The Urchins and their stealing of memories.
The collective gag on Enver’s mouth.
The gag on her own.
China clinked in front of her, and Alora reached toward it, unseeing. “Ellie…”
“What is it, dear?”
“What do you know about the owner of Opulence?”
When she could focus again, she noticed Ellie’s eyes darting in all directions before landing upon the twin owls in the rafters. She waggled a finger at them.
“Sorry. They like to gossip. As for your question, I know some. What are you looking for?”
“All of it. Everything.”
Ellie Turkens must have noticed the desperation in her eyes because she did something then that she’d never done before. She sat down. Her book closed and settled on her lap. “Alora. You’re not thinking of a membership, are you?”
“Why do you ask that?”
Ellie pursed magenta lips. “There are far more worthwhile things to spend your hard-earned money on.”
“Yes, I—”
“I’ve seen people grow wild trying to scrounge enough for a year’s worth, and I’ve never seen anyone better for it.”
“You haven’t?”
“Goodness, no! You don’t need to get close to feel the wrongness pulsing about that place.” She made a choked little sound then, lowering her voice. “We should be careful. There are eyes and ears at attention for such talk, and I don’t mean the owls.”
The bookshop was dimly lit against the encroaching night. Shadows were everywhere. But none were absolute—as if the very light had been swallowed. Goosebumps rose to Alora’s arms, and not all because of her wet clothing. She didn’t think they were being watched, but how could someone ever be sure?
Ellie Turkens leaned in until her forehead nearly brushed Alora’s own across the small table. “Mister Marshall Merridon is a con man.”
Alora was about to say she knew this when Ellie rushed on, as if the more quickly she spewed the information, the less likely she’d find herself in trouble over it. “He isn’t from Enver to begin with, and I remember when he showed up on our streets, not much older than you. He had a fancy cart which he’d open up, and inside would be rows and rows of vials, and a sign that said something along the lines of ‘Memory Oil: Massage Your Troubles Away’. Now traders come all the time, that wasn’t the unique part. No, the uniqueness to Marshall Merridon was in the way he seemed to draw people. He was skilled in bartering, skilled in that smile of his. Sometimes, he didn’t even accept money, but other things. It was like blinking. One moment a cart, and the next, a mansion. I don’t think anyone here today knows quite how he managed it.”
“I’ve seen this oil at work,” said Alora between her teeth. She knew now what was in Reginald’s darts and the Urchins’ bludgeoning weapons. Likely there was a smaller concentration dripping out from one of the several faucets hidden behind Door One.
“No you haven’t,” said Ellie, tapping the side of her nose.
Right.
“If it’s only the curiosity driving you, fine; you wouldn’t be the first to be intrigued over the mansion’s mysteries. But if it’s something else, then let me warn you now. Marshall Merridon islike a specter wolf. The more enchantment fed to him, the bigger he grows. Don’t give him an ounce of you.”
Soft hands encased Alora’s cheeks for a brief moment before Ellie Turkens rose from the table. Alora watched her weave through the others until she disappeared among the stacks at the back of the shop. A little bit sick, Alora sipped her tea, and it was deliciously strong.
She wondered if the owner of Books and Nibbles guessed more about her than she thought. She also wondered what Merridon would look like with pure white eyes and a snout full of teeth. Eventually, though, she was too tired to wonder anything at all.
When only a swirl of leaves remained at the bottom, Alora pushed from her seat. It was night now, and even though she knew nightmares awaited her, she yearned for her bed. Few people remained aside from her, and all had their noses buried, oblivious to anything around them. She yearned so badly for that sort of detachment, her chest ached. She turned to leave.
“Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora stilled. She glanced to the remaining patrons, but all seemed unbothered and none looked at her. Tentatively, she lifted her gaze to the rafters.
“Alora.”
Lucille and Loretta stared over their backs at her in a sniping, unblinking fashion; they knew the mouse had been a trick and wouldn’t forgive easily. But no, they didn’t speak.
