Chapter 5 Silva #2
There’d been a time when the thought of spending a Saturday at the club with her husband filled her with giddy excitement.
They would play croquet together and enjoy afternoon tea in the garden room.
She would leave him in the gentlemen’s lounge with a whiskey flight and a kiss, finding him after she’d gotten a facial or a massage.
They’d be hand-in-hand, meeting her grandmother for an early dinner before going home together.
Happily ever after. An unrealistic scenario as any in her books, she thought ruefully, checking herself in.
The goblin who led her to a chair for her facial asked if she was feeling like conversation, a forthrightness Silva appreciated. “No, actually. Zoning out is the goal.”
The goblin laughed, moving out of her sightline, behind the chair. “Zone away.”
The auction had practically landed in her lap.
Granted, she had reached out to the shop, but that the swing in the dark had amounted to something was an accident.
Our procurers can find most anything. Perhaps she ought to call the shop that had sent her the book. After this trip. Then you call them.
“I don’t know, she seems nice enough.”
Silva recognized the voice instantly. Esta, the mother of the little boy at brunch, one of the neighbors Tannar had grown up with.
“She seems like a snob.” Finnea, Lucine’s mother. They were somewhere to her left, two or three stations away.
“What’s wrong with her, though? That’s what I want to know.”
Silva didn’t recognize the third voice, but she had likely seen the speaker’s face.
It doesn’t matter, they’re all the same.
Inelegant. Is this what passes for high-class, dove?
Can’t imagine why I was worried. He’d never needed to worry.
He had better manners and upbringing than more than half the elves she knew, and certainly more than any she’d met in this boring little suburb.
“There must be something wrong with her. Why else did she move away from her family?!”
Silva gasped from beneath her thick mask of clay. Instantly, the goblin was right there, talking over her face.
“Is everything alright, miss? Please let me know if the temperature is too hot.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she managed to half-whisper through her mask-tightened lips. “Those girls are talking about me, that’s all.”
It was the goblin’s turn to gasp. “Oh, dear! What-what would you like me to do?”
“Nothing,” Silva assured her, trying not to laugh and ruin the mask. “Honestly, they’re kind of trash, so I don’t care. We’re just going to listen.”
“I don’t know, but she puts on airs. What was she even asking about the other week? A fashion show?! Where does she think she is, Aulendale? Tannar is besotted, but it won’t take long for the perfect princess routine to get old, just wait.”
“What does she even do all day?! Probably just sitting at home, online shopping with his money. Or having an affair with a human.”
The three elves laughed at the thought, as the goblin above her clicked her tongue.
“Miss, would you like me to say something to reception? I can—”
“No,” she whispered, feeling strangely at peace.
She didn’t care about being disliked here.
Until her belly swelled with life, she would be an outsider, and that was fine.
That was what she’d spitefully chosen, and Silva wasn’t ready to walk back on that decision yet.
“It’s fine. Sometimes it’s good to let the trash take itself out, so that you don’t make the mistake of trusting them. ”
Once, she would have been the first to show up, the brightest smile, the most involved, bringing a tray of cookies to share. And where did that get you?
It occurred to her, for the very first time, that perhaps she was a bit of a snob.
Could it be? Was Cevanore really that much more upscale and over the top than what was the norm for their communities?
Surely not. She’d been to events at other area clubs, and while it was true that she and her grandmother had picked apart the details of those events, they were perfectly elegant and on par with what she was used to.
Just think. If you’d moved here with him, you probably could have joined this sorry excuse for a club together, no issues to be had.
The others were gone by the time Silva’s treatment was finished.
She tipped the goblin generously, thanking her for the excellent care, not doubting for a moment that the instant the door swung shut behind her, the tale would make its way around to every technician station in the spa.
Good. Classless behavior. That’s what they deserve.
She met Tannar with a beaming smile, satisfying his desire for her to start fitting into the community. You only need to fit in as long as you’re here, and you only need to be here until you can find him. After this week, once you’re home, it’s go time.
* * *
“I can’t believe we’re flying somewhere that’s only a two-hour drive,” she hummed, boarding the plane two mornings later. “And even worse, I checked a bag for it!”
Tannar chuckled behind her, hoisting his own carry-on into the overhead as she slid into the window seat. “Ten minutes in the air or two hours on the ground. They just want us in the office faster.”
Silva had no complaints. She’d packed her winter boots, a puffer and her wool coat, necessitating her suitcase, but it was worth it.
She didn’t care what the weather conditions were like and prepared for any possibility — she was in desperate need of retail therapy and was prepared to hit the sidewalk as soon as she checked into their room.
She was unprepared for the rush of memories that hit her when the hotel’s mirrored elevator door slid shut.
It had been a little middle-of-nowhere hotel like this, that last little weekend trip they’d taken, when she’d been tasked with getting him out of the Plundered Pixie.
And the trip before that, when he’d hustled pool and they’d gone to tea, when she’d sunk her teeth into his shoulder, giving him a bruise that matched the scar on her own.
She could practically smell him behind her, sandalwood and wild forest, was nearly able to hear the huff of his laughter in her hair and feel the scrape of his teeth against the back of her neck.
Nothing on that trip had gone to plan, but it was still the most fun she could remember having maybe ever, more fun than she would likely ever have again. Fly away, little dove.
Her hand shook when she opened the hotel room door, the bed she would share with her husband filling the space, blurred from her tears.
None of this was supposed to be her life.
Silva nearly tripped over her suitcase in her haste to haul it up, desperate to change and get out of this room, wondering why she thought this was a good idea at all.
She’d been able to calm herself buying some wax melts once she put a bit of distance between herself and the hotel, was able steady her breathing with a fancy bar of laundry soap, the pounding behind her eye ebbing away as she sat in a little café with a hot cup of tea, her purchases on the table, wondering how she was ever supposed to start enjoying life again.
The shop was across the street from the café.
She wouldn’t have noticed it at all if she hadn’t been sitting there pitifully, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a tissue, feeling wretched.
Never would have been sitting in this little café if she hadn’t fought to come on this trip.
Black awnings with a rich red trim, pitched low, preventing her from being able to make out any of the displays, but the name was emblazoned across the awning’s front in gold lettering. Bell, Book & Candle.
She was out of her seat before her feet were able to register the plan, her knee bumping a table leg and sloshing the remnant of her teacup.
Silva palmed the cup, drained it and wiped the table clean with her napkin in one movement, spinning away to leave, backtracking only a little sheepishly to collect her bags.
It was one of the shops from her journal. She remembered recording the unusual name, and here it was, as if it were waiting for her to happen upon it.
It seemed impossible to her that the shop was just there.
Sitting right there, out in the open, on a busy street corner, no less!
Its name was not hidden, she didn’t need to climb into a storm drain to access it, and Silva had no doubt that if she were to look the shop up on her phone at that exact moment, she’d be able to call a phone number and be chatting with someone’s grandmother before the light at the intersection turned red.
Her experience with the key had clearly influenced her thinking.
There was a time, she reminded herself as she bounced on her toes at the corner before the little café, when she had taken things at face value.
She never went searching beneath the surface for hidden meaning, never even thought to do so.
She knew how to read situational subtext at the club, of course, but rarely did she go about her days wondering if the farmstand where she purchased her apple cider was running a secret underground drug smuggling ring to the other side of the veil, transporting the pressed-out apple cores as their cover.
Now, she had thoughts like that all the time.
The Plundered Pixie had also been right out in the open. On a busy street corner, no less.
Silva was glad for the few extra inches of height she gained from her fur-trimmed boots as she crossed the road once the light turned, shopping bags looped over her elbow, her hands jammed in her pockets.
She hoped she seemed confident and assured, and not like the quaking mouse she was, unable to swallow down this good fortune, if that’s what it was.
She wasn’t even supposed to be here.