Chapter 2 #2
‘Not if the people spying didn’t have malicious intentions,’ Zofka told her.
‘If someone sent people to snoop on their behalf, they knew what they were doing. They removed themselves from the situation enough that the wards failed to pick up on anything. Maybe we could try and strengthen the wards with some additional spells . . .’ She trailed off, turning to Talibah.
‘Can you see them with your second sight?’
Talibah nodded, answering every one of Zofka’s questions as fast as they tumbled out – yes, she could see the wards, though they were invisible to everyone else; she could see the magic rippling like sunlight glancing off water with a rainbow flash.
No, she couldn’t see the moment someone was granted entry, nor how the wards encouraged those who needed the Quarter to enter.
And no, she couldn’t see Zofka’s magic in action, though she could tell which cakes were enchanted – they glimmered.
Thea smiled into her cup. After Lord Stiltskin had left her new and vulnerable and alone, a flame of rebellion had sparked.
Rather than obeying the man who had carried away her heart and bound her to the apothecary, Thea had marched into the Lantern, lured by the promise of books.
But as she’d ventured deeper and deeper, into the mustiest, farthest shelves, she’d grown so lost she couldn’t find her way back.
She’d spent the night there, waking with a crick in her neck and Talibah kindly peering down at her.
That same morning, she’d barely taken her first step inside the apothecary, encouraged by Talibah, who had remained at her side, when Zofka had entered, bearing cake.
Together, they had told Thea stories of Lord Stiltskin’s previous apprentices, and had stayed for dinner, cooking goulash and pouring glasses of Madeira as they navigated Thea’s new home together.
When the second bottle was opened, Thea had confessed she was held together with a spell, her mind whirling with thoughts instead of memories.
Near seven years later, Talibah and Zofka had never made her feel lesser for her lack of heart.
Never made her feel anything less than cherished. They were the heart of her new life.
The three women enjoyed the comfortable quiet now, interrupted only by the scrape of forks against plates and the occasional squeak emanating from the stacks: fanged bookworms.
‘Aren’t you worried that they’ll gnaw your books into shreds?’ Thea asked idly, admitting defeat and surrendering her plate. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse than turning the page, expecting a delicious first kiss, only to be met with rows of tiny teeth marks instead.’
Zofka snorted.
‘They’re fine.’ Talibah waved a dismissive hand. ‘I just leave them a handful of crumbs every night and I haven’t found a single nibble in any of my books.’
Some hours later, Zofka kissed them both on the cheek before hurrying back to the Gingerbread House and Gretel, her partner.
Talibah retired for the night, leaving Thea to stroll back to her apothecary, weighed down with her new books and leftover cake.
Trees lined the street, each one crowned in gold.
Autumn was Thea’s favourite time of year in the Magic Quarter, when the air chilled enough to pull out her velvet cloak and butter-soft boots, and every gust of wind crackled with leaves.
Thea dragged her feet, savouring the crunch of leaves beneath her boots and the cold biting her fingertips, hoping against hope that the girl from earlier wouldn’t be waiting outside, too eager to pay a price she could never reclaim.
A shadow swept behind the building next to Thea’s.
Thea slowed, tightening her grip on her borrowed basket.
All seemed fine. No, there. The dark silhouette reappeared, peering through the windows of the Rose Basket next door.
Thea very much doubted that, whoever this stranger might be, they wanted a bouquet of unusually out-of-season peonies or roses that smelt like your favourite dream.
Talibah’s earlier news filtered through her thoughts in a crimson wash of panic; was this one of the pair who had been spotted snooping through the Magic Quarter all day?
Who were they and what were they doing? If Zofka’s fears proved right, they could be spying on behalf of someone else in order to sneak around the wards.
Though Thea was safe from anything malicious, thanks to the wards, she couldn’t let them learn whatever it was they were digging for. The Quarter must remain a secret.
The shadow moved to the door. ‘Who goes there?’ Thea called out, loudly enough that a few candles flared in windows. ‘Show your face,’ she demanded.
The stranger fled.
A window squealed open. ‘Are you all right there, Thea dear?’ Rose, fellow Englishwoman, elderly owner of the Rose Basket and notorious eavesdropper, peered out with a candle that illuminated her nightcap.
‘Yes, thank you, but there was someone nosing around out here. Make sure you lock your doors and windows tonight,’ Thea called back. Though Rose was English too, they conversed in Czech, the language of the Quarter.
Rose made a disgruntled sound. ‘They must have caught wind of the daffodils I was selling today. Mighty popular, those were. Tasted like the creamiest butter you’ve ever had. You could pull off a petal and spread it right on your toast.’
Thea hid her smile. ‘You could be right,’ she said seriously. The window closed with a rusted scream, sending a shiver down the back of her neck. She didn’t relax until she’d hurried back to her apothecary and locked the door behind her, melting with relief.
In the back room of Stiltskin’s Apothecary, a narrow set of stairs led to Thea’s home.
It perched in the roof of the shop, with sloped ceilings and dormer windows along each side.
Half the windows peered out into the sky, where the moon hung like a scythe.
The other half overlooked the Quarter’s oak trees, their branches tapping on the glass like gnarled fingers.
A hunting owl swooped past as Thea set her basket down and lit candles.
She had a neat table with two dining chairs, a couple of overstuffed armchairs, a copper bathtub that took forever to fill unless you enlisted the help of a friendly, passing weather-witch, and a big bed.
Though it was just one large, open space, she had added layers of thick carpets, and every surface was covered with jugs of wild flowers and candles.
She’d even painted violets that looked as if they were blooming straight out of her headboard.
Stacks of books threatened to topple over next to Thea’s bed, which was mountained high with plump pillows and blankets that Zofka had knitted for her.
Each blanket was a different shade of yellow.
‘Because you’re like sunshine,’ Zofka had explained, each time she’d presented her with a new one.
They were thick and lumpy, with an abundance of dropped stitches thanks to Zofka’s impatience, and Thea couldn’t appreciate them more.
But the best part of her home was sitting on said blankets, twitching his fuzzy little nose at Thea: Cinnamon.
Thea scooped up her brown rabbit with floppy ears, holding him close as she brewed a cup of her own night-time tea.
There were worse places to be bound to stay.
She could come and go from the building as she pleased, but if she ever attempted to leave forever, the doors would refuse to open, or her path would wind straight back to the apothecary.
Jasper Stiltskin had expertly tied her fate to the apothecary and since it was impossible to change the past, she could not unpick the bargain he had woven.
Depositing Cinnamon on her bed, Thea changed into her nightgown and snuggled down into her pillows and blankets, with Cinnamon cuddled up on her lap. Sipping her tea, Thea opened Eudora and the Ship’s Captain with a pleasing creak of the spine and began to read.
She’d only made it to the end of the first line when it came: two sharp knocks on the apothecary door.