Chapter Nineteen
I woke to the sound of rain pelting the windows. Argyle mewed at my feet, ready for breakfast, and I did my best to rise without waking Finlay, whose feet were in my lap, his head lolling over the arm of the sofa.
Bri’s chair was vacant. I put the kettle on and followed the sound of her violin to her bedroom.
Watching Bri play was almost as beautiful as listening.
Her eyes were closed, her body swaying slightly, and there was a lightness about her that reminded me of when she’d touched the magic broom.
As if the weight of the world were lifted from her shoulders when she played.
As if the bow in her fingers were made of skin and bone, and her cheek rested on flesh and blood instead of a piece of carved wood.
Her eyes opened as she finished, though it took her a moment to come back to herself. “Did I wake you?” she asked when she saw me in her doorway.
I shook my head. “No. I love it when you play. But we’ll need to hurry if we’re going to make it to the shoppe before the customers.”
She glanced out the window. “Do you think the rain will stop them?”
I chuckled. “Bri, this is Ardmuir. If we let rain stop us, we’d never do anything at all.”
“Fair enough.” She tucked her violin in its case, as gently as though she were placing a bairn in a cradle.
“The water should be close to boiling,” I said.
“I’ll make breakfast.” She pulled a sweater over her dress, fluffing her hair, which had been restored to its full glory. “I need more than tea to motivate me today.”
“We have eggs and bread. No bacon, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll buy some tomorrow. Assuming we have more money by then.”
We’d better, I thought as I went to my bedroom.
As nice as it was to know I wasn’t in this venture alone, I was also now responsible for more than myself and Argyle.
I had taken on financial responsibility for Bri by urging her to quit her job, and we now had a cart to replace. Not to mention next month’s rent.
I put on my most respectable dress, soft gray wool with a tan check, and braided my hair into a crown, hoping the townspeople would somehow see me in a new light.
Maybe, I thought as I buffed the mud from my boots, this wouldn’t just be a rebirth for the shoppe.
Maybe I, Willow Eilidh Stokes, could reinvent myself along with it.
Finlay was dressed by the time I joined them for breakfast, his clothing having dried by the fire last night. “I should get home,” he said around a mouthful of bread. “I need to return Fergus and explain myself to Jack. My ma will be worried.”
“Of course,” I said. “We’ll miss you at the shoppe, though. It’s your triumph as much as ours.”
He blushed a little as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it. You never keep quiet about your wins.”
I took a delicate bite of toast. “That’s hardly fair. When was the last time I had a win?”
“You’ve got me there,” he said, rising from the table and taking his dish to the sink. “Wish me luck with Jack.”
“It’s going to be all right, Fin,” Bri said.
“Wish us luck with the store,” I said as I helped him into his coat.
He turned to smile at me, and the sight of his wonky tooth made my stomach do an awkward somersault. “I would if I thought you needed it. But luck has nothing to do with it, Willow. Today, you’ve got magic on your side.”
Despite arriving at the shoppe a full hour before opening, I was shocked to see that there was already a line forming.
Familiar faces were interspersed with those of strangers, and as I excused my way through them, thanking them for coming, I was surprised to hear murmurs of excitement and approval.
No one was here to mock me, to make fun of my sham shoppe and counterfeit goods.
It didn’t even look as though Trystan Shilling was making an appearance today.
I could tell Bri was buzzing with the same excitement and apprehension that I was.
We’d done our best to price items fairly, and we’d decided on a strict no-haggling policy to avoid resentment.
Every item would be first come, first served.
We’d painted the rules on a sign that hung in the front window, including the fact that all magical items would only last for two days at most. The wolpertinger was hidden in the closet at the back of the shoppe, which was now a proper storage space.
I’d even put away some of the items I thought might fetch a higher price, to see if we were pricing things correctly.
There was only one problem: we didn’t actually know what most of the items did until Bri touched them, and she couldn’t touch an item until the customer asked to purchase it, since that would start the clock running on its powers.
Neither of us had forgotten the birdcage or the stings we’d sustained.
For all we knew, the jet mourning brooch that contained a lock of dark hair could raise the dead; the tiny shrunken gourd I’d assumed was trash until Bri passed over it could explode into a full-sized home.
We’d found no more magic brooms, and we had no idea if the magic shovel we’d found would fly or dig a massive hole or dance a jig.
And while Da had told me about some of the items when he bought them, he wasn’t always specific.
After a while, I’d learned to tune out his wild explanations anyhow.
I glanced at the clock above the doorway. When it struck nine, Bri and I exchanged a look.
“I suppose there’s nothing for it,” I said, at the same time Bri said, “Let’s get this over with.”
With a deep breath and a shaking out of my arms, I unlocked the door and reopened Edward Stokes’s Cabinet of Magical Curiosities.
It was instant chaos. I watched in horror as customers fought their way into the store, turning over items, shaking them vigorously, tossing them aside when they didn’t immediately prove magical.
“Shite,” I swore to Bri under my breath, as two women yanked on either end of the fur stole. “We should have limited the number of customers!”
“I’m starting to think we need to take them by appointment only!” she hissed, before I darted around her to rescue the tiny gourd, which had been knocked to the ground in everyone’s haste.
“Need some help?” a male voice asked. I turned to find Wexley in another of his fine three-piece suits standing behind me. Why did he keep showing up?
“Ehm,” I said, my heart racing. The truth was, I did need help, and no one was even acknowledging Bri’s cries of dismay.
“Quiet!” he shouted before I could formulate a response. Everyone froze instantly. “Have a little respect, the lot of you. Get back in line, in the order you were in. Five people in the shoppe at a time.”
A murmur of protest began, but Wexley merely folded his arms over his chest and everyone immediately retreated, placing objects back where they’d found them. He wasn’t physically intimidating, but he had an air of authority about him.
“Thank you,” I said as Bri began to help one customer at a time. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oliver Wexley,” he said. “You looked like you could use the help.”
“We do,” I admitted. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you? Are you in the market for magical items?”
“You could say that,” he replied with a smile. “I’m a collector, with a keen eye for the genuine article. I saw your magic broom and knew you were trading in the real thing. I’m impressed, Miss Stokes.”
I blinked, caught off guard. This was the man who had referred to me as a skinny little orphan, who’d insulted my father.
“You’re the one who took out the ad in the paper, aren’t you?”
“How did you—”
He handed me a business card. “I’ve known Jack Turner for many years. He wouldn’t give up your name, but when I mentioned you, I could tell I was right. I believe we can be useful to each other.”
I stared down at the card. This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it?
For Wexley to come to me, without revealing what I was really after?
Not only did he trade in dragon teeth, he had potentially once owned The Oxblood Book.
I glanced up into his eyes. They were dark, nearly black, and devoid of warmth.
I had to force myself not to drop the card.
He must have realized I was uncomfortable because he flashed an easy smile and tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Stokes. Feel free to contact me anytime. I’d love to hear from you.”
Dazed, I went to find Bri, who was explaining to a customer what the straightening-up carpet could do.
“But just for a day?” a man asked, eyeing it skeptically.
“I’m afraid so,” Bri responded. “But still, it’s a neat parlor trick. And a lovely rug, to boot.”
The man glanced around, afraid that he was going to miss out on a deal. A woman was already setting several items aside for purchase, and we would be letting in the next few customers soon. “All right. I’ll take it.”
“Brilliant!” I said, escorting the man to the counter while Bri moved on to the next customer, Wexley momentarily forgotten.
He handed me his money and I returned a handwritten receipt, along with the new business cards Finlay had printed up for us.
They were a creamy, thick cardstock, the words embossed in crisp black ink.
Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of genuine pride, so foreign to me I didn’t know what to call it at first. We were making legitimate sales.
Customers were being gracious and respectful. If Da could see this …
I had to blink back the tears burning my eyes. If only Bri had come a few years earlier. If only I’d been cursed with her magic. If only Da had lived a little longer.
“Miss?”
I glanced up to see the woman who’d attempted to purchase the pram standing before me. “Ah, hello. Welcome back. How did it go with the light sprite?”
The woman smiled. “My friends were impressed, but of course, it’s an ordinary oil lamp now. I was hoping the perambulator was still available.”