“Is the flat upstairs?”
Rowan nodded. Inside, he seemed larger, like the world wasn’t built for him. Briar offered to take a case, but Rowan shrugged him off.
The stairway felt like a funhouse or a death trap for drunks. Narrow, steep, each step slanted, the wood sagging from wear. Briar would be going up them on all fours when company wasn’t around. He paused at the top to see if Rowan needed help. Though the alderman and the luggage filled every inch of space in the stairway, he managed with an undue amount of grace.
Briar explored the flat. A wood-burning stove in the kitchenette gave the room a smoky smell. The bed, with its sunken imprint in the mattress, told the story of how many witches had served out their placements before him. As he stepped into the room, something crunched underfoot. A sprinkling of white granules across the floor. Sugar or salt, perhaps.
Though modest and old, it was his, and it didn’t smell like meat. Despite his reservations, Briar’s mind swam with ideas of how he might decorate. Candles were a must.
Rowan set Briar’s luggage at the end of his bed. He brushed his hands on his pants and turned to Briar, but seemed to lack anything to say, and just watched Briar investigate the contents of each kitchen cabinet.
“What do you think about a rug there, where you’re standing?” Briar asked. “Autumn tones? Or maybe faux fur to go with all the rough wood?”
“Ehm…”
“Is there a store in town that does rugs?”
Rowan sounded uncertain. “There’s a fabric shop.”
“Even better!”
Briar didn’t know why he asked. He couldn’t afford luxuries and would make do with what he’d brought from home or could scrounge together. Still, inspiration felt good.
“I’ll let you settle in,” Rowan said. He shuffled past.
Feeling like it was only courteous to see him out, Briar followed.
“Thanks for coming to get me. And leading the way. And for the ward charm. And for carrying all my luggage.”
At the door, Rowan turned to him and held out the keys to the shop.
“And thank you for the shop! I’ll make it homey. Light some candles.”
Rowan nodded. “Good.”
“So, I’ll see you around? You could come visit and tell me how I’m doing. Oh, wait!” Briar reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, flipping it open to his contacts. “Can I get your number? Just in case I have any questions about the town, settling in.”
“Ah, sure.”
“Great!” He handed over his phone, watching Rowan painstakingly tap each number in with his overlarge fingers. “How many times a day can I call you before it’s too much? Five? Fifty?”
“Ehm…”
“I need limits. Boundaries. I’m a lot, so just name a figure. I won’t be offended.”
Rowan’s gaze turned inward, perhaps performing the mental maths of how much time he had to spare for an enthusiastic-but-utterly-out-of-his-depth witch.
He said, “As many times as you like.”
Briar thought,You’ll rue this day.But he found himself too captivated by the softening of Rowan’s stern face to say so out loud as he accepted his phone back, and Rowan ducked out the door.
With the place to himself, Briar returned to rummaging. In the shop drawers, he found scraps of paper, faded inventory notes. Vatii landed on the counter but quickly sprang up in a flurry of feathers at Briar’s howl when a spider the size of his palm skittered out of a drawer, across the floor, and halfway up a wall. Briar looked at it. It was large enough he could see it looking back. It only occurred to him then to look up at the ceiling too, where cobwebs, gray with dust and thick with insect bodies, still clung.
“It’s only a spider,” Vatii scolded, but Briar had already run for the door. He hadn’t locked up, so it was a straight shot out into the open air of the street.
“Kill them, Vatii!” he shouted behind him, nearly tripping over the cobblestones in his haste.
“I am your familiar, not a harbinger of death. And I’m not hungry.”
