“Mandatory, I’m afraid. Opulence Mansion operates with a certain sense of...secrecy. I prefer it to remain that way. Also, this.” From beneath his arm, a golden cloak unfurled. “From now on, you must wear it to and from.”
Alora took the cloak. The material was thin and gauzy, enough that it seemed a breathable fabric. She supposed she could see the sense in it. Not that she was in the habit of telling secrets, but he didn't truly know her. Everything else was legitimate, the terms he told her clearly stated, and after a moment of struggle in retrieving her notepad to use as support, she signed her commitment to the job.
“One month,” said Master Merridon, waving goodbye.
Alora returned his smile and his wave, though inwardly she wondered what need he felt in reminding her again.
Chapter Four
Summer storms were unpredictable beasts, and after leaving Opulence, Alora was foolishly unprepared to be caught in one. She certainly wasn’t prepared to do so while hurrying through Enver’s Mugwort Alley, the only street, as far she was aware, that refused floral arrangements to replace their storefronts’ fish barrels and denied their homes’ doors a fresh coat of paint. It was the least enchanting street of an otherwise enchanting town, and now she’d no choice but to either saturate the contents of her satchel or hurry into the nearest dilapidated shop in escape.
Potions & Peculiaritieswas scrawled in a silver script upon an otherwise black sign, its creak the result of chains hanging from rusted hooks and an unrelenting wind. In a positive direction, there were no fish barrels as sported by the shops nearby, though its window boxes appeared to be growing only weeds—and not very well. Another crack of thunder and the drenching onslaught began. With a cry over the contents of her bag and the promise of a sopping and drooping bodice over a late lunch,Alora could dally no longer. She rushed up the few steps and through the scraping door.
The shop was, unfortunately, exactly as she expected.
Judging—ah,observing—from the windows, she thought it would be dark inside, and it was, though the storm didn’t help the matter as the sky had deepened into an angry charcoal. A limp yellow light spilled from the corner thanks to a lamp attached to the wall, doing its best to highlight the items on the shelves. Mostly, it cast ghastly shadows. Alora needed to step close toward the obscure offerings in order to identify them, and she wondered if that was a purposeful sales tactic by the proprietor. One could never be sure with the Mugwort Alley types.
The shelves of the shop were deep and spaced far apart to accommodate all manner of things, but the aisles were narrow. Alora realized the poor functionality of this firsthand as she bent to examine a hide-covered clock. Her satchel clanged against something behind her. She spun.
A bronze candelabra teetered violently; she steadied it with a hissed curse. It was common courtesy to purchase anything one had broken, but Alora knew she could not be made topurchase this. With a base carved into a menacing scowl and its candleholders in the shapes of flames, it was far too hideous. Her fingers came away coated in some sticking substance, and she shuddered.
Grotesque piece! It’s probably rotten old polish, and now I’ll be stuck with the smell.
Glaring down at her soiled hands, she couldn’t help her comparisons any longer. If she’d beenanywherewithin lovely Thistledown Square, she would’ve had a proprietor smiling over her by now, eager with assistance. Likely, she would have been offered refreshment. Certainly a least a courteous questionregarding her enjoyment of the day. As it was, she wiped her dirtied fingers against her satchel and moved on—alone.
The entire place smelled oddly herby, like sage. Sage and mint and a bit like leather. As she continued down the aisle, she found the source of the leather scent: a mangy top hat and cape to match. It hung from a wiry mannequin and took up a great portion of an already crowded space. When she stood before it, an eerie feeling of watchful eyes crept over her. Enough that she jumped when the building groaned beneath the wind. Alora edged around it.
Past the mannequin were more clocks. Hourglasses and pocket watches too. A break appeared in the shelves, and she switched aisles to find daggers in etched glass cases and pocketknives on beds of purple velvet. She discovered jewelry too; old and tarnished, the stones still picked up what little light was afforded and reflected it back to her. She reached toward a crooked, bony finger with a ring wrapped around its base. Inhaling a gasp, she realized it wasn’t a peculiar mold, but a real finger bone. Alora abandoned the shelf immediately with a hand pressed to her middle.
Hellish Mugwort Alley! What sort of shop displays human bones?
Around the corner, she skidded to a halt. Because here, she’d come upon somethingalive.Something that chirped faintly at her attention, its subsequent gurgles the most endearing sound she’d ever heard.
“Oh! Well,hello.” The little green creature watched her curiously from the confines of its cage. “You’re special, aren’t you?”
It was, of course, quite an odd thing. The animal possessed overlarge eyes like a bat and a body composed of a gelatinous-like substance rather than bone. Combined with the two tinyarms, two fins at its end, and three horns on top of its triangular head, she fell positively head-over-heels for it.
“What are you, my darling?” Alora scanned for something to divulge its name, or at least its origin, but as with everything else, the creature’s cage was unmarked. There was mystery, but then there was just plainbad business. Alora decided whoever owned this establishment must be lazy beyond reproach.
The creature continued to watch her steadily, offering a second gurgle at her remarks, which she didn’t know how to interpret. It wriggled closer to its bars, leaving its makeshift pond. “Are you hungry? Or only lonely? I’d like to know more about you so let me find the owner.” She waggled her fingers in farewell. “Be back soon.”
At the end of the row stood a peculiar humming wardrobe with a skeleton key protruding from its lock. After she managed to skirt around that, she found the shop’s front counter.
Oh,Alora thought, rather dumbly, as her feet stopped propelling her at once.
A tied bundle of burning leaves sat inside a dish on a narrow countertop that stretched from one wall to the next. More sad yellow light, too, spilled from the only other lamp in the room. It highlighted the worn look of the counter. It did even better at highlighting the sharp features of the man standing bent over a ledger behind it.
Whoever he was, he appeared wholly absorbed. His pen, held in a tight grip, marked across the page, swift and harsh. Her attention flicked to his opposite hand, where it pressed into his forehead, then down to a pewter cup sitting untouched beside him. A cup that didn’t so much steam assmoke.
He wore a black vest detailed in an alluring emerald-leaved pattern with a well-tailored black shirt beneath. Only, the buttons had been left open at the wrists and throat. It gave her the distinct impression that he couldn’t or perhapswouldn’tbebothered with details. Something which she couldn’t fathom for herself.
All in all, he looked irritated and busy, the antithesis of approachable. Which Alora promptly ignored as she made right for him.
“Don’t speak to the barshet,” he said, without his eyes leaving the page. “It might decide it enjoys the sound and burrow down your throat to retrieve it.”
His voice was deep and rough and decidedly bored. Horrified, but also skeptical, Alora stopped mid-step and didn’t even bother with a “hello” before she stammered, “But…it’s in a cage.”
“Little hindrance if it’s motivated. It doesn’t have our complicated matter of bones.” Closing the ledger with a startling snap, he lifted his gaze to her.
