He couldn’t afford both.
“Sod Linden,” said Gretchen. “He’s not even paying you! I help with your potions, and did you know? I managed to wash a mug for you. Once.”
Briar rubbed his temples. Looking at his bank balance always triggered headaches. Years ago, whenever he’d been strapped for cash, his mother had helped scrounge something together. She’d usually include a bar of chocolate too, something to cheer him up. He’d been on his own for years now, with no one to ask for such help. The very notion turned his insides acidic. He never again wanted to find himself in the position he’d been in when his mother first passed, taking out loans for her funeral, selling off family valuables while mourning the person who’d given them to him in the first place. Tracking down and writing to a father he didn’t know. Never hearing back. It was safer to depend upon himself alone, no one else.
“You’re right. It’s just, this project for Linden will probably bring in a lot of money—”
“Probably.”
“—in the long term. And Christmas is coming. If I time it right, the promo from Linden will boost holiday sales too.”
Puffing up, Gretchen said, “Fine! Postpone talking to Niamh. Not like I’m going anywhere. Because Ican’t!”
She stormed off through the wall into the stairwell.
CHAPTER 12
The last week of November, Briar did little more than work.
Many of the additions to Linden’s project were things he’d never done before. He practiced applying piping with fabric scraps and tried not to blow a blood vessel when it came to doing the garment itself. By virtue of online tutorials and prayers, he managed. He’d never been able to afford formal classes, so he subsisted on self-teaching for every new technique.
It needed taking in, which meant Linden had to try it on.
Briar went next door, but Linden wasn’t in, so he left a note and returned to fuss over the outfit. Though not a stray thread needed trimming, though he’d hemmed it perfectly, nervousness overtook him. He’d sunk all his time and resources into this in the hope it promised the best return, but if Linden disapproved…
He had no other way to make money. He’d go bankrupt. He wouldn’t be able to create anything new, his business would fold, and in the end, he would die having accomplished nothing.
After downing a supper he barely tasted, he decided the best thing would be a distraction and a pint. Plus, he still needed to ask Maebh about the invaders. He donned his cloak and headed out the door, nearly colliding with Linden standing just outside it.
“Briar! I hoped I hadn’t missed you. I received your message.” Linden held a broomstick of white poplar and looked resplendent in a stormy gray traveling cloak. Atticus wasn’t with him.
“I was on my way to the pub, but if you wanted to come in?”
“That would be lovely.”
Briar stepped aside. Delight at seeing Linden gave way to indecision. It would only be polite to offer tea, and his flat was a state. Moreover, he worried the dinginess of his home might have a sobering effect on the clothes. His designs seemed far more likely to succeed in the splendor of Linden’s enchanted rooms.
“I finished our project. I could make us some tea while you try it on, or—?”
“I’m very excited to see it. Lead the way.”
No luck that he would offer to host. So Briar took him up the wobbly staircase and into the kitchen, kept serviceably tidy. The rest looked as though a fabric bomb had exploded. Colorful off-cuts lay shredded around the feet of the table. Half-constructed garments hung over the backs of chairs. Briar hastily cleared a space on one for Linden, piling it all on his unmade bed. As he turned, he caught the unsettled look Linden cast around the room before smothering it with a placid smile.
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess. I’ve been so busy—”
“It’s not a problem, I assure you. I called on you unexpectedly.”
Briar felt out of his depth, wading chest deep into a world of etiquette to which he’d never been privy. He made tea, hoping his mother’s methods weren’t gauche in Linden’s land of crystal decanters and bone china.
Linden didn’t sit. Instead, he strode to the mirror, where the outfit hung.
Briar steeled himself. “Do you like it?”
“It’s stunning. May I try it on?”
Briar thought about the mushrooms growing in his bathroom. He hadn’t found an effective way to combat the damp, and they made good tithes, so he’d sort of… let them propagate. “I’ll leave to let you dress. Just let me know when you’re done.”
While the kettle boiled, Briar closed himself in the stairwell. Vatii waited with him.
