Chapter Twenty-Three
Alora folded herself into the cushioned chair at El’s Books and Nibbles.
Her head collapsed into her palms. She rubbed circles at her temples as she listened to the quiet sounds of pages turning and tea being sipped.
There were no bees today, but Lucille and Loretta shuffled along the beams, nosy and judging.
When Loretta dropped to the back of the chair opposite her, Alora didn’t startle, but imagined a shadow-mouse scurrying off into the corner. The owl abandoned her at once.
She wanted to be alone.
“Tea, dear?”
Alora lifted heavy eyes to the soft countenance of Ellie Turkens and couldn’t even bring about a smile. “Strong as you can make it, please.”
A brief pat to the head, and the old woman returned her nose to its novel and was gone.
There was a tornado inside her brain, moths eating holes in her thoughts. Alora couldn’t pin down any singular idea.
Merridon and his bribery.
Merridon and his contracts.
The Urchins’ shuttling of dark artifacts and captive creatures.
The Urchins and their stealing of memories.
The collective gag on Enver’s mouth.
The gag on her own.
China clinked in front of her, and Alora reached toward it, unseeing. “Ellie…”
“What is it, dear?”
“What do you know about the owner of Opulence?”
When she could focus again, she noticed Ellie’s eyes darting in all directions before landing upon the twin owls in the rafters. She waggled a finger at them.
“Sorry. They like to gossip. As for your question, I know some. What are you looking for?”
“All of it. Everything.”
Ellie Turkens must have noticed the desperation in her eyes because she did something then that she’d never done before. She sat down. Her book closed and settled on her lap. “Alora. You’re not thinking of a membership, are you?”
“Why do you ask that?”
Ellie pursed magenta lips. “There are far more worthwhile things to spend your hard-earned money on.”
“Yes, I—”
“I’ve seen people grow wild trying to scrounge enough for a year’s worth, and I’ve never seen anyone better for it.”
“You haven’t?”
“Goodness, no! You don’t need to get close to feel the wrongness pulsing about that place.” She made a choked little sound then, lowering her voice. “We should be careful. There are eyes and ears at attention for such talk, and I don’t mean the owls.”
The bookshop was dimly lit against the encroaching night. Shadows were everywhere. But none were absolute—as if the very light had been swallowed. Goosebumps rose to Alora’s arms, and not all because of her wet clothing. She didn’t think they were being watched, but how could someone ever be sure?
Ellie Turkens leaned in until her forehead nearly brushed Alora’s own across the small table. “Mister Marshall Merridon is a con man.”
Alora was about to say she knew this when Ellie rushed on, as if the more quickly she spewed the information, the less likely she’d find herself in trouble over it.
“He isn’t from Enver to begin with, and I remember when he showed up on our streets, not much older than you.
He had a fancy cart which he’d open up, and inside would be rows and rows of vials, and a sign that said something along the lines of ‘Memory Oil: Massage Your Troubles Away’.
Now traders come all the time, that wasn’t the unique part.
No, the uniqueness to Marshall Merridon was in the way he seemed to draw people.
He was skilled in bartering, skilled in that smile of his.
Sometimes, he didn’t even accept money, but other things.
It was like blinking. One moment a cart, and the next, a mansion.
I don’t think anyone here today knows quite how he managed it. ”
“I’ve seen this oil at work,” said Alora between her teeth. She knew now what was in Reginald’s darts and the Urchins’ bludgeoning weapons. Likely there was a smaller concentration dripping out from one of the several faucets hidden behind Door One.
“No you haven’t,” said Ellie, tapping the side of her nose.
Right.
“If it’s only the curiosity driving you, fine; you wouldn’t be the first to be intrigued over the mansion’s mysteries.
But if it’s something else, then let me warn you now.
Marshall Merridon is like a specter wolf.
The more enchantment fed to him, the bigger he grows. Don’t give him an ounce of you.”
Soft hands encased Alora’s cheeks for a brief moment before Ellie Turkens rose from the table. Alora watched her weave through the others until she disappeared among the stacks at the back of the shop. A little bit sick, Alora sipped her tea, and it was deliciously strong.
She wondered if the owner of Books and Nibbles guessed more about her than she thought. She also wondered what Merridon would look like with pure white eyes and a snout full of teeth. Eventually, though, she was too tired to wonder anything at all.
When only a swirl of leaves remained at the bottom, Alora pushed from her seat.
It was night now, and even though she knew nightmares awaited her, she yearned for her bed.
Few people remained aside from her, and all had their noses buried, oblivious to anything around them.
She yearned so badly for that sort of detachment, her chest ached. She turned to leave.
“Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora stilled. She glanced to the remaining patrons, but all seemed unbothered and none looked at her. Tentatively, she lifted her gaze to the rafters.
“Alora.”
Lucille and Loretta stared over their backs at her in a sniping, unblinking fashion; they knew the mouse had been a trick and wouldn’t forgive easily. But no, they didn’t speak.
She squinted into the shadows and caught her breath when a hand beckoned her in. She hesitated for several heartbeats before making for it. Surely, someone wouldn’t launch an attack in a bookstore?
At the first set of shelves, she lifted the lantern free of its hook and peered within.
A man stood there. He was fairly tall, with deep brown skin and patches of gray at his temples. She held the lantern between them like a shield, though he was the one backed into a corner and not her. Shadows danced away from the shifting light, the scent of paper all around.
“There you are,” he said, his voice no longer a hissed whisper. “I’d hoped to find you safe.”
At once, Alora recognized his voice and raised the lantern higher. Yes, copper eyes. Just as she thought.
“Reginald?” Before he could answer, she’d thrown her arms around him.
Warm hands came around her back slowly, almost disbelieving. She felt several brief pats between her shoulder blades. “Mortimer now. I answer to my middle name.”
Alora pulled back at last, setting the lantern at their feet.
She noted his sensible brown shoes. No longer did he wear the curled, golden boots belonging to a guard.
“I looked for you today! What happened? I hoped maybe a vacation, but after speaking with Master Merridon, I thought something worse.”
“Don’t speak of him,” said Reginald. No—Mortimer. His eyes darted beyond her head. “It isn’t safe to do so, for you most of all.”
“For me?”
But Mortimer chose to answer her earlier questions instead. “I’m not on holiday. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I were. No, I’ve been fired from my post.”
Alora gasped, even though she wondered as much. “Why? Because of me?”
Mortimer winced. Alora couldn’t get over how different he looked without all his gold paint and armor. And she dreaded his answer.
“Our interactions were reported. They were deemed inappropriate by management.”
Madam Feebledire. Alora yearned to wrap her hands around the woman’s skinny neck and throttle her. “I’m endlessly sorry, Reg—ah, Mortimer. I shouldn’t have pushed when you declined those times.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“But it is! If only I had some weight, that I could beg for your job back.”
Mortimer shook his head. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want it back. You’ve helped me, Alora.”
She blinked up at him, unsure she’d heard correctly. “Helped you?”
“I was just another contract without end. I had a few more privileges than some, considering my role, but not many. I was just as chained to the grounds.”
Alora didn’t know how to ask without sounding indelicate. Maybe there wasn’t a way. She worried her lip a moment before giving in and saying, “I’m thrilled you’ve kept your memories. I would be horrified if they’d stolen them from you. If you didn’t remember me.”
At that, Mortimer gripped her elbow, and Alora followed him deeper, until they were all in shadow. He whispered, “They meant to take them from me.”
“They did?” Alora lowered her voice to match, her voice breathless with horror. “How did you escape?”
“When they made me turn, to dart me in the back, I knew my time was at an end. No more Reginald Mortimer Nortsen. I knew too many of their secrets to lose just a little. But at the last moment, when I’d closed my eyes and dreamt of wintry days, I was pulled free.”
Alora stared up at him transfixed. “By whom?”
“The young captain. He told them some story of his own personal vendetta against me and his desire to exact revenge, but I knew it was all a hoax because I’ve never gotten into a scuffle with any of them save one, and that boy deserved it back then.
Then he hauled me off by the collar into the woods, and the next thing I knew I was in Enver, sense of self intact. ”
Alora’s mouth fell wide. “Why would he do that?”
Mortimer stared at her. “I asked him the same. He said I was important to someone important to him, and to not make him regret his decision. And if I did, then losing my memory should become the least of my fears. Quite dramatic, if you ask me, but I promised him all the same; I was so full of gratitude. And now I’m here to warn you. ”
Alora could hardly keep up. “Warn me of what?”
“There’s never been a contract like yours.
Not in all the years I’ve been employed, and I’ve been employed a long time.
He doesn’t just allow people to come and go as they please.
Not outside of members during operating hours.
I’m worried over what he has planned. I’m worried for you. Don’t go back.”
“Don’t— But what of the contract?”
“Hang the contract!” exclaimed Mortimer, and Alora recoiled at the sudden rise in volume. He noticed and softened right after. “Do you have nowhere else to go? Nowhere else you’d like to be?”
“My dream is here,” she replied, quiet.
Mortimer must have noticed her forlorn look, because he reached out and gripped her shoulders. “What dream is there to be had if you lose to him?”
His words were a catalyst to an eruption long simmering beneath the surface. It soon spewed a fury that scorched everything inside. Alora reached up to grip the backs of Mortimer’s hands where they held onto her and felt that feeling harden to stone. Her eyes burned into his.
“I won’t lose.”
***
Alora rolled the vial of tonic purchased from Potions and Peculiarities between her fingers. It shimmered a ghastly orange under the lamplight, and she shuddered as she brought the dropper to her lips. Bash could do with some tweaking of his recipes.
Mrs. Flops leapt onto the bed and stretched alongside her, a yawn revealing overlarge front teeth.
Alora gave her head a scratch, thinking aloud.
“It tastes terrible, but I think it’s working, Mrs. Flops.
I suppose I should be grateful for that.
It’s just so strange, isn’t it? A mansion built upon memory oil, and I’m the one struggling to maintain mine.
Maybe it’s another way for my body to tell me that something isn’t right, along with the alarm in my stomach and in my heart. ”
She examined her room, the moss-green walls, an arched bookcase, and the newly purchased mirror. She’d fixed the scratches in the flooring where the shattering in her dreams had harmed it. She’d fixed where the walls had burned.
“I probably should have listened to it from the beginning, but that’s hope for you.
I wanted my own shop too much.” Alora reached to dim the lamp—she couldn’t bring herself to douse it completely—and yawned.
“The Urchin captain saved Reginald, who is now Mortimer. Because he was important to someone important to him. Who would an Urchin care for?”
But she’d seen the way Mortimer had stared at her. She’d be a fool to misunderstand.
“He’s a bad sort, though. Look at what he’s done.
Look at who he commands! It’s probably him that enforces the rule that keeps Lennox and all the others locked away.
For all I know, he’s out bludgeoning innocents right now.
And he lied to me, remember? That once. No, I could never.
” Suddenly too hot, she tossed off the blankets.
Because she couldn’t tell the rabbit how their sparring made her heart quicken, or that his touch made her skin flush with want.
What sort of person have I become?
It was a thought that segued aggressively into another.
“Bash is hiding something from me, Mrs. Flops. What do you think it is?”
Alora fell fast asleep waiting on the answer, though she thought it might have brushed her fingertips just as dreams carried her away.