Briar shook it off and went to lock the door, turning the sign to “closed,” but a young man appeared from the gloom to knock on the glass. Briar opened it to the frantic words: “Sorry to bother you, mate! I know you’re closing, but you wouldn’t happen to have any engagement rings, would you?”
Stepping out of the doorway to let him in, Briar said, “Er, yes, a couple.”
Ten minutes later, Briar made his first sale.
CHAPTER 8
Coill Darragh metamorphosed with the arrival of Saor ó Eagla and Linden both. The streets thronged with tourists. Bonfires burned, carrying woodsy smells through thoroughfares. Strings of bunting, wreaths of pinecones, and autumnal leaves decorated all the eaves and doors. It was cozy and convivial, unlike the drunks puking in the streets of Wishbrooke, and Briar pondered how parties in Pentawynn might compare.
Over the past week, Briar had scrounged for tithes to make three garments float, as though on invisible models, in the window display. They spun in slow circles and won him a few potential customers, but the sheer emptiness of his shop was daunting. He really needed a sale, but nothing had moved since the engagement ring. It didn’t discourage him, his mood buoyed by the promise of celebration. The chance to meet Linden gave the night of Saor ó Eagla even more promise than most.
And if Briar’s mind strayed to the thought of bumping into Rowan, it was not an unpleasant thought.
Since Briar still hadn’t discovered a means to let Gretchen roam freely, his work ethic kept her cooped up. At his promise that on the night of Saor ó Eagla, she could roam all she liked, she chucked a spatula at his head.
“That’s the anniversary of my death, you pillock!”
Briar ducked, the spatula flying just shy of a potion vial on his desk. “I didn’t know that!”
“Well, you never asked!”
“I’m sorry, but it seemed a bit personal, and anyway, a walk about could be good. Think of it like a birthday present. A deathday present.”
She tried to hurl a whisk at him that time but had exhausted her ability to affect the real world, so she stormed through the wall into the stairwell to sulk.
Briar liked Gretchen. Though testy, she helped him with potions and teased him affectionately, too.
She also chafed in a way he found familiar.
Given it was Linden’s grand opening and the night of the festival, partaking in the festivities and schmoozing seemed a better use of Briar’s time, so he closed early. He wore Gretchen’s curtain, as promised, but he’d turned the cape into a cravat. It was a struggle to open his shop door into the crowd, with people holding pints, cameras, and their phones blocking the way.
The air smelled of smoke and cider. A dais was erected in front of Linden’s shop, swathed in silk bunting. The drunken revelers mixed uneasily with the professional photographers and journalists. A few witches hovered on brooms above the crowd to get a better view.
The clock struck six, and a plume of red smoke erupted on the dais. Linden emerged from it, Atticus draped around his shoulders. He looked splendid with his hair charmed to twinkle with stars. People with color-changing sparklers waved them vigorously, cheering. A red ribbon tied itself across Linden’s door, ready for cutting.
“It’s time,” Linden said, “to announce my new work here in Coill Darragh! For much of my life, I devoted myself to creating clothes I hoped would bring harmony and happiness to the lives of everyone who wore them. I put love into every stitch. I’m blessed to say I have no regrets.
“However, the time has come to revisit a chapter from my youth. Many have asked whether I will return to the noble path set out by my family. For some time, I didn’t know the answer. The loss of my gifts left me uncertain of my future in the art of healing.”
Some murmurs of sympathy went through the crowd.
All were aware that Linden had big boots to fill, as his parents ran one of the most successful potion chains in the world. That Linden had departed from it was common knowledge, even controversial. He’d chosen something considered frivolous—fashion—over something noble and altruistic—healing. That he’d been prodigally talented in both only rein-forced the public opinion that he was wasting his powers.
Those expectations must have weighed heavily on him. They were the same age, Briar reflected. Linden had only been a boy when he came into his fame.
Vatii, unaffected, said, “What tripe.”
“Hush.”
Linden’s voice rose. “Well, I’ve thought long enough to give you my answer.”
He directed everyone’s attention to banners waving on the dais. The logo upon them changed, transforming into a caduceus staff. The head of the snake was still his customary cat’s face with a witch’s hat. Fireworks popped across the long banner until it dropped, revealing the freshly painted sign over his store.
Fairchild Enchanted Elixirs and Remedies
The crowd frothed with the flash of photography and the snappy dialogue of reporters conveying the news to their camera crew. Linden descended the dais, his hair and robes floating in defiance of gravity. He conjured a pair of scissors, then cut the ribbon. The door swept open on its own.
Standing in the aperture, light forming a halo around him, he told the waiting crowd, “Though inspired by the work of my family, this store is still my own. Many of the enchanted objects here incorporate magic from my family’s potion recipes, or new ones I made myself. You might wonder why I’ve come to Coill Darragh, and you’ll find your answer in the forest surrounding it. As it is one of the last sources of wild magic, I wish to study it and see if any secrets of healing can be found within. Beyond that, I wish to serve everyone here, whatever their needs may be. Any problems you have, bring them to me. I’d like everyone to feel comfortable within these walls.”
