Page 27 of My Faire Lady

Sweat gathers at my nape, and I drag a finger across my palm, casting a simple wind weaving spell. A gust blows through the trees and sweeps over the ground, knocking up bits of loose dirt. Just as it reaches me, it disappears, and I grimace.

Controlling the weather isn’t a Murrell specialty, but it doesn’t hurt to try. We’re more attuned to witchcraft of the body. But even so, renewed magic swirls through my veins, scaling my ribs with an ease that wasn’t there during the week.

It returned when Lottie did.

I round the path to the quad, and my steps falter. A line curves out of Lottie’s shoppe—the front stoop so crowded, they’re blocking the view of the inside. My breath hitches, and I weave through the line, squeezing through the arched doorway.

“Lottie?” I say.

The air is thick with sweat, and an elbow knocks into my armor as I stand on my toes and peer over the crowd.

Lottie stands at the register, sweat clinging to her hairline. Despite the sea of people pressed into the tight space, her eyes sparkle as she smiles at the customer across from her. She hands the woman a piece of clothing wrapped in a sheet of tissue paper tied with a scrap of red ribbon.

The woman leaves the register, and Lottie looks down at her hands, smiling to herself. My heart stutters. For a moment, the shoppe is empty, and there’s no one to witness her expression but me. She did this. I ink her expression into my mind—the soft bow of her lips and the pride in her eyes.

Whatever her presence brings to the faire, it’s not only healing Eelroy and weaving magic into the soil. It’s bringing fairgoers back.

Maybe Dryden is right. While she might not be magical in the way the rest of us are, she has an undeniable sway over the land. And, until I know how to stop the magic from leaving, I need her. Here. With me.

A lump forms in my throat.

Her gaze lifts, drags over the space, and settles on me. Our eyes lock, and her smile falters a fraction before brightening again. She waves me over, and I weave through the room, my ribs tightening with every step closer.

My heart races, and I come to a stop before the register.

She gives me an appraising look, scanning the armor at my shoulders to the chainmail hanging at my waist, and nods. “Yes. Much better.”

Heat billows into my cheeks, but I wipe the back of my hand across my brow. She’s temporary. And if I’m going to ask her to spend more time here, I can’t let myself forget that.

I gesture to the crowd. “Has it been like this all day?”

She nods at the empty racks and leans an elbow on the counter, cradling her chin with her hand. Her eyes sparkle. “I’ve hardly kept up with the register, let alone the dressing room. There’s been people here constantly since I unlocked the door.”

My brow furrows. “Is that a bad thing?”

She lets out a long sigh, and her wide eyes hold mine in a vise. “I haven’t had a single moment to work on my portfolio.”

“Oh.”

She taps her fingers on the tabletop. “I was thinking, maybe my sister could come help me? She’s not doing anything else on the weekends, and I’d love to spend the extra time with her.”

I gnaw on my lip. If I agreed to it, maybe she’d be inclined to spend more time here. But with magic leaking from the land, there’s a risk the spell that blurs humans’ experiences could weaken. And I can’t risk Lottie’s sister discovering the creatures that live here.

But Lottie needs that portfolio. And I need her.

“Please?” she says, drawing out the word.

“Fine,” I say, knocking my knuckles against the counter. “But you’ll have to share your commission with her.”

Her lips curl into a slow smile, and she looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Thanks, Scarlet.”

My thoughts skitter at the way my name rolls off her tongue. But before I can accept her thanks, a customer comes up behind me with a petticoat draped over her shoulder. Another waits behind, two belts slung over his forearm.

Lottie nods to me. “Will you tell the people at the door that we’re closed for the day? Let them know we’ll be open first thing tomorrow, and once everyone is gone, you and I can talk.”

Talk.

There’s a weight to the word, as if there’s more to discuss than simply hiring her sister as her assistant. I swallow and nod, turning on my heel. Maybe she’s mad about me not walking her out last weekend? Or I’ve done something to make her uncomfortable. Gnawing on my lip, I squeeze my way to the front door and turn the small sign to read CLOSED.