Page 20 of A Spell of Heart & Havoc

“Did you do something to offend these people?” Maerryl whispered out of the corner of her mouth, just loud enough for me to hear.

I shot her a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

She cut her gaze to me, then jutted her chin slightly in the direction of a couple villagers exchanging their own whispered conversation. They looked up at me every so often, expressions cold. I could see now their pursed lips, the way their shoulders hunched tensely as they watched me pass. I spotted a young man in his doorway, tired face pinched as he rocked a crying baby. His gaze tracked me as well, and it held the look of someone who knew you, assessed you, and found you terribly lacking. I saw, suddenly, the distaste written all over him. All over each person we passed. Directed toward… me.

Maerryl was right. These people disliked me. Perhaps even hated me.

But why? I didn’t know these villagers. And they didn’t know me—how could they feel so strongly about someone they’d never met?

I caught the eyes of an elderly woman making her slow way down the road, worn kerchief wrapped snugly around her head. Trying for a warm smile, I cleared my throat and called down to her, “Good morning, grandmother! A fine day we have, isn’t it?”

She just sneered, staring me down like the rest. With a throaty “pffaw!” she shook her head at me as she continued hobbling on her way.

A cold trickle of embarrassment tingled down my neck—what had I done to offend these people?—but I tried for a haughty sniff. “Let’s just get moving,” I muttered to Maerryl, nudging Lightning’s side so he picked up the pace slightly as we veered toward the store on the far right side of the small village square.

I swung down and let Maerryl tie our reins to a post outside the store. Inside, it was small but neat as a pin. The entire store could have fit inside our solarium with room to spare, and it looked exactly as I remembered it from the couple times I’d been here before. Whitewashed shelves, organized clearly into different categories of goods—dry ingredients for cooking and baking, tools for carpentry and gardening, scrolls and quills for writing. Here were the teas, tinctures, and other dried herbals needed for healing. Over there, a sparse section of worn toys and baby essentials for young ones.

And here—ah yes, here was what I’d come in search of. One high shelf dedicated to paints, canvases, a few brushes, and such. I could feel Maerryl watching me as she walked through the store, checking for potential threats or some bodyguard nonsense, so I contained my excitement as best I could.

But oh! They had red! A good-sized jar of powdered pigment, bright like holly berries in the winter. I snatched it up and shifted the rest of the shelf’s contents, searching for indigo, or at least a similar rich blue.

Nothing, though there was a small pot of mystery pigment that intrigued me. I grabbed that, an armful of canvases—might as well stock up—and a good-sized glass muller for mixing my paints. Maerryl slouched around the aisle toward me, and I said, “Grab that jar of turpentine there, would you?”

She sighed but hefted it up easily, looking as if she carried a basket of feathers rather than a heavy-lidded pot. I pulled my attention from her arm muscles, bunched under that leather sleeve, and made my way to the unattended counter at the back.

“Hellooo? Anyone here?” I set my items down and tried peering through the dark doorway behind the counter.

“Maybe they’re on a break,” Maerryl said, placing the turpentine carefully next to my mound of shopping.

Spotting a little brass bell, I dinged it. And then twice more for good measure. “Hardly a sensible way to run a business. We could steal all of this, for goddess’s sake!”

Maerryl tensed at my side. “I mean, I wouldn’t, of course,” I said. “Just a joke. Who would bother stealing this pittance-worth of art supplies?”

Great, now she thinks I’m an aspiring thief. And a rich snob. I mentally smacked my own head. Though she probably already thought that.

And a second later, Wait, who even cares what she thinks??

Thankfully, at that moment the proprietor of the shop deigned to come out of the back, reeking strongly of pipe smoke. I quickly bought my items, ignoring the stink eye that the shopkeeper pinned on me, and gathered everything up and bustled out the door into the fresh air. Maerryl trailed behind me, sweeping a cautionary look around. For any potential “threats,” I suppose.

I stored all my purchases into Lightning’s saddlebag, awkwardly tucking the folded canvases between his blanket and the saddle itself. Good enough.

“You there!” a coarse voice shouted from behind. I spun around. The shopkeeper was hobbling out his front door.

“Oh. Did we forget something? Um, good sir?” He looked about ready to keel over, pruny face reddening the closer he got.

“Don’t you ‘sir’ me, missy!” he huffed, shaking one already-quite-shaky fist. “I just hafta say—you have some nerve waltzing in here! If I didn’t need the coin so bad, I’da refused you service.”

Maerryl slid between us, blocking his path to me. The old man stopped short a few paces away, eyeing her and the dagger she casually spun between two fingers.

Hip cocked, she calmly said, “I’ll need you to keep that distance, grandfather. And let’s take a breath.”

He barked a laugh. “What are you, her guard dog? The Wistrallos think us poor folk are going to, what, attack ’em? Rob ’em? Goddess…” He rolled his eyes, harrumphing.

I poked my head around Maerryl’s leather-clad body, taking a step closer to him. “Well, if you’re not, whatever do you want?”

“I’m going to say my piece! It’s one thing sending your servants and maids and such to our village for supplies at times. They’re good people, we don’t mind ’em.” He drew in another gulping breath and pointed one gnarled finger at me. “But you—you and your family are not welcome here.”

“Whyever not?” I asked.