Chapter 1 Sneak Peek #2
I pulled out my credit card and handed it to her before she could fight me on it.
“Get a deep conditioning hair mask, trim up those ends or cut it—I don’t care which, and get a blowout.
Personally, I think your color is gorgeous, but if you decide to dye it, don’t go red.
It would look terrible with your coloring and red hair is my thing.
” I shook my copper hair for emphasis. “And if you get a perm, you’re fired.
Your natural bounce is glorious and should not be messed with. ”
She opened her mouth, but I stood and squared my shoulders. “Meet me at the little tea shop across from Cupid’s Confections when you’re done.” She shrugged her defeat and hurried off to the combination beauty parlor and barber shop that was the only option in this town.
The Trinket Trove was close enough that I could walk rather than drive. The sun warmed my shoulders, but I was glad for my peacoat as a chill breeze blew dried leaves across my legs.
I strode down the sidewalk, taking in downtown Austen Heights.
I’d never admit it to Charles, but it was quaint.
The downtown area consisted of historic brick stores with old-fashioned murals and hand-painted windows.
Old barrels acted as planter urns and teemed with chrysanthemums and goldenrod. It was nice, in its own way.
My main quarrels with the town were that it was too small and had too few people in it.
The only museum was a tiny building that smelled of botched taxidermy, and the food choices were completely lacking.
There was no art or music scene at all, though when I asked, a bartender told me, unironically, that they hosted an open-mic night every other Tuesday.
The population was small and mostly Unmarked by magic, and those that were Marked were mostly lowerborn fae.
Or Witches, like the Bennets, who were walking toward me on the sidewalk.
The youngest flipped her long brown hair and tugged at her older sister’s blue polyester sweater. “I need a new scrunchie, but I forgot my wallet and I never carry cash. Spot me, Kitty?”
“Fine, but I—” She grimaced as she spotted me.
I snapped my glamour in place so I’d appear calm and unbothered as I inclined my head briefly, increasing my speed as I passed them. I wasn’t quick enough to avoid hearing their whispers.
“Look, Lydia, the lofty Caroline Bingley is out among the common people.”
“Can you believe she dares to show her face after what her sister did?”
I held my head high and kept walking. No, this was not a town I could live in for long.
I would wither and die, like the mums in the barrel in front of me, which seemed to have been badly neglected.
I stopped walking and looked up at the blade sign jutting out toward the street—a picture of a rocking chair.
Big scrolling letters above the showcase window declared the store’s name, The Trinket Trove. Of course it was.
A bell tinkled overhead as I pushed open the door.
I braced myself for harsh, fluorescent lighting and was pleased to find the store lit by warm wall sconces and lamps scattered throughout the space.
I inhaled deeply. The scent of the room wasn’t exactly pleasant, but there was something about the smell created from combining aged wood, worn leather, and forgotten treasures from hundreds of homes that was a magic all its own.
Two men stood behind the counter, a thin, balding man in a burnt orange sweater that screamed Fast Fashion, and a younger, plumper man wiping already-clean glass with a little cloth. Both were lesser fae.
“Just browsing,” I said before either of them could talk to me, and hurried past. Nothing could ruin a good shopping experience faster than an overattentive employee.
I tried to keep an open mind as I wound my way through the crooked aisles; if I had too clear of a picture of what I wanted, I might miss something unexpected and fabulous.
I ran my fingers along the grainy wooden arm of a child-sized rocking chair and paused to admire a collection of antique china. None of it moved me, so I kept looking, picking up a green glass vase here, a set of mahogany napkin rings there, as I wandered deeper into the store.
On top of a dresser with chipped blue-gray paint, I found a gorgeous wooden sculpture of a Celtic knot.
Each strand was crafted from a different type of wood: buttery oak, creamy maple, and deep, dark walnut.
It had just the whimsical feel I was going for.
I added it to my load and headed back toward the front counter.
As I turned a corner, I spied a back room that was mostly concealed by a red velvet curtain.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, I slipped through the curtain into a dimly lit storage room. Broken furniture perched in one corner, waiting to be restored. And in the far corner was the most exquisite full-length mirror I’d ever seen.
Time had softened its brass edges to a beautiful patina.
The glass must have been either replaced at some point, or enchanted, because it showed no signs of foxing or discoloration.
I smiled at my reflection. A figure stepped into the frame, a man whose face I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried.
Winston, my ex-fiance.
I spun quickly around to ask him what he was doing here, but there was no one behind me in the room. When I turned back to the mirror, only my face stared back.
I placed a hand on the cool metal of the frame, probing it with a trickle of magic. I leaned in closer, hoping it would change, that it would show me something new. But no, there it was again, his face, the face I’d been trying for months to forget.
But why?
I straightened my spine. I would uncover its mystery. I was never one to let a secret stay secret for long.