“Mammy, is he a witch?” said the little girl.
Sorcha made an impatient noise, but Briar didn’t mind the question. “Yes, I’m a witch.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up. She ran into the shop, clutching at the front of her pajamas with tiny fists. Giving up, Sorcha introduced her. “This is my daughter, Ciara. Who should be watching television with her da, but here we are.”
Ciara said, “Are you a prince witch?”
“Yes,” Briar said. “Very famous.”
“I like your bird. And your cape.”
“Cloak,” Sorcha corrected.
“Cloak. Can I have it?”
Sorcha flushed with embarrassment. “All right, that’s enough, you beast.”
“I could make you one like it,” Briar offered. Sorcha opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted. “It would be no trouble. If you have any off-cuts of blue fabric, I could do it.”
“Yay!” Ciara bellowed at a decibel only children could achieve. “Princess witch Ciara! Fly me, Uncle Rowan!”
This made no sense to Briar until Rowan bent to pick Ciara up and flew her around the shop like an airplane. A feat most impressive due to his size, the lack of space, and the general impression from the townsfolk that Rowan was terrifying, not the type children took well to. His niece, apparently, was an exception.
Sorcha slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t wind her up; it’s her bedtime.”
“Bye, prince witch!” Ciara called. They both disappeared into the kitchen.
Sorcha turned to Briar, hands on her hips. “What I wanted to say before that creature interrupted me is that it seems we have compatible trades.”
Briar gaped at her. If he understood her meaning…
“Have you ever considered making clothes, maybe enchanting them?” Sorcha said. “Or enchanting jewelry?”
“You want to go into business together?”
“Sure. We could trial it. I could sell you fabrics at a discount. Let you enchant my jewelry, give you a cut of the profits. Seems a mutually beneficial relationship to me.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, imagining all the dream garments he could create. The beautiful displays he could put in his shop window. He could hardly believe his luck.
Rowan returned before Briar could answer. Sorcha pounced. “Rowan. You think it’d be a fantastic idea if Briar and I went into business together, don’t you?”
Rowan froze, confusion written across his face.
“I don’t need convincing.” Briar grinned, fit to burst. “You have a deal.”
He left brimming with ideas. Though he wanted nothing more than to go home and start planning, he had one thing left to do.
The path wending between houses toward the forest was more foreboding at night. The darkness swallowed all the surrounding fields, narrowing visibility to the fencing and the dirt path before him. He could just make out the signpost where he’d buried Gretchen’s curtain. He jogged up to check on it but froze as he got closer.
Something twisted, like a bolt of lightning, rose out of the earth next to the signpost. He hadn’t noticed at first because its shape blended in with the dark. Only when he moved could he see it silhouetted against a patch of navy sky.
On the spot where he’d buried a square of curtain, vines had grown. They coiled around one another, lethally tipped corkscrews rising as tall as Briar. Taller.
Ensnared within the cage, speared through in places, were the bleeding remains of a hare.
At the very top, impaled on a single point, was the scorched scrap of floral curtain.
CHAPTER 7
