Chapter Twenty
I didn’t forget Bri’s promise to break her curse—or mine to help her—in the days that followed. It was just that I’d never been busier in my entire life.
We saw three or four customers a day; for the first time in my life, I could choose to be picky.
Townspeople who had once snubbed me now plied me with small gifts, hoping to secure the earliest appointments.
Where once I had come to work early and stayed late every night on the small chance a customer would stumble across the shoppe, we could afford to close at five o’clock sharp, like all the other reputable businesses.
Bri and I fell into a rhythm at home, as well.
She cooked, I cleaned, and Argyle provided moral support.
When I came home at night, it was still to a dark house, but I had someone else with me to light the lanterns and stoke the fire.
I learned quickly that Bri had a habit of singing to herself.
Fortunately for me, she had a beautiful voice, and I smiled when I caught strands of notes as she passed me in the hallway or fussed in the kitchen.
When we bumped elbows or ran into each other rounding a corner, she didn’t cry out in horror at the unexpected contact.
Bri played her violin in the evenings, and I felt as though I learned something new about her each time.
Eyes closed, full lips curled in a soft smile, she lost herself in the music.
Even more magical, she took me with her.
I’d never experienced the transportive power of music before, the gift of that kind of escape.
I imagined she must find a great deal of comfort in her instrument, the one thing she knew she could touch without fear, the one thing that had never let her down.
Slowly, over the following week, she opened up more about her family. We were in the parlor one evening, full from the pot roast Bri had cooked with some delicious Carterran spices she’d brought with her.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?” I asked her. My mother had been an excellent cook, according to Da, but I’d never gotten to experience it.
“My grandmother,” Bri said. “She moved with us to Carterra.”
“You’ve never mentioned her before,” I said, watching her closely to be sure I wasn’t overstepping.
Bri continued to pet Argyle’s back. “She died last year.”
“I’m sorry, Bri.” I didn’t know what else to say.
I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, and the truth was, there wasn’t anything else I could say.
I didn’t like talking about my father with other people, since everyone who knew him thought poorly of him.
But maybe Bri liked thinking about her grandmother.
Just when I thought I couldn’t bear the silence anymore, Bri said, “You asked me once if I had someone who would do anything for me.”
“Aye.” She’d said yes, but that had been the end of the conversation, and I’d been left to imagine something horrible. Now I wondered if I hadn’t been far off.
“My grandmother was that person for me. She had no desire to leave Achnarach, but she did it for me. My father never liked her. He thought she was a bad influence on me, because she was outspoken about her beliefs.”
“What beliefs?”
“That magic wasn’t bad. That I wasn’t bad.
Even though my father had forbidden her from ever touching me again after what I did to my mother, she continued to braid my hair in secret.
She told me stories about her childhood in Achnarach, about the magical artifacts they had in their home.
She bought me my violin and taught me how to play it.
” She smiled then, her eyes meeting mine. “She knew exactly who she was.”
“That must be a good feeling,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind experiencing it myself one day.”
Bri laughed wryly. “I know what you mean.”
We were both quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask,” Bri replied. “I might not answer.”
“I’m just wondering … if your father is so horrible to you, and your mother won’t defend you, why do you want to go back?”
She was silent so long I felt sure she wouldn’t answer. But then she leveled me with a serious gaze. “Your father wasn’t perfect, was he?”
I scoffed. “Hardly.”
“But if you could have him back, you’d take him—flaws and all—in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?”
I nodded, conceding her point. “Of course I would. I’d do anything to have him back.”
“I don’t blame my parents for their beliefs.
As far as they’re concerned, magic has brought them nothing but trouble.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether or not I think my magic is a curse as long as they do.
All I want is for my mother to hug me, for my father to look at me like I’m not a monster. ”
“You’re not a monster, Bri. Not even close.”
“How would you know?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard? This country is crawling with monsters.
Kelpies, redcaps, banshees, black dogs …
Any Achnarachian worth their salt knows a monster when they see one.
” I smiled and patted her hand, hoping that with each little touch, she’d begin to believe me.
“Sorry to tell you, but you’re not nearly as frightening as you think you are. ”
The conversation ended as we tidied up, her washing the dishes, me drying, but I felt as though we’d made progress. That I’d made progress.
Despite all the recent turmoil with Finlay, we had also reached a kind of equilibrium.
He baked small pies for the shoppe, which we could now afford to pay for, giving him extra income and us something to spoil our customers with.
I escorted them around the shoppe, pointing out which items I thought they might appreciate most, and Bri managed our funds.
We took turns going to Finlay’s house for the pies, and on my days, I made a point of stopping in to see Mrs. Barrow.
Her health was on the upswing for a change, and I found myself no longer worried about imposing.
As Bri had said, she enjoyed the company, and I enjoyed the embarrassing stories she told me about Finlay.
I collected them like curiosities, these small glimpses into his life before he was a part of mine.
Perhaps we’d only ever been meant to be friends, and I told myself that would be enough.
Just so long as he didn’t fall in love with someone else.
At least not until after I did.
And, because I’d made a promise to Bri, and to myself, I’d reached out to Mr. Wexley.
I had an appointment to meet with him tonight.
But first, I convinced Bri it was time to treat ourselves to some new clothing.
A proper diet of three meals a day had caused me to put on a little weight, and my previously tight dress was now impossible to button.
Besides, I wanted to wear something that would highlight the new gloss in my hair and the color in my cheeks. Not for Finlay, mind you. For myself.
“This feels indulgent,” Bri said as we entered the dressmaker’s shoppe that afternoon. “My clothes are good enough.”
“We’re proper business owners now, Bri. We need to look the part.
” I ran my hands over the racks of ready-made dresses, the fabric soft and supple against my skin.
It did feel indulgent, but why shouldn’t we indulge ourselves now?
We didn’t owe anything to anyone. Literally. I could have laughed at the thought.
I stopped skimming the dresses when I found exactly what I’d been looking for: a pale lavender dress with a loose heather check and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons.
It was exactly what I’d imagined for myself, something pretty instead of practical.
I glanced around the shoppe for the assistant, then stopped when I noticed a bald head ducking behind a dress form.
I peered around it, wondering who would be hiding from me, and threw my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp of delight.
Trystan straightened, attempting to scowl at me, though his face was bright red from the tips of his prominent ears to the crown of his very bald head.
“What do we have hair?” Bri said, joining me. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Dress shopping?” she asked innocently. “That’s a bald move.”
“I’m picking up a package for my mother,” he snarled, touching his scalp self-consciously.
I suddenly wondered if he’d ever been handsome at all, or if it had merely been his hair that made him attractive.
We’d hit him where it counted, squarely in his vanity.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you two did. ”
Bri offered a sympathetic smile. “Aw, don’t take it so hard, Trystan. You know what they say: hair today, gone tomorrow.”
I snorted so loudly several people turned to look at us. “Now, now,” I said. “I think we ought toupee our respects to the dearly de-parted, don’t you?”
Trystan’s face had gone from scarlet to aubergine, and as badly as I wanted the dress, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold in my laughter. “We should go,” I hissed to Bri, who somehow managed to keep a straight face as she waved goodbye.
As soon as we were outside, we broke down in a fit of giggles, holding our stomachs so we didn’t tear our seams. I would have to go back to the dressmaker’s eventually—that dress would be mine—but not until I composed myself.
We ducked into an alley, still laughing hysterically, my side cramping from a lack of air. “I can’t believe it worked,” I wheezed.
“He’s lucky,” Bri said, feigning seriousness. “Trystan Shilling has a very round head.”
I wiped my brow and finally managed to inhale. “That was amazing. You were ruthless.”
“He one hundred percent deserved it. He was horrible to you.”
“He was.”
Bri patted her hair back into place. “I don’t think he’ll bother you anymore. Not if he’s smart, anyhow.”
“I hope not. And I hope I don’t run into Mrs. Shilling again anytime soon.”
Bri dismissed my concern with a wave of her hand. “Come on. Let’s find a gift for Fin.”