Page 6 of Too Hexed to Handle

Several things, actually, but I suspect opening with the line ‘I’ve run out of money’ isn’t going to earn me any favours.

‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ I settle for saying, tapping the now-closed tub of lust powder. ‘Although I found this with the lid open. You should be more careful.’

‘Oh, psh.’ She waves a hand. ‘They’ve been coming in all day to buy the stuff for the festival. Your father’s in the basement, collecting more.’

I manage to hide my scowl. Perhaps they should rename Laevothe the festival of hypocrisy, because apparently no human has ever seen the conflict of interest between throwing lust powder around in order to drive away the thing that made it.

Oblivious to my annoyance, Mum goes on. ‘People are stocking up before leaving Shiverholde to visit Rerta. Their festival’s supposed to be bigger than ever this year.’

My scowl dissipates, because I’m as much of a hypocrite as everyone else. I’d give anything to visit Rerta. It’s a far larger town than Shiverholde, near the mountains where an old Souleater settlement lies. The place was purged after Ozias’s death, but some Souleaters managed to flee before the attack, and their descendants now live in secret, hidden among us.

Given its proximity to the settlement, Rerta is a prime hunting ground for the cure, and their Laevothe celebrations are supposed to be legendary. That’s the part I want to see, no matter the reason it’s happening. A whole city dedicated to the most wonderful emotion in the world, where everything will be a haze of pink and red, of sweet things exploding on your tongue.

Mum taps a finger against the plant pot, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘It’s only a day’s travel to Rerta,’ she says. ‘Not too late for you to go. You always wanted to.’

‘I wanted to go with Michael.’ I don’t snap, but it’s close. Mum winces anyway. She doesn’t like being reminded of that night any more than I do. We’d successfully avoided using the word Souleater for years, pretending the items she sells came from a mysterious them, some vague and non-threatening entity. Then the attack happened, and we were suddenly slapped in the face with a reality we’d tried to avoid.

Despite this, she is not to be deterred. ‘What about the boy you live with?’

‘I don’t live with Astin. We happen to sleep in the same building.’ That is, when Astin bothers to sleep at all. He was creeping around again last night. ‘Besides, you know I can’t go. Not with him, not with anyone. What would be the point, when I’ll never have a love of my own to celebrate?’

Mum sighs. ‘Daisy –’

A loud grunt signals Dad emerging from the basement, sparing me the pep talk I’ve heard before. How kissing isn’t everything, and I could be with someone if I chose. But I can’t risk it. I won’t. I’m not safe to be around and never will be.

Dad deposits two tubs of lust powder on the counter, before doing a double take at the sight of me. ‘Daisy. You’re here.’

Well observed. He hovers on the spot before giving me a cordial nod, and I wrap my arms around myself, emulating the hug I’ll never receive.

I ignore the pang of loneliness that thought instils and steel myself to ask for their help. ‘I came to talk to you about something.’

‘Oh?’

‘The inn . . . it needs a few repairs that I can’t . . . and there are some bills that need . . .’

I trail off as Dad’s shoulders slump, the gesture somewhere between disappointment and resignation. Neither option fills me with hope.

‘You need more money?’ he says.

‘Only a little.’ I try not to sound too desperate, but I expect my rushed, pleading tone fails miserably. ‘I’ll pay you back, I promise.’

My parents exchange a glance. One I don’t like the look of. It’s more of a silent battle of wills about which of them is going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

Dad loses the argument. ‘We can’t, Daisy. We’ve already given you all we can afford.’

‘Right. Of course.’ The back of my throat burns. My eyes sting. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I don’t know how to save the inn without their help. I’m going to lose my safe haven. My guests to matchmake. My way to prove I can do good in the world. I’ll have nothing.

‘It’s fine.’ I nod my head so enthusiastically my neck aches. ‘It’s totally fine.’

It’s a disaster.

‘You could enter the contest,’ Mum suggests.

‘The what?’

‘The contest. In the paper.’