The thought of discussing any of her personal ailments with the shopkeeper went against her very morals, but still, she couldn’t go on like this. She had a few days over two weeks with which to complete the job, and at this rate, it’d take her two months. Which was why, when she heard a voice coming from around the back of the shop, she ceased plucking the weeds from the box and followed it.
The alleyway was slim and devoid of all things green. In fact, it was devoid of all colors at all unless those colors were gray and black. The black walls of the shop faded to the muted gray stones she walked on only to rise up on her opposite side in anotherblack-walled building. It was a little bit like walking between some charred remains of fire, but then she thought of William and pushed that description firmly out of her head.
At the back of the shop, she saw a wagon first, larger than hers, and definitely not considered a cart. It was attached to a mule, much sturdier in the chest than her donkey and with a fouler attitude. He glared at her in reproach. Last, she saw him, the rude proprietor, and though she’d fixed her lipstick for the occasion, and checked her hair twice, she still dreaded the sight of him. He wore a variation of his usual attire: black trousers, a black vest with silver stitching, though his shirt today boasted shorter sleeves. Sleeves that’d been folded tight over the swell of his upper arms, made more so by the crates he heaved from the wagon to stack by the back door.
Because he didn’t notice her, she decided to watch instead.It would be impolite to interrupt,she thought.
With the final crate in his arms, he swung his gaze to hers. “And here you’ve proven you can be quiet. I’ve lost a bet with myself.” At Alora’s parted lips, he added, “I sold the barshet, if that’s what you wished to know.”
“It wasn’t, though I’m glad of it,” said Alora, and she wasn’t lying. She hadn’t wanted to step foot inside knowing that creature still wished for her voice.
When she said nothing more, he glanced her over, brushing his hands free of travel dust. “We’re closed.”
“I saw the sign.” Why had she come? Awkwardness pulsed through her. The last time she’d seen the man she’d told him to piss off, for heaven’s sake. “And the Zanigold.”
“Purchased from a local nursery. Someone there seemed enamored over it, so I thought I’d see if it was worth the attention. So far, it’s like any other yellow flower, but maybe it’ll reveal some sort of magic soon.”
His eyes were like moss over trees, but right now, catching the sun, they seemed to lighten enough to rival the hillsides of her childhood home. It was unbearably attractive. So much so, she realized she’d begun biting at her thumb as he talked. She dropped it from her mouth, scowling. “Alora Pennigrim,” she said, hardening her tone. “I’m in need of a potion. I’m told this is the place to go.”
The shopkeeper stared at her outstretched hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it. Finally, he placed his within, and it was calloused and warm.
“Bash,” he said. “What is it you need?”
Alora didn’t like he’d not given her his full name. She wasn’t used to those she encountered being so secretive. Her fingers twitched where he held them, a current traveling to all corners of her body. She didn’t like that either. Not at all.
She pulled her hand free. “I need something for focus. Or to improve memory. My usual aids haven’t been working.”
Bash crossed his arms over his chest as she spoke, causing Alora to forcibly avert her eyes from the pull of cloth against his skin. “Which aids?”
“Herbal tea. Sleep. A balanced diet.”
“And you are prone to distraction?”
Alora, offended, met his gaze. “No. I’ve told you before, I’m usually very observant.”
“Hmm,” he said, with an undercurrent of disbelief. He turned toward the door and proceeded to unlock it. “What I have is likely too much for you. I suggest you seek out the town apothecary for some root or weed.”
“Please,” said Alora, her feet planted. “It is getting worse.” She thought of the nightmares, the changes to her home. Of her notebook and how her eyes seemed to slip from the page.
Bash glanced over his shoulder, probably at the thread of panic unwittingly woven into her words. His eyes assessed her quickly before he turned back.
She exhaled in relief when he said, “All right. Come with me.”
The back of Potions and Peculiarities didn’t surprise Alora at first. There were boxes and crates, shelves lined with assortments of bottles and decanters, and on the countertops were items in various states of unpacking. But then she spotted a crystal skull with eyes made of rubies. She immediately paused to study it.
“Don’t look in that.” Bash pressed his shoulder between them, forcing a rod to one ruby eye and shoving it away. “Didn’t you say you weren’t easily distracted?”
“How was I to know you keep so many dangerous artifacts? I was only curious.”
“And so nearly became entranced.”
“Is that what it does?” Alora couldn’t help it. She leaned toward the skull.
“Yes. You’d be entirely at my mercy.”
She swung around to him, but he’d moved away, standing before a smaller door and unlocking that one, too. “And I suppose you’d make me accomplish diabolical things for you?” She paused at his back while she waited, unsure why she baited him. Why she couldn’t seem to help it.
Because he starts it,she decided.
