“I’ll have one as well,” said a man’s voice from behind her, and Alora swung her head around, unaware anyone had come in after her.
“Good afternoon,” said William, grinning.
Alora stumbled over her reply, her theories of prisoners and punishments dashed to a heap with great relief. William washere, in Enver. She found herself scanning for Lennox but came up empty. They were the only two in the shop, aside from Mr. Zanfold.
“Hello,” said Alora, uncomfortably breathless. “I was in getting a paper.”
“So I’d heard.”
Alora hardly managed a sound of protest when William purchased both newspapers from the stoic printer. She’d neighbored this shop for two years, and not once had Mr. Zanfold asked her to call him by his first name or introduce his cat, though she knew it was Hector and the cat was uptight. Still, she smiled at him and the orange tabby that draped lazily over the counter, accepting his quick nod for what it meant:Have a good day.
She returned her attention to William and the outstretched paper, taking in his silken shirt and striped trousers and the way they clung nicely to his slim frame. Once reaching his face, she found him smiling still, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes, which were trained upon her intensely, leaving her feeling as if she’d been swallowed.
She took the paper but wasn’t sure of what else to do. “Not in a practice today?”
“Not today. I followed an urge to come into town instead. Can’t say I’ve been disappointed.”
Alora, having already been swallowed, felt herself sinking further. She made for the door—a path which William eagerly followed. “It’s hard to be disappointed in a town like Enver, with all its beauty and magic.”
“Do you like it here then?”
Alora glanced at William as he said it, standing outside the printer’s shop, steps from her own stairs, but he didn’t appear to mean this precise location. After all, how could he know where she lived? “I like it very much,” she said. “I hope to open myown shop one day.” And then, because she was burning with curiosity, she asked, “Do you like it?”
“The town?”
“The town... What you do.” She pretended to examine the paper as she spoke, not at all dying to know what he might say.
“Ah, curious are you?” He leaned in close, and Alora fought the urge to back away. Instead, she counted the freckles on his nose. “To burn is the most exquisite pain; I'll happily burn for the rest of my life.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her temple, tucking it behind her ear. “As for the town, I think we may have different definitions of magical.” He rolled the newspaper, tucking it under one arm, where it began to drone in a soft, male voice.
“Oh, you’ve squeezed it. Mister Zanfold’s papers are enchanted for those who must—or rather like—listening for their news.”
Brow furrowed, William retrieved the paper. He thwacked it against his opposite hand until it silenced. “Come enjoy an early dinner with me.”
Alora met his eyes and immediately felt as if she were out to sea, one that was endless and without hope of escape. She thought she might drown—and, with that sensation, the indigestion returned. Or perhaps it really was her intuition this time, warning her away.
Regardless, she really couldn’t accept. “I have samples to pick up for a client, I'm afraid. Maybe some other time.”
“Don’t say “maybe”. Not to me,” said William. With one last perusal of her, he turned away. “Return to us when you can.”
Alora frowned after him. Until he disappeared across the street and entered the next. And while she did appreciate the paper, she didnotappreciate him leaving her mind an uncomfortable jumble.
Chapter Ten
Sometime the following morning, before the sun had fully risen and the world was in the first stages of waking, Alora had a dream. She stood in the room, behind Door Twenty-five, as the walls bled. Each time the walls settled on a color, they liquified, running in thick rivulets down the panels only for another to take its place. The room filled steadily, with paint and paper, chaises and sofas, and beds with chains. Windows would appear and wink out again, leaving holes from which poured in black smoke, and then those would change shape and disappear only for the entire room to change shape too. Alora could make no sense of it, her imagination struggling to get just one thing to stick and hold still. It was as if the room itself didn't exist and so she didn’t either, stuck inside it as she was.
When she woke up, she was doused in sweat and her bedroom walls were coated in eight different shades of clashing paints.
***
“Have you tried Potions and…Potions and—” strained Mr. Pottenbaum when Alora had lost only the tiniest bit of patience after his partner, also Mr. Pottenbaum, spent an entire hour choosing between cerulean and periwinkle curtains. Alora had only mentioned between mildly clenched teeth how she was struggling in her focus on the particular task. She could have been more forthright, she supposed, but that would have certainly cost her the job. Mr. Pottenbaum’s indecision was the problem, andnother manifesting nightmares.
“Peculiarities?” she offered, cringing inside.
“That’s it! Dingy place, but excellent brews.”
“More like the excellent jawline of that proprietor. Talkhiminto some periwinkle curtains.”
And so here she stood, outside of Potions and Peculiarities, and noted two things which were very different than before. For one, there was aClosedsign hanging crooked and crude in the door. Secondly, there was a yellow flower potted amongst the weeds of the window box. Alora crept up to it and dipped her finger in, surprised to find the soil damp. A cared for flower even. Though that didn’t help her problem, not that she quite knew what her problem was. Focus, maybe? Sleep? Memory? Stomach upset?
