Chapter Fifteen
“Miss Pennigrim. Miss Pennigrim .”
Alora blinked open her eyes to twilight. Twilight and a sculpted mouth. Then sharp cheekbones and forest-like eyes. A knit brow. She swallowed against her parched throat, glancing around in confusion. She was at Potions and Peculiarities, the back door, and her hip throbbed something awful.
“I found your donkey wandering Mugwort Alley, eating every bit of green he could find, including my flower. And here I find you. Why aren’t you at home?”
Alora couldn’t answer. Why wasn’t she at home?
She shifted herself to sitting and Bash gave her the space to do so, straightening.
Her mind was a rusted wheel, barely pushing forward.
She frowned at his bemused look, the wind-tousled hair, at the customary blacks buttoned and zipped upon his broad frame.
It was the color that did it for her, finally.
The memories came upon her like an avalanche, bits and pieces, unclear and without order, but still.
She buried her face in her hands on a mortified moan. “Oh. I need to die.”
A glass of water found her hands. She downed it around a pitiful gasp, half a sob.
“Of course you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. You’ve no idea. I’ve just—” Goddammit! The Urchin! She’d propositioned the wicked Urchin on top of everything else. She slumped back to her side, groaning.
Hands reached beneath her arms, hauling her upright. “Are you ill?”
“In my soul,” moaned Alora. “I'll never be well again.”
A sudden tenseness framed Bash’s eyes and hardened his mouth. She both felt and heard his huff of breath. Was he angry at…her?
“Please don’t let anything burrow that far, Miss Pennigrim.”
“Why are you so formal? My name is Alora.” She scowled at him from where she sat, but their eyes were level, and it bothered her. She pushed to her feet, noticing he didn’t make space for her to do so as he remained where he was, crouched and quite close. “I need an Urchin.”
That sent him reeling upright. “Excuse me?”
“Any one of them you can find. I need my memories of this day purged forever, and I promise I won’t miss them.”
A bit of the tension eased from Bash’s features. “I don’t think their work involves philanthropy—”
“And I don’t think you realize that I’m dreadfully serious.” She moved until they were toe to toe, her face angled up to his as she glared. “Now do you know where I might find one or not?”
They stared at one another. Bash had a calculated look about him, his mouth firm. He appeared as if he wanted to say a million things but could decide on none. Finally, he said, “Keep your memories.”
Alora could only grit her teeth, looking away, fighting tears of shame. He would not dismiss her so easily if he knew what had been done. When a pressure met her elbow, she stared at it, remembering another hand, hands, in other places. A fury filled her. “I’ll kill him.”
The present hand tightened on her arm. “Who?”
She ripped herself free. “William.”
“William? Did someone—”
She cut him off with a fierce look. “Thank you for retrieving George. I’ll replace the flower, though it was in danger of being choked by weeds anyway.” She moved around him, to where the donkey stood tethered to a wagon. “You won’t tell anyone will you?”
“About what?”
“That you found me as you did.”
“Hardly seems a wild enough story for the pub crowd.”
Alora sniffed at his flippant comment. “Fine. See you.”
“No, Alora. I’m sorry. I should have said I have no one to tell. And even if I did, I would not.”
Her lips parted, eyes searching his. But they were as guarded as ever.
“Can I ask why you were here?” he said, slow and needling. “Did you need something more from me?"
Alora paused, staring. Why had she come here? And then it rushed back, blurry and faded as it was, and her cheeks lit bright as apples. “I don’t remember.”
“Ah,” said the shopkeeper, but she knew for certain he didn’t believe her. It was plain as day by the tilt of his head.
She stomped to where the donkey had been tethered. “Come along, George. Let’s get you back to the stable where you can have a real meal. Hopefully you don’t get sick from the nasty weedlings growing on this street. Oh! The cart. How do I get the cart?”
The Urchin had said he would take care of it. What did that mean? She didn’t know how she could find out, both because she’d no way of contacting him, and because she was bound and determined to never see him again.
She felt a shift in energy at her back and knew Bash had come up behind her. She pressed her eyes closed, wondering at the feel of it, of why she seemed so drawn to someone she knew quite literally nothing about. Maybe she was just an insufferably shallow creature. How disappointing.
“I say leave it all alone for tonight. Clearly, you’ve been through an ordeal. A cart can wait for morning.”
Alora spun back toward him. “Thank you, Bash, but I’ve had enough of your vague advice for one day.”
“Fine, then. No more advice,” he said, and held up his hands in frustration. “At least allow me to walk you home.”
Alora’s mouth dropped at this uncharacteristic suggestion. She sputtered, “What? Why?”
“Because you seem out of sorts and it’s nearly dark.”
“I can manage alone.”
“My company is better.”
“Is it though?”
His answering smile, a full one, not some half-thought smirk, left Alora wondering if this was what it felt like to be struck down by lightning. He’d a dimple in his right cheek. Good god.
“Have you been taking the potion?”
“The potion?”
Bash’s brows dipped at her confusion. “The one I made for you.”
“Oh.” Alora shook her head clear. “I did. The once. Though now I wish I hadn’t. I wish to forget everything about this day.”
In a baffling turn, the shopkeeper appeared to hesitate. Eventually, he said, “I can’t promise it’ll matter at all…but do you want to talk about it?”
“Oh no. Certainly not.” The idea! She stumbled away from him, dragging hapless George along. “Goodbye. As you wisely said, everything can be sorted out in the morning.” She didn’t mean for the dark and threatening edge to tinge her words, and yet so it did.
William, she seethed, picking her way along Mugwort’s poorly lit street. He’d regret ever tricking her into those satin-sheeted beds. And the Urchin. Well, he’d… He would…
It didn’t matter. She’d decide what to do about those conflicting emotions later.
When she arrived home, she found her Opulence-gold cloak folded and set at her door and was immediately sick.