Page 102 of The Trick of It

She looked up, fully intending to shush him, but her face changed when she saw what he was holding. She straightened, the magazine slipping from her hands and falling to the floor as she paced toward him, eyes on the envelope.

“It’s addressed to you,” she observed, pointing.

He glanced back at it, surprised.

To: Changeling Forest Oddities and Curiosities

Attn: Rhys Caradoc

Brighton’s Ultimate Illusionist

(Gift enclosed)

“‘Ultimate,’” she said aloud, a wry, little twist to her lips. “I was first, and you are last.”

He glanced at her and then down at the envelope again. “Should I …?”

“Of course you bloody should,” she snapped. “Now!”

He pressed his lips together to stop from laughing at the outburst because he knew her impatience was true in this moment. Not performative.

He broke the seal and peeled the flap back, turning the envelope upside down on the counter.

Three things fell out.

A scrap of newspaper, clipped carefully into a folded rectangle. A vellum card, dusted with charcoal.

And with a thunk, a glinting silver pocket watch, latticed on the front with the letter ‘S.’

Rhys could only stare for a long moment. A long, stretching moment. He didn’t even notice Seph passing him to bustle to the door and turn the sign around, throwing the lock on the handle.

Ferme. Closed.

He looked up at her, confused.

“What does it say?” she hissed, gesturing madly at the two scraps of paper.

“I … don’t know?” he answered, reaching down but not quite touching, either. The vellum card had a sketch of the shop on it, sketched in broad strokes but unmistakable. He flipped it over, and on the back it said one word.

Domus.

Home.

He shook his head, like clearing his mind or his vision might make it vanish again and reached for the scrap of newspaper. It was written in French.

Good job that I’m fluent in French, he thought, staring at the letters. If only I could remember it just now.

Willa had insisted they all learn it. Rhys had learned it. He just … couldn’t …

“Do you want me to read that?” Seph asked, stepping behind him and peering down at it. “Oh. I can’t.”

“I can,” he managed. “It’s an obituary. For Merlin.”

“For Merlin?” she repeated, blinking several times. “Just now?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s dated October.”

“Oh,” she replied, shrugging. “All right?”