Berron stopped rummaging and looked up. “I’m agreeing with you. Don’t you like that?”
“Um, maybenot…”
“He did the wrong thing for the right reason. He sacrificed himself to free his people. I can’t say I’d have done exactly the same thing, but I can understand why he did it.” Berron carefully closed the drawer. He faced me, and his mahogany irises glittered with firelight. “Do you think you could have made a better choice? One that didn’t end in Prospero hurling himself into the arms of the Arcade?”
I looked away, unable to speak.
He came closer and laid one hand on my cheek. Damn me, I closed my eyes and let him. “Regrets are a fire,” he said, his voice gentle. “They light the way. But don’t let them burn you down.”
Green and gold magic bloomed behind my eyelids, nearly mesmerizing me, as his words wrapped me like a crocheted blanket. If only I could stay here, where nothing else existed but magic and warmth—
Except Daniel was pointedly clearing his throat, and the acrid scent of burning wool suddenly stung my nose. I opened my eyes and hurried to the fireplace, following a trail of scorch marks on the floor.
Patty Melt sat in the fire, contentedly munching on one of Prospero’s socks.
“Patty!” How did you reprimand a fire mouse, anyway? I settled for sighing heavily. “If you get a tummy ache, Miss Patty, don’t come running to me, you hear me?” I heard my mother’s voice in my own words.
Which reminded me—
Mom. In my town. In my shop. I had more important things to do than this. I’d donate the clothing and move on.
And that would be the last of it.
I gathered Patty Melt into my hand, the heat of the fire no more than a caress of warmth, and removed the smoldering sock from her grasp. “Dunk this in some water, will you?” I said, handing it to Daniel. “All right, kid,” I said, returning my attention to the fire mouse, who was yawning. “Sleep it off.” I closed my other hand over her. Her warmth diffused through me, and I felt her presence return to where she slumbered in my mind.
“Okay,” I said, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. “Pile all the clothing on the bed. I’ll take it over to Lily. Maybe she and her fashion-forward friends can make use of it.”
“How will you carry it all?” Daniel asked.
“Put it in the quilt and wrap it up. I’ll throw it in a cab.”
Berron met my gaze silently, for one beat too long, then turned away. He retrieved socks and bow ties from where they’d landed and tossed them into the center of the bed covering.
The finished bundle looked like we’d rolled up Cleopatra in a rug, but thanks to borrowed magic, I lifted it easily, refusing help from either of them. They accompanied me to the elevator anyway.
Manipulating the bundle into the tiny elevator was something else altogether. I had to reverse and change angles so many times I practically needed a back-up sound, like a truck.
Berron finally pushed the obstructing end out of the way so the doors would close.
“Let me know if you find anything else—” I said, but the doors slammed shut before either of them could respond.
Down at the street level, I hailed a cab and tossed the clothing bundle into the trunk. A short ride later, the car stopped in front of the building that housed the fashion studio where Lily spent most of her time. I paid and hopped out. Then I slung the bundle over my shoulder and climbed to the loft.
Large windows lit the studio with natural golden light, making the sketches pinned to the wall glow. Racks of clothing cast geometric shadows. And there at the design table in the middle of it stood Lily, in high-waisted bright pink slacks and a contrasting black top. Silver links made up a necklace that jingled slightly as she shifted, and a lightweight gray scarf trailed loosely over her shoulders.
She looked up and smiled. “Aunt Zelda! What are you doing here? And what isthat?” She dodged the table and hurried forward to greet me.
“This,” I said, throwing the bundle onto a nearby work table with athump, “is a donation.”
Lily’s deft hands quickly unrolled the quilt, revealing Prospero’s clothing. She lit up and reached for the closest jacket—then she stopped before touching it, and actually shied back. Hesitantly, she picked up a red silk bow tie instead. “Where did you get this?”
“A well-dressed distant acquaintance who passed on.” I’d prepared that line ahead of time.
Lily rubbed her thumbs over the bow tie. “Passed on? As in, he died?” She looked concerned. Or confused. Or something. And after her strange reading on the Midsummer Night’s Dream costumes, I wasn’t entirely sure what Lily’s gift was—but I knew she was fully capable of surprising me. “Yes,” I said. “He died. Very old.” I watched her. “Is there something wrong with the clothes? Should I throw them out?”
“No!” The answer came so quickly that I jumped. She seemed to have startled even herself, because she smoothed her hands over the clothes as if trying to smooth over the odd response. “No, they’re beautiful items. We can alter them for people who are starting over and need formal clothes for job interviews and so on.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing…wrongwith them?” I didn’t know how to ask any better. I only knew that she’d picked upsomething, and I was dying to know what it was.
