Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
TRIALS WILL TEST YOU, APPARENTLY
The shop smells like crushed herbs, lavender oil, and the slow curl of incense burning somewhere just out of sight, threading through the air in delicate spirals that catch the afternoon light filtering through the front windows.
I stand behind the counter for half a second longer than necessary, letting it settle into my lungs, into my skin. The scent wraps around me like a second skin, familiar in a way I’m only just beginning to recognize, like muscle memory that’s been dormant my entire life and is only now waking up.
Thorne Curiosities looks different.
It was always clean. Sir made sure of that long before I ever set foot back in this place.
Now, though, it is alive in a way it hasn’t been in the years it’s been closed, shuttered and silent.
The walls carry a fresh coat of deep, moody color that makes the shelves stand out rather than disappear into the background like forgotten thoughts.
The displays are no longer crammed together like a forgotten attic, chaotic and desperate for attention.
Everything has space now, intention, a flow that actually makes sense when you walk through it, that guides the eye rather than overwhelms it.
It finally feels like a shop. My shop.
I thought I could walk away from all this.
Pack it up, sell it off, leave Ruby Springs in my rearview mirror like I’d always planned.
Now, standing here in the middle of it all, breathing in the proof of everything I’ve built, I can’t imagine how I survived without it.
How I went thirty-five years believing I was broken when really, I was just waiting.
I run my hand along the edge of the counter, grounding myself in the reality of that, letting my fingers trace the smooth wood like I need the reminder that this is real, that I’m not going to wake up tomorrow back in my old apartment with nothing but regret and an aching emptiness where my magic should be.
“We did that,” I murmur under my breath, nodding my head in approval, eyes moving across the room again, taking in every detail like I’m seeing it for the first time all over again.
“You did that,” Sir corrects from his perch atop the tallest shelf near the back wall, his tail flicking lazily as he surveys the room like a king surveying his domain, utterly unbothered by anything resembling modesty.
“We simply supervised to ensure you did not ruin everything with your questionable aesthetic choices.”
I glance up at him, folding my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow. “You slept through most of it.”
“I supervised in spirit,” he replies smoothly, not the least bit ashamed. “My presence alone was sufficient motivation for you to perform adequately.”
“Adequately,” I repeat flatly.
“I am being generous.”
Before I can argue with a cat who has never lost an argument in his life and clearly has no intention of starting now, the bell over the door chimes, bright and cheerful.
It rings again a moment later, and all I can do is shake my head as the storms roll in.
Toni walks in first, pushing the door open with her shoulder, a bakery box balanced in her hands with the kind of confidence that suggests she’s done this a thousand times before.
Today she’s traded her usual culottes for ripped black jeans that have seen better days, her signature chains glint at her hips and make soft clinking sounds with every step.
She’s wearing a worn band tee, The Sex Pistols, naturally, that’s been washed so many times the graphic is starting to fade into ghost-like impressions.
Her pink hair is brighter this time, almost neon, with a blue stripe down the middle like she decided subtlety was overrated and boring.
“Move,” Lin says behind her, already halfway through the door with two more boxes stacked precariously in her arms and absolutely no patience for spatial awareness or basic physics.
Lin looks different today too, which shouldn’t surprise me by now but somehow still does.
No tie-dye explosion, no chaotic layers of clashing patterns that somehow work together.
Instead, she’s in a long, gauzy dress that shifts with her movement like water, soft and airy, the fabric catching light in ways that make it look almost translucent.
Her hair is loose down her back, waves of it cascade over her shoulders with small flowers tucked through the strands like she walked through a fairy garden on her way here.
Her pince-nez hangs from a delicate chain pinned to her bodice, catching the light as she moves and throwing tiny prisms across the nearest shelf.
“I told you to wait, you old crystal pusher,” Toni mutters, shifting sideways at the last second so Lin doesn’t bulldoze her completely into the doorframe.
“I did wait,” Lin snaps back, her voice carrying that particular edge that suggests this is an argument that’s been ongoing for at least three decades. “For five whole seconds.”
“You counted that as waiting?” Toni tsks in disapproval, shooting her sister the kind of side-eye that could strip paint off walls.
“It felt like waiting,” Lin replies with a sheepish smile that doesn’t look remotely apologetic.
I laugh, the sound bubbling up without permission as I step out from behind the counter, moving toward them as they set their boxes down on the refreshment table like they’re presenting offerings to an altar, each one placed with ceremony despite the bickering.
“You two brought pastries,” I say, already knowing this is about to escalate into something ridiculous because it always does with these two.
“We brought the pastries,” Lin corrects, straightening with pride and brushing imaginary dust off her dress like she’s just accomplished something monumental. “Bea has been formally and respectfully uninvited from contributing to the spread.”
Toni snorts, the sound inelegant and perfect. “Respectfully? You told her to square up in the street.”
“She knows what she did,” Lin huffs. “And I’m not afraid to fight in my good dress. I’ve done it before.”
“That was one time—”
“Twice,” Lin interrupts firmly.
The bell chimes again before I can respond, cutting through their bickering like a referee’s whistle.
Bea walks in carrying two large trays, the scent of something warm and savory following her this time, real food, grounding and rich.
Behind her, a teenage girl steps carefully through the doorway with another tray balanced in her hands, her movements precise and controlled like she’s very aware of exactly how much space she takes up.
“And this,” Bea says, not missing a beat as she sets the trays down beside the pastry boxes, “is why nobody listens to either of you.”
Lin gasps, one hand flying to her chest like she’s been mortally wounded. “Excuse you—”
“You are excused,” Bea cuts in smoothly, her tone final, before turning her attention to me with a warm smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. She gestures behind her with one hand. “Keisha, this is my sister, Zane.”
Zane steps forward with a polite smile, and I take her in properly, giving her the kind of attention she deserves rather than just a passing glance.
She’s taller than I expect for sixteen, all long limbs and quiet confidence, the kind of height that probably made middle school awkward but now just makes her striking.
Her dark hair falls sleek and straight down her back like it belongs in a magazine spread.
There’s something luminous about her, something just beneath the surface that makes the air around her feel slightly different, charged in a way that has nothing to do with static electricity.
“She’s coming into her powers,” Sir says before I can fully register the power radiating from her, his voice settling into my mind with the casual authority of someone stating an obvious fact.
“Yep, magic. I can definitely feel it,” I reply back to him without missing a beat. After weeks of study and practice, after hours spent with Ezra learning to sense and control what’s been locked inside me all this time, I’ve become attuned to it in ways I never thought possible.
It hums faintly around her, soft but present, like it hasn’t fully decided what it wants to be yet, like it’s still figuring out its own nature. The sensation is different from mine, lighter, somehow, less grounded, but no less real.
“Hi,” she says, her voice calm and self-assured, carrying none of the awkwardness I would have expected from someone her age. She meets my eyes directly, and I can see intelligence there, awareness that goes deeper than her years should allow.
“Hi,” I return, smiling warmly because she deserves that, deserves to be welcomed into this space without reservation. “Welcome to the chaos. We’re all a little cuckoo around here.”
“She’ll fit right in,” Toni mutters from somewhere behind me.
“I heard that,” Zane says dryly, her expression not changing but something flickering in her eyes that might be amusement.
Bea exhales, already resigned to whatever fresh chaos her sister is about to unleash on the world. “Of course you did.”
The shop fills slowly after that, the space transforming from empty to occupied in degrees rather than all at once.