“Moving on,” I laugh.
Unfortunately, the divination store is next. And though I haven’t met Theodosia, she makes me nervous. Leprechauns are known to be…feisty.
To my immense relief, the sign on the door says, “Madam Theodosia is out for the day, due to a misalignment of the planets.”
“What does that mean?” I ask Rowan.
“She’s most likely getting her nails done at Gertie’s salon.”
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“Just a few streets over.”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Okay.”
I stop by the post office, deciding the clerks might like tea, and then drop into the bike shop. When I cross the street, I pause in front of the bed and breakfast. A for-sale sign is skewered into the front lawn, standing a little lopsided. Weeds have taken over the flower beds, and there’s a general feeling of neglect about the place.
I’m surprised it hasn’t given Ash an aneurysm.
“This is the place your fiancée’s family used to run?” I ask, and then I remember our surroundings and pull out my phone. The cafe is next door, and the patio is busy.
“Mmm,” Rowan agrees, sounding a touch melancholy.
“Are they selling it?”
“They sold it several years ago. The new owner is getting rid of it.”
“Why?”
“He’s high fae, from Albany. He hired a man to take care of it for him, but his heart was never into it. Guests noticed and stopped coming.”
“That’s sad.” The house is large, with a covered porch and ornate scrollwork trim, resembling an oversized, multi-story gingerbread house. The white paint is peeling, and a few of the boards on the steps need to be replaced. “It must have been beautiful at one time.”
“It was.”
I turn to Rowan, who’s perched on the rail. No one from the cafe seems to have noticed him yet.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
Though I don’t believe him, I let it go and continue down the sidewalk, past the people enjoying brunch. Soft instrumental music plays through the cafe’s speakers, adding to the eatery’s magic-meets-Paris aesthetic.
“I don’t imagine anyone in there would be interested in my tea,” I say when I pause just beyond the entrance, out of the way of the people waiting for tables.
“Maybe not, but you have to leave a flyer,” Rowan says. “Perry is an easily offended brownie.”
“A brownie? Really?”
“You say that like you’ve never met one before.”
“I haven’t.”
“Of course you have—what do you think Mrs. Thimbleberry is?”
“The librarian?”
“She’s his wife.”
