haggled from there. He said he liked the back-and-forth, that it kept things interesting.”
Bri sighed and swallowed the dregs of her tea. “Things are definitely about to get interesting.”
“It’s funny,” Finlay said, swirling his cup. “Just last week you were afraid you’d have to close the shoppe, Willow. I’d say your luck has finally turned.”
I nodded, but there was little conviction in it. Because if everything was really going my way, why did I feel so rotten?