She stared down at her bare feet, every part of her body suddenly weighed down and impossibly heavy. She bit at her lip. “Hurry on now, before your bandage gives way.”
“I have the utmost faith in it.” His head dipped and Necros sidestepped, eager to be off. “Really, I have the utmost faith in you.”
The shadows deepened, the light breaking, and all Alora could make out was a vast darkness before it was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
That night, Alora stood between them—Bash and William—in a nightmare. Bash’s eyes had grown black. So did the air. It pulsed around him, circling like a tornado, and then he was gone within it, and he took William too.
It lasted for only a heartbeat.
When the dark disappeared, William lay on the ground. His skin was blackened, bubbled with blisters, his mouth open in a scream no one could hear, and his eyes were wide and blue and tormented.
Bash stood beside him, a torch extinguished. Laughing.
Alora awoke; she breathed in nothing but smoke.
***
“Who is your friend there?” questioned Mr. Ichibald.
Alora braced herself against a wardrobe, her breath rife with relief as she was at last able to maneuver herself away from her hovering escort. He was an Urchin she’d seen before at Potionsand Peculiarities. Middle-aged, if she were to guess, with blonde hair and slashing dark eyebrows. He was the only one of the four who’d questioned her enchantment. The only one to admonish Mr. Salvoy. His gaze, whenever she noticed it upon her, was uncomfortably scrutinizing. He was an observant sort, hunting for secrets.
“Oh. That’s my driver, being as I have so much to transport. George doesn’t do well with excessive loads, and my cart is too small. Thank you for opening early for me, by the way.” She smiled at Mr. Ichibald with charm.
The proprietor promptly returned it. He was a portly fellow at age fifty and worked closer with traders and merchants than anyone she knew. Also, he dressed in a spectacular way, like one foot remained instore, but the other was halfway to a show.
He spent a moment adjusting his yellow cravat, considering the driver making for them. “It’s no problem. Not for one of my best customers. Have you chosen which you like better then?”
“Yes. I think this chaise will do perfectly.”
“You there!” Mr. Ichibald hollered to the Urchin, which earned him a flat look in return. Alora doubted he’d ever been addressed as such in his adult life. “You look like a brawny fellow. Between you and Percy, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage loading Miss Pennigrim’s purchase.”
Her assigned driver worked his jaw but eventually offered a curt nod. When Mr. Ichibald’s assistant emerged from the back, cobwebs all in his hair, the Urchin waited for the other man to bend first. Only then did he reach down himself. With hardly a strain, the pair made off with Door Twenty-five’s newest furniture.
“Bit uppity for a driver,” murmured Mr. Ichibald.
Alora ignored him. The man was also a horrific gossip.
“I’m also in need of four sconces, two lamps, an end table, and an ottoman.”
“Any art?”
“No, thank you.” She’d decided a while ago that nothing would hang on the walls. She didn’t want anything to distract or transport the visitor away. If they came to the Room of Desire, they should remain firmly planted in the dream that led them.
“Well enough.” Mr. Ichibald strode away. “If you’ll follow me, I’ve just gotten this lamp in yesterday. Perhaps you’ll—”
Alora followed only to be brought up short. A tapestry hung against the wall. It was tall and wide, a statement piece to be sure, its borders stitched in silver. She stepped closer to it, and noticed the more she studied it, the more grounded she felt. How calm. Her heart, for the first time all morning, beat at a usual pace.
It depicted a singular cloud at the forefront, near the top. One that was gray and white and puffy without being overly so. The background had been saturated a deep blue. When she closed her eyes, she could see it still, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
It was the exact opposite of everything Marshall Merridon adored.
“Miss Pennigrim? Have you changed your mind?”
She glanced over to the store’s proprietor, to the lamp held fast in his hand. “Yes, Mister Ichibald. I’d like this tapestry.”
“Right away.”
