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He didn’t deserve to call himself her father. He’d only ever done the absolute bare minimum for her, and he’d only done that much grudgingly.

She started again. “I have worked in this shop nearly every day for the past twenty years. I have catalogued and shelved, cleaned and repaired. I have held almost every book in this building at some point, and I have loved every customer who ever came through our doors. I did all that for a place that stopped being mine before I was old enough to read because it still meant something to me. And you’re standing here now, telling me it was never worth anything more than a few bucks to you? That the store was always an asset for you to sell off to the highest bidder?”

Clement’s expression had not changed. He waited a few seconds to be sure she was finished. Then he spoke.

“What else was I supposed to do, Pestie?” He sighed. “I am a businessman. I’m not a charity. I took on the management of your mother’s shop because I saw its potential. And it turned a nice little profit for a bit but I’m ready to move on to bigger and better things. I’d like to retire, eventually. I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I saw an opportunity to make a tidy sum with these new investors and I took it. You can hardly call that unreasonable.”

But I could call it heartless.

“What about my mother? Did you even love her at all?”

“I mean… I thought she had potential.” Clement did a one-shouldered shrug. “She was a little quirky, but the customers loved her. She welcomed my help. I had no idea how sick she was, of course. That was an unforeseen complication, and a shame, but it did simplify things in the end. She set it all up for me nicely.”

“It simplified things?” Tempest felt acid rising in her throat. She was squeezing her locket so hard that if it was hollow, it would have been crushed. “In the end? By that do you mean her end? How convenient for you, Clement. It really was considerate of my mother to die like she did, wasn’t it? I never realized what a team player she was. Thanks for filling me in.”

Halcyon Glass’s death certainly hadn’t made Tempest’s life simpler. She doubted Clement had the means to have cursed her mother with cancer. But she couldn’t help but wonder whether Clement had ever, even once, pushed her mother to fight it, and pursue treatment. She’d gone so fast.

“Look, it’s very sad that you lost your mom so young, Tempest. It’s obvious that loss seriously damaged you.” Clement gave her a look that made her suspect he wouldn’t mind putting her out for the pulpers along with the books. “But I was merely referring to the logistics. Between the loan I’d provided to Halcyon and our marital status, there was no question about the shop’s ownership after she passed. I was able to claim it free and clear, of course.” Clement spoke to her like she was simple, or still a toddler.

“What about me?” she pushed back. “I was only three years old.”

“Honestly, I never wished for a daughter. But you became my responsibility too, didn’t you? Fortunately you turned out to be a decent worker, so long as you kept your gloves on.” He looked down his nose at her, perhaps noticing she had her gloves off now.

“No. I meant, what about my inheritance?” Tempest clarified. “What about my share of the shop?”

“Clear as Glass! To the daughters all shall pass!” Fortune crowed.

Clement flinched. But then he stood up a little straighter.

“I investigated that but I’m afraid that matrilineal passage of magical estates like yours only apply to an unbroken chain of fully-fledged book witches, something that you, poor Pestie, have never quite measured up to. If only you’d had one ounce of your mother’s talents, there’d be no question that the store and its contents would still rightfully belong to you. But as you’ve inherited nothing besides a small talent for absorbing trivia, there’s nothing to be done. Perhaps it’s better your mother didn’t live to see this.” He adopted a look of feigned concern. “I suspect it would have broken her heart.”

This was an especially low blow. Tempest swallowed back the bile that was rising in her throat. She didn’t want to believe him. She didn’t remember much about her mother, but she did remember how Halcyon had made her feel. Her mother had never made her feel less than. And she’d never, ever called her a pest.

“You had no right to sell my shop!”

Tempest pressed both hands to her heart. Her chest ached. Clement was still speaking.

“Oh, but I did! Owl’s is rightfully mine, and I had every right to make this deal. Most of the employees consider this to be great news, by the way. They’re all getting raises and several other benefits I haven’t been able to budget with our tight margins. Unfortunately, I can’t extend the same offer to you. The Glass family is too closely associated with Owl’s history. I can’t risk any brand confusion as we transition to Fowler’s. And I hate to say it, but it’s probably time for you to clear your things out of the apartment above the shop. It will be good for you, Pestie. You’re too old to keep leaning on me. It’s high time you stood on your own two feet. Take two weeks to get it done.”

Clement glanced back over his shoulder, as if he thought someone were calling to him. “I should get back to the celebration. And you should move along too. I shouldn’t have to remind you that taking anything from these boxes would be theft, and I would have to report you to the authorities for it. These books don’t belong to you anymore.”

“It’s not just the books in the boxes. You boxed up Fortune!” Tempest spat.

“Did I?” Clement chuckled like this was funny. “Pickled nickels! The daffy old bird must have snuck into one of the boxes and fallen asleep.” Clement smirked at Fortune. “I suppose she’s lucky you found her. You can keep her. The new owners would probably view her as a liability. I don’t know how long she’s got left anyways. She’s been going a bit gray around the tail feathers.”

“Chapeau de diable! Spellrot! Donnerwetter und Dämonen! Porca pozione! Hexes and Havoc!” On Tempest’s shoulder, Fortune rattled off a string of curses in assorted languages.

Clement shivered at the bird’s words. “I, uh… I’d best be going!” he said and turned back toward the end of the alley.

Tempest didn’t try to stop him. She wasn’t going to ask permission to keep the atlas. It didn’t matter what he said. That was hers. And her mother’s sign as well. She stood and watched him walking away.

“You should head inside too!” Clement called over his shoulder. “You don’t want to catch a cold. You’ve got packing to do!”

“Anchors aweigh, my friend!” Fortune called after Clement. She began whistling the old jaunty tune.

“You’re awfully chipper for a parrot who almost got sent to a pulping facility,” Tempest commented. Fortune didn’t answer, she simply switched into a whistled rendition of “Hit the Road, Jack”, moving her head enthusiastically to the beat.

Once Clement turned the corner and was out of view, Tempest bent down to retrieve the sign. She returned to the box from which the atlas came and placed it on top of the plaque. She clutched them both to her chest.