Before Kiela could explain, Tobin had his hands up in surrender. “I am totally not a plant eater at all. You can ask my mom. I never, ever eat my vegetables. Except candied carrots, because those are delicious. But I would never, ever eat a talking chlorophy . . . what?”
“Spider plant,” Caz said, lowering his tendrils slightly. His leaves continued to tremble. “Are there others like you who eat plants?”
“No one on Caltrey will eat you,” Tobin promised. “Not even a nibble.” He knelt down to see Caz better. “Sorry for scaring you. I’ve just never seen anyone like you. My name’s Tobin.”
“Well, I’ve never seen anyone like you either, Tobin. I apologize if I was rude.”
Kiela grinned at both of them and then asked Caz, “Is anything wrong? I thought you were going to stay at the cottage.”
“I just got worried about you,” Caz said. “I didn’t know you were making us friends.”
Delighted, Tobin cried, “I’m friends with a spider plant!” He jumped to his feet. “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Bryn!”
“You can head back,” Kiela told him. “We can take it from here. Thanks for your help.”
He hesitated. “You’re sure? You won’t tell Aunt Bryn that I was unhelpful?”
“You were very helpful.” Shedidappreciate not having to haul the sugar up the stairs by herself, while carrying the wax. Plus he hadn’t been terrible company. His relentless chatter reminded her of a bird excited for spring. Maybe it was going to be okay, talking with people more than she used to. And maybe Caz would feel more comfortable here, now that he’d met a boy with goat horns and hadn’t been eaten. “If I do need a jam taster, I’ll let you know. You can head on home.”
“Nice to meet you, Caz.”
“You too, Tobin.”
Waving at both of them, he scurried down the stairs twice as fast as she ever went. She waited to make sure he reached the bottom safely, and then she lifted her eyes to watch the sunset. Golden, the sun oozed like molten jam into the sea.
And then, with Caz by her side, she headed home, carrying sugar, wax, and hope.
Chapter Ten
The cottage didn’t look very much like a shop.
Kiela chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated it. It was clean: the wood floor had been scrubbed first by Caz, then by Kiela. It was scuffed and scratched but beautiful as only old wood can be. She’d trimmed back the vines over the windows, plus cleaned the glass, so that the sunlight could shine in freely. He’d dusted the rafters with his leaves, and she’d washed the sink, the counter, the shelves, and the table. All the jars were sparkling, ready for jam. But no matter how clean and pretty the cottage was, it didn’t look like a shop.
She thought of her favorite bookshop in Alyssium, the cozy one with inviting rows of shelves. Had it burned? No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Instead, she focused on what she’d loved about it: the way it welcomed you in. That’s what she wanted her shop to do. Customers had to feel comfortable to browse, even if all she sold was a single flavor of jam.
“I think we need to separate the shop from the rest of the cottage.” She paced a line halfway down the front room. “The front door opens onto the shop . . . So we need a wall here, to split it from the kitchen. The wall can be covered in shelves. Or it could be a bookshelf that doubles as a wall, except it wouldn’t be for books. A jam shelf.”
Caz climbed onto the table. “I have many surprising skills—for example, I play the harp—but construction is not one of them.” He waved his leaves. “I’m too floppy to wield a hammer.”
“I don’t think we have a hammer. Or wood, though there is a forest right on the other side of the garden. But I have no idea how to make boards out of a tree. I imagine it’s quite a bit of work . . . You can play the harp?”
He demonstrated plucking imaginary strings. “A small one.”
“Where in the world did you learn to play the harp? And when?”
“I had a life before I met you.”
“You literally did not,” Kiela said.
“There were a few weeks before I met you, thank you very much.”
“During which you learned to play the harp?” she asked, incredulous. As far as she knew, he’d spent the days wandering the library, which, while an amazing wonder of the world, was not known for its musical instruments. Any attempt at music was likely to be hushed by a patron who wanted to focus on a text.
“The janitor from the east wing taught me in his spare time,” Caz said. “You shouldn’t underestimate my musical ability just because I’m a plant.”
“It has nothing to do with—Okay, we’re straying,” Kiela said. “Jam shop. We need wood, a hammer, nails, and a book about how to build shelves.” She didn’t think she’d packed any books like that. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where in the library there would have been books like that. Perhaps second floor, west wing, near Art History? “And we also need shelves for the books, ideally hidden shelves, but I suppose that’s not an immediate need. They can stay in the crates for now.” She wondered if any of the spellbooks had spells for construction. The spun-sugar-like palace in Alyssium, as well as its arching bridges, had been built by magic . . . Slowly, she turned to face the bedroom, with all its untapped knowledge.
Following her gaze, Caz said, “Do you really want the cottage to grow like the raspberry bushes? You don’t think that would lead to a whole lot of questions we can’t answer? Bad enough to have extra berries. Someone like Larran would definitely notice if we sprouted a few towers and turrets.”
