Page 19 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

Before his mate could come up with a response, the apothecary bell rang as the door swung open.

“Healer Pembrooke?”

“Shit!” Milo cursed, ducking free of Grievance’s arms and darting through the connecting door leading deeper into the cottage.

Grievance smiled at their customer. “He’ll be right back.” The man, a father with two young boys, looked momentarily stunned but nodded. “In the meantime, feel free to peruse.”

“Yes, yes, yes! Nestmaker make best medicines! Buy much. Spend money.”

Grievance sighed. Pip still hadn’t mastered the art of subtlety. Luckily, before the spider could speak anymore, Milo re-entered the storefront, now in his full professional Healer’s uniform.

The pink sweater had disappeared, replaced with his formal navy Healer’s coat fastened with polished brass clasps. His pointed hat sat neatly atop his copper curls, though several rebellious strands had already escaped around his ears.

He carried himself differently, and Grievance took a step back, ready to watch his mate go to work.

“Good morning,” Milo said, confidence bolstering his voice. “What seems to be the trouble?”

The father stepped forward, one frightened-looking boy clinging to each side of him.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation,” he said, then ushered his boys forward. Neither child could be older than ten. Both were crying. “Show the Healer, boys.”

They held out their hands. The fingertips were an alarming shade of violet.

“We went to collect their racing brooms this morning, but the moment they grabbed the handles…”

“It hurt.” One of the boys sniffled.

“It was so cold.” The other one added.

Milo walked around the counter and knelt until he was eye level with the children, taking each tiny hand with practiced care. Healing magic shimmered beneath Milo’s fingertips as pale blue light spread across the children’s hands.

“Can you wiggle them for me?”

They did, but winced from the pain.

“Okay.” His voice remained calm. “You’ve got mild frostbite. Nothing permanent. I can get you patched up pretty quick.”

The father visibly sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Just give me a few minutes to whip something up.”

But as his mate went to work plucking ingredients off shelves and starting up a flame, their eyes met.

Frostbite.

In October.

Their little town mystery was growing.

By midmorning, they already had two more reports. A milk churn frozen solid behind the dairy, and an apple orchard where dozens of ripe apples hung imprisoned inside perfectly clear shells of ice.

Word that Healer Pembrooke was in charge of solving this mystery had spread, and the townsfolk were eager to approach them in the street that morning. Every conversation ended the same way.

“We’ll take care of it,” Milo promised. And every single time, the worried expressions softened.

Grievance found himself smiling. Not because the situation wasn’t serious—double cases of frostbite on two young boys was nothing to sneeze at—but because of the way his mate was handling it. Because of how everyone in Pumpkin Hollow looked at Milo.

Months ago, the witch beside him would have apologized for existing and tried to melt away from every interaction. He questioned every word that came out of his mouth and looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to tell him he wasn’t good enough.