Chapter 14
Cairn
BY SOME STROKE OF GOOD luck, it’s not raining on my shopping day.
I’d anticipated needing to make the long trek into Wysteria in a gray drizzle, but instead, the sun is shining, birds sing as they drift through the breeze, and the air smells of autumn—one of my favorite smells, perhaps second only to the smell of the garden after a summer rain.
I pull a small wooden cart behind me as I walk.
It’s empty now, but by the time I’m on my return trip home, it’ll be loaded down with everything I’ll need for the next few weeks.
I try to stock up as much as possible to avoid having to make the long walk, and though Wysteria is nice so far as big cities go, it’s much too busy and chaotic for my liking, so I limit my trips there as much as possible.
My hooves feel nice sinking into the dirt and leaves as I walk the meandering path through the Mistwood, enjoying the quiet and the dappled light slipping through the trees overhead.
Probably won’t be long now before the snow starts to fall, making this trip a hell of a lot harder than it is now.
So for the time being, I enjoy it, and I keep a smile on my face all the way to Wysteria.
I’M FINALLY ON MY LAST stop of the day: the Brass Mirror.
It’s one of the only clothing shops in Wysteria that carries clothing in my size.
Typically when I’m here, other nonhuman shoppers are here as well: other minotaurs, orcs, and shifters.
But today, it’s quiet, and it gives me a brief reprieve from the bustling street outside.
“Be right with you!” a man calls from the back.
I’ve been coming here for years, so I know the familiar voice well. “Just me, Winston.”
“Cairn?” the shopkeeper calls back. “That you?”
“Yup.”
Without needing him to show me around, I roam through the racks and shelves of clothing. Some of my trousers are starting to get worn and rip, and I could use some more long-sleeved tunics before winter arrives.
I pick up two new pairs of trousers—specially sized for minotaurs—then add a couple tunics to the pile in my arms: one in forest green and one in burnt orange. By the time I make it to the front counter, Winston is just coming out from the back room.
As one may expect of a clothing connoisseur, he’s impeccably dressed—gleaming golden hoops in his ears, a snug vest with polished buttons, trim trousers, and boots that look like they’ve never touched a dusty cobblestone in their life.
When he sees me, he holds out his arms, and I huff as he wraps me in a crushing hug.
He may look willowy, but vampires are surprisingly strong.
“Cairn, it’s been too long. Why don’t you come in more?”
He releases me from the hug and moves behind the counter as I put the trousers and tunics on the tabletop. “Maybe you should sell lower-quality goods,” I say with a shrug. “Then I’d have to shop more often.”
Winston narrows his golden eyes and says with a hiss, “Lower quality? Preposterous. Only the best for my customers.”
I shrug again. “Can’t have it both ways.”
“Well, if only you’d come and be social sometimes.” He flashes me a sharp glance. “You know, have a meal and a drink, share a few laughs. Be personable.”
I have to actively strive not to grimace, but Winston knows me better than that.
“I know, I know.” He holds up his hands, which are bejeweled with rings. “You prefer fungi over friendly banter.” His marble-smooth brow furrows. “Though I’ll never understand why.”
He quickly tallies up the cost of my trousers and tunics, and I pass him the eldertokens I owe. With expert hands, he refolds the articles of clothing, then ties the bundle with a strand of twine and knots it with a bow.
Just as he slides the bundle over, a display of gloves catches my eye. Like everything in the Brass Mirror, they’re well made, and a handwritten sign over the shelf reads Enchanted Gloves. I arch an eyebrow.
“What’s with the gloves?”
Winston glances over. “Oh, they’re on consignment. A witch friend of mine made them. They’re enchanted to last forever.” He flashes me a fanged smile. “Or nearly forever. And they’re fireproof too. Perfect for gardening, baking, what have you.”
“Fireproof?”
Unbidden, Lyra Wilder jumps into my head, her curls all tangled and frizzy, her brow furrowed in concentration. I recall the blisters that marred her palms on our first day working together, the much-too-big gloves I offered her. But these gloves . . . They look perfect for her.
I reach out and pick up a pair. The fabric is soft and pliable, not heavy like some gardening gloves. And if Lyra’s going to be working with me for the rest of the year, she’ll surely need something.
Trying not to overthink it, I place the gloves on the counter.
Winston leans forward, regarding them with a quizzical arch to his shapely eyebrow. “I hate to say it, dear friend, but . . .” He holds up the gloves, gaze shifting from them to me. “I don’t think these come in your size.”
With a huff, I reach into my pocket and pull out my eldertokens. “Not for me.”
Now his quizzical expression turns curious. “No? Sounds like there’s a story to be told.”
I shake my head, though I’m careful not to catch my horns on the chandelier hanging over Winston’s front counter. “No story. Just need the gloves.”
Despite Winston’s pouting, I don’t tell him anything about Lyra. There’s nothing to tell.
She’s just a student whose time with me is numbered. We’ll finish the year, and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.
But at the very least, I can make sure her hands are protected. And there’s no more story to be told.
CART LADEN WITH EVERYTHING I purchased today—bags of grain and flour, clothes, more medical supplies, some interesting new seeds I’ve never tried before—I start down the cobblestone street away from the Brass Mirror.
I got everything that was on my list, and I can finally start the long walk back to Coven Crest.
But just as I settle in to my pace, passing the big glittering bronze statue of a stag standing in the center of the city square, someone calls my name.
At first, I consider pretending I didn’t hear him. I’m really not in the mood to do any more socializing; all I want is to get home and pour myself a hot cup of dandelion-root coffee.
But then he calls to me again.
“Cairn! Hey! Cairn!”
This time, the voice sounds familiar.
I slow my pace and turn to look over my shoulder.
And sure enough, there he is: Milo Foster, the kid who used to follow me around the gardens. The one who works at the botanical conservatory now.
The one who sent me the letter and the application to said conservatory.
I’m surprised enough that I stop dead in the road, and the people walking behind me have to grumble and veer around. Milo jogs over, and though he’s a bit older now than when last I saw him, with a bit of scruff where he once was baby smooth, he’s still the same kid I knew.
“I thought that was you,” he says, propping his hands on his narrow hips. “I’d know that I-can’t-stand-people scowl anywhere.”
I blink in surprise—I don’t recall him being so forward—and Milo laughs.
“Sorry, bad joke.” His glasses catch the sunlight as he tips his head and smiles. Then his expression sobers. “Wait, you remember me, don’t you? Milo Foster?”
I blink slowly, saying nothing.
Now his expression turns downright glum. “What? Come on! How could you forge—”
With a chuckle, I smack him on the shoulder, and he stumbles so hard his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Foster. Of course I remember you.”
Milo lets out a relieved sigh as he pushes the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Your humor is still dry as ever. You really had me fooled for a second there.”
“You make it too easy.” I flick my tail and cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off and uses his other hand to push his mop of unruly brown hair out of his face. Then his brown eyes light up. “Hey, let me buy you a drink.”
That would mean having to postpone my walk home. It would also mean having to be around other people for longer than I already have been today. Sounds terrible.
I open my mouth to tell him no, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“Come on, no turning it down. They’ve got pumpkin ale at Boar and Badger. You’ll love it.” He sets off across the square, the same bouncy, lanky stride I’m so familiar with.
My nostrils flutter as I let out a heavy sigh and glance back at my cart. Then I follow him.