Ivy
The day drags. Two whole monsters have come in within the last three hours.
Killian, the leader of the centaur clan, for some horse hair product, and the ferryman I met when I first came to the island.
He looks relatively unchanged with his long, black and gray hair, wind-worn features, and broad body.
Until he asks for moisturizing oil. The moment he's done paying, he pops the cap and squirts some onto his palm.
From under his shirt, several long, squid-like tentacles slither, and he rubs oil onto them, focusing on patches that look angry and red.
I do my best to hold my breath, and when he finally leaves, I retch into the small trash bin next to the counter while Conall holds in laughter.
That was an hour ago, and no one's come in since. Amy excused herself to the basement to do inventory, but I saw one of the books from the Alexandria tucked under her arm as she went.
Conall's been going around straightening things, spinning pens, flipping through books. He looks like the boredom is driving him just a little over the edge.
"What are you going to put in here?" His voice cuts through the silence, and I jerk a little.
He's sharpening one of his claws against a runestone he'd gotten off the shelves.
The sound scrapes across my nerves. I'd been studying the handwritten financial records my aunt kept for the store.
I also might have been halfway to dozing.
"What do you mean?" I think I know, but I wish I didn't.
"You owned a retail business before, so you must have picked inventory for it. Now that you own Shipton's, you can do anything you want with it. Put anything you want in it. So what are you going to put in?"
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the grid of numbers in front of me. "I'll probably just keep it how it is."
The sound of claw against stone pauses, and I can practically feel Conall's gaze. "Why?" Genuinely curious instead of his default annoyed gruffness.
I shrug. "Why not?"
"Because you hate it." He states it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I've seen you go around the shop. The stuff is interesting for sure, but nothing sparks your interest."
"You don't know what sparks my interest."
"I know it's not this."
"How?" I demand.
"Because when things spark your interest, you—you know, you…" he trails off.
"No, I don't know. I what?" I cross my arms, glaring at him across the counter. He picks at the rune grooves in the stone, eyes on its surface.
"You get this gleam in your eyes. Like you're excited to be here, just to exist maybe.
I've seen it a few times." He glances up at me from beneath his lashes, emerald eyes sparking with something hot and simmering.
"When you read. When you talk to Dolly. When you first saw everyone in their monster form.
When you saw Hank up at the roundabout."
"Hank?"
"The gargoyle." He gestures toward the town roundabout. It's well cared for, flowers blooming, the sun hitting the statue just right so you can see every angle and feature.
"The statue is a monster?"
Conall rolls his eyes. "The point is," he says, furrowed brow bringing him back to the annoyed Conall I've been getting to know, "you have real interests, and you're creative.
The shop serves a function for the island, but Ursula Shipton was way overdue to retire when she finally stepped away.
It's become utilitarian, and I don't think that's going to make you happy.
You can do whatever you want, Ivy. So what will you do? "
I glance warily around the shop. My imagination isn't dead, just bruised, and I've certainly let myself wander into the odd thought about what I'd do with this place if I could.
Paint the walls a soft yellow, for one. Maybe the ceiling is blue.
Add some color to the shelves. Keep selling the jarred products people need, but in cuter, more appealing containers.
Paint flowers on the windows. Use the empty spaces to sell cute animal-shaped cutlery and flowery home decor. And—
“Are you serious? Who actually buys that kind of crap?”
And there it is. My subconscious is in my ex-husband's voice, repeating his lines loud and clear.
I sigh. "I used to sell cute stuff. Animal-shaped kitchenware, floral dishes, and clocks that gave you positive affirmations. Just stuff."
He tilts his head, brow furrowing. "Ivy—"
"I just don't think those things are very practical on an island like this with its own ecosystem and needs. People here need tentacle oil and horsehair product. Not plates that look like posies." I can't help the derisive snort at the end.
He shifts, and I brace for whatever he's going to say next when the bell over the door rings. Ada strides in, followed by Laz.
"I really don't think this is a good idea," Laz grumbles.
Ada is beaming. "You're wrong, it's a fantastic idea."
"What's a bad-slash-good idea?" I ask, grabbing onto anything to get me out of this conversation with Conall.
"Game night. Laz has agreed to come," Ada declares.
"Been bullied into it is more like," Laz says, hands buried deep in his pockets.
"So that makes ten!" Ada says with obvious delight.
I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline. "Ten?"
Conall shifts. He's pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering in a language I don't understand.
"Yeah," Ada chirps, oblivious to our distress. "Me, you, Conall, and Laz obviously. Then there's Layla and Amy, Killian the centaur, Dolly, Edgar, who lives on the other side of the island, but he's very fun, and Nick."
Conall's head snaps around to stare at her. "Nick? Nick Claw?"
Ada bites her lip and fiddles with the hem of her lacy top, her wings fluttering agitatedly behind her. "He heard about it at the town meeting and asked to join. What was I supposed to say?" Her eyes are wide and beseeching.
"You were supposed to say no, Ada. No, demons may not come to game night where my friends," he gestures toward the basement door, "and my—" He cuts off, eyes finding mine and then flinging away again.
"My charge will be." The phrase hits something low in my gut, but I press it down.
It's an essentially accurate description. No need to get precious about it.
"He has never done a single illegal or malicious thing on the island," Ada points out.
Conall scoffs. "You don't know that."
She rolls her eyes. "In any case, he's coming. I can take your name off the guest list if you don't like it, but that would leave us with an odd number."
"No, it wouldn't. If I'm not coming, neither is Ivy."
It's my turn to scoff. The audacity of this man-hound thing. "Excuse you, but I will be going to game night no matter what, so if you have an issue with that, you'd better not get yourself uninvited for being such a rude stick in the mud."
Conall crosses his arms, and a muscle pops in his cheek.
I turn back to Ada. "I have wine. Anything else I should bring?"
She grins. "Nope, see you soon." She strides out of the shop with Laz on her heels, shoulders hunched and head bent, looking like he's already been defeated in three rounds of poker.
I turn back to Conall, ready to face our earlier conversation, when the doorbell chimes again. In walks Randy Flannigan, the irritating council member.