Chapter 8
Sonya set the wildflowers down on the front table in the hallway, and Azam put the loaf of bread alongside it. Then, he pulled a key out of the table’s drawer and slid it into the door. He turned the key, the lock clicking, and the door creaked as he opened it, the hinges squeaking.
He entered, and she followed after him into the dark and quiet room. The curtains were drawn. Azam quickly found a box of matches and lit the candles and, as he did, the shop came into view. There was a thick layer of dust over everything, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been in here in … a few years, probably.’
She moved further into the shop. It was about the same size as the other half of the cottage, and it even had a fireplace. Excluding the dust, there was an eerie quality to the place, as if it had been left only for the night. Everything appeared to be exactly as his mother must have left it.
There was a round platform surrounded with mirrors, a changing screen, some half-made dresses on mannequins, other garments hanging on a rack.
There was a counter with books, and shelves with fabrics and spools of thread.
Another section had spools of different colored ribbons, along with boxes of buttons and rolls of lace.
There was a table with a sewing machine, and a rack with empty hangers.
Sonya looked around, and Azam trailed behind her. He was very quiet. This must have been painful for him, and she was sorry to have asked to see the shop. She stopped in front of the rack of clothing.
‘What was your mother like?’ she asked, turning to look at him. He gave her a sad smile, touching one of the hanging dresses.
‘She was so full of life,’ Azam said. ‘Always laughing. I think that’s where Dania gets it from, though she didn’t get the chance to know her.’ He ran a hand through his hair, the waves falling back in place. ‘I’m a bit more like my father. He was quieter.’
‘They both sound wonderful,’ Sonya said.
He smiled as a memory entered his mind. ‘So many times Mama would be telling stories to friends or neighbors, and Baba would be sitting beside her, listening, a little smile on his face, even though surely he’d heard that story hundreds of times before.
Sometimes, Mama even told his stories for him, but he never felt the need to be the one speaking, not if Mama was there.
It was so easy to tell he just loved listening to her talk. ’
‘That’s so lovely,’ she said, enraptured.
‘I had such an idyllic childhood,’ he said. ‘Even now, when I look back, those memories shine. I want that for Dania, as well.’ He sighed. ‘I feel so sad for her that she never got to know our parents.’
‘I think you’re doing an incredible job,’ Sonya said.
‘It is difficult,’ he admitted, voice quiet.
‘Hey.’ She touched his arm. ‘Dania is lucky to have you. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.’
He smiled then, looking at her with a tender expression. ‘You say you don’t have magic,’ he said, ‘but kindness is its own magic.’
Her cheeks felt warm. ‘Tell me more about your magic,’ she said.
He went over to the desk, brushing aside the dust from the sewing machine. ‘It makes more sense to show you.’
He lifted one of the unfinished dresses from the mannequins. It was a beautiful sage-green color, and he set it down in the sewing machine, sitting on the chair. He checked the thread, but this must have been the last thing his mother was working on, for the threads matched.
‘Just like this,’ Azam said, and then he stitched the fabric into a skirt. After that was ready, he attached it to the bodice. The dress had three-quarter sleeves that he made and then attached, hands working so quickly with the scissors and the machine she could hardly keep up.
And then, with a flourish, he moved the dress from the machine and stood, showing her the final product.
‘Oh my goodness!’ She reached a hand out to touch the fabric; it was so soft, and fell down in a perfect bounce.
‘For you,’ Azam said, giving it to her.
Her mouth dropped open. He laughed, and she took the dress, holding it up. It was the perfect size. She hadn’t even realized he was stitching it for her.
‘But how did you do it?’ she asked, awed. She hadn’t even seen him take out a measuring tape.
‘It’s part of the magic,’ he said. ‘Stitching is very technical with the measurements and cuts, but with magic, I can just do it all intuitively. Particularly as I’ve already made a dress for you.’
Seeing how quickly he had worked, she was glad that he at least hadn’t been up too late last night fixing Kiri’s dress for her. Even so, she was astounded.
‘Can you teach me?’ she asked, excited. ‘Even without magic?’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’ He gestured for her to sit down on the stool and she did so, leaning forward to look at the machine. ‘Hm, but first.’ He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around before pulling out a light pink ribbon. It matched her dress.
‘May I?’ he asked. Her breath lodged in her throat, but she nodded. His hands were gentle in her hair as he pulled back the front pieces, tying them with the ribbon. ‘There,’ he said, coming round to look at her. ‘Now you can see.’
His gaze lingered on her face and her heart pounded, both from the intensity of his gaze and out of fear. For a moment, she was afraid he would recognize her as her hair was usually pulled back in portraits. But there was no deep recognition or shock.
She released a small breath, relieved.
He went to collect some lace then. ‘Let’s add this to the neckline,’ he said. ‘Very simple. Difficult to mess up.’
‘Don’t underestimate me,’ she joked.
Azam turned the dress inside out, then pointed along the neckline where she would stitch. He eyed the neckline, then cut it with shears. She was mesmerized by the quick way his fingers moved. He was so competent with his hands.
He threaded white into the machine then, showing her how to do it. Next, he pinned the lace to the neckline so it would stay in place, though he had done his stitching without any pins.
‘Just like this,’ he said, voice gentle. He was on his knees next to her, his face beside hers. She felt the warmth of his body, his cheek almost brushing against hers.
‘Then we move the dial,’ he said, lifting her hand and bringing it to the dial.
As they moved it together, she watched the needle shift up and down.
His palm was soft over her knuckles. She felt his chest against her shoulder, steady and solid.
His grip on her hand relaxed, and she moved the dial on her own.
‘Like this?’ she asked, turning to look at him.
They were eye-level, and when their gazes locked, a tingle shot down her spine, like a little jolt of lightning. His throat moved as he swallowed, eyes dark.
‘Yes,’ he said, voice low. ‘Just like this.’
She turned back to the sewing machine, and his left arm came around her to push the dress under the needle. They were nearly in an embrace.
‘Ease it in like this,’ he said, moving the fabric under the needle. ‘Then you begin, moving the fabric as you stitch.’
She moved the dial, pushing the needle into the fabric. He moved his hands back, but still kept them close in case she needed help. As she turned the dial, she moved the fabric, and she was doing it!
‘I’m actually stitching!’ she said gleefully.
Azam smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’
His breath was warm against her neck, making her skin feel feverish. Her stomach burned.
She kept going, until she reached the curve of the neckline on the other end. She was going too quickly, and the fabric caught. Trepidation ran through her.
‘Oh no,’ she whispered, moving her hands back. ‘I’ve ruined it.’
‘Nothing to worry about, Sonya,’ Azam said, voice gentle. ‘I can fix that.’
He waved his hand, and she watched with wide eyes as the stitch unstitched itself, magic undoing her error. She turned to him with her mouth open.
‘You’re extraordinary,’ she said. His cheeks flushed.
‘Try again,’ he said.
She tried again, this time successfully, until the lace was added on. Azam showed her how to cut the thread, then trimmed the extra lace. He pulled the dress back to normal so she could see.
‘It’s so pretty!’ she said, feeling proud of herself.
‘You’re a natural,’ he said. ‘It’ll look perfect on you.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the dress, hugging it to her chest. She felt warm, all the way down to her toes. He watched her, a tender expression on his face, and she felt a little shy.
‘You must think I’m silly,’ she said, putting the dress down.
‘No, quite the opposite!’ he replied. ‘My favorite part of tailoring is seeing people’s reactions. Especially since tailoring magic can change the way the wearer feels.’
She wondered how much of the warmth she felt was because of his magic, and how much of it was just because of him. ‘That’s incredible,’ she said. ‘Tell me more!’
He laughed. ‘It isn’t just about making the garment for us stitch-witches,’ he explained.
‘But how that garment can make someone feel. The way a kitchen-witch’s good meal can make someone feel nourished and cozy, or the way a garden-witch can grow plants to cure ailments, or even the connection a shepherd-witch has with animals—they all run deeper than simple actions. ’
‘I love that,’ she said. He grinned.
‘Anyway—we should return to the others,’ he said, ‘or Grandma Kiri will be wondering where we are.’
Holding the sage-green dress, she followed Azam out of the room. He picked up the bread, and she collected the wildflowers. They entered the living room, where Dania was having a nap, cuddled with her stuffed animals on the sofa. Kiri was reading a book beside her, face glowing from the firelight.
‘You’re back,’ she said.
‘Yes, we are,’ Azam replied, setting the bread down. Hearing Azam’s voice, Dania woke, and she held her arms out for him. With a laugh, he went and hugged her, and she climbed up into his arms, latching onto him like a monkey.