My life.
Yeah, that’s all pretty much gone at this point.
“I’m sorry. I thought my aunt might have told you. I can’t sell.”
She freezes and turns.
“The terms of my inheritance say I can’t sell for the first year.”
Her eyes close as she takes a deep breath in through her nose, then lets it out through her teeth.
She moves on. “I can start by showing you inventory and how to balance the books.” And so begins hours and hours of work learning a store I've only just stepped inside.
Conall
The alley behind Shipton's Shop reeks of garbage and wet cardboard from a pile of broken-down boxes. Amy's been in the store with Ivy all day and I want to know if she's learned anything important.
A lanky-looking brownie with a long nose and a tuft of brown hair climbs out of one of the metal trash cans with half a moldy sandwich clamped between its jaws. I let the hound within slip, growling deep. The brownie’s eyes go wide before it loses its balance, windmills its arms, and falls back into the barrel. The swinging door opens with a squeal of hinges that sets my teeth on edge.
Amy comes stomping out, white-blonde hair whipping about in the wind, and her eyes instantly melting from the green she obviously put on for the niece to their natural purple. Shapeshifters always have naturally purple eyes, no matter how distant their shapeshifter ancestry. In Amy's case, very distant. She can change her eyes, nails, and hair for very short periods of time, unlike full shapeshifters who can disguise themselves as anyone for days at a time.
“A year,” she whispers fiercely so no one else will hear.
I push off the wall I was leaning on.
“What?” I have no clue what she's talking about.
“Ursula. She put a clause in the will. Her niece, Ivy, can't sell for a year.”
I still.
“That woman has absolutely no intention of leaving this island for a year. And does that mean that's how long it's going to take to fix this?A year?" Amy screech-whispers.
“That's not going to work. Do you know how many creatures I've had to scare from her vicinity already?” I ask through gritted teeth. “She’s clearly been affected by the spell that old witch cast, and if everything doesn’t get fixed, something’s going to kill her violently.”
I run a hand over my face and through my hair.
Footfalls pull our focus up the alley. Laz walks toward us in one of his plaid shirts and jeans, sipping a coffee from the Cozy Charm Café.
“I think your magic's slipping, Laz,” I tell him as he approaches, pointing to the brownie trying to escape the can again.
Laz sighs, pierces the edge of his finger with a pocket knife, and whispers a few words. The brownie becomes a squirrel the same color as the tuft of hair on its head. The poor creature looks confused before scampering off.
“A year—” Amy begins again, but Laz holds up his hand.
“I heard you the first time,” he says, tapping his ears, which he probably magically enhanced. “We knew we needed her to figure out Lady Shipton's spell anyway. That we'd need her niece—”
“Ivy,” I say automatically. My hound has been growling the name in my subconscious ever since I learned it.
Laz and Amy both cut me curious glances, but I keep my expression hard.
“Ivy,” Laz corrects, “is likely the key to undoing whatever it is Shipton did.”
“So, what? Tell her?” Amy asks, and my stomach drops to my shoes.
Every moment spent with Ivy solidifies the bond the Shipton witch thrust upon me, to protect her last living kin. Bitter acid coats my insides. I should have been free, goddamn it. That was the deal myfamily made with hers. I was supposed to have my own life on the island now, not trailing after some human trespasser.
“I think it's the only way,” Laz confirms.
