“You have my card if you need to reach me.” He tipped the hat. “Till we meet again, Ondalune.”
Item No. 612-L | Twelve pastilles. A dozen perfect retorts
Last Word Lozenges
I found these travel sweets in a London Confectionary shop, on a narrow street that I’m convinced doesn’t exist on any map. One of those establishments that only appears after a wrong turn, or a moment of deep existential doubt. The proprietor was dressed in a crisp waistcoat, his eyes magnified by thick spectacles. As I walked in, he was mid-argument with a patron about the moral superiority of sarsaparilla vs root beer.
With remarkable calm, he slipped a glistening lozenge onto his tongue... and spoke.
One sentence. Perfectly timed, devastatingly precise. His opponent nodded, bowed slightly, and left the shop in silence.
The bespoke tin contains twelve licorice-laced pastilles rolled in a fine sugar that shimmers. Anise, honey, and spearmint melt on the tongue, unlocking rhetorical prowess the likes of which Cicero could only dream of.
I’ve used them to end dinner debates, close contracts, and once, accidentally, to win an argument with a pit boss about the best barbecuing technique.
Beware:They only work when you’re telling the truth. Fabrication results in an alarming fizz and a mild coughing fit.
Chapter13
Will Porter, Esquire
It was two weeks into Zani’s stay in Primrose Court and she felt like she’d been living there much longer. She was even attending a Town Hall meeting. Maida’s boyfriend Arthur had tipped her off that there was a motion on the agenda that was sure to affect her. Someone had proposed that the Arcane Archives should be accessible to the public 24 hours a day and seven days a week. Approval of this change would mean she, as curator, would be on call to attend to visitors at all hours. It would make the work of cataloguing the Archive that much more difficult, if not impossible.
She would not let that motion pass without a fight.
Zani settled into a narrow folding chair in the front row of the Town Hall building, where the monthly meeting was being held. Several of the attendees smiled and waved at her. A few addressed her by name. She recognized them all and waved back. Zani hated to admit it, but thought that the tiny magical community might start to feel a little bit like home. She found that feeling of familiarity unsettling, albeit not entirely un-comfy.
She spied a pretty teenager who’d made a frantic trip to the archives last week. She’d forgotten her grandmother’s charm for creating glowing friendship stones, and wanted to pass them out to her friends for Ostara. Zani helped her locate the spell in an earlier grimoire from her family’s line. The young witch was seated with four other girls, and Zani could see they were comparing their stones. They glowed in gorgeous pastel shades that became brighter as they touched them together. When the witch she’d helped pointed at Zani, all four of her friends smiled and waved excitedly.
Even Zephyr Nightshade nodded at her before he took the podium and called the meeting to order.
Despite years of insisting she wasn’t a creature of habit, she’d slipped into an easy daily routine. Because the Arcane Archives were located right below the Mudpuddle Bookshop and Cafe, she had little commute to work.
Every morning, she went for a long walk around the park at the center of Primrose Court. Spring had sprung, and the trees were bursting with cherry blossoms that rained down on the wide pathways like pink snow. She made her way past the fountain and benches at the center of the park. This was where the passage back to the Ordinary world and Boston proper was located. She often ran into other folk here —commuting to work on the outside, or rushing to their posts within the magical community.
From there, she exited the park and made her way back on the street. She window-shopped her way past the apothecary and a handful of other colorful businesses on Main Street. Then she headed back to the Mudpuddle Cafe for her morning coffee.
Only then was it time for her to head back down to “the dungeon,” as she liked to call the Arcane Archives.
In all fairness, the Archives were nothing like a dungeon. The spacious hall of artifacts was well lit by transom windows, and perfectly climate controlled. It was more like a library in a beautiful museum. Time passed quickly when she was down there.
She wanted to hate being there, but the truth was she couldn’t. It was all too easy to lose herself in the stacks of books and cabinets packed full of magical items. The Archive’s greatest treasure was its collection of old grimoires and diaries that had either been donated for safekeeping or recovered from Ordinary markets and collections. There were thousands of abandoned grimoires that had been saved from this fate, mostly by Minerva Lathrop, the priceless collective wisdom of so many generations of magical folk.
Every day, Zani learned ten new things, made a discovery, or got an idea for a spell she’d like to try. Often, the ideas were related to items she wanted to add to her travel kit, some of which were handmade. Recently, based on a sketch in a dolphin shifter’s diary, she’d crafted a pair of magical auditory enhancing “Hearings” from a pair of seashells.
The Arcane Archives was a world-class treasure trove of information and artifacts. Yes, she’d had the tedious misfortune of being tasked with inventorying it all, but even she had to admit, the unfettered access to that much powerful magic was intellectually intoxicating.
Time flew by when she was down in the archives, and she didn’t feel like she was missing anything when she was down there. But the minute she emerged, Zani’s hunger for adventure returned with a vengeance. Seeing exotic items from around the world only inspired her to travel and explore more. Anywhere.
She spent more and more time underground, because whenever she wasn’t working, she felt like a caged bird, beating her wings and flying into walls.
Will Porter kept repeating his offer to take her anywhere she wanted to go. But it could only be for an afternoon. Zani wasn’t interested in popping over to France for pastries or the Maldives for a sunset. That wasn’t how she rolled. She wasn’t some common tourist, desperate to check foreign experiences off a prescribed bucket list. Zani was anexplorer.She believed in slow, deep, deliberate travel. Tourist traps and checklists held zero appeal. What she craved most was the opportunity to bushwhack. To find her own paths. Wherever she went, the one thing she always required was swathes of time. Time to dig in and get to know her destination and learn about the people there. Time to unravel their secrets.
Real travel was not an option for her until she finished cataloguing the contents of the archive. But at her current rate, the task might take years. She’d barely scraped the surface.
If only Will was willing to entertain the notion of taking her back to the train when the amulet disappeared. He’d cut her off every time she brought it up. So she’d stopped mentioning it. Apparently, his offer to take her anywhere did not extend to anywhen.Ifthat was even possible. Will was quite frank about the fact that he hadn’t been able to replicate the time slip. He was back to his usual porting duties, on call as Buffalo Westabrook’s assistant, and running the occasional errand for friends. It was a nice perk when he showed up with takeout food.
“If you can hear my voice, snap twice!” Zephyr Nightshade’s voice boomed as he called the meeting to order. The audience responded with a peppery burst of unsynchronized snapping, the net effect of which left her craving popcorn.
